* 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 ╱ 𝖆𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖙 ╱ 𝓂𝑒 .

𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻     𝘁𝗵𝗲     𝗹𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀      𝔰𝔥𝔲𝔱     𝗼𝗳𝗳    𝗮𝗻𝗱     𝗶𝘁𝘀       𝒎𝒚       𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗻      𝘁𝗼      𝘀𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲     .

[vehcments]

*     𝒂𝒄𝒄𝒆𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒅   𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎     @witherins    &    @rvmances     !

🍑   :    𝗵𝗼𝘄   𝗺𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗰𝘂𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀𝗹𝘆   𝗱𝗼𝗲𝘀   𝗺𝘆   𝗺𝘂𝘀𝗲   𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗸   𝗮𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗿   𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿   𝗽𝗵𝘆𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹   𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲  ?  

   contrary   to   popular   belief,   hygiene   is   essential.   poor   or   not.   in   lucky’s   case,   he   maintains   a   proper   skin   &   hair   routine.   coconut   milk   &   essential   oils   help   him   maintain   a   curly   head   of   hair   that’s   soft   to   the   touch   &   slick   enough   to   pull.   threading   &   tweezing   thick   eyebrows   are   key    components,   used   to   express   curious   nature   or   unimpressed   muse.   clips   his   nails   &   makes   sure   they’re   an   appropriate   length   to   avoid   nicking   himself   on   the   wrist.   once   sporting   facial   hair   &   only   once   due  to   disastrous   results,   he   now   prefers   to   keep   a   clean   face.   ask   him   about   it   though   &   he’ll   assert   the   belief   that   he   is   stunning   in   both   aspects.

🍑   :    𝗱𝗼   𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆   𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗻𝗱   𝗮   𝗹𝗼𝘁   𝗼𝗳   𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲   𝗼𝗻   𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿   𝗵𝗮𝗶𝗿,  𝗺𝗮𝗸𝗲𝘂𝗽,  𝗴𝗿𝗼𝗼𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗴   &   𝗰𝗹𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴   ? 

    on   the   days   he   washes   his   hair,   he   spends   about   35   minutes   garnering   the   strength   &   curl   pattern.   clothes   are   not   directly    emphasized   on   his   routine   list.   torn   or   luxury   fabric,   a   face   like   this   can   rock   about   any   fucking   thing.    there   isn’t   much   that   he   needs   to   do   apart   from   moisturizing   &    scrubbing.   lucky   enough   to   sustain   clear   skin   without   added   work,   much   to   the   misfortune  of   token   accutane   users,   the   only   certain   practice   is   applying   sunblock   whenever   his   tattoos   are   to   be   bathed   in   sunlight   for   prolonged   periods   of   time   —-   in   order   to   extend   color   brightness   &   keep   his   line   work   crisp.

🍑    :    𝗶𝘀   𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲   𝗮   𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗶𝗰𝘂𝗹𝗮𝗿   𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗼𝗻   𝘄𝗵𝘆   𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆   𝗱𝗼   𝗼𝗿   𝗱𝗼𝗻’𝘁   ?  

      arrogance,   mainly.   marginally  ?   from   the   deep   -   rooted   echo   of   not   being   able   to   afford   proper   care.   he   does   what   he   can   to   make   up   for   it.   to   obtain   a    sense   of    control   over   something   he   never   had.    wiping   away   steam   from   the   mirror    that    poises   a    matted   eight   year   old    in   the   middle   of   shaving   leaves    him   with   a   scar   at   the   part   of   his   eyebrow.    it    only   served   to   enhance   his   appearance.  

[vehcments]

 *      𝒂𝒄𝒄𝒆𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒅   𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎     @rvmances     !

  🍇     :     𝗵𝗼𝘄   𝘄𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱   𝗺𝘆   𝗺𝘂𝘀𝗲  𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗯𝗲   𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿   𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱𝗵𝗼𝗼𝗱   ? 

        he   wouldn’t.   know   that   one   tweet   floating   around  :   ❝   next   time   i’m   opening   up   to   someone   is   my   autopsy    ❞     ?    yessir.   from   a   facile   standpoint   however,   he’d   describe   it   as   normal   simply   because   he   doesn’t   know   anything   else.   for   fun,   he   might    even    tell   you   different   versions   of   his   childhood.   his   father   was   an   indie   rockstar,   roving   from   city   to   city   &   surviving   off   pills   &   potions   conjured   by   groupies   &   fans   until   starlit   eyes   landed   on   his   mother,   blonde   hair   teased   &   crowded   in   southern   jewels.   another   about   a   daredevil   matriarch   who   rattled   crowds   as   she   did   high   wire   acts,   falling   in   love   with   a   replacement   when   her   partner   was   injured.   no   story   was   ever   the   same.   nor   were   they   even   remotely   believable   given   the   circumstances,  but   they   ate   it   up   anyway.    everytime.   spilling   trust   on   a   dream   they   could   never   have.   history    told   by   others   makes   him   wonder   for   a   moment.   cocking   his   head   ;   dizzy   by   the   imagery   of   love.   disfigured   memories   with   a   set   jaw.   his   father’s   cold   trembling   fingers   &   lines   of   his   mother’s   regretful   eyes   as   she   stares   at   her   last   born.   a   story   that   would   provoke   pity.   the   shit   he   hated   the   most.   why   would   they   want   to   hear   about   that   ?   his   mom   ?   a   pathetic,   coinless   star   that   refused   to   give   up   her   child.   a   charming   story   ?   no.   far   from   it.   wondering   if   she   could   gain   back   the   fame   she   never   had   by   grooming   him   into   becoming   a   child   model.   letting   strangers   squeeze   his   cheeks   &   coo   with   compliments.   how   pretty   he’d   be   when   he   was   older.   spoiler   :   it    didn’t   work.   maybe   it   was   his   temper.   maybe   they   were   lying   after   all.   or   perhaps   it   was   the   way   he   scratched   &   kicked   at   his   mother   every   time   she   came   near.   the   way   he   curled   in   on   himself   when   the   men   she   brought   home   would   have   second   thoughts   on   who   they   saw   as   a   plaything   that   night.   fuck   that.   he’ll   stick   with   the   legends   &   the   myths.

🍇   :    𝗵𝗼𝘄   𝗺𝘂𝗰𝗵   𝗵𝗮𝘀   𝗶𝘁   𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗲𝗱   𝘁𝗵𝗲   𝗽𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗼𝗻   𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆   𝗮𝗿𝗲   𝗻𝗼𝘄,   𝗼𝗿   𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹   𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲   𝗮𝘀   𝗮𝗻   𝗮𝗱𝘂𝗹𝘁   ?  

       from   a   young   start   lucky   was   introduced   to   the   idea   of   intimacy.   negative   &   the   like.   fetishization   of   gaining   privileges   &   gifts   from   exchanging   his   body   has   lead   him   to   the   idea   of   selling   himself   for   cash.   aside   from   being   one   of   cape   coral’s   brightest   pupils   &   a   full   -   time   garage   mechanic,   he   is   a   part   -   time   escort   in   order   to   lessen   the   blows   of   monthly   bills.   no   one   knows   of   this   nightly   pursuit,   but   that   doesn’t   necessarily   mean   he   goes   out   of   his   way   to   hide   it.   in   fact,   if   you   ask   about   it   he’ll   answer   with   a   casual    yeah.   whether   or   not   you   agree   with   the   choice   is   no   concern   to   him.    devaluing    sex   workers   just   marks   you   as   a   person   he’d   cut   contact   with.    there   was   a   point   in   time   where   he   snapped   at   anyone   who   laid   a   hand   on   him.   these   days   he   lets   just   about   anyone   touch   him.   

🍇     :      𝗮𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗻𝗱   𝘄𝗵𝗮𝘁   𝗮𝗴𝗲   𝗱𝗶𝗱   𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆   𝗼𝗿   𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹   𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆   𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿𝘁   𝘁𝗼   𝗺𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲   &   𝘄𝗵𝘆   ?  

        the   day   he   matured   was   the   day   he   ripped   his   father’s   hands   off   the   collar   of   his   shirt,   spittle   flying   from   blue   tongue.   a   rabid   dog   barking   command   in   turn.   pay   what   he   was   owed   or   get   the   fuck   out.   financing   by   your   own   stretch   takes   up   time   you   could’ve   spent   on   your   studies.   no   other   responsibilities   to   focus   on   but   making   ends   meet   with   an   older   sister   that   disappeared   in   the   night   &   threw   rocks   through   tattered   curtains   in   the   morning   for   you   to   distract   your   father.   your   house.   not   a   home.   nor   would   it   ever   be.   that   kind   of   thinking   allowed   your   father   to   wrap   burly   digits   around   your   throat,   hiking   you   up   until   the   tips   of   your   feet   left   a   lovetap   at   his   chin.   the   lines   of   black   ink   that   spiral   along   the   expanse   of   your   neck   at    twenty   -   one   covers   bruising   prints   that   you   swore   would   stay   like   a   second   skin.   it   was   time   to   grow   the   fuck   up.   fueling   your   father’s   narcotic   addiction   was   no   longer   your   primary   concern.   he   was   thirteen.

🍇     :     𝗱𝗼   𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆   𝘄𝗶𝘀𝗵   𝘁𝗼   𝗴𝗼   𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸   𝘁𝗼   𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗶𝗿   𝗱𝗮𝘆𝘀   𝗮𝘀   𝗮   𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱,   𝗼𝗿   𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲   𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆   𝗲𝗺𝗯𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲𝗱   𝗮𝗱𝘂𝗹𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗼𝗱   ?  

       he’s   embraced   where   he   is   now.   doesn’t   have   much   but   he   has   a   spirit   that   can’t   be   broken.   too   stubborn   &   prideful   to   let   anything   stop   him.   if   you’re   in   the   way   you   will   be   stepped   upon.   a   kick   of   dirt   in   the   face   for   good   measure.   for   even   thinking   about   getting   in   the   way.   maybe   he   misses   the   shrill   lullaby   his   mother   would   croon   in   the   middle   of    the    night.   a   siren   song   to    the   life   she   once   lived.   crowded   into   the   corner   of    the   living    room   with   knees   tucked   as   the   heater   coughs   it’s   very   last   breath,   cloud   of   haze   leaving   his   lips   as   he   watches   her   move   past   him   in   a   careless   dance.

[promptfairy]

𝐅𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒   ♡   𝐒𝐘𝐌𝐁𝐎𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄

    send the corresponding symbol(s) for headcanons surrounding the given topic(s)!

🍍  :    how comfortable is my muse in their body?  how do they feel about their height,  weight,  strength,  and body type?  how important is being attractive to them?   🍅  :    how does my muse feel about plastic  /  cosmetic surgeries   &   procedures?  is it something they have done or would do?  do they mind if others do it?   🍏  :    how stable is my muse’s physical health?  do they go for regular or semi-regular checkups by a physician?  do they have any diagnosed illnesses and / or take any medication?  how often do they get sick? 🍎  :    how stable is my muse’s mental health?  have they been diagnosed with any mental illnesses and  /  or conditions?  do they have any undiagnosed mental illnesses and  /  or conditions?  do they or should they attend therapy?   🍑  :    how meticulously does my muse look after their physical appearance?  do they spend a lot of time on their hair,  makeup,  grooming,  and clothing?  is there a particular reason why they do or don’t?   🍒  :    how much does my muse value companionship?  do they constantly keep people around them,  or do they prefer to be alone often?  do they have or desire to have many friends?  do they see every meeting as an opportunity to make a new friend?   🍇  :    how would my muse describe their childhood?  how much has it impacted the person they are now,  or will become as an adult?  around what age did they or will they start to mature,  and why?  do they wish to go back to their days as a child,  or have they embraced adulthood?   🍐  :    how intelligent is my muse overall?  are they smarter than the average person,  or less than?  are they primarily self-taught,  or did they acquire most of their knowledge in school?  are they more street smart or book smart?   🍉  :    which of the four seasons suits my muse best,  and why?   🍌  :    is my muse inclined to help others,  or will they only do it when it benefits them,  if at all?  what makes them this way?  has it ever gotten them into trouble,  or inconvenienced them?  🍊  :    does my muse desire romance?  is it something they would actively seek out,  or prefer to happen more  ‘  naturally?  ’  what is their love life like?  do they have any exes or past flings,  or crushes?   🍓  :    how is my muse typically seen by others?  does it ring true to who they really are?  does their reputation matter to them?  🥝  :    does my muse have any  ‘  unusual  ’  habits,  interests,  and  /  or talents?  do they hide it,  or are they proud of it?   🍋  :    what kind of diet does my muse have?  do they eat regularly,  or the standard 2-3 meals a day?  do they have to be reminded to eat,  or are they likely to remind others?  do they cook,  or have others cook for them?  do they eat healthily,  or not so much?   🥭  :    how important to my muse is their hometown,  or where they’re from?  are they proud of it,  or considered a hometown hero?  did they move away,  or do they wish to?

[promptfairy]

❥   𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍     [   𝐀   𝐒𝐘𝐌𝐁𝐎𝐋   𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄   ]  .

designed  for  muses  with  a  bit  of  unresolved  tension between  them ,   but  can  be  used  for  any  circumstances you  see  fit !!  

♡   𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄  :    add   ‘  + 🔁  ’   to  reverse  the  roles .

📖  :    my  muse  discovers  your  muse  reading  a  diary  entry  that  my  muse  wrote  about  yours .

💅  :    your  muse  paints  my  muse’s  nails .

🚿  :    my  muse  accidentally  moans  while  your  muse  washes  their  hair .

👕  :    your  muse  helps  my  muse  get  dressed  after  my  muse  sustains  an  injury  or  illness .

🛏️  :    our  muses  are  forced  by  circumstance  to  share  a  bed  for  the  night .

🧼  :    your  muse  bathes  mine  after  my  muse  sustains  an  injury  or  illness .

🙏  :    our  muses’  hands  brush  as  they  walk  side  by  side .

💢  :    your  muse  picks  mine  up   &   carries  them  over  their  shoulder .

👁️  :    your  muse  is  watching  mine  sleep ,   when  my  muse  suddenly  wakes  up   &   catches  them .

🚬  :    my  muse  steals  a  cigarette   (   or lollipop   )   from  your  muse   &   puts  it  in  their  mouth .

🎐  :    our  muses  slow  dance  together .

🧦  :    your  muse  walks  in  on  my  muse  changing  clothes .

🎀  :   your  muse  brushes  my  muse’s  hair .

💍  :    our  muses  are  mistaken  for  a  couple  by  someone  else .

👔  :    your  muse  notices  that  my  muse’s  shirt  is  open   &   goes  to  ‘  fix  it  ’ .

👗  :    my  muse  sees  yours  all  dressed  up .

🪑  :    my  muse  is   ‘  forced  ’   to  sit  on  your  muse’s  lap   (   due  to  a  lack  of  chairs ,   faulty seatbelt ,  etc .   )

🍆  :    your  muse  makes  a  suggestive  joke  but  my  muse  actually  acts  on  it . 

[vehcments]

𝗳𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗱      :     𝗻𝗲𝗲𝗹𝘀     𝗿𝗼𝗰𝗸𝗲𝗳𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗿      .

       ophelia  is  still  a  fresh  wound ,   and  neels  is  dealing  with  it  elegantly  ,   in  the  only  way  he  knows  how   —-   distraction  .   due  to  absolutely  no  effort  of  his  own  and  all  the  effort  of  his  twin  sister  ,   he  knows  himself  .   he  knows  his  childish  coping  mechanisms  inside  and  out  ,   and  the  way  he  swings  the  door  open  for  lucky  suaréz  on  the  other  side  is  textbook  avoidance  .   to  a  t  .   “   what’s  up  ?   ”   it’s  chill  ,  it’s  laid  back  .   it’s  cool  .  he’s  happy  with  it  ,   and  perhaps  his  confidence  is  owed  to  the  fat  joint  and  half  a  glass  of  wine  he’d  imbibed   —-   or  perhaps  not  .   perhaps  being  crossfaded  has  absolutely  shit  all  to  do  with  it  .  “  enter  ,  bro  .   get  inside  before  someone  calls  the  fuzz  ‘cause  they  think  you’re  doin’  a  broad  daylight  home  invasion  in  that  fuckin'  outfit  .  ”   he  insists  ,   running  a  hand  back  through  curls  that  are  two  stages  past  unruly  .

         𝗶𝗻   𝘀𝗲𝗹𝗳   -   𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗮𝗻𝘁   𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗱   𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲   𝘄𝗮𝘀   𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴   𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲   𝗽𝗮𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗰   𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻   a   grown   man   pining   for   some   conjured   distraction   as   a   final   resort.   though   this   particular   man   was   cornelius   rockefeller   &   in   that   regard,   he   shouldn’t   have   really   expected   anything   less.   drooling   &   fussing   over   ophelia    seemed   to   be   the   embodiment   of   his   personality   these   days.   the   same   woman   who   seethed   at   lucky’s   name   for   rivaling   procured   intelligence.   no   private   tutors   to   leech   off   of   or   history   of   properly   tucked   uniforms   to   signify   the   merits   of   academic   values.   just   pure   unadulterated   gift.    there   was   simply   nothing   special   about   the   way   she   earned   her   scores   when   he   was   around.   not   even   if   she   threatened   to   flay   &   maim   until   he   was   nothing   but   forgotten.  a   quiet   shrug   &   she'd   resort   to   being   one   more   pesky   fly   buzzing   too   loud   in   his   ear.   one   swat   away   from   becoming   another   in   memoriam.   in   retrospect,   those   two   were   perfect   for   each   other.   the   door   jerks   open   to   reveal   the   man   of   the   hour,   fingers   rubbing   at   dark   circled   rims   in   a   waking   motion,   attire   built   off   shredded   jeans   &   a   plain   black   tee,   gold   chain   glittering   with   rays   that   cast   down   on   them.   nothing   too   absurd,   nothing   too   extravagant   to   allure   critics.   sharp   features   &   scrawls   for   ink   enough   to   make   up   for   what   he   lacked   in   style.   but   be   that   as   it   may,   taking   backhands   from   a   twink   that   had   crying   sessions   for   lunch   &   dinner   was   never   an   option.    ❛    not   listenin’   to   fashion   advice   from   someone   who   looks   like   they   sniff   glue   for   fun.    ❜    shoving   past   the   brunet   with   a   tall   shoulder,   he   drops   down   on   the   couch   as   if   it’s   his   own,   grabbing   at   the   ashtray   that   sits   on   the   coffee   table   &   moving   it   about   until   it’s   comfortably   placed   in   his   lap.     ❛    kinda   disappointed.   expected   to   see   it   bedazzled   or    some    shit.    ❜     quick    fingers   roll    up    remanents   of   sativa   that    lay   spread   out   of   the   baggie.    at   the   flick   of   a   lighter   &   soft   crackle   of   ember,   the   blunt   catches.    judas   in   flesh,    propped   against   the   backboard   with   legs   bent   &   knees   splayed   wide,   dragging   a   slow   hit   as   he   tilts   his   chin   to   blow   thick   rings   toward   the   ceiling.   in   the   broad   of   day,   features   half   -   lit   from   the   cherry    that    glows   with   a   strange   red   tinge,   he’s   untouchable.  

[sorrywrld-deactivated20190515]

[lulucias]

@vehcments !

[vehcments]

𝗳𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗱      :     𝗹𝘂𝗰𝗶𝗮     𝗿𝗲𝘆𝗲𝘀      .

          a  PERFECTLY  plucked  eyebrow  lifts  up,  lucia  not  surprised  nor  was  she amused  by  lucky’s  cockiness,  even  though  she  was  used  to  his  antics  by  now.  she  realizes  seconds  later  that  the  only  person  she  has  to  blame  for  his  cockiness  in  this  moment  is  HERSELF.  lucia  called  lucky  a  possible  model  for  her,  a  huge  compliment  in  her  books  despite  her  only  saying  it  to  TEASE.  he  could  twist  her  words  any  way  he  wanted  and  she  really  had  no  argument  to  back  herself  up.  lucky  is  ATTRACTIVE  and  she  has  no  problem  admitting  that  to  herself  that  small  fact,  but  she’ll  be  damned  if  she  ever  truly  says  it  to  his  face,  especially  when  his  ego  can  be  seen  from  the  moon.  “you’re  awfully  confident  for  someone  who  hasn’t  seen  how  the  photo  came  out.  are  you  sure  it’s  smart  to  be  this  confident,  lucky?  you  know,  lucky  isn’t  your  real  name…  how  LUCKY can  you  really  be?”  she  tilts  her  head,  a  facade  of  concern  over  the  state  of  his  photo.  “will  i  be  allowed  to  post  this  picture  then?  this masterpiece  should  be  shared  with  the  whole world  and  my  photography  class  where  i  can  show  this  as  my  assignment,  blink  and  all.  i’d  call  it:  LUCKY  STARS,  LUCKY  TIMING.”  when  she  actually  does  take  a  quick  look  at  the  accidental  picture  she  took,  she  fights  the  scrunch  of  her  nose  when  she  sees  the  picture  didn’t  come  out  bad  at  all.  “i’m  suddenly  not  telling  you  the  state  of  the  picture  i  took  and  have  you  live  with  the  suspense  for  the  rest  of  your  life.”

    *      ❪        🔪       ❫    ﹕  𝗵𝗲   𝘀𝗲𝗲𝘀   𝘁𝗵𝗲   𝘀𝗹𝗼𝘄   𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿   𝗼𝗳   𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗱   𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻   𝗮𝘀   𝗮   𝘄𝗶𝗻.   simple   &   easy   wasn’t   the   preferred   route   to   take   but   how   could   he   not   when   her   conflict   of   interest   reads    so   clear   he    could    laugh.   &   so   he   does.   the   sound   a   crystalline   knife   through   the   collarbone   of   one   who   dreaded   such   hubristic   reaction.   modesty   which   separated   him   from   the   rest.   it   encourages   the   sudden   show   of   sharp   teeth,   a   cartoon   fox   grin   as   lucky   steps   against   the   edge   of   the   board   so   it’s   kicking   up   into   his   palm,   feet   padding   along   to   bring   him   closer.    he   couldn’t   imagine   feeling   foul   about   his   appearance   &   the   way   the   few   around   him   get   lost   in   the   depths   of   their   insecurities   leaves   him   as   a   symbol   for   instant   envy.    ❛    oh   yeah   ?   what’s   my   name.    ❜      a   purr   of   inquiry   ;   anything   to   keep   the   rasp   of   her   irritation.   the   way   she   rambles   is   evidence   enough   that   a   simple   flick   of   tongue   can   alter   her   mood,   head   leaning   sideways   &   letting   a   curl   slip   along   squinted   hues.   her   wordplay   cons   him   to    stay,   delighted   &   impressed   all   the   same   that   he   almost   feels   the   need   to   ask   when   she’ll   be   presenting   it.   just   to   see   her   curate   improper   technique   into   a  catalyst   of   performance   art.   there’s   no   doubt   in   his   mind   that   she   was   gifted   with   beauty.   rivaling    cherubic   locks   &   fair   skin   of   angels   immortalized   within   golden   frames   that   hung   high   for   the   world   to   scrutinize.   an   illusion   of   leaking   teardrops   upon   rosy   cheeks   at   the   knowledge   that   eyes   warm   enough   to   trick   the   meek   &   mousy   through   manicured   claws   stood   in   the   flesh.   she   could   hold    the   world   in   her   palm   if   she   wanted.   look   down   even   as   lucky   is   forced   to   tilt   his   chin   to   keep   eye   contact.   the   brains   that   compete   with   vanity   makes   her   that   much   more   dangerous.   persephone   walking   among   mortals.    ❛     guess   i’ll   have   to   stick   around,   then.    no   tienes   que   chantajearme.    just   ask   nicely.   ❜

[maclexa]

Baby (2018– ) ↳ Fantasmi

[vehcments]

*      ❪        🔪       ❫    ﹕   @marlbros    !

[kingsdvminion-deactivated202009]

#S O F T

[kardashianjennergifs]

[vehcments]

 𝗳𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗱      :     𝗹𝘂𝗰𝗶𝗮     𝗿𝗲𝘆𝗲𝘀      .

       watching the SUNSET is one of lucia’s favorite things, gives her a sense of serenity she rarely feels throughout her day. she thinks she has a whole collection of pictures dedicated to watching the sunset and capturing the moment it’s the most BEAUTIFUL – the different colors of cotton candy pink and smoky orange blending together to create a FASCINATING image that leaves her captivated. lucia is more of a night owl, usually missing the rise of the sun, but rarely misses it when it sets, only to be replaced by the moon and the stars she can’t help ADORING either. it was no different today, however, camera ready to snap up the perfect image when someone stands in front of her way. “if you wanted me to give you a photoshoot, all you had to do was ask for the price. i would’ve gladly had you as one of my models.” her tone is playful and teasing, bringing the camera down to look at the other rather than the sunset behind them. tomorrow was another day and she’ll capture the incredible shot then.

     *      ❪        🔪       ❫    ﹕  𝗱𝗿𝗶𝗳𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴    𝗮𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗲   𝘄𝗮𝘀    𝗼𝗳    𝘇𝗲𝗿𝗼    𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲   𝗮𝘁    𝘁𝗵𝗲    𝗺𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁   —-   wasn’t    sure    he    had    the    energy    to   persuade   someone   into   inviting   him   out   for   a   bite   even   if   he   wanted.   the   effect   is   subtle    but    there,   fingers   near   trembling   (   signs   of   hunger   were   never   the   prettiest   )   as   he   cruises   along.   tremors   that   could   be   written   off   as   a   result   of   the   icy   breeze   that   kicks   up    as    if   on   cue.   a   shy   octave   of   a   scream   as   it   rattles   the   trees   into   shedding   strawberry   petals   over   fawn   locks  ;   a   satirical   example   of   everything   he   wasn’t.   the   sudden   shutter   of   film   is    enough   to   have   him   shift   the   board   underneath   his   feet,   halting   ahead   &   pulling   off   the   headphones   that   blare   patterned   snares.   lucky   only   catches   the   very   last   degree   of   her   catcall,   though   it   catches   aflame   all   the   same.   a   spark   that   elicits   a   wide   smirk,   head   shaking   from   left   to   right   as   his   chin   lifts   naturally.   arrogance   as   permanent   as   the   red   crosses   that   jut   from   the   corner   of   his   left   iris.     ❛    you   oughtta   thank   your   lucky   stars.   that   camera   just   became   worth   twice   its   original   price.    ❜  

[vehcments]

𝗳𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗱      :     𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗱𝗲𝗻     𝗸𝘆𝘂𝗻      .

          IT    STILL    SHOCKS    HIM    that    he    was    able    to    score    a    scholarship    —-    holden    didn’t    hold    out    much    hope    when    it    came    to    academics,    often    looking    over    his    shoulder    instead.    there    were    many    more    important    things    to    worry    about    than    this.    but,    this    year    was    different,    having    to    put    aside    the    dark    clothing    and    all.    this    year,    he    was    holden    two-point-oh    —-    mister    academia.    he    was    drenched    in    sweat,    head    to    toe,    body    aching    with    every    movement    as    he    stepped    out    of    the    locker    room.    holden    didn’t    want    to    shower    in    front    of    all    the    others;    it    made    him    feel    uncomfortable.    but    he    had    a    towel    draped    over    his    shoulder    as    he    pushed    open    the    locker    room    door,    and    he    rubbed    the    back    of    his    neck.    

          was    he    actually    free    for    the    evening?    hell,    yeah.

          a    small,    thankful    grin    teased    at    his    lips    and    holden’s    hand    form    into    a    fist.    he    wants    to    raise    it    up,    but    instead    ends    up    moving    his    fist    back    and    forth    in    a    short,    jerking    motion.    to    others,    the    gesture    would    have    came    off…    inappropriate,    but    holden    doesn’t    notice.    instead,    he    spots    a    familiar    face    and    he    flashes    them    a    dimpilish    grin.    “hey,    guess    what?”    he    asks    them.    “i’m    free    for    the    rest    of    the    evening.    wanna    get    anything    to    eat?”

       *      ❪        🔪       ❫    ﹕   𝗵𝗲’𝘀   𝗯𝗲𝗴𝗿𝘂𝗱𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗹𝘆   𝗰𝗵𝗼𝘀𝗲𝗻   𝘁𝗼   𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲   𝗮𝗱𝘃𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗲   𝗼𝗳   𝘁𝗵𝗲   𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗼𝗼𝗿   court   the   athletic   department   has   provided,   the   prospect   of   sharing   an   outdoor   field   with   jocks   fitted   with   padding   that   gave   them   irregular   curves   &   a   sliver   less   of   susceptibility   to   concussions   had   been   enough   to   drive   him   inside.    years   of   harbored   routine   practice   prompts   him   through   the   locker   room   afterward,   bubbly   tone   of   voice   causing   him   to   turn   as   he   strips   himself   of   his   jersey.    as   fate   had   it,   football   was   one   particular   sport   he’d   never   really   gotten   the   hang   of.   sure,   he’d   had   his   fair   share   of   matches   with   the   neighborhood   boys.   memories   of   the   nights   spent   dashing   along   brooklyn’s   freshly   dampened   grass,   beanies   intact   while   their   shirts   hung   half   off   their   shoulders   &   grins   shone   bright   enough   to   light   up   the   dark   when   the   sun   ceased   to   exist.    but   that   mattered   none   when   the   familiar   fit   of   a   ball   between   his   feet   carried   him   along.   the   offer   of   food   immediately   perks   up   his   attention,   blessed   with   the   ability   to   scarf   down   five   meals   a   day   without   gaining   a   single   pound   yet   cursed   with   the   hunger   that   plagued   him   hourly.   the   shorter   boy   is,   of   course,   someone   he’s   seen   around   before.   moreso   due   to   the   lack   of   spatial   awareness   when   lucky   percieved   every   inch   of   the   school   as   somewhere   to   steal   moments   with   those   who   were   willing.   if   the   shared   area   of   practice   didn’t   clue   holden   in   on   fox   -   like   features,   then   it   was   the   bouts   of   consistent   chaos   he’d   lure   into   the   town   like   a   stray   dog   chasing   after   a   car      —-      never   really   capturing   it.    ❛   you   usually   ask   people   out   after   they’re   already   half   naked    ?     ❜   he   replies   in   taunt,   though   void   of   any   true   provocative   intent.

[vehcments]

 𝗳𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗱      :     𝗺𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗻     𝘀𝗮𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗮𝗿      .

         she’s  envious  of  his  relaxed  demeanour  ,   the  way  he  fits  into  his  surroundings  like  they  were  built  for  him  to  reside  in  instead  of  the  reality  of  fate  placing  him  there  for  only  the  time  being  .   in  contrast  ,  maren’s  ramrod  straight  spine  and  feet  perfectly  aligned  next  to  one  another  were  glaringly  proper  ,   outlandishly  orderly  .   she  makes  a  conscious  effort  to  slouch  ,   curling  into  herself  with  his  answer  ,   brow  furrowed  .   “   oh  .   ”   she  breathes  ,   scrolling  away  from  the  app  in  question  as  fast  as  untrained  fingers  can  take  her  .   she  only  spirals  further  into  confusion  as  she  tries  to  decode  his  explanation  bit  by  bit  ,   and  in  the  end   —-   she  just  doesn’t  speak  lucky  .    “   actually   —-   ”   knees  angle  towards  his  in  the  midst  of  her  momentary  pause  ,   offensively  outdated  shoes  pointed  in  his  direction  .   “   i  don’t  know  what  that  means  ,   either  .   ”   the  smile  she  offers  is  close - lipped  and  modestly  sized  ,   the  type  of  smile  only  extended  by  someone  who  needs  something  from  somebody  but  wishes  that  they  didn’t  . 

  *      ❪        🔪       ❫    ﹕     𝗹𝘂𝗰𝗸𝘆   𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀   𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵   𝗮𝗻   𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗻   𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻   𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗶𝘁𝗲   𝘁𝗵𝗲   𝘄𝗮𝘆   her   foreheard   crinkles   with   worry   lines,   body   clenching   in   uncertainty   at   whatever   thought   ran   through   someone’s   mind   when   presented   with   the   subject   of   adult   filmography   in   the   middle   of   a   bustling   courtsquare.   maren’s   expression   wasn’t   anything   remotely   out   of   the   ordinary   ;    served   daily   to   those   willing   to   stick   around   for   rash   language   dealt   like   a   deck   of   trap   cards   by   yours   truly.   it’s   clear     that   she   wants   to   ask   him   something,   brunet   on   the   verge   of   telling   her   to   spit   it   out   before   she’s   finally   glancing   up   to   spill   what   the   younger   man   is   intent   on   either   brushing   off   completely   or   dipping   a   curious   toe   in.   as   it   were,   what   she   admits   isn’t   something   he’d   expected.   not   even  with   her   moth   -   eaten   coture   that   draped   over   her   like    one    of    those     tacky   oversized    blankets    you’d    see    in   cheap   commercials.   lucky   simply   makes   a   face   at   that,   dark   brow   perking   up   as   the   pink   of   his   tongue   presses   against   the   roof   of   his   mouth.   she’s   gotta   be   fucking   with   him,   right   ?    a   glance   at    walmart   aisle   kicks   pointed   expectantly.    maybe   not.    ❛      which   part,   anne   of   green   gables   ?     ❜      he   purrs   with   genuine   interest   at   the   belief   she   was,   indeed,   ignorant   to   the   industry.

[fkyhtaronegerton]

‘I’m calling to the world, come on come on, thrill me’

[vehcments]

❛ no, i’m gonna need to hear you say it. ❜

  *      ❪        🔪       ❫    ﹕  𝗹𝘂𝗰𝗸𝘆   𝗴𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀   𝘂𝗽   𝗮𝘁   𝘁𝗵𝗲   𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁.   𝗹𝗶𝗽𝘀   𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗲   𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵   spit   -   slick   remnants   of   her.   a   simple   demand   purred   from   pillowy   lips.   a   husk   that   indicates   he’ll   be   maimed   &   mangled   that   very   same   night.   acrylics   thread   unkindly   through   disheveled   curls,   watching   intently   as   soft   movements   contradict    witful   tongue.     ❛    let   me   taste   you.   ❜    he   breathes   ;   baritone   leaking   salacious   intention.   the   playful   facade   lucky   reserves   for   those   he   views   as   mere   things   to   bat   back   &   forth   between   his   paws   exchanges   for   true   self.   a   raw   entity   of   a   man   with   temples   pressed   against   her   own   in   a   tantalizing   sway.   palms   glide   down   the   swell   of   her   ass   before   gripping   at   the   meat   of   her   thighs,   lifting   winona   up   until   she’s   hooking   her   ankles   around   his   waist.   bruised   lips   connect   &   rough   digits   grip   at   the   hair   flowing   down   the   back   of   her   skull,   pulling   gently   until   the   delicate   line  of   her   jaw   becomes   exposed   for   a   shallow   kiss.   he   closes   the   bedroom   door   with   a   free   hand   then,   slowly   dropping   them   down   on   covers   that     shape   around   soft   curves.   fuck,   she   belongs   there.   warm   lips   find   the   bare   of   her   collarbone   once   more,   tongue   leaving   wet   kisses   that   echo   throughout   the   dimlit   space.   slowly   accompanied   by   sharp   incisors,   biting   down   the   hostile   riposte   sent   minutes   prior   into   her   throat,   hard   enough   to   hurt.   to   bring   her  back   from   whatever   occupied   her   head   in   a   greedy   snarl   ;   bruises   littering   a   once   clean   torso   into   a   palette   of   blues   &   purples.   until   she   has   no   choice   but   to   focus   on   nothing   but   him.   a   tune   that   ends   in   weary   limbs   for   both.    he   lowers   himself   (   taking   care   of   his   weight   ),   the   sharp   press   of   winona’s   knees   against   his   ribs   a   gut   punch   of   pleasure   that   ripples   against   supple   skin.   

[vehcments]

❛ there’s always a choice. ❜ // from pip

*      ❪        🔪       ❫    ﹕   𝗵𝗲   𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘀   𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵   𝗮   𝗹𝗶𝗹𝘁𝗲𝗱    𝘀𝗺𝗶𝗿𝗸,   𝗹𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴   𝗵𝗲𝗿   𝘄𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲   the   time   &   energy   she’d   clearly   been   witholding   in   favor   of   saving   his   own.   not   that   wasting   it   was   ever   possible,   but   the   very   fact   that   pip   kwon   of   all   stood   lecturing    him.    he   should’ve   seen   it   coming.    an   easy   archetype   to   pin   the   moment   she   opened   her   mouth   :    lowerclassmen   that   spent   their   time   in   a   neverending   battle   with   social   parliament   &   a   cliche  ‘   eat   the   rich   !  ’  attitude   that   he   never   itched   to   adopt.   lucky   understood   nevertheless,   though   probably   not   in   the   same   manner   as   she   would’ve   favored.    how   daunting   it’d   be   for   someone   who   couldn’t   relate.   as   if   yelling   at   a   child   to   stop   picking   at   a   scab   for   fear   of   it   turning   into   an   ugly   scar.   they’d   do   it   anyway,   of   course.   a    natural   instinct   to   minimize   the   pain   ;   if   just   for   a   moment.   pride   overcomes   his   ability   to   move   out   of   the   younger   woman’s   space,   amusement   overcoming   slack   features   at   pip’s   attempt   at   abstract   dialogue.   smoke   billows   from   the   cigarette   that   combs   through   shaken   curls.   he   hates   that   it’s   there,   biting   &   tearing   at   the   inner   workings   of   his   mind.   no   more   than   two   years   before   he   would’ve    shattered   every   knuckle   within   perfectly   carved   hands.   lotioned   fingers   that   never   had   to   put    in   work  a  day   in   their   lives.   three   months   ago   he   would’ve   gritted   his   teeth   &   rioted   with   her.    now,   he   just   yawns.   passive   in   her   aggression.   never   would   he   admit   the   way   she’d   made   him   feel   that   way   again.   he   hates   it.    he   had   money   —   a   defining   attribute   that   was   compiled   with   his   own   filthy   digits.   both   illegally   &   legally.   society   ?    they   were   on   their   own   now.   something   he   explicitly   believed   in   &   others   didn’t   seem   to   understand.   perhaps   if   ensuing   chaos   among   poverty   stricken   streets   was   a   tool   to   make   a   point,   lucky   suaréz   might’ve   been   the   one   to   have   thrown   the   first   molotov.    it   was   a   truth   he’d   have   to   take   to   the   grave.   he   glances   up   at   the   moon’s   shine,   silver   &   elastic   on   their   dull   features.   his   voice   is   gentle.   statement   intruding   ;   a   blade   through   the   peaceful   silence   they’ve   created.    ❛    having   the   choice   makes   what   i’m   aboutta   do   even    better.    ❜    

[vehcments]

 𝗳𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗱      :     𝗯𝗮𝗶𝗹𝗲𝘆     𝗽𝘆𝗼      .

perhaps one of the strangest places on campus she’d found and settled herself into so far, bailey loved her tiny corner under the soccer field bleachers. it still amazed her how cozy it could be, being so out in the open, yet covered enough by obstructive beaming that no one had ever noticed her. (and hopefully will never.) stray plastic seats (ones she’d found at another one of her nooks) kept her from the damp grass below, three aligned next to each other so that she was lying down. she herself didn’t properly understand why she always had the best naps there. the white noise of people yelling and whistles blowing from the practicing next to her wasn’t exactly ideal, but it was somehow comforting. plus, by the time she’d wake up, they’d all be gone. 

and so, she’d come to her place anticipating a nice nap before she had to go back home - but got the opposite. a silent nightmare, making her shiver under her makeshift hoodie-blanket, then falling… bailey jerked herself awake from the sensation, immediately shooting up to sit- then she was actually falling in real life. she yelped, loudly, far louder than most people would ever ever heard her go, as the chair(s) tilted backwards. “ow- fuck!” she exclaimed as she slammed against the backs of the chairs and some grass before her shin impacted against the nearest low beaming. she gritted her teeth to hold back another yelp from the pain, breathing heavily, finally letting out a tight - “fuck-ing ow!”

  *      ❪        🔪       ❫    ﹕  𝗵𝗲’𝘀   𝗮𝗹𝗹   𝗹𝗶𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗱   𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗻   𝗯𝘆   𝘁𝗵𝗲   𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲   𝘁𝗵𝗲   𝘄𝗵𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗹𝗲   𝗯𝗹𝗼𝘄𝘀   𝗶𝗻   𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗰𝗵,   hazel   strands   either   standing   up   in   a   disarray   or   plastered   against   his   forehead   from   the   sweat   that   streaks   his   cheeks.   hands   are   clapped   upon   his   back,   garnered   with   victorious   smiles   &   loud   ’   whoop   !   ‘   s    of   a   job   well   -   done.   the   field   appears   vacant   not   a   half   hour   later,   onlookers   that’ve   either   joined   in   celebration   elsewhere   or   swaddled   their   children   home   with   encouraging   words    —   a   false   promise   that   they’ll   do   better   next   time.   following   with   the   routine   of   staying   back   to   practice   for   a   bit    longer,   he’s   diverted   by   the   noise   in   his   peripheral,   turning   stare   at   toppled   stature   &   echoed   profanity.   he’s   striding   toward   the   bleachers   without   hesitation,   lifting   up   the   hem   of   his   jersey   to   wipe   off   the   sweat   from   his   face   ;   letting   the   evening   chill   sink   into   his   bones.   the   most   obvious   thing   to   do   was   to   ask   if   she   was   okay.   if   she   needed   a   pack   of    ice   or   even   a   hand   to   help   her   back   on   her   feet.   her   identity   wasn’t   overly   important   (   though   he    was   sure   he’d   seen   her   before   )   but,   there   was   nothing   more   offensive   than   being   called   boring.   even   if   that   hadn’t   exactly   come   out   of   her   mouth.   stranger   or   familiar.   fawn   irises   dance   between   bailey’s   fallen   position   &   the   score   board   that   plagues   his   team   pride.    had   she   actually   fallen   asleep   ?     ❛    homeless    shelter’s   a   couple   blocks   from   here.    sleep   under   there   any   more   &   you’ll   fuck   up   your   spine.   ❜     a   jocular   smile   that   rivals   a   light   sense   of   humor,   head   leaning   to   the   side   to   mock   an   innocent   tilt.