#bohemiens

Me Before I Quit Smoking Perhaps Sal Paradise and Dean Moriarty had it right? Drive a beat-up car across the country, searching for the real America; find that touchable and believable reality. The young Marylou is along for the ride; she adds the angst to their search: a real woman, one to drive the two of them mad. Three is a tangled mess. Two recovering Catholic boys question their…

Baby Doll has always been a rather tactile person, especially ever since she's gotten settled into the Moulin Rouge and comfortable with the family she's found here. She loves it, seldom does time go by without some sort of physical contact, a hand hold, a hug, a kiss on the cheek, even if just in passing. And so of course, she always likes to spread a little love herself if she can. It always makes her feel better and perks up her mood, so it stands to reason that it might do the same for others.

she isn't particularly easy to amuse, but in the right light, she can find the humor in anything. that, and a saccharine smirk is almost the resting state of her face so early in the night. but that's not quite what this is not difficult to mistake as her time-rusted fingers ghost over pages and pages of writing : words and music alike, languages only really known to muscle memory anymore. ❝ what? oh, no, just —- ❞ but she does laugh again, this time a bit more at herself. just for that, she knows she owes an explanation. november shakes her head.

❝ you're an artist. for real. i don't meet many o' those. ❞ appreciation makes itself more apparent, and not just to save face. november's days and nights are numbered — more concerned with the facts and figures, that is. matters like this, songs of the heart, are like old wives' tales in her line of work.

she can indulge in presentations, in the finished products, and often she does. IT'S DIFFERENT ON THE INSIDE, catching a glimpse behind the curtain at the stark, bare, mid-process creative. to each their own, she supposes. she was always better at the performance, taking directions. ❝ feel like i'm not supposed to be seeing this. like i caught mama stuffing the stockings. ❞ she ribs, sliding one paper over the next, letting the scriptures shield themselves and each other.

love is a many-splendored thing

IN-DEPTH HEADCANON QUESTIONS

"i won't deny, my silver spoon has fed me good." my words are casual, small smile tugging at the corners of my lips. i did have a reputation to uphold after all, the soulless money suck ... what was the other one? soulless corporate leech. "but everything i have i did myself. i worked to be where i am today."

"ugh." my eyes roll, face scrunching up at the question. being nice? that's not exactly my strong suit. it's easier to shut down conversation with sharp words and cold glares. being nice hadn't gotten me anywhere in the past, so why would it now? "being nice won't work." i was complaining about work after all. being kind isn't something that comes easily to anyone who works at mythic quest, well maybe david. "the creative director ... well if i'm nice to him it will only inflate his ego more and make the situation worse." i sigh, shaking my head from side to side. "besides, being nice is so boring. kindness is just a waste of my time."

Less cringy USFW prompts. ( Accepting! )

❝ Oh, I think you can guess, ❞ She whispers indulgently against his ear, dropping the scarf she'd been working free of his neck. Her lips press a kiss to Christian's cheek, almost chaste in that moment, save for the fact she is straddling his lap on the small chaise. Christine grins, retreating enough so that he may finally see her expression. In truth, she doesn't know the reason why she pursues this — Or at least she does know, & refuses to admit it to herself — Nevertheless her fingers gently start tugging at the ties to her dressing gown at her waist. It comes undone like a spill, one fluid motion, & then the ballerina's focus is intently back on him.

❝ But... ❞ Her cheeks color pink. She shifts slightly against him, purposefully, then reaches for one of his hands that had been sat at her hips. ❝ I also think showing you is more fun. ❞

Pure mischief glints in Christine's eyes, her shy smile growing broad. Her fingers gently curl against the back of his right hand, picking it up, hovering it over her heart... Then her lips press together in thought, guiding his hand between them instead to rest on the inside of her upper thigh. She squeezes slightly, as if encouraging him to do the same, & she just barely suppresses a delighted shiver.