cvastals

[cvastals]

It was rare that the +1 extension Mateo’s mum received for swanky events were actually passed onto him anymore. The family only got invited anywhere anymore out of obligation, a resounding pity - it wasn’t their fault that the Fernandez patriarch had dropped dead, family name all but dying with him. But his mum enjoyed saving face, still wanted her name to slide eloquently out of mouths tinted with red wine and vicious gossip. That meant leaving Mateo at home, and out of the tabloids - until he found himself on one, inhaling one more line than usual, stronger than his regular stash. That’s when he enjoyed showing his face the most, with chaos rattling his bones so hard Mateo was sometimes convinced they’d shatter without release, “Haven’t seen you at one of these in a while,” he said, in lieu of a greeting. Yvette wasn’t hard to spot amongst the stuffy company, red wine sloshing dangerously close to the lip of her glass. Feigning the superhero, Mateo ducked forward to snatch the glass out of her grasp, brows raised in amusement, “You’re not avoiding me, are you? ‘Cause that’d break my heart right in two,” Free hand clutching over his chest, Mateo took an exaggerated sip of Yvette’s wine, wondering how soon it’d take until he could press her buttons just right. 

#i kno thats a beer bottle bt actually no its not #death mention tw #mateo | yvette

[cvastals]

Headaches were common, bordering on typical. Sometimes if he was lucky, Gunner wouldn’t even notice they were there. There was almost always a dull throb that started behind his left eye without fail, and always spread to his right temple. Those he could ignore - it was when they shifted to the crown of his head, a sharp and constant hot-sore ache that had his brows constantly stitched together, made his eyes red, the bags under them leak purple-green and stretch for miles. If it wasn’t a cigarette, Gunner wasn’t particularly interested in smoking, but he still lifted a shaky hand to the joint Shiloh offered, already syrupy slow from past drags. It helped, both the pain and making his brain falter, giving it time to catch up and heal, “Your stash sucks,” It was actually some of the stronger stuff Gunner had smoked in a long time, and it showed in the way his words subtly melted together. He’d insisted they lie on his bed, head too heavy when Shiloh first got there to do anything else - he could’ve cancelled, but for some reason that felt like sacrilege. Something he’d never really experienced before; cancelling plans was the closest thing he’d get to an adrenaline rush these days, “Got anything stronger?” he didn’t care how that made him sound, or whether Shiloh would question his intent. It’d been eerie, the way they could almost seamlessly read him like he was a two-panel comic in the Saturday newspaper, but he’d grown to appreciate it now, “Not, uh - nothing for, y’know, raging, or whatever. My head still kills. Right here,” Without much grace, he took one of Shiloh’s hands and placed it right on the top of his head, “Ow.” @cecildiamonds​

#gunner | shiloh #lets gaur.

[cvastals]

halfrest​:

        regression was her coping mechanism of choice, no matter the many attempts made by foster parents, guidance counselors, social workers to amend — or, was it even that if she never grew out of the habit ? always the same child…4…7…8…11…and-so-on-year-old grasping for hands that only offered harm, never learning, desperate. survival meant lying to yourself at times. she avoided her apartment, her home on purpose to save on electricity, gas, opting for whatever was open whenever and only retreating to sleep. crossroads cut hours beneath the threshold of benefits. dealing had provided enough, kept her independent which was always the goal — to not rely on harmful hands — but it was always tenuous — she knew that despite the curtain that lay overhead. still, rowan found herself angry with him, shifting the blame onto mercy, but it wasn’t exactly that. she owed him, she gathered, piecing together the clues: a dead body, a missing man, the kiss. it wasn’t his fault. rowan grasped onto flimsy reasons to be angry, to not admit the truth. one truth: the desperate plea of her heart during nighttime shifts at the counter, aligning barcodes, eyeing the gaggle of college students — logoed sweatshirts, words that sounded foreign to her in their mouths. they came to fill up on snacks as they moved on ‘cause they had places to move onto. she was stuck there. mercy hadn’t been; he moved on. when robbie — an entitled graduate student, already greying, on his second degree  — asked her out for the third time, she said yes. he didn’t care to know her — they never did; just wanted the satisfaction of a trophy on his arm, but she got free meals, a room, somewhere to be — packing peanuts to fill in the spaces. robbie liked that he was smarter than her. that he could talk and goad as she just sat there pretty as he so often dropped, empty. rowan thought about cricket during those times; the warm brown of his eyes, his grounding voice. she never reached out, not wanting to encroach as stupid as she knew it was. instead, she was at scuba with robbie and robbie’s friends, a scorching heat along her lower back where his hand had lay before she pulled away to ‘grab a drink’. it felt like a trick of her mind, then, when she saw him, attention caught by the crash, forced out of her self-induced haze. she wasn’t that drunk. hurried steps were taken across the room, out the door, alarmed that he’d disappear if he was out of sight for more than a second. but, mercy was standing outside — still there — cigarette in hand, lighting the way toward him. rowan stopped a step away, facing him, searching for a crack beyond the hardened exterior, but she knew him well enough to know that he’d only show the most superficial of scars. “ where’d you go ? ” she finally spoke, a question to his non-question, but it wasn’t accusatory — a second truth: she felt 11 again, laden with genuine curiosity and longing, happy that he was back, not angry that he’d left. closer now, her hand reached out to wrap around his wrist, gentle. 

By nature, Mercy wasn’t one to revert into himself, shrink away when stress loomed like a hefty rain cloud threatening to ruin an otherwise perfect day. He was volatile, the human epitome of biting the hand that feeds you, laughing with blood on his teeth. There weren’t many bridges he hadn’t burned, and Mercy took pride in the fact that he had no one to blame but himself. But all his sharp edges seemed to momentarily chip, dulling amongst themselves, unsure of how to proceed when Rowan touched him so carefully, spoke so gently. No one really treated him like someone who had a ‘FRAGILE’ sticker across their torso, usually too worried that he’ll beat them to the punch and crack himself open just to spill the worst parts of Mercy all over them. Cigarette frozen in the corner of his mouth, he had to readjust to the sight of Rowan clutching onto him, as if he’d sidestepped and wound up with his hand in a bear trap - he had no idea what to do with affections for the sake of affection. He didn’t mean anything by it when his nose automatically wrinkled, the closest he’d ever get to wearing bewilderment on his sleeve, “I told you,” Which wasn’t particularly fair. Or even, for that matter, true. Mercy’s explanation had been half-baked when he’d told Rowan nothing more than ‘he had something to take care of’, punctuating his reasoning with a kiss in the hopes of a distraction, with the sickening realization that he wanted to,   with the notion he’d probably never get to do it ever again. He still wasn’t delusional enough to assume it would now that they were face to face, but he’d also been under the assumption he’d never see her again in general, so this was progress in his books. Or a punishment - his wrist was still itching to both push away and accept the lingering touch, “Doesn’t matter - you don’t have to worry about it anymore, ‘kay?” There was about a thousand words that creeped through the ones he actually said, giving Rowan proper eye contact for the first time since she’d stepped outside. It wasn’t that Mercy was purposely trying to avoid her gaze, he’d never actually backed down from anything in his life, but she was making him crack open in a completely different way than what he was used to. It was frustrating him, the way he wanted to hate it but the ease in his chest impossible to ignore. Mercy hadn’t even realized he’d had this weight pressed against him, a shoe pushing down until there was a crunch, until now. He almost missed it. The finality of his sentence wasn’t pressing but goading - The less you know the better. After a few seconds he reached forward, knuckle of his index finger brushing against Rowan’s chin in a helplessly desperate and admittedly fond gesture, trying to coax something out of her that he was more familiar with, more comfortable - the harder side of her, the one that bit back at him when he deserved it, “Jesus, don’t look at me like that. I feel like I ran over your fuckin’ puppy or something,” Hand scrubbing over his face, Mercy eventually twisted the wrist she held onto, slipping his fingers through hers like he’d meant to do it the moment she was grasping him. All he could offer her was a reassuring squeeze, something that showed that he’d missed her too, thought about her as well, but it was all he could cough up before the pressure on his core was back - a warning, something eerily close to his dad’s voice sneering at him for petty indulgences. It probably would’ve been easier to just say his intentions, but even still, Mercy had too much pride for that, “Let’s go,” he said, hand sliding out of hers. It wasn’t a question, but if she’d said she wanted to stay Mercy momentarily pretended he wouldn’t agree to stay, too, “I have something I want to show you.”

#mercy | rowan. #breathes heavily #n presents this on a silver platter

[cvastals]

#leo | muse.

[cvastals]

EMILIO SAKRAYA as JC in Netflix’s Warrior Nun (1x01)

#zakaria | mirror.

[cvastals]

Lito can be a bit of a handful sometimes. Drama queen? Definitely.

#teddy | muse.

[cvastals]

I wake up every morning with the years ticking by. I’m missing all these memories—maybe they were never mine. I feel the walls are closing; I’m running out of time. I think I missed the gun at the starting line.

STARTING LINE by Luke Hemmings (6/29/21)

#beau | mirror.

[cvastals]

#frankie | muse.

[cvastals]

Kedar Williams-Stirling 2021, ph. Joseph Sinclair for Sex Education

#luca | mirror.

[cvastals]

I can’t do anything about anything. Im going to watch movies

#gunner | muse.

[cvastals]

Andrew Garfield as Jonathan Larson in tick, tick...BOOM! (2021) dir. Lin Manuel Miranda

#cassie | mirror.

[cvastals]

““I think I wait for people to hurt me,” she said quietly, “and when they do I feel a certain smugness at being right. And, after that, I just feel pain.”

— Sue Zhao

#rosa | muse.

[cvastals]

#lara | mirror. #bebe……… #SHAKES MY BRAIN TO WAKE IT UP #bad few days fr Yee Ol Noggin bt i’m coming around n i’m back at work tmrw everyone #cross fingies fr bri so they can write. we manifest it slowly bt surely.

[cvastals]

If Barnes hadn’t been so worked up the day of their argument with Magda - they didn’t even know if they could call it that, truthfully they didn’t even know what happened that day - they would’ve followed after her once she stormed away. But they were already heated themselves, knew well enough that they’d just get mean and say something they’d inevitably regret. It was their way, preferring to fight with words that stung worse than venom from a snakebite than with ineffectual punches. The reality of their situation didn’t settle in until the next day, when they were calm again and they reran through their entire conversation. Remembered, most of all, that Magda’s things had been taken - stolen - and all fingers pointed to Barnes as the reason behind it. They’d texted her a rather colourful description of what they wanted to do to Hunter because of it, but instead of answering with something receptive, what Barnes had hoped for, she didn’t answer at all. Or the next day, when they asked if she was okay. Or the day after that, when they asked if they could come over. So, finally, after the fourth day of being ignored, they did it anyway - all but stormed through Abernathy Creek, a new fire lit in their veins. She was easy enough to spot. Barnes had wondered, once, if they knew each other too well. Approaching her and Big Bob talking beside the creek, Barnes spread their arms open when she glanced their way, “Dude, what the hell?” they asked, before giving a genuine wave to Bob, “What’s your fucking problem? I’m the one who’s supposed to be mad here, so why am I trying so hard. Why’re you ignoring me?” @ncbodyshome​

#barnes | magda. #TUGS MY SHIRT COLLAR #i was gna say dnt match length i was jst wilding bt i kno us by now.

[cvastals]

Bent awkwardly at the waist, Forrest was next to getting on all fours and crawling through the sand that had buried his brother’s favourite action figure somewhere. These things could be replaced obviously, but Forrest had spent the last bit of his pay cheque on an Iron Man that actually talked and lit up, had a removable suit and everything - that definitely wasn’t as replaceable, “Um, ‘scuse me!” he called, waving to the first person that he finally passed - the beach was not so surprisingly next to empty for a Tuesday evening, “Hi - have you seen Iron Man around here? Like, a toy. Not Robert Downey Jr., to clarify.” @vveridtime​

#forrest | vveridtime. #open fr anyone legend!!!!!!!!!

[cvastals]

Mercy wasn’t a patient person. His general temperament was pissed off, hence the heavy nicotine addiction, the only thing saving him from turning feral enough to lunge at every single person that crossed his path. The fact that his lighter was choosing this moment to die was the worst timing imaginable - shaking the now useless contraption, Mercy only gave the BIC two more flicks before tossing it (rather dramatically) with a scoff. It only satisfied him a little when it bounced off the shoe of the closest person, and still he had the gall to pipe up and ask, “Yo! Yeah, you - you got a light, or what?” @oceanvd​

#i left this one more open ended for u so u can reply w whoever u want icon legend liege :yum: #mercy | oceanvd.

[cvastals]

Frankie couldn’t remember the last time he’d been to Rockin’ and Rollin’. He’d chipped a tooth there when he was little, the faded scar just a bit below his bottom lip proof of where it’d pierced right through the skin. Even to this day, he tripped over the air sometimes, didn’t even have a license for a car. The addition of wheels to his shoes just seemed a bit deadly - but when Mel suggested they go, Frankie had insisted he’d love to, “This was a mistake,” he said bluntly, clutching onto the ledge railing that led to the seated area. He hadn’t even attempted to push off the wall. Or even move more than five feet, “I don’t - the coordination... this takes. I don’t possess it - I’m a human wrecking ball, just... do some laps, show off. I’ll pretend I have, uh. Appendicitis, or something.” @oceanvd​

#frankie | mel. #i jst felt in my bones mel wld like rockin n rollin excuse the godmod #if it doesnt work slap my tush n ill #change it fr u at the SPEED OF LIGHT!!!!!!!!!!