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    geminiy

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    • filler

















    The last few months had been nothing short of what felt like... a nightmare to her.

    Well, there had been a couple of good months sprinkled in there. Memories that kind of brought the faintest, nostalgic twitch of a smile to her face, only for the smile to falter and be replaced by tears brimming at the edges of her eyes. She hadn't cried after she'd broken up with Trevor -- she'd remained stoically alright, refusing to shed a tear over a relationship that deserved to be lost to the wind, because he fucking sucked.

    Ash hated him.

    She hated Trevor.

    She really, really hated Trevor.

    And coming out of the relationship, distancing herself from him... it had felt like she'd finally opened her eyes. Of course, there was still some part beneath the layers of hatred and bitterness towards the freaking jerk that still... kind of missed him... what they had been before they'd dated. When things had been relatively okay, when he hadn't been a massive prick, and... yeah, she hated to admit it, but part of wanted to know how he was doing.

    She'd grown close to Amy for selfish reasons. To try and see how Trevor was without having to reach out to him herself, but Amy was just as clueless to Trevor's whereabouts as she was. But she was actually really nice, so it wasn't like Ash regretted anything. She kind of liked Amy.

    No, Trevor was gone, and Ash had partially figured that he was dead or something. Who really knew?

    The bigger reason that Ash was sitting here in front of her vanity now, dull eyes focused on the mirror in front of her was rather because she was like... fresh out of another breakup. Kind of. Like... she'd met Ryder over the summer, they'd hit it off, and she'd like kind of actually fallen for him. Harder than she would've liked, but then the stupid photos had come out with her and Dalton -- photos that looked really suspicious, there were dating rumors or whatever, and... one fight later, Ash was back to being alone and single.

    It was fine or whatever.

    Ash was supposed to go on another date today.

    She didn't really want to. She didn't really want to go out in general, let alone with some guy she barely knew, and definitely some guy that she didn't have any kind of feelings for.

    He hadn't really taken no as an answer, and Ash had been too tired to argue.

    Maybe it would be good to get out of the house or whatever. It would at least get her mom off of her case for a while, because Elise had been nothing but pushy and annoying for the last week or so, insisting that Ash needed to go out and "be seen because it would help her image."

    Didn't make any sense to her and really, she didn't care.

    Fuck her career. Fuck her image.

    Ash wasn't spending a lot of time on like... anything to get ready for this stupid date. The makeup she applied to her face was half-assed, her hair had been half-brushed, the clothes she'd picked out had pretty much been the first things she'd pulled from her closet. There wasn't any point in trying, in her opinion, because there wasn't an ounce of Ash that cared if this date went past the first one -- she didn't want it to.

    There was a knock against her bedroom door, and then the door was pushed open. Ash didn't bother glancing over -- she knew who it was, by the sound of her mother's heels clicking against the hardwood floors. Her dull gaze was still settled on the mirror in front of her, so she could see her mother as she approached and moved behind Ash. Her hands came up, brushing through the blonde's short hair, and Ash flinched.

    "Pity you cut your hair," her mother said, her voice edged with ice. "You were so much prettier when it was longer." She let go, the mess of blonde hair falling back around her shoulders as her mom came to rest her hands on Ash's shoulders. There was silence that stretched out for a long moment, and then Elise's hand reached forward. Her finger brushed against Ash's lip, wiping away a spot of lipstick that hadn't been perfect or... whatever.

    "You look horrible," Elise continued. "Where are you going?"

    "Just... I dunno, just... some stupid date..." Ash mumbled. Her hand reached forward, tapping against the wooden top of the vanity. Her hazel eyes didn't know where to look, but keeping them settled on the mirror was too much. "With like... just some guy -- just, I dunno... I mentioned him the other day."

    "Oh," her mother's voice was even icier than before. "Well, you must not be too excited about this. If you were, I'd think you'd try to look better than someone that's just spent her whole night on the corner." The words didn't real have the bite into Ash's flesh that they once would've. "Probably for the best, anyway. I wouldn't want you dating someone like that."

    "No," Ash's eyebrows wrinkled together, followed by a small shake of her head. "No, he's... he's fine. He's... nice to me..." kind of, "and... I dunno, he's... good."

    Her words felt rehearsed at this point -- Ash had grown used to defending her choice of boyfriend to her mom.

    "Yes, well, I'm sure he's just using you for your name," Elise continued with a breathy sigh, "you know, maybe you should just give up at this point. I don't even think you should waste your time on this date. What if you end up in another... ridiculous controversy over pictures taken, hmm?"

    "No," Ash repeated, her voice a little more strong this time. "No I'm going, and it's... I'm going to have a good time, because he's... nice. He treats me well and I... I don't care. I don't really care if people or... whatever get pictures of us."

    There was an exaggerated sigh from Elise, and her hands moved away from her daughter's shoulders. "You're just as stubborn as your father," she said, her words dripping with poison, "and just as stupid. Don't come crying home when he breaks your heart because you were stupid again, alright?"

    Without waiting for an answer, her mother walked back out of her room, but Ash remained frozen in place until she heard the clicking of her door lock.

    Her hazel eyes were moving around once more, but this time they landed on her hairbrush.

    She picked it up, pulling it through her hair, and eyeing how she looked in the mirror.

    Well... it couldn't hurt to get cleaned up a little more. To maybe actually put some effort into her outfit, into her makeup, into her clothes. Like, sure, she hadn't really wanted to go, but... it was going to be fun, right? And he was... fun. Ish. And maybe it would actually go really well. Like, it wasn't as if Ash completely hated the guy's guts, she just didn't know him super well, but he seemed... nice enough on the couple occasions they'd interacted.

    Her teeth bit into her bottom lip, and her heart pounded a little harder in her chest as she set about getting herself ready for the date, this time with newfound vigor.

    ------------------​

    A week or so later, her junior year of high school had actually. Oh yay. For the most part, the week had been nothing short of... uneventful. She'd pretty much stuck to herself, or at least she'd tried to. It was kind of hard -- it felt like no matter where Ash turned, she was faced with someone that wanted to talk or hangout or... whatever.

    And now... it was already Homecoming. Except that this year on the cheerleading team? Yeah, Ash was totally one of the captains, alongside Eli. It was awesome. Like, she actually kind of looked forward to cheerleading as opposed to when she'd just kind of dragged herself there to keep her mom off of her back or whatever.

    Plus, there was a new confidence to her step, nor was she like... trying to cover up the exposed skin from the cheer uniform. It was just... whatever now.

    Ash had arrived a bit early, of course, and she'd been hanging near the cheerleaders while the game went on -- other than when they did their little routines. But right now, she'd kind of stepped towards the back of the cheer squad, her eyes glued to the screen of her phone. Her tongue was pressed against her cheek, her gaze reading and rereading and rereading again a conversation that she'd had earlier with Ryder.

    There was a twinge in her heart.

    She had to kind of swallow a lump that was starting to gather in the back of her throat, and she shut her phone off as she lifted her gaze up, forcing a faint smile onto her face as she glanced around the stands. It felt as if everyone had come out, although as usual, not a lot of people were actually watching the game. It always kind of felt as if games were more used as an extra socialization opportunity.

    But then her eyes froze on someone coming towards her.

    It felt like deja vu.

    Her arms crossed over her chest, eyebrows drawing together as she narrowed her eyes towards him. Part of her knew that she should go back down by the other cheerleaders, that she shouldn't try and engage, but part of her also... had... conflicted feelings. Part of her wanted answers to questions that she didn't have, even though she'd moved on -- and then she tried to tell herself that she would walk over there for Amy.

    It was a lie. An excuse.

    Her steps took her towards him before she could really stop herself. A strand of blonde hair had loosened from the ponytail she had to wear for cheer, and it fell down in front of her face. A hand reached up to angrily try and shove it back behind her ear and, once she was in front of him, the same hand reached forward to press an angry finger into his chest.

    "What the fuck is wrong with you?" She snapped. "We thought you were dead."

    Or, well, Ash had. Kind of.

    She realized that that might come off as if she cared one way or another, so she quickly added;

    "Shame you're not."








    Ash West

















    Trevor










    ditto ditto













    ♡coded by uxie♡
     






    trevor callaghan​


    Taking in a hit from his joint, Trevor Callaghan glared at the figures crossing in front of his windshield. Bastards, he thought, every single fecking one of them. He’d gone through the car wash right before driving here; he considered now that it might not have been the best idea. After all, there wasn’t really any point in cleaning shite off of your windshield if all you were going to be doing through it was looking at more shite. Birdshit was probably a better view, if he was being honest with himself.

    At least the smoke clouded his vision a fair bit.

    Over his speakers lowly crooned Kurt Cobain: ”Take your time, hurry up; choice is yours, don't be late…” He’d turned it up loud enough to make the words of those passing by his van, the windows of which were rolled down just a crack, unintelligible. Atop his pristinely clean dashboard was his cellphone, dead. As he always made sure it was, his floor was trash-free (and as dirt-free as he could possibly get it), and in the floor of his passenger side lay his small backpack full of alcohol.

    He’d heard a rumor that the afterparty was BYOB.

    He was coming to the Homecoming game purely out of spite, but odds were that no one would ask him why he was here in the first place. People tended to avoid him just as much as he avoided them; it was a mutual understanding: I look like I hate you, you look like you hate me, so let’s keep out of each other’s ways. He would be going to the afterparty for the same reason — no one wanted him there, and he was in his asshole phase, so fuck you, that’s why.

    He lay his head back against his headrest, pressing down the back of his curly, unkempt hair that he’d given up on styling tonight after a long time cursing at his reflection alone in his room. He wasn’t wearing a stupid feckin’ green suit to the game this time; he would never even be caught dead in clothes that Nana picked out anymore. Instead, he wore a black sweatshirt and long, rip-kneed jeans — comfortable clothing, because, even if he were avoiding people, just being in the vicinity of others would cause him such anguish that he needed all the comfort he could get.

    When he convinced himself to leave his van, he extinguished his half-gone joint with a wetted thumb and rolled up each of the windows, left to right and top to bottom, as he did each time. He placed the joint in a Ziploc bag in his glovebox, in the same position that he put all of the joints he was saving for later. He turned his van off again, then patted his wheel. “Keep my shite safe, Rachel,” he requested of the vehicle.

    She was the only thing he could trust in this world.

    • • • • •​

    If there was one thing that those who knew Trevor knew more than anything, it was not to trust Trevor to make his own decisions while high, which, unfortunately, was most of the time. It was even more well-known amongst those who knew Trevor not to trust him to keep his mouth shut or keep any sort of self-control when he was around 1) someone who he had the history of being an ass to or 2) hot girls.

    This made the current moment a perfect storm, for Trevor was not only high as hell but also happened to be gazing at some nondescript spot that was so conveniently right beside the cheerleaders, which led to his eyes then wandering to the cheerleaders themselves and eventually falling upon one Ashton West, the ex who he had been avoiding more than he had been avoiding everyone else all year.

    Thus, it is unsurprising that Trevor, high and now set off, could not prevent himself from walking over to the girl in the cheer uniform, an unreadable-but-definitely-super-high expression on his face.

    “Ash,” he said, rather than any real greeting. He leaned back against the fence; it gave a loud, unpleasant rattle that made his lips purse.

    "What the fuck is wrong with you?" she snapped. "We thought you were dead. Shame you're not."

    He clenched his jaw, his brows knitting together. He scowled at her in offense for a moment, then breathed out a sigh. He looked her up and down, and then he scoffed. “I see you're still pretending to be a ‘bad bitch’ or whatever you’re calling it. How’s that working out for you? You know, the whole…denyin' that you want me back and aren’t over me thing?” He smiled with mock pleasantry. “You’re not fooling anyone, ya know. I know that internally you’re having to hold yourself back from just crawlin’ back to me.”




    mood
    high

    location
    the game

    outfit
    clothes





    playing...
    rock bottom
    by modern baseball​




    mentions
    n/a

    interactions
    ash

    tags
    Winona Winona


    º º code by ditto º º
     






    WESLEY CARMICHAEL​


    Fighting for its life, Wesley Carmichael’s early 00s clunker shuddered on its wheels as he drove through the parking lot in search of a parking spot. The driver’s brows were low over his eyes, and he muttered, “Jesus Christ, why did the whole fucking population of California decide to show up tonight? Who’s gonna give them their refund when they find out they came to watch a team of fucking nobodies wack into each other and fumble for an overinflated pigskin instead of…” He trailed off, glancing past his passenger and out the passenger side window, he worked his jaw, cursing rhythmically under his breath to the N*SYNC song playing quietly over the radio. “Seriously, who’s gonna fuckin’ tell them that this isn’t the major leagues?” He added, in a mutter, “They’ve also gotta break that to the team, too. Fucking assholes.”

    “Shit!” he hissed, slapping his wheel as a car pulled into the only open spot that he’d seen this whole time. “Goddamn it!”

    His car groaned in agreement.

    “Is it even fucking worth it? Just to see the team of jackasses get their asses whipped?” he asked his passenger, not really expecting an answer. “If I want to see dickheads getting beaten around, at this point, I might as well use fucking Google. After this kinda bullshit parking, they should be paying us to come.” He grinned, brushing through his hair with a hand. “But I mean, they should be paying me anyway. I’m the real main attraction.”

    Distracted momentarily by his own half-sarcastic ego-stroking, Wes turned easily into a parking spot. Only after he’d shifted into park and begun to unbuckle the threadbare seatbelt did he realize what he’d just done.

    With a chuckle, he grinned. “See? Parking was a piece of fucking cake, I told you.” His door gave an ear-shattering CREAK! and an unpleasant CRACK! as he pushed it open, and his whole car shook wildly as he stood up from his worn seat. “Ya made it another trip,” he said to his car. Slamming the door and then dusting the rust off of his hands, he chuckled, “Good on ya, Shitmobile.”

    He put his hands on his hips, breathing in a deep breath. “God,” he said with a pleasant smile, “it always smells like —“ His smile froze on his face as something wobbling in the wind caught his eye. “Hold on…,” he said, taking a step forward and bending down slightly to inspect it.

    Stuck in the small patch of grass to the side of the parking lot was a bright cyan sign that was, quote, “sponsored by Moms of Our Generation”. It immediately caught Wes’ attention not for its sponsorship, but for its imagery: a large cartoon cannabis leaf was plastered on the front, with the opacity reduced enough to show clipart of a coffin beneath it. Over the top of the clipart, in big, bold Comic Sans, were the words, “WEED KILLS.”

    His brows furrowed. “WEED KILLS, huh?” he read. A grin broke out across his face, and he laughed. “Is anyone really that fucking stupid? I’m not even a stoner and I know that’s some S tier bullshit.” With a chuckle, he reached over for the yard sign and yanked it out of the ground. “Hey.” Turning back toward the four-wheeled hunk of scrap metal he’d driven here, Wes wagged the sign in the air. His grin spread wider. “Get a load’a this bullshit, huh?” He walked over to him, giving him a gentle jab with his elbow. “Guess you’re just fucking invincible, Woods.”




    mood
    wth?

    location
    the parking lot

    outfit
    clothing





    playing...
    just like you
    by falling in reverse​




    mentions
    n/a

    interactions
    : )

    tags
    Winona Winona


    º º code by ditto º º
     
    Last edited:
    Amethyst J.
    mood
    Nervously excited

    outfit
    Click Here

    Mentions
    Charlie, Nate, Evie, Trevor

    tags
    Winona Winona

    Whew! Here we go another year at Hawthorn academy. Amy was pretty happy about her current standings in the school to be honest. She was half way done with her high school year and was still of of the top students in her class, had great friends, and had been making progress in her side projects. Sure her first couple years were rocky for herself and said friends...especially the one she'd lost along the way...but now wasn't the time to think about the negative! It was a new year, and a fresh start.

    Because if she was honest...she'd drown if she thought about all the bad that'd happened the past two years. If she let herself get bogged down by the fact her first serious crush ghosted her out of no where. Sure they've talked and are civil, but as civil as one can be when they turn around and date seriously the girl her next ex boyfriend cheated on her for. Yahhh this year she's 100% staying away from players! She even gave permission to Charlie to slap her if she starts talking all lovey dovey about an obvious prick.

    Look she couldn't explain why jerks were attracted to her, or why she somehow always put on rose colored glasses anytime those jerks walked up to her and spoke. Rose colored glasses make red flags seem like everything else...but not this year! This year she'd stay single...she hoped.

    As she looked herself over in the mirror she promised herself that she'd have a better year this time. She'd stay focused on her studies, and her friends only because that was more important then petty or romantic drama. Boyfriends were overrated anyways, right?

    Tonight was a perfect recipe for drama considering it was homecoming. Both the game and the after party. Why? Because she went to school with a bunch of drama queens and hot heads. Last year was a prime example of this, and just the memory along of how horrible it'd gone made her honestly not want to go this year. The only reason she was going was because of Charlie and Justin.

    Tho that was nothing new. the only reason Amy ever left home outside of school and food was because of Charlie and Justin. Especially if it was anything outdoorsy or sports related. Amy mostly went to sporting events to cheer on her friends who were players. Tho that was mostly Charlie since she didn't know a whole lot of jocks. With that said Amy was dressed for the after party more so then the game.

    Black tube/crop top with off the shoulder sleeves and blue jean ripped shorts. Amy didn't actually dress like you stereotypical tv screen nerd. Mostly because she kinda fell in love with the 90's hip-hop and R&B style of female artists. So she usually dresses in her own mix of that and comfortable wear. Most people wonder how she snagged her Ex's? My bet is that's how. She didn't look like how she was even though she's pretty sure everyone by this point knows exactly the type of girl she is.

    The one thing she's been slacking on thought? Getting a license. She really needed to do that by the end of the year, and not always rely on Justin's truck and Uber. Not that she didn't love riding with Justin places because she actually did. Justin was one of her closest friends, and she loved spending time with him even if it was riding passenger seat jamming out to music on their way to wherever.

    It didn't take long to get to the stadium and they found pretty good spots to sit at, not that she cared where they sat she wasn't a sports fan and very rarely knew what was going on. Dating a football player hadn't helped since it was during the summer.

    "Hey you wanna snack?" She asked curiously with a bright grin on her face pulling out foil wrapped still warm sandwich. "I've got some stuff in my bag cause It's gonna be hell to try before the game starts or at half time." She'd brought a big purse bag just for that reason. She planned on after the game leaving it in his truck for the party, but for right now it was perfect.

    1. avoid long lines
    2. save a bit on overpriced food

    So a total win in her book.
    coded by reveriee.
     
    Last edited:












    • filler

















    They were only a quarter or so of the way into the game, and Mason already had a huge fucking headache. He pressed a hand to the side of his head, his finger pressing against his temple, trying to dispel the throbbing pain in his skull. It did little to help, of course, when there were people fucking yelling everywhere.

    His hand dropped to his side, his eyes opening back up as he glanced over at the pathetic group of boys they called a fucking football team. A few of them had fucked off to god knows where, but Mason was kind of glad for that. He needed less of them around annoying the shit out of him.

    Dangling from his other hand was his football helmet, which he absently let tap against his thigh.

    He needed some kind of distraction, or some kind of stress reliever. Tackling assholes on the football field only did so much to keep Mason's anger at bay -- if anything, it probably caused him to get even more pissed. More angry. Every knock to the side, every loss, it all served to cater to his fucking boiling point.

    What Mason really needed was a cigarette, but he doubted that he'd be able to get away for long to have one. Fuck. He brought his football helmet up between his hands, and pressed his palms against the side of the hard plastic -- to try and fucking... dispel some of the annoyance. The anger. Some shit like that.

    Didn't do much, so he tossed it onto the bench.

    Mason took a couple of steps away from the bench, not really going in any particular direction or towards any particular target, except that his steps did find him nearing probably the only person on this fucked up team that he could actually stand. Amir. Aka... basically Mason's only friend.

    Well, only friend that he didn't fuck.

    Other than Ryan, but that little fucker was more like a fucking leech than a friend. Kind of latched on and no matter how hard Mason tried to peel him off, the little motherfucker was stuck to him.

    "Hey," Mason greeted as he came to a stop beside the boy. He turned to glance back at the team, but it just served to sour his already rather sour expression. "Bunch of fucking dumbasses," he muttered, although it was hard to tell if that was to Amir, or more just to himself.

    He looked away from the team, dark eyes settling back on Amir. "Think I got time for a smoke?"








    Mason Rivera

















    Amir










    TheVoidQueen TheVoidQueen













    ♡coded by uxie♡
     
    Magnolia D.
    mood
    happily high

    outfit
    Blondie for the skip

    Mentions
    Ophelia A., Andres, Jace

    tags
    Xed Xed

    The life and times of Magnolia Darrington has been an epic soap opera since the day she was born, and being in her high school years hasn't made it any better. This morning of course couldn't even be the one exception. Something as simple as getting on twitter could cause drama. Sometimes she hated it, sometimes she laughed about it, and other times she was numb to it.

    After all when drama and chaos is all you've known...it's not really exciting anymore.

    She couldn't say today's conversations left her numb tho...well one in particular didn't. The only person who could still get under her skin Ophelia A. The two dated, which anyone probably could've told them was a bad idea because they are too alike in a lot of way, and too different in others. However if Maggie listened to what other people thought or said she wouldn't be Maggie, now would she?

    Even if they turned out to be right...She still held feelings for the girl, wanted the best, thought she was a good person...but none of that seemed to matter. Nothing she ever did seemed to matter. Why couldn't she see she was trying? How she'd always tried! Yet somehow, just like everything else apparently, this was all her fault. Everyone always blamed Magnolia for everything like a favorite pastime, even when it wasn't, or she wasn't the only one to blame.

    Sure Maggie didn't think she was innocent or blameless, but it wasn't all her fault. Did she break up with her? No. Did she lack faith and not believe in what she told her? No. So no this wasn't her fault. And sure she might've acted out a bit over the summer, but that was out of hurt and they'd already broken up so what was the point? She was going to be the bad guy no matter what, so might as well have fun with it.

    That was Maggie's whole motto and existence since she turned 14. Ophie didn't change that...she just reaffirmed it like everyone else.

    Whatever she tossed her phone onto the bed irritated and went to go get dressed for this stupid homecoming game. Why? because Maggie was still asocial creature despite it all. She wanted to be around people, and have a good time. She wanted to drink and smoke, and let her feelings get drowned out by the masses and vices. She wasn't excited about the game, but she was about the after party. She only was showing up kinda early cause she told Andres she'd smoke with him under the bleachers.

    She couldn't deny that Andres had been a perfect distraction so far for her for the night. He was cute, flirty, and into music! What better combination was there? All that was left was to see if he could really hang with her wild side. Tonight's party was the perfect testing ground.

    Now that's not to say if he falls off she won't still talk to him, but she likes to know just how wild or crazy her friends are. She can't call up Spencer to do the same kinda things she'd call up Mikaela to do you know? Both still friends, but different kinds, and spice is the variety of life isn't it?
    ______________________

    Maggie arrived at the stadium and immediately went to their meet up spot. She was getting a few more looks then normal because her and Jace over the summer wound up dying their hair. She'd kept it up over the summer, but she was getting bored of it now and was ready to go back to her dark locks. However she figured she needed one last social event with it to seal the deal.

    She liked getting the chance to vibe with Andres in person. He was even more entertaining in person then he had been online which is always a pleasant surprise. However she didn't stay too long since three's a crowd. Slowly what she assumed where his other friends started to trickle in and she was ready to go hang out with her own friends for the evening.

    She smirked and whispered in his ear she'd see him at the party before flashing a wink and turning to walk away. She didn't care who saw her flirting with anyone. She was single and ready to mingle for a while now. Was she looking for anything serious? Of course not, but she wanted to have fun, and possibly make a new friend along the way.

    If anything her time with Oph showed her that she didn't live a lifestyle suitable for keeping a relationship, even if she wanted to, even if she cared. She was a curse and she knew it so might as well make the best of it.

    Speaking of making the best of it, of course her eyes feel on the one and only Mikaela. Perfect! If there was anyone who could make this game fun it was her. With a wide grin on her face she walked up beside the girl and hip bumped her, "Hey stranger." She chimed. It'd been a while since the two of them got into some mess together, which was a shame since she was defiantly one of her favorite people to party with.

    "Getting into anything fun tonight?"
    coded by reveriee.
     
    Stella B.
    mood
    She's here...

    outfit
    Cheer uniform

    Mentions
    Cami

    tags
    demonology demonology

    It might sound like a total clique but it was true, new year, new Stella. The girl had done a lot of reflection and transformation both mentally and physically since that fateful night on New years eve. It wasn't how she wanted to bring in the new year and all the events that followed weren't ideal...but in an odd way needed.

    Breaking down on set for the first time in her life was a major wake up call.

    Not just to herself but her father who had been on the sidelines most of Stella's life letting her mother run the show. Once that happened for the first time in her life she saw her father step up and step in, even putting her mother in place. Much to her mother's protest BOTH women were put in therapy.

    It was going to just be Stella till her father noticed her mother wasn't as phased as she should be about her daughter mental and emotional health deteriorating.

    Then about a month before school let out her father took her to his home in the Dominican and she just never came back. The only down side to that was there were a couple classes that Stella missed the finals for and it caused her to fail them, so she's having to repeat. She's thankful she still technically has her junior status, but is irritated and embarrassed to be in some classes with sophomores.

    That however was the only downside. She loved her time away from everything. Away from school drama, her ex, work, everything. It gave her time to refocus and realize that she'd been right all along and most of her stress stemmed from trying to fight it.

    People were always going to do what was in their best interest. People always were going to want the best even if it was ever changing. People couldn't be trusted with your whole heart because of their fickle nature. It was simple. It's fine to have connections and acquaintances because in her industry it's not what you know it's who you know...but that's as far as it gets. "Best friends" was just another title. It didn't mean much more then any other title.

    Ok...there was Cami, but even she was kept at a small distance in her heart. She'd never say it aloud but she trust her the most but even that is only about 85%. Which is higher then most at like 50%, but never 100...not ever again. She was never going to let someone close enough to destroy her again. She'd spent all summer rebuilding and regaining her confidence and finding herself...she couldn't let anyone ruin that.

    She glanced around the stadium and crowd of her peers and yup...none of them were worth that. Being back was kinda weird. She'd only come back about a week before the first day at school, and now here they were at homecoming. It was easy to fall back in line, but that didn't make it internally feel any less weird. She missed the Dominican already.

    She knew she'd have to get back to work soon too. Because as nice as cheer was it wasn't a passion. She originally only joined out of spite before dragging Cami to join too. What? She needed someone she liked on the team if she was going to be around all the time. Some of her teammates reminded her too much of the bitches in the industry. All cut throat and big smiles.

    Prime example? Violet.

    Sure on the surface the two seemed to get along well enough, but Stella knew this dance all too well. When you're in the business as long as she has been in you see the signs. They were "friends" but if the opportunity arises she'd take her spot, not just in cheer but other things because life was about getting to the top. She didn't hate the girl or anything for it, in fact she liked anyone who had actual ambition...but it was always an underlining threat due to that. So she keeps her close, but not too close. She wants to play the part, Stella has no problem playing hers as well.

    Plus times like this she's the girl right next to her in formation so the easiest to talk to during these games that Stella only kinda cared about due to knowing so many of the players.

    She sighed tightening her ponytail as they just finished a cheer set and taking a break. "So is it just me or do you think there is some tension on the field?" She hummed in violet's direction.
    coded by reveriee.
     



    Andres Wilson





































    • mood



      Engaged
















    Metal slammed down with a resounding clang above him, as Andres relinquished the weight of the barbell onto the safety catches of the bench press station. Sweat poured off of him as his arched back finally relaxed at the end of his set. His muscles ached with an invigorating burn that came hand in hand with weight lifting. It was the pain of accomplishment, which only served to fuel his commitment towards his own betterment. With a loud huff, he fought against his instinctual urge to just lay on the bench and catch his breath. Instead, he brought himself forward and sat up away from the barbell. The combined weight of all the plates that had been affixed to either side of the bar, came in at a whopping two hundred and twenty five pounds. His current max, at least when it came to hitting his standard set.

    Music was blaring in his mind, yet still he felt a calmness. The earbuds in his ears played a playlist of his own beats, each one Andres had produced from scratch with nothing more than his laptop. This was his own form of meditation, a way to focus on his own work while physically engaging himself. An exercise of both the mind and body, as ridiculous as that sounded. Despite this, he still fought for breath as he braced himself upright against his knees. Staring down at the ground as beads of exhaustion dripped from his half naked body, onto the padded flooring beneath him. Pulling himself away, he stood and grabbed his water bottle and towel. Working to dry himself off as he drained the liquid into his system.

    An alarm went off in the front pocket of his gym shorts, alerting him to the time. He had a little less than an hour to ready himself for the game tonight. While Andres had never been one for sports himself, he knew appearances were important in these kinds of situations. After all, he was the new kid in school. Although he had a few old friends that he could occasionally rely on for company, ultimately he knew virtually no one at Hawthorne. With the exception of Maggy from his Musical Theory and English classes, of course. She was the sole reason he’d even set an alarm to arrive early, though The Wolf would never admit that to anyone other than himself.

    It took about twenty five minutes for him to shower in the locker room, and find his way back to his dorm. For the first time in his life, he lived alone. From what he understood, enough students had opted to stay at home that he’d been granted the luxury of his own room. The peace and quiet did wonders for his musical and written aspirations, offering him more clarity than the rambunctious nature of Crenshaw. But his old environment had offered him more inspiration than this space ever could. Often, he drew on his memories to continue in his artistic pursuits.

    Nevertheless, this wasn’t one of the occasions that he’d stay locked away getting high and writing songs or poems. Instead, he quickly went through his wardrobe until he’d plucked out an outfit that screamed of his background. Andres loved the streetwear fashion that he had embedded into his style, it gave him more comfort than he knew how to explain. Truthfully, what he wore was an artistic representation of himself and his story. Once he was dressed, he took a quick photo of himself in the mirror and posted it to his instagram with a lackluster description. Then, proceeded to stuff an ounce of weed along with a few wraps into a drawstring bag.

    After making the necessary preparations, Andres arrived at the stadium a few minutes early in order to meet Magnolia. He’d been leaning against one of the many legs of the bleachers when she turned up, already with a burning joint in his hand, smoke wafting from his general area. Their conversation was light, but amusing. Mostly just upbeat jokes and the occasional flirt in spanish from himself, but truthfully he found her better to talk to in person. That’s why he’d taken such a liking to her in class. Online was a different story. Andres wasn’t one for social media, although this school and his own goals demanded it. He’d grown up, functionally without a phone. He’d only learned how to use computers as well as he had through free time at school and many trips to the library during his younger years.

    Admittedly, it was a social handicap and he wasn’t as comfortable with such a medium. Although, the more time he spent looking at the Twitter feed of Hawthorne, the more he felt compelled to speak his mind. Quickly though, after passing his blunt between himself and Maggy a few times, others began to trickle in and their moment passed. Andres smirked and mumbled something obscene in Spanish as she whispered to him, but nodded at her as she made her exit. That wink she had thrown his way, burned a mark in his soul that began to smolder. Though, he didn’t let his guard down enough to show it. His gaze lingered on her casually as she left, but quickly he turned his attention back to the others.

    “
    I brought a little extra, in case you all didn’t have much.
    ” He spoke without concern, his deep voice coming out with a slight rasp as he exhaled a small plume of smoke. Gesturing down to the drawstring bag a few feet from his shoes.

































    cry for love



    백현










    ♡coded by uxie♡
     
    Last edited:






    Dalton Kirby



    Believe it or not, for the first 18 years of Dalton's life up until this very moment, George Kirby had never raised his hand against his son. Not when he got into fights with other kids at school or beat up Damien or even when he gave him the finger with his actions. Not once. Still it wasn't shocking though, that the first time George laid hands on him, it was for work. After all with his dad, it was always about work. Work and the women who warmed his bed. Ironic really since his father had never been that invested in his work personally and started out far from the ambitious politician he'd become. He'd only become so engrossed because that woman had resented his lack of ambition and success in his early career. It was hilarious that even after she had walked out, he was still pushing himself to be the man she had wanted him to be, as if doing so would bring her back or rub it in her face that she should never have left him. Well news flash, it'd been 4 years and 86 days, a bit long to continue on a charade in vain. Then again stupidity was an incurable disease so even if it hit him in the face, it probably wouldn't change a thing. His father's reaction was amusing with the uncharacteristic violence and bright red face, perhaps if he learned from the skeleton like woman in the corner he'd be a tad more intimidating. For reference, his current level of scary was angry cartoon teddy bear with steam coming out of its ear. Think that famous brown bear in stickers and gifs that was often abused by another white bear. Exactly that. Anyway speaking of the woman, who was she and why was she in his deadbeat dad's over decorated little box? Secretary? Adviser? Or was she some new fling, here to replace Mother Slutter? Because that would be terrible taste, even for someone like George. "Do you realise what you've done?"

    Oh here we go. He'd had enough of those stupid photos already. Seriously, it was just yada yada photos this, photos that, throw in a heel here, a punch there, yada yada what have you done, cheater, homewrecker... you get the point. A whole lot of rubbish and now his dad was adding to the pile with talk about how this was going to affect his all important campaign and approval ratings and blah, blah, blah. It was just a fucking picture taken by some fucking bitch ass with nothing better to fucking do and now everyone was running with it like it was a photo of cannibalism or him actually fucking the damn bitch in the classroom. Yes he was calling her the damn bitch now cos he was pissed that she wouldn't stop bugging him about the stupid bruise and that led to the fucking idiotic photos and this whole damn mess which was getting on his nerves more and more by the second.

    “It’a miracle you're a politician of any caliber, George," the woman spoke, her voice dry and deadpan as she stepped forward. Her eyes settled on the boy in front of her, a disinterested look in her cold gaze. "Elise West," she introduced herself, although she didn't hold a hand out towards him. "Your little... scandal has done nothing but cause bad press for both my daughter and yourself. So your father and I have been talking, and we believe the best route forward would be for the two of you to briefly carry out a relationship. It would be easier to spin the current bad publicity into something more reasonable."

    A relationship? With her daughter? Did she really think –

    "Well, of course, if you decide to not, well... it's really such a shame. Dalton Kirby -- such a promising young athlete, having his career snatched away and himself completely forgotten before he was ever even able to graduate."

    Every muscle in Dalton’s body seized up as he locked eyes with the wretched blonde bitch, biting down on the urge to resort to violence, to throw a punch straight into that plasticky little face of hers because that would ruin everything. Fuck adults. Fuck every last one of them, doing whatever the hell they pleased, whatever it was they fucking wanted, thinking they could control kids like him as if they were fucking marionettes and puppets bound to do their every bidding.

    A satisfied, cruel smile settled on Elise’s lips as she sashayed towards the exit. “I’ll see you again George,” and then as she passed Dalton the venomous little words dripped off her lips and into his ears in a poisonous whisper, “I do hope for your sake that you follow through.”

    Dalton burned holes into the floor and in the skin of his palms as the door closed behind him and he heard Elise’s heels dance across the floor into the distance.

    Fuck them for being right.

    ***

    After that shit show over the summer break, Dalton had done as ordered, taken the girl out on a little date. It wasn’t like he had a fucking choice. At least it was to the beach, a place he actually liked. Made the whole situation a little more bearable to get through. This theme of a shitty school year and shitty adults seemed determined to continue though because now they were at the big hoco game and after the first quarter Dalton was about ready to bury someone into the ground.

    Every fucking adult was out to get him. Fucking refs. Were they freaking blind? How the fuck could they miss the blatant pass interference on that last play? With how much the safety had been grabbing him he might as well have been in a goddamn straight jacket. Fuck! The sink reverberated from the violence of Dalton’s palms as he glared at the mirror.

    And then that fucking rat. He was going to kill him. Skin him alive and boil him like the sewer trash he was. Things were shit enough with that fucking bullshit article and fucking Elise West and his excuse of a father breathing down on his neck, and now that slimy scumbag who was legally his stepbrother wanted to dump his spawn and girlfriend onto him? Accuse him of being the father? If he saw him today there was going to be blood. His rage was already starting to push well past the limits of his self-control. Anymore and consequences be damned he was going to send someone to an early grave.

    Another splash of water to the face in an attempt to simmer down later and Dalton was on his way out of the bathroom and back to the field when a little scene caught his attention from the corner of his eye.

    Was that beanpole Callaghan and blondie - Ashton West? Stupid fucking name by the way. What parent called their daughter Ashton? Anyway what the fuck did beanpole and little West think they were doing? It wasn’t like she knew but fuck, why did everyone have to make his life so fucking difficult.

    “Dammit.” Dalton cursed under his breath as he turned direction and walked over to the cheerleader, arriving close enough in time to catch a bit of whatever it was the beanpole had to say to her.

    “…I know that internally you’re having to hold yourself back from just crawlin’ back to me.”

    The scowl set on Dalton’s face hardened. Crawling back? To him? The kid who was obsessed with his van and probably some pedophile? Either Callaghan was fucking delusional or little West had the shittiest taste on earth. Probably both. The thought that he had to date someone who had possibly dated… that, made Dalton sick. If not for the fact that he had a fucking career to protect. Damn Elise West and the power she had to follow through on her threats.

    Forcing his steps into a more leisurely stride, Dalton casually moved to stand beside Ash as if that was exactly where he belonged and put an arm around her, drawing her in close protectively as he stared down Trent Callaghan or whatever his first name was, and spoke.

    “I think you ought to get yourself checked into a mental hospital seeing as you’ve deluded yourself into even thinking that my girl would ever want to have anything to do with you.” And then to reinforce the point, Dalton turned to look down at Ash and press a kiss to the side of her head, casting a side glance at the beanpole as he did. He ought to win a bloody award for the stellar act he was putting on. “You alright? This creep didn’t try anything did he?”





    mood
    i'm gonna fucking kill someone

    location
    homecoming game

    outfit
    HA football uniform





    playing...
    song title here

    by artist here​




    mentions
    Slater, Carlotta

    interactions
    Trevor and Ash

    tags
    ditto ditto Winona Winona


    º º code by ditto º º
     









    scroll








    The Politician's Daughter



    Anna-Maria













    mood

    Apprehensive











    outfit

    As pictured











    location

    lStadium Stands











    interactions

    Ash West











    tags

    Winona Winona















    Anna-Maria walked up the steps of the bleachers, trying to find a free seat to seetle in and watch the preceedings. She could she a few people she knew in the stands next to free sheets but wasnt feeling particularly social at the moment and soon sat in the middle of three empty seats. The seeads were heard and uncomfortable, the weather too warm for her outfits. Overall it was generally a good start to her second year in school, hopefully not a sign of thigns to come. She sighed, reaching into her bag and took out a bottle of pills, taking two out and swallowed them dry leaving an acrid taste in her mouth as it took a second or two to get them down her throat.

    No sooner as she placed the pill bottle when she felt her mobile vibrate in a rabid succession of short burst. She did not have to look into her screen to know what they were, it was the kind of vibration that brought a sight sense of dread each time she felt them. A series of email from her fathers campaign manager inviting her to events and meetings throughout the next three months. Kindly worded invitations signed by her father though she doubted he had even read them let alone yped them himself. All saying a variation of that though her attendence was optionalm, the effects to her fathers campaign would be damaging. Especially in this period of election. Therefore attendents were madatory whether she liked to or not. She sighed, she wondered what was the point of giving her the option to RSVP, added busy work?

    She did not bother to check just closed her bag and looked back out at the field. She was never really interested in american football growing up, he friends got her into basketball and even then see had rareky had time to watch one fully only catch the highlights and scores afterwards. She got into football becuase one of her friends were a cheerleader and had the obligation to watch her cheer at least once. Turned out, it wasnt the worst thing into the world to watch. Their was an appeal to watch both cheerleaders do their dance and the players show their strength. The former inspired her to get a cheerleader costume of her own for her side busness. That video was one of Lady Red's most popular of the year. She would have considered joining the group if her campaign image advisor didnt faint at the thought of it. That was reason enough to do but what followed was the advisor having a fit and lecture or the dangers.

    She looked out at the field trying to see if she could spot Ash but couldnt. She wondered if Ash would make as it was almost tune for the match. She reached for her phone and send a text to her. "Hey, did you oversleep or something?" She clicked send and looked out, keeping her phone in her hand.



    ♡coded by uxie♡
     






    Atlas Reddinger




    Atlas played many sports; soccer, basketball, sometimes baseball, his natural athletic aptitude seemed to make up for the fact that he was completely hopeless academically and technologically, certainly not for a lack of trying. American Football and its violent clashing of shoulder pads and bodies however, was not one of them, which seemed to be a shame right about now since the football team looked like it could really use some help after that first quarter. He wasn’t about to throw on some pads or anything though, he far preferred sports that required more… finesse, not that football didn’t require finesse but there was far too much violence involved for his liking and as cool as movies made it look, getting knocked down or taking a serious injury while making a beautiful highlight play was just not worth it.

    12 year old him could attest to that, there had been nothing cool about trying to break up his little sister’s spat and getting knocked unconscious. Besides he wanted to live a long and healthy life, not be in pain for the rest of it. He’d talk football any day, watch all the big games but put on the pads and suit up for a game? Not on his life.

    Plus the locker room was mostly full of angsty and overly serious, hot headed free swingers, aka not fun.

    Anyway, locker room discussions aside, hopefully they turned it around soon. Wasn’t much of a homecoming if they ended up losing the big game.

    It’d be much easier to put a smile on his lady love’s face if the mood was festive, not that he was incapable of doing so if it wasn’t. Speaking of…

    Atlas smiled as he looked over at Micah where she sat in the bleachers, twisting and turning his way past other students as he closed the distance.

    “Your food and drinks have arrived mademoiselle.” He greeted, producing the snacks and drinks he bought with a flourish. “Can I interest you in some coke or orange juice? Perhaps a box of popcorn or cotton candy to go along with it?”

    The bright smile remained glued to his face as he took a seat beside her, unable to resist the urge to tease her. “Is that look cause you missed me while I was gone? Don’t worry, I promised I behave.”





    mood
    happy boi all smiles

    location
    Homecoming game

    outfit
    i have no idea but looks pretty bad to me





    playing...
    blank

    by blank​




    mentions
    football team

    interactions
    Micah

    tags
    ditto ditto


    º º code by ditto º º
     












    • filler

















    Nothing really got the blood flowing quite like being outside on a cool September evening alongside his brother and teammates, throwin' 'round the ol' pigskin as he was pretty sure he'd heard it been called before by old people. Like you know, that old dude that lived by the corner of their apartment. Yeah, he'd be all "oh hey Dwake, 're ya headin ta' da ol' pigskin tourney" or something like that. You see, his teeth had pretty much all fallen out years ago, so he kinda talked in a weird type of voice that was real hard to mimic, especially over text.

    But he was a cool dude. Yeah, Drake had first met him when he was real young or something, and he'd been talking the dude up, just having a grand ol' time, and then Mason being an absolutely sucky person had come by and grabbed his arm and been all scrawny chest puffed out and been all finger waggle in his face and all "grrr don't you talk to nobody, 'specially not no strangers," and Drake had been all "damn but how am I supposed to make friends then?" but Mason hadn't found his joke very funny, not even when Drake had nudged him in the ribs with an elbow to encourage a laugh.

    Where was he?

    Oh yeah, the ol' football game.

    Drake was having a real good time if you asked him. Sure, the sophomore was a bit younger than a lotta the people on the team, but he was all zoom zoom on the playing field, and that could get someone pretty far when it came to being recruited. Yeah, not to brag or anything, but he'd been allowed on the football team despite being a child, which meant that he was too good for junior varsity, so... insert that nail emoji right here.

    Now that they were on a bit of a break, though, Drake found himself bored as heck. Like yawn, he'd already chugged his water real hard and he'd kind of gotten some up his nose, but now he was just chilling. Bored. So then he'd tried to play a lil tune on his helmet with his hands, but that hadn't really panned out.

    Ugh. Bored bored bored.

    And that's when the rather shifty boy, his energy rather rejuvenated despite the whole playing football thing, found himself dropping his helmet to the grass, and then bouncing his way over to his good ol' buddies: Artie and Hunter. Sure, Mason despised both of them, but that's because Mason hated fun. Which meant that if Mason didn't like someone, they were probably someone you actually wanted to hang with.

    "Hey, hey, hey," he greeted, his words kind of rapid fire as he stopped in the grass in front of them, a lopsided grin on his face. Both buddies were a bit taller than the rather small boy, so Drake kind of rock and rolled back and forth from the balls of his feet to make himself taller, back to his heels 'cause he was real bored, and back and forth and back and forth while he talked -- because sitting still? Unheard of.

    "Ya guys wanna do somethin'?" He asked, "'Cause we gotta bit 'till the game starts back up, and it's real boring just boo yawn snore sitting around right over here with the rest the team, don't ya think? Like bro, who wants to listen to these sour kids," he jabbed a thumb back over his shoulder, "bitchin' 'bout this, then bitchin' 'bout that, then yada yada yada, my best friend fucked my mom or whatever boring shit it is. But ya know what's real fun? Fuckin' with the other team, 'course if they find out, then they beat you up, and you get kicked, and also disqualified and then Mason and Ezra will be on grr how dare you get us banned from Homecoming, and then it's like bro, c'mon, you can't ban us from Homecoming when it's our home, ya know. Then what is it? Just a Coming?"

    No, none of that had made sense in Drake's head, and it made even less sense when it had come out of his mouth.

    "Or maybe a lil bet? Hunter here's ready to lose again," he said, jokingly elbowing Hunter in the ribs, 'cause he thought he was real funny, and then he stepped back, huge, lopsided grin plastered on his face.








    Drake Martin

















    Hunter, Artie










    natsukashii natsukashii jazzyball jazzyball













    ♡coded by uxie♡
     
    MOOD: happy happy happy

    OUTFIT: here

    LOCATION: watching the game
    basics
    MENTIONS:
    June ( _em_ _em_ )

    INT:
    Kian ( geminiy geminiy )
    tags
    TL;DR summer was nice, now back to business
    tl;dr
    niamh foster
    ♫ doja cat - go to town
    Summer had been one to remember. Niamh had devoted her time and energy to herself and fixing her shit. She dropped the smoking, practiced hard at her kick boxing, and spent more time writing. In fact, after finishing school for the holiday, she submitted a script to the California Board of Scriptwriters at the recommendation of Mrs Bennett, her English teacher. She wasn’t expecting much; Bennett had this ferociously overbearing need to encourage even the poorest of students to “pursue their dreams” and “reach for the stars”. She had good intentions, and what d’ya know, Niamh actually did pretty well. She was nominated for, and subsequently won, the Frances Marion Award – one of the board’s most prestigious awards for young female writers in the state. Kian dedicated two full weeks to celebrating; they visited each of Niamh’s favourite restaurants twice, spent 12-hour days that faded into evenings that faded into nights out in Santa Monica, and attempted to hike up the Hollywood sign before being chased away by rangers.

    The nicest part of it all was their trip down to Tijuana. Kian rented a van, loaded up a few days’ clothes and his guitar, picked Niamh up, and set off towards the border. It was very sweet, the spontaneity of it all. They took a detour into San Diego for a night, rented a quaint room in a quiet part of town, caught a show, and enjoyed each other’s company in a city that was as unknown to them as they were to it.

    Nobody made Niamh laugh like Kian could; he had a way of being naturally funny, subtly flirtatious, and genuinely charming all at once. They spent a few nights out in the open, camping out of the van, watching stars appear and collide from the roof while Kian tinkled with his guitar. Niamh lay there in the silence of the night, wrapped up in Kian and the blankets, fascinated with the fairy tale romance that had become her life.

    She had her moments when things weren’t so simple. She missed her sister, God, did she miss her fucking sister. There were times when she sobbed, laid up in her bed with June at her side, longing for so much as a phone call from Grace. It was so fucked up that it had to be like this. While she was at her grandma’s they could exchange texts back and forth on the hush hush, but it wasn’t soon before long that their parents got a hold of Niamh and Grace’s conversations. It all ended then. One of the conditions of her being kicked out of the family back in Healdsburg was that she was to have no communication with her sister – something or other about corrupting her or ruining her life or some other backwards Bible-bashing bullshit. No, even in LA, her parents still couldn’t bear to just let her live. They forced her out of her grandma’s, so she took up a dorm room with June, supplemented by the school. It wasn’t her first choice of accommodation, but she at least she was with a friend. Thank God for June, consoling Niamh at every opportunity, wrapping her in reassurance that no, you are not a bad person and yes, your parents are assholes and no, this isn’t your fault. It was comforting to have someone alongside Kian that knew the whole long history of who she was and why she was here. No one else had the displeasure of meeting her parents, of witnessing her teenage years first-hand, of watching her family strip itself from her bit by bit. June and Kian among a few others were all she had remaining.

    So, Summer ended, school began, and homecoming arrived. The second half of the game had just begun, and she sat in her seat in the bleachers, waiting for Kian to return with some snacks.

    “There you are,” she said through a smile, throwing her arms around him as he sat back into the seat next to her, a pile of candy and food in his lap. “I thought you’d gone missing! Did they have those nachos with the four kinds of cheese? I’ve been thinking about those for a week.”

    Her eyes graced over his face. She acknowledged his mouth moving in response, but she didn’t hear the words. It sounded lovely, whatever he was saying. Those cheeky dimples appeared at the corners of his smile as he laughed, one hand coming up to brush the hair out of his face, then hooking around Niamh’s waist, pulling her in closer. She smiled, admiring him and his handsome, boyish beauty, then planted a kiss on his cheek.

    “I love you, y’know.” She admitted with a smitten expression, her eyes wide and besotted with the man before her. She didn’t know what it was, but something was in the air, and she was more content than she had ever been before.
    code by valen t.
     
    Last edited:
    MOOD: Friend!!!!

    OUTFIT: He's a whore.

    LOCATION: Bleachers
    basics
    MENTIONS:



    INT:
    Spencer Xed Xed

    tags
    TL;DR He has arrived
    tl;dr
    Graham
    tw: mentions of blood/death/depression

    Space was fecking neat.

    You wanna know a fun fact about space?

    Space fact #39: The universe is constantly expanding. We don’t know what it’s expanding into, but it’s constantly expanding.

    Graham liked space, alright? He also liked Poe and survival facts and plants- Wait actually, here’s a fact about plants that also intersects the survival facts thing:

    Everything is edible at least once.

    Boom. Plant fact for you, baby. Nailed it.

    Anyways, the universe was constantly expanding, which was a decent enough explanation for why it was taking him so fecking long to get out of bed every morning. Sorry, can’t help it. Universe is expanding and making the expanse of bed sheets just further and further, the distance from his messed up bed and the door that led to the rest of his apartment just farther and farther. Made it more and more exhausting to get out of bed where he’d been laying since he got home from school and out the door. That’s all that was happening.

    That was a perfectly reasonable answer, thank you. Yes, his mental health was fine, why are you asking? He just didn’t really like dumb things like introspection about why he might’ve gained such a bad fixation on space after she who will not be named died. Staying in his own head was scary and kind of messy and wayyy too fixated on black holes for his liking. (Heh. Holes).

    He had better things to worry about, like who the lucky person victim of his antics for the night were going to be.

    He showed up to the game fashionably late, hands easily in his pockets as he stared up, adjusting his glasses.

    Listen, he wasn’t really looking to fuck tonight, despite his small bits of grandstanding on Twitter. He was just trying to soak up the last minutes of sun he could before the winter set in.

    Seasonal depression hit even worse when he couldn’t even see snow without seeing red drops of blood in them.

    He searched the stands for a familiar face. One that wouldn’t require too much energy to bother - his friends were split fairly down the middle that way. Even though he presented himself as an extrovert, sometimes he needed someone that didn’t drain him too much. The energy of getting out of bed with this expanding universe nonsense had really taken a toll on him. Getting clothes on? Eugh. Just needed to chill after expending so much effort. Searching, searching, searching.

    Boom. Found one.

    Graham’s face broke out into a bright grin as he waved to his buddy Spencer. Did a lot of hiking over the summer together. Fun times all around if you asked him.

    “Hey there, love!” Graham said as he sat down, looking down at the people milling about on the field like ants. His eyes fixated on the couple of people that he knew in the American football team. Personally? More of a rugby guy, himself. But whatever. “Are we winning?”

    Another goofy smile, one that he remembered fondly. He hoped that it was a good enough replication at least… Got across the same message.

    The guy was probably here because of his brother. Made sense to him at least. He remembered Aoife showing up to every one of his rugby and football matches, like he showed up to every one of her boxing matches and races.

    “How’ve you been, love” A hearty slap on the back “It’s been a while, hasn’t it”
    code by valen t.
     
    MOOD:
    Tentatively optimistic for the future?

    OUTFIT:
    Forest Daddy

    LOCATION:
    Game
    basics
    MENTIONS:



    INT:
    Ezra geminiy geminiy

    tags
    TL;DR: Hi Ezzy Boi
    tl;dr
    Auguste

    Listen. Large crowds? Not really Auguste’s speed. Games that were particularly violent and full of bodies hitting each other? Too much like his life back in Paris if you ask him.

    Nah, not a big fan. Not a big fan. Nope. He could’ve definitely passed on this one.

    And usually he would pass on the amazing opportunity of watching his traumatic childhood play out on a micro level but…

    He was… a… supportive… friend… ish. No, wait, that wasn’t good. He shouldn’t be doubting his relationship with others. He deserved friends. And people… liked him.

    Eugh. That was gross. Felt slimy saying that, like he was self-aggrandizing

    But, his therapist told him to believe in himself a little bit. And the constant self-doubt and negativity… it was self-sabotaging his relationships… See, the reason that he even showed up in the fucking first place:

    Ezra Gray.

    Yeah, on the scale of miracles probably right next to the red seas parting for Moses, Ezzy boy wasn’t… completely turned away by his complete and total meltdown in his truck. Hooray, go team.

    In Auguste’s defense, he had warned Ezra twice that he really didn’t want to talk about why exactly he’d wanted to die and he was kind of out of it from the whole “painkillers” thing… But then again, telling Ez that he’d been an awful, conceited friend who didn’t even know how privileged he was while sobbing and having a whole breakdown and having to resort to French because he was shouting so much that he couldn’t translate to English because Ezra had decided to push the wrong button just a little bit too roughly?

    Well, maybe that was going too far.

    It had haunted him a bit at night because… well. Auguste didn’t really do things like that. All of his more “morally gray” moments, if you would, were ehm… less personal in nature.

    And now they had to work together on the volleyball team. Oops.

    Well. That meant that in some weird way they were… they had to be friends again, right?

    … Right?

    Well. Okay. Anyways. Auguste was a supportive friend or whatever, so he’d shown up to Ezzy’s big game…

    … Leaned against the fence, away from all the crowds, watching from the darkness. Yeah. Very normal, Auguste. Not at all kind of creepy and axe murderer chique.

    He watched as his tall friend trailed behind the rest of the team, staring at the crowd that was cheering him on, the marching band rolling on to play.

    A part of him wanted the football player to be looking for him in the stands, but he knew better. They weren’t there… yet. At least, one could hope and dream a little bit that they could get there - be part of the friend group that he searches for in the sea of people for support.

    Auguste brought two fingers to his mouth and let out a sharp whistle at his friend to get his attention. He watched as his large buddy searched the area for who’d made the noise. Auguste gave a large wave from where he’d been standing, watching over the fence at the far end, away from all the prying eyes and terrifying crowds that could trample at any moment.

    A wry smile placed upon the usually dour boy’s lips that actually reached his icy eyes as he watched Ez approach. The medication had finally evened out, his symptoms lessened. And the therapy had been good as well. His grandparents were… treating him well. Which told him that they were going to stop paying his rent at any moment and completely cut off any and all contact… but…

    Y’know, he was willing to give them a chance.

    More important matters, though, were at hand. Such as the 6’5 boy standing before him with a look in his eye that bordered on concern and wariness. A pang of guilt shot through him at being the one that caused that. He’d meant it, at the time, but… definitely a more productive way he could’ve gone about that entire business.

    “Hey there, captain.” He said, the wry sarcasm evident in his voice as he drawled out the little pet name. “Game’s going…” A glance to the scoreboard behind his awkward former ex-friend-but-then-we-fucked-and-I-had-a-crush-on-him-once-but-then-we-had-a-huge-blow-up-but-not-ex-friend-because-we’re-kinda-hanging-out-every-now-and-then friend. Glance back to the eye contact.

    The realization that Ez had definitely seen the fact that he had to look at the scoreboard to understand how the game’s been going. A little shrug of massive shoulders with an equally sharp pull upwards of his scarred lips. Caught. Nothing he could do about that one. Topic change!

    “You’re doing well yourself, no? No concussions or broken noses?”

    Because at the end of the day, that was really all that mattered, wasn’t it?

    Auguste couldn’t really give a shit if he tried about the livelihood of the school’s amazing football program. But he did give a couple of shits about his friend-ish’s wellbeing.

    And the quiet upturning of his lips as he listened to his friend talk - going from something dry and sarcastic to a soft little thing.

    Yeah, he kinda missed this.

    Just a little.

    code by valen t.
     






    Sabrina A.W.




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    ppcocaine



    Hugh Hefner








    Sabrina snipped the last bit of bangs from her forehead, they were getting too long already. Her hair always grew too fast, that was the only reason she had long hair as a kid too! No body wanted to spend the money a haircut costed on her. That was also the reason she cut her own hair now. She had gotten significantly better at it, her early attempts were something she hoped never saw the light of day, enough.

    She snagged her jacket off of the pile of clothes thrown on her bed and shoved her feet in some shoes, hopping out the door on one foot, trying to get the other damn shoe on. Ugh, she was late!! Carlotta was already gone! Gotta go fast! Like sonic! Speed!

    She shambled out the door of the dorms looking like she was trying, and failing, to roller skate. "Awe Yeah!" She finally got that damn shoe on! She let out a pleased huff, tapping her heels on the ground.

    Her wide, dark eyes fluttered around her surroundings, a habit born out of many bad parties. Then she noticed. Brown and white hair, lanky, Smoking a cigarette. She grinned and skipped over, "Hiya Leon! I didn't know you went here! Or, er, don't go here." Her lips pursed, "I don't know if you go here. Silly me! Always assuming! But that doesn't matter... does it?" Her features scrunched up in thought before quickly stating, "It doesn't."

    Her scrunched-up face beamed suddenly, her head tilted. Her finger tapping her chin, "Are you comin' to the smoker's hang out at the game today?" Sabrina's owlish gaze stared at him expectantly, sure, she should've been annoyed at him, seeing as the last time she saw him, she was at the biggest party in the area and almost died from an overdose and he was a reminder of bad memories, but she was Sabrina, and she didn't keep grudges. Well, usually.

    Sometimes though, her grudges lasted too long, even for her liking. She'd call herself stubborn if it weren't for the flightiness of them. Well, they usually involved things that she would get unnecessarily violent towards. That wasn't important though! She shouldn't be thinking about that right now! She had to get to the bleachers!





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    Sawyer Grey




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    King Princess



    Prophet








    Her lanky figure glided towards the concessions, sure she may not look like the type who liked food stand products, but she had grown up with them, even if they weren't the best objectively, who could blame a girl for her nostalgia? It took her back to her younger days, before she became, well, her. Before she had this played-up Whore persona of hers that made others think less of her. Sure it played into her social maneuvering and musical picture, but it was demeaning at times.

    Despite what other people saw in her, well she was something else entirely, what was that other her? She didn't rightly know. Not at all. She wouldn't try and figure it out, she didn't have time for that. So for now, she would cling to her childhood like it was her lifeline, it very well could be.

    She ran a hand through her hair as she stepped purposefully towards the stand. Then she saw it. Well, saw her. She would have cackled like she was some sort of deranged supervillain if she had any less self-control than she did. Jessie Lovelace. Rival musician, Horrid personality that annoyed her but great reactions when flirted with. God, she loved riling other people up, that's how the whole 'flirty persona' started in the first place!

    She adjusted her clothes, they were flirty and took a lot of upkeep to keep this nice. She had to look good! It was expected. Hopefully the cleavage wasn't too much. This was a school event after all. It wasn't even close to her everyday outfits. Though, she was eager to see if it was enough to make her 'rival' flounder.

    She grinned. Speed walking towards her rival and her daily entertainment, "Hello lovely, I expected snacks but I sure didn't expect you." She hopped that came across as flirty, she said it with as much innuendo as she could, but who knows how dense this girl is? She looked her up and down slowly, "Cute." Yeah... That should come across as flirting right? Of course, it did, she was Sawyer, and everything she said was flirting.

    God this was so much easier online. She had time to write it out. Her music was written out so she didn't have to think it out, how does she do this? She can't just delete words she's said out loud. And- Shut up! Her flirty grin faltered for just a slight second. What was she doing?

    Flirting. She should be good at this. She was good at this. Be confident Sawyer, you're great. You're fan-fucking-tastic, everyone likes you and wants to fuck you, Sawyer. Stop it. You totally have friends and not everyone only likes you for your bo- SHUT. Focus on the pretty girl, flirt with the pretty girl. You are not a failure.





    ♡coded by uxie♡
     
    MOOD: bored, confused

    OUTFIT: here

    LOCATION: watching the game
    basics
    MENTIONS:
    Artie

    INT:
    Evie ( jasmyn jasmyn )
    tags
    TL;DR dakota doesn't understand football
    tl;dr
    Dakota Dimitrova
    ♫ ashnikko - deal with it
    Dakota took a slurp of her of her soda, smacking her lips and sighing loudly. She’d never made a habit of watching football before, but Artie was somewhere out on the field and what else could she do? Just not come support them? No, she was obligated more so than any of the other faux-interested spectators that crowded the pitch. If anyone would be supporting anyone, she would be the one to support Artie. Period.

    The whole school must have turned out. The field was packed; the bleachers squashed full of students new and old. She thought back to previous years, trying to recall if something was different. Why the sudden interest this time?

    Evie sat on her left, occasionally raising her head from her phone to look out at the players.

    “Psh,” begun Dakota, smirking at her companion. "Quella cosa ti renderà cieco.”* She said, taking another loud slurp from her drink.

    Every so often Artie might run past, and she would smile and raise her eyebrows excitedly, a little push of encouragement every now and then. She enjoyed dating a footballer. It was sexy. There was something explicitly American about it, something very movie-like. It beat her previous relationships tenfold.

    The crowd in the bleachers behind them erupted into cheers; horns blasted; drums pounded. Dakota’s eyebrows furrowed.

    “I don’t know what’s going on,” she admitted, looking around and grimacing amidst the crowd’s celebrations. She had to raise her voice to yell, “Are we winning? Did we score? What the fuck is happening?”

    She sighed again. She didn’t understand American football. She had attended every Homecoming for the last two years, but she never usually watched it. She was trying her best. She looked to Evie for some clarification, knowing all too well that she wouldn’t get it.

    *Translation: “That thing will make you go blind.”
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    Hunter D.




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    Limp Bizkit



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    This all fucking sucked.

    What sucked? Hunter's new normal, that's what.

    As Hunter Drake sat on the bench, the emerald and ivory-hued headpiece of the football uniform sat in his lap, latched between the vice grip he had on it with both hands. Hunter felt agitated about everything right now. If one had to wager, it was almost on the level of Mason's usual demeanor, but not as consistent. Whenever he got into this mood, it was for a special reason and what could be a better reason than thinking about his family, but more specifically his father's new fiance and his would-be-stepsister if things went their way.

    It hit the Drake family like a brick to the face -- or at least it did with the only son of Jackson Drake and Ashley Maddox. Last winter break was when he found out most of it, the rest came out later through a series of blogs that broke the story. His dad had never been perfect, but he was a decent guy with a generally good sense of right or wrong, but this...well, let's just say that Hunter didn't side with Jackson on this matter. But the worst part about it all was how blind-sighted he felt and that Evie Sinclaire was going to be his future stepsister. That was the lowest blow he had been dealt during this whole ordeal.

    This had been his life since the summer and since then, he had been living in a condo away from his father. It was preferable for a lot of reasons. Commuting from Laguna Beach to Los Angeles in the morning, especially with that LA traffic wasn't something Hunter wanted, but even better, he could have his space away from his father. It was paid for by Jackson, of course, but at least it meant not having to see his face, but the one condition was that he came home every other weekend. That was something he could deal with.

    "Hey, hey, hey!"

    Momentarily, Hunter came out of the daze he was in, locked inside his own mind, contemplating his life as it was currently. What brought him out of it? Well, the sometimes comforting, but at the moment, like nails on a chalkboard voice of his teammate, friend, and sometimes rival, Drake Martin.

    "You guys wanna do somethin'? Cause we gotta bit 'till the game starts back up, and it's real boring just boo yawn snore sitting around right over here with the rest the team, don't ya think?"

    Hunter eyed the usually-squirrely Drake with a suspicious gaze. Not that the way he was acting was out of character for Drake, but he always felt suspicious around him for a myriad of reasons. The main one, obviously was how he had that certain look in his eyes. It was that look before something either incredibly stupid or incredibly amazing happened (or a mix of both). He wasn't against what Drake suggested because it actually did sound like fun. Fucking with the team and maybe getting them in trouble if things went their way? Yeah, that sounded like a blast, but was it really worth the risk?

    Yeah, Hunter was currently weighing that specific option.

    "Or maybe a lil' bet? Cause Hunter here is ready to lose again--"

    ""Fuck that!"
    Hunter interjected, making his voice noticeably louder than Drake's, which was not an easy task to accomplish.
    ""No way in hell am I losing! You're on, Martin! State your terms and you'll fucking regret implying I'd ever lose to you again!"
    Hunter's previous mood of agitation and easy-to-be-irritated might still be there, but there was one thing to always drive him forward and that was the prospect of beating Drake Martin's ass at his own game of whatever outrageous bet or dare that he laid out for him.
    ""What say you, Artie? You game, too?"


    Consider challenge pre-accepted, Drakey boy!





    ♡coded by uxie♡
     
    scroll !
    mood
    needing a drink

    location
    under the bleachers

    outfit
    Lombardi original

    mentions
    Andres Dethrix Dethrix , Magnolia Kitsune2202 Kitsune2202 , Sabrina Feral Feral , Damien Winona Winona
    CARLOTTA ❆

    Carlotta Lombardi was many things: teen icon, entrepreneur, national treasure, cultural phenomenon, genius (arguably), and the best thing that ever happened to Hawthorne Academy. The one thing she wasn't, however, was an early riser. And yet, that morning found her at an ungodly hour of the morning; hair volumized, face powdered, outfit meticulously chosen, designer handbag filled with copious amounts of alcohol, screaming her lungs off inside of her vintage convertible.

    It wasn't something she'd planned out, of course - hardly anything she did involved any sort of careful and meticulous planning. Homecoming had been something on her radar ever since the school year had begun, but she hadn't paid any attention to it. It was nothing more than a stupid game (in a football field of all places, ew) for a team she barely knew anyone in and certainly didn't care much about. Where all the attention would be on sweaty men and enviously attractive cheerleaders instead of, well, Carlotta. And that she simply couldn't stand. At least not under normal circumstances. And she knew this time the festivities couldn't be anything further away from normal.

    It was, after all, the first large social gathering of the semester. Most importantly, it was the first social gathering she could participate in since last year's detour. The one that had people thinking she was dead and ate a large portion of her junior year (and was the reason she had to re-take the grade, though with her grades it was unlikely she would've passed even while sober). Her sister had kept her on a short leash since her stint in rehab, meaning she'd also been noticeably absent from all summer activities and doomed to spend her time with only her siblings and Damien - who she'd managed to sneak into her room occasionally. With how many attention whores attended Hawthorne Academy, and the amount of drama that surrounded everyone else, it was likely her fellow classmates had already forgotten her. And that she simply couldn't stand.

    So, on the morning of the big game, Carlotta stumbled out of her dorm before her roommate and best friend could even notice her absence ("chi dorme non piglia pesci," as her witch of a mother used to say), and drove to one of her old hideouts. A tiny beach property that she'd used in the past for certain activities. It was owned by her family, technically, but they rarely used it, and she remembered hiding her stash every time she'd used the place. So few could blame her enthusiasm as she happily hopped through the threshold and pranced her way to the compartment underneath the stairs, looking for what she knew would make her the life of the party.

    What she found instead was nothing but a note - not even written on a paper, but a napkin - with messy handwriting that simply read "thanks hot stuff."

    Fear not, though! There were still a plethora of places to be searched. All of which she covered in a record-breaking amount of time, every single one picked clean of anything useful. Which landed her, hours after getting ready, back in her car screaming until her vocal cords howled for clemency and her cheeks ached from the many times she brought her palms down on them in fury.

    It wasn't as though she couldn't show her face in public without being under the influence; she could, easily. The myriad of substances simply served as a nice, comfortable guiding hand through the ordeal. Help quell her doubts and insecurities as she navigated being out of the spotlight and the questions that were no doubt bound to peer their disgusting heads in. And while gossip was normally something she welcomed with open arms, especially when said gossip revolved around her, the prospect of discussing the most destructive and traumatic experience of her life was not one she found particularly appetizing. The alcohol could help, hopefully. But it wouldn't provide the same safety blanket that the chemicals that almost ruined her life could.

    "Andrà bene, Carlotta, andrà bene," she soothed herself once her crying had stopped and she'd managed to drive herself back to the school's parking lot. "Everyone still loves you and wants to be your friend. Maybe they won't ask why you were missing and presumed dead for months! Maybe Sabrina already told people that you were on a trip! Or... and internship. Or was it a mission trip? Shit, why did I give her so many cover stories? Maybe I'll just tell people I was pregnant...or that I am pregnant...again.... Damien might not like that one."

    Homecoming was... well, homecoming. Nothing special, just a slightly overhyped game with stinky athletes and laughably cheap food. Her attention quickly landed on the space underneath the bleachers. The holy sanctuary to all teenagers interested in doing everything but watching the game. Throwing on her sunglasses, Carlotta confidently strutted to the meeting spot, which was as relatively vacated as she'd expected - only two people who she felt she recognized from somewhere, twitter, maybe, but didn't have much of a relationship with. Frankly, people, she didn't care much about.


    That was until she smelt the tell-tale aroma of weed. And heard the magic words "I brought a little extra, in case you all didn’t have much." And, well, it wasn't as though she was in any position to refuse such an opportunity. So, without waiting for an invitation, Carlotta did what she often did best, and stepped in between the man and woman with little care for whatever previous conversation they'd been engaged in.

    "I don't believe we've met!" She exclaimed, loudly and with a chipper tone. "Have I seen you two before? I feel like I've seen you two before. Do you use Twitter? Well, that's a terrible question, everyone whos anyone uses Twitter. You come to Hawthorne, right? Me too! Ever hear of the Hawthorne sharing spirit?"

    Her speech slightly diminished in volume as her speech came to an end. Not because of a lack of things to say, or a sense of decorum, but from her reaction to the girl's green outfit. Not the only one she'd seen thus far. And green wasn't in season (she would know), and there was only one possible explanation.

    "How long has our school's color been green?"


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    His summer had been... well, the best way to describe it would be cool. Yeah. Jace had been wild over the summer, or at least as wild as a very anxious boy could do, which meant... really not all that wild. The most he'd done was the whole cut his hair and bleached it thing, and bless Maggie, because she'd decided to do the exact same thing, and at least now he wasn't the only ridiculous blonde walking around.

    Except the difference was that Maggie actually looked really, really pretty, and Jace just kind of looked like he'd had a bit of a mental breakdown and screamed as he took scissors to his hair.

    Which wasn't too far from the truth, just that he hadn't really been the one doing the screaming or the mental breakdown. He was like the Barbie doll to an angry toddler with safety scissors.

    But now that school was back in full swing, Jace had chosen to keep to this new hairstyle. It was kind of nice -- trying to separate himself from who he'd been in the past or something equally deep and potentially metaphorical, right? Jace was like a butterfly blossoming from a cocoon.

    Or, well, probably more like a moth.

    And now, he was at the football game, something he tended to pretty much never attend -- but his buddy, Puck, was here with him, with the promise that they could look at hot guys. Which wasn't something that Jace normally did, and to be honest, he was a little nervous to do so. There was a bit of a shifting of his eyes, and he tried to look without looking like he was looking, because it wasn't like he wanted people to know that maybe he was looking.

    That's right, ladies and gentlemen, Jace was in the closet. Deep in the closet.

    So really, he was trying to act like he enjoyed the game, and to be fair, Jace did know a fair amount about football. That's right. His dad was the type of dude that spent every Sunday watching the game, and he'd tried to press these same interests onto his son's young shoulders. Unfortunately for his dad, Jace's athletic career had never panned out, nor had his interest in football, so... yeah, eventually his dad had backed off.

    Jace's little sister had always been more into it, so his dad had turned a lot of the attention and having a buddy to watch the games with onto her.

    No, it didn't hurt Jace one bit.

    He squinted, eyeing one of the players, and watched as he was tackled... right before a whistle was blown and the game was called for a break. One quarter down, too many to go.

    "They're kind of, ahh... not great, right?" Jace asked, his words hanging on that question -- because Jace was a follower, and he tended to go along with whatever other people thought, no matter how his own feelings on the matter might've swung.








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    Football games? Not really Justin's cup of tea. Now, that wasn't to say he wasn't into sports, or being active, or whatever else you may want to note. Rather, Justin just... found himself interested in different kinds of activities. And no, that wasn't making out or being a whore or something so you might as well just get your brain straight out of the gutter. Yeah, that's right, he was calling you out -- he knows where your mind went.

    Rather, Justin considered himself a real man's man. You know those stereotypical white boys in their boat shoes and their little sweater tied around their neck while they rode around on their daddy's yacht? Okay well that was kind of Justin -- if you just took that and then smashed it with one of those Southern dudes that's got a beer in one hand and is using his other hand to catch a catfish. You know, the ones that liked noodling.

    Noodling as in a type of fishing, not noodling as in canoodling.

    Anyway, he found himself somewhere strung up in the middle of there. Basically, Justin's activities involved boating things and fishing and hey, kept him in real good shape. Not to brag or anything, but Justin was sort of built. Yeah, he didn't have an ego one little bit about it, though, of course.

    But take that and add in those Californian surfer dudes for spice, and that was Justin.

    Meaning that here?

    Not really his cup of tea.

    He'd more or less come to hangout with Amy, although why she was interested in the football game was beyond him. Probably because it happened to be Homecoming, and that was a big deal, although there wasn't even a dance or anything. So what was the point? The after party later?

    Boring.

    Plus Justin definitely hadn't put time or thought into an outfit for said party later -- his current attire? A simple black tank top (you know the kind, with the real big armpit holes, so if the dude leans the right way, you catch a whole ass glimpse of nip), shorts, and some slip on shoes.

    Pretty much, just whatever Justin had managed to grab before they'd come out.

    Once they'd arrived, Justin had trailed after Amy until they'd found somewhere to rest to watch the game, and he'd brought his legs up to rest on the seat in front of them, his arms stretching out to rest on his knees, and his hands interlacing as he squinted at the activity on the field.

    Ehhh.

    Eventually, Justin's wandering eyes had naturally gone towards the cheerleaders, and they'd shifted to peer through some of the gaps in the bleachers to peer at the people underneath, and he wondered what would happen if he spit on one. They'd never even know it was him.

    "Hey you wanna snack?" Amy asked and Justin lifted up his head, blinking over at the girl as she pulled out a whole ass sandwich. "I've got some stuff in my bag cause It's gonna be hell to try before the game starts or at half time."

    There was a look of shock on Justin's face, which was soon replaced by a grin. "Dude, did you bring your whole kitchen?" He asked, peering towards the bag because damn. "Hell yeah -- what else ya got?"

    Spitting on people could wait.








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    ♡coded by uxie♡
     
    LEON PIERCE
    Not understanding that you’re a horrible person doesn’t make you less of

    a horrible person
    the sinner
    fell asleep and forgot to die
    the weekend
    — mac miller
    mood: how the fuck...
    location: dorms
    tags: sabrina - Feral Feral
    mentions: mason
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    Sports had never been his thing. Sure he was decently tall, but he lacked both the muscle and commitment for it to actually matter. Sporting events, however, he adored.

    There were several reasons for this. Firstly, most athletes were easy on the eyes. At the very least entertainment was guaranteed in that regard. Leon, however, much preferred creating his own entertainment. These events always gathered a ridiculous amount of people, providing him a practically limitless source from which to do so. The crowds also played into the third and final reason he loved these events - it pretty much guaranteed someone would be handing out bud, pills, or both. How could he ever pass up an event with that much potential?

    He'd been hoping to catch his good bud Mason before the game, see if he could rile him up or something. Just a little. Football was aggressive and anger meant aggression. Unfortunately for the sake of the team's gameplay and absolutely not his own amusement, Leon overslept. How exactly does one oversleep for an event that doesn't start until 6pm, you might ask? It's simple, really. If you're a complete degenerate, your circadian rhythm tends to be a little fucked up and four hour naps may or may not be a regular occurence to compensate. Leon, of course, wasn't a degenerate - he just so happened to possess a lot of traits that were common in people that were.

    So he rolled out of bed nearly twenty minutes later than anticipated. In all honesty, he wasn't too concerned about his delayed arrival. Plus, a bunch of stoners enjoying some free weed definitely wouldn't give a shit, so he decided he might as well get ready. Getting laid wasn't necessarily his priority for the night, but it never hurt to make a little bit of effort in that department. A skirt would do for tonight. Aside from the fact that he rocked those things, anyone looking for a proper dude to take home tonight wouldn't be looking at him anyways.

    Grabbing his lighter and walking out of his dorm, he figured he also had time to have a cigarette before heading over to the bleachers. Hawthorne's whole "smoke-free campus" thing had to be one of his favorite things about the place.

    He was leaning against the wall with his eyes closed when he heard a somewhat familiar voice say his name. "I didn't know you went here! Or, er, don't go here." Memories were starting to piece themselves together the more she spoke and a massive grin made its way to his lips when he finally managed to place her. "Are you comin' to the smoker's hang out at the game today?" She seemed more nervous than he remembered her being.

    "'Course I'm goin', Stabby! Is that where you're headed?"

    He was, admittedly, a little thrown off about seeing one of his former customers here. Especially Sabrina, considering the last he'd heard of her she was doing a stint in juvie. Putting out the remainder of his cigarette and standing at his full height, he looked at her curiously. "It's my second year here, by the way. You just starting out?"

    Aside from the singular stabbing incident, she was usually fun to be around, so hopefully this... friendship? wouldn't hurt.
    © reveriee
     
    MOOD: ... Pissed.

    OUTFIT: Go white boy go

    LOCATION: Game
    basics
    MENTIONS:
    Percy

    INT:
    Erica geminiy geminiy
    tags
    TL;DR Bastard.
    tl;dr
    Matt

    So, your friendly neighborhood Matt was having a great fucking time, thank you very much. Nothing weird is happening with his roommate. Nothing odd about how he felt a tightness in his chest when he came home to watching Percy covered in scratches thrusting a very angry Plato into his face with a little bonnet and dress on him.

    Nothing weird about how he felt the corners of his mouth twist against his will at Percy’s stupid smile. Nothing. He was fine as always.

    The man with a heart of stone and ice was fine. He’d always be fine. You know how he knew that? He was totally not off brooding anywhere, smoking a cigarette while glaring at the smoke curling from the lit end like it had personally offended him.

    Anyways, completely unrelated, Matt was in the parking lot, smoking a cigarette off by himself while the crowds cheered behind him, glaring at the little embers that fluttered down as they personally offended him through their existence.

    Self-deception had to be some kind of sin, but he was never one for following religion anyways.

    And it wasn’t even like it was fucking fair, okay?

    It was Percy’s fault for being…. nice and friendly. Can you imagine? How frustrating it was to live with someone that respected his boundaries. He couldn’t even hate the guy if he wanted to - and now wasn’t that a fucking surprise.

    See, most people he could change his opinion on in an instant.

    With most people, he could find some fault or flaw and then absolutely milk it till they punched him in the face or ran away sobbing. But Percy? Percy was… a good person.

    Disgusting.

    And not even the boring kind of good person too. He was entertaining to hang out with. And pleasant. Went along with Matt’s bullshit when Matt was trying to cook depression meals at 3AM and made the whole ordeal fun.

    How absolutely horrendous.

    So yeah, he was kinda happy to be out of the apartment. Totally didn’t consider the thought of asking him if he wanted to hang out during the game. That would mean he wanted Percy’s presence in his life. Which was not something Matt historically wanted.

    If he wanted someone in his life, that meant that he leaned a certain way towards something that wasn’t mild acceptance or mild disgust. Which was… wrong? It was wrong. The wrong answer. Like how you could do pages and pages of math and get x = 1. Just… wrong.

    And that was the mood his… friend Erica found him in.

    See, they weren’t exactly friends, as much as you can be friends with Matt without some weird shit going down. But they were pretty cordial with each other.

    “Hey.” He said, not raising his voice, as he watched her walk by. If she wanted to hang out, she wanted to hang out. If she didn’t, she didn’t. That was the way that he lived his life. Before Percy fucked it all up by making Matt consider giving two shits about something.

    “How you doing this fine night.” Ever calm as always. He didn’t have to put on a performance of human emotions in front of her. That’s what he liked about Erica. He could remain outwardly apathetic without there being too much eyebrow raising. The cigarette stub was snuffed out and his hands found their way into his pockets as he leaned against a car that was definitely not his.
    code by valen t.
     
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