lanamemories2

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the sexiest people are the worst drivers or just simply don’t drive or even know how to <3

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@elipax: @dicksistersinc no, thank you.

@dicksistersinc: @elipax https://pbs.twimg.com/media/Dvc031GXQAEnF61?format=jpg&name=large

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@griffinallard: @dicksistersinc say more. 👀👂

@dicksistersinc: @griffinallard glad u asked. from 8pm est i'll b accepting dick pics which i'll publicly rate. if u score below a 5/10 it's straight to the sashimi board 🔪🍣

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@dicksistersinc: i will be doing penis reviews @ 8pm est.

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Latching onto Elias’ hand with the lockjaw determination of a pit-bull, simply the equivalent of a ‘hello’ in the Lana Jameson handbook, she tugged him along to the next mirror in the Picasso room. “I look totally pregnant, in this one,” she declared, doing her best to puff out her stomach as she stood side on, mirror distorting the bump even further. Her free hand cropped up to pat twice at claimed child-to-be, eyes pinging to study Elias’. “It’s yours. You’re the father. Are you gonna provide for us? I wanna hear, like, your long term plan of action. I mean, Gilbert and I...” she trailed off, feigning a heartfelt sigh. “We want security, Eli. We need a strong poppa to keep us safe. He’s already gonna get bullied for being so sexy, people are, like, vicious when they’re jealous, and let’s face the facts, this baby’s genes? High calibre. Total dynamite. So, I mean, we at least need a good dynamic at home. To get him through. Begin your pitch, please. Paint me the whole picture.” @eliaspaxton​

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Prancing up to Viktor like some kind of demented hobgoblin set free from a curse, Lana didn’t have the cognitive awareness to realise she might be interrupting something, pupils plump as berries. “Hey, look what I stole from whatever weird thing they’re shooting in the Marge Whatever room,” she announced, lifting one of two bags of fake blood in such an excitedly scrunched fist that something popped, erupting over everything -- Viktor’s shirt, Lana’s hand, a sizeable fleck on her chin. “Oh,” came with a startled blink, grin springing after her nose wrinkled. “That’s -- um, I mean, way to make an entrance, I guess. Sorry, that kinda sucks. Wanted to give you both. Like, to stage a murder or something, pretend your guts plopped out. This -- um...” trailed off, reaching out to discard the deflated remains into the cup of somebody standing by. Zoned in to the fiasco, she didn’t register how disgusted they were. “Do you want, like... a napkin, or? I mean, I won’t lie, I don’t really know what to do here,” she blathered on, patting at Viktor’s shirt and only worsening the seep. “Wow, that’s super on there. Pretty... realistic. It’s --,” cut short with a blink elsewhere, red jogging something unwanted. She continued to chatter on autopilot, hand hovering like she didn’t know what to do with it, now, couldn’t acknowledge something so eerily familiar. “Kinda wanna wipe it on Cary Grant’s head. He smashed up the HQ and, like -- God, I’m thirsty. Do you have a drink?” @viktcrr​

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“Wait!” Lana declared, reaching out to snatch the teacup from Disha’s grip before she could take a sip. “Don’t drink that. I saw some guy, like, hacking something up, baby bird style, earlier. So gross. Spitting in it, literally no mercy -- like, your back was turned, I’m just on the ball. I spotted it. Thank god for me, I guess. Saving your life. I’m kind of a hero, when you really think about it.” Despite the entire story, it barely took her a second before she was lifting said teacup to take a drink for herself -- the base had a monkey dangling one armed from a branch, scratching with a free hand at it’s armpit. In her hair, she’d pinned a fallen butterfly that’d been dangling from the ceiling. She fiddled idly as she chattered, unable to keep her hands still. “Which room’s your favourite? I think I like this one. Pretty. I don’t really know much about Frida but I think I’d make out with her, if I could time travel. Like, she just has that vibe. I mean, I used to think the same about Thomas the tank engine, when I was a kid -- like, if I was a train, it’d totally be on.” @dishajohal​

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Plotted in front of a Margaret Keane painting, Lana’s pupils were vibrating to the extent that it almost looked as if the woman depicted was tracking her whenever she moved -- central on a murky street, her white rimmed waterline had Lana scrunching up her nose. “This one’s gross -- she’d, like, steal people’s floss, when they were done, and eat it. I mean, right? I know she would. She’s telling me with her eyes. I don’t like her,” she rambled, reaching to take the hand of the person besides her under the impression it was Dom -- eyes flitting, a shriek parted her lips extraordinarily loud, right against his ear. Unnecessary? Yes. Theatrical? Always. She threw his hand like she’d picked up a dead rat. “Oh, you’re! Whoa. What’s -- where’d Dom go? How long have you even..? This is -- sorry for screaming, it was just, like, a total shock. Disorientating. Honestly kinda shaken up. You know,” she began, pressing her lips into a line to mock a scold, suddenly flipping the narrative. “You can’t just go holding people’s hands out of the blue like that, Clark. I don’t care if this painting’s creepy. Maybe buy me dinner first? Kinda sick.” @clarkiingram​

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Trampling along like a bull in a China shop, Lana caught her foot on a strewn Kanken bag and almost went flying, blurting a garbled “WAL-uiiiiiii!” as she staggered around in search of balance. Jaw dropping, she whipped her head around to find a witness, eyes latching onto Dayn who was standing closest. “Did you hear that? I literally, like -- like, I got taken over, I totally felt an all encompassing chill. Waluigi was inside me, wearing my skin like a suit. I almost said his name and everything -- that’s how it happens, that’s how he gets you. So scary. Think I’m gonna pitch the experience to a big horror movie company, maybe buy my own private island with the box office profits.” Slotting her lollipop into her mouth -- thankfully, she hadn’t dropped it -- she gave it a suck before popping it out, wafting in his general direction. “Didn’t I race you to a lamp post, once? I beat you, right? Weird. ‘Cause, like, your legs are so long. Almost too long, you know? Like... we get it.” Smile a permanent fixture, it only grew wider. “What’s your name? Or wait, don’t tell me. Think I wanna call you Fergus. Fergie when I’m happy with you.” @dvyns​

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duckyfm​

( @radopens​ )

Stretched across a beanbag - Ducky hadn’t been sure how long ago it’d been since he’d first joined the room, eyes glazing past the sunflowers that surrounded him and sticking to the painting overhead, instead. Someone had thought to mimic Starry Night on the ceiling - the stars pulsated, colors swirled - he thought he could name constellations in the painting, like there’d been any to begin with. “That one’s, fucking … Cassiopeia,” he pointed up, towards nothing, head half-hanging off the beanbag and body sunken in - his perception skewed, “She uh - was a queen, once. Got strung up with the stars as punishment, though - fucking … pissed Poseidon off, or whatever. Big fucking ego.”

“Cassiope-her? I barely know her,” Lana broke deadpan with a grin almost as soon as it left her mouth, hideously amused by anything in her current frame of mind -- rather than look at the ceiling just yet, she reached out to begin tucking a flame orange hibiscus behind Ducky’s ear, stolen from the Kahlo room. Her eyebrows furrowed a little in concentration, molars clenching on a piece of cherry bubblegum. A wordless bribe, of sorts -- a saucer of milk to a timid kitten, trying to lure it from beneath the table. Ducky was important. She wanted him to like her. Once balanced just right, Lana lifted her chin. “Strung up like Pinocchio in Shrek 2,” she said with a knowing, faux solemn nod, lips hanging a breath agape as she searched for said constellation. “Or by her nipples. Jokes on Poseidon, she has a clamp fetish. Keeps everyone on earth up by moaning in the sky all night. Totally excessive. Like, relax? Acting like a Victorian lord who just caught a glimpse of an ankle. We get it, Cassie. If that’s even your real name.” Lana plopped down besides him, pulling her legs into a cross by the ankles -- it was subconscious, the way her thumb brushed the skin back and forth. Lana leaned slightly closer after a pop of her gum, blinking wide, wilder than the shock of a toaster in a bath tub. “Business hours. My briefcase is, like, unclipping or whatever -- unclicking? Whatever. Oh, sorry. Tommo’s dick pic’s still in there. Before you say anything, I know. Sad anteater vibes. At least the lighting’s good, but. You know, you work with what you have.” He hadn’t commented on the imaginary dick pic at all. Lana phased past it. “Anyways, are you, like -- Do you have any pills on you?”

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Kate Hudson as Penny Lane in Almost Famous (2000)

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dvminics​

the smokey musk was discernible upon entering the warehouse, becoming increasingly prominent until it fully engulfed every sense within the van gogh room. it wasn’t dom’s first choice, but he’d gotten lost, and it was the closest path of escape from whatever was going on in the margaret keane room. “hey,” he spoke up, catching sight of a figure that was familiar or appeared familiar, at least. either way, he held up the second water bottle he had with him in offering. “kinda hard to breathe in here, huh?” @radopens​

A red hand on her arm from the paint in the Jackson Pollock room had unsettled her for a reason she couldn’t place and now, one pill down in an effort to rectify the situation, all she wanted to do was find Dom again. She let out a gasp when he spoke, apparently not tuned in enough to her surroundings to know she’d achieved her goal. A hand shot out instantly to latch onto the bottle, though it didn’t pull it away, fingers overlapping his like that was the ulterior motive. “Hey,” she breathed with a grin, toes thrumming with the urge to push up and get close -- she practically bounced on the spot a few times, a poorly restrained Jack-in-the-box. “I mean, kinda. I think I’ve developed, like, special gills for it. I’ve evolved. Improvise, adapt, overcome. Bear Grylls.” She properly accepted the water, then, lifted to her lips for a sip that didn’t come to fruition. More talking. “Wanna come to the Picasso room, with me? They have that photobooth that, like, jumbles your face up or whatever. I saw some guy that had his eye on his forehead, in his. You know angels in the bible look like that? All scary, I guess -- like, weird, more like demons,” she chattered on, unable to keep from touching him at any point in their conversation -- a free hand had strayed to hook a finger in his neckline, idly pinging. “It’d be like seeing you in your natural form, or something. Biblical rendition. I wanna see what you look like.” Eyes lifting from her hand, they flit back and forth between his. “So do you wan -- huh,” she interrupted, smile budding despite the fact she’d seen him several times already, had even arrived with him. “You look nice. Forgot that you look this nice.”

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me after taking two pills from a pill bottle labeled “pills that make it so if there’s a cherry pie in a bear trap, you can’t see the bear trap” and seeing a cherry pie right next to me: i mean, what are the odds right?

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You’re so delicious as a concept, but as a real person I worry for you

Thanks

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when will you get bored of dom?

“I honestly... can’t relate to finding Dom boring in, like, any way. Like, are you okay? Feverish, high temperature? Get well soon.”

@dvminics