⠀  𝖻𝗈𝗋𝗇 𝗁𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗋𝗒 ﹐

toes dig into sand, arm stretching up and behind to build momentum into launching a football through the air. breath catching in throat from exertion, gaze pinned on the spinning oval as it flies through the air until someone walks into the path of its' landing. " hey — watch out! " beck yells, hoping the ball wouldn't collide with a wedding guest and make for an awkward icebreaker, or ruin their whole look in the lead up to the big ceremony.

sea salt breeze tousles unbound mane as she strolls across the shoreline. the sight is practically alien for the woman with a strong preference for always being put together. just as she'd begun enjoying the tranquility of new scenery, a voice slices through peace. gaze shifts, finding source and locking on incoming football. manicured hand lifts and bats projectile away, avoiding an ugly collision with angular features. “ i hope you're better on the ice. ” she deadpans, ball rolling across sand near her feet.

#𝗳𝗮𝗶𝗿𝘆𝘁𝗼𝗽𝟭𝗮𝘀,    open starter‚  accepting replies

nose scrunches in disapproval, hands remain unmoved from their perch on hips. “ in what world is a dessert worth syrupy fingers? ” brows are furrowed in a way that mirrors patriarch's image. when head tilts brown locks cascade over shoulder, lower lip captured thoughtfully between ivories. “ if they care about optics they should come with complimentary wipes. ”