palmbleeder

[palmbleeder]

with a taste of a poison paradise,

when: sunday, 7pm.

where: marina funeral home - the morgue.

who: mourad ramzi.

status: oops!

content triggers: poisoning, religious guilt & general pondering, death (in relation to) grief, needles.

Myria had always made all too fun - even more than it usually was, at times. Mourad would hear the music first, softened by the walls separating them in other rooms he's working on and know she'd started her day. Danced along to it when he couldn’t keep her company or when she didn't require assistance in the labs where she takes charge for the most part; Mourad's own work mainly having much to do with directing and presentation.

Tonight and the nights prior since, he had honored her wishes by having Britney provide ample entertainment to her unlively audience and partly himself. He never minded it, however when it came to his own work ethic regarding handling the dead, Mourad's was a little different. He preferred the silence; wishing not to disturb them in the eternal slumber they've succumbed to in ways natural or recently, obscenely unnatural. It also came with personal veering on spiritual views, particularly when it came to handling those of his own religion; a crucial reason why he'd considered an associate degree in mortuary science, he figured the places he'll be in could always use more Muslims in their staff. that included Marina.

Half-jokingly, he'd taught River how to wash him if it was his time to go — ‘I wouldn't want it to be anyone else.’ but what he meant is that it couldn’t be anyone else, as the religion that added a deeper layer to their already-profound bond prohibits anyone else. He'd also reminded himself to keep contact with others capable, in case river couldn't go through with it. It's already so much he would have to do, having to lift him into his grave, all the way back home. he'd already notified his mother that he'd like to be buried there - not France, but home. in Cairo, where her late husband and his father lay, all the way in Egypt. right where it all started; his first life, their first loss. She wasn't too comfortable and half participated in those morbid conversations he'd start casually on occasion but so long as he made his intentions clear, he figured, and cut those with a joke aimed at both his mother and river, ‘Ah, and you'd also get to have me in white for once! isn't that what you've always wanted of me?’

Humming along to Toxic - banger, he'd say if he was normal - Mourad wheeled the second to last cadaver back into its locker and returned to his station with another, tirelessly preparing the body through the easier processes from inspections to wiring jaws and securing lids shut, pouring the embalming fluid into the machine (sweetly named the Cauldron) that stood waiting to roar to life. Just then, the door to the morgue chimed in. They'd hung a bell above as a joke to clock running spirits desperate for a second chance at a life and knowing he wasn't meant to be with company, Mourad peered over his shoulder thinking they'd found their first ghost friend.

Not quite, but a puzzling visit all the same, it seemed.

“I... didn’t think I’d be having a guest over or I would've tidied up, hello." Mourad laughed in his confusion, his brows drawn together, a playful glint in his eyes at his the familiar figure. “What are you doing here? you seem lost, my friend.”

He'd found himself in stranger encounters, he thought, and on a whim suggests the unwise when he piped up; rather rushed, seeing the time.

“Shit. I have to get done here. Just... you don't mind hanging back here, do you? — Yes, perfect! So long as you can stomach all of this, of course - but please careful not to touch anything.”

Almost comical, how they'd barely found a rhythm, how all has gone eerily quiet the second the Cauldron started brewing, even as Britney sang away in what seemed to be the longest song ever compared to what befell him and his living company of the night, how the sensation he'd grown accustomed with to his right is now closer behind, when Mourad felt a rather harsh stab into his neck.

"Ah... Fuck, what the.." Dumbly and slowly, he stumbled back, his hand flying to the offending spot and then everything rushed back; the context, the bodies, Myria, this cursed town. Too late when his side hits the station and he winced before instinctively grabbing at a flying hand latching onto his jaw.

"St...op, what the hell are you doing? What did you do-" confusing himself by his own interrogation in his panic, his heartbeat already racing in trampling, arrhythmic steps made worse by the adrenaline. what else are they doing, Mourad? Their grip on his jaw tightened, almost to keep him quiet but then strangely pulling his jaw apart; open, inviting to something he hadn't known until the other arm came in, holding the tube attached to the machine. No.

It took too much effort left in him to push off; a breathless struggle that he realized, a little after he'd finally managed to send them slamming into the cupboard behind and then leaving him there, that he'd been struggling that entire time. that he was no longer pulling in air into his body, that he'd been fighting a losing battle anyway.

The strangest he'd felt, like a hole sucking inwards into his chest, trapping him in, doubling him over, dragging him knees first onto the ground. His head lulls to the side and there it was, the needle in his sights. Emptied out into his neck what could only be what they'd conjured for the Cauldron. Mourad frowns, This is it, his palms lock onto his neck and he's punching out a few breaths he desperately needs when he remembered, Oh, fuck.

Ash-

Mourad tried to say it. tried to establish the line between himself and his maker, tried to get there. How could he forget?

Ash-h... Shit, shit, shit.

His hands flex as he struggled to draw out more air. His shoulders shake, mourad doesn't realize he's sobbing now. He'd imagined it all so differently; so peaceful, a slumber lowering him into the ground to wait until he's called over. A complete circle of a checkered life, that he'd made amends and made it all better - and he couldn't achieve it now, far too suffocated and overwhelmingly exhausted. An instilled fear he never realized would come to him this way, never thought he'd forget; If you can't say your Shahada, you will never find peace.

No - You have to, Mourad. this is for you and your father, for River to carry you over. His shoulders shake as he renews his resolve. C'mon, die as you lived.

Ash-hadu alla ilaha illa Allah, wa ash-hadu anna anna Muhammadan Rasulullah

Relived, Mourad slumped back and let himself fall way away, his mind swirling; his initial fear overpowered by a last sliver of joy that he did utter it. Not think it, not pray that counts in his slipping mind but that he did say it.

He did say it.

Au revoir. All is well.

Right?

[palmbleeder]

status. closed starter / @stigmvtas

location. elysian museum. new years ball still in ~flashback form~. before the horrors.

they've never actually talked, only just orbited one another, which has become a concern that nags at mischa. wasn't wholly sure if she liked that he was here either, if they were to go by the last time they'd been around one another ; a bowling ball, her poor foot, his inaction or indirect action sending someone else to see about her, still biding his time, still trying to make sense of her being around, no luck there - sucks to suck if that was the case as he's been here first his whole life and then some when he dies eventually, mischa reckons. assassinated preferably; taken out by the freak running amok, hopefully. would make for some fun to be immortalized in the long forgotten but oft references archives of the local library though not many have met their fate in a streak this barbaric but they’re still there to be found. some people were lucky that way. posthumous chic, he’d ‘coined’ it once in a dimmed out dorm room, half-zooted after skipping every morning class – then again, that also circled right back to saige. she'd had that same inclination about her but worse. felt her existence very flimsy; an endless glitter-wrought ribbon of a girl unfurling onto the world. anything could happen to her, or should happen if made into a cautionary tale, or did happen to her when she’d disappeared halfway into their last year. it's why he's sick with it, the age old heartbreak. takes disappearing acts rather personally. luckily for him, the missing poster of a (another) girl in the bulletin board in his mind has now become the flicker of light on his way home. a part of him that's left in paris would've loved that; would’ve laid out on the concrete to watch her silhouette, no doubt putting on a (shadow) show for his naturally perverted viewing if she'd known, but he'd like to think he'd outgrown his yearning. it's precisely why he's stood even closer than he is in the creeper scenario he'd made up, watching her come into view through the tank setting them apart floor to ceiling, (much) prettier than he'd recalled in past adolescent memory; insult to flesh-eating injury. villainously gloved knuckles rap at the glass separating them, a school of tetras scurrying away to unveil him in theatrical fashion; a phantom in blue hue behind the curtain, eyes glimmering dark with a set grin. 

[palmbleeder]

Linus had been traipsing about the museum, not too keen of the formalities surrounding him. Frankly getting bored; cunt unserved as a majority. Nobody’s fingering anybody on the 'dancefloor' yet, washroom stalls barren from feet coming in fours, or three feet and a knee, or – ‘I mean, what happened to romance?’ Only then Linus wishes to have never spoken, finding himself occasionally whinging to poor Carnelian when he loses sight of Monty or comes upon puzzling sight of Edie with ‘That guy who can't fucking dance’ – Two hells when Monty would be seen with Lysander ‘hand to God, man – tongue-fucking each other, like, pretty much’ and he spends half of that night, full mouth fixed in a pathetic pout. Quite a difficult state to move him away from once he’d started; old friends of his – and Ma Gedde, bless her for all she'd done only to end up with a teenage girl of an eldest son – would say he rather enjoys it, the whole ritual of it; the whining, the moping around, the random wails let out from the attic he once resided in; a chained omega wolf through heartbreak and heat – but then suddenly; It is banished, the darkness looming over. The sun, glorious, it rises anew. The best day of his life, when manhandled into his object of affection’s lap. Yipee, Linus looks around in blown out bambi eyes, half-scandalised, half-boastful, the daintiest little clown star round these parts all of a wicked sudden – picked, chosen, loved? and for all to see? His pulse gallops ahead, looking down at Monty with a a twinkle in his eye – both eyes. Little constellations of Montanas circling around his blown out pupils. “N-no one I’m thinking about now,” Not thinking, period. Blood rushing everywhere but that brain of his when he’s instantly nestling into the crook of Monty’s neck, loving on the skin there with teeth, nose and damn near audible sloppy kisses. He’s happy to have worn the dress he’s in now, but it could’ve been better if he’d lost the silly tights for semi-direct contact but modesty, blah blah blah, don't flash gooch, blah blah blah. Soon none of that would matter. “No one who could keep me away from you,” Pulls away between peppered kisses only to ask, “How’s your night been, superstar? Your date anywhere close?”

closed for - @puzzleflesh

The best part of the draping shawl-adjacent Monty had been wearing was the luxury of space, the ability to breathe. Most of the time they found themselves subconsciously fretting over their posture, like they were back in class, a weedling all over again. It’d been what their ballet master called the beginners, when Monty was only 10 and merely starting their career. Crash-landing it hadn’t been the plan, swept aside to teach instead of actually perform in the shows they deserved to star in - but on nights like this, it was easier to ignore such a reality when champagne seemed to be flowing almost uncontrollably. Man-spreading across the span of their chair - a sight they’d usually sneer at, have some class for God sakes - Monty reached for Linus’ wrist as they, somehow, glided past. Floated, even - maybe Monty was drunker than they thought they were. It’s the only thing that made sense, since once they’d fully garnered Linus’ attention, they dragged him into their lap, fingers flickering over his forehead to peel back a stray hair that’d casted over his eyes. “You’ve been missing in action all night. Who’ve you been so busy with? I’m offended.” They weren’t - but teasing Linus was one of Monty’s favourite pastimes.

[palmbleeder]

In some way, it rang true that Fryda knew when Rosa was hurting, simply because it was felt in turn and quite viscerally at times; Fryda would find herself in a mess of a mood for days on end, Rosa a murmured name into a heated cup of tea she shared with Piper in slow mornings, the very start of many concerns she'd confide in after many sighs and a restless night. She's unsure when they'd become this close to one another but fondly assumes it's the works of what reigns celestial above them. I've said it once and I'll say it twice and thrice and forever-ever-ice, Rosalind, Fryda had mused once in the teacher's lounge, passing Fryda by the water cooler and catching a waft of her shampoo in the passing air, her nostrils flaring briefly with a teasing grin, I've come into this world humbly to love every bit of you and my goodness, you'd think I stop, two years in! Oh, no, no, Fryda beamed then, her blush bringing out every freckle on her cheeks. An everyday thing, darling! Sure as the paper's puzzle, I'll likely leave it it still finding more of you to love. Isn't that absolutely exciting? The latter isn't something she says now, given the circumstances – Though all of that said, Fryda did spend great parts of her evening finding Rosa in the rooms they'd shared. Guards her passively in her peripherals. She seemed to be holding up well, with a date that had kept her alert but she caught it – caught her fading away in spirit. Something realized as of late when she misses Rosa more than most, but grief is an open wound eternal – or so she'd assumed. Wouldn't know and she made sure of it herself – She was confident Rosa, the incredible woman she was, would find her way back eventually but until then, Elfryda would unclasp herself from Elektra's side and dash to the lavatory where Rosa seemingly found sanctuary. Clearly upset, Fryda approaches with care, her heart breaking and breath held and then released into a soft smile. “Hey, pretty girl. Mm, Prettier girl,” Fryda sidles next to Rosa with a soft smile, concerned eyes scanning one side of Rosa’s tear-stricken face. Not much did but something about Rosa fumbling over anything made Fryda antsy – a wounded fawn of a vision, trapped by a self-made contraption of fret and mulishness. Fryda had found herself wrestling doors for her, lugging over bags into trunks for her and even picking her up against higher shelves. All a second nature by now, but she's still careful as her hand extended, bleached brows lifting with hope and sought approval. “May I?”

closed for - @puzzleflesh

Inhaling sharply, Rosa wiped at her face, attempting to diminish the tears that’d reddened her eyes and left tracks along a light layer of foundation. It didn’t do much to help her case, clear she’d taken a breather in the washroom to just - experience breakdown number five of the day. She should’ve hidden in one of the stalls, but Fryda was already rounding the corner. Probably heard her crying somewhere deep in her soul, she always did seem to have a knack for knowing when Rosa was hurt. She also usually knew exactly what to do to fix it, but there wasn’t anything that could fix this. “Hi, Fryda!” Rosa chirped, still dabbing carefully at her cheeks, far too chipper. It was so obvious, that she was trying way too hard to seem fine. Fryda would catch her anyway, it was impossible to lie to her, hide any semblance of an emotion from her third eye that rested deep inside the chasms of her heart.

[palmbleeder]

It didn't help that Uriah was already on edge, stepping into the ball with his fiancée's fragile wellbeing in mind, his eager parents in tow. She'd been holed up at his apartment and right by his side for days before tonight and he knew something was bound to go amiss. He hadn't expect it to be this current paranoid state he was in. The drinks perhaps were heavier than expected when his vision was now flitting and untrusting, his sense of hearing even less so. Paintings had begun to peel over and leap into his peripherals from where he'd wandered to briefly, faces had melded onto one another and soon enough, they’d all become Rowan – Rowan laughing, Rowan dancing with a flute in hand and her ass backed into the crotch of someone with a rather cheap masque – a Fowler from Afar but then it could've also been Rowan – Rowan in a hurry past him and he nearly cracks his head as he whips about. It took him about a minute or so to register the Rowan dragging him away from public eyes, following her dumbly, his attention fractioned by the other Rowans walking past them and then a flash of someone; several blinks and he missed them, maybe too much, whoever it was. Now Uriah stood in a stall. Rowan stood before him, seeming rather desolate in a way that isn't like her at all. He took gentle hold of her head in hesitant hands, steadying himself with effort; the silvered raven of his cane rests its forehead against the stall next to them. “Rowan, is this…” Is this really you? He wanted to ask but closed his eyes before taking another look at her, letting her request find the parts that could make sense in his slipping mind and even then her voice seemed farther away from him. She seemed farther away now and his heart as battering its way out of his chest. “Fuck, c-come here. Please. I didn't mean to lose you. I-I don't know where you went.”

closed — @puzzleflesh

Shockingly, tonight she's so sick of the fucking games. His eyes have been on her all night and it's driving her crazy. Maybe it's all the death, maybe it's the guilt returning to the surface or the alcohol in her system but she doesn't want to pretend anymore. She excuses herself from her conversation, crossing through the sea of people until she is standing in front of him. Her hand reaches out, grabbing his and pulling him to follow her in the direction of the bathrooms. It's more than possible this conversation will be laced with rejection but a part of her assumes if she's willing to admit defeat he'll cave. She pushes open one of the doors and walks in, her hand pulling away from his to check under the stalls for feet. Once she knows there's no one in there, she walks back over to him and pushes her hand against his chest to press him against the door. "Kiss me?" It's comes out like a question instead of a statement like it was in her head. Her eyes scan his features, her lips press together. "Please."

[palmbleeder]

“Hey, c’mon, man. Let's, uh... let's take it easy.” Szymon is quick to step in with a gentle clasp on Junior's shoulder, casting a nervous glance at Mikhael from afar and then Junior. He'd passively sat witness to one of their rather infamous, lore heavy altercations and didn't wish to have that leap off his disregarded lockscreen, for both their sakes but especially Junior's. “It's all kind of fancy stuff around here, you wouldn't want to, um... break anything, would you?” Besides his kin's nose, that is.

closed — @puzzleflesh

"Just keep me away from Mik because I could possibly snap and finally punch him in the nose."

[palmbleeder]

“Think it might be weirder working. 'Cause who has the time, if you really, really think about it.” She's not; she's swirling her champagne in its flute and falsely inspecting it in her hand when really she's looking at his chest. Surveying the spans of it it through her Terminator vision – dress shirt and suit who? – A Miley Cyrus stare only in its unfortunate piercing blue shade, otherwise almost trance-like and dreamy but she's still animated as she always was. “Y'know, cause' it's like boom, bar crawl here - double homicide there, and some guy's head got bashed in a while ago and now this! A ball! Like, you guys literally said fuck it, we ball! It's crazy. Crazy!” James almost loves it. Zooming into the active crime scene that is Marina island, pebbled nips and buckled belt ablazin', she hadn't figured it'd be as lively as it is gruesome now and ah, fuck it – can’t get too far, that one. “Wait, The Pearl's your joint, right?” James asked, knowing the answer for reasons she can pretend to be less annoyed by now the more she peered at his chest.

closed — @puzzleflesh

"It's weird not working."

[palmbleeder]

“Like what? Pry them apart and give Four Eyes over there a slap and a scolding for simply nourishing a bad bitch? Nah.” – Childish reference to Lysander and Montana, respectively from where they stood, borderline kissing with tongue through his clearly delusional and seething gaze; one that he almost averts when Lysander takes a bite after Monty. The fuck was that? A question posed over that horrific scene and the crack in his chest, so deep he felt it loud. Resounding. He freezes, dramatic and dumb, in case Kamile had heard it. “S'just a sandwich, anyway. Who gives a fuck? Probably tastes like shit, too. Like Subway levels of ass. Limp and not made with love and it’s been in his pocket this whole time? Body temp, thigh-pressed sando? Kill me, that’s what they had to resort to because of the fuckin' slow ass catering they hired for this gig.”

closed — @puzzleflesh

"I think you should stop looking or go do something about it."

[palmbleeder]

“Alright, alright. I’ll graciously accept my defeat but only this once.” – and twice and thrice and a million times over, all of that winning smile. Carpal tunnel be damned! – Mido took their locked hands to his lips, pressing a light kiss onto tonight's victor. “Next time our warring thumbs find themselves in this merciless dance, you’re done for, Celeste. I’ll come prepared.”

Closed Starter: @puzzleflesh

"I told you I'd win." Rory said with a mighty grin as she detained his thumb beneath her own. "A little more practice is needed before you can beat me!"

[palmbleeder]

M: oh fuck i'm smiling ear to ear now MY tits and heart are warm too!!! twins ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥 M: this is perfect thank you so so much ur the sweetest!!! means the world to me :DDD M: amazing i cant wait + i start whenever you need me to! M: ummm model i don't think i could really haha but really tysvm the highest of honors coming from u + i'd much rather and love to see you & all the beautiful girls up there 🥰🥰 M: [...] M: and everyone else ofc haha 🫶

V: hey queen! love u & ur support. warms my heart & more importantly, my tits 💛 V: OMG yes!!!! that would be incredible. ugh would love love love for you to do that V: ur a rl angel fr V: will send u deets as they come! or my team will V: ur also fucking hot & are more than welcome to model if u would like to but no pressure

[palmbleeder]

            Sweet and darling as her confession was, Mido spent half of it berating himself. Rory spoke very kindly to him, of him and the affection she held for him. So clear, direct, and confident. Left no room for doubt and yet that was all he left her with. How could he explain away that doubt? Banish it and make room for clarity on his part. How could he explain both what he carried in his heart for her and what stood in the way of their mutual desire for one another? His fears would be a good start, he reckoned. Much was on the line (His resolve, for one) and it just didn't feel right. Nothing has, not for a proper while but he doesn't burden her with this. “No, I do! I do and it's not okay. I'm not being clear with you.” Mido hurriedly insisted, their little movie marathon long forgotten now. He's losing her, the distance between them now unwelcome, reminiscent but crucial as she gently demanded it and so Mido allowed for it to be. Still, he was desperate, hesitant. A fist at his side furled and unfurled, his mind in an ongoing search for things to say that feel right. “It's not you, it's-” Est-ce que tu as perdu la tête?! He berated himself instantly, offended for her for even throwing that pathetic cliche as a response. Appalled by his own bumbling demeanor, his next words were measured, a better attempt at explaining things. A better attempt at being honest, even if by partial omission. “I like you, Rory. So very much, I've liked you since the very first day we met and I think we both knew that right away. It's.. impossible to hide. The longer I have, the more I've wanted this - Wanted you. I just... I can't say in complete honesty that this feels right or that I'm ready for this right now. It's all too... compact.” All too soon. Sooner than he could allow without the mistakes of a summer past taunting him in flashes; A gap in his bed, a hearse at a wedding. A gap in the threadbare couch they sat on now - No. Not again. “But, it's all me! I promise.” Mido rushed ; partly to pull her back in and to distract himself from thinking his way back to an old pain. “Nothing you could ever do or say would change the way I feel, as strange as that feeling comes to be now. You've already made me the happiest I have been, Rory. I cherish it all very deeply, I.. I spent months with these feelings I hold like flowers in my heart. In constant bloom just for you. Tended with all the love and kindness you've given me in unworthy abundance. I know them all too well and I... I hesitate to relinquish them all at once.” Gently, he went for her hand, all but beseeching her to meet him where he stood ground. “I want to do this the right way I know. That way we can both, um.. - proceed. Comfortably.”

"Mhmm" she replied, placing a hand on his arm and playing with the hem of his shirt to give herself something to do as she waited for permission. This wasn't as out of nowhere as he probably assumed. Aurora hadn't stop thinking about sharing that with him; She couldn't see herself pursuing her not-so-first time with anyone else when Mido was the one who made her warm all over. Being anywhere near him made her feel like she could conquer the world. Like nothing and nobody could ever stand in her way. She bit her lip as she watched him process her words and feeling an odd sensation in the little space that hung between them. His words lingered for a moment as she pondered. "I'm not - I mean I don't like anyone else. Not like that. I like a lot of my friends, but like just - friendly." Rory moved her hands to the collar of his shirt, fidgeting with it as she watched his lips then shifted her focus to his eyes, "You're also my friend, but... you make my stomach dance to the footloose. Make me happy, and I want to also make you happy." This conversation wasn't anywhere near as sexy as she had envisioned it to be. Aurora didn't think she was trying to rush anything. Her entire life had been at a stand still for almost a decade, so truly it was more like playing catch up. But the decision to go there with him had nothing to do with anyone or anything else. "Do you not-" she paused her question unsure of whether she really wanted the answer to it. It didn't occur to her 'til that very moment that perhaps he hadn't wanted to kiss her last week because he didn't like her like that. Was she confusing her feelings with what laid before her? And now she was putting him on the spot and he was being so kind, gentle, and caring still. Like he was attempting to spare her feelings. "It's okay." she said as cheerful as she could master, and placed what she hoped looked like a smile on her face, " We should finish the movie. It has some really good reviews." she shifted away from him to put some distance between them.

[palmbleeder]

            “Shit, if she doesn’t I will. Creepy ass motherfucker, look at him hover around like she’ll change her mind or something – like, oh my God, d’jouknaur what? Let me give that itchy arse peen of yours a chonce. Bitchless behavior.”

closed — @devilspools

"Do you think she'll hit him?"

[palmbleeder]

            Mido’s all too conscious of how they’re situated right now. Just how close, but they’d always been now that he’s mulled it over, watching her giggle beneath him and beaming in kind as he willed himself away from making a warm grave out of the crook of her neck to bury his head into, the sweetest irony of seeking pulse and skin to kiss and murmur sweet nothings against for a long, long while. The other night, they were far too close that even Saige had noticed it and Mido pulled away when he felt it too soon to give in. Too crowded and too busy of a night. He knew something would've changed had they kissed and didn't want that transformation to involve anyone else, even those he loved and he involved them plenty in his life. He wanted to take his time for once, but something went amiss when she'd said it – Sex. Mido stilled. “Oh,” Slipped as it echoed in his head and he cleared his throat, his reservations returning to him. “I mean, uhm - Are you sure?” Truthfully, he wasn't but it's difficult to pull away now. Even more so to speak his mind but he sought reason. “Wouldn't you want to - do it with someone you're more...” More what? Mido gulped, Interested in? Clearly she was, and so was he. Trusted him enough to want to have sex with him and he'd assume it had something to do with an experience she lacked. Many would say he was a little too ran through experienced for his own good, but that's another reservation to be had. “Zut..- Romantically involved with? You know, a few dates to sweep you off your rainbow-socked feet,” Playfully nudged hers with his ankle, “A sweet, first kiss at your doorstep under the stars. I wouldn't want you to feel like you have to rush past those moments because everyone does it. Not with me.”

She couldn't help but giggle at the way he called out her name. Had she taken him by surprise? Perhaps, but she'd been too lost in the fantasies of his lips against hers, and she'd just gone for it. Almost floating in outers pace when their lips became separate once more. Rory's eyes watched him a little confused before she wiggled beneath him as if that should be enough of an answer. He hadn't totally pulled away, so that had to mean something, right? "I was just thinking that maybe we could have sex." she hadn't gotten to finish before he moved which in returned caused her cheeks to burn and she glanced away, "Everyone does it. I want to... do it too. With you." Aurora hadn't really put much thought into how she'd approach this. Figured she'd just wing it and see what happens, but now that the words left her lips her heart beat through her ears.

[palmbleeder]

            “That lady with chopsticks in ‘er hair stood here longer than I have before she moved on over. I’m sure she has a whole lot more on her mind ‘bout it.”

CLOSED STARTER FOR @devilspools

"You've been standing in front of this piece for a while. What do you think about it?"

[palmbleeder]

Status. Closed starter – @eclvpses

Location. Gibson's bookstore.

            “Might wanna go around.” Patch refrains from peering down when she warns them from where she perched with one leg dangled by the sign hung above, the scaffolding close by swayed at times but the green paint can stood firm. Her sights were devoted to the toned pages of The Exorcist, where intrigue evaded her in every page so far but she soldiered on with a drippy BLT sandwich. The partly painted brick wall half dried, the paint fumes less overpowering much to her dismay. She'd never seen the film, but she remembers staring at its poster for the longest time when she'd park at her roommate's boyfriend's dorm back in school. He talked too fast and had a hypnotic soul patch that caught crumbs of his lunch. Funny and strangely charming at the time, she liked him less by the minute now. “Board’s a bit rickety. Can’s gonna clonk you on the head, you’ll see stars – or God.” Brows crease in wonder and for a moment she loses track of the words on the page and still she chases them again with much effort despite her split focus. “How thick is that neck a'yours?” 

[palmbleeder]

          “Aurora!” Not chastising but only caught by pleasant surprise when his voice is in much softer than its usual timbre when he spoke – or rather gasped when he pulled away from her lips but not the position he was manhandled into. Delightfully scandalised, Mido's face burned and his mouth locked in a dazed grin, his forearms arms cage the sides of her head as he lifted up. A view too awful when his brain short circuits again; There's many questions to ask but her lips to kiss again, too. Fucking hell, no fair. “W-what has brought this on?” Far be it for him to question this trajectory but he hadn't anticipated it from her at all but himself in certain dreams he blushes even more at the mere thought of-No, Mido shifted away slightly, not at all subtle. He couldn't think of that now.

Closed Starter: @puzzleflesh

Deep into their third claymation film, Aurora found it harder and harder to really pay attention to the television. She wasn’t tired by any means, quite the opposite but she did want to spend the remainder of their night otherwise engaged. Running her rainbow toe socks over his black ones, and drawing circles on the flesh of his arm Rory glanced up at him. “Hey.” she called out while biting the corner of her lip then pushed up off the couch til their faces were mere inches away, "I've been having some thoughts... and I wanted to-" Rory shook her head not bothering to finish her words as she brought their lips together and pulled him over her.

[palmbleeder]

moriah : ̗̀➛ violetta

M: hi violetta! so sorry to bother you but i heard ur organizing a fundraiser 4 breast cancer & first i want to say that's v v cool and even cooler than you're running it 💗💗 M: i was also wondering if you're looking for photographers on set? or if you haven't booked any yet? i'd be really happy to do it :DDD M: [...] M: or really anything at all if you're all good! i'd love to lend a hand :DDDDD