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Realistic or Modern Haven Falls

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code by opaline
Jacey Choi
Ice Ice Baby


Once the high of snapping back at Damien wore off, guilt came rushing in like a tide.

She’d caught that glare—daggers, really—burning into her the whole time. Even when she tried to pivot to a casual, “Let’s all do movie night!” she could feel it. The weight of it.

Like maybe instead of acting like some snobby movie critic she should’ve just said something helpful. Something kind. Something… better.

Jacey wasn’t sure she was cut out for social stuff like this. But the worst part?

Neither was Damien.

And if he’d stop lashing out—if she could stop provoking it—maybe they could actually understand each other.

Maybe then she wouldn’t have to watch Harvey force a smile and wave to Damien’s retreating back as he walked off without another word. One last glare tossed her way for the road.

Her own goodbye stuck in her throat.

Jules said yes to movie night, then bailed before things could escalate—smart. She’d handled it better than Jace had, honestly.

Jacey stood there, chewing on her regret, until she felt fingers lace with hers.

Warm. Gentle. Familiar.

And just like that, her concern blurred at the edges.

She turned to see his big cheesy grin and melted like a kids ice cream cone.

“I think getting everyone together would be fun. The whole Moobie crew. That’s a great idea, Jacey. And by the way I thought your Paprika commentary was good too. Poignant.”

Jacinta averted her eyes with warm cheeks and a shy smile. He’d reassured her and complimented her weird film analysis in the same breath.

Called it poignant.

“Thanks Harvey” she told him gently—sincerely.

God

Did he have to make her feel so damn special? Just effortlessly? How could she ever live up to Harvey’s sparkling image of her? what if she disappointed him?

She shook it off. That voice wasn’t real.

Just the self-doubt she’d been working so hard to quiet.

She noticed his smile dim a little as he went on.

“I’d ask you what you think we should watch for Moobie night but maybe we should leave it up to Damien...Since I guess I sorta messed this Paprika thing up.”

“He was probably looking forward to sharing it with you first,” she said, squeezing his hand gently. “But he does need to speak more clearly… and also make the time for you if he wants that.”

She shrugged. “He can pick the movie if he comes. I think he has great taste.”

She wasn’t sure this group movie night was going to happen, but she’d try. It was worth something. So was Harvey’s hope.

“But enough about that,” she added, nudging his shoulder. “Wanna go to the computer lab or something? Maybe we can stream something or watch videos?”

She looked around. “Haven still has a pretty good one—not like Silver Lake’s, but unlike them, they don’t block fun websites like YouTube.” She giggled. “C’mon. I spent half my lunch breaks there when I went here—I can show you the way.”

_______

The computer lab was nearly empty by the time they stepped inside—quiet, a little chilly, with only the low hum of machines filling the silence. Rows of old monitors sat idle beneath flickering fluorescent lights, but the corner bench tucked near the window still looked exactly like she remembered.

Still holding hands, they made their way to one of the monitors and sat—close, but not quite touching.

She shifted slightly, just enough for her leg to brush his—not obvious, but enough to make her stomach flip all the same.

She booted the computer, sneaking a glance at Harvey from the side.

“So… what should we watch? Something poignant like Paprika” a little nudge and a lighthearted smirk “or just dumb YouTube stuff? Avatar Abridged was pretty funny…” She shrugged. “We could try a game, but they’re pretty good at blocking the fun ones. We’d probably end up stuck on Coolmath Games. Maybe some Skribbl.io.” Jacinta offered him a smile

“But I don’t mind, whatever you wanna do Harvey”

And honestly?

She didn’t care what they watched or what they chose.
Just being here—with him—was kind of enough.

And they were alone—like actually alone. Without Harvey’s parents or her grandma around.

Was that why she was so nervous all of a sudden?








.
 
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I
t was as if the Grinch himself had rocked up to Haven Falls, just to take a big, green dump all over Lindsey's Christmas.

Seth had confirmed it; he and Annie were definitely a thing. Lindsey already had her suspicions, but this was still soul-crushing news. And to top it all off, she was trapped at school when all she wanted to do was go home and scream into her pillow in peace.

Lindsey had snuck away from the assembly early, slipping into the ceramics room to retrieve the little trinket she'd fashioned for Seth. It was just a small Christmas ornament, but she'd shaped it into the most punk thing she could think of: an anarchy symbol in a very in-your-face shade of red.

But now, even after attaching a black ribbon for hanging, she wished she’d just left it abandoned in the kiln. She pictured flinging it against the wall instead, watching it shatter into pieces.

Scrunching up her face to hold back tears didn't do much. A couple escaped anyway, and she quickly wiped them away with the heel of her hand. How could she be so utterly wrong all the time, about everything? She was wrong about Bentley, about Felix, about Seth. One simple fact was now made abundantly clear to her though: if you're head over heels for a guy, and you have the faintest hope of an inkling he might like you back?

He doesn't.

She sniffled, stashing the ornament into the front pocket of her hoodie. Lindsey figured she'd better scoot before the art teacher caught her moping around in there. The last thing she wanted was to be sent to the counselor, or be made to talk about her humiliating plight with an adult.

Passing by the restroom, she decided to step in, just to make sure the light coat of mascara she'd haphazardly swiped on that morning wasn't running down her face. The girl frowned at her reflection, wishing someone prettier, taller, more Anastasia-esque was staring back at her. She perked up, however, hearing a distinctly male voice coming from one of the stalls. A boy. In the girl's room. Not only that, but the voice sounded distressed; quivery, mournful, full of regret. Perhaps even on the precipice of delivering a deep, dark confession at any moment.

Lindsey froze, trying her best not to make a sound. This was gripping, like a particularly juicy moment from some schmaltzy teen drama. Even if she'd wanted to be mature about it, to do the right thing and walk out instead of eavesdropping on somebody else's convo, there was simply no way. It would be impossible to tear herself away now.
"can you squeeze me into an empty page of your diary"
Lindsey Sinclair
location:
School
outfit:
 
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code by opaline
Kat Burke
Ice Ice Baby

The gentle sound of piano drifted from the little portable speaker Kat had gotten for her last birthday. It was turned down low—playing a Spotify-curated playlist that had appealed to her mostly because it was called something artsy and pretentious: “Lost in the Woods.”

It just so happened to be full of songs—some new to her, some old and familiar—that matched her slow, kind of sappy taste in music.

She’d been staring at the page for ages, trying not to scrunch it up. It had been a long time since she’d pulled out the lyric booklet she kept shoved at the bottom of her desk drawer. And why had she pulled it out now?

Nico.
Of all people.

He’d seen her up on that stage singing—probably badly—behind Lacey at that festival. And since then, he’d been opening up to her about his issues. Telling her she was good. Asking to hear her sing again. Offering to share his own music and lyrics with her.

She’d been very adamantly warned against it—probably rightly so—
Yet here she was, writing for the first time in years.

Kat rubbed her eyes. She’d been up too late last night. She hadn’t even let herself open the book until she’d finished her homework, even if it wasn’t due until the day after next. And now that she was finally sitting here, hovering over a blank page with a pen in hand, it still felt silly.

Trying to pull words from a place inside her that wanted—desperately—to believe they could mean something to someone else one day.

There was so much talent around her.

Even if she tried now… wasn’t it too late?

“KATHERINE BURKE? ARE YOU READY?”

Kat jumped out of her skin, the pen she’d been holding clattering to the wooden floor and rolling under her bed. She felt like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Scrambling to her feet, she left the pen where it was and tossed the notebook into her desk drawer.

“COMING, MOM!”

She called loudly, yanking on her coat and beanie with a flustered huff.

Of course she was ready. Did her mom always have to yell like that?

* * *

The drive to school was full of smiles and laughter and singing along to one of Ines’s playlists, as usual. Ines was firmly in the “put Nico in the bin” camp, and Kat wasn’t about to bring it up again just to feel like an idiot. Boys always came second to her sister anyway—even if she didn’t always show it.

She was relieved to focus instead on Ines gushing about this boy she was kind-of-but-not-quite dating—Drake Martin—rather than unpack whatever was going on in her own confused head.

Today, Kat had someone else on her mind. Someone in far more need than either herself or Nico.

When she entered the assembly hall, her eyes scanned the crowd for Vinny. No sign of him.
Drat.

She’d have to catch him at the end. So instead, she took her place beside Liana and Addison, doing her best to think about the content of the assembly and not the contents of her old songbook. A losing battle, honestly.

She was drifting off into la-la land for the eighth time when the shocking announcement about the snow-in hit. Kat sat up straighter in her chair as the teachers explained that the roads were too dangerous to travel.

It was sort of exciting—like a giant school-wide sleepover.

And now, at least, she had more time to find Vinny.

She was worried about him. He was usually so full of life and excitement—just being near him used to give her energy. But lately, ever since the incident with Quinn, he’d gone quiet. More reserved. Less interested in the things that made him feel like himself.

She didn’t know how to fix it.
But she was going to keep trying.

He wasn’t just some kid she’d tutored in algebra anymore. He was one of her best friends.

* * *

She finally spotted him, still sitting in an empty row, slumped awkwardly against the wall with his back turned. She made a beeline for him, already opening her mouth to say hello—
But he was asleep!

Kat gently sat beside him and tapped his shoulder.

“Hey—Sleeping Beauty,” she said with a little giggle.

When he stirred, she gave him one of her warmest smiles.

“Sorry to interrupt your nap! But, like, I thought you might want to know—they just told us we’re stuck here because of the blizzard! It’s kinda exciting, isn’t it?”
.
 
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ice, ice, baby





Baz’ words cut through Wes’ ravenous searching of the clinic’s medications. In spite of the accusatory tone he did have an idea of what he was looking for. Maybe ket, he’d tried it before and wasn’t sure how it would mix with his withdrawals, but knew that it would bring him down in some way. Any sedative would be preferred. It wasn’t about getting high anymore, it was about finding something that would untie the knots in his stomach, steady the trembling, dry off the cold sweat, make the pain stop. Actually, by this point it didn’t have to end completely, he just needed it to not get worse.

Words wrapped around him like a cyclone, warping the walls and floor while he tried to stay upright with a hand on a nearby table. Refusing to turn towards the other man even as he continued to dig the knife in deeper. Cautionary tales to be headed but he may as well have been talking to one of the dogs in the kennels in the next room. Wes wasn’t interested in his worries. By this point he was starting to wonder if shooting a syringe of saline into his arm could trick his body and mind enough to get him a little ease.

Like Chinese water torture Baz’s words continued to chip away at his reeling head. Some kind of guilt trip trying to snap him into sobriety or reason with meaning. Trying to drill into his head that for whatever reason that the aussie had grown fond of him even when Wes had done nothing but return cruelty back to him.

The step towards him was the final straw.


“I don’t care! I don’t fucking care!”
He slammed a shaking hand on the table with a bang that echoed around them. Dogs started barking in the other room.
“Would it be so fuckin’ bad if I was willing to take a chance to not feel like shit?! Is that so bad? Does that make me the bad guy? That I wanna feel better?!”
The storm outside was getting worse, or maybe it was actually the storm inside that was heating up. Like a wildfire tearing through brush, the anger was all consuming, and out of control.

His hands moved again before his mind could register the motion was even occurring. By the time he realized what he was doing the heels of his palms were driving into Baz’ shoulders. If his eyes were closed he could almost pretend that he was back home in Gatlinburg scrapping with his old friends. Maybe even when he was getting into it with his father.

The silence between them as he caught his breath, exhausted from the simple act of shoving another man a few inches. His eyes squeezed shut, heartbeat roaring in his ears while he fought back the bile threatening to rise in the back of his throat.

The extension of an offer of help was more unexpected than if Baz took a retaliatory swing at him. He ran it over in his head, smoothing the thought over in the hands of his mind until it was slick like a stone. Wes narrowed his eyes

“What do you mean.”
As if he was teasing out the true meaning of the words.






























S.O.B.












♡coded by uxie♡

 


















ice, ice, baby





The corners of Mickey’s mouth twitched upwards at the revelation of her full name. He couldn’t help but think it was an appropriate colorful, shiny name for a colorful, shiny person. Even if she didn’t look it on the outside, or clearly think it about herself. Mickey was getting a feeling that he jumped too quickly onto the worry that he was being fucked with.

It was a bit hard to hear that she had been so worried about him turning on her. Sure, he could tell it had a lot more to do with her own insecurity and irrational fears, which he could relate to, but it made him consider if he was too outwardly confident, blunt, critical. Could he make it up to her?

He stopped in the middle of the hallway, waiting as his mouth caught up to his brain. Or was it the other way around? He could never remember. Either way, he was buffering.

“Of course I wanna be your friend.”
It seemed best to start it out simply
“You’re obviously not just a girl who lives in a shady motel with a dysfunctional family and bad habits. You’re an artist, and the best marmalade maker I’ve ever known, and funny, and sweet, and caring, and dedicated, and just… Awesome..”
Hopefully she would see his words as genuine instead of blowing smoke up her ass

His hands fiddled with a thread on the edge of his pants, wondering if there should be more to say or if he should toss the ball back into her court yet. Mickey considered it, maybe it was worth it to just put it plainly
“I like you, Bophia.”
The added joke intended to keep the mood light and breezy to put her at ease.

He hoped.






























sit next to me












♡coded by uxie♡

 
elliot slater

ice ice baby
I
f he was thinking straight—if his heart wasn’t beating out of his chest and if his skin didn’t feel like it was crawling—maybe he could’ve comforted Mei. Maybe he could’ve said something.
But his head was actively working against him.

The truth wouldn’t just hurt people.
It would ruin them.
And him.

What if everyone found out he snuck a fucking crime scene?
That he knew the whole time?
Maybe it was selfish—
But it was the only thing his brain could hold onto.

“…It’s going to keep eating away at you until there’s nothing left.”

He rubbed his eyes again, frantic now. His hands were shaking. He could feel sweat dripping down the back of his neck even though he was freezing.
He felt like an idiot. But she was right.

There was already nothing left.
Then she said it—
Let me carry it with you.

And something in him snapped.

‘You can’t carry it with you, Mei!’
His voice bounced off the stall walls, too loud, too raw.
‘This isn’t some dumb fucking secret about boys or family shit. This is people’s lives that we actively fucked up.’

He stood up too fast, nearly stumbling. His hands gripped the sides of the stall like he needed help staying upright.
What the hell was wrong with him?
This wasn’t like him—
Or maybe it was.

‘If Ash wasn’t there that night—if Dallas would've just kept his fucking ego in check—none of this would’ve happened.'
He looked at her, eyes wide, voice breaking.
‘I saw someone die, Mei, and the best part Dallas knew the whole fucking time.'

And just like that, the dam broke.
Immediate panic rushed over him. All he wanted to do was get high—black it all out and disappear.
His fingers scrambled for the lock, fumbling like it was some kind of high-security vault.
He finally got it open—
Swung the door wide—
And froze.

A girl was standing there. Blue hair. Wide eyes.

Frannie’s sister.
Lindsay.
Fuck.

His heart sank. Panic took over. He wanted to vanish, now.
Was she eavesdropping? Why was she here?

Thinking clearly wasn’t an option right now.

‘What the fuck are you doing here?’
He frantically wiped the tears from his cheeks, eyes darting to Mei.

Did she know? Did Lindsay hear everything?

Elliot shot Mei a confused look—like a silent call for help—but he didn’t know if he could trust her anymore.

He turned back to Lindsay, voice sharp, trembling.
‘Why are you here?’
He clutched his own arm like it might hold him together somehow.

But in the end, he took the easy way out.
Like he always did.

‘Well, hopefully you got something fucking interesting to tell your little friends for once,’ he snapped.
But his voice wasn’t convincing—if anything, it made it worse.

‘Go ahead,’ he added, pushing his breathe. ‘Tell them all. That I lost it.’

He lingered a second too long, eyes flicking to Mei.
And even though her face was always hard to read, this time?
He could tell exactly what she was thinking.

‘And Byron can be happy it didn’t work out,’ he muttered, barely holding the bitterness back.

Then he slammed the door behind him—
Intending to run. Leave. Hide.

But there was nowhere to go.











outfit:
location:
school lockdown

 



ARCHER.





































  • mood



    bored af
















For once, Archer was wishing he cared less about school and could bring himself to actually skip class. Had he done so, he might be able to sleep all day instead of being stuck at school due to the snowstorm. He'd groaned at the announcement, buried his head in his hands, and wondered if his jeans would withstand trudging through a few kilometres of snow.

Not that being home was much better, to be fair. It felt recently like wherever Archer went, there was someone to get on his nerves, to push his buttons. He couldn't stand half the people he went to school with, not to mention his so-called father at home. It was a surprise he got along with his half-brother, Bentley, to be honest, but he was glad he did. Otherwise he might have packed a bag and run away by now.

Not that he had much to pack, he pondered as he wandered along the halls, dragging his hand along lockers. He supposed he'd take his phone and earphones, some granola bars. His eyeliner, of course. Archer came across an unlocked locker and opened it. He had a skim of what was inside - some gum, a couple books, some Polaroids. Archer nabbed a piece of gum and unwrapped it, then closed the locked and continued on his way.

Chewing the gum - not bothering to blow bubbles, he was never any good at that, anyway - Archer pulled his earphones out of his pockets and shoved them in his ears. He tried every door to every classroom he walked past, until one finally opened. He flicked the lights on, wandering around for a little bit before coming back to the chalkboard at the front. After searching for some chalk, he sighed, knowing he'd get bored of this real quick. Half-heartedly, he dragged the chalk along the board, drawing some stick figures on a mountain with a sun in the corner.
"...Fuck. What am I, six?"
he mumbled, disappointed at what he'd chosen to draw.

Hey, he wasn't an artist - he'd never claimed to be one. Maybe by the time they were finally able to leave the school, he'd have practised enough to become a Picasso.

































metamorphosis



infinity song










♡coded by uxie♡
 
code by opaline
Baz Jarson
Ice Ice Baby

Wes did his best to ignore Baz’s clearly grating presence as his shaking hands reached for the cabinet full of vials. The way he rifled through them was reckless—the chance of shattering one of those carefully alphabetized glass bottles was high.

He seemed to hit his emotional limit just as he reached the locked cabinet where the Schedule 4 drugs were likely kept. Baz watched him slam his hand down hard on the table, the sudden noise setting off a cacophony of panicked barking from the kennels in the next room.

“I don’t care!! I don’t fucking care!”

Baz grimaced. His words—sincere as they’d been—felt pointless now. They couldn’t reach him. This wasn’t the same Wes who’d sat around the campfire talking shit and drinking Tennessee’s worst. This wasn’t the man Baz had come to know. But it was a side of him that had always been there, hidden beneath a haze of chemicals.

“Would it be so fuckin’ bad if I was willing to take a chance to not feel like shit!?” Wes shouted, face twisted with rage and pain. “Is that so bad? Does that make me the bad guy!? That I wanna feel better!?”

A gust of wind rattled the windows, the storm outside hitting a crescendo. Baz opened his mouth to respond, taking a cautious step forward—but Wes closed the gap and shoved him hard.

Baz grunted, stumbling back a couple of steps before planting his boots.

“Look!” he snapped, voice edged with desperation. “Maybe I can help you.”

The words came out fast, without much thought. But they stopped Wes cold. He froze mid-breath, suddenly wrecked—like he was the one who’d been shoved. His breathing turned ragged. Eyes squeezed shut. Body half-folded in on itself.

Finally, with effort, Wes looked up—narrowed eyes locking on Baz.

“What do you mean?” he rasped.

Baz huffed, dragging a hand down his face and glancing away for a moment, steeling himself. Then he met Wes’s hard gaze with one of his own.

“If you stop bullshitting me,” he said, voice low but firm, “maybe I can help you find something that won’t leave me bunking with a corpse ’til daybreak.”

The words came out hotter than he meant, but the heat was real.

“You were heading for the injectables, yeah? Sedatives?” Baz barged fully into the room, daring Wes to try him again. “Ket? Bupe? Telazol?” He shook his head. “Just a guess. Ain’t accusing you of anything. Just—they’re the ones that went missin’. Ones we were told to watch out for.”

He was talking fast now—buying time. Trying to locate the key. His uncle used to keep it in a filing cabinet with the bloody key hanging out of it, careless as anything…

Until the dead junkie farmhand.

Baz shoved the memory aside and scanned the room

Think think think
There’s no lockbox
The filling cabinets maybe


He figured it was better than nothing but as he swung his torch around the room something caught his eye: a drawer near him clearly labeled Vet Use Only. It had a keyhole. It might be locked but when he yanked it—it opened. Sure enough under charts and documents, there was a key.

He snatched it up quicksticks, before Wes could do anything about it.

Thank fuck.

Baz turned to face him, jaw tight, shoulders braced like he was pretending not to be scared shitless.

“Alright,” he said bluntly. “You want my help, or are you gonna go me again?”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, and his tone softened.

“I don’t wanna see you in pain, mate… but I don’t wanna see you dead either.”

Once Baz got even a flicker of interest, he was already moving—stepping toward the locked cabinet, recalling lectures that hadn’t meant much until the farmhand. Until the body.

“Ket’s easy to fuck up… especially if you’re dehydrated, skinny as a fuckin’ rake, and in withdrawals, Wes. Telazol can leave you paralysed while you’re dying—”

He stopped, breath catching in his throat, a half formed memory stalling his speech. For a moment, he felt like throwing up. He shut his eyes, tried to get a grip. Failed.

“I don’t know… much about Bupe,” he admitted, voice quieter now. “Just that they use it post-surgery sometimes… I dunno the dose. Dunno what it’ll do to someone in your state…”

Trying to focus, Baz turned and crouched beside the shelves of vials, his hands moving more carefully now.

“I’m not a vet. I’m not a doctor. And you’re not in a state to—”

He cut himself off with a sharp shake of his head. With a firm click, he locked the injectable cabinet again and turned to a different one—this one stocked with pill boxes. He rummaged through them like he was hunting for gold.

“Trazodone… trazodone…” he muttered, then fumbled for his phone. His fingers tapped fast. “Yeah. Sedative. For anxious animals. Might take the edge off.”

He moved quickly, setting the box aside.

“Tramadol,” he added, grabbing another. “For pain. Managing pain. It’s an opioid, yeah, but I reckon it’s safer than trying to eyeball the bloody injectables.”

He placed it gently next to the first.

“Gabapentin…” Baz stared at the label, then typed again. “Seen it used a lot for…I think uh…Nerve pain—uh…arthritis? Maybe anxiety too. Dunno..”

His hands were trembling now. Eyes still darting between boxes and his phone screen like he was trying to pass a test with no study notes.

Baz scooped the bottles off the floor and stood. In one hand he held the small stack of pill bottles. In the other—the key to the ketamine cabinet, gripped in a white-knuckled fist.

He turned to Wes, breath still unsteady. His voice, when it came, was low and rough.

“I don’t know which one will help the most… or if they’ll help at all.”

He held the bottles out—just enough to tempt, not enough to take.

“I don’t know how they’ll hit you. I don’t know what’s already in your system. I just…” His voice faltered again. “I just know they’re safer than the fuckin’ needle.”

He blinked hard, as if trying to will away the heat in his eyes.

“I’ll give you one for now—you pick, alright? nerves, pain or the shakes?”


.
 
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code by opaline
Mei Williams
Ice Ice Baby

“Let me carry it with you.”

Elliot’s eyes went wide and his jaw slackened. Then something shifted in his expression. She couldn’t tell if it was anger or horror or something else—but whatever it was, it made her take a small step backward all the same.

“You can’t carry it with you, Mei!”
His voice was loud, booming, echoing around them relentlessly. Mei hugged herself involuntarily, shrinking against the stall wall, trying to make herself smaller.

“This isn’t some dumb fucking secret about boys or family shit. This is people’s lives that we actually fucked up!”

We… Elliot and who? Elliot and Dallas?

Mei’s mind raced. Then Elliot shot to his feet, and she near jumped out of her skin—startled like a spooked rabbit. He gripped the side of the stall, holding on like he might fall over. When he looked at her again, the fear in his expression was palpable. Mei’s mouth was dry. Her thoughts tangled in a tight knot.

Nothing was ever clear-cut with Elliot. She had to focus. She had to pay attention.

“If Ash wasn’t there that night—if Dallas would’ve kept his fucking ego in check… none of this would’ve happened!”

That night? What night?
More names.
Ash.
She was at the diner the day Mei met Elliot. She was dating Dallas.

Dallas…

Dallas Price.

That Dallas.
The Price family.
The kids who lost their parents to a road accident.

She didn’t even finish the thought before Elliot drove in the final piece of the puzzle she didn’t know she was putting together.

“I saw someone die, Mei.”
His voice was small—then rising, cracking, breaking.
“And the best part? Dallas knew the whole fucking time.”

She couldn’t help it.
She wasn’t thinking--just reacting.

The connections clicked faster than she could catch them. Mei’s breath caught. Her heart thundered in her chest. She didn’t know what she was saying until it was already spilling out—

“Wait… Dallas Price?”

It escaped before she could reel it back. But Elliot’s silence—his frozen stillness—confirmed everything.
Her stomach dropped.

Her voice turned quieter, barely more than a whisper.

“Elliot… is this about the Price parents?”

She hadn’t meant to say it. Not out loud.
But the moment the words left her mouth, she knew they were right.
The gossip. A hit and run. Perpetrator never found.
Elliot?

Elliot recoiled like she’d struck him. Like she was holding a knife.

Panic overtook him. He shoved past her, hands fumbling at the lock. They shook so violently the task looked impossible. His breath came fast and shallow—like a panicked animal trying to chew through a cage.

And then—
BANG.

The stall door slammed open, crashing against the frame. The sound was deafening—too loud, too sharp, reverberating in her skull like a gunshot. Mei stayed where she was, arms clutched to her chest like a shield, her face a pale picture of horror.

There was another girl in the bathroom.

Mei didn’t know her, but the way she and Elliot looked at each other said enough. Recognition. Panic. Maybe betrayal.

Was this Lindsay? Her friend Indie’s sister.

Whoever she was—she’d heard something.
And she looked horrified.

Mei forced her feet to move, stepping shakily into the open space outside the stall. Her head was spinning.

Elliot was swatting at the tears on his face like he could erase it all.

“What the fuck are you doing here!?”
His voice was sharp again. Mei stood near the stall, slack-jawed, unsure what to do.

Then he turned toward her, his eyes cutting into her.

Confused.
Wounded.

She didn’t understand that look. But the guilt landed anyway—sudden and cold, like the icy winds outside had seeped into her bloodstream.

He looked away, back to the girl, voice quieter this time—trembling.

“Why are you here?”
He clutched his arm like he was trying to hold himself together.

And then the walls slammed back into place.

“Well, hopefully you got something fucking interesting to tell your little friends for once.”

Mei took a step toward him.

“Elliot!”

He either couldn’t hear her or didn’t want to.
“Go ahead!” he snapped, venomous. “Tell them all I lost it.”

“Elliot, please—”
She took another step.

And then froze.

Because he looked at her again.

“And Byron can be happy it didn’t work out.”

Mei’s breath caught like she’d been slapped.
She shook her head—she didn’t understand.
Why was he mad at her?

Wait—
Elliot was leaving.
He was leaving!

Mei’s feet wouldn’t move.
She just stood there, useless, as the door slammed behind him with violent finality.

The echo rang in her ears like a guilty verdict.
And then—nothing. Just the soft buzz of the bathroom lights, and the emptiness he left behind.

She didn’t know why she felt like crying.
She hadn’t even done anything.
But it felt in that moment like she’d broken something she’d never be able to fix.
.
 
Last edited:
code by opaline
Phoenix Price
Ice Ice Baby

Amongst the students, Nix should have stood out like a sore thumb—but he felt like a ghost. Kids chatted around him, all laughter and banter. Some were eating, some running, others watching videos loudly on their phones.

Nix felt just as invisible as he had back in freshman year—but he’d give anything to go back. The ache was there, sure, but it felt temporary. He’d spend a lunch period alone, working on projects, and then go home to bright, loud, messy chaos. What he wouldn’t give to tear through the streets on his bike with Dallas and the boys, burst through the front door, shed the last of the loneliness—replacing it with home-cooked meals and Ninja Turtles and that familiar feeling of belonging.

Now there was only cold, bitter silence.
Some of it inevitable...
Some felt earned somehow

He wished he knew where the hell it all went wrong.

The laughter nearby surged again—too loud, too alive. It made his stomach turn. Not out of jealousy. Just… absence.
He pressed his fingers to his temples, trying not to spiral. But his thoughts were already slipping.

Maybe I should’ve stayed.
Maybe I should’ve never left.
Maybe I should’ve known.

Then Wes texted—clearly spiraling himself, and from the sound of it, far worse off. In an instant, Nix’s own thoughts scattered like birds. He replied fast, instinctively. The conversation turned into something that felt like pulling someone back from a ledge. The world blurred. Nix found himself unable to stay seated. He got up, pacing, rebutting each disillusioned, self-hating, desolate message as best he could—without lying.

By the time Wes went quiet, Nix was exhausted. Raw. He’d opened up more than he meant to—vulnerable in a way he rarely allowed himself to be. He just hoped some of what he’d said had landed.

He slumped against a random wall in the hallway. No one was around. Thank God. He needed to top up. He needed a drink.

Nix ducked into a stairwell, already reaching for his flask. It was still nearly full. He took a hearty swig and capped it again. The shame burned down his throat and settled like lead in his empty stomach. He hated that this was the only thing that helped anymore, but the relief was instantaneous.

Maybe I should eat something--He thought vaguely, slipping the flask back into his jacket. He decided to find a vending machine. Get some plain chips. Something easy to keep down.With the task driving his legs forward, he pushed off the wall with a grunt and started down the hallway again—when—

THUD THUD THUD THUD

Someone was sprinting. Fast. Like they were being chased.

Nix looked up, startled.

A familiar teenager was tearing down the corridor straight toward him. His eyes were wide—wild. Fearful. Nix’s breath caught in his throat as the boy barrelled past, shoulder clipping him hard enough to stagger him. It slowed the kid’s flight just barely.

“Elliot? Elliot! What’s going on!?” Nix managed, breathless, still reeling from the sudden jolt—and from the pure panic on the boy’s face.

But in a flash, he was gone again.

Nix couldn’t shake the look Elliot had given him. Terror—like Nix was the thing he was running from. He didn’t give chase. Just watched him go, dumbstruck. His head snapped toward the direction Elliot had come from, heart thudding. What the hell had he been running from?

Nix started forward, already pulling out his phone. He hovered over Dallas’s contact… then locked the screen again.

Dallas and Elliot weren’t really friends anymore. Not for a long time. And Dallas had made it pretty clear he didn’t want Nix getting involved either. In anything. In him.

But still—Elliot had looked terrible.

Concerned—heart pounding now—Nix scanned the hallway for any sign of trouble. But there was nothing. No one.

So what the hell?

When someone suddenly spilled out of one of the bathrooms, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

When he saw who it was, concern snapped into full-blown worry.

“Linny?”


.
 


















ice, ice, baby





Alarm bells rang inside his head at the mention of bupe. He’d had it before, but not by choice. His mother got her hands on some in a desperate attempt to right the course her son had started down after she learned that taking it would keep him from getting high for a good few days. So she dosed him with it, unbeknownst to him one of the nights Wes had actually come home for dinner.

What she didn’t know. What neither of them knew.

Was that taking bupe with opioids still in your system will put you into acute withdrawal, almost instantly.

The pain crippled him instantly, folding him in half barely coherent enough to holler out ”What did you give me you bitch?!” before the summoned adrenaline dragged him off his feet and into the street.

After signaling a friend, he’d spend the next two days screaming into pillows until his throat bled and chewing the drawstrings off of hoodies. The minute he felt like he could swing it, two more ‘friends’ helped him hold his arm steady to put the needle into it.

He’d rather break his other wrist than try his luck with bupe again. Even if he was clearly not running with something in his engine, otherwise he wouldn’t be so desperate for chemical relief in the first place.

The anxiety meds might help him sleep, but the opioids were more familiar. “A little hair of the dog that bit ‘ya’ as some like to say. He might be able to sleep it off anyways if the Tramadol would settle his stomach and remove the edge from the wild horses running through his body.

Still nearly collapsed in on himself one hand went to wrap around his middle, an act both better preparing himself for the next cinch of his muscles and a halfhearted attempt at holding himself together.

“Gimme the opioids.”
He rasped, jerking his head in a nod. He stared straight ahead at the three bottles of medication, eager to get the contents of them in his hands, or rather down his throat.

Baz reluctantly handed the Tramadol over. There was a sadness in his face that felt a few shades darker than guilt. Storm clouds not dissimilar to the ones outside rolled into his eyes. No doubt about it, he was twisted up inside about this.

Wes snatched the bottle from the other man’s hands eagerly. Hands shaking with both anticipation now as well as the more obvious reason. Like with the clipboard earlier, they would not obey. The childproof lock doing its job in spades as the lid stayed firmly married to its loving partner, the bottle.

Agonizing seconds went by, each another moment without a substance in his starving body. He tried both hands, even putting his damn teeth on the thing like an animal to no avail.

His own stormy eyes glared up at Baz again.

Without a word, he held the bottle out towards him. Baz had seen the desperation in front of him. He must know what he had to do.






























S.O.B.












♡coded by uxie♡

 
code by opaline
Baz Jarson
Ice Ice Baby

Wes had been quiet the whole time. His face was unreadable, except for the agony written across it. He picked the Tramadol. Baz had already accepted he’d probably choose that one. Opioid addiction seemed to pair with old injury, didn’t it? Especially one that had stopped his barrel-racing career dead in its tracks. Baz remembered talking about that with him. He focused on the sport, not the loss. That was what they did. They ignored things. They didn’t say what hurt. Danced around the pain like it was second nature.

Until that was impossible.

It was impossible now.

Baz just gave him a small nod. He took the other two bottles back and held out the one Wes had asked for. No sooner had he done so than Wes snatched it desperately from his hand. Baz pulled his now-empty hand back quickly, gripping the hem of his jacket. He turned slightly and carefully placed the other two bottles back in the cabinet.

When he looked up at Wes again, his stomach sank even further.

He was struggling with the lid, face growing more frustrated by the second. Baz didn’t cut in—just watched as the man clawed at the thing desperately.

He should’ve stepped in. Should’ve said something. But there was something about watching Wes struggle like that—like watching a man try to scratch his way out of a cage. It froze Baz in place.

By the time Wes looked up, he knew what was coming.

Wes gave up. His eyes closed, and when they opened, he was glaring up at Baz and holding out the bottle—a silent request.

Baz stared at the little bottle in Wes’s outstretched hand, lost for words for the first time tonight. He met Wes’s eyes and nodded slightly.

His hands were steady. His head was spinning.

The lid twisted off without protest. The seal beneath it didn’t. Baz hovered for half a second—long enough to know he shouldn’t. Then he jabbed his fingers through the foil, splitting it open, branding the bottle with his guilt. That silver layer had been the last thing between them and a mistake. Now it was just another thing he couldn’t take back.

It was a line crossed. It wasn’t dramatic—just a seal. It was less of a gamble than some of the alternatives. But he knew it all the same—this was the moment he’d gone from stopping Wes to helping him use.

He swallowed, shook two pills into his hand, and carefully placed them in Wes’s palm, making sure he had them before letting go.

“Figured you’re slightly heavier than a Great Dane, yeah?” he managed. The smirk looked more like a grimace.

Baz capped the bottle again and kept it in his pocket. If Wes really needed to, he could probably afford one or two more. Some of the bigger Mastiffs with serious injuries were on four of the fuckers. But two might keep him from the worst of it.

“Righto, I’ll tidy the mess you made of these cabinets…” he said. “Hope that sorts ya for a bit, mate…”

He didn’t look at Wes—just shuffled past him to gently arrange everything how it had been before it was disturbed.

Once Wes left the room, Baz would follow.

But he wasn’t leaving first.


.
 


















ice, ice, baby





He wasn’t sure if he was surprised that Baz accommodated his request for him to open up the medication on his behalf. On one hand, it seemed to be rather torn to have become a party to Wes’ addictions. On the other, in for a penny, in for a pound.

His shaking fingers closed around the two pills dispensed into his hand. For a second he thought about doing something else with them. Mainly snorting them. He really wanted to snort them. The sooner the meds were crossing his blood-brain barrier, the better.

But maybe he had subjected the poor blonde to enough of his shenanigans. There wasn’t much in the way of something to crush the pills into powder, and making that kind of dusty mess was sure to get them caught if their existing created evidence wasn’t enough.

Instead he knocked back the two pills and swallowed them dry. The irritated sides of his throat scraping together as he did. Now it was just a matter of time.

Wes considered the calculation. His own weight, now at the forefront of his mind thanks to Baz’s cheap joke, his tolerance, the fact that all he’d consumed that day was a single black coffee. Shouldn’t be too long now. As long as he was able to keep them down.

Staying out of the way as Baz attempted to start cleaning up. The fact of the matter settled into his foggy mind. They’d stolen drugs, from their workplace. Well, Wes had lead the charge. Baz was just a casualty.

That probably wasn’t how management would see it.

God, hopefully they would never put it together at all.

He pivoted to move towards the door, that piss covered couch was starting to sound more and more appealing. Before actually gripping the knob and pulling it open, he paused.

“Thanks…”
He said, as earnestly as he could muster considering the circumstances, as well as the rapidly dwindling energy from his body
“Mean it…”


And with that, his trembling hand grabbed onto the lever style handle and pushed it open. His boots dragging across the floor until he reached the staff area again. The room felt a bit bigger now that he wasn’t suffocating under his own body. All the same, he collapsed onto the couch and squeezed his eyes shut where he waited patiently to fall into a dreamless sleep.






























S.O.B.












♡coded by uxie♡

 
Luciana Navarro Berrocal
the cool girl
Luci noticed instantly how, despite being passed out on the snow a couple of minutes ago, Koko was back to her put-together persona, saying stuff about how she wasn’t aware of the weather’s effect on her, which Luci could only point out as a complete lie. Which only made her realize that the people who fell for Koko’s facade were not exactly the brightest bulbs, as there were more cracks on it that Koko was probably even aware of.

But then Koko started speaking, saying how she didn’t expect Luci to show up or to notice that she had been away for too long.
“Don’t get your hopes up. You were the perfect excuse, so I could leave. Offering myself to look out for you because you were gone for quite some time, the teachers thought it was just two friends looking for each other.”
She started saying.

“But don’t feel discouraged, I went out of my way to help you, didn’t I? If it had been Dallas or Wes, the ones that were outside, you could bet anything that I would let them rot outside, I would have even been there front row, seeing it. So, consider yourself part of the group of the few people I actually like.”


Would Koko believe her? The answer most likely was yes. After all, it wasn’t like she didn’t lie, at least not completely.
“You know that if I had left you to figure it out for yourself, you would still be outside freezing to death? Probably not the wisest thing to do. To be honest, I considered you the only one with brain cells out of your family. It seems I may be kind of wrong if you thought you could have made it on your own just by seeing you right now.”


Luci knew her words were harsh, but that’s exactly what she did when things started becoming too emotional. She just lashed out to regain control of her emotions.
“So are you going to continue pretending that what just happened was just a slip, or are you going to stop faking that you are put together for once?”

mood: annoyed
outfit: here
location: school
interactions: matchaa matchaa
Halsey - control

coded by Stardust Galaxy
 
Sophia Price
the sad girl
Phia never knew she could ramble that much until that moment. All those years of not having that many conversations with people led her to believe she was too plain and went straight to the point. The reality was far from it, as she was blurting out every single thing that went into her mind without filtering first.

And in terms of playing it cool, she wasn’t playing it. But it seemed Mickey didn’t even mind one bit as she noticed the slight smile when she said out loud her full name. Something she swore no one would know except her family, but now Mickey did, and for some reason, she didn’t mind.

So, when Mickey started mentioning how she wasn’t a failure and all the qualities she had, Phia couldn’t help but to feel slightly awkward, even if people told her she was capable of doing a lot of things, she never really felt like it was true, maybe she just needed to learn how to accept compliments once in a while instead of overthinking that everyone was on the wrong about her.

But at that moment, Phia realized that Mickey’s words were sincere, just like Wes, Nix, Claudia Jean, Jonah, and Seth’s words had been sincere all this time, and for a moment she felt like perhaps she meant something to all these people, and life wasn’t as bad as she thought it would be. Maybe there was indeed some hope for her after all.

When Mickey did, the small joke as he combined both of her names. Something she couldn’t remember the last time she felt that way, which she was pretty sure it would have been before the death of her parents. In other situation, Phia would have felt that she wasn’t worthy of feeling some kind of happiness, but she realized she missed feeling that way and hoped that somehow that would become something that happened regularly.

So with the first real smile she had probably given someone since the death of her parents, Phia could only say,
“I like you too, Mickey.”

mood: flustered
outfit: here
location: school
interactions: thatonegirl28 thatonegirl28
saturn - sleeping at last

coded by Stardust Galaxy
 
code by opaline
Baz Jarson
Ice Ice Baby

Wes downed the pills dry and shuffled his way to the door. Baz said nothing—just focused on his task, waiting for the click of the handle to seal him in with his thoughts.

But Wes paused.

Baz looked up, brow creasing slightly, head tilting—like he wasn’t sure if Wes had forgotten how doors worked or just changed his mind.

Then it came.

Words Baz didn’t expect to hear.

“Thanks,” Wes said, voice gravelly and quiet—but the sincerity shone through, clear as day. “Mean it.”

Baz grunted. Waved him off. Didn’t know what else to do. How else to respond. Hell, he wasn’t even sure how he felt about it. He didn’t reckon he deserved thanks.

What had he done, really?

Fed the sickness. Just enough so it didn’t eat what was left of Wes.

At least…
not tonight.

Luckily, something jarred him from that dreadful train of thought.

A high-pitched, desperate whimper broke through the stillness, rising into a few loud yips that carried over the wind outside, putting Baz on alert. There were a couple of overnighters in the kennels—and there sure as hell wouldn’t be any vet tech in tonight to check on ’em.

Baz stood and put away the key. The pained barking continued, followed by a drawn-out whine. He opened the internal door to where the kennels were. The whining got louder, and now he could hear heavy panting and pacing. Baz flicked the torch over the cages and caught sight of a large Rottie—all muscle and misery, whimpering like a pup.

“Juno, hey girl, what’s goin on?” He murmured softly as he padded over to the crated animal.

Baz crouched beside the gate and froze.

She was pacing tight circles inside her kennel, cone scraping against the steel bars each time she turned. Not frantic—just restless. Uncomfortable. Stressed.

He dropped lower to get a better look. Her back legs were twitching slightly. Her posture—tail low, body tight, back arched just a little—made him frown.

“June girl, s’allright, what you do huh?” He cooed, exhausted but still concerned.

Baz stepped in. Carefully.

He opened the latch and slid in slowly, keeping his voice low. She didn’t resist—just sat down with a heavy, defeated thump. Baz reached gently for her side and ran his hand along her flank.

That’s when he felt it.

Warm. Damp. Slightly sticky.

He moved the cone aside as best he could and lifted her back leg carefully.

One of her stitches had split. Just one. But the skin around it was puffy and oozing, inflamed from too much pacing, too much tension. The irritation hadn’t been caused by licking—just movement. Stress. No one to calm her down.

Baz hadn’t even thought twice before launching into the frustrating task of trying to clean it up and dress it. It would’ve been a nightmare in the light, but Baz was having to somehow juggle a torch, an open wound, a cone, and that weapon of a tail all at once.

By the time he was done, he’d gone through half a bag of liver treats and what was left of his sanity—but at least she wouldn’t turn her crate into a horror show.

His knees ached. His hands stank of antiseptic. And somewhere beneath all of it, the guilt was still thrumming. There was a tightness in his chest that just wouldn’t relent.

He switched off his torch and padded back down the corridor, boots scuffing faintly in the quiet.

The shelter was dead silent now, save for the wind dragging itself down the outside walls. It felt later than it was.

Baz pushed open the staff room door and paused just inside the frame.

Wes was out cold on the couch. One arm flung over his face. The other hanging limp off the side.

Baz was usually excellent at falling asleep— he’d done so in all sorts of uncomfortable places—but he knew tonight was different.

He should’ve tried—but his mind was still buzzing.

Instead, he paced up and down. Checked on every animal. Fiddled with the fuse box—to no avail, unfortunately—and checked on Wes every so often like he was a sick animal.

It wasn’t for at least another hour until Baz finally ran out of things to busy his hands with. He wandered back into the staff room and landed heavily in the old granny chair by the coffee table.

He glanced warily one more time at the curled figure of his coworker across from him. His fingers twitched restlessly on his lap as he rubbed the same patch of skin on his knuckle over and over till it stung.

Dead tired—he finally forced himself to close his own sore eyes.

He dozed on and off. Never really slipping into any sort of deep sleep—stirring at near every sound. Dread chased him through his dreams and in and out of consciousness.

The storm outside was winding down…

But he had an awful feeling another one was coming for him soon.


.
 
code by opaline
Fujiko Park
Ice Ice Baby

Luci bristled, as expected, at Fujiko’s line of questioning.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” she snapped.

Fujiko cracked an amused smile at that but let the other teenager continue.

“You were the perfect excuse so I could leave,” Luci said, going on to explain that the teachers had been duped into believing they were two friends looking for one another.

“Well. Happy to help,” Fujiko said sarcastically, flashing a coy smile.

Luci continued to arch her back and hiss like a cornered feline.

“But don’t feel discouraged,” she added sharply. “I went out to help you, didn’t I?”

“Mmhm,” Fujiko agreed, her amusement continuing to bloom. She busied her hands—finding a brush in her purse and combing through her wild hair.

“If it had been Dallas or Wes, you could bet anything I’d let them rot outside. I’d even be there, front row, watching it.”

So Luci hadn’t saved her out of kindness. She’d made the cut—one of the few Luci didn’t want to see burn. How flattering.

Luci’s sheer aggression really was interesting—though not subtle.

“So, consider yourself part of the group of the few people I actually like.”

Now that was surprising! Fujiko tilted her head, a searching look on her face.

“I like you too, Luci,” she said flippantly “No need for the theatrics~”

There was a certain smugness in her tone. Perhaps a touch too much, considering Luci’s claws were still out.

“You know if I had left you to figure it out for yourself, you’d still be outside freezing to death?” Luci snapped. “Probably not the wisest thing to do, if I’m honest. I considered you the only one with brain cells in your family.”

Fujiko blinked. The brush paused, then resumed—a little more firmly than necessary, since her hair wasn’t particularly knotted. She had to force herself to stay steady.

As if sensing the slight shift, Luci kept hammering her point home—clearly trying to rattle her, or to prove she wasn’t rattled herself.

Probably both.

“It seems I could have been wrong, if you thought you could have made it on your own.”

Fujiko shook her head, irritated—but only slightly. “I never said I could’ve made it alone,” she cut in.

Luci was quick to retaliate.

“So are you going to keep pretending that what just happened was just a slip? Or are you going to stop faking that you’re put together for once?”

That one landed more than Fujiko expected. She pursed her lips slightly. Averted her eyes.

Then she recovered.

She was surprised by the remark—and by what it revealed about her—but not angry.

Because Luci had also exposed herself.

Quite spectacularly, too. She hadn’t expected such a display of passion, even if it was mostly wrapped in insults. It had clearly come from somewhere real.

Luci liked to lash out and rip into people when she felt out of control or upset. She’d seen it with Carmen, and she was seeing it now.

Fujiko, as her friend had so delicately put it, preferred to tuck her emotions behind a wall of calm and collected. Or “put-togetherness,” as Luci had said.

Fujiko smiled. Her smile widened into a grin, and then she couldn’t help herself. She giggled.

“Sorry~” she breathed, amusement still sparkling in her eyes. “That was just—quite a speech. Very moving. I don’t believe I’ve had someone get quite so passionate in some time.”

She let a serious, though not unkind, expression replace the humour.

“Luci. You don’t need to get snappy with me. You can be frank. I understand how dire my mistake was. I don’t plan on repeating it,” she said.

“I apologise, however… that I frightened you.”

Fujiko was technically calling Luci out, but not unkindly.
She let it sit for a moment—and then gave her the out.

Fujiko adjusted her jumper sleeves, smoothed her hair, then glanced at Luci with a soft smile—smaller than before, but more sincere.

“Would you like to find something warm to eat?” she asked, calm as ever. “I don’t know about you, but nearly freezing to death works up quite an appetite”

She smirked lightly, “If we run into anyone irritating, you can insult them instead of me this time.”


 
SETH ALLONS
[Interactions: sailormewn sailormewn ]
[Location: HFHS, Room 219]
1747937379756.png
"I can't take all these locals, Annie
When all they do is scoff at us
Anyway, here is where I've gotta get gone
Make sure that you lock all the doors
I love looking at your pictures
But I still wish I'd brought more"
— Slaughter Beach, Dog "Bad Beer", Birdie​

“Uh— sis?” Carmen asked, not ready to let Seth get off that easily from a more childish outburst than he was prone to. “You alright? Do you wanna maybe... talk about it? 'Cause like, you're doing a kinda shitty job at the whole trying to pretend it's not happening thing...No offense.”

Seth flipped through the pages of an older history textbook for a few seconds longer, his breathing slow and almost meditative—or, the opposite of meditative, whatever the hell that happened to be. It turned out that it was hard to ignore your problems when that problem turned out to be multiple meteors crashing down on you from orbit. He didn’t want to talk, he wanted to get good and goddamn high; but the pen he’d given Carm a while ago was down to its dregs, and even if they said fuck it and gave up on the treasure hunt, it’d probably take just as long to track down his stash off memory alone.

Sighing, he flipped the textbook closed for a moment, looking back out the window at the snow. It had slowed ever-so-slightly, but everything outside was still a blank page ready to be drawn on. He couldn’t see the flashing lights of plow trucks, or the scraping of metal against pavement. The hope he clung on to that everyone would be home before the end of the night withered. This was his Nightmare Before Christmas…or maybe he was just being fucking dramatic.

“Sorry, Carm it’s just—it turned into a more annoying night than anticipated.” Seth said. He paused before looking out the window again, like any time he turned his neck to face it, the snow-covered Haven Falls landscape would change in an instant to Venice Beach, sunny and sandy and free. “Well, I guess it’s annoying for fucking everybody, huh?”

He slid off the small bookshelf he was sitting on, opting to walk over to where his phone lay—mostly untouched except for a cracking along the edges of his screen protector—to scoop it up, and place it back in its rightful place in his pocket.

“I’ve been—Annie and I have been arguing a bit, about…about Christmas shit.” Seth explained. He opted to sit on the teacher’s desk, avoidant to sitting in any chairs actually meant for students. “She invited me over and I didn’t—I don’t want to ruin, uh, you know…I ain’t had a good Christmas since my parents split. But it used to be this, this sacred family day, right? So I feel weird, intruding when I know her mom probably don’t want me nowhere around the house—at least on Christmas…and the holiday I—I can take or leave at this point.”

But it means the world to Annie—both a sweet and utterly terrifying sentiment to Seth. It was way more than he wanted to get into with Carmen, though. Especially knowing how she took pride in Seth and Annie’s thing, as Haven Falls’ self-titled matchmaking extraordinaire.

“Anyway,” Seth tried not to linger on the ongoing Christmas battle—he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer against Annie in this fight, “between that and my ex-fucking-girlfriend texting me like the Grim Reaper…I told you about Sadie, right? I’m pretty sure I did. Salt of the earth, great gal—she’s been breaking my fucking balls for a month now. Mostly-sober me just didn’t—I was being bombarded for a second and—yeah—I blew up, momentarily. Sorry.”

Standing again, Seth moved back over to his pile of textbooks and picked up another. The white piles of blank void outside caught his eye again. A tune popped into his head, a quiet melody lined by the thought of a lyric to accompany it. He looked back to Carmen, leaning against the bookshelf as he flipped open the book, knowing by that point what page the Boston Tea Party started on. He opened his mouth to speak—some platitude about how Wes would be okay, some attempt to relieve her of something he had no doubt was bothering her. If he was having a weird night, Seth was sure Carmen’s wasn’t much better. But the words failed him. Instead, Seth’s mouth closed, uncertain that that would even help.
 
bentley schroeder

super rich kids with nothing but fake friends
T
here was an assembly. Bentley knew, because his dad had spent a shit ton of money on it—he still forgot. Maybe a little on purpose.

Only later he figured out there wasn’t even going to be an assembly.
There wasn’t going to be a way out either.
A fucking snowstorm. Who would've thought?

He had very different plans than this.

His friends wanted to hang out, but he got a text from Quinn—and whatever his friends had in mind couldn’t compete with that.
Besides, there weren’t many real friends left. And though Bentley would never admit it, it wasn’t like he needed friends to talk about his problems anyway.

Vinny and him still shared a few classes, but not a lot of people knew what happened.
Well—aside from the black eye.
That was the talk for a hot minute. It hurt like hell, and his vision was still a little blurry.

They didn’t talk, though.
And somewhere, that felt… good.

He liked Quinn. A lot. And she liked him.
Was that awful to think?

Bentley responded to her message but had already spotted her a few tables away.

Quinn looked how she always did—well put together and smart. He wasn’t sure how much the “break-up” actually affected her, but Bentley damn near jumped when she told him she blocked Vinny.
That rush of the chase?
Yeah, it was starting to fade.
And lately, thoughts of Lia crept in more often than he’d like to admit.

‘If it isn’t the hottest girl in school,’ he said, sliding into the seat beside her. His hands rested on her knees, slowly creeping up to her thighs.

‘So, you summoned me—and here I am,’ he added, voice too eager, like it was the first time he’d ever talked to a girl.

‘You know, I was a little annoyed about the whole being stuck here thing,’ he went on, leaning in closer to smell her rosy perfume,
‘but then I realized we hadn’t hung out in a while.’

He paused.
‘And I was kind of… glad.’

Bentley tried to read her face—but Quinn was impossible to read.
Still, he was putting in the work.

He wanted to prove something. That he could get anything. That he was the best.

People talked—about him, about Byron.
Sure, they were on decent terms, but Bentley knew Byron didn’t respect him.
But Dahlia wouldn’t stay if they ever broke up.
She’d run to Bentley. They all would.

Bentley could feel some kind of tension in the air, but he was too naive—or maybe too full of himself—to actually sit with it. So instead, he just started talking.

‘I know this place we can go,’ he said casually, pretending it wasn’t the same place he used to sneak off to with his ex.
‘Maybe not a five-star hotel, but you know... doable.’

He hoped his dumb smirk would pull her over the edge.
But it was a thin line.
It could just as easily do the opposite.







outfit:
location:
school lockdown

tags:
 
T
his is what she got for eavesdropping. In about half a second, Lindsey had gone from gleefully lapping up spilt tea to being burdened with the most terrible secret she could imagine. And there was no way to unhear it now.

Her breathing quickened as she began to panic over the gravity of what she'd just heard. Taking a few steps, then stopped in her tracks, unsure of where to go or what to do. Looking around frantically as she failed to collect herself, and organize her scrambled thoughts into a logical course of action.

She froze when the pair suddenly came bursting from the stall. Trailing behind was Mei, a quiet girl she recognized from the diner and around school. The one who was now stomping right at her was Elliot, the voice's owner. A popular guy, at least from the perspective of a nobody like Lindsey. In this moment though, he hardly resembled some handsome teenage bad boy. He looked like the walking dead. And as he loomed over her with wild, angry eyes, in her face demanding answers, Lindsey couldn't help but tremble in fear.

“I'm s-sorry,” The girl stammered meekly, slowly backing away until she bumped up against the row of sinks behind her. It was almost a relief when Elliot finally stormed out of the restroom, until Lindsey remembered his confession had left her with more questions than answers. “Wait!” She tried to call after him, but her voice was just a breathless croak, barely making a sound.

“What'd he mean by that?” Lindsey managed to squeak out some words, turning her attention back on Mei. “What'd he mean??” She repeated desperately, as if it was Mei's job to interpret Elliot’s cryptic words. “The Price parents? Did he have something to do with the accident?? That night….was Dallas there??” She asked quietly, clearly trying to piece the awful truth together as she spoke aloud.

With every confirmation, her heart sank further. She couldn't bear to hear any more, stumbling away from Mei wordlessly, with no clue where she was even going. All she could think about was Nix, and what this would do to him. Despite all the ups and downs of his relationship with Frannie, Lindsey had grown quite attached to him. How could she deliver such heart-shattering news to someone who meant the world to her? And yet the thought of him hearing it somewhere else was even worse, especially if he were to find out she'd kept it from him.

Lindsey wouldn't have any more time to ponder though. As soon as she escaped the stuffy confines of the washroom, Nix was standing right there in the hall for some incomprehensible reason. Confusion etched across his face as he called out her name.

Of course the dutiful older brother had come by to pick up his sisters, just like he said he would. Two more innocent souls who were about to be devastated by this bomb she was preparing to drop on the Price family.

“Nixy!” Lindsey ran to him, holding back a sob. She looked pale and stricken, like she'd seen a ghost. And as she came face to face with him, it became clear she couldn't hold this secret back from Nix, even if she wanted to.

In fact, she immediately began to babble involuntarily. “It was him, that night. It was Elliot. And your brother. He..he..,” Tears were streaming down her face as it all bubbled up like word vomit.

“I'm so sorry, Nixy…”

"can you squeeze me into an empty page of your diary"
Lindsey Sinclair
location:
School
outfit:
mentions:
matchaa matchaa
 
code by opaline
Mei Williams
Ice Ice Baby

The two teenagers stood in the room, their panicked breathing loud in the sudden stillness. Elliot’s retreat rang in Mei’s ears, his absence leaving behind a weight too heavy to hold alone. Her fingers clawed at her forearm now, harder than before, as if she could anchor herself to the sensation—contain something that felt like it might break out of her skin.

Lindsey’s voice cut through the air.

“What’d he mean?” she rasped, barely audible. Then, more urgent: “What’d he mean by that?”

Mei opened her mouth, but nothing came. Her thoughts scrambled to catch up with the surge of emotion crashing into her all at once.

Desperate, Lindsey kept pressing.

“The Price parents? Did he have something to do with the accident? That night... was Dallas there?”

Mei pinched the skin beneath her sleeve, hard—until her eyes stung with the threat of tears. Then she spoke, because she had to. Because it was too big now to hold inside. Because Lindsey looked as scared and devastated as she felt. She didn’t have it in her to protect Elliot— Unable to lie at the best of times.

“I... I don't know but I-I think so,” she managed. “H-he’s been struggling with some kind of secret for a while. I heard him have a nightmare about it once.”

She paused, breathing shallowly. “He said names. He said ‘Dallas.’ He said ‘Evan’... ‘Ash’.” Mei swallowed hard. “And when he said he saw someone die… I thought about that.”

She shook her head. “It’s the only thing that makes sense to me… that he saw...”

She took a step toward Lindsey, but there was no comfort she could offer. The girl looked worse with every word—devastated in a way that felt different. Like it wasn’t just shock. Like it was personal.

Maybe she knew Dallas. Or the older brother—Phoenix.

Mei searched for something else to say.

But then—
Lindsey left too.
And Mei was alone.

She stood in the echo of the emptied room, the air still heavy with things that shouldn’t have been said. Her fingers twitched at her sleeve, the ghost of pain lingering under her skin where she'd abused it. She turned slowly, her body moving before her mind could keep up.

I should go after Elliot.

The thought rose, unsteady. But it dissolved just as fast—because she didn’t know where to go. Or how. Or what she would even say if she found him. Mei cracked the bathroom door open, just enough to peer out.

Lindsey was there.

And someone else—tall, broad, familiar even though she'd never met him.

Her stomach dropped. Because it could only be--

Phoenix Price.

He was talking to Lindsey. Urgently. The way people talk when something is already happening. When the pieces are already moving.

Mei froze.

Her chest tightened as a thousand panicked thoughts collided in her head. Did she tell him? What does he know? What if he blames me?

She couldn’t do this. Not now. Not like this.

Quietly, carefully—Mei let the door fall shut again.

She turned, walked to the far wall—away from the door—and slid to the floor.

The tiles were cold. Her fingers curled into the hem of her sleeves, pulling them tight around her hands. She pressed her forehead to her knees, breathing shallowly.

It was too much.
Too loud.
Too fast.
Too bright.

Out there, the truth was moving.

In here, she could stay still.

Just for a little while.
She would find Elliot.
But she couldn't do it like this.
She needed time.
Space.
.
 
code by opaline
Phoenix Price
Ice Ice Baby

“Nixy!”

The nickname she usually greeted him with—once peppy and joyful—now sounded horror-stricken. His blood ran cold. What had happened? What had Elliot done? Why was she crying?

“Hey, hey, are you okay? What happened?”

His question seemed to break a dam wall.

“It was him that night. Elliot… and your brother, he… he—”

She choked on a sob.

Nix reached out instinctively, a comforting hand landing on her trembling shoulders. But even as he tried to ground her, his mind reeled.

That night.

She’d said that night.

That only meant one thing.

What was she saying?
What was she trying to tell him?
His hand dropped to his side.
Did Elliot have something to do with it? Did he do it.
Did Dallas?

He looked at her frantic. Eyes wide. Searching her face. Searching for meaning.

“Linny…” he breathed. “What do you mean? Are you saying Elliot…” he swallowed. His mouth felt dry “And my brother… had something to do with…”

He paused.
Tried to get a hold of himself

“Lin what do you—Tell me what you mean”

And she told him.

She told him what she’d heard. What Elliot had said.

Nix felt the floor vanish beneath him.

Because Elliot had been telling him—everyone. In pieces. In half-said breakdowns. In his very public spiral.

And Nix hadn’t listened.

He’d let his brother convince him Elliot was just a crackhead. Delusional. Lost.

He’d let himself believe it—because it was easier. Because Dallas had to be innocent.

But Elliot had finally cracked under the pressure.

And now he’d dragged Dallas’s name down with him.

“I’m so sorry, Nixy…”

Her voice reached him through the hurricane in his mind.

He looked at her—tear-streaked, shaking—and something in him broke.

Why was she the one telling him this?

Not Elliot.
Not Dallas.
Not the people who owed him the truth.

Nix pulled her toward him, hugging her tightly against his chest. She shouldn’t have to carry this.

She never should’ve been brought into it.

“Thank you,” he muttered into her shoulder. “You should never have had to tell me that.”

His voice trembled.

He pulled back, eyes dazed—far away.

“I just—-I need to”

He shook his head. Couldn’t finish the sentence. Couldn’t breathe. His legs felt like concrete. The hallway was twisted. Wrong. Like the world had shifted slightly off-centre, and no one had noticed but him.

But he had to move.
Had to do something.
Had to figure this out

“I…I gotta go…” He managed “..find my brother”



.
 
Last edited:






Damien




He was naturally livid -- why wouldn't he be?

Or was he?

....

Well, yeah, of course he was. Damien's temper was always a short fuse, after all.

And he'd been rambling along, when Jules started to talk. He glanced over at her, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion, and the anger he'd felt a second before was snuffed out in a second.

"Jules?" he said, as she took his hand and dragged him into a room. "What's wrong? Are you gonna puke?" he asked, as she sank to the ground.

He crouched down in front of her.

Oh shit, oh fuck, what was he supposed to do?

"Just uh... I-I dunno know, just ahh... just... just... deep breaths?" Damien suggested.

Oh fuck, was this what dying looked like? Was she dying? Was it an allergic reaction to Harvey's bullshit or something like that?

He started to reach out to touch her, but hesitated. What if touching her somehow made it worse? His heart was pounding in his chest, and he had to do something, but what was the right something to do?

He was just a boy -- a stupid, confused boy.

Finally, he let his instincts take over, and he moved to sit next to her, his arm moving around her shoulders as he pulled her into his side.

"Hey, hey, hey," he whispered. "It's alright -- you're alright, yeah?"












interactions: Jules

tags: @murphalicious


º º code by ditto º º
 






DAHLIA




She stood in front of him, her arms crossed over her chest, as he stumbled through excuse after excuse. Her expression remained the same -- eyes narrowed, her lips pressed tightly together, her jaw clenched.

Although her expression remained unchanged, it wasn't like she wasn't feeling... something regarding everything that he was spilling to her. She wasn't a monster, despite what some people might've thought.

Or at least, not a total monster.

She would, however, feel some pleasure in slamming Scarlett's stupid face into the ground. Over and over and--

"I did want to spend time with you," she snapped-- no, she didn't just snap, she yelled at him. She'd gone straight from zero to a hundred without any buildup. "That's why I didn't say anything until now, idiot."

(That was a lie.)

"I try so hard to be the perfect little girlfriend, but you just... fuck, Byron," she exhaled through her nose, her arms dropping from her chest as she turned away from him briefly -- mainly to try to keep some control over her emotions. "But you're so... so... fucking... you."

She huffed as she glared back at him, her gaze cold.

"You know what I think it is? I think you've been projecting, because you acted like I was on my knees sucking Bentley's dick when you walked into his bedroom at his party, even though you know I would never touch him because he's like, gross. Meanwhile, you were downstairs, what, sucking face with some cheap whore? Did you have to pay her to get her to touch you? Because I don't know why else she'd ever bother."












interactions: Byron

tags: matchaa matchaa


º º code by ditto º º
 
  • .
code by opaline
Byron Williams
Ice Ice Baby

Byron had been watching her face while he stumbled through his emotions like an idiot. He searched for a flicker of something—pain, regret, anything—beyond the bone-chilling glare and clenched jaw.

Not even when he said he loved her did she flinch.

She didn’t interrupt. But when it was her turn to speak, she went from icy tundra to firebomb in a heartbeat.

“I did want to spend time with you!” Her voice boomed, reverberating off the metal—loud, venom-laced. “That’s why I didn’t say anything till now! Idiot!”

Byron’s jaw clenched.

She was lying.

She was a fucking liar—and she was so damn good at it too.

“I try so hard to be the perfect little girlfriend, but you just... fuck, Byron,” she snapped. With a huff, she turned away, trying to collect herself. “You’re so... so... fucking you.”

Her words were pointed. Sharp. And they landed—because she meant them to. Because she knew him. She didn’t have to elaborate.

Byron’s head filled in the blanks all on its own.

Clingy. Demanding. Emotional. Embarrassing. A joke.

The words circled like vultures, picking apart what was left of his self-worth.

“You know what I think it is?” she spat.
“I think you’ve been projecting—because you acted like I was on my knees sucking Bentley’s dick when you walked into his bedroom at his party, even though you know I’d never touch him. He’s gross. Meanwhile, you were downstairs, what, sucking face with some cheap whore? Did you have to pay her to touch you? Because I don’t know why else she would’ve bothered.”

That one hit like a slap.

He stared at her, stunned. Disbelieving.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He blinked like he didn’t even know what world he was standing in anymore.
“Bentley? Seriously? That’s what you’re going with?”
He growled, louder this time.
“And I’m projecting? You tear me to shreds and then mention that fucker? I didn’t even accuse you of shit, Dahlia!”

His voice cracked. Still, he pushed through.

“Bentley would double-cross me for a fucking iota of your attention—but I thought you were different.”

He didn’t even register the words before they tumbled out like shrapnel.

“If you wanted out of being the perfect little girlfriend, why didn’t you just say that? Instead of pretending we mattered?”

He huffed out a breath, turned away, pacing with a hand raking through his hair. His chest heaved. The anger was draining now—leaving only dread and grief in its place.

That was it.
He’d fucked it.
She bit. He bit back. And now there was nothing left between them but pain and distance.

His hands shook. His shoulders sagged.
He didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know how to fix it.
It was too big. Too much.
His hands dropped. His head fell.

“I said I loved you…”

He swallowed, voice quieter now.

“…and you didn’t even…”

Byron let out a bitter laugh—more breath than sound.

“Who was I kidding?” he muttered, not even really to her.


.
 
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