#shamedlives

[nightskied]

you’re gonna kill us! are you fսcking crazy? ( to lizze, from fiona! )

slowly but surely , a very stunned lizze put the phone down and her arms up to reassure fiona that the idea of calling for help , even if it was her father , was done with . " you're being a PSYCHO , fiona . i swear to god , you're losing your goddamn mind . " it wasn't often that she talked that way to her , the respect lizze had for fiona honestly knew no bounds , but right now ---- right now fiona was begging to be grabbed by the shoulders and shaken until she regained some sense . or maybe she was the one that had to be shaken , but she wouldn't be able to tell at this high point of the night . everything was a mess , and she was tired , her feet were sore , and her friend was looking at her like she'd just committed first degree murder . / @shamedlives !

[queencvbra]

@shamedlives // 𝐖𝐄𝐃𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑

ㅤㅤㅤ❝ CARL, THAT'S MURDER. ❞ She does laugh a little, though, because she's not used to the protectiveness. Last time she got her heart broken, no one really gave a damn. She had to deal with that shit alone, and the consequences . . . weren't great. ❝ So I'm guessing everyone knows now, huh? ❞ Tory sucks in through her teeth. That would explain all the looks she's gotten today. Gossip spreads way too quickly around here, and it's not like she and Robby weren't just all over each other at the prom. But to be fair, they didn't really become a thing until afterward. Or, well, after the afterward. Everything feels so new and different and dear god she's scared she's gonna fuck this all up. ❝ If you wanna nail gun someone, you should go for Kyler. He keeps bothering me about his stupid fucking Nikes, ❞ Tory turns back to Carl, gesturing across the dojo to their aforementioned teammate. She can hear his grating voice echo, giving some grandiose monologue to his followers. ❝ Dude totally has it coming. I think you might get a medal for community service or something. ❞

[nightskied]

you gotta put your worries down sometimes. ( to michelle, from molly! )

michelle hits the joint one more time , supressing a cough to keep the smoke down . she knew it didn't hit more that way , it was just habit . " you gotta stop talking about the worries t' put them down . " she muttered rather matter - of - factly as she turned the spliff inbetween her fingers , fixing up the way the paper had burned only on one side with a bit of her spit on the tip of her finger . once she's pleased with the result , she passes it to molly , slowly exhaling the smoke .

@shamedlives !

[nightskied]

it’s bad luck for them, but good luck for you. ( to jal, from lip! )

jal makes a long silence , bringing the cigarette to her lips for the last drag , then tosses it onto the ground and looks over lip's shoulder , " guess so . " she mutters , thinking how much he'd just sounded like tony . " so , how much is it ? "

@shamedlives !

[nightskied]

you got me confused with some other body. ( to carmela, from mickey! )

the woman tsks once , twice . she's unphased by the exchange . the gun hoisted behind her back , underneath the jacket she wears , itching to make things more expeditive . but she believes in dialogue . " i don't think so , mickey baby . " the colombian quips easily , following a couple of steps behind as he walks . " c'mon , use that little , forgotten brain of yours . "

@shamedlives !

[optimst-a]

❝     i love snow!  there’s something so ... magical about it.     ❞     sure,  it hasn’t always been like this;  as a kid she never looked forward because being poor and living in a trailer park meant that whenever there was snow it was quickly starting to become really cold.  she only started to appreciate it after she moved away from home.  the way it turns everything into a winter wonderland,  glittering and glimmering in the sunlight.   plus,  it gets her in a christmas-y mood.     ❝     i’m hoping for a white christmas this year.     ❞

@shamedlives​​​  /  festive sc.

[racointeur1]

i think we should make an informed decision .

“an     informed    fucking     decis    ----”      words     trail     off     and    you    look    at    @shamedlives     incredulously,      head      canting     slightly.       SHE    CAN’T    BE     FUCKING     FORREAL.       “i’ve    made    my    fuckin’      informed     fucking     decision.     facts     are,     sammy’s    a     goddamn     cunt      and      the     decision    is    she    needs    to     fuckin’     die.      i     don’t    give    a    shit     if     y’wanna     help     me    or     not,     whatthefuckever.     she    fucked    with     ian     and    she    fucked    with     me,     she’s     fucking     dead.     what    else    do    you    fucking     need?”   

[racointeur1]

you don’t look too good .  

SHORT     ANSWER     TO      THAT     IS     BECAUSE     YOU’RE     FUCKING     NOT.      you     don’t     even     remember    the    trek     back     from     the     bar     to     here,      at     what    point    in     time    did     you     get     off    of    the    bar     stool      and     stumble     your    way     back      here?       you’re      standing     in     the     kitchen     with     @shamedlives      now,      hands    pressing    into     the     counter    littered     with      loose     newspapers     and     dirty     dishes    no    one’s     fucking    bothered    to    clean     and     your    eyes    have    squeezed     shut     in     an     attempt     to     stop     the    world    from     fucking     spinning.       doesn’t    do     any     good,      you     still     feel     tossed     at     sea      amid     a      storm,      body     swaying     violently,      and     your     stomach     twists     into     a      harsh      knot     with    the     need     to     get     whatever     the     fuck     you’ve     consumed    today     out    of    you.     

body     twists     then,     stumbling     and     tripping    over     your     own    feet     to     the     kitchen    sink     and     the     force    of     which     you      collide     into    the    edge    of    it     does    a     good     enough    job    of    helping    you    get    it    all     out    before     collapsing    to     the     ground.       “fucking     shit.”        it    should    be    a     scream,      you’re     frustrated    as     all     fucking     hell,      but    it’s    more    of    a    grumble.    long    legs     stretch    out     across    kitchen    floor,     hands    fall    lazily    against     your     thighs.        you     can’t    even     look    up     at     carl    if     you     wanted     to.        “yeah.    .    .      no     fucking     shit.”