car crash heart

Bathed in rainbow coloured light from the sun bleeding through stain-glassed windows, Rosa looked like she was sitting inside of a kaleidoscope. In reality, she was splayed across the soft couch at the front of the church, basking in the rare time she had the building to herself. A book in one hand and a glass of merlot in the other - her lips had been stained with the drink for days now, soothing balm after the humiliating display that’d taken place on Lana’s birthday. Checking over her shoulder when she heard the front door open, Rosa had expected a roommate - she (embarrassingly) perked up when her suspicions led her astray. Watching Jasper saunter in, Rosa scrambled to sit up, eyes raking over him for something new. He didn’t look any different since leaving Furore - what she preferred to call it, instead of getting fired. More classy. But they were friends, she was allowed to be concerned, it was merely reasonable, “Hey!” she called, waving him over to sit beside her on the couch. Before Jasper even had the chance to situate himself, she was shoving the glass of wine into his hand - she could stick with the bottle, sharing was caring. Automatically, she turned to him, criss-crossing her legs before self-consciously patting at her lap. Despite the Summer heat, this was the first time Rosa could be found in anything resembling a white sundress, usually clad in her corduroy’s and knitted sweaters. Clearing her throat, she finally swiped at her legs one more time, acting as if she were wiping off a crumb, before repositioning her attention on Jasper, “Work’s weird without you, now,” Pushing her book onto the floor so that she could grab the bottle of merlot, she clinked it against his cup in a cheers, “Any new promising positions? Someone, uh, came up to me in the club the other day, said they were looking for a dom. Like, total dominatrix. Guy or girl - even though I thought dominatrix was a term used for girls only, but. Sounds like it’s kinda up your alley. Paid well, if I remember right,” A tipsy giggle bubbled past Rosa’s lips at her own teasing, clearing her throat again to recollect herself before she said anything stupid or incriminating with her sudden giddiness. @acidgems

“Grabbing life by the majestic balls, sir,” had been Jasper’s fleeting final words when Furore’s big boss daddy had asked just what the cheeky arsehole thought he was playing at? Trusty black tee thrown to the wind during a Furore barbeque so explosive it was a wonder it didn’t erupt into a mirage of cyan and magenta spirals in the wide expanse of grey sky. Might have perked up the weather a bit, the sour puss. It was almost as if Jasper got a kick out of burning like the crackling embers of a dying star. Clock ticking on when he’d be entirely engulfed by the surrounding darkness that seemed to cling onto his coat tails like it had done with his incarcerated brother. Unable to flick off the soot dirtying either of them, jagged teeth bare in more of a grin than a grimace, used to the decay that would linger on their taste buds after these little discrepancies. Though Jasper’s was more on the generally ascribed “cheeky” side, than the downright violent. Luca always was a bit of a maudlin, that way. A maudlin that might be released from his iron shackles soon. So, Jasper was in an undeniably energised mood. 

Kind of mood that led to more of these unfortunate discrepancies. Except he wouldn’t dream of treating Rosa like he’d been fired for treating the big boss’ wife -- bruised, hot skin and unnecessary ripping of flimsy material. Gasps that lit the back of his neck on fire. Then celebrating by peeling off in the guy’s vintage emerald jaguar, dragging tires around the circular driveway out front in such a spectacle it spit pebbles into the angelic water feature like optimistic wishing coins. Wouldn’t treat Rosa like that, surely not. Probably not. No, couldn’t do it. Couldn’t blight the one thing that made dragging himself into that capitalistic hell hole of a tech job worth it. Besides, time away from utilising all his strength into making her frown, the odd moments of declared peace where he actually made her smile, had eased the tension -- or, irrevocable, haunting desire -- to ruin things. Ruin her. Drag her into the charcoal muck of his mind or the unmade sheets of his bed. Space was good. Space had created space which had created more space. No copper locks invading it, boundaries primed, Jasper able to focus on other idle fantasies.

Therefore, in succession of this, church made the best spot to finally eradicate his brain from committing yet another carnal sin. Closest he’d ever get to touring the infamous Notre Dam. Until there she was, wearing what was, frankly, a cruel joke. Angelic white sundress, legs sprawled across the couch. Closest he’d ever get to purposely posing one of those French girls. All rough hands and delicate skin. Like the previously unseen skin that now couldn’t help but preoccupy a dark need in him. “Fuck me,” Jasper tugged the cherry cola lolly from his mouth, grinning at how demanding it sounded, then immediately backtracked and nodded to the spill of sunlight behind her, “bit bright, innit?” Immediately swapping lolly for merlot, Jasper melted into the seat beside Rosa, doing a great job of keeping eye contact impersonal. “Not surprised you miss me. They always do,” Jasper let the words roll off curtly and lounged back, eyeing her, wondering if by saying that enough he’d eventually believe he was worth missing. “Shit hole didn’t deserve another microcosm of my time, anyway.” A truth he had to tell himself to make the medicine go down. “Promising positions?” A glint leapt through his irises like a shooting star. Could teach you a few. Words swallowed with another gulp of merlot, Jasper sank back into his usual self, exhaling, “dommy uniform mandatory? Heard latex chafes like a bitch. Reckon it’d suit you though... goes with the whole domineering attitude.” Swapping his now empty glass for a magazine and pen on the side, Jasper evaded the idea of dutiful employment and began sketching Rosa as a tiny stick figure, sprouts of hair and big beady eyes, a Coraline creature due to his lack of artistry. “Always fancied myself as one of those carnies, y’know? When we were kids, Luca told me they got paid in flying saucers and iced gems but I didn’t give a fuck about that. Me? I wanted to rule the dodgems. Ride whenever you want, break the rules, wouldn’t matter. They were proper bastards for rules back home." Real home -- rolling golden hills of Yorkshire. Some dusty backwards town where their dad wanted them all to grow up as an actual family, before he bailed again, jetting away on the back of some rusty Harley he’d poured hours of greasy labour into, the vehicular equivalent of a get out of jail card. “Threw me out ‘cause some kid smashed his teeth when I rear ended him." Left out of the story was the repeated times Jasper had pelted into him, gladiator scream erupting from deep within his chest because the burly kid, easily thrice his size, had burst the alien balloon Scout had won at the duck pond. “There. Not that you held still or nothing.” Jasper span the magazine around like he was presenting a masterpiece. A sprightly little stick figure in a dress smiled back at her, love hearts drawn erratically around her blown up pupils, affectionate expression directed towards the stick figure bad boy smoking a cartoonishly large joint next to her. “Really captured our combined beauty, don’t you agree? Picasso.”

          “stifling!” jude repeated, swilling the word around his tongue like mouthwash, a rabid energy to his movements. “big word for a big boy. stifling, stifling, stifling,” his steps were spring-laden as he bounced after his friend, loose change jangling in his jean shorts. there was something about jasper that made jude feel like a kid in a schoolyard again, standing firm against the backdrop of a hopscotch as he was dared to eat a worm, affection ribbed and wriggling in his belly like something alive and aggravated. “hey━” his fingers hooked through jasper’s beltloop, spinning him around to face him, the way he might with a girl in his kitchen before he pushed her against the sink, fairy liquid frothing around their thighs as he undressed her. “i hope you don’t just think of me as a piece of ass, jasper, but also as your lover, your brother, your sister and your friend…” a brief homage to christina aguilera. the britpop hooligan trapped inside of him was cringing. “freud would have a fuckin’ field day.” though he’d said it all wrong, pronounced freud like family feud, so often mispronouncing philosophers whose names he’d glimpsed over in dog-eared books in a vague attempt at impressing someone. there were times he wished he was booksmart, able to seamlessly quote shakespeare without batting an eyelid like his brother, but as it happened, whenever jude attempted to compare his own life’s trajectory to that of mercutio or puck, he was met with his siblings startled malfoy impressions, ‘i didn’t know you could read’.  

          attention snagged by the pixelated artwork, jude couldn’t help but admire the craftsmanship behind it, spreading his thumb and forefinger against the screen to enlarge the illustrated men. jude neglected to mention the fact that jasper was making most of the noise he was currently in the act of condemning, the hand that slid into his sending eyes snapping up, gaze snagging on jasper. “yeah, fuck it, let’s go,” he started, trying to muster the same amount of laissez-faire as his co-conspirator, palm sweating where it met jasper’s. just two guys being bros holding hands. no biggie. it wasn’t like the two of them didn’t jest about their rumoured homoerotic subplot on the daily, but such a public display of affection felt like burning the wick at both ends, the playground child in him sweating profusely at the notion that anyone would shout out ‘gaaaaaay’ and ruin his playboy reputation. not that he could even claim that any more. these days, whenever he found himself pressed against a corps dancer’s thigh, there was always a niggling part of him that wished it was lana who’d found her way to his mouth. was it possible to be cuntstruck when you hadn’t even been formally introduced to the cunt in question, black tie and sunday shoes, a little hand poking out of the labia to take your coat. 

          “half an hour? london’s fucking huge, mate.” practically everywhere was a forty minute tube ride, jude’s arm coming up to shield his eyes from the sun, a vampire leaving the cinema screen, as they pegged it out the fire escape. “where the fuck is this gig anyway?” jude asked, fishing his phone out of his pocket and almost dropping it down the stairs in the process, razor-sharp reflexes snagging it from the air just in the nick of time. “village underground? oh, it’s in fucking shoreditch. course it is.”  taking the steps two at a time down the fire exit, jude multitasked flipping between apps. a twenty-six minute uber ride in this amount of traffic would mean selling their fucking kidneys on the black market. tube was definitely the best bet. “okay, so we’re gonna’ get the northern line from leicester square, fuck about until tottenham court road. then we change and get the central line, get off at liverpool street.” seemed easy enough for someone who was born and bred in the big smoke ; still, the adrenaline pumped through his body like a performance-enhancing drug, muscles burning as he sprinted through tourists towards the shining beacon of the underground sign. “hurry the fuck up, mate” he called back to jasper, momentarily turning to jog on the spot as he waited for his friend to catch up. “tube’s in like… two minutes.” not that there wouldn’t be another one directly after. that was the thing about londoners, there was always an insatiable sense of rush despite being in the most well-connected travel spot in the country. 

“Vape lung’s got me in a death clutch, fuck. Save me, babe. I’m seeing a bunch of blonde angels and they’re whispering my name all naughty like, Jasper...” knocking into the gruff warmth of Jude’s torso, Jasper pretended to collapse like the fainting damsels in distress old Hollywood movies would puke up, extending the rush of their journey by another few moments just for the theatrical chaos of it all. Any excuse to practice his impeccable acting skills was one not to be taken in vain, after all, the skills in question were partly to blame for planting them in this mess. A curious gaze over Jude’s shoulder as Jasper hauled himself back up signalled a suit also jogging towards their tube, failing miserably to keep his patchwork tie from flapping back into his corneas as he sprinted to make it. “Oh shit, you weren’t kidding. All aboard, mate. Dunno why you’re slacking.” One jovial slap on the back and an athletic leap of the ticket barriers later and they were travelling full speed ahead towards today’s designated adventure -- The Scarlet Rose pub, Shoreditch’s dingiest gig venue with even dingier clientele, something Sid and Nancy would hiss irreversible curses at each other in before dry humping against the rotting velvet sofas of. Truly, it was brutal out here. Making use of their quality time huddled together on the tube, Jasper brought up the alternate posters that had been sent his way with a slew of question marks. “The cock on your head is quite endowed here, at least. Did a nice job on the eyebrows. Mine make me look like that fuckin’ Franco bloke, the fuck’s that about?” Unsure why this artistic decision was weighing so heavily on him, Jasper had a quick glance at his real life eyebrows in a passing reflection on the tube as they hopped off, assuring himself they were only wild within the correct limits eyebrows should be.

Despite asking Jude for a ride on his toned back one too many times, Jasper gave up his fantasies of being carried to the venue like a koala bear and reluctantly toked on the dying vape pen Lana had yet to confiscate for “crimes against ants” during their trek there. “Feel like Grandpa Joe slayed the game back in his hay day. Twinkle in his eye jumping to his feet, man put in the work to retain that kind of thigh muscle after years of being a glorified bed bug.” Besides relying on sex as his favoured exercise regime, Jasper had been plying himself with enough booze and illicit substances to barely hack the cardio London often required. All his muscle gains were just for vanity and show, as was often the way with his persona. Not necessarily with Jude though -- he and Lana were the sometime lone exception to the rule. A sneak peek behind the Wizard’s curtain. Terrifying. “Fuck’s sake, Anthony. Of all the sly pricks in Timbuktu.” Anthony was, of course, yet another bouncer who had developed a disdain for the pair of them. One of them had probably chatted up his considerably more attractive wife. Or more likely, been thrown out for slinging a drink across the bar to the other cowboy style, only for glass shards to splatter across the floor. Approaching him wearily, Jasper outstretched his arms in the air in an overly enthusiastic greeting. “Tony the Tiger, you old dog!” The bouncer rubbed the ink covering his forearm -- a topless mermaid, quite tastefully drawn, actually. “Fuck do you two want?” Jasper allowed his arrogance to hold his tongue hostage. “I want the world, mate. Pint or two would be nice -- Jude’s a thirsty boy. Don’t be a tit, now.” To the surprise of everyone, Anthony stepped aside, not caring for a dispute this early in the evening. “Hold your horses, sexy,” Jasper cooed back to Jude as they were granted entrance into the grime fest. Music was already blaring but Marilyn’s Revenge had yet to take centre stage, still tuning up in the back. “Reckon we should get blind drunk for this. Adds to the exposing thrill of it all.”

     now only holding the bowl of the glass, the woman threw back the last of the awful wine, perhaps a little faster than she should have. in contrast to her previous actions, she carefully laid it down and apologised to the bartender. “i’m sorry. i’ll reinburse you for the glass.” just when clarissa feels like she was calming down, the young man opens his mouth yet again spouting pompous anecdotes, ones that felt personal enough to get her riled up again. everything was beginning to become overwhelming - why her meeting with her friend was so important to her yet they hadn’t even showed up… she needed to get things off her chest before her panic took over her. “don’t tell me to cheer up.” she snapped again. “do we know each other? you seem to know my name yet you’re trying to push me.” it was an unfortunate time to come into contact with clarissa, when she was hurt and feeling rather wounded. it would have been so easy to ignore it if her husband hadn’t insisted on a divorce but now there was no coming back from it and that terrified her.

“Do we know each other? Way to shit on the little guy, I work tech at Furore.” Rumbled by the lethal dose of ego poison which crudely reminded Jasper not everybody on the planet was centred around the very thrill of his existence, he pressed the jut of his thumb into one of the tiny remaining shards of glass. “It’s called the art of conversation, pet. Not my fault if you can’t hold one to save your life.” A dapple of blood was then sucked away from his self perpetuated injury, a quick buzz to starve off the boredom. Jasper then swivelled on his bar stool like a vindicated toddler, feet kicking into the oak of the bar to immediately steady himself in a slightly opposing direction. An iPhone quickly emerged into his grip, screen almost too cracked to work but it was blatant that he was texting his group WhatsApp with Lana and Jude -- “looks like our music director isn’t dtf. sad.😭💔💔”

“ dorsia’s full. ” carmen sat down at the bar, and, in lieu of catching the bartender’s eye, simply focused on the one who’d greeted her. “what’s your excuse? and are you buying me a drink?”

“I’ll buy you several. Turn tonight into a blur we both regret, fancy it?” Not bothering to hover about for an answer, Jasper flagged down a Monkey Shoulder on the rocks for himself and a peach Bellini for Carmen -- a blindly sweet choice reminiscent of what her perfume told him her neck might taste like. Once his drink arrived, Jasper swallowed the careless thoughts with a rush of amber whiskey, realising he’d been drowning his sorrows for a long while. Probably learnt synchronized swimming by now. “Drink up, buttercup. If you’re good I’ll dedicate an Elvis song to you on karaoke later.”

    clarissa had been quickly reminded of an all too fresh situation. the woman was a private person - there was no need for her to broadcast that she was getting divorced and at this point, had no intention of telling anyone. the disdain for the other was clear on her face yet the other carried on. her face tensed further as her marriage was brought into it. considering the thing had completely been obliterated and dismissed by one party, a party that showed remorse but most likely for not ending it sooner with her. the woman slammed her wine glass into the bar in reaction to the next comment, causing the stem to snap. the other half of the glass still in her hand, she looked towards the bartender in an embarrassed fashion before before turning back to the other. “you need to keep your mouth shut.” he had still been sleeping with her during this time, but looking back it had been from a point of his frustration rather than love.

Taking Clarissa’s theatrical lead in the matter, Jasper, too, smashed his newly emptied glass on the bar, holding the meatiest shard in the air after like a victorious Thor. “Another!” Never had a dustpan and brush emerged so fast. Apologising to their bartender with a knowing wink, Jasper need not remind him that he was operating very much on an entitled free pass since catching the owner in an uncompromising position with his on duty manager. “Much prefer it open actually. Gets the oxygen in, need it to exist and all,” Jasper exhaled for the longest time. “See, that’s the beauty of it. We get to exist.” Unlike his elder brother Luca who just kicked off so spectacularly at his latest sentencing hearing that he had to be hauled off the docks by security. “Imagine being a chimp in the zoo, Clarissa. Your only entertainment throwing shit at the window when a kid blows a raspberry on the glass. Could always be worse. Cheer up, love.” 

     it wasn’t going to take much for the music director to be riled up with rudeness when she was in this mindset; her friend, not turning up and ignoring her messages, the ongoing situation with her soon-to-be-ex husband, feeling at fault for all of it. the woman appeared to grimace at the pet name. once her distaste was shown, clarissa had hoped that the remarks would come to an end - she had been wrong about that too. “let’s see, i’ve been stood up and now someone has decided to bother me.” she glared towards the familiar face, unable to name him but recognising it as familiar. at his statement, the woman shook her head. “that’s the first sensical statement you’ve made so far.” picking up her glass, the woman took a large gulp of the terrible wine, grimacing again as if it had just been a shot.

“Fairs. Often been compared to that wise old owl from Winnie the Pooh. Oh fuck, those kind of problems, aye?” Following Clarissa’s fashion, Jasper raised the old fashioned to his lips and knocked the rest back in one swift motion, enjoying the way amber licked and lapped his oesophagus on the fiery way down. “Got 99 myself but fuck me if a ring is one. This is the trouble with you married folk. Never know when to call it quits.” At least that was his father’s excuse for dodging the aspect of marrying his mother. Taint the crooked picture of love he exaggerated they had together. Rings only ruin things, Jas. You’ll learn about that life lesson when you’ve got hair on your chin. Like hair was synonymous with developing brain cells. “Look like you need some better luck... a better fuck would also do you wonders.”

Frankly, everything about Jasper had Rosa infuriated at almost all times. She hated that there was fondness for him, still considered him a friend - for Lana’s sake, if anyone asked. But truthfully, he reminded her of the side of Rosa that came out when she forgot about responsibility, let loose when she could, usually with the help of a few drinks or a pill Lana gave her before parties. Rosa didn’t know when this insistent need for control took over - maybe when it completely fell apart in their family, when her elder siblings became the trouble children and her dad pushed pressure onto her to be good, to be the perfect daughter. She was realistic, knew she couldn’t be that, but she did her best when a job was put into her hands. It’s why she hated how tempting the offer was, lips pinching together as Jasper gifted it to her like it was nothing more than a harmless glass of water. Take it and quench her thirst, or push it away, dehydrate her inner needs more, “If you’re so against helping me, you could just say so,” she huffed, turning her face to the side, too embarrassed to make eye contact - she was blushing, humiliated at the fact. The only way Jasper wouldn’t notice was if she fully turned her back to him, and how obvious would that be? “I know you think I’m no fun, but I actually am, when it’s appropriate. If you hate the job so much, just quit,” Brows rising, a challenge she didn’t actually want him to meet. More than anything, she wished there was a reason for the technical crew to stay for the rest of rehearsal - realistically, there wasn’t. Probably had the directors rolling their eyes if they left, but no reprimand would come of it. And Rosa was nothing if stubborn. Wouldn’t bad mouth the company (goody two-shoes), but shrugged, as if leaving before the studio was empty didn’t have her mouth going completely dry, “Whatever, fine. I don’t care,” She did. Too much, “As long as you can guarantee this isn’t a total waste of my time, we can go. However,” Suddenly, jutting her right fist forward, Rosa’s pinky finger stood out from the rest, “if you do waste my time, and I get bored at any moment, you owe me a favour so important to me, we can never talk again if you don’t do it. Deal?”

Slinking his pinky around Rosa’s with zero hesitation, Jasper pushed back off the brick wall and leaned into her just enough to maintain eye contact whilst keeping that crucial gap of distance. Energy already reverberating in his chest from being this up close and personal. “I want the favour anyway, being indebted to you excites me. Maybe it’s the threat of corporal punishment.” Or silent treatment. Almost certain Jasper could show Rosa at least half of an exponentially good time, he gave her clothing a pointed tug to indicate she follow in his descent down gum splattered steps. “For the record, you’re alright.” Taking the steps a rhythmic two at a time, Jasper continued giving Rosa a penny for his thoughts, a smirk dancing at the corners of his lips, “only having fun when it’s appropriate shows a level of restraint I just wouldn’t associate with a redhead.” At least not the ones he was fond of associating with but over familiarity often bred contempt. “Hope you’re ready for the ride of your life.” Of course, it only left his mouth when a pristinely wrapped Aston Martin with fresh 2022 plates came into view. Parked on paint chipped yellow lines of course but a fine was only trouble for the poor sod it actually belonged to. “How could I possibly quit when Furore pays this well? Don’t be absurd, Rosa.” A slap on the shiny hood cemented Jasper’s very blatant lie. Truth was he hadn’t even personally swiped this one, was just minding it for a very loosely termed friend of a friend. Problem was when you worked the realms of the underworld, you got acquainted with all sorts of clientele -- this particular vehicle had been won in a vicious game of Mouse Trap. Or so Jasper make believed, as the truth was often considerably darker. Ask no questions, hear no lies. “Jump in then.” Jasper waited for Rosa to enter his peripheral before extending his hand to the passenger door clasp. “D.W, I’ll keep the hood up.” Click. Jasper’s fingers lingered on the handle as he focused the entirety of his attention on Rosa, eyes travelling the copper strands he’d been toying with just moments earlier. “I like to drive fast and we wouldn’t want a hair out of place, would we?”

krisha   opens   the   door   and   isn’t   prepared   for   what’s   on   the   other   side   .   she   was   meant   to   meet   someone   ,   but   this   didn’t   seem   like   the   right   place   .   her   eyes   were   wide   ,   taking   everything   in   .   she   approaches   the   first   person   she   sees   ,   and   ,   luckily   ,   it’s   a   face   she   thinks   she   recognizes.   “   um   ,   a   mis   -   typed   address   it   seems   .   probably   not   as   juicy   as   you   were   hoping   for   .   ”

“14.7% as juicy as I was hoping, Krisha. Don’t fret, you can always make it up to me.” Kicking out the spare bar stool that was positioned next to him, Jasper signalled for her to take a seat with an inviting Cheshire cat’s grin and a waft of his newly emptied beer bottle. Truthfully Jasper’s reason for drinking on a dull afternoon were conceivably less juicy but he opted to distract Krisha instead of stumbling into a bleak confession. “Since you’re here, what can I get you? I have a remarkable ability to guess somebody’s favourite poison.” An unholy spread of cash notes were flourished to mimic a spread of poker cards as Jasper surveyed Krisha over the top for effect. “You look like a champagne and sparklers kinda gal.”

     this had not been clarissa’s choice of location. a supposed friend wanted to meet up with her, one that she’d known from her school days yet they hadn’t showed. perhaps her husband had been right when he labelled her ‘a bit much’ after her intense reaction to his mistake but someone else had stood her up and she would take it personally. the woman had left for a moment just to check if they were waiting outside but they weren’t. she was upset with them. still, the woman needed a drink after this week. walking back in, it felt she was instantly met with more questions. looking at the other in disgust, the music director leant against the bar. “a drink.” she responded bluntly.

Sensational that Clarissa had just walked in, a lotus blooming in the murky rivers of Jasper’s eternal paradise. “Anything for you, petal.” Saluting towards his bartender, Jasper ordered a couple of ice dunked old fashions to be sent careering towards them like they’d all just stepped foot inside a wild western he was starring in. A dainty splash and a quick swig later, Jasper placed his half empty drink down back down on the circular tray. "What’s with the long face, director? Won’t lie, it’s working for you. Got a kinda sad hedgehog thing going on.” Toasting the almost compliment, Jasper clinked Clarissa’s glass with his before swirling its amber contents. “Can’t be men trouble, can it? We are heartless bastards, after all.”

Lana scoffed like Clarence had suggested something as preposterous as her interviewing for an investment banking position, jilting a thumb at him with all the theatrics of a pantomime production. “Get a load of this guy. Clarice. Like, whatever, go hug your silent lambs,” she dismissed, unable to tune into whatever Serious Sally station he’d dialled his radio to – something she always struggled with, the type to throw her hands in the air and shriek out a giddy laugh no matter how steep the rollercoaster. It was like another lens had popped down to double up on the rosy tint Lana’s brain basked the world in, oblivious to the tremor in Clarence’s hands the same way a fruit fly unknowingly perched in a blob of jam without any care over sticky wings – laughter was apricots softened to sweet mulch in a pan, spread out over toast to hide all of the burnt bits, and Jasper made Lana laugh all the time. Practically prancing to the side of the stage, supposed injury completely forgotten, Lana leaned in to thumb at his screen in investigation. “A slip for a sexy cheerleader? You’re totally blurring your genres. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I have a slip you could totally work – it’s, like, kinda see through, so you’d be serving cock silhouette like Beyonce in partition when she’s writhing in the shadows – but. You probably want a tennis skirt,” Lana nodded at her own suggestion, though quickly grew distracted with a thumb pausing in the chat’s history, right on top of a cock full frontal paired with a goat mask. It was the kind of thing you’d imagine someone wearing to go streaking in the woods, soles of their feet sprinted muddy and ass cheeks mottled by gnat bites. “Huh,” she let out like she’d found herself standing in front of a particularly abstract modern painting, attempting to divulge some deep, philosophical meaning. “Mammoth cock,” was all she settled on, no more shocked than if she’d spotted a cigarette butt on the pavement. Fetching her things, she tugged Jasper by the sleeve to the closest exit. “That’s, like, a pretty good statistic. I mean, it was way higher when I had a threeway with this farmer off Craigslist – he chased me through his cabbage patch, tits out, then the guy I was with crashed his truck into a tree when we were trying to make our getaway. Running through the woods tits to the wind totally isn’t as fun as it sounds. Like, it gets old after the first five minutes. A moth flew into my bellybutton.” The trek back to the church was as wrought with chatter as it always was – in fact, just as they were slipping through the front doors, past a giant inflatable flamingo that’d been one of her latest impulsive purchases, Lana was beginning to connect the dots. “Wait, so my guy’s called, like – I wanna say Tristan? He’s from the pony play community but then he got totally sucked into this multilevel marketing thing, like, selling all these ointments – it was all he’d post about and it was like, um, we get it, this cream will totally save everyone’s ashy elbows, let’s all just relax a little on the lotions.” Taking the staircase two at a time like a grasshopper after hitting a particularly potent pipe, gone static with excess energy, Lana gestured wildly. “So he abandons the latex. Saddest moment ever. Moves to London. Like, this is before I came here, back when he was crawling around at my parties letting people ride him. He always whinnied the loudest when I hit him with a crop, it was amazing. Like, total dedication to the role. Academy nominee.” Shoving open her bedroom door, Lana flounced immediately to her closet, beginning to leaf through for potential candidates – on the way, she’d snatched up a bottle of Merlot by the neck, already popped the cork with her thumb to pull it up and take a swig. “Guess the ointment thing fell through, though, ‘cause he hit me up asking if I wanted him to crawl around like a naughty little pony in the paddock after he saw I’d moved local on Insta – you’re telling me they go to the same club?” Lana tossed a ghostly slip back at Jasper, then a tennis skirt shortly after, providing options. Next she fetched one of Fryda’s corsets from it’s crumpled spot on the floor, held it up against her chest as she considered shambling together some sultry Victorian take on a vampire priestess. “He’ll probably be there. Works out good, ‘cause I need to put in an order. Horses,” she chattered as she set about changing, shimmying around and snatching at garments. Eventually, she was left in an untied white corset over a sheering white mini, suddenly vying for undead bride. “Gonna do a cowboy thing at the church – next weekend, probably. You should come.” Then, pointedly. “Rosa’s gonna be there – breasting boobily all over the place, and everything, spilling out of her shirt like a busty milk maiden.” Grin gone impish, she flapped a hand in wordless request that he assist with the corset’s lacing behind her, rhythm between them unspoken as siblings. Then, unable to help herself, Lana sold it as best she could. “You know, she totally told me she wants to walk you around this very church on a leash, the other day. She’s pretty wild. Like, fee fi fo fum, Rosa is a dommy mom.”

“Tristan? Sure you aren’t on about Dustin? Pig play guy? Rubs mud on his nips and sells the video tapes on eBay? Fucking vintage savage. Hang about, I remember. They had that whole spat about who coined the ointment market. Dustin selling his “oinkments” and all. Jesus, how do we find these reprobates?” Jasper ended his trip down memory lane with a musical oink. “Tasted just like smoky bacon, I heard.” ‘Heard’ being a liberal rendition of events as he’d shot gunned a free sample after conceding to a game of dares with Jude that had long since gotten out of hand. Was it even edible? Would his luscious chocolate tufts reap the revenge of not-meant-to-be-swallowed “oinkments”? “I’d make such a fuckable Vin Diesel. Fast and bloody glorious,” remarking seemingly out of nowhere, Jasper continued to toss garments around Lana’s room as he feigned an interest in her growing floordrobe. Gothic slip caught mid toss, Jasper clambered inside black silk with all the grace of swan christening its wings during a first time glide down the Thames, almost like the dress had become ethereally entwined with him. Deeming it almost too sexy for human consumption, Jasper ripped it off, admiring his handiwork and ability to tear a dress into shreds with very little effort on his part. “Oh, looked a bit shit anyway.” Another sensational apology. It’s not like he didn’t spoil Lana with such gifts on the odd occasion he made more bank on a car heist, treating her to mimosas at lavish sky bars or underground 1920′s jazz nights with even stranger characters who’d also spoil her with other ridiculous items. One waiter even offered Lana his sparkling glass eye for her hand in marriage -- the wildest take on an engagement ring Jasper had ever seen. Lana’s besotting effect on men had never ceased to both amaze and deeply concern Jasper, often urging him to shadow his favourite girlfriend like the eyeliner smeared hero of Vengeance to make sure nobody smashed the lopsided halo above her head. In Jasper’s eyes, it had always belonged there, with a glittery lilt and an absurd cherry aura. That was--until--she mentioned Rosa. Better yet, Rosa’s breasts. Or even better, an image of him being forced to walk on all fours, submitting to ideas that already plagued him. A bark of laughter escaped Jasper as he casually planted a costumed police helmet above his head, idly hoping it’d have a tin foil effect and shroud out his train of thoughts. Gone were ideas of sexy cheerleader, back were images of YMCA. “Dommy mom? I’m pocketing that one.” Maybe he could mither Minki with the term somehow. “Try and leash me. My teeth transform into razorblades, I can bite through anything. Can’t be tamed, Lana. It’d be like... a human rights crime." Although if there were anybody to do it. “I do--...” think it’d be her. Fuck right off, Lana. “Make haste, James. Henrique is an impatient guy, do you want to feel the wrath of his cane again?” Blurry memories of asking for a spank whilst shitfaced with Lana a few moons ago blasted through Jasper’s mind, which was already jumbled with a bunch of unthinkable things. A quick mouth rinse after snatching Lana’s bottle of Merlot almost did the trick to block it all out. “Sadly, I’m not drinking and driving us there tonight,” he quipped mournfully, missing the feel of a gearstick grating the underneath of his palm. Lack of vehicle being the only reason. “So we walk like peasants. Not even that far, don’t fret your tiny little toes.” It was in fact that far. “Well, nothing like some brisk unnecessary cardio to really get your tits popping.” Panting slightly outside a gothic building in the grimier area of South London, Jasper adjusted the mesh of his sheer top, enjoying the way it clung to the taut of his abdominal muscles. As he’d put it to Lana -- he was putting the Cunt in YMCA. It’d occurred to him that didn’t really work for an abbreviation of “Christian” but frankly never mind. Maybe the generous swigs of Merlot on the journey were already making his brain dance in unfathomable ways. “Nice. Looks like a Saw trap. Must be the place.” Planting his hands on Lana’s dainty shoulder blades, he manoeuvred her like the Jigsaw puppet, making the creaking sounds of a tricycle in her ear for entertainment purposes as they bumbled over the threshold and into the thumping belly of the beast. 

📱 → NICO LET’S GoOo🤘

amaryllis:   what is something or someone that your muse takes pride in ?   how do they express that pride ?

specifically speaking, jasper managed to kill his sister bethan’s tamagotchi in record breaking time when stumbling upon it. a sense of sickening pride that made him worry abt his potential for enjoying a good old fashioned murder. generally speaking, there isn’t much he’s proud of. he deliberately acts against making himself proud bcs in true tribute to lip gallagher jasper thrives on amassing self hatred and expresses that through his fists n his [redacted]

daffodil:   is your muse one to be loyal in relationships ,   or are they likely to quickly move from one bond to another ?

grits jaw n kisses teeth fr the longest time. it’s a no from me - simon cowell. i feel like if he found the absolute right person then yah there’s potential for loyalty until the honeymoon wears off n he just reverts back to his old ways again. that’s his ol’ father in him aka jasper’s feeble excuse for being fickle, selfish and cock driven at the best of times. smells like a fear of intimacy to me. [deranged effy voice] from the moment i saw u i knew u were the closest i’d get...... to being close 

heliotrope:   does your muse believe in soulmates ?

⭐️ for a random headcanon about our muses

jasper saved up his car thievery funds to snap up two tickets to see olivia rodrigo w jude (scout scream crying at jasper bcs he dipped out of paying rent again that same month). HGDFFGUDFGDUH date of the century. just two dudes being bros whilst also appreciating brutal musical genius. feel like it began as a joke but :/ them tasty beats get the best of us. he deffo collected jude one day in one of his latest pinched whips.........a mcdonald's happy meal box waiting for him on the leather seats w his ticket stashed carefully inside the nuggets box as the ultimate kinder surprise..........speeding red lights to make sure it was all still warm enough for satisfying consumption. u can’t say he’s not sentimental about his fave judey. treat them mean keep them keen does not apply here

🍺 for my muses drunk reaction around yours

“Some people were born for greatness, feel like I was born to bleed, bro’.” Examining the cherry splatter criss-crossing his knuckles, Jasper let out a bitter, defeated scoff reminiscent of the gruff bark of an aging presa canario chain tied to a pole at an old junkyard lot. Cars too battered and broken to be worth guarding anymore. Sometimes Jasper fancied digging deep inside himself and selling whatever he could salvage for parts at the same scrapyard. God, where was he choosing to roll up? What bloody events had even transpired? Defending Lana’s honour from a rowdy buffoon who didn’t like being compared to Mr. Bean, probably. An aging guy nursing the same pint he’d been drinking all night stood next to him in the blistering chill of the smoking pit and quickly became a fixation for Jasper’s drunken chat. Shit, wait a second, was that Mr. Bean? “Y’know that song? Don’t wanna talk baby, I just wanna dance,” he sang under his breath and continued sprinkling a messy layer of tobacco onto stolen papers. “You met a girl who makes you feel like that? Just fucking dancing.” Not just fucking. A mind blowing concept so powerful it almost blew some of his tobacco away. Anarchy lighter sparked, curling fumes were sucked deep into the gauge in Jasper’s chest. “Or what about that fuckin’ quote? How’s it go? She’s the only evidence of god I can find on this entire planet.” Mr. Bean nodded along, adding that Elmo’s Fire was actually a fond favourite of his but Jasper just blew a smoke ring through his attempts at getting a word in. “Fuck do you do if you meet a girl like that?” Blow it, evidently. Squinting into the harsh air, Jasper tried to knock the twirling copper tresses from his head and flicked away the spent cig, accidently scorching the hairs on the poor chap’s forearm. “No help at all, mate. Thanks a bunch.”