Nov 18, 2025
@bruisedpenny
Puts down coffee. "Coffee."
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@bruisedpenny
Puts down coffee. "Coffee."
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@bruisedpenny
"is this your toothbrush. does this belong to you."
@bruisedpenny: i think you got something there, kid. / from pash
memes, accepting
the boy – muck-and-malaise upon visage – all but jumps to robin egg skyline. (normally has much more sharp sight toward strangers. survival tactic.) his bloodshot eyes twist, tack onto shadow. like an inkblot bleeding alley pathway. he stares. dazed awareness morphs to kidhood petulance.
“ keep walkin’. ” reply lacks legitimate bite.
@bruisedpenny liked 4 a starter. (pasha)
why's there so much fuckin shit in here? not that he's one to talk. chris fumbles about in the footwell of the capri, “i'm fuckin tryin! maybe it's about time you got a damn home. how old are you?” he's insinuating she's too long in the tooth to be some weird nomadic columbo. he's crashing out, she should be used to it.
“aw fuck, got it.” chris emerges from the depths, piece of paper in hand. he should've kept hold of it properly in the first place. “k... d... e... two,” he looks ahead at the car they're trailing. that's the one.
@bruisedpenny as giddy said: it's just one of those things that gets in my head and keeps rolling around in there like a marble.
columbo.
it takes roy a few too many seconds to look up. and when he does, it's with the indistinctly distracted look of someone only recently found from being lost in thought.
"i got a couple thousand goddamn marbles myself."
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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pashandra / pidge / giddy
Pidge you just can't move the strings on a man's crime map revenge board!!!!
@bruisedpenny: a bowling alley with sticky floors and neon lights. / from pash lets fuckin go
under the buzzing, inconsistent glow of neon, frederick looks less himself than he realizes: the colors are absorbed and reflected unattractively by his skin, which is too pallid for the season. the shadows cast emphasize the lines above his brow as well as the hooding of his eyes, which when turned on any poor soul from the wrong angle can make him appear menacing, his features sunken into a face that’d be friendly in another setting.
he has a lane to himself, down the far end. he hasn’t returned to it in three beers, two hot dogs, and a roll of coins dumped into galaga. every so often he catches the score-keeping television screen from a distance as it rolls from a sinister animation to his initials, FLM, and thinks—fuck ly mife.
“i’m not a hobbyist,” he says as he drops his rental shoes onto the counter, held with two fingers of one hand. he smiles tiredly at the attendant. “don’t know what made me confident i’d enjoy it alone. i’m—there.” he points. “if you want to give it to the next one.”
@bruisedpenny as pasha said: "it's terrific not recognizing yourself when you look in the mirror."
running on empty.
mutt's inhale chafes over his chapped dry lips, chased by a brief flicker of his tongue's tip. pasha hasn't asked about the contusion around his eye, spreading down to his cheekbone, and most like she won't, and that's just as well.
"i don't worry too much what i look like."
he doesn't want to tell her he doesn't like mirrors. she doesn't need, or deserve, to know his insecurities, and he'd rather not force them out from behind their walls.