#vicebuilt

❛ hit  my  head, ❜   murphy  scoffs.  shit,  someone  had  seen.  what  a  fool.   ❛ no,  i  didn’t  hit  my  head.  a  smirk.   

❛ why ?  want  to  kiss  it  better ? ❜  

❝     free  steak  dinner.     new  truck.     waylon  jennings  alive  and  well.     ❞          his  voice  is  low,   steady,   and  void  of  any  humor.     like  a  somber,   distance  roll  of  thunder   ---------   something  that  couldn’t  be  stopped  or  changed  unless  it  stopped  itself.     one  thing  vince  morrison  never  was  was  a  man  who  didn’t  know  how  to  speak.     unlike  most  men,   he  knew  himself.     he  knew  what  he  was,   what  he  wanted.     he  also  knew  his  patience  was  thin,   like  a  coat  of  paint  that  could  chip  away  at  the  slightest  disturbance.     her  question  picked  at  that  old,   cracked  coat.     it  scratched  at  that  holy  temper  behind  his  eyes,   thunder  threatening  to  roll  again.

he  knew  she  knew  what  his  real  answer  was.     it  was  her.     he’d  been  open  about  that  for  a  while  now,   so  he  didn’t  feel  the  need  to  say  it  again.     not  when  it  wasn’t  reciprocated.     he’d  been  open  about  being  okay  with  her  not  feeling  the  same   ---------   hell,   he  wouldn’t  want  to  love  him.     but,   there  was  a  point  when  that  specific  coat  of  patience  wore  thin  just  like  the  rest  of  it.     a  point  when  he  was  just  about  done  with  feeling  like  something  disposable.

send  ❛ ♡ ❜  to suddenly hug my muse   /   accepting.

       it’s unexpected, enveloped in a kind of sincerity that adam was never quite sure how to navigate. he wraps his arms gently around her waist with slight hesitance, blue eyes scanning shyly over the empty bar. it’s a quiet night, the moon hanging low, but the air feels thick with purpose. nights like this made adam feel aloof, lingering on the edge of deep desires and his reluctance to change. his gaze averts downward to a scar that decorates her shoulder, he wonders the reasoning behind it. maybe she had fallen off of her bike as a kid, or had a run in with a bad ex. he’ll never know if he doesn’t ask, but a part of him likes the mystery. 

maybe that’s exactly what dani was, a mystery. it’s strange but comforting. they both could have been anyone in these moments, or created some facade of characteristics to further bend the story of who they were. especially when the world was so quiet and their only company was the vague sound of music playing in this empty bar. neither of them can make out the lyrics to the song playing, but they both assume it means something. 

they pull away after a few beats, dani going back around the counter and adam sitting back down on the bar stool. a hum sounds in the back of his throat, sounding content and thankful. it’s an easier way to extend a thank you to her. he has a feeling if he speaks it verbally she’d say something like there was nothing to be thankful for, you don’t need to thank me. adam smiles at that thought.

that’s when he bursts into laughter, finding his wistfully dramatic thoughts amusing and endlessly humorous. ❛  i’m not laughing at you, i’m laughing at myself.  ❜ adam rests his head in his hands, cheeks turning bright red. 

meme !

the  look  the  man  gives  her  is  one  of  disbelief,   like  he’d  heard  her  wrong  and  was  waiting  for  her  to  repeat  what  she  said.     he  shifts  on  his  feet,   lowering  his  head  just  the  slightest  bit  with  raised  eyebrows.     it  seemed  his  age  caught  up  to  him  more  when  he  was  around  the  bartender,   and  it  showed.

❛   you  stress  me  out,   dani.   ❜

❛   oh,   believe   me...   ❜   good - humour   culls   a   precarious   smile   to   daunt   his   disposition,   forging   the   indent   of   a   dimple   upon    a   weathered   cheek.   her   performance,   a   boot   seized   by   root,   her   lithe   limbs   momentarily   flail   &   fall   to   the   crunch   of   the   leaves   beneath.   lower   lip   becomes   ensnared   by   molars,   varnished   by   a   tongue’s   lacquer,    all   of   which   were   fickle   attempts   to   conceal   spencer’s   imminent   laughter.   ❛   i   am   trying.   ❜

lksjdfklsj here you go !! picking a specific verse to make an aesthetic for was rlly hard because they’re all SO GOOD, but ——— i thought i would go with the very first one that we conjured up together:’))    HAPPY HALLOWEEN !    ( template, psd )