nightgownsandairships

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{i'm so sorry for the time off! i'll try to be more regular u//w//u}

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{Hey, i realize I haven't been around lately--it's almost finals week! But please, followers, if you wanna get something on, just send me a thing or tag me in it! I love you guys!!}

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{haha yeah man i bet you did ;)}

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Chausson: Feuillage filled with brown-butter apple compote.

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Anywhere was a tempting concept--it always was. When she was ten, confined to her bed and a room for the next however many years, anywhere came to her in the form of the books her mother got her in lieu of affection. Anywhere now, came from an unsightly scar in her lower back, the horse that slept outside, and this man. Tempting temping tempting.

"Where would anywhere be, though? I'd let you choose, if you had an idea of where to go... And as for your admittedly fishy sweetheart, I'd love to meet her, but I fear I might just drown out of jealousy."

There’s ghosts all around this girl, he thinks, and not anything remotely friendly. He runs a hand through his - admittedly - uncombed hair, clicks his tongue. “I would take you home, miss, but I’m thinkin’ that’s a long ways away from here. I can take you somewhere else, though, that’s my only real talent to offer here. Anywhere you wanna go.”

Barrett feels so out of his depth here, like he’s trying to claw through to a speck of light hidden so far behind a wall. He’s lived a damned good life and he’s never been more aware of it than at this moment. He got the good parts of the world, kind old men and the high seas and sweet shop-keeps who stuck candy in his pockets before he inevitably left once more. But maybe, he thinks, he could show some of that good off.

“Who knows,” he smirks, “maybe you’ll meet my mermaid sweetheart. Nice girl, she’s just got seaweed breath like you would not believe.”

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Sick Skinny Bitch Lust

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Things that make life worth living → Our Galaxy

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SCREECHES AT UNEVEN INKING

but hey at least she’s done—for now

i’ll clean her up tomorrow, scan her in, and colour her

bluh wow

eros spells, man

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Flowers in an abandoned mental asylum. 

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A Field of Lavender

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Psst. Lavvy. ~lovingly prods you in the side~ ...C'n I call you that?

[She flinches, only somewhat, enough for goosepimples to show up on her arms, which she quickly rubs down. She’s never been tickled before. It was a dangerous business of affection that her father or mother didn’t like to engage in.] Oh, uhm—sure. A lot of people call me Lavvy. [All five of them.]

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"Make it up to me...?" Her voice sounds hollow, and it floats from her lips and through the air til it sticks to the ceiling. She looks to him, eyes ridged with red, near tears, and she realizes how tired she is, that telling the story was something like reliving the memory; how the oil burned her leg or how warm the fire was in the Sunlight man's hair as it threatened to lap at her face. Suddenly, she wants nothing more than to be curled into the bed Willow made up for her, listening to the slumbering groans and creaks of her house, or maybe the sound of pebbles against her window as Thorp tries to wake her from the edge of slumber so that they may talk--just again, just one more time until tomorrow came.

"What do you suggest?" At this moment, she would take anything.

“I was completely taken with her, thank you much,” he laughs. “Sweet things, mermaids, until they take you under.” He shrugs his shoulders again. “They all laugh, miss. ‘Til I take them out on the boats with me, anyways,” he adds with a hint of a wink in his eye.

Barrett splays his hands out as an invitation for her to share while he settles back for the ride, his cigarette dangling precariously from his lips. He’s immediately drawn into her tale of her world, leaning forward and his eyes wide and glossy with all the wonder of a child.

His excitement changes, however, as she reaches the climax of her memory. He eyes her injury carefully; he never would have noticed had she not revealed it to him, and he’s careful not to reach forward or ask to touch the shiny new ridges of skin. This seemingly frail young girl, maybe half his age, had been through so much more than he had in his years, and suddenly his world of ocean waves and living just for each new sunrise in someone’s bed seemed rather less daring than he liked to imagine it.

He tosses his now-spent cigarette aside before it singes his lips and he rubs his palms together in front of him. He notices the sag in her shoulders, how the air around her seemed to still and maybe even dim, and he offers a wide smile of his own. “If there’s witches and Sunshine men in this world, then a bloke I know in Barcelona is about to be pissed and about fifty bucks poorer.”

Barrett extended out a hand to the girl, trying to catch her eyes with his smile still firmly in place. “That was a damn good story if I’ve ever heard one, and I’ve heard plenty, trust me. Half of ‘em were bullshit, o’course, but you probably know how it can be. I thought there had to be somethin’ more there inside you.”

He means to lighten her sudden gloom, and punctuates it with a happy bark of laughter. “I think I’ve been beat at my own game here, now there’s a first. How’s about I make it up to ya, hmm?”