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@vrtigo-blog1
“ y’know , jesus was prob’s really cool. he could turn water into wine .. o’ sugar into cocaine. I’s fact he was only killed because people were jealous of how cool he was. it’s no wonder there are so many Christians. ”
there’s a familiar itch at the nape of her neck -- slick with indignation and sweat (hot day, she swears). “jesus is really cool,” she agrees. “although, i dunno why th’fuck you’d sling drugs into this. none o’ that in the bible.” she thinks.
i’m gonna put myself on hiatus bc school is succing me dry and ew i even use old manga icons to express this so xoxoxo i’ll check in occasionally so u can im me but i’ll mostly be concentrating on not dying
❛ n-n…..nah, i just don’t like it out here. too many people. ❜ VAMP speaks, swatting her hands away from his hoodie.
she feigns indignation, mouth parted and slack. “you don’ like people? tha’s not somethin’ i pegged you for.” she inches closer with fingers itching to mess with his clothes again.
dumbass lola only had a landline on her farm. doesn’t really know how to use a smartphone. no idea how to use a computer or the internet really. what’s etsy? ebay? she only sort of half-knows what’s going on, but she sorta thinks all of this is some sort of secular conspiracy.
@luckfilled liked !
“So when y’die -- yer goin’ to Hell, right?”
❛ RIGHT, OKAY. i let my anger get the best of me there for a second, BUT, in my defence, you DID look at me funny. ❜ // @vrtigo ♥ ‘d
Lola gropes at her cheek, already hot with a freckling bruise. She was looking at a painting actually (a cheap Madonna faded and cruelly juxtaposed against the string of greasy customers in this joint), but it doesn’t seem wise to bring that up. “I ‘unno what you’re talkin’ about, so long as you buy me a drink to ‘pologize.”
wow look it’s dad
wow look it’s mom
HOODIE ON & over his head. protects him from the SUN. ( the ‘heat’ makes him sweat ), trying to get into the shadows off of the side of the school building. ❛ oh, yeah, i’m totally fine. it’s just, uh….. wanna’ go inside ? it’s hot, and i’m sweating like a B I T C H. ❜ it’s only 70ºF. // ♥ OPEN.
Lola tugs at a hoodie string (how do you know where the personal space bubble is until you pop it -- ?) and half-shrugs, sweat sticky on the lilt of her shoulders. “Y’got class?”
[ CHARACTER AESTHETIC: CLAIRE & DOLORES ( @vrtigo ) ]
so let me have just this. her smile in the dark. our hands, held up against the softening light. ©
peaceful, this, yet snarling, pondwater all afloat with weeds, with fallen branches. hands slip through still water, catch a fish for herself, silver-slippery and thrashing. feet in thick weeds tangle and propel slim body through the water, emerge glistening to perch on seat of scraggly roots of fallen tree. dark hair slicks, sticks to skin, dark-to-pale entrancing contrast meant to mortal eye or to camouflage in dark-light water ripples. “ hmmm… “ head tips, feet kick, toes flick drops of water. “how many would you like to catch? and are we limited to fish, or do you speak of other prey?”
Lola erects herself, figure tapering into a filmy shadow in the water. While she enjoys the water clogging her ears (all the world a cosmic murmur), she watches Eulalia drape over the tree roots. The fish in her hand slips away when she loosens her grip -- she has no interest in the pond mealworms anyway. There are far more delectable treats.
“Dove,” she says, gums aching, shoulders humming, “I wan’ as many throats as I can wrap m’fingers ‘round.”
Even the gloss in her eyes can’t prevent her from making out the couple on the shore, distant but dreary, scantily clad. A few more people populate the outskirts of the pond, flesh soft and supple and grey under the clouds. Lola waits, polite as always.
“ …HONEY BEE. ” A frown is etched on pale skin. the other girl’s eyes brim with stardust, and it burns her cold inside the throat. she’s already had so many names, what trouble would another one possibly bring? ( not ) claire buries her face under tangled hair, but the suggestion cuts through her fortress with ease, blade - sharp. doesn’t even bother to swallow the mumble: “ why- what do y’ want. ”
Claire’s reluctance draws another urgent tug upwards from Lola -- outwards -- far away from this little castle and liege. It all suddenly feels futile and claustrophobic, the picturesque woods sagging and creeping ever closer. (Boring enough it makes her cant her head and pout.) “I wan’ a little vacation,” she breathes, a smile ghosting her lips. “To the ponds, to the rivers -- don’ you know your way around? Show me.” She stands up and splays her legs open. Ready.
✞ YOU ARE BLOOD BAPTISED,✞ AND YOU ARE BORN, AGAIN!
@vrtigo:
“ – USUALLY i’m one to apologize. right – right NOW, however, it doesn’t SUIT the – the SITUATION. ”
Lola creaks in that old-young dilemma of jointhood (that is, she’s nineteen, but her knees crackle like a sparkler ; that is, she’s nineteen, kneeling church-style in front of a safe ; that is, she’s nineteen, but she feels eight years old with her grubby paws in the cookie jar right now).
She feels vaguely apologetic for all this. The mess of china splattered like milk stains all across the tile behind her, the tint of cheap glass draped over the collection. Her own ankles are a little scuffed from the carnage. She imagines blood somewhere smeared near the outlet plugs. Carpets torn a little.
She’s looking for something. She doesn’t remember what. (Is this even his house?) That’s not the problem, though.
He’s the problem! She holds up her stubby little pocket knife so that it’s skewered between her fingers and palm. A little clumsy, but fit for a struggle. If she’s grimacing, it’s because of some phantom arthritis, not his reprimanding.
She says -- “I dunno what you’re talkin’ about.”
“ Don’t make me want to trust you much , don’t do cross heart. “
“...” doesn’t really know what to make of it -- crossing hearts and pinky swears always get the job done in her books. “what d’you do, then?”
She just drifts along doing nothing. It frightens me terribly how she just drifts along.
Tennessee Williams, from The Glass Menagerie (via violentwavesofemotion)
PAGE 21. THE PRINCESS stared at her crown with bored wonder. what was she going to do with an already dead thing? PAGE 22. she buried it. THE QUEEN never knew. ©
