lost-soul-in-time

[lost-soul-in-time]

Olive's eyes stay glued to Marcy's hands as they're tentatively slipped out of their leather barrier, observing every callous and evidence of the day's labors. She has the sudden urge to kiss them again along with a few other impulsive thoughts she stuffs down the moment they emerge from her train of thought, watching Marcy begin to climb out of the window. A part of her wants to make up an excuse to earn her assistance climbing down, but she decides to give her weary body a break.

"I'm a well and capable woman, Marcy. I can handle myself." She says with no heat beneath her words, her ever-present smile accompanying them. As she lowers on the ladder, Olive follows suit, being extra careful closing the window and stepping down onto the grass beneath them. Silent as a mouse.

Interlacing their fingers, their hands lightly swing as Olive steps closer to Marcy for the warmth of her body in the chill beginning to descend on the moonlit night. "Lead the way then." She speaks in a slightly louder tone now that they've escaped the invisible clutches of her home.

An extra hour has been spent fussing over the herd, since two disappeared without a trace three nights ago. No blood, no broken fences. Just Misty and Dusty missing out of the paddock when she came in for a morning feed. Marcys considered sleeping out beside the herd to keep an eye out, but lord above does it make her back ache and jaw click to spend a night on the dirt like that. Another set of tag checking and kissing them all goodnight, and she sets off towards the house. Not hers, of course. A little antebellum set near the flat of the hill, where a candle remains lit in the top window. Waiting patiently, with a rope ladder caught between the sash and sill of the panes.

She wasn’t made for that house; she spent her time in a caravan set far back enough from the house it wouldn’t be an eyesore for the people of the house. She still climbs up the hill.

Striding across the hill, a quiet whistle is replaced by the bristling strike of a match. Euphorically groaning as the cigarette lights, lips tightly wrapped around it before sighing out her first puff of smoke. She couldn’t smoke in front of the herd, for some reason she’d ascribed herself to. Seemed wrong, letting it burn into the backs of their innocent eyes.

It was horrifically fascinating, when a cow died. Their eyes, the back of them at least, would burn up in the last colours they saw. She’d found it false when going through the slaughterhouse, and their eyes still shimmered in the iridescent blues of the sky they once saw. Marcy still couldn’t smoke in front of them.

Both of the spurs spin and click against themselves as she starts to climb the wall, pausing at the second floor as someone shifts through the hallway before returning to bed. Marcys nails grind against the flat tile, blooming a new callous against her left palm. She could’ve used the ladder, but it was still fun. Rapping her knuckles against the glass, she snakes through the window.

“Wanna go for a ride?”

[lost-soul-in-time]

The red hue over Olive’s cheeks might never quell itself if Marcy continues to pamper and spoil her with her words. With each kiss to her knuckle, she finds herself looking away with a sheepishness returning to the light air of playfulness around her. The only thing Marcy was missing was to be kneeling at her feet with the way she worshipped her, each reverent action making her heart swell and the love she held for her to overpower any rational decision.

“Window, to be sure we’re quiet.” In an attempt to return Marcy’s endless affections, she takes her hands in hers, leaving a kiss to her knuckles and then to her gloved palms. The calloused skin she knows is underneath is treated with care and admiration, a benign touch after days of hard labor.

“All the hard work you do… how are you not exhausted?” Her poor love, all she does in a single day and she still finds the time to whisk her away at night.

An extra hour has been spent fussing over the herd, since two disappeared without a trace three nights ago. No blood, no broken fences. Just Misty and Dusty missing out of the paddock when she came in for a morning feed. Marcys considered sleeping out beside the herd to keep an eye out, but lord above does it make her back ache and jaw click to spend a night on the dirt like that. Another set of tag checking and kissing them all goodnight, and she sets off towards the house. Not hers, of course. A little antebellum set near the flat of the hill, where a candle remains lit in the top window. Waiting patiently, with a rope ladder caught between the sash and sill of the panes.

She wasn’t made for that house; she spent her time in a caravan set far back enough from the house it wouldn’t be an eyesore for the people of the house. She still climbs up the hill.

Striding across the hill, a quiet whistle is replaced by the bristling strike of a match. Euphorically groaning as the cigarette lights, lips tightly wrapped around it before sighing out her first puff of smoke. She couldn’t smoke in front of the herd, for some reason she’d ascribed herself to. Seemed wrong, letting it burn into the backs of their innocent eyes.

It was horrifically fascinating, when a cow died. Their eyes, the back of them at least, would burn up in the last colours they saw. She’d found it false when going through the slaughterhouse, and their eyes still shimmered in the iridescent blues of the sky they once saw. Marcy still couldn’t smoke in front of them.

Both of the spurs spin and click against themselves as she starts to climb the wall, pausing at the second floor as someone shifts through the hallway before returning to bed. Marcys nails grind against the flat tile, blooming a new callous against her left palm. She could’ve used the ladder, but it was still fun. Rapping her knuckles against the glass, she snakes through the window.

“Wanna go for a ride?”

[lost-soul-in-time]

Olive finds herself pressing closer to Marcy when her hands brush down the expanse of her dress, humming against her lips as they move in tandem. It's far too soon when they part however, and she nearly whines in disappointment, the sound halted as the bar they're heading tonight is described to her. Smile returning to her face, she holds the other woman's face in her light grasp and leaves a soft peck on her lips.

"How thoughtful of you. Does this mean you'll spin me around and slow dance with me?" She lightheartedly adds with a hint of an enamored tone, preparing herself to force herself away from Marcy's hold soon. If they were to leave for the bar, it would have to be soon. She didn't want to risk anyone hearing them.

"We should start heading out then. Are you ready?" Olive asks with an excitement she does her best to keep at bay. She'd stay out the entire night with her if it were a possibility. Someday.

An extra hour has been spent fussing over the herd, since two disappeared without a trace three nights ago. No blood, no broken fences. Just Misty and Dusty missing out of the paddock when she came in for a morning feed. Marcys considered sleeping out beside the herd to keep an eye out, but lord above does it make her back ache and jaw click to spend a night on the dirt like that. Another set of tag checking and kissing them all goodnight, and she sets off towards the house. Not hers, of course. A little antebellum set near the flat of the hill, where a candle remains lit in the top window. Waiting patiently, with a rope ladder caught between the sash and sill of the panes.

She wasn’t made for that house; she spent her time in a caravan set far back enough from the house it wouldn’t be an eyesore for the people of the house. She still climbs up the hill.

Striding across the hill, a quiet whistle is replaced by the bristling strike of a match. Euphorically groaning as the cigarette lights, lips tightly wrapped around it before sighing out her first puff of smoke. She couldn’t smoke in front of the herd, for some reason she’d ascribed herself to. Seemed wrong, letting it burn into the backs of their innocent eyes.

It was horrifically fascinating, when a cow died. Their eyes, the back of them at least, would burn up in the last colours they saw. She’d found it false when going through the slaughterhouse, and their eyes still shimmered in the iridescent blues of the sky they once saw. Marcy still couldn’t smoke in front of them.

Both of the spurs spin and click against themselves as she starts to climb the wall, pausing at the second floor as someone shifts through the hallway before returning to bed. Marcys nails grind against the flat tile, blooming a new callous against her left palm. She could’ve used the ladder, but it was still fun. Rapping her knuckles against the glass, she snakes through the window.

“Wanna go for a ride?”

[lost-soul-in-time]

The longer Marcy continues with her infatuated remarks and looks at her as if no other beauty compares to her, the more Olive feels her face grow warm and her heart beat faster and harder in her chest. It's impossible to pretend that being the center of her attention didn't constantly cause her to falter and melt at her feet, and it's not long before she's stepping back towards her and burying her face away in her shoulder with a giggle.

Two magnets of opposite poles, constantly attracted and pulled to the other.

"Alright, alright... my poor heart can't take any more." Her arms wrap around her, hooked over her shoulders as she moves to rests her forehead against hers. "You're the sweetest thing, my darling." Olive's whisper is followed by her leaning in to press her lips to hers, vanilla lipgloss giving for a soft touch accompanying her gentle pace. She could stay here all night, pulling Marcy in further into her bedroom to sit on her lap and–

Well. She can't do that, now can she?

An extra hour has been spent fussing over the herd, since two disappeared without a trace three nights ago. No blood, no broken fences. Just Misty and Dusty missing out of the paddock when she came in for a morning feed. Marcys considered sleeping out beside the herd to keep an eye out, but lord above does it make her back ache and jaw click to spend a night on the dirt like that. Another set of tag checking and kissing them all goodnight, and she sets off towards the house. Not hers, of course. A little antebellum set near the flat of the hill, where a candle remains lit in the top window. Waiting patiently, with a rope ladder caught between the sash and sill of the panes.

She wasn’t made for that house; she spent her time in a caravan set far back enough from the house it wouldn’t be an eyesore for the people of the house. She still climbs up the hill.

Striding across the hill, a quiet whistle is replaced by the bristling strike of a match. Euphorically groaning as the cigarette lights, lips tightly wrapped around it before sighing out her first puff of smoke. She couldn’t smoke in front of the herd, for some reason she’d ascribed herself to. Seemed wrong, letting it burn into the backs of their innocent eyes.

It was horrifically fascinating, when a cow died. Their eyes, the back of them at least, would burn up in the last colours they saw. She’d found it false when going through the slaughterhouse, and their eyes still shimmered in the iridescent blues of the sky they once saw. Marcy still couldn’t smoke in front of them.

Both of the spurs spin and click against themselves as she starts to climb the wall, pausing at the second floor as someone shifts through the hallway before returning to bed. Marcys nails grind against the flat tile, blooming a new callous against her left palm. She could’ve used the ladder, but it was still fun. Rapping her knuckles against the glass, she snakes through the window.

“Wanna go for a ride?”

[lost-soul-in-time]

”Well, all that matters is you’re here, so I forgive you.” Olive’s smile grows alongside her lighthearted comment, hands drifting up to her head to scratch at the freshly shaved ends. If it were only up to her, she’d spend night after night with Marcy and freely be by her side the morning after. Curled up in her arms, sharing shameless kisses, pressing closer when her hands wander… it sounded like a dream. One she hoped and prayed for as much as she could.

At the mention of the bar, it pulls a small quiet sound of excitement from Olive, stepping closer to Marcy, enough for the ends of her dress to brush the exterior of her pants. “Really? Am I dressed for the occasion?” She muses, pulling back enough for Marcy to see her entirely and holding her hand in the process, as if she’s trying to subtly pull her back towards her every time she moves away.

Maybe she only wanted to show off the new dress she bought, or maybe she was itching for the compliments and praise Marcy so easily delivers. Perhaps it could even be a bit of both.

An extra hour has been spent fussing over the herd, since two disappeared without a trace three nights ago. No blood, no broken fences. Just Misty and Dusty missing out of the paddock when she came in for a morning feed. Marcys considered sleeping out beside the herd to keep an eye out, but lord above does it make her back ache and jaw click to spend a night on the dirt like that. Another set of tag checking and kissing them all goodnight, and she sets off towards the house. Not hers, of course. A little antebellum set near the flat of the hill, where a candle remains lit in the top window. Waiting patiently, with a rope ladder caught between the sash and sill of the panes.

She wasn’t made for that house; she spent her time in a caravan set far back enough from the house it wouldn’t be an eyesore for the people of the house. She still climbs up the hill.

Striding across the hill, a quiet whistle is replaced by the bristling strike of a match. Euphorically groaning as the cigarette lights, lips tightly wrapped around it before sighing out her first puff of smoke. She couldn’t smoke in front of the herd, for some reason she’d ascribed herself to. Seemed wrong, letting it burn into the backs of their innocent eyes.

It was horrifically fascinating, when a cow died. Their eyes, the back of them at least, would burn up in the last colours they saw. She’d found it false when going through the slaughterhouse, and their eyes still shimmered in the iridescent blues of the sky they once saw. Marcy still couldn’t smoke in front of them.

Both of the spurs spin and click against themselves as she starts to climb the wall, pausing at the second floor as someone shifts through the hallway before returning to bed. Marcys nails grind against the flat tile, blooming a new callous against her left palm. She could’ve used the ladder, but it was still fun. Rapping her knuckles against the glass, she snakes through the window.

“Wanna go for a ride?”

[lost-soul-in-time]

The candle burns dimly, and yet the signal it sends is strong enough to gain attention as if it were a giant blaze.

Olive knows she shouldn't be doing this. Her family made it clear when they reluctantly hired Marcy to work on their farm that she was to stay away from her, limit contact and keep it strictly professional when necessary. But she wasn't her father, she couldn't be cold and serious with anyone, especially not with people she was going to be seeing frequently on their land.

But even if she possessed the ability, she could never with her.

Marcy reeled her in the moment she met her, all swift charm and witty banter, and when she left a kiss on her knuckles like a knight in shining armor swearing themselves to their princess, her knees nearly gave out from underneath her and words barely escaped from her mouth. From then on, she was everything and in every thought she had. Like tonight, where she’d spoiled herself and spun in front of the mirror in her dress with a giddiness that’s become all too familiar.

Her heart skips a beat when she hears the sound of knuckles against the window and the voice she’d been waiting for.

With a laugh she does her best to keep quiet, she’s at Marcy’s side in the blink of an eye, pressing her lips to her cheek and wrapping her arms over her shoulders, her nails scratching lightly at the nape of her neck. “There you are. I missed you today, you kept me waiting.” She whispers loud enough for only the two of them to hear, a smile on her face that softens her words.

An extra hour has been spent fussing over the herd, since two disappeared without a trace three nights ago. No blood, no broken fences. Just Misty and Dusty missing out of the paddock when she came in for a morning feed. Marcys considered sleeping out beside the herd to keep an eye out, but lord above does it make her back ache and jaw click to spend a night on the dirt like that. Another set of tag checking and kissing them all goodnight, and she sets off towards the house. Not hers, of course. A little antebellum set near the flat of the hill, where a candle remains lit in the top window. Waiting patiently, with a rope ladder caught between the sash and sill of the panes.

She wasn’t made for that house; she spent her time in a caravan set far back enough from the house it wouldn’t be an eyesore for the people of the house. She still climbs up the hill.

Striding across the hill, a quiet whistle is replaced by the bristling strike of a match. Euphorically groaning as the cigarette lights, lips tightly wrapped around it before sighing out her first puff of smoke. She couldn’t smoke in front of the herd, for some reason she’d ascribed herself to. Seemed wrong, letting it burn into the backs of their innocent eyes.

It was horrifically fascinating, when a cow died. Their eyes, the back of them at least, would burn up in the last colours they saw. She’d found it false when going through the slaughterhouse, and their eyes still shimmered in the iridescent blues of the sky they once saw. Marcy still couldn’t smoke in front of them.

Both of the spurs spin and click against themselves as she starts to climb the wall, pausing at the second floor as someone shifts through the hallway before returning to bed. Marcys nails grind against the flat tile, blooming a new callous against her left palm. She could’ve used the ladder, but it was still fun. Rapping her knuckles against the glass, she snakes through the window.

“Wanna go for a ride?”

[lost-soul-in-time]

Hey so I'm not sure if anyone needs to hear this right now, but I wanted to remind anyone who sees this that it's okay to say no, it's okay to put yourself first, and it's okay to feel not at your best sometimes. Don't burn yourself out for anyone, I don't care who it is. Nobody who truly cares about you would see you struggling and voluntarily allow you to continue down a path that doesn't benefit you. Putting yourself first and taking care of yourself when you need to is the only way to be the person you want to see in yourself and the only way to identify when you're not feeling your best either. And always remember there is and always will be somebody who will be there for you, even if it doesn't seem like it sometimes.

Life is rough. It gets hard and it's painful and stressful and so many other things. But please don't ever forget how special you are, because I see it in every one of you 💖

[lost-soul-in-time]

I just had the best cake ever like GOD WHAT how is it possible for cake to taste that good. An orgasm wasn’t as good as that cake /j

[lost-soul-in-time]

[lost-soul-in-time]

PLEASE be RESPECTFUL to THE PEOPLE WHO SERVE YOU

[lost-soul-in-time]

Thinking about Modern Oliver today and how he doesn’t escape tragedy either

[lost-soul-in-time]

[lost-soul-in-time]

[lost-soul-in-time]

vent

I don’t think i can take another four years with him. I really can’t. What.

[lost-soul-in-time]

Olive remains quiet as the woman on the other end of the line gives her a list of possible maintenance options and seems to fluster at her instinctual spill of words, yet even as she apologizes for her 'lack of manners' as she'd put it, she couldn't help but be charmed by the eagerness practically radiating from her phone. She tries to visualize this character in her own mind as she smiles, turning away from the window and moving to sit down at her dinner table instead.

"There's no need for apologies. You can call me Olive. I was hoping to schedule an inspection sometime tomorrow afternoon, if that's possible? I know it's a bit short notice, though." With her scheduled meeting with her ex-husband tomorrow morning in order to get rid of the last of his things, she dares not to schedule anything too early. Olive knows all too well how he can be, and she would rather not cause herself another problem.

“Hello? Butch Bush Lawn Care, Marcy speaking. How can I help you today honey?” Twisting the cord of the phone around her index finger, Marcy gazes past the window and towards the cramped rows of buildings opposite her home. Business had been a little bit slow, since the recent split of her company with Charlotte and the loss of more than half of her clientele. Most of her day was spent poking around the office, chewing on gum to circumvent the absolute need to start smoking again, and spin around in the chair until she gets a bit too dizzy and needs a lie down.

Some point in the last week, the air conditioning unit had broken in her apartment. Sweat is starting to bead across her forehead, dripping down her back and starting to soak into her work overalls. She should just stay ready, just in case she gets a real call for a job. Preferably with a nice lady on the other end.

@samesnakenewskin

Olive couldn't take care of a garden.

After her recent and... messy split with her ex-husband, it seems the stress she had felt during her marriage still hasn't gone away. Looking out her kitchen window towards the same flowers that have been there for who knows how long causes a twisting turmoil of emotion to ball up in her stomach, coiling and constricting until it nearly suffocated her as much as her marriage did.

She's tired of having the same old thing. She wants something new.

So after attempting to take matters into her own hands and ending up unsuccessful in her efforts - she still has the healing scrapes on her knees as proof - she's decided to leave the more manual labor to someone else, and who better than the accessible company she'd caught sight of in the paper. They seemed local enough, and she soon found herself dialing the number and smiling out into her room at the charming voice greeting her.

"Hello, darling. I'm hoping to inquire about some potential maintenance work for my garden?" Looking out the same window as before towards the overgrown weeds and sad flowers, she finds herself frowning. "...It's in need of something livelier."

[lost-soul-in-time]

Staring at the asks and drafts I've yet to answer these past few months piling up...

I will get to them soon. Someday. I promise /lh

[lost-soul-in-time]

“Hello? Butch Bush Lawn Care, Marcy speaking. How can I help you today honey?” Twisting the cord of the phone around her index finger, Marcy gazes past the window and towards the cramped rows of buildings opposite her home. Business had been a little bit slow, since the recent split of her company with Charlotte and the loss of more than half of her clientele. Most of her day was spent poking around the office, chewing on gum to circumvent the absolute need to start smoking again, and spin around in the chair until she gets a bit too dizzy and needs a lie down.

Some point in the last week, the air conditioning unit had broken in her apartment. Sweat is starting to bead across her forehead, dripping down her back and starting to soak into her work overalls. She should just stay ready, just in case she gets a real call for a job. Preferably with a nice lady on the other end.

@samesnakenewskin

Olive couldn't take care of a garden.

After her recent and... messy split with her ex-husband, it seems the stress she had felt during her marriage still hasn't gone away. Looking out her kitchen window towards the same flowers that have been there for who knows how long causes a twisting turmoil of emotion to ball up in her stomach, coiling and constricting until it nearly suffocated her as much as her marriage did.

She's tired of having the same old thing. She wants something new.

So after attempting to take matters into her own hands and ending up unsuccessful in her efforts - she still has the healing scrapes on her knees as proof - she's decided to leave the more manual labor to someone else, and who better than the accessible company she'd caught sight of in the paper. They seemed local enough, and she soon found herself dialing the number and smiling out into her room at the charming voice greeting her.

"Hello, darling. I'm hoping to inquire about some potential maintenance work for my garden?" Looking out the same window as before towards the overgrown weeds and sad flowers, she finds herself frowning. "...It's in need of something livelier."