𖥸 ─ open starter ; kimmy jimmel's birthday

he's  working  -  technically  -  despite  the  camera  hanging  around  his  neck  seeing  little to no  action  considering  his  current  state  of  inebriation.  "  SMILE  "  he  slurs,  bringing  the  device  up  to  point  &  shoot.  "  yikes  -  you've  definitely  looked  better  ...  or  am  i  just  a  bad  photographer  ?  " 

𓏲  *   ( paul mescal, cismale, he/his )   ⸺   pictures of ATTICUS REID,  the  twenty-eight  year  old  photographer,  have been showing up all over my feed, and considering the last time they were #trending, it was due to posting embarrassing poetry about his ex on instagram — i’m not likely to unfollow anytime soon. with their plain white tee threaded with the finest cotton, levi 501s cuffed at the ankle, doc marten suede slingbacks & an ancient denim jacket that smells of cigarettes. they’ve managed to garner a reputation for being more vehement than reticent. their critics say that they’re more saturnine than cabalistic when they aren’t too busy focusing on their at a freshly popped! cork, crimson sloshes into a glass ,musk and berry hesitates before the syrupy acidity slips across your tongue,  &  the thunderstorm that brews between furrowed brows is a treacherous one, a magpie will see shine and expect something fantastical but those up close know better than to entertain riches. an abandoned shoreline. easy. breathe. those golden spectacles that pry into your toes and make home there for weeks. a deep breath as the tide washes away. bitterness - coffee, wine - he is not for the faint - hearted as he is not one of faint heart. malignants dance around his bed frame with taunts that fall from spiked tongues, blood is drawn until you awake with a start. reputation.com has taken to calling them SPACE COWBOY in order to avoid a lawsuit ( again ).  ──  

𝐢

his story starts washed in crimson; the sky burns with the knowledge of heartbreak, a shattered muscle torn from the chest and crumbled into pulp across the width of a fist. it’s not a dark and stormy night when atticus is placed upon the steps of an orphanage buried deep in the veins of new york, his awakening limbs wrapped up in plaid blankets like the opening scene of a hollywood picture. the sun fizzles, pride has made way for humility as darkness sweeps in, the stoic buzz of the cicadas steady in the evening breeze. a city that never sleeps is stirring, the streets alive with unfinished romances and subdued goodbyes. it’s parents who he’ll never get to know that slink into the shadows, press the doorbell and run because running is all they’ve ever known. he doesn’t cry as he’s lifted into strange arms, coddled by the strength of a bicep. it’s almost as if he’s aware, even in his innocence, that this feeling will become all too familiar to him, to fall in love brilliantly but fleetingly.

𝐢𝐢 but life never seems to reflect the glitz and glamour of the movies; he learns this firsthand; the city is disgusting - a rotting corpse of the age of romance. he grows up under multiple roofs - the people who take him in more cruel and gluttonous than the next, ruled by the exchange of power as though the world is held in the fists of people who like to break things; he watches through tired eyes as dreams are crushed and devoured beneath the tongue of the devil. the skylines are drained of hope, a lacklustre enthusiasm seeps from the pores of the street and rusts the ground with a filmy layer of melancholy. he spends his childhood with families who will never love him because they can’t love themselves - it’s a blur of melancholy & an ache in his bones, he feels more alone than ever.

𝐢𝐢𝐢 he finds solace behind the cool metallic touch of a camera ; had fallen for the lens from a young age, capturing life’s most beautiful ugly moments - crooked teeth and broken hearts, greetings & goodbyes, scars and bruises, tear stained cheeks and crinkled eyes. he has a talent for it too, and the portraits he posts on social media of his friends soon begin to create traction. it’s always people he photographs, rather than places or products, uses a soft hand to coax his models into vulnerability, his pictures always hauntingly delicate. 

𝐢𝐯

currently freelances but has done shoots for various vogues, paper, rolling stone, the new yorker etc.

personality wise he is kind of mysterious.. doesn’t really talk about his past which he is slightly hardened by, but he’s also a LOVER BOY so he can be naive/co-dependent when it comes to relationships… he definitely looks for the good/beauty in everything. 

a good friend to have, always has a j*int in the pocket of his jeans or tucked behind his ear. 

has a hard case of imposter syndrome

terrified everybody is going to leave him one day :(

definitely has an instagram like c*le spr*use of pictures of people taking pictures of him

PAUL MESCAL | Chicken Shop Date (January 26, 2024)