kinomorebi

[kinomorebi]

i wanna make it unequivocally clear that there are no time limits when it comes to rping with me. idc if you're scrolling through your drafts and you find a thread of ours from two years ago+ and you wanna continue it... but you're afraid i'll be upset with you bc it's been so long...

babes, i am holding your face so gently when i say this: do the thing. i promise, the only thing i'mma be when i see that notif is excited

[kinomorebi]

for muses that are getting to know each other

❝ what's your favorite color and why? ❞

❝ can i come with you? ❞

❝ you have a nice smile, has anyone ever told you that before? ❞

❝ how do you take your coffee? ❞

❝ sorry, what was your name again? ❞

❝ it just occurred to me i never asked you what your last name is. ❞

❝ actually we've met before. ❞

❝ i've heard a few things about you. ❞

❝ care to join me? ❞

❝ i'm not really sure why i trust you. ❞

❝ i don't usually talk this much, it just feels easy to say stuff when you're listening. ❞

❝ i know we don't know each other that well but if you wanna talk about it... ❞

❝ could you help me with something? ❞

❝ do you like it here? ❞

❝ are you new around here? ❞

❝ you can ask me anything you want. i promise i'll answer truthfully except the things i feel like lying about. ❞

❝ i don't mean to be too forward, you just seem like you could use a friend right now. ❞

❝ you can come with me. i mean if you don't have anyone waiting for you. ❞

❝ we're friends now. you can ask me for help. ❞

❝ do you like this music? i can change it. ❞

❝ what are your favorite snacks? ❞

❝ really? i wouldn't have guessed that about you. ❞

❝ do you mind if i ask about it? ❞

ACTIONS:

VISIT: for sender to go to receiver's home for the first time

VISITED: for receiver to go to sender's home for the first time

CRYING: for sender to see receiver cry for the first time

CRIED: for receiver to see sender cry for the first time

BEGIN: sender and receiver are on their first date together

TRIP: our muses go on a group trip but end up stuck together, away from the rest of their friends.

SITUATION: our muses are acquainted because one of them is their friend's roommate. muse a shows up when their friend isn't there and ends up hanging out with muse b one on one.

GO: our muses go to a zoo or theme park together and get lost.

INVITE: sender cooks for receiver for the first time

INVITED: receiver cooks for sender for the first time

TOGETHER: our muses spend the night for the first time

TRY: our muses hooked up and are hanging out the next day

COMFORT: sender is going through a break up and receiver offers to cheer them up

COMFORTED: receiver is going through a break up and sender offers to cheer them up

OFFER: sender gives receiver a ride to the airport/picks them up

OFERED: receiver gives sender a ride to the airport/picks them up

AID: sender helps receiver redecorate

AIDING: receiver helps sender redecorate

[kinomorebi]

“I’ll have you know, I’m quite capable of patching my own wounds.” Her voice is only half defiant, muddled with pride and that playful edge she so often sported. Colette needed him to understand she wasn't this fragile, helpless, clumsy little thing that needed to be tended to, although something about his demeanor suggested he picked up on more than he gives off.

"Now that that's settled..." She sits in front of him and offers her hand turned palm up and bloodied. Luckily for Solène, Colette has never struggled with handing off control to someone else. It was a vital part of being a good teacher. How else would she allow students to take initiative and learn? Only Solène wasn't a student, and he certainly wasn't a doctor, either. Not unless he lived some secret life no one knew about before becoming a college professor.  

“Hey now, how about we see your handiwork first. Then we can discuss whether or not I’m actually so lucky,” She teases, that characteristic playful grin tugging her lips upwards. Man, it stings. She really nicked her thumb pretty good on that broken test tube, didn’t she? “Wait any longer and I might just bleed out.”

The lunch offer was certainly tempting… but so was her current hyper-fixation. Blue hues flicker over his shoulder and towards the test beakers set out across the lab counters in a messy array of color. Her facial features pull inward as if she’s really struggling to accept his offer, before finally, she lightens up just a bit. “Yeah-" shoulders relaxing, "-Yeah, lunch sounds great, actually. I could use a break. I’ve been running tests all day and haven’t made a lick of progress. Maybe it will help reset my brain.”  She pauses, smiling sheepishly. “I think the injury was a sign.”

He doesn't really hold the same beliefs as the one who had created him. Solène didn't have any horse in the race as far as he was concerned. There was some prudence when it came to keeping the secret but he had always felt far more attached to his humanity to really care what might happen if he exposed himself to the wrong person.

But he does have a little self preservation. He just finds it amusing. He could heal her without so much of a blink of his eyes if he really wanted to. It would be such a terrible shame to fret over such a small wound, wouldn't it?

Solène only cannot because he works there too. And as much as he doesn't like to have attachments or sentiment about outcomes anymore... He really does enjoy this job more so than the others he often falls into to spend his time.

"You're right unless I have some magic up my sleeves." He says thoughtfully and smiles faintly holding up his hand for her to wait. He does, in fact, have a first aid. It's useful when the students tend to nick their fingers when shears or any other sharp tool they use in the dissections. The benefits of having a biology professor on hand.

He disappears only to return moments later with his kit and a pair of gloves on. Sol gestures for her to sit and make herself comfortable. "You're very lucky to have me at your disposal. Free, quick, and efficient. How did you manage this? I was coming to see if you wanted to join me for lunch―the others can be a bit... boring." Older, more traditional, too easily tired of his eccentricities. "Imagine my surprise to see you bleeding all over the place."

He's definitely pulling a Carlisle Cullen with the whole good vampire doctor unaffected by the allure of her blood shtick.

[kinomorebi]

Ah, tricky tricky. How easy it is to get lost in him.

Curiosity makes for a pretty mirror, eyes a candlelight flicker down to his lips in a returned invitation. So much to discover, so little time. Felicia is certain they could have a much more efficient conversation when words weren't involved...

"What I'm doing should be considered a service." Mischievous grin, starlight pooling at the edges of her irises. "Those diamonds would be much happier dangling from my neck than being cooped up in that glass box for the rest of their lives."

Her fingers continue their patient trek upwards with the mask of him, frame balancing on the very tips of her toes even when the wind shoots by them in a flush of cold air. Yeah, that aforementioned ballerina history is no secret. Words could make for a clever distraction if his full attention wasn't what she was hoping for.

"Come on, Spider. Can't a girl have needs?"

God, she’s pretty. Her mouth is so well-lit, he’s itching to request for her to hold still, say cheese, snap.

The fact that that’d be a sweet 2-in-1 and transfer Photoshopping away her mask from his mental image to the real thing is an entirely coincidental perversion of his pure intentions. Look, one wouldn’t be so bad, although pretty bad.

❛What’s it to you?❜

They sway on the curb as if on the edge of a balcony. Peter—Spider-Man—that dude—shields her from a gust of wind bringing in taco wafts from down the street. His chin works against her sticky fingers. He leans in an inch. Lips, eyes, lips.

❛You got starving children to feed?❜

[kinomorebi]

There's a sense of frightening calm about her now that she's gathered herself… something you wouldn't expect from someone in this situation. But it’s not the first time she’s woken up in the woods with no memory of how she got there, and something tells her it wouldn't be the last. At least this time she didn’t wake up covered in her own blood. Oh wait– yeah… about that…

Violet’s eyes drag down her frame in search of the source, pain like a thrumming beacon pulling her attention to the site of injury. The blood is already drying the shirt to her skin, but it seems to be limited to the discoloration on the lower portion of her shirt. A stomach injury that’s just dried up. Good. At least it means she’s not bleeding anymore. They could worry about the logistics of cleaning it once she figured out where the hell they are. 

Hold on, is he serious?

“The Rockies?!” A hand lifts to prod at the throbbing pressure in her temples, the thought too much to process at this point in time. It’s only then that she takes note of his current state: skin and bones and pure desperation. Oh shit, he’s not kidding is he? “I don’t know,” She admits softly. “I’m… I’m alone. I don’t have anything with me. Fuck, how did I even get here?” There's no footprints. No trail. No vehicle...

“Okay, okay slow… slow deep breaths. Deep breaths. Just breathe.” Her reassurances come in time with her own leveled breathing patterns, desperately fighting down the panic that's threatening to send her system into a frenzy. It would do neither of them any good if she couldn't keep her head on straight. 

“Okay," pausing, hysteria peeking through the cracks. "Okay. Okay okay okay. What are we working with? Is there shelter? Clean water? Food? Anything with electricity?”

Dread has always felt like weight to Billy. Before when Neil would close in on him and now when it feels like they’re never going to be found. The days go by and his hope wilts with it. It’s the same damn desperate thought every single day. Please today be the day. Not another one. And cruelly, the days keep going.

He doesn’t understand and she doesn’t offer any explanation. Billy isn’t even aware of how he’s still breathing when his heart has never moved quicker. His body trembles and involuntarily moves when she grabs him. He’s too thin now. Consciously aware of how it appears to another. Bird-thin and protruding. Hungry. Hair knotted and tangled, no longer golden yellow but soft brown. He licks his lips. She’s going to tell him there’s no help, right? His hands fidget. And he applies the lightest pressure to help her up uncertain himself where the blood was coming from.

“—Somewhere in the Rockies. We don’t really know where we landed. Just above the mountains. I can’t even tell you which province we’re in. God, I know you’re probably not feeling well and are hurt but I need to know. Not knowing is driving me insane. Can you get us help?”

[kinomorebi]

She’s all bite. Fangs bared, venom and blood spat, but the sharpness of her is hollowed out by her physical state.

Annora would break her teeth on him.

“No-” managed through grit teeth. The sheer agony is quick to silence her. Dizzying waves of pain rattle her very bones, blood spilling endlessly down their point of meeting. She curls in, muscles hardly keeping up with the effort as her frame is lifted into a sickening embrace.

The blood is not so keen on saying goodbye to what would have been her final resting place. Dripping and dripping. Rejoining the spilling of her soul that pools RED on the ground beneath them. 

Red. Red. All she sees is red. 

“I won’t make it all the way back.” A lie.

"Leave me to die." A pathetic plea.

Her voice is awry in a swell of sheer desperation and willpower. If living meant being bound by her own bloodline’s ancient tradition, she’d be better off dying here. After all, a life-debt for a blood witch was a filthy, powerful, messy thing. 

And it gets messier, still...

A na-Baron's aid is always collared, spikes pressed inward.

--iiifff it can be called that. Is help really h-e-l-p if it comes with a contract? They'll both find out in due time.

Ice or not, he's unmoved. Talon or nail, he's unburdened. Nothing so contrite can penetrate-- his skin recalls Lankiveil even if the memories have long since eroded, disappeared beneath a black sun. Feyd-Rautha only tilts his head, raptor-at-prey, when she pities out a warning.

He can appreciate some fangs, even if they recoil as the blood goes and goes. Perhaps it's that appreciation continually astonishing, that he doesn't leave her to rekindle with the fellow corpse. Or perhaps it's something far worse.

Expecting bite, dulled teeth or no, he's all vertebrae when he collapses. Collecting her into his arms like a bespoken bride.

No words worthy of mouth-written justification, only a derisive shhh.

He'll even bring her to a proper doctor, rather than the bowels of Piter's laboratory. Rejoice in his graciousness.

[kinomorebi]

To devour is to be made whole, and the way he so eagerly takes her bloodied thumb into his mouth confirms he’s nothing short of a devourer himself. 

How easily pacified, he is. How obedient.  Even gods know when to bend.

She steps further forward, closer, the shadows melting away from her to pour back into endless pools on the floor and leave something far more tangible in their wake. Ikora is no mere shadow. No teardrop from a black sky. She is the dust that constitutes the makeup of blackhole stars, everything that is ripped from time and space to be forgotten, stripped down to the very carnage torn from limbs at the mouth of animalistic rites. 

Ikora is ruination. 

“Mosenda Giedi, vekenis eino silakata.” A darkened chant to rattle the hollowed molars of these halls, voice a soothing promise. A final lullaby is granted.

By Crassus tradition, Feyd-Rautha is freed from the recompense of an assassin’s restless soul, his would-be killer now bound to his failures until Feyd’s blood stops pumping entirely and Giedi Prime opens a wound to accept him back into her womb. He should hope Giedi Prime does not die before he does.

She slips her thumb from his mouth, wrist turning fluidly to drag still-bloodied pointer and middle down his chin and further along the line of his throat. Her hand departs and hides away beneath the muddled outline of her cloak shortly thereafter. 

“He knows of Crassus customs?” Tones more curious now, etched in ancient tongues that bleed and bleed and bleed. It is the first time she has spoken to him in anything but her native tongue. What an honor. 

“Or he simply does not shy from them…”

Feyd-Rautha worships at the altar of his own salivating mouth.

A base necessity to consume and be consumed, carrion comfort in the pulse of misplaced gratuity. Yet he knows, this is far from. This is vivisection. What else could penetrate that miasma, this shadow that haunts him in the dead of starless night, but a scalpel?

Her mother tongue sounds like ashes and the beheading of ghosts. A tilt of the head, how he solidifies his posture, knees soaking and soaking.

Her gift is enough to placate him into keeping those filthy hands at bay, lest they disappear behind the drape of darkness that makes her. Yet the concept scratches at his brain, just enough; to find just what it is that has been plaguing him, a teardrop from the black sky.

Hm. A dog can be obedient, just as it can be feral.

Blackhole mouth eclipses his lips, something that looks far too reverent when it's anything but. Black teeth, soft tongue. Blood dries to his lip at the enticement, a gash against bone white.

He does.

Popping her thumb into his mouth, sucking and lapping at the offering like mother's teat. Nigh enough to sate that slithering thing in the pit of him; but he tastes.

He accepts.

[kinomorebi]

plotted starter for @sxrgeant

Adrenaline-fueled decisions often make for unlikely outcomes. 

She’d remind herself of this if there was even the tiniest possibility she’d be able to hear her own thoughts over the thundering heartbeat pounding in her ears. Just how long exactly had she been on the run? Ten years? Fifteen? More than that? All the musty traincars and dingy motel rooms have a way of blurring together.

She lost sight of anything else a long time ago.

The corridor just beyond the door she’s currently pressing her ear to falls silent as she listens to the fading steps of her pursuer– not that she could truly be certain of his absence with all the train noise, anyway. Violet had taken great care in scouting an empty train car to hide away in for the lengthy trip ahead. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere safe. Relief takes over in a single breath now that she’s found it, small frame relaxing while the tension in her muscles unfolds like petal blooms beneath glowing summer sunrays.

Yet something isn’t quite right. She feels it in her bones.

Every hair on the back of her neck stands on end, her own body all too quick to dose her with another shot of adrenaline. Violet doesn’t dare turn around to face her fate fully. Not yet. Not when she’s unsure of just what exactly is there to greet her. Instead, she tucks her head down, peeking ever so slightly over her shoulder and turning just the slightest, every muscle in her body ready to yank the door back open and run.

No, Violet is very much not alone…

[kinomorebi]

“You do not hunger like the others.” A rattle in the darkest parts of her, the chains shift with her effort to rip them from the very walls they’re bound to in his approach. Pain serves as a grounding reminder. How long have Giedi’s people cannibalized their own planet to fill the endless holes in their stomachs? 

“Your hunger for knowledge… the pain of others… You will never be satisfied.” She speaks from lower lungs, agony a gift to be accepted with gratitude, but the needle he guides into the bend of her shoulder is an egregiously disgusting offering of pain. An insult if not for what comes next.

The smooth musculature fanning out over her frame locks up, tensing and relaxing in a gentle rhythm until the tidal crest rises in the lunar pull of his offering. 

Poison. Ikora is certain of it. 

“You wish to kill me so soon?”

Her body is alight with tremors, heart rate increasing in a reflexive panic as it tries to flush the toxins from her system, but it's her own native poison living eternally in her bloodstream that takes over to attack what little toxin her advanced blood system can’t neutralize fast enough. It would devour all other poisons and spit them right back out.

“You’ll only be disappointed.”

Doesn’t he know Crassus watches over her children, even here?  Doesn’t he know he is in the presence of a GOD?

Gods are thoughtless, empty echoes of the sky same as they are motherless. The atrophy of three sees the child-god for what he is, though Piter cannot deny the way Vladimir Harkonnen has shaped the world around him, orchestrating devotion long before Feyd had been robbed-cradle from Lankiveil.

"She knows her place."

Inconsequential. He, all of them, have fallen into the as-it-is rhythm of planet spoliation. If Giedi still has a voice, it's shorn down to a thistle, some half-whisper that only those of Ikora's ilk can piece together.

Philosophy has always sparked a mentat's interest, though it's been heavily dimmed beneath the opportunity to vivisect. Tear apart the makings of her atomically, see what shivers beneath a microscopic definition. All else falls secondary behind the examination of agony.

Perhaps it's kind of him to disinfect a patch of shoulder skin before plunging the needle in, injecting her with a newest pet-poison. A small amount, by his predictions, enough to test the waters without completely desecrating them.

"I'd never keep you waiting, my dear."

[kinomorebi]

That smell: faded iron and warmth. How could she possibly miss it? 

Her senses are coming back to light, every ache and pain in her body slipping out to greet her senses from beneath the dilution of adrenaline. Violet doesn’t even need to look down at her clothes to realize she’s bleeding– or someone is bleeding. Or something. And where the hell was Karsys? The entity’s presence was weaker than she’d ever felt it before, but not gone entirely. Was it dying? Or maybe just gone? Fuck if she knows, its all too much with all these damn questions he spews her way.

Wait what? Woah woah woah, slow the fuck down–

“Stop, please just–” hand lifting to gently curl around his wrist and pacify him, endless brown hues searching the depths of his own panic. She tries to offer a sense of calm in her gaze. Even now. Even here. “–give me a second." Her words rub raw at her throat, speaking as if every breath had to claw its way out of her lungs. Yep, she’s *definitely* going to be sick if this keeps up.

"Help me sit up." Violet isn't asking. If his endless questions are even remotely indicative of his state of mind, she suspects he'll be better off with her telling him how to help instead of just asking for it.

“Where am I?” And where the hell was all this blood coming from? 

　𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐋 𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐒 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄, half-expecting to wake up in some grimy Hawkins locker room or passed out behind the wheel. No such luck. The frostbite is too real, the hunger too loud, and that thing fluttering hope in his chest feels like everything is going to cave in. She’s alive. That should mean something. Should mean answers maybe. Towns. Roads. Civilization. He stares at her like she’s a mirage bound to disappear, some hallucination spat from the belly of this indifferent wilderness.

What if help had always been just beyond the tree line? What if they’d been rotting slowly all within shouting distance of rescue? Wouldn’t that be a goddamn joke? He almost laughs.

( He thinks he’s going insane. )

❝ Kill you? ❞ The words scrape out drained of that brash, reckless swagger he once wore like armor. Hawkins feels like a fever dream now. Sun-soaked parking lots, cheap cologne, fists and flame. This place, this mountain, has stripped him raw. ❝ No… no, I’m not gonna hurt you. ❞ His gaze flickers, pleading. He should make sure she is okay first but he can't. It's been too long. He cannot help the panic that erupts from him:

❝ Where did you come from? Which direction? Is there a road? A phone? Anything— wh-where did you come from? Do you have food? A car? Maybe a blanket? A cigarette if god suddenly decided on mercy? Fuck. ❞

[kinomorebi]

for @godstrayed | based on X

Pain. It’s everywhere in her body. Muscles ache with every movement, lungs screaming, throat raw, body bloodied. Violet hadn’t even regained consciousness for long enough to fully comprehend the complete stranger leaning over her with his hand at her pulse point. His touch filters through the ache slowly, then all at once until the realization that she’s not alone settles into her bones with a deathly chill.

“Please...” whimpered softly onto the breath of a forest's goodnight. Fear claws its way up through her limbs until she's desperately trying to scramble away. Violet doesn't even manage to fully sit up before she's collapsing back into the forest floor with an aching exhale.

What the fuck was going on? Just seconds ago– no, really! It was seconds. She swears!– she’d been fleeing from a woman at the outskirts of Silver City, New Mexico, and now? Now she’s in the middle of fucking nowhere left wondering...

"Are you going to kill me?"

[kinomorebi]

There’s a lot you can learn about someone through their anger, the match-lit synapses just waiting for the friction of a well-timed strike. Ignition is inevitable when you’re all fire and flames but there's a balance to it all. Controlled fire can give a life-saving warmth, something to ease the cold bones of a hollow home, but all it takes is one tiny slip up... one momentary lapse in control and that warmth becomes a wildfire leaving nothing but ash and dust in it’s wake.

“Hah… burning.” Her grin is shameless, words nothing more than a soft puff of amused air spilling past her lips. “Was the pun intended or are you only funny when you’re not trying?” Even now she’s still toying with him. A poke here and a prod there, all for the sake of testing the limits of his temper. 

“I want what you want,” she finally lets up, green hues softening. “I want to be free. To not have to spend the rest of my life jumping from one place to the next, looking over my shoulder everywhere I go, living in fear of being found. In fear of what happens when I’m found.” Freya is searching those ocean blue’s of his for any sign of understanding. Pull back the curtain on them both and they’re not so different after all. She knows he’s just as scared as she is.

“You and I both know that being found isn’t an ‘if’. It’s a ‘when’. What if I told you there was a way we didn’t have to run?”

　He  knows  his  days  of  running  are  waning.  Billy  couldn’t  run  forever.  One  day  they’d  find  him.  Or  someone  else,  someone  worse.  Secrets  weren’t  meant  to  be  kept  forever.  Especially  when  said  secrets  were  barely  contained  because  his  emotions  were  so  turbulent.  He  can  feel  it  even  now,  humming  under  his  skin;  ignited  and  bright  ——  ready  to  destroy  everything  in  front  of  him.  How  could  he  even  begin  to  hope  to  stifle  this  for  much  longer?

　　❝  You  are  burning  every  ounce  of  my  patience.  Congratulations.  Want  a  cookie?  ❞

His  blue  eyes  are  bright  and  cautious  but  the  weariness  is  evident.  He’s  so  fuckin’  sick  of  running.  Hiding  away  what  he  was  just  like  before.  ❝  Just  tell  me  what  you  want.  ❞  There  is  a  flick  of  his  hand  through  his  blonde  hair  and  a  sigh  escaping,  ❝  You’re  exhausting.  If  you  needed  something  from  me  you  sure  as  hell  went  out  of  your  way  to  get  it.  So  what?  ❞  Billy  tilts  his  head  ‘cause  she  got  his  attention.  He’s  focused  in  and  waiting. 

[kinomorebi]

{ SCREAMS AT THE DASH

HI HI, I have missed you all (,: thanks to everyone who stuck around and welcome to those who are new here

I know a made a post a while ago about coming back from hiatus but now I'll actually be coming back for good. I keep going back on forth on actually utilizing the que feature or just... spamming the dash as I catch up, but don't mind me. I'm here and ready to throw chaos at you lovely human beings.

if you wanted to check in on our storyline post hiatus, feel free to message me! DMs are always open. If you're new and want to get something going, memes are a phenomenal option as well as DM plotting.

I'll be getting to things shortly ~

[kinomorebi]

[kinomorebi]

[kinomorebi]

Time and space knit the threads of tender friendship into place, but it's Violet that goes in with a knife to sever them. She’s tedious in her work, cutting one stitch here,  another there. Hardly noticeable until you distance yourself enough to see the big picture.

Only, Hara is still here.  And the knife is too dull to cut any more strings.

Candles reflect brilliantly off the dewdrops still clinging to soft skin. Violet doesn’t dare stray too close to the candle-flame flicker. Not when she’s made of all flammable parts and unhealed wounds. Besides, she’s already got six candles of her own to cast familiar shadows in the space of broken memory synapses. A few more and she might just ignite.

Sever ties before the fire can spread. Maybe a cauterization would do her some good.

It's the little things hiding beneath muscle memory that speak the loudest. Like the way Violet sits patiently in front of Hara while she works, legs crossed neatly beneath her, careful not to move too much and loose a stray flower Hara hasn’t quite secured yet. Her hand quickly lifts to catch it before it falls.

“Do you ever wonder what kind of animal you were in a past life?” 

Thunder rumbles brilliantly through the church’s foundation, rain an endless torrential downpour to batter stained glass imagery. A trivial question. One that holds only as much meaning as they chose to give it, but she knows Hara always goes deeper.

How else does she bleed and bleed and bleed?

@kinomorebi : 𝟶𝟼. sender takes refuge from a storm with the receiver in an abandoned church. + daisy chain. sender weaves flowers into receiver’s hair.

There's nothing more intrinsic that the way female friendships fall back into pattern. As if the synapse singings. Or the skin-threads re-mend in a flicker flash instant. It has been a long time since Hara and Violet have hung out. Than again, not.

Another flicker. The tail-ends of candle light that bath them in a warm glow but provide no warmth. If Hara stares too closely to the middle of the alter she can see herself again. Ten or so. Parents poking needle indexes between the blades of her shoulders.

Now the only God she knows is the one she finds in bed sheets. Twice as filling. Twice as prayer-worthy.

Hara, the intimate being. Sits folded, knees to knees. Her arms halo around Violet's head and disappear for a moment to part the hair and guide it to a fall across the front. She weaves her flowers with another effortless pattern. Proving time in time in time again that nothing is hard with them. And perhaps, nothing is not preset either.

❛ Got lovestruck, went straight to my head Got lovesick, all over my bed... ❜

"Slut!" ᴛᴀʏʟᴏʀ sᴡɪғᴛ ⇄ ◁◁ 𝚰𝚰 ▷▷ ↻ ⁰⁰'²⁵ ━━●━━───── ⁰²'⁰⁸

She sings, along.

The peach-fuzz soft of music playing out of her phone. All the things balm over the chill rolling down the open panel skin display her outfit allows. Rain clings like a bead off her belly chain and then finds a dripping path to the hem-band of her skirt.

[kinomorebi]

The webbing shift along the curve of her ass back pocket is a lot less satisfying than his hand would be. Did he have to be so honorable about everything?

“Don’t you know telling a girl not to do something only makes her want to do it more?”

Closer.  Closer.  Closer, still. 

He’s left no room for error in any sleight-of-hand attempt, but it's Felicia that leaves no room between them at all. If he’s so intent on not looking, the least she can do is help him out a little. (And what better way to block his line of sight than to press herself fully flush against him?)

She's tracing promises into his endless red, fingers dipping gently beneath the mask's seam in a tantalizing tug upwards, but the way she tips her chin down oh-so-subtly to look up at him through those dark lashes? That’s the real distraction, here. And she needs it if she wants to get past that pesky Spidey-sense of his.

“Oh, come on–" vocal tones teetering on deadly flirtation. "–what's one diamond necklace to you?” 

This diamond necklace would be the fourth this week. But who’s counting, right?

You guys are practically ingrown hairs. Well, one of you’s the hair—Peter, probably, if we’re being honest—so, Gwen, that would make you the skin, uh, you know, the way you finish each other’s...

Shut your late trap, Eddie.

❛ ... don’t do that again. ❜

... sentences.

Aw, shit.

This is too close to an unscripted episode of Jackass, AKA the nausea of a semi-guaranteed injury is a lot like the nausea of their kissing proximity. Don’t look at her assets, doooon’t. What else is he supposed to do when she’s dangling off him like a keychain? His forearms shadow the placement of her belt.

thwip! The that is this thing from her... back pocket in his hand. Stealing from a thief reverse-engineers the action, making it honorable. She likes shiny things, huh?