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“it’s not what it looks like,” he makes an utterly feeble attempt at denying the very obvious scene that is on display in front of @acidcorrodes, louis vuitton jacket coated in red, red, red inky splotches, mouth painted fire engine, and hands all the same. “— don’t run?”
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"Yeah, well —my mate's been fixing together these... eh —what's she fuckin' call 'em..." You're fucking up, Livingston. Staring at the intricately woven lanyard keychain displayed in the smooth stead of her palm like it was speaking in tongues. The over-bitten seam of her mouth tightens at the corners, a look of inwardly-pointed dissatisfaction at her careless mind. She had about twenty of these bloody things weighing down the pockets of her Salvation Army canvas
...—who'd had thought? A nice and clean I can try to sell some of the little shits for you, Abra and suddenly she was peddling mad. And, like the worst peddler she's ever known ( she is ), the name of the caterpillar-shaped keychain in her open palm was simply evading her. Cee rubs at her brow with her free hand, near-dwindled cigarette burning low between her middle and ring. "Ah, shit. Boondoggle keychains. That's not what she calls them, but that's what this is. Nice, right?"
@acidcorrodes liked for a starter.
Happy Days
Kveta snuck through the house, quiet as a mouse, just like always, but tonight there was a smirk on her face as she tip-toed to the room she shared with her big brother. Busting through the door with her hip, she pulled out two cans of silly string, laughing brightly as they hissed out the colorful string. "Surprise!" @acidcorrodes
@acidcorrodes
( ✉ → sms ) i j sut left you a 3 mintue long voicemail singing. sorry
( ✉ → sms ) no te presentes nunca a x factor
( ✉ → sms ) en serio, no lo hagas
maybe it's time to stop drinking, he thinks to himself for what has to be the hundredth time this month. the reason behind this thought is this time not the way his hands shake when it's been too long between his kissing the bottle, nor is it the sick feeling in his stomach that follows him everywhere, but something new and potentially much worse ⸻ hallucinations? he has to be seeing things, has to be. after all, deja vu is not a particularly more reassuring possibility where explanations are concerned, is it? he stares at the stranger on the sidewalk with an expression that is caught somewhere between entertaining thoughts that he's having a mental fit, and having seen a ghost. and maybe, just maybe the last possibility to come to mind is the most realistic explanation for how the stranger on the sidewalk was just on the slab in the mortuary a week ago, how oliver had put him in the ground in an unmarked grave, only to now see him standing in front of him. "i know you," he murmurs, shaking his head at @acidcorrodes in disbelief, "i mean, i've seen you. i buried you."
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gods, he's a beautiful man. oliver couldn't say for sure that the lingering look they share is any indication that the moment is right to do what he does or that the feeling is reciprocated, but at any rate, oliver takes the opportunity presented by @acidcorrodes to lean in closer, green hues flitting back up to blue to confirm that this intrusion of personal space isn't totally unwelcome before full lips press against dmitry's ⸻ soft and insistent, but boyish and unsure all the same, before he pulls back to gauge the other's reaction.
@acidcorrodes
( ✉ → sms ) why do they say drugs are bad when they make you feel so good
( ✉ → sms ) i’ll tell u why in one word
( ✉ → sms ) mamones
"There was a time when the dead were sacred."
“¿Y de qué les servía? I mean, estaban ya muertos y a pesar de que hubiesen leyendas, eso es dar mucho ruido y pocas nueces.”
