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Realistic or Modern Cities Never Sleep

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Max




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For a long while, Joshua didn’t say anything, instead letting the internal echoes of Max’s tearful confession hang in the air like cobwebs.

“Josh, I’m in love with you.”

Though the youngest boy’s hands were now wordlessly cradling his own elbows, fingers twitching and trembling with exhaustion, he could feel them replaying that one sentence over and over again. There was nothing that Max could do now that those words had been said. He’d never be able to know if he would have been better off keeping his feelings hidden to the grave.

His last breath in had dissipated in his lungs, and he was still choking on his own tears, drowning on dry ground. The phrase “dying of embarrassment” had never seemed so literal to him as it did now– could feelings really kill a person? He’d often wondered this, feeling that his own sick emotions would one day overwhelm his body and take him out. It felt as though his whole life was suspended upon whatever Josh decided to do now, now that he’d been told all of Max’s most shameful and depraved secrets. But Josh only stood there, no words on his hands or on his lips, looking as though he’d just been slapped in the face.

Of course, it seemed fair in his mind to presume that Josh was mortified to learn that someone as lowly as fragile sniveling Max Berkowitz would think such repulsive perverted thoughts about him.
What could be more insulting than to learn that someone so unclean and unworthy could have the audacity to fall in love with him?
There was nothing to love about Max: he wasn’t handsome, or brave, or witty, or good at anything. Even in some imaginary world where Josh’s faith didn’t pigeonhole Max as an abomination, even if Josh himself were gay, Max knew that Josh could never love him.

And yet, despite all of this, despite everything that Max had said and done, Josh still stood in the room, breathing the same air, content to be sharing the same space.

Josh never did respond to Max’s confession. He didn’t need to. Instead, he took a few slow steps towards him, until they were close enough that Max could almost feel the heat radiating off his soft pale skin, and dropped to his knees, head lowered solemnly. Max froze, blinking rapidly, not sure what to do. Was this a prayer? Should he avert his eyes, or…?

But then Josh did the last thing that Max could ever have expected him to do: he pulled him into a gentle embrace, without a shred of fear that he would be infected by Max’s moral affliction.
As if Josh had the power to forgive Max’s sins with a simple touch, a crushing weight was lifted off of Max’s chest, and he let out a breath that he didn’t even know he was holding. Weakly drying his eyes, so as not to sully Josh’s pristine clothing with his pitiful tears, Max buried his head in the crook of Josh’s shoulder and threw his arms around his friend, wishing he could die right then and there just so he’d never have to let go.







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DECEMBER 1ST.

If you’d told Graham… three months ago that he’d be spending a day where he’d been offered an open bar, it’s just he had to go to a wedding hosted by Jehovah’s Witnesses, and he spent that day not getting piss drunk and convincing the minister he was just a little bit bicurious, but instead babysitting the daughter on a porch while the son and his friends argued in his apartment… He would’ve most likely called you insane.

He needed more adult friends for feck’s sake.

But he could remember school and how much of a shitshow that had been - first he’d been a part of the sports teams and all that, played the social game of popularity. Then, he… hadn’t.

And even though he really tried to not be a bad influence on children, sometimes they asked the… they asked very interesting questions sometimes.

“You seem to be a man who knows what men do, right?”

Well what the feck was he supposed to say to that?

Yes? Well, yes he did. He knew a lot of things that men did, but he didn’t enjoy most of them. For example, he thought that consent was particularly alluring, and he didn’t really find the idea that an 18 year old high schooler would be attractive in any way. So yes, he knew a lot about what men did, but did he like it?

Not really.

There was a small low chuckle as he reclined back in his chair, hand on his cheek as he listened. “Yeah, I know what men do.” But he got the sense that she wouldn’t be happy with a lot of it.

But Mary’s request was interesting to say the least. Living vicariously through her brother, now, was she?

Graham smiled politely. “Well, perhaps, but I think you’re just about as interesting as they are… Should tell me more about yourself.”

A quiet reflection back onto Mary. “Your hopes, dreams, desires… Do you want to go to university?”

Because God knows that these Jehovah Witness kids needed to develop a personality outside of religion and worship.

But she seemed fixated on Graham’s knowledge in picking people up.

“To be quite honest, kissing sometimes isn’t the end all be all. ‘S more on the individual than anything.” He really didn’t want to give this sixteen year old a step by step process on how exactly he picked people up at bars. “But I hear what you’re sayin’. So he has a crush on her and he’s doubtin’ himself about what’s goin’ on?”

A small pause as he tilted his head, thinking just a little bit.

“Well, seems like it’s a real easy fix if he just gets over himself, yeah?” But that was easier said than done. “You have anyone you like? Anyone you go heart eyes over?”

Because at the end of the day, he did want Mary to think of herself a little bit and not just live vicariously through other people.
























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DECEMBER 1ST.

The Lawyer had an annoying little habit.

It was not meticulous taming of curly halo or crook of his smile when being particularly clever, but the signature waltz to deflect every question Ren tried to put across.

He’d met dozens of this type; men with sharp clothing and smiles to match, all others proven substantially simple to a thief with no sieve in his mouth. Perhaps Dante’s cherry-picked words and honeyed tones would calcify foundations of distrust, if not rendering their interactions into a stupid little bird dance.

The pinning crucifix of watchful eyes surged a spiked barb of regret— it was a weird thing to ask and now he looked way too interested —inquiry questionable and veering the dangerous concept of jealousy.

Did Ren want to be a special exception?

That wasn’t Dante’s business. It had nothing to do with him. Back off.

But did their deflected answer imply Ren wasn’t a special exception?

Oh good. Something new to torment over at ungodly hours.

Bruising bore his chest with new-born suspicion, plaguelike in its ardent spread:

And did that mean there were others seducing Dante? Did they have better mangoes? Tangerines? Maybe some Persian limes? Where did they get them? God forbid, were they blonde? Did Dante prefer blondes?—

“I didn’t say that.” Like needling a hand through steel traps, he’d resist employing the defensive tone battering at walls of teeth. Leaving Ren to suffocate further protest in the presence of their enigmatic smile and scramble to ricochet the intrusive query.

“Why?” They were playing tennis. “You offering?”

A very heterosexual game of tennis.

Question swatted back over the centre line with a menial smile, only kidding, was the idea of pacifying his free-roaming nature so abhorrent, even for the likes of Dante? Carcinogenic in its playful proposition, he couldn’t fathom when such foolish ambition could ever be attainable. They were just friends, the loudest of confessions he’d ever dare admit.

But admitting he was here with his mom was worse.

Rambling with no amount of grace, the shrapnel of his mouth pinched dread under skin and directed cinder iris towards anything but Dante. Left to suffer in the excruciating silence of their buffering, Ren would chance an awkward glance to the lawyer, find eye contact, and stiffly look away again.

Very normal.

“... Melon cubes.”

“Melon cubes.” Ren muttered in the descent of waking horror, wincing at the residue of champagne lining his throat. How different was a melon to a mango? Mindlessly he’d tap a nail against the empty flute glass, tarrying the equation in his head. Which one was more romantic?

Men were so complex.

It was a hindersome splinter, the unwarranted plural to Ren’s parents. Wouldn’t want you to get into trouble with your folks. Crumbling distraction that had accommodated feelings of discontent, reminder sapped movement and faint smile from his face to disclose icy tundra beneath.

“Not folks.” Correction shot it down, spoken in equal portions dry and sudden. “Just mom.”

The Lawyer was speaking like he was an enemy of the state. Regathering the reins to the topic at hand, Dante’s concerns, he’d snort at the folly of it. Yet something earnest had Ren turning to look at him, humour draining from features upon noticing it.

“Oh, was that serious?” He blinked, before brows crimped in offended confusion. “Dan. I’m not on house arrest."

"I’ve actually been good lately, haven’t had to sleep with any police.” Ren didn’t clarify if he was kidding.

“But no, my mom never gets mad.” Figured she gave up becoming angry years ago, probably after the first, second, third school fight. Probably after the first, second, third shoplifting incident. The third stint in juvie, the third stolen car, the third time he wandered away from home and the third month without any texts or calls. Inheriting trouble like second nature, he figured she’d given up on raising him like a son.

Which worked out great for Ren. Not so much the faces of authority that dealt with the unruliness.

Like cops he’d try flirting with.

Short circuiting with unreliable recollection if he was breathing properly, he’d feel his chest stutter at Dante’s offer: You and I can get something to eat.

Oh? Unfreezing, narrow-eyed smile travelling across Ren’s face warned before it was even verbalised. Victory? Seeping mischievous diabolism, a half-step made to nudge shoulders with the lawyer.

“Dinner?” An intrigued croon, a smug cat with a canary ready to bat it around till it was half dead. “We talking Chicago Deep Dish?” Didn’t matter. Ren would eat anything. Even cops.

“Well alright Loverboy, you’ve convinced me. I’ll let you take me on a date.”

The D-word hath arrived.
























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Today



Christmas Day

Happy Birthday Jesus. Sorry your party is so crappy






Notes

Christmas
Hello family trauma

New Years
Buy a crap ton of fireworks and beer







25th December 2013

"It's the most wonderful time of the year," quoth the timeless song, even in run-down sour contemporary dystopias like Joplin. As those families fortunate enough to get the day off of work frantically scramble to put together the finishing touches on their decorations for family gatherings, watching their children open whatever simple presents they can afford and pretending to be excited, the usual capitalist anxiety of the holiday season mingles paradoxically with its charm.

Hardly anyone has time, on a day like today, to check the weather report and give half a care about the looming snowstorm building over the harbor... surely a little coastal blizzard would just stop in its tracks to avoid ruining the holiday cheer, right?

Forget the weather. Dig into your gingerbread, turn on some old holiday specials, and try to enjoy the day as best you can. After all, you've got work tomorrow.

Have a Holly Jolly Christmas, Joplin.




Joplin News
"Catherine's Yearly Wrap-Up"

The kitties have had an interesting year with new kitty Obsidian (Siddy for short) becoming a lap & snuggle hog, and throwing a wrench between siblings...






Joplin

31°



Foggy
32 / 11° F




Breaking news


Grinch steals $20,000 Christmas offering from church
The money, collected Sunday in cash and checks, was stolen from... read more





marfgin:
NEW YEARS CELEBRATIONS!
Don't miss the fireworks at the Waterfront this year!



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DECEMBER 25TH.

“Be like-minded, be sympathetic, love one another, be compassionate and humble.” Peter 3:8​

How the fuck was he meant to do that with an Irish man plundering his kitchen.

Victim to confident belief exchanged over receiver:

“It will not snow.” — seasonal misfortune had bestowed both storm and company to Grayson’s estate. A home restive as he, bare of decoration and moastic as the weather with a palette to match, its dour ambience stood contrast to the orange and heavily-accented pest plaguing his presence.

His Christmas visitor.

God help him.

Grayson hadn’t deigned to register the holiday, brushing it away with as much concern as another Wednesday. Restless splinter nested beneath skin harboured no give for relaxation, gnawing at sinew and bone to work even on his days off. The accountant couldn’t exactly recall when days began to bleed into each other, blotting and bleeding through parchment in a mosaic of unconscious static, perhaps he’d resigned himself to the coffin of this groundhog existence.

Bridled wire-taut and unspooling ribbonlike all in one wicked succession, there was nothing wrong with this. He was fine. He was successful, and that’s all that particularly mattered.

The gardener in his kitchen, however, was not fine.

A snag to his evening, the man marooned to the interior. Swept with sleepless bruises, hollow eyes watched the evil intruder from across the kitchen island. Fingers spherically tracing the foot of his coffee mug, a red glow skittered over fingerprint in winding apprehension of their behaviour.

He was hating every second of this.

A cleared throat cleaved through air, pulling some version of politesse purpose to manner. Yet at the obligation to fill unbearable silence, Grayson could only make a vague motion to the window with quiet (and very wise) observation.

“It snowed.”

There was nothing comforting about someone in his house, bringing the mug to lips to take a stern sip. Features unfit for a smile, sharpness of ivory bone did somewhat soothe beneath a steady exhale through the nose. Tension splayed to body eased not, taking all the likes of a haggard crow hunched over carrion.

Side-eyeing Graham as if it were a criminal afoot and not the man he himself called out on this especially festive day to prune one singular shrub— the accountant did not entirely trust the stranger enough to leave them to their own devices in his house, they might touch things or make a mess or break something or god forbid move things around or—

Crushed back into existence by the sounds of eating, patience ruptured summit with gentle fracture. Sudden set of the mug to the counter in sound of his cataclysmic end to short-lived patience.

“Could I ask you a question, Mr Byrne?” Posing the man with gentle inquiry, fingers would meet in a pinnacle. “Were you, perhaps, raised in a barn?”

“Crumbs.” He’d clarify in neurotic mutter, “I couldn't help but notice you are dropping crumbs everywhere.”
























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DECEMBER 25TH.

Graham was a lot of things, but bad with nature was not one of them.

That is to say, he knew extensively when each and every snow storm and blizzard was going to hit, and he knew exactly how strong of a storm it would be and what he personally could do to try to make the experience as… untraumatizing as possible.

Usually that meant getting piss drunk and banging one of his neighbors, but still.

Kept away all the ghosts and demons.

But one of his… fussier clients - Grayson Lavicchi - had called him in because there was a single branch on the one bush in his backyard that still retained its leaves that had grown a couple centimeters too far and he just HAD to fix it IMMEDIATELY… come over, he will pay triple.

Here is how that conversation went:

“I need you to prune the bush. It’s grown too much again.”
“Don’t you know it’s Christmas?
“... I’ll pay double.”
“Ain’t there supposed to be a blizzard comin’ through later?”
“It won't snow... Triple.”
“Awh, fine, but if I get stranded out there, I’m eatin’ your food.”

It took about 15 minutes to hype himself up enough to drive in the car without his claustrophobia making him feel like he was in a metal death trap.

It took about an hour to drive out to Grayson’s house.

It took 5 minutes to get prepared to prune the bush.

It took 5 seconds to prune the bush

It took 5 minutes to put away the equipment used to prune the bush.

And by that point, the dark clouds had started to roll in, and Graham was treated to the lovely image of a wall of pure white snow coming towards him.

Needless to say, Graham headed back inside as quickly as possible where he then gave Grayson a look of pure unadulterated smug “I told you so” and immediately went to raid the kitchen.

“It snowed.” Grayson said from where he was currently staring daggers at Graham. Graham knew how to participate in high society, and he was choosing to currently ignore it. Saltine crackers seemed to be the most flavored thing readily available and were being shoved into his mouth.
“Yeah. ‘S snowing.” What an astute observation. Crumbs sprayed out of his mouth. He should be home currently with his dog and whatever stranger felt like making their way into his bed. Not here. With this…. Lovely paying customer.

“I got you a question. You got any alcohol in here?” Graham asked, painting on a bright grin, avoiding the barn comment and the crumbs. Swiped into a hand with a flash and then deposited into a trash can. “Could go for a drink right now, can’t lie.”

The walls were starting to cave in just a little bit. He was already starting to feel a bit… constrained and tight.

Release would be great, and his plans didn’t have to change due to a change in location. He looked back at the miserable gray bundle of misery.

“... You single?”
























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Zachary Carpenter​

Perhaps, moving to Joplin had not been as horrible as Zach had first believed. As the snow began to gently fall (although grandma warned him it would get worse later and to "Hurry home!") he casually walked towards Jenny's neighborhood.

How had he gotten so lucky? To be invited to her home on Christmas? It was like something out of a Wattpad fanfiction. Not that that was a bad thing. Just the fact it was happening to him of all people was what astounded him. A pretty girl with a wonderful laugh liked him enough to spend time with him on what was most arguably the most important day of the year for most. Yeah, there were other people invited, it was a party, but that didn't matter. He was spending time with Jenny.

Cassidy had screeched like a banshee when Zach told her he would be out for the day. "I have to stay here and watch shitty Christmas movies with grandma while you get to actually have fun?!". Zach had shrugged and slammed the bathroom door in her face at that, listening to her pound the cheap wood while he changed into his nicest casual clothes. Grandma turned up the volume on the TV to drown out his sisters fit, making the walls vibrate with the sound of Buddy the Elf belching after chugging soda. A classic.

Zach pulled out his phone to look at the screenshot of where Jenny's house was located for reference. He looked to be on the right path. Snow was starting to get a bit heavier, but nothing he was too concerned about. Although the sidewalk slush was starting to permeate the canvas of his Converse. That wasn't fun. Nobody liked soggy socks, except maybe serial killers. They seemed the type to not be bothered by such a thing.

Zach stopped in front of the house that matched the screenshot he had found on Google Earth last night. Oh God, did that make him creepy? No, Jenny had invited him here. Finding the location ahead of time didn't make him a stalker, just prepared...right?

Jenny's house was very nice, much like the house they had attended the Halloween party at. Zach was hit with a wave of anxiety as he realized just how different he and Jenny's lives seemed to be on the surface. Jenny had a nice house, presumably with parents who weren't cheating on one another and in a neighborhood where there wasn't a man who carried a mannequin around during the wee hours of the morning. Did he belong here? Once, he might have. But now? Not so much.

Nervously, Zach walked up the front porch steps and knocked at the door.
Location: Jenny's House
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Jodie




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Every time a major weather disaster struck Joplin, the saddest and most tired and disillusioned young adults of the city would huddle together in Auguste Cortes’ apartment to share resources and wait out the storm with drinks and jests and arguments. Jodie, their mutual “friend” Rat (Jodie preferred to think of them as a sleep paralysis demon that had escaped the void), and Jodie’s parrot, along with whoever else could join them for the time. It was easier, perhaps, to think of it as a sleepover for depressed people.

It had become a tradition of sorts, over the time that they’d all known each other. It saved money on everyone’s heating bills, at the very least. Jodie’s parrot, Preston, also enjoyed the extra attention he got from the extra people in his environment, and the bird definitely deserved some good enrichment with how overworked and boring Jodie herself had become. With her aging parents’ health continuing to decline and the family store’s revenue declining with them, Jodie had essentially been forced into the role of caretaker and storeowner, splitting her time between her parents’ apartment and the home goods shop and leaving almost no time left to spend on her own interests.

What even were her interests, at this point? Jodie honestly wasn’t sure if she could make a list of things she genuinely enjoyed and looked forward to.
Drinking, perhaps. Arguing with her parrot. Rewatching Breaking Bad for the zillionth time at ungodly hours of the morning when she couldn’t sleep. But did those really count as hobbies, or were they simply the things she did to pass the time between store shifts and managing her parents’ medical appointments?

She had to be the most boring person in the world, less of a person and more of a plank raft to keep dying things afloat.

If this was a movie and she was the protagonist, the beleaguered heroine of some late-night TV drama, today would be the day that she discovered the key to seizing the last remaining years of her youth for some glorious purpose.

But alas, today was only the day that she loaded Preston’s birdcage into the passenger seat of her car and began the slow icy drive over to Auguste’s place. It wasn’t a long distance, and Jodie usually preferred to walk, but the freezing temperatures and strong winds weren’t safe for the tropical parrot. Preston, oblivious to the cold, happily squawked to himself as he pried open pistachios with his beak.

It took longer than Jodie expected to finally arrive in front of the dilapidated building. The roads had been covered in sheets of ice and she wasn’t fixing to break all her bones and die in a car wreck today– save that for another time.
If the bastard wasn’t home, she was more than happy to take the bobby pin out of her hair and pry open the lock to let herself in. Auguste had about 5 minutes to decide which way things went.

“So how long would you say we gotta stick it out here?”
Jodie asked no one in particular, though her eyes lingered on Auguste, possibly because he was the closest and the sanest.
“Who wants to bet that when we step out, Joplin will have gone full apocalypse mode? Bet you anything this city won’t last an hour.”








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DECEMBER 25TH.

The gardener was eating crackers like a woodchipper. Vapid silver was occupied watching the spattering of crumbs hugging their facial hair.

An orange caveman.

Sense echo curled to fingers that burned with a need to tuck a napkin into the baby-man's shirt collar. Hooligan manners scraped debris to hand— the same hand that had been eating, Grayson did not see him wash them! —to deposit in the bin. Antsy supervision was already mapping what surfaces to wipe down at their departure.

“I got you a question.”

“No.”

“You got any alcohol in here?”

Lips thinning in aggravation, he’d steel against the idea of entertaining any of the Irishman's whims. A scowl and side-glare of molten silver formed some veneer of deceit.

“I do not drink.” Guilty silence settled with the weight of wet wool, a familiar nettle pushing at his neck in hives. It was only moments of molasses regret and an awkward drum of nails against the counter until he fractured under nervous pressure. “– Often.” Fuck it, he’d never been good at lying. “I might have a Scotch.”

This was a terrible idea.

“But my estate is not a dive bar, understood?” An open and close of a cupboard, setting decanter and cups to marble surface. “And you’re going to be very, very careful with the glassware. It’s crystal. From Italy.”

Not breaching the perilous stretch of ice spaced between them, he’d slide a drink in Graham’s direction. Decanter left on the counter in invitation—for maybe, Grayson could hope, the Irishman would be more fascinated in sipping expensive alcohol than pestering him. Like appealing a toddler with a new toy, maybe this would earn him some blissful peace.

Or well-earned karma.

The question caught him unexpectedly, a fumble of the glass in his own hand as a frozen lapse passed through. Seconds later, and his head had turned to stiffly stare at Graham. Eyes wide with alarm and features wrung with a horrified stare.

“I'm sorry?” He must have heard wrong, spoken with an ill-timed arrival of the wind. Must have misheard, must have not been paying attention. But no doubt, you single? — had frigidity latching him like fog. Coating skin with indignant lustre.

It’s not that Grayson’s romantic life was sparse.

It was just nonexistent.

Perhaps what was more foolish than allowing Graham to drink, was actually bothering to satiate this topic.

“My life is perfectly substantial without a significant other, thank you very much.” Instead of catching onto their manner of heavy innuendo and hussy behaviour, Grayson now had a spike of insecurity. That his home appeared a little too big for an inhabitant of one. Maybe he looked, god forbid, lonely. “I actually prefer being single.” A matter-of-fact addition that nobody asked for, so ready to defend his isolation with lance and shield.

How irrelevant that Grayson had never actually been in a relationship and could reasonably compare the two.

“And yourself?” He’d return the conversation in kind under the naïve illusion of casual small-talk, nothing fruity afoot. “A wife?”

























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DECEMBER 25TH.

The aggressiveness of stating that this wasn’t just a house but an estate made Graham all the more committed to the idea of messing around with the uptight nervous character.

The types that got wound up easy were usually into the most fun stuff, after all.

“And you’re going to be very, very careful with the glassware. It’s crystal. From Italy.” The finer things in life were never Graham’s. Sometimes a client gave him a nice bottle of wine, but that was really it. Though he’d be lying if he was saying that he hadn’t considered becoming a sugar baby for the riches at least a couple of times.

He was always just a little bit too possessive and devoted for that kind of thing, though. Wouldn’t be able to stomach that idea very well.

A fumble with the imported from Italy crystal glassware had Graham snorting from behind his own clear and shiny glass of way too expensive scotch - fecking hell was it smooth though - as the first sip of alcohol was like coming to an oasis in the middle of the desert. “And yer tellin’ me to be careful with that, ay love?”

Fecking hell he missed alcohol. He’d never been good about staying away from his vices, after all. A small little backslide wouldn’t kill him, and he knew not to do anything stupid this time ‘round.

A pleasant smile as he slowly stepped around the marble countertop, finger tracing the patterns in the marble as he slowly brought a hand up to Gray’s lapel, straightening it out in the millimeters that it had become askew.

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry anythin’ ‘bout me havin’ a lover on the side. Never been the committed type.” That was a lie. If anything, he was a bit too committed when he fell. But it sounded better than ‘I get kind of clingy and jealous so I’ve decided that it’s better to have flings and hookups rather than deeply romantic and committed long term relationships.’ Grayson probably didn’t know the difference either way.

“Y’ got a little dust on ya, love.” He said with a small wink as he pretended to continue fussing over Gray’s appearance, flicking off pretend dust. That could probably be misconstrued as actual worry, so Graham decided to take things further as there was a small shift in his body language. A decision was made as his hand slowly went up, cupping his cheek, slowly tracing his jawline. “Have a drink, you feel all kinds of tense.”

Could Grayson tell yet what Graham was referring to?

Raised his crystal glass to Grayson’s lips, waiting for the accountant to either take the glass (their fingers might graze each other, very spicy) or take a sip…

Or slap him and kick him in the dick for coming onto a straight guy. Really it was a ⅓ chance.
























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DECEMBER 25TH.

It was a new record.

No, not the amount of snow making a blanket out of Joplin, but how quick dearest little Ratthew could bring ruination to the family Christmas. One hour and seventeen minutes till the rodent had whittled his mother’s patience down to the bone, one hour and seventeen minutes of unfiltered bonafide fuckery.

A table laden with hyacinth, mulled glögg wine and pepparkakor biscuits. Attended by a generous total of four, a couple seated with their two descendants. A head-ache worthy pair when found in each other’s company, the tapping of morse code back and forth the mahogany wood was filled with snorts and giggles, and soon to be cleaved open by a shrill, short tempered intrusion.

Unimpressed, the taut-lipped woman would scowl at Oskar first, then at Rat; slouched in the seat lackadaisical as if he’d prefer to be anywhere but here.

Stop tapping, is what she’d ordered.

So Rat did what any good evangelical son would do.

Started a drum solo on the dinner table.

And was promptly exiled from the family Christmas.

One hour and seventeen minutes well spent, now opening his schedule to some proper Joplin tradition. Far from being done with exhausting people’s patience, a city flowering white in warning of an oncoming weather phenomenon could mean one thing: a united front against boredom with his favorite mopey pair.

Bigsie and Jacksie.

Yet weather was not without its consequences, an undercurrent of risk to stir in the regolith of his mind with pressing urgency. A cold sweeping through Joplin to stake its claim, perhaps its aftermath wouldn’t be comparable to the tumult the flooding had brought, yet plants were fickle things, a florist would worry this much.

Car door slamming shut a notch too loud made announcement the sleep paralysis demon was afoot. Commemorated minutes later with a flurry of obnoxious knocking against Auguste’s door. His second drum solo of the day.

“Festive greetings!” Cawed in all Ratalie fashion to nobody in particular, weaselling and scrabbling inside at the first opportunity like a stray dog with too much nerve. After a wiggly shake to moult flakes of snow onto the floor and a floaty pivot to familiarise the contents of the room— Rat was going to touch everything —the blonde would lazily drop onto the couch like a lump of platinum lead, and affix attention to Jodie’s question.

“Always so glum, Jacksie. Just have a looks at all la cocaina.” A hand motioned vaguely to the narrow window, blurred white with the ongoings of outside. “Meant to be fun, yes it do.”

"And what's of you, Bigsie Boo?" Pushing the white stem of a lollipop to the other side of his mouth, the rodent would grace a teethy grin to the man who so generously opened up their home to a pest. "Missed sweet wee Ratholomew? Ya?"























now playing...







BATH SALTS



HIGHLY SUSPECT




























































♡coded by uxie♡

 
Mackenzie Gallagher
Bah Humbug
Old abandoned factory
Mentions: doedeer doedeer - Drew / purplecowdutch purplecowdutch Mateo / Qwertycakes Qwertycakes Dj / Chimney Swift Chimney Swift - Alex
Click Me
It had been just over 3 weeks since Kenzie's world exploded and her life ended. She may as well be dead now, buried 6 ft deep or cremated, damn she didn't care what they did to her after all it not like she'd be able to complain. She knew she was probably being a little dramatic but when things went wrong or were going wrong, Kenzie would drink or she'd get so high and that she didn't know her own name, it was her safety, her go to and now... well now, Kenzie had been sober for just over 3 weeks, since the day her life was destroyed. She never thought she had a problem I can quit anytime, I just don't want to right now, its my choice the mantra of an addict and it was only now as she itched for the release of her senses, desired the burning of strong liquor in her throat, anything to escape her life and the total and utter boredom that she finally had to admit that maybe she did have a problem, perhaps she wasn't just young and living her best life, but that was over now, like her childhood.

Alex had been great since they found out, helping in any way that he could, he kept urging her to tell her siblings but Kenzie couldn't tell them, the thought of telling them spun her stomach worse than the morning sickness. God she hoped the sickness went away soon, she was fed up with throwing up and to be honest she was very surprised that Emmy hadn't coped on yet but she supposed the fact that she was in an arm cast was helping her case.

It was Christmas day and yet Kenzie couldn't have felt less jolly. She was tired, angry, scared, sad, lonely and completely and utterly bored, the permanent scowl on her features the last few weeks only showcasing her emotions on the surface so that everyone knew to keep out of her way.

It's not fair .... It's not fair that boys don't have to go through this... or maybe

A devilsh glint shone in her eyes as she took out her phone, she didn't have to go through this alone, the fear, the anger, the sorrow could all be shared and it was only right that Kenzie be so giving on Christmas day. The only issue was that Kenzie didn't know who the father was, having had intimate relations with Mateo, Drew and DJ all within a very short time frame of each other but she found an immediate solution to that issue, after all its christmas why not share it all around.

After texting all three boys separately to meet, Kenzie put down her phone and got changed out of her pajamas. Pulling on a long oversized green jumper to match her Grinch persona she smiled at the choice before sitting down and putting on her shoes. Picking up her phone a small smile graced her lips as Drew confirmed that he would meet her, it was unsurprising that Drew was the first to respond, he had always been quick like that, always ready to go in a moments notice when she needed him. She text him the meeting place before grabbing her bag and making her way downstairs.

Kenzie tried to pull on her jacket but after struggling to get the sleeve up over her cast she decided to go without it, completely unaware of the snow building outside. It was as she got to the end of her road that Kenzie began to regret the decision to leave the coat behind but it was too late to go back now.

Kenzie arrived at the old factory first and looked around, her body shaking from the coldness seeping into her bones. Deciding that she was going to freeze if she stayed out in the snow Kenzie made her way over to the building and let herself in through one of the unlocked doors. It was only as she stepped into the quiet abandoned room that she began to get nervous about telling Drew and the others as the anger seemed to be melting into sadness, the emotional rollercoaster beginning to set off at the worst time possible and she groaned as she rubbed her hands down her face. She missed being in control, it seemed that since that day everything had been taken from her, her inability to do anything because of her dominant left arm being in a cast was difficult enough to overcome but the inability to control her own emotions really was the icing on the cake.

Make it stop



.
 
Last edited:
trigger warning
mention of drug use, abusive conditions & suicidal ideation
drew_vodianov
scroll

for the past few months, drew’s life was a rollercoaster of cold subsequence. he’d skipped town the moment he got charlie the apartment, only seeing his sister a few times since. since then, life was was work. work work work. he had devoted what rage he felt over losing kenzie and his father’s absence into making money to support him and charlie; though more so for his younger sister. their lives had been terrible and he felt the least he could do was try to gain some sort of monetary leverage for them both. they’d never had money. they’d never had comfort. that made him the angriest among the pile of shit of a life he’d been dragged through.

the truth behind it was a simple fact. drew wanted to run away. he just needed to leave. and kenzie was the last straw using the excuse of carrying out the most dangerous line of work as a sixteen year old just for a chance to get away from everything was gold to him in the moment. joplin was a shithole. charlie and him had to get out someday–fuck off somewhere nice. somewhere charlie could be happy. that’s all that mattered right?

no..it was a cop out, really. something in that night–the night kenzie chose matteo over him. he’d tried to figure it out. he went to school, he tried to be normal. it wasn’t the same. and then father leaving out of nowhere–like he’d never even been there in the first place. just like mom. drew wanted to die.

it couldn’t have gotten any worse.

it was almost fate the day he was finally coming back to spend some real time with charlie that mckenzie would message him. it was out of nowhere. they hadn’t been talking for the last couple months–partly because of the break up, but also because of his absence south of joplin.

aside from this, he’d absolutely scorned his relationship with matteo milyukov. he hated him–forever. and that fact wouldn’t change. the only other people he’d been in contact during his absence were dj and raevlyn–his only friends through this all. though, he wasn’t really talking much with either of them. knowing them both, it’d still be the same if they’d met up again. and dj.. drew hoped he was talking care of kenzie in some way during his absence. god knows what that son of a bitch matteo was like if they were still together by now.

as much as he disliked kenzie’s choice over him, he’d made peace with the truth. he still loved her. that wasn’t something he could get over easily as much as he tried at first.

drew didn’t really know what she wanted by bringing him here–not the slightest clue. she didn’t properly respond when he asked. he could feel the passion inside him well up again as he made the drive over to the old abandoned factory they’d frequent not long ago. it was the mixture of rage and hope. he couldn’t completely suppress the hope she’d invited him to their spot to reconcile. it was stupid, but he couldn’t help it.

it would be nice wouldn’t it..

drew parked the truck and took out a cigarette to smoke. he knew he’d need them for whatever this was. adjusting his jacket over his sleeves, he stared blankly at the track marks on his arms–remenant to his initial breakdown over the ordeal. he was still using these days, but not as dependent as the first month thankfully. drew was disappointed in them anyhow. it didn’t matter when or how long he used. raev would be heartbroken. and so would charlie if she didn’t already notice the first times he visited the chalamet building. kenzie too, maybe. but she’d understand unlike anyone else.

for now, it wasn’t something to be brought up. this meeting was about kenzie, not him.

he exhaled a puff, granting himself entry through the creaky doorway. there she was.

just like the first time he’d ever seen her. quiet day in 2009. the frigid air at the park. in that moment it seemed nearly as cold too. it was sad. and drew felt it in his chest as she stood turned with her back to him. they weren’t kids anymore though were they? she had no idea what he’d been through these last couple of months and neither did he for her–now looking at her casted arm.

“aren’t you cold?” drew said trying to hold his usual amused tone always used when speaking with the girl, taking another long drag in between. he'd falter. “kenzie..” fuck. speaking to her hurt more than his imagination showed him it’d be in the long car ride there. it hurt so much.















bottle up and explode! - elliott smith




/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */
© weldherwings.
 
Mackenzie Gallagher
In need of chocolate or cheetos
Old abandoned factory
doedeer doedeer - Drew
/ Mentions:_ Qwertycakes Qwertycakes - DJ & purplecowdutch purplecowdutch - Mateo
Click Me
Aren't you cold

The familiar voice broke through the silence and Kenzie turned in her spot to face Drew, a soft smile playing on her lips as she looked at him, it had been months since she had last seen him. The last night she saw him still played in her mind sometimes at night, whilst she was hurt she couldn't even imagine what Drew had gone through walking into them, after all it was her that was under a Milyukov not him.

Is it any wonder I'm in this mess

It didn't take long for her signature smirk to play on her lips again "Its freezing" she commented before holding up her casted arm "but my jacket wouldn't go over this stupid thing and I gave up" the frustration would be clear in her tone, however, it never reached her expression. On the surface, expression wize it would not seem as though anything was wrong with her but for those that knew her they would be able to see through the facade, she was pale, tired, ghostly and surprisingly for Kenzie was wearing no makeup. Hell she didn't even know if she washed her face this morning, or this week for that fact.

Kenzie took a step forward but as she watched the pain begin to showcase on Drew's face she stopped in her spot, unsure if he needed space of not. It was only now as she looked onto the face of a guy she once loved or still loved, that she was fully beginning to consider the full weight of what she was doing here, she had already hurt Drew and yet here she was wanting to hurt him more when she wasn't even sure who the baby's was. It had been too close with DJ, Drew and Mateo to distinguish it would have been better of left alone but due to being overwhelmed herself she wanted others to feel her fear, her anger, her hopelessness.. I guess when she really thought about it she just didn't want to feel alone anymore.

"How have you been?" she asked trying to prolong the news she was going to give, the very reason that they were at their old spot. Only half an hour ago she was ready to send them a group text, get it out in the open with all three aware of each other but now that the anger has passed, well at least for the time being, she was struggling to find the words to actually go through with it and tell him, what she needed was the anger to come back and take over.

C'mon anger .. no drugs... no drinking... no fun... crying babies ...

 
MOOD: Nervous

OUTFIT: Christmas dress

LOCATION: Kennedy Residence
basics
MENTIONS:

INT:

Zach thorspuddingcup thorspuddingcup


tags
TL;DR:
tl;dr
Jenelle Kennedy
Let us be young, let us be wild
until the summer's over
Jenny's mother was swiftly losing her patience. A tirade in Spanish echoed through the house after the third time her daughter failed to reply to a simple request for some help in the kitchen before the house started filling up with guests.

"Ya voy, ama!" Jenelle called back absently. She made no move, however, to leave the window where she stood guard, anxiously waiting. Their guests would be arriving soon, mostly by car, except Zachary, apparently. Fat snowflakes had begun to fall and were quickly blanketing the street. Not exactly ideal conditions for a leisurely stroll.

But luckily, Jenny soon spied a lone figure staggering down the block. An intrepid prince braving the frozen hellscape that was currently Foxglove Heights, just for her. She swung the front door open long before Zach even made it up the driveway, letting in a brutal gust of frosty air. "Hey, Zach! You made it!!" She squealed, attacking the boy in a warm embrace as she shut the door behind him.

"Are you okay? You must be freezing!" The hug made her insides flip with the excitement of being so close to him, the poor boy's current state as a human popsicle used as an excuse to give him an extra squeeze. God, she didn't want to leave his arms. Of course she reluctantly did so, stepping back with an awkward laugh as she nervously fiddled with the tiny present-shaped fascinator perched atop her copper curls.

"Come on in," She finally blurted out to interrupt an awkward moment just standing around after she took his coat to hang by the door. The Kennedy residence was warm and inviting, festooned with classy white lights and crisp pine garlands. One of the handful of mini McMansions relegated to the "nice" part of Joplin, the inside looked exactly like one would imagine; as if an issue of Martha Stewart Living exploded all over it. It was clear the Kennedys had money enough to take pride in keeping up appearances, down to the spotless hardwood floors it was clearly somebody's job to maintain.

Zachary was immediately descended upon by her parents as soon as Jenny pulled him into the living room. They were curious to say the least, this being the first boy their only princess of a daughter had ever brought home to meet them, despite her constant protestations that Zach was just a friend. Ralph Kennedy, a big, jolly Irishman quickly introduced himself and started firing away a million small talk questions to Zach about his family, the town he came from, how he was doing in school. Maritza Kennedy, a stout, spunky brunette, fawned over the boy, remarking on how polite and handsome the young suitor was while throwing playfully winks and nudged at her daughter, happily ignoring the girl's silent pleas to cease such embarrassing behavior.

Jenny finally managed to steal her friend away once their grilling of the boy was concluded, and the couple had moved on to pushing all kinds of food on him from the massive charcuterie spread set out for the guests. She led Zach to the quiet den down the hall, where she'd hidden a small package wrapped in shiny paper and ribbon. "I…just wanted to give you a little something," The redhead mumbled, cheeks flushing deeper as she handed over the gift.

Wrapped up inside was a stack of two paperbacks. On top was What We Talk About When We Talk About Love, the collection of short stories by Raymond Carver. It seemed to be quite a bit more grown up than the usual titles the pair would chat about, but apparently a must read for every young litterateur, according to her research. Underneath it was a copy of Wuthering Heights, one of her own personal favorite books.

Jenny was pretty certain Zach hadn't read either of these, but would he even want to? Did he even like historical drama?? The irrational panic began to set in that Christmas would be ruined, and she might in fact, actually die of embarrassment if Zach hated her present.

Her voice was caught in her throat unfortunately, and all she could do was watch his face for any sign of a reaction, good or bad.
code by valen t.
 
charlie_vodianova
scroll
charlie sat with her knees buckled on the hardwood floor; her feelings–solemn and rather indifferent. since waking, she spent the morning wasting away the christmas daylight. charlie was careful not to knick herself on the split wood flooring of her new apartment. it wasn’t so new anymore though. at first, it was kind of fun playing house all alone–inviting dustin, ash, or oli over whenever she pleased; or in some cases, whenever they pleased. before the rainstorm, having friends over was prohibited and never ideal anyway–what with her paranoiac of a father always thinking the worst of anyone new coming around. it was nice to be free from that.

even in the few months she’d been staying at the chalamet house, she started to notice small changes in herself. there wasn’t father or drew there to cook meals anymore and definitely no one to upkeep the space. she’d taken responsibility of both over this time, minus the gracious times a meal was shared with one of her friend’s families. it was different, and all too suddenly. thinking about it now, it reminded her of how sudden her mother’s disappearance was. at least papa and drew were still alive.

charlie looked up to the window, noticing a small rattling from the wind against the panes. alive, but where?

she tried to waver away the memories of small cherished moments on christmas pasts… drew would say there were close to none, but her brother was always contempt about any holiday. even though their childhood wasn’t much to gloat about, to charlie it was still the opposite. she frowned, tilting her head against her shoulder. it was hard not to miss the good parts even among all of the bad. fourteen years of age. fourteen christmases. how did the time fly by so fast? was this going to be how every christmas felt now?

she stood up, adjusting the drawstring on her pajama pants. no point in staying in her usual christmas attire, she guessed. if this christmas was going to be different, she wouldn’t just sit here all day wishing it was the same.

after changing into jeans and a knit sweater, she covered her head with a fluffy animal hat she’d thrifted last week. looking in the mirror, she attempted to smile–a toothy one she widened heartily, then sunk back into her default. she gnawed at her cheek.

well, it was an attempt. at least her new hat brought forth some joy.

charlie made it back into the living room, curling up on the rugged couch to watch the snow fall from outside her window. somehow, all her windows were intact still–something new for a change to the old house just down the street. there was no way it could’ve survived that storm, it was falling apart on it’s own; now it sat half ruined on the edge of the corner. charlie was grateful she had a roof over her head in a sturdy building filled with her closest friends. 'sturdy' was pushing it, but having her best friends close by was more than she could ask for. sometimes they were the only thing keeping her together.

her eyes narrowed down at the three presents wrapped in newspaper atop the coffee table. one, a couple vintage turtle pins she’d shoplifted at the goodwill downtown. they were kind of silly, but she hoped oli might appreciate them. the second--three movie dvds all from the early 2000's. she hadn’t seen any of them yet and wasn’t sure if ashley had either, but she knew these copies weren't on her bedroom shelf. lastly, a small stack of skateboard magazines from the year 1989–she’d actually paid the $5 for. she wasn't exactly sure what to get dustin, but the photos in the magazine were cool and it was a great cover up for the pins and dvds nestled in her backpack as she walked out of the storefront.

charlie smiled, feeling a little better about the day.




















mayonaise - smashing pumpkins




/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */
© weldherwings.
 




























DECEMBER 25TH.

If the accountant had any idea of Graham’s sheer reputation, its expanse clearly remained to be understood.

Integral part of their nature gone naively amiss, as was the suggestion of their approach. Assuming the man-child desired to rustle through cupboards or prod every button on the coffee machine, only when margins continued to narrow was he seized by the same icy lapse. Punctured through veins like shards of porcelain, spearing sinew and tendon in place with agitated attention as a hand drifted to lapels.

The gardener was touching his clothing.

Ew.

He ate with those hands!

— Is what he would have thought if not occupied by feather-wisp adjustments and an enclosing warmth. Words unravelled to languid velvet, he barely captured what Graham had said in the surging alarm of closing proximity. Sleepless eyes widening in fear, such distress could hardly be bottled by a well-rehearsed scowl.

“I’m not…” orchestrating a weak attempt at resembling inertia, he’d try to cough free what was ensnaring his jugular and voice with meek disposition. “I’m not worrying.”

He was worrying.

Worrying about what the fuck was going on.

Another day, another time, the notion of being specked with dust would have him scrambling for a mirror. Tense as an effigy and rendered deaf to concerns of lovers and noncommittal habit, a wide-eyed stare whirred with equal portion trepidation and zero thoughts. Fingers would curl and uncurl by subtle increment, hovering over Graham’s wrists in indecision to pry free; unsure what to do when held hostage beneath their pedantic fuss.

Was this part of the tripled rate?

Were they wanting a higher percentage by doubling as a personal assistant?

“Graham,” Mr Byrne no longer, for in the accountant’s simple-minded distraction, professionalism had receded to something hoarse. “Graham this is not part of your job description.” At such a distance details were vivid (not that he’d take note, for that would be much too spicy for an Englishman), curve of their mouth and sloped lashes, a flitter of iris would drink the view in restricted portions.

Graham was great at his job.

Here, preened like the posh little cat he was, Grayson didn’t have many coherent notions trawling the excavated globe of his skull. Scooped clean of brain matter with all intelligence on hiatus, for the swell of their next touch he was sent akilter, orbiting elsewhere. Print grazing the swathe of his jaw, skirting with scorching importance, physically he stood between counter and man, mentally he floated through a cosmos of no thought and every thought.

In captivated stupor, he’d have half the mind to slap the hand away if his brain was tethered by any connective tissues. Severed like a knife through a loom, retracing a frayed edge in search of sensibility.

Purr?

Oh yes, purr.

Reality knocked the periphery as crystalline glass neared the crescent of his mouth. Reared like a horse taut at its bridle, a flinch and scrabble for composure as Grayson craned his head from the hand.

“Oh no, no no. Um. I’m not–” He’d reel for the correct words, carefully, almost painfully. Snagging barbed on his palate. “I respect your lifestyle but I am not one of…” One of you? One of them? “I am not a…” He swallowed thickly, dry film coating his mouth. “A gay?”

Convincing.

A claim with receipts, having bravely taken the Am I Gay Quiz at questionable hours of the night. Numerous results proved that he wasn’t of the homosexual variety (which of course is exactly what he expected, and he definitely did not skew his answers for his own self-assurance). Since then he’d laid it to rest, sitting comfortably behind his roadblocks of wrought-iron denial.

Until now, where a handsome man was touching his face and offering him a glass of scotch.

Life was unfair.

And there was little fair about this rift, little fair at what carved him one way and the other. Life had never been suitable for such whimsical notion, never accommodating for evaluating anything out of nondescript existence. In a blip of Not-Gay urgency to free himself from this contradictory position, he’d pivot on a heel to move away—

BANG.

And slammed his skull into the corner of a cabinet.

Dropping like a lead-weight and barely catching an arm on the counter to stop himself from hitting the floor— he was a distinguished gentleman— an airy, “‘m fine,” was announced as if his head wasn’t still swimming with tremor and he hadn’t just rearranged every braincell upon impact. Squinting through a flash of phosphorescent lights fringing vision, a blind hand would pat through air in search for something stable to grab—

And landed on Graham’s chest.

Why hello.

That’s assault.

He’d touched a man tit! A mittie! A mreast! Groped Graham like some depraved freak!

“I am so sorry–” the five-fingered symbol of impropriety was withdrawn with the speed of a burn. "I didn't-"

He’d heard from water cooler conversations: the rumours of inappropriate work conduct. Boss and secretary, employees that had not disclosed their relations to anyone but the privacy of filing cabinets. The plethora of HR issues that ensued from thus, and now here he stood (half-stood), the very bane of the gardener’s vitriol.

He'd touched Graham's mittie.
























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Exit Music



Radiohead

























































♡coded by uxie♡

 





























DECEMBER 25TH.

Auguste was the amicable type, he really was. Once you got past the awkward smiles and the feet shuffling and the lack of eye contact and the droning voice and the sarcasm, somewhere in there was someone very amicable.

That being said just because someone was amicable, did not mean that he did not value his alone time. It was because of this that having friends over was a rarity, he felt that he did enough socializing during his three jobs, thank you.

Which brings us to today…

To be honest, he just wanted to see the parrot again, he couldn’t really and truly give a fuck about the human attached.

So here he was, having one person over. And only one. And mostly to watch the parrot. Exclusively to watch the parrot.

He was not a tidy human.

A truly lived in home, it also screamed “obsessed with music” sheet music was everywhere. There were amps and a small collection of guitars and keyboards that had been given to him or he’d donated to himself through varying levels of legality. What little remained of the floor seemed nice and clean though. There wasn’t much dirt or grime or dust on anything, it was just that there was a lot in his apartment.

Sat in the middle of it all was a beautiful cat. It looked up at the bird and stared. There was a small chirping noise that emitted from the cat.

“Satan. Leave it.” Auguste said, and the cat seemed to get up and wind its way through his legs, purring and rubbing its face against him. “She’s nice I promise. Sit down, take off your shoes, the… the dinner will be done-”

The banging and knocking of someone turning his door into their own personal drum set started ringing throughout the quaint apartment, making Auguste visibly jump as he crept towards the door with the wariness of a stalking cat.

The actual cat, aptly named “Satan,” was currently pawing at Jodie in an attempt to get her attention for love and affection.

Auguste peered through the peephole in the door and cracked the door open with a little roll of the eyes. Of fucking course.

“... How’d you find the address.” Came the flat reply. A foot slammed into the door, keeping Auguste from closing it as Rat barged into the room with a delighted

FESTIVE GREETINGS

Whyyyyyyyyy

“Missed sweet wee Ratholomew? Ya?”

There was a deep sigh of acceptance to his fate as Auguste slowly sank back onto his couch. “So much…” He mumbled as his cat took the time to lay on top of his melted body.

“Merry Christmas to you too.” Maybe if he pretended to sleep, when he woke up they’d be gone. “... We’re still eating Rat first if the cannibalism must occur.”























now playing...







Movement



Hozier





























































♡coded by uxie♡

 






mood
drunk and looking for trouble

location
The Hallway

tag
@fieldofclover

outfit
a white, nice shirt, custom delivered from Italy






Mateo Milyukov





Mateo took the bus and had to walk at least fifteen minutes to get to the old factory, this was ridiculous. What was the thing Kenzie was so keen on telling them now? And why did they all have to be *there*? He put his headphones on as he kicked an innocent pebble all the way to the old factory. In his pocket was some leftover cash he got from selling pot and he wanted to treat himself today by buying a new videogame. As a matter of fact he was kind of annoyed for Kenzie pulling this stunt and the further he walked the more annoyed he got.

Mateo was afraid to see Drew and DJ again but had to admit he was also sort of curious. He hadn't seen him in forever and kind of ended things on a bad note, this was pretty obvious from the many fights they had but there had definitely been a last straw and the game was played. He couldn't really blame THEM for it.
When he saw the familiar truck from Drew outside the factory, his hands got a little clammy and Mateo drew a cigarette as he tried to put up his most careless act. The two were standing right there when he opened the old, creaky doors and Mateo raised his hand as if he were greeting his buddies from the strip joint.

'Hey, what's up?' He didn't even give Drew a second look and put his left hand in his pocket as he took a drag from his cigarette. 'What's so important that you have to strip my precious time away from me in this forgotten dump?' He added with a slight smirk as he swiped his finger across the dirty, rotten walls. This factory sure contained some dangerous chemicals nobody has ever heard of. His brothers would call him an idiot for even going here in the first place but to be fair, what did they know?






/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

© weldherwings.
 
MOOD: Determined















OUTFIT: sweater and jeans















LOCATION: Chalamet Building
basics
MENTIONS:















INT:







Chimney Swift Chimney Swift


tags
TL;DR Sed fermentum tortor nulla, vel sodales nibh bibendum eu. Maecenas a lacus a libero blandit commodo. In lobortis aliquam urna, id tempor ex semper at
tl;dr
ashley park
I would need a million words if I tried to define all the things you mean to me

Ashley didn't particularly consider herself a planner. Man plans, Jehovah laughs, or some dumb shit like that. Even her attempts at sneaking out of the house to avoid missionary duties weren't exactly a stroke of genius, considering her father and new stepmother weren't one to question why the nuisances otherwise known as children had decided to free the adults from having to gaze upon the unseemly brats. Neither did she consider herself one for festive cheer. But here she was.

Since their conversion to Jehovah, John and Eileen Park-Dreyfus had sworn off any and all holidays which incorporated gift-giving. So she could be safely assured that there would be no Christmas at their house this year, for better or worse. Ordinarily, she wouldn't really give a shit, but perhaps due to feeling a duty to make Christmas not suck for her new step-brother, perhaps due to feeling particularly lonely this time of year, perhaps due to wanting to rebel against authority figures, Ashley had decided by hook or by crook, she was getting a damn Christmas celebration. So here she was, dutifully wrapping up the gifts she'd spent the prior week meticulously searching for amid the vast array of seedy shops around town. There was several neatly folded up dresses for Charlie, considering the two girls had gone back and forth regarding attempts to get the girl into some new clothing. More obviously, there was a notebook and a mug hosting a variety of turtle facts for Oliver, as well as a pack of socks in the form of sushi rolls for Dustin. Even during the holidays she couldn't resist a reference to their inside joke about his sock obsession.

With bits of pre-cut tape sticking out of any flat surface she could find, Ashley worked quickly, utilizing the cheapest wrapping paper she could find. Admittedly, she'd never had the urge to wrap presents before, creating something of a learning curve, which was only exacerbated by her rushed attempts to finish wrapping before anybody saw the gifts prematurely.

As the last bit of tape was applied, she silently pumped a fist into the air. She loaded the gifts into a particularly massive and lumpy backpack, and proceeded to make the trek to the Dreyfus-Park household. She fished a key out of a jean pocket. Upon entering, she gently knocked on the door of Oliver's room to alert him that it was time to go to the Thackery's as planned. While waiting, she got to work plopping Tony into his stroller, and carrying her own baby, also known as Garbage Moneky the cat in her arms, with Garbage seemingly calm and aware he would be recieving loads of treats at their new location.

After Oliver finally arose from the bedroom, the foursome set off to the Thackery home. Upon arrival, Ashley rang the doorbell. Just this one time she'd spare the ears of their neighbors. Just once.
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Oliver




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In the aftermath of his mother’s wedding, things had actually seemed to improve a bit in the household. That wasn’t to say that it was good, though– on the contrary, it was still just as much of a broken family as either half of it had been prior. Oliver hated his new hyphenated last name, and his new stepfather was just as sour-tempered and erratic as his mother, and getting used to a whole new living space was overwhelming, but there were a few definite perks.

They’d moved into one of the larger apartments on the upper floors of the Chalamet Building, which afforded Oliver one of the greatest luxuries he’d ever experienced: his own bedroom. Like an actual bedroom with an actual bed in it, nothing like the old dusty closet he’d been sleeping in for the last several years. Best of all, though, was that both Eileen and John seemed to be much less bothered by their children’s frequent absences. They didn’t seem to care much that Oliver was rarely around the apartment after school, as long as he sat still through the entirety of church and joined them for the Mandatory Family Dinners that were suddenly an expectation. Eileen in particular was now suddenly very keen on playing-pretend that they were a nice, normal nuclear family, like an elaborate LARP where she took on the role of a loving and caring wife and mother of her children… the only thing that Oliver appreciated about this was that she now seemed too afraid to hit him in front of her husband, settling for only digging her nails into her son’s arm when he got too far “out of line.”

Oliver thought that it was stupid to expect him to stay in line when he didn’t even know where the metaphorical lines were.
He’d made much progress in understanding colloquial metaphors and idioms in Mr. Wright’s English class.

By the time Christmas arrived, things were thankfully still in a relative lull. The holiday had never meant a lot to him when he was younger, so his mother and stepfather’s decision to stop observing it didn’t bother him too badly. If anything, he was more excited about Christmas this year than he ever had been before. This year, instead of sitting around watching his mother drink herself into a stupor and throw things at the wall, he was going to celebrate it properly with the other kids in the building. While he waited for Ashley to come to retrieve him from his room, he carefully arranged all of the presents he’d picked out for his friends into a large paper bag.

Using his savings from moving crack and fentanyl through the streets of Joplin with his new Bratva acquaintances, he’d secured three high-end laptop computers, small enough to be easily concealed and equipped with a somewhat advanced VPN system. Perfect for communications that were meant to stay secret.
…And three switchblades, one for each of them, to be given only when Dustin’s mother wasn’t looking in their direction.

It did not occur to him at all how this could be seen as a little weird and counterintuitive to the festive spirit.

There was a scrap of sense to his odd logic, though: there had been two murders in their neighborhood just last month, and he’d been tangentially involved in both. After accidentally finding one corpse and helping to hide the other, Oliver’s paranoid tendencies had been validated to the point where he was spending every waking moment worrying about the handful of people he held close. He had a responsibility to protect them. That was what friends did.

When Ashley’s quiet knock on his bedroom door was finally heard, he practically ran over to open it for her. He grinned at her and the cat in her arms, with his best awkward attempt at a friendly wave without dropping the bag, only frowning slightly when his eyes turned down to Tony in his stroller. Slowly but surely, Oliver was getting used to sharing living space with an earsplittingly loud and malodorous baby, but it still wasn’t easy sometimes to keep his own nerves under control.

“Charlie is coming, right?” He mused quietly, as they stood outside the door of the Thackery’s apartment. It had surprised him a bit that Ashley had chosen to ring the doorbell rather than screaming… perhaps it wasn’t customary to scream on Christmas. “Or is it just you and Garbage monkey? And Tony. And Dustin. Wow. There are a lot of us.”







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Jodie




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Jodie greeted Auguste not with smiles or friendly hugs or “how are you”s, but with a curt nod before doing a quick sweep through the apartment to make certain that all the doors and windows were securely closed and locked. It was important to never underestimate the ability of a bored parrot to escape from the safe interior of Auguste’s place to the Certain Death Hell Blizzard that awaited outside. Preston had many talents, but self-preservation was not one of them.

The bird reminded her a lot of Rat, in a way.

Only once she was assured that all posible parrot escape routes were blocked sufficiently did she sidle back to the living room to unlatch the birdcage and give Auguste a proper greeting. “Hey, fucker.” Her words, while far from warm and polite, carried with them something a just a little bit genuine. After all this time, she couldn’t help but be a bit fond of the gentle giant.
Preston hopped out gratefully, bouncing from his perch to do a celebratory flap around the room while Auguste’s cat, Satan, watched eagerly. Jodie gently scratched the cat behind her ears, thinking to herself that ‘Satan’ would have been a much more appropriate name for the bird.

But do you know who really should have been named Satan?

The answer came barreling through the door just as the thought crossed Jodie’s mind, bringing the phrase “speak of the devil and he shall appear” to a whole new level of literal accuracy.
“Christ on a bike–” Before the words were even fully out of her mouth, Rat was already going a mile a minute, shaking clumps of snow onto the floor and carpet, answering her question from earlier with an invitation to snort the blizzard outside like cocaine. “And a holly jolly Christmas to you to, Ratford.” She said with an eyeroll, joining him on the couch as far away as she could squeeze herself.

“Who wants some hot chocolate? Better make it now before the power goes out til New Year’s. This city’s electrical wiring ain’t shit.”






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DECEMBER 25TH.

In quiet moments the worry would seep like arctic water, pinch with splinters of tundra he’d try to unearth through other means.

Maybe he was getting too comfortable in Joplin.

It had been Summer the first time he’d slunk back to the city’s chalky air and concrete summits. Stepping off the bus into a foot of water and the warm nucleus of a tempest storm, it had been five months since flooding carved streets and three months since a mooring line had snagged and complicated structural mechanics.

A change that drew itself upon distanced countenance, Ren had long surpassed the ability to dissect it— them, from his focus. A shadow that dwelled periphery with stubborn imposition, more hopeful memory than pristine truth. There, a comfort in the shape of a person, accommodating and soft, they’d embed the same repose observed when fascinated by chemical coated diamond;

Cupped cradle-like with proud procurement, pooling satisfaction to be in possession of someone so valuable.

Yet unlike losing a wallet or forgetting a coat, it is a different strain of grief to lose something made out of flesh and blood. A tangle of kraken limbs to try to anchor the Lawyer back into blankets— 5 more minutes —before they’d have to leave for boringly legal time sensitive obligations. Their rituals existed, kisses pressed along a common path of his lover’s neck and shell of their ear as he awaited the loathed materialisation of dawn.

Albeit nursed in the dominion of dark, the world seemed brighter in these moments sequestered from daytime and the public.

Flakes had drifted into fruition, as had the cycle of habit. A fear of growing too content, a little too housewifey when it came to buying fruit and meandering the passage of time until the Lawyer was available. Hence the need to do something nostalgic. As shared in John 10:1, The man who does not enter the sheep pen by the gate, but climbs in by some other way, is a thief and a robber.

So he’d come to one logical conclusion for the special day.

He was Santa.

Arrayed in ruby red with a synthetic beard to double for coarse tooth floss, Father Christmas was haunting Joplin with sticky-fingered oddity. A tangle of limbs in and out of windows like a festive spider, once more ignoring tempest weather to fish amongst items that enraptured klepto habits.

This time, thankfully, not high on Nyquil.

He’d enacted regular tradition; visited his mom (happy), glared at his mother’s boyfriend for two consecutive hours (productive), before lobbing the salt across the table much too hard when they asked for it (boyboss move), followed by playing victim (hot) and wallowing in self-pity (gorgeous), and sulking off to indulge one's own interests on a path of well-explored habit (borrowing things).

With a sharp-dressed lawyer at hand, legal luxury had resurrected an already existing audacity. Busy nosing through kitchen cupboards, the foreign sound had just barely sunken in before he regretted it, eyes widening to the pressing note that he was no longer alone in the apartment.

Panic lodged like a splinter to the throat, a dart of coal iris in a hunt for escape.

“Oh shit.” A whisper as he scurried across the kitchen for the nearest window, a blur of red and bounce of fluffy white beard that lunged for the handle. “Oh shitohshit oh shit oh sh–”

Stuck.

“You motherf-” rattled with such urgent frenzy the threat of breaking the window couldn’t be far out of reach, intentions to scramble for the next exit were rendered short, crouched on the counter as the mystery arrival came into view.

Uh oh.

Suspending awkward silence between countertop Santa and the home-owner, hands were slowly withdrawn from the jammed window. Stagnant air, dead and frozen in harmony with the evil santa. Straining to divine exactly what to say in order to explain this condemnable display of criminal activity, he’d revert to his most trusted tool.

No, not a knife.

“Why hello.” A sultry greeting, coated in dizzying nonchalance and a dulcet purr that doesn’t become a man of raggedy Santa costume. “Nice kitchen.” Seduce the stranger. “It matches your…” a pregnant pause suspended, desperation stumbled over silence and words. “Eyes.”

Mr Klaus was so suave.

“But do not mind me, toots.” Like a cat inviting itself to a highly inconvenient spot, the kleptomaniac lazed over the counter. Propping a leg onto the surface and laying back on an elbow with all the poise of a wine-drunk aristocrat. “I was just looking around.”

A gentle sway to the leg as if lounging a branch on a summery afternoon, he’d wield his talent of being charmingly droll in hopes it would send any hasty decisions— like calling police —off kilter. At least until he was sure he could leave without a fight and clear the area.

“Sooo…” not awkward at all. He thought about asking if they were single, couldn’t quite force it out his mouth. “How’s Christmas?”
























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DECEMBER 25TH.

Now Graham was a pretty straightforward fellow. For fuck’s sake it wasn’t like he made his skirt chasing habits obscure.

A small tilt of the head as he took in the flustered accountant, a rosiness slowly lighting up ears, giving life to otherwise corpse-like complexion.. Hm, either from proximity or attraction, though Graham would personally prefer it to be the second.

“I am not a… a… gay…” A weak response – straight men usually responded to his advances with a little bit more of an emphatic “no” but he could respect a healthy boundary. Grayson didn’t seem the type to wilt under this type of incorrect assumption, so Graham assumed that he was probably some streak of rainbow underneath all the drab monochromatic disguises which he donned.

Dark Irish tempered words carefully as it seemed that his accent got just a little bit rougher and thicker - voice perhaps a little bit more gravelly than before.

“I see, are you sure you aren’t attracted to me, love?” A rough hand slowly traipsed off of porcelain skin down to meet soft hands, a small circle rubbed into them. A small sip of the amber courage previously offered to Grayson as the crystalline glass was abandoned on the marble counter.

And then Grayson in a fit of petulance (as Graham would like to designate the “I’M NOT GAY MOM I PROMISE!!!” response), banged his head on a cabinet and then nearly the counter. A quick whisk from Graham’s arm narrowly saving the account from knocking over the glass of way too expensive alcohol.

In the panic, there was a desperate grasp onto Graham’s chest, which was supplemented by Graham catching the crook of Grayson’s elbow with the hand currently not keeping the crystal from shattering all over the tile floors.

Graham set the glass down.

Gray eyes met green.

There was a raise of both of Graham’s eye brows - a silent challenge at prior declarations of “NOT GAY”

“I’m so sorry- I didn’t-”

“Ah, don’t worry, love. I don’t mind if you’re a bit handsy.” He said, another step closer to right a slightly crooked Grayson. “Think I’ve made my intentions quite clear.”

A pause.

“If you truly do not want this, I will let it rest for the rest of the night, just say the word.” He said, soft sincerity slipping through the otherwise coquettish persona. Muscular arms slowly wrapping around Grayson in a loose embrace. Easy to escape as to not make the man panic too much, but all of the stylings of physical intimacy. “But personally”

He leaned in closer, a soft whisper. Dark and husky. “I think you’re enjoying the attention, love, just a little bit.”

Eyes rested on Grayson’s lips, before finally making eye contact once more.
























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♡coded by uxie♡


 
MOOD: Excited
OUTFIT: MATCHING SWEATERS
LOCATION: Apartment
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josephine kingston
The past is the past, today is today




As per Alexei's request he, Josephine, and their little nugget had made their way to Kaz's house for a good ol Christmas celebration. Although Jo was somewhat bothered that they would have to deal with the additional concern of keeping quiet for his early christmas present, she also recognized the golden opportunity she was being offered to assert her position within the Milyukov family to any and all mafia-affiliated women who might happen to be present at the event. Long story short, she knew the Milyukov's had a slew of attractive female associates that they shared sordid romantic histories with, and she was certainly not looking for them to consider her as the shrew who was stopping Alexei from attending family functions. Even though in an ideal world, she absolutely would've been.

"Merry Christmas!" She beamed at Kaz, handing over a rectangular box of above aveage weight to be opened later. If he'd unwrapped right now, he would've discovered a lengthy coffee table book regarding the history of firearms and a pullout which contained dioramas of the different types of guns. After all, wining Kaz over to her side was another of Jo's little goals, and what better way than their shared love of guns? Considering she was certain that (a) Alexei would absolutely not approve of her stepping into such a store for Kaz's sake and (b) she wasn't of legal age anyway, she couldn't purchase a real rifle as planned, Jo settled for the next best thing. Scouring bookstores on the weekends until she was able to find the exact book that housed a spot on her father's bookshelf for years. Although Jo had always been one to hyperfixate on her passion, thumbing through it's pages played an instrumental role in cultivating her knowledge and passion for firearms. Hopefully Kaz would appreciate it as much as she did.

Jo then made her way into the living room, leaving the brothers to chat amongst themselves. She had one more mission before she proceeded to spend the night clinging onto Alexei's arm. She glanced around the living room, bounding over once she spotted her target. "Hi Tink!!! Merry Christmas!" She wrapped the younger girl in a bone-crushing hug before handing her a long rectangular shaped box. "Uncle Alexei got something for you too. This one's just to play with while we wait to open the rest of the gifts tonight." She informed the soon-to-be-preschooler, before seating her on the couch. Jo joined her, seated cross legged, aiding the young girl in neatly opening the package to reveal a baby doll with a painted on shock of brown hair as well as a mini stroller and an assortment of onesies and tutus to dress the baby up in, intended to emulate both a younger Katinka, and the new soon-to-be Milyukov baby. Her initial instinct was to get one of the "Counting with Shakespeare" books she'd seen at the bookstore where she'd bought Kaz's gift, however a thought had entered her mind. Spoiling Tink with traditionally girly artifacts was way more likely to give her a positive association with Jo than any book the girl could supply. Tink lacked a consistent female presence within her life, that was obvious, so Jo figured she could do what she did best. Be outrageously feminine and provide a contrast with the hardass Milyukov lifestyle she was accustomed to. Finding the doll and all associated items had been absurdly pricy, however considering Alexei covered most/all of Jo's living expenses, as well as him still dropping by to tip her generously every now and again, she found that if she saved up enough, she was able to afford splurge purchases on her salary.

"Oh, hi babe!" Jo called out, noticing Alexei step out from conversing with his brother to join the girls in examining the new doll and all additional accessories. She gently pat down on the seat next to her, gesturing for him to sit next to her. As he dutifully followed, Jo leaned into him, facing Katinka on the other side of the couch, while her back was turned to Alexei's. The girls continued their conversation, discussing potential names, food preferences, and potential animal friends for the doll in question, Jo occasionally punctuating her remarks with a squeeze of her boyfriend's hand. As the girls transitioned to examining all the doll's clothes and debating which one would be the prettiest for her to wear, to her own embarrassment, Jo found herself genuinely enjoying the experience of playing with dolls. For all her desperation to be seen as a mature adult, there was still a little girl inside Jo, one who's childhood had been marred with all the stress of excelling in school, the paranoia of Julian making a visit into her room, the loneliness of having no friends or family who would engage with her. She'd never really been able to just let loose and play dumb games with dolls like she was able to now.

Hopefully it wasn't too obvious to anybody but Tink, as Jo couldn't stand the idea of being seen as that infantile. Leaving Tink to her own devices, she turned to face her boyfriend. "Do you think we have time for.......my other Christmas gift?" She whispered conspiratorially, gesturing to the hallway where Kaz's guest bedroom lay. She'd previously gifted him a set of fancy kitchen knives before leaving for Kaz's, however both parties were well aware that there was no possible way they'd be getting through Christmas without a more..........adult gift, with Jo even spending the last of her christmas budget on a certain maternity friendly garment in preparation. Though aware there would be more holiday activities to come throughout the night, she was still hopeful that the couple would be able to sneak out for an hour or two without anybody being the wiser. She glanced at her boyfriend, anticipating his response with bated breath.

code by valen t.
 
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