othcrworlds

[othcrworlds]

♡

[othcrworlds]

the drink felt good against his palate, refreshing in the heavy summer air. enzo took his time with it, same way he drew on the fat blunt balanced between ring-clad fingers. usually, he didn’t mix cannabis and alcohol — not anymore — but figured breaking the rule just once wouldn’t kill him, if only to play nice. after all, he had accidentally jacked the pretty kid’s hiding spot.

funny how he wasn’t as itchy to leave now as he’d been ten minutes ago. he returned the clink with his bottle, a silent toast to new faces and prettier cars, before the kid’s theory had him raising a brow. “skate shop, huh? rare to see an independent one these days. i thought for sure they’d all gone corporate.” he tried not to be that guy, the one who judged the book by its cover, but the blonde looked like a poster boy for a local skatepark or a vans shoot, all reckless sugar and easy charm.

the kid’s next comment pulled a grin out of him before he could school his expression. “hey, you said it, not me,” he laughed, hands lifting a little in playful defense, joint still burning between his fingers. if he’d known for sure whether the kid leaned the same way, he might’ve taken that opening to press closer, to push a little harder — shoot a shot straight through those pretty curls. but new territory demanded caution. instead, he held the blunt out to him, easy, casual, no pressure. “it’s those eyes, chico. bet you could sell a designer helmet to a dude who thinks he’s immortal.” he let that hang for a second, knowing he’d pressed a little, but hey — he could always blame it on the weed if the kid decided to get weird about it.

from  the  layer  of  of  his  beanie  through  the  thick  curls,  he  could  feel  the  vibration  of  the  music  bounce  through  the  walls  next  to  them.  only  being  muffled  along  choir  filled  with  laughter  and  exhaust  pipes  —  his  white  noise.  his  smiled  hard  warmed  as  well  stretched  when  the  other  accepted  his  offering. taking  one  swipe  down  to  fully  gather  a  proper  look,  to  fully  collect  a  thought  on  him.  the  car  alone  had  the  emerson  in  a  gravitational  pull.  interested  in  the  story  but  his  tongue  had  stayed  stubborn  as  it was a reoccurring problem that  got  him  weaved  into  trouble  countless  times for not doing so. "  you  can  say  that  about  yourself,  too.  "  the  reason  they  were  under  one  roof,  after  the  races  and  the  glamorizing  over  the  line up  —  it  was  the  connection  to  be  made  over  it  that  made  him  a  citizen.  "  looks  like  we  might  along  just  fine,  then.  "  there  was  relief  but  he  kept  the  skip  like  pattern  in  their  exchange. brows  quickly  raised  as  he  shared  the  timing  when  it  came  to  taking  a  drink,  corner  of  lips  curled  before  letting  sit  back  in  his  lap.  swallowing  the  mouthful  which  only  let  another  warm  stream  down  his  insides  but  loosened  his  personality.  "  well  shit,  you  brought  that  and  then  some!  "  the  blond  picked  up  on  the  gesture,  following  suit  and  tapping  the  bottom edges  of  their  drinks  together,  "  enzo.  “  he  repeated,  slightly  softer  as  he  acknowledged  him  as  a  whole.  he  was  going  to  remember  him.  “  probably  a  commercial  for  our  skate  shop.  “  he  suggested,  eyes  searching  for  the  bell  being  rung  as  he  was  curious  himself.  ”  i  am  a  pretty  motherfucker,  so  i  get  that  a  lot.  ”  a  playful  ring  on  his  looks  as  he  ran  his  fingers  across  his  own  jaw  then  narrowing  his  eyes  slightly. 

[othcrworlds]

prior to her entanglement with ender, bianca had placed her dating life on ice. an equestrian champion here, some big-shot producer there — none of them ever quite stuck. they all left something to be desired in her wild little heart. like pastries in a display case: polished, impressive, carefully iced — but when it came time to take a bite? there was nothing beneath the glaze. no madagascar vanilla, no strawberries, no sugar — just dry sponge and disappointment. but ender? he was the whole damn bakery. the kind that stays open after dark. he was candyland incarnate. and she? she wouldn’t have minded being consumed by the caramelized brown sugar sword.

despite the fire consuming them presently, she never could’ve imagined that what began as a fling would twist into what they had now. following the advices of her older brother and sister, she’d kept her heart under lock and key — that was, until starless city nights gave way to conversations about life, about culture, about that question-filled void called the future. for better or for worse, a considerable chunk of her heart was in his hands now, entirely at his mercy. she often wondered if a spat like the one they’d just had might tempt him to send it hurdling off an arena stage somewhere. as he spoke, the brunette tilted her head, watching him like a hawk — his expressions, his features, the familiar way the words moved through his mouth. they’d gone down this conversational road before, but that didn’t stop her from studying the way he chose to deliver them now.

“you know i’ve always been a sucker for your jealousy, though… makes me feel wanted.” and god, it did. jealousy might as well have been a certified love language in the twisted version of that chart — the one from hell. whether or not it was good for her was a different story entirely.

she often wanted to remind him that she didn’t have eyes for anyone else. that he had her ruined for every other man. but she figured he’d heard that sort of thing before, and it landed heavier in action than it ever would in words. a deeper, more fragile part of her also refrained from placing those kinds of emotions on a silver platter for him. she was afraid he’d become jaded. that he’d jab a fork into what she’d offered up — the most tender parts of her — and throw it over his shoulder like it wasn’t enough. like it was never going to be enough.

another series of giggles spilled out at the feeling of those familiar hands roaming her skin. she pressed into him, using the moment to plant a few glossy kisses along the jawline she adored so much. the feel of his lips grazing her earlobe and trailing down her neck made her tilt her head to the side, offering him cleaner access — permission, in a way, to mark her with his mouth and that intoxicating scent of his.

a small gasp escaped her when she felt him gently push her back on their shared bed. she let herself fall back slowly, only to sit up on her elbows, wanting to properly look at him as he loomed over her. his admission, paired with that tender-but-burning touch against her cheek, had her biting back a smirk. “pues… no chanclitas involved, pero maybe you can let me take a little control… be good for me, papi, déjame ver qué se siente.” she blinked up at him with wide eyes, tone sugar-sweet and laced with a feigned innocence that almost masked the blaze behind it. she knew exactly what she was doing — exactly what kind of portal she was unlocking with that ask. the desire curled beneath her voice was unmistakable, blooming only when she was already aching for him. wet for him. ready to burn.

Ender grew up with old customs and was taught the ways of the abuelitas, good morals, catholic up-bring and treat women with respect. Growing up he wasn't a good little boy he associated himself with the wrong crowd and got influenced by all the bad shit his abuelitas advised him not to do, he's always been that rebellious soul. He had all the chicas del barrio but none could ever compare to his princess, she is the one be all. And if he wanted this to work out between them he'd also had to learn to not control her either, he knew women didn't like being in a leash by no man.

"Sometimes ... my head thinks about the worst possible scenario. There's all these big, muscular pretty boys out there who might want to get a piece of you and you'd might fold with just a few little words from them." he says, pinning her against him as if there was some dude near by ready to snatch her away. "i know i have to control my jealousy, we both do. I don't want my jealousy to push you way into the arms of un baboso." As if the kisses he soon placed on her vanilla scented skin, her cherry flavored glossy lips would make everything go away. Large tatted hands followed the her curves that fell on her round nalgas giving those puppies a squeeze. Her sweet little giggles had him chuckling because it was the most attractive sounds, Ender felt so blessed to have such a woman by his side.

"It's not, hell might make it a kink of mines. hit me with your best chancla princess i promise i'll moan." He says giving her ear lobe a gentle teasing bite, then he buried his face against her neck where he kissed her softly there too. "me vuelves loco..." releasing a groan before he threw her on the bed, his body burned for her, desired her so much. Backing away slightly at her words, one hand came to cup her cheek. "No se bebecita, soy tuyo para que me hagas lo que quieras. I'm open to whatever your cabezita has in mind."

[othcrworlds]

the studio’s designated piano player had long since packed up, disappearing with the last of the sunlight. what lingered was silence — sharp, expectant, brimming with all the tension of an approaching ballet season. only the occasional creak of wooden floorboards interrupted it, a sound born from the pressure of paloma’s pointe shoes pressing into the grain like teeth.

she held her place at the barre, her usual spot, eyes glued to her reflection in the expansive wall of mirrors. earlier, when the piano’s melancholic cries had still been pouring through the room, it had been easier to ignore the screams radiating up from her toes. now, with the air stripped bare, the ache was harder to tune out. she was just about to queue up the season’s playlist when someone barged into the studio, chaos on rubber soles.

paloma didn’t flinch. her limbs remained statuesque, held in place by something tighter than discipline — something closer to spite. her eyes flicked toward the door in a lazy, inspecting glance, only to retreat back to the mirror once she saw who had joined her. “why would i mind? not like i own the studio,” she said, tone light, almost bored. she recognized the game. knew not to bite when the other dancer tossed out a dig about her bedtime. she didn’t need to throw back a clever little i’ll sleep when i’m dead — she simply lived it. eye bags and all. nothing a little concealer couldn’t smooth over. “god forbid you upset brad. you know how he operates.”

as she said it, her arms floated overhead, stretching into a high fifth as she twisted to one side, examining the lines of her silhouette in the mirror — like she was searching for flaws only she had the vocabulary to name. the remark, like her body, remained controlled, precise. a flick of the wrist, a pointed toe, a perfectly delivered barb.

@othcrworlds plotted muse: louisa

wandering into the studio, louisa is unsurprised to find paloma already there. the two were often in close competition in the company, understudies for each other, duking it out for solos. louis knows how dedicated paloma is, admires that part of her, but she also can't stand the woman. and then, as it always goes, louisa can never keep her eyes and hands off her either.

she loudly drops her things, hoping to distract the graceful form in the center of the studio from her variation. "isn't it past your bedtime?" louisa smirks, walking slowly toward her. "brad asked me to prepare the same variation from carmen," she nods to the piece paloma had just been working on. "hope you don't mind."

[othcrworlds]

“hey, i can handle it. i just gotta pace myself,” felix muttered — practically pouted — a half-assed attempt at self-advocacy, wobbling on unsteady ground given the current state of his limbs. didn’t matter, though — not when the strain ari passed around was hitting like a mystical thunderstorm on a parched july afternoon. not when the blonde nestled between them looked like something dreamt up by a poet in heat — the kind of fever dream one would bottle if they could, sip on during the grayest days just to remember what it felt like to ache for something.

he met her gaze and didn’t bother pretending. his eyes darkened, lingered, drank her in like the richest espresso — slow, reverent, a little depraved. the kind of stare that hinted at all the places his mind had already wandered in the last few weeks.

“he’s good. just outta shape is all,” ari smirked, chin tipping toward felix with that signature give-you-shit charm. he melted deeper into the couch, lashes lowering for a slow blink — letting himself sink into the delicious haze of smoke and tension and the seductive thrum of "mouthfeel 😈" (a playlist he’d titled himself — and yes, he was proud of the name. it made girls blush when they saw it, if they were lucky enough to hear it. if he was playing it, they already knew what time it was), the one purring through the stupidly overpriced surround sound he insisted was worth it for nights like this.

“call me perverted,” he murmured, voice low, “but it kinda sounds like you’re trying to smoke this kid out.” his eyes flicked open again, finding her — really finding her — and locking in. “that’d be kinda fucked up of you.”

the accusation — no, the observation — came laced with amusement, coated in heat. he reached out then, slow and assured, fingers brushing through her hair to tuck a glossy strand behind her ear. it was a soft gesture — too soft — one that acted like it had no business in a room thick with unspoken filth. but maybe that was the point.

bailey is perched perfectly on ari's couch, legs crossed under her as she lets the haze of the joint cloud her head and spread through her body. she had been dying to find herself in this position, just the three of them relaxed and ready. she had been the one to suggest the smoke sesh, and thankful ari was more than willing to host. her hands lay in her lap as she looks from felix over to ari, easy smile on her face.

"never, i'm feeling particularly wonderful." and horny, though she figured she would slip that in momentarily. for weeks she had been shamelessly flirting with the two, inviting them out, standing too close at work, letting them catch her staring at felix, brushing against ari when she could.

one hand slowly starts to drift to ari's lap, lazily resting on his leg while the other mindlessly plays with felix's hair. "your shit is strong babe." she laughs, looking at ari. "we gotta take care of our little baby over here though, since he can't handle it." she nods to felix.

[othcrworlds]

✵ closed starter for @swcctcrbittcr

the fragrant blunt was hitting harder than it normally would’ve — or perhaps felix’s tolerance had significantly dwindled since his last smoke sesh. ari’s stash always did hit different though, so realistically, it was anyone’s guess as to why felix’s head felt like it’d been filled with herbal hot air balloon steam. nonetheless, his body felt satisfyingly heavy as it sat relaxed on the floor of his homeboy’s loft, his back against the abstract couch. “coño, i don’t know how you guys expect me to make you more drinks in this condition, this shit is potent.”

“relax, no one’s expecting anything from you right now,” ari called out from the kitchen. his response came mid-rifle — the club promoter had been on the hunt for his fancy bottle opener which had once again managed to vanish from its assigned spot in one of the drawers. abandoning the hunt, he eventually made his way back through the open space loft and threw himself down onto the couch, limbs sprawled out across the fabric like he owned the place, because he did. instead of lifting the back of his head off the couch, he slowly turned it to face bailey, the prized little blonde sat between him and his homeboy. “and you? how you feelin, mami? having as many issues as this clown?”

[othcrworlds]

“it’s gonna be great,” gia emphasized with a giddy, almost whimsical giggle. her perfectly manicured fingers rhythmically tapped the retro-style camcorder she was holding, device suddenly feeling heavier in her hands as if weighed down by the promise of what they could create together. “besides — if we don’t like anything, we can just erase it and then it’ll be like it never happened…” she allowed that promise to trail off as she trapped her lower lip between her teeth, as if attempting to bite into her own anticipation. she passed the camcorder to one hand so she could lean in on the other and blink her desires in the fellow brunette’s face, tone dropping down into a honeyed murmur. “…honestly? i just want you to see yourself react when i taste you…i want you to see what i see.”

"i am a bit camera shy but it could be fun."

[othcrworlds]

for once, she wasn’t hungry — and the lack of appetite had nothing to do with her undiagnosed tummy issues. no, it directly correlated with being in such close proximity to him; her entire body felt like a tidal wave, pulled toward him by lunar forces larger than herself. the sensation stirred a discomfort in her, one born of sheer vulnerability — that aching, exposed kind that made her feel like a de-shelled crab in a world of steel-toed boots, or a ripe peach one careless squeeze away from ruin.

she didn’t even have time to consider what that meant — not when his fingers reached to gently tuck her freshly-glossed strands behind her ear, threatening to send her into total overdrive. blood surged to her cheeks with a lively vengeance, blooming beneath the mauve blush that already stained her complexion. “you know i can be won over with mango anything,” she smirked — her best attempt at deflecting the betrayals her body was currently enacting inside the holy space that was their beloved taqueria.

she didn’t bother to hide her grin as he secured their fate and gravitated toward their table. she took her seat first, assuming he’d settle into the one across from her. but when she glanced up, she found him depositing himself right beside her — close enough that their thighs could’ve touched with just a minor shift. once again, that lunar pull tugged at her ribs, threatening to collapse them inward.

she was grateful, in that moment, for the ability to occupy herself with the sacred act of going in on those colorful tacos. if this was a date (was it? did she want it to be? did he?), maybe she would’ve minded how she ate — maybe she would’ve picked at her food with dainty fingers like some kind of mexican-american royalty. but this was amador. god knew he wouldn’t judge her for getting a little messy.

manicured fingers squeezed a generous ribbon of lime over her tacos before she reached for a coveted sip of the crispy mango jarritos. “i would’ve been concerned if you didn’t pick this table, not gonna lie,” she grinned, leaning in to bump his shoulder with her own. in a way, she hated that he chose their table. it only fed the hope she was sure she’d already sniped out like an untamed forest fire all those years ago.

she sank into the quiet comfort of breaking bread beside him — a tranquil silence that served as a bittersweet reminder of why she adored his company the way she did. there had never been a pressure to fill the space with empty words. he’d never expected her to perform or put on some clown show for his entertainment. he understood her silences, respected what she did choose to give — and she loved him a little more for that. she’d never been a particularly chatty person; when she spoke, it was with intention. it was to improve upon the silence, not drown it. maybe that’s why the words he finally did offer nearly made her choke on the sparkly mango elixir.

she set the bottle down, unaware that her fingers were trembling just slightly — the kind of tremble that comes when one realizes someone has just laid their heart down in front of them. her body slowly turned toward him, not unlike a sunflower reorienting itself to find the light that feeds it. “hope?” she pressed her teeth into her lower lip, trying to buy herself time to compute the gravity of what he’d just downloaded into her system. “…tell me more.” the words left her softly, a murmur nearly lost to the ambient noise around them. it wasn’t a question. not really. it was a statement dressed in softness — a quiet beckoning, a subtle surrender. she already knew what he meant. but she needed to hear it aloud, let it hang between them like a live wire, buzzing with all the meaning she didn’t yet have the courage to name. and maybe — just maybe — she needed a few more seconds in the warmth of almost, before the moment everything changed.

Oh she was definitely testing the waters right now, with a brow raised to her words was she saying that truthfully or jokingly that he couldn't tell, it was hard to tell whenever something came out of her sexy mouth but one thing he understood and knew so well was the tension they shared for many years. "How about tomorrow or are you free the next two hours?" Amador wasn't joking but flat out serious, would she take the hint or play hard to get.

The tension was surely there in the car and Amador fought his demons, he wanted to make this day special for them both more so for her because she deserved the world and a good time. As he helped her out his car like a true gentleman, taking her hand so gently in his as she made it out her cute dress made it impossible to concentrate, he eyed her from the back seeing how the thin fabric stuck her her spine and marked her curves so delicious he was almost parched.

At her words he finally locked his car, catching up to her in a heart beat. They walked shoulder to shoulder towards the Taqueria. "I wouldn't mind finding out those consequences with you." Would he risk everything for Jocelyn? that was an easy answer, yes.

He stared her while she skimmed through the menu, her smile pulled at his heart strings even after all these years. "Never hurt to try it again." He chuckled, while his hand pushed her locks of her hair behind her back, staring at her while she reminisced about that argument they had as kids that even their tias got involved. "I remember, and then i dabbed some tomatillo sauce on your cheek. You complained that you'll feel the spiciness through your cheek into your mouth. After that, you stopped talking to me for a whole hour until i made it up to you with a mango paleta." he says with a smile. If he could only go back in time to relive those precious moments and tell her just how much he's loved her ever since.

Once their orders were done, Amador picked a table they always sat at every afternoon or evening; the one at the far end with the nice umbrella that covered them during those hot summer days. It made tonight feel more memorable and nostalgic. "Look, same table and everything." he said lightly taking the seat beside her. "Only difference is i'd be sitting right in front of you, now the seating chart is different." He teased.

As he took a bite of his tacos after adding limon and hot sauce, Amador thought it would a good time to say just how much he's loved her and whatever happens after tonight he wouldn't have any regrets at all. "Maybe it's not the right time, but i've always loved you Jocelyn, still do despite the years. Hope is what made me come back to you."

[othcrworlds]

“please, everyone’s mami — you, the little old lady i buy my plantains from — it’s equal opportunity.” realistically, ari would’ve never actually referred to the señora down at his local bodega as ‘mami,’ but that was a conversation for another time, one better suited for when ivy’s skin wasn’t radiating heat like a nuclear testing site. he wandered over to the corner where she’d dropped her fun-in-the-sun bag and rummaged through it until his fingers brushed against the branded tube of aloe vera buried like a luxury relic. the club promoter settled behind her on the bed, lazily folding one leg beneath the other as he uncapped the tube. “don’t worry about a thing,” he smirked, tattooed hands warming the gel between his palms before letting it glide over her flushed skin. “dr. betancourt’s in the house. i’m prescribing this and a drink with a crazy amount of ice. you’re in good hands.” his touch was careful — but not innocent. it lingered in places it didn’t need to, smoothing the heat from her skin while leaving a newer, quieter burn behind. not a promise, exactly. more like a suggestion. one that he hoped would make her forget how much it hurt in the first place.

CLOSED REPLY from here. @othcrworlds

"okay, okay — yes, you told me, i was dumb, i ignored you, sue me," the blonde huffed, flopping back dramatically onto the bed with a wince. "ow, that was stupid," she muttered to herself before peeking up at him through her lashes. "mami? really?" her voice was teasing despite the pain, lips curling into a crooked grin. "you better be offering to apply the aloe if you're gonna start calling me pet names." she reached towards her bag, then immediately reoiled. "actually — nope. you get it. i'm on the injured list." she gave him a pointed look, dramatic as ever, like she might actually perish if he didn't help.

[othcrworlds]

“and remind me who asked you if you have your sunscreen in your bag, again?” tone was as joking as the situation allowed for — after all, the little blonde was in pain and probably wouldn’t have appreciated having her oversight shoved in her pretty face. corner of his mouth twitched with the beginnings of a smirk at her comment whilst his hands slowly came to rub themselves together, as if seeking something to do. “we need to get some aloe on you before your skin falls off, mami. is it still in your bag…?”

plot : muse a forgot sunscreen and ends up with a terrible sunburn. muse b insists on applying aloe vera — hands lingering a little too long. muse : ivy lovell. 26. she/her. bisexual. fashion assistant. open to : m/f

" i swear, the sun hates me," ive groaned dramatically, sinking onto the edge of the bed in her bikini top and shorts, her a painful shade of red. "like, i missed one day and suddenly i'm a rotisseris chicken." she winced as she reached to scratch her shoulder, hissing at the contact. "okay — ow, don't let me touch myself again. i mean — ugh, you know what i mean."

[othcrworlds]

he acknowledged the alcoholic offering with a slow, singular nod before leaning down to take it with his free hand. used the motion to steal another look at the kind-of stranger in front of him. in the most respectful way possible, the kid was mad pretty — all blond curls and that reckless kind of charm youth wears like perfume. pretty enough to roll up with an attitude and get away with it, and enzo had no doubt he knew it.

the answer had him rewinding his mental scan of the cars out front. mk4 supra. he smirked, the image clicking into place. “ah… a man of culture,” he murmured, the vehicle’s future-nostalgia curves filling his mind. then, after a beat, “you weren’t the only one drooling, then. she’s gorgeous.” a pause, then something quieter — sharper: “i’ve got a thing for loud things, anyway.”

he took a sip to buy the next pause, then glanced back with a flicker of something playful. “nah. just me.” a shrug. “figured i’d bring the heat solo tonight.” he raised his bottle toward the blonde in a casual, crooked toast. “i'm enzo. and you look insanely familiar., if i'm keeping it real.”

setting  one  of  the  bottles  near  the  side  of  his  company's  foot,  not  wanting  to  tamper  with  the  flow  of  him  and  his  blunt.  hues  of  hazel  rolled  over  the  ink  for  a  second  before  landing  on  his  own  lap.  his  fingers  untwisting  the  cap  —  intentions  set  on  staying  in  the  section  until  the  sun  comes  up  .  .  .  or  when  he  finally  sobers  up.  seconds  with  the  cap  removed,  the  racer  had  his  lips  around  the  rim  and  what  was  chilled  came  as  hot  within  his  interior.  ironically  like  the  lively  vehicle  outside  the  festive  house.  "  wait-  "  his  wrist  flicked  the  drink  down  to  pull  it  form  his  lips.  words  filled  out  with  a  sharp  sense  of  awe,  a  puzzle  piece  had  into  place,  resembling  his  connection.  the  way  the  other  homme  expanded  on  his  personal  tastes  only  made  mango  grin.  "  that  was  you.  i  hope  you  didn't  mind  be  drooling  over  it  back  there.  "  there  was  a  spark  of  excitement  in  his  compliment  but  the  way  mango  worked  it,  it  close  to  velvet.  "  mk4  supra —  she's  a  bit  loud  but  i  think  we  balance  each  other  out.  "  he  mused.  "  are  you  here  with  a  friend  or?  [  .  .  .  ]  "

[othcrworlds]

full lips twitched with something resembling a smile at the other’s response. in all reality, enzo wouldn’t have argued too hard to maintain his removed seat at the party if the blonde wanted to take back his property. apparently, that wasn’t the night to practice ‘picking his battles’ or whatever. at least he knew he could finish smoking the fragrant blunt nestled between his tattooed fingers in peace, if nothing else. he shook his head at the inquiry, gaze plucking itself away from the darkness to peep the newcomer. “the e30.” whilst boxy, the 1989 bmw wore her silver coat like satin and moved with a sleekness that made grown men second-guess the laws of physics. “i like mine with a little more history and a little less…chrome compensation.” a smirk tugged lazily at his mouth then. “which one’s your girl?”

"  the  dj  was  not  my  idea.  "  adding  a  layer  of  veiled  humor  once  he  caught  wind  of  the  wavelength  the  other  gave.  sliding  the  glass  door  shut,  the  blonde  took  the  adjacent  seat,  "  keep  it  cool  is  my  thing,  and  sharing  [  .  .  .  ]  ain't  a  problem.  "  mango  brought  two  fingers  to  tap  the  pocket  of  his  bomber  jacket,  only  to  pull  out  two  hand  sized  bottles  of  alcohol  he  swiped.  "  great  minds  think  alike  —  or  some  shit  like  that.  is  the  hellcat  you?  "

[othcrworlds]

“they are. just not this party. music’s trash.” he recognized the kid — of course he did. the racing scene wasn’t that large after all, regardless of the big mouths that couldn’t back up their flexes with any legitimate skill. “i’m mad comfortable right now so we’re gonna have to keep it cool and share.”

 ┇ ⠀⠀⠀↺  / open  starter for emerson ' mango ' allard .

 ┇ ⠀⠀⠀ open to mutuals only . 23-28  . he/him .  nepo baby / skateboard shop worker + illegal street racer . bisexual . ♡๋࣭ ⭑ * don't like my starters

"  looks  like  someone  else  took  my  hiding  spot  —  i  guess  parties  ain't  your  thing?  "

[othcrworlds]

mars wasn’t sure when her life had taken such a psychological thriller-esque turn. sure, there’d been seasons of her life that resembled a comedic tragedy, or perhaps a tragic comedy, but this? this was foreign territory, intimidating to virtually every one of her sensitivities. the concept of seeking out a p.i. to investigate her biological father had started out as a tipsy joke tossed out during an early dinner with a friend. at the time, it’d been nothing more than jesting banter between sips of wine to soften the edges that were her familial disaster. now, in elijah’s office, the concept was rapidly cementing itself as a reality. she swallowed hard as she sat before him, her hands balled tightly in her lap. she was sure her pale knuckles betrayed her otherwise calm exterior. “right,” she began, in reference to his assistant. “well, essentially…i’m trying to find out where my biological father is right now.” a pause, an opportunity for her to gather her thoughts so she could neatly showcase them. “…he…he’s been trying to contact me in less than friendly ways…and given our history…” a small shrug of her shoulder, as if her body was attempting to slide out of the discomfort clawing at the back of her neck. “let’s just say i would feel safer knowing where he is in this weird world.”

new muse alert! open to: f (age gaps allowed) plot: elijah is a private detective, your muse is currently in his office and wants to hire him.

elijah studied them as they walked inside of his office, he got up from behind his desk and walked around it to meet them. "it's nice to meet you." he said as he took their hand in his and shook it with a firm grip, giving them a comforting smile, elijah was damn good at his job and he met the clients he had with confidence that he could clear up whatever they came at him with. if that was a suspicion of a cheating spouse, a missing person or something else entirely. "you left your details with my assistant, but why don't you tell me in your own words, what i can help you with." he said as he walked behind his big wooden desk again and sat down in his leather bound office chair. elijah got out his notebook and pen to write down, he preferred to stay analog. meant he was never susceptible for data attacks or if someone got a warrant to look through his computer.

[othcrworlds]

cute as it may have been, amaya’s apartment began to feel like a matcha-colored prison by the time the afternoon sun rays began to pool through her immense windows. a quick snack break on her balcony between readings had informed her that the day’s weather was far too enticing to simply shun. fragrant breeze and a stir-crazy fuzziness coaxed her into collecting her reading supplies and venturing out so she could take advantage of what was left of the daylight. apparently, everyone else in the city had settled into that same plan. the park’s benches had been scooped up by various families, couples, and friend groups, leaving her with a furrow in her brow and her bag’s weight pressing insistently into her shoulder.

just as she began toying with the idea of snatching a spot in the grass, an unfamiliar voice drew her attention towards one of the kingly trees. for a moment, she questioned if the stranger was even talking to her, but a quick glance around her immediate surroundings instantly solved that mystery. “i — sure,” she answered, tone casual but peppered with as much gratefulness as one could’ve felt in that sort of a situation. she made her way over until the shade provided by the expansive branches swallowed her and preoccupied her hands with fishing her blanket out of her bag for optimal ground-sitting. “you grabbed a great spot,” she remarked, compliment landing softly in the stranger’s direction. it was the type of comment designed for dual interpretation — it could’ve opened the door to a conversation or it could’ve simply been acknowledged with a nod or a one-word response, depending on his mood. regardless of where he landed, amaya wouldn’t have taken offense.

open to: f/m/nb. muse: minjun kang, 27, digital artist.

Warm wind blowing his hair around and fingers toying with the apple pencil in his hand, Minjun leaned his back against the tree, letting out a contented sigh. He was working on a new design but hadn't wanted to be stuffed up in his apartment for once. Sat at the park, he was able to tune out the chattering around him when needed but he did like seeing the kids out playing, their giggles surrounding him and families enjoying their time together. Though, his eyes caught sight of someone that seemed to be looking for a place to rest and a majority of benches were taken. After a moment of hesitation, he waved them over, offering them a place to sit beside him under the shaded tree. "Do you want to sit?" He called out as they neared.

[othcrworlds]

her call wasn’t in the least bit surprising. what was surprising, however, was the content being drunkenly giggled and deposited his way through his phone’s speaker. max tried — and failed — to stop himself from clenching his jaw in response. the information grated that insufferable part of his mind that shouldn’t have cared but still did. he couldn’t keep the sizzle out of his tone as he finally responded. “yeah? we’ll both google it later.” he was in no mood for an impromptu vocabulary quiz. “where are you at, olivia.”

open: m/nb connection: exes of some kind? plot: olivia is drunk calling your muse

“Hi. I’m just calling you to tell you I look hot and you’re missing it.” Olivia giggled into her phone once they answered. She was out at this party, having maybe one too many drinks. “And you know what? I’m a commander… or is it comm… hey what is it called? I’m not wearing any underwear!” Okay that part she maybe said a little too loudly.

[othcrworlds]

the previous night was still pounding between his temples like a cursed drum when her text lit up his cracked phone screen. it had him pausing mid-pour — he was halfway into enacting the time-honored, ill-advised “hair of the dog” cure for his hangover, a half-empty bottle of tequila now hovering above the glass like it had a choice in the matter. he should’ve ignored it. should’ve been drinking coffee instead of liquor. should’ve tried sleep again. his whole life, lately, was an avalanche of shoulds.

i’ll think about it.

that was all he texted back. she’d know what it meant. they both did. twenty overstimulating minutes later, he was pushing through the doors of the soho atelier she’d summoned him to. the place was absurd — all cream walls and delicate light, like stepping into a jewelry box. not exactly neutral ground for two people playing pretend. still, it didn’t take him long to find her. of course not. his eyes found her frame — tall, poised, beautiful in a way that felt curated to drive him insane — and he was already talking before he could stop himself. “ i know i hang out with a lot of models, but i didn’t inherit their taste in dresses and shit, ” he said, voice breaking through the pristine hush of the place like a stray record scratch.

open to: all muse: isadora cruz, mid-twenties art gallery curator with family ties to old money plot: isadora is set to be married to a hedge fund heir and all is perfect on paper ... so why does she keep running to your muse to help her with the nerves? connection: friend, ex-partner, coworker, t.aboo connection welcome

it was supposed to be an ordinary afternoon — a final dress fitting at an exclusive atelier in soho. the boutique is closed off for privacy, champagne is flowing, and her stylist is fussing over french lace and seam placements. her fiancé was supposed to show up; he didn't. sighing, she leans over and picks up her phone while the woman frets around her. with one hand she scrolls through her contacts until she pulls up their name. quickly, she types out a message.

come by. i need a second opinion.

she drops her location in the next message and tosses her phone back on top of her bag. isa doesn't need to wait for a response to know they'd show.