Realistic or Modern hollywood arts: main (open!!)

[hery]

MOOD: art uwu

OUTFIT: clothes

LOCATION: wherever the art is displayed

basics

MENTIONS:
Ronnie, Bella, Maddie, Javi, Lydia

INT:
ditto (Kelli)

tags

TL;DR no

tl;dr

Angel Cervantes

Angel had to consciously stop himself from grinning coyly, but could anybody blame him? It was hard not to Debby Ryan in the presence of someone with such refreshing, ego-boosting comments as Kelli. “No, no, no, you’re — it’s —…dude!” the girl stutteringly enthused, and suddenly Angel didn't know what to do with his hands, or how he'd managed to stand with such stiff posture for so long, or how he was supposed to be smiling, if at all.

It was just a bit of a sudden feeling, even considering he'd been loitering around with the hope that he'd find someone to talk to. However, now that someone had arrived, the realization dawned upon him that he had no clue where to go from there. It wasn't an unwelcome awkwardness to say the least, but it surely did keep the young artist on his toes.

“This is, like, one of the dopest things I’ve ever seen, man! I’m dead serious.”

"You don't have to say that." A huff of amusement escaped his nostrils. He couldn't imagine being put in the position of unexpectedly viewing his own portrait drawn by a virtual stranger. Well, Angel was pretty sure the two had met once, perhaps, if only to exchange a few short words. Either that or it was another case of his confusing people-watching with actual social interaction.

Still, did she even know his name? The dark-haired boy's attention momentarily diverted to the plastic name plate in front of the display that read "Angel Cervantes" and his graduation year. Either way, it came as a relief that Kelli didn't seem all that weirded out by his social awkwardness, or the portrait, or how he acted like they were more than just acquaintances, and all the other social oddities Angel was sure went over his head.

“I mean…I mean, dude…dude, you made — you made all of these? You seriously drew them all? …woah…I…” Angel nodded, and he felt another wave of embarrassment pass over him. It was hard to be modest in the presence of someone so appreciative of everything. “There are so many, man…and they’re all…they’re all so — so gorgeous. Like…like, I didn’t think — I mean, I’m not really super into art, but this is art that I’m like…I’m like, woah, this is some…this is beyond art. This is like…next level. You know...woaaaah. Just — dude! Like, woah, man!”

The artist looked back at Kelli with a blank smile, overworking his brain to decode the enthusiastic language being spoken to him. He made an effort not to look confused or weirded out, almost frantically nodding to conceal the panic of being potentially rude to someone so kind as to praise his artwork.

“Sorry, I, uh…I just seriously can’t get words out. I mean, this is seriously one of the dopest things I’ve ever seen in my life…like…wooooah….”

He laughed hesitantly, waving his arms to dismiss any sort of apology being given to him. "Thanks," he said shyly, rubbing the back of his neck as a nervous habit, "I like the words you, um, got out. It means a lot." He almost followed that up with a self-deprecating assumption that this must have been her first stop if she considered his display one of the best, but then that would be an insult to her art appraisal skills. "I just like to draw people a lot, I guess. I mean, lizard people are cool too, but I figured, 'Hey, what better subject for the art show than all my friends?'" He cleared his throat. "And, ah, loose acquaintances. Mostly loose acquaintances..."

“I never would have ever thought about the — the cloud things! That’s such a dope idea, man…and you think I give those vibes…? It’s freaking gorgeous! Like…so…freaking pretty. I love it. I love it, I love it, — I love all of them."

"Well, you're pretty, so what can you expect?" he replied, making on-and-off eye contact as usual, "Your friends think really highly of you. It makes me happy." And cue the nervous sweat. "... For you." He totally sounded like a creep, or at least that he was flirting. If compliments didn't always come out so weird, Angel would have made a lot more in his lifetime.

"These belong in a freaking museum." She was looking right at him. It was so stressful having this conversation with someone he hardly knew."I'm being dead serious — you know, uh, legit I feel like I should pay you just to see this whole display."

"You're really good at compliments," he stated with (you know the drill) more nervous chuckling, "Ever consider being a professional? Like uh, a film critic, but for art and with nice things to say and less technical jabbering." He stuck his hands in his pockets, leaning back and forth on his heels. "Or, I guess that's an art critic? But with nice comments and big words and, uh— I mean smaller words, but not in a dumb way of course, and... eheh..."

As though picking up on Angel's helpless awkwardness, Kelli finally circled back to the original question. She first brought up her roommate and, thanks to his shoddy poker face, quickly surmised that this "Ronnie" girl wasn't a collaborator on her portrait.

“Oh,” she gasped after a moment, “or maybe Bella Dupont…?” The corner of his lips tugged upwards in a smirk. He knew Bella; she was a nice girl. She was also Kelli's friend. This girl really was a wizard. In fact, she had to have divined the answer prior to Angel even asking the question, and she was merely humoring him for the sake of politeness. As she went back and forth between her options, Angel could relax a little knowing she was more focused on the question rather than Angel's weirdness.

“It’s Bella — and I’m locking in my answer.”

The boy's eyes widened with a cocktail of amazement and disbelief.

"Am I right?"

"Well... it was actually..." He pretended to be holding an envelope like at the Grammy Awards. "...your seventh grade math teacher." He cracked a crooked grin and winked. "Just kidding, but actually, I'm seriously impressed. Although, since you guessed Bella right, I guess the project is a success!" He didn't even realize the gravity of the words he was speaking until he repeated them in his head again, enlightenment crossing his facial expression.

"Wait... it was a success." An even wider smile forced itself onto the artist's face, and he looked right into Kelli's eye with newfound glee. "It was a total success! The whole 'lens' thing, how you see people differently and all that, and..." Real, genuine, infectious laughter escaped his throat, reminiscent of a multitude of his fever dreams.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you Bella!" he breathed between laughs, "And thank you too, Kelli! You have no idea how happy you just made me." He looked around at the room's shambling, uncaring denizens, a cold reminder that his joy was only significant to himself. "I can put this project to rest and focus on other things. Like Maddie's show, or my brother's band thing, or wherever the heck Lydia is..."

His jaw dropped with an additional realization. "Oh, I'm not keeping you from anything, am I? Sorry!"

code by valen t.

 

[Kitsune2202]

Charming as the Devil
Jared Darrington

@He.went.2.Jared has set their status to:
It's supposed to be showtime

@He.went.2.Jared has set their outfit to:
Outfit for project

@He.went.2.Jared has set their location to:
Backstage

@He.went.2.Jared has mentioned:
Nate, Maddie, Evie

@He.went.2.Jared has interacted with:
Gen( geminiy ) Mike ( ditto ) Luciana ( Stardust Galaxy )

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Jared was glad Gen even in her fury could see things his way and left out the room with him. As she hooked her arm with his he looked over at her from the corner of his eye to make sure her game was was back on. Due to their closeness he didn't really have to face her to see or listen to her as she whispered to him. She told him that he'd be responsible for all her cue's when they go on and he instantly knew the vixen beside him had come up with a plan and was in fact NOT over the ordeal that'd jsut taken place.

A risky type of move whatever it was due to the fact that it was bold of her to assume Jared even knew all her cues. Now...he did, but that's because he's quite the perfectionist and controlling type himself. He needed to know everything that was happening around him to make him feel like he had a sense of control over it. He needed to know how to properly react in any situation and you can't do that if something catches you off guard, which was a position he never wanted to be in. So he did his best to be the most informed person in the room, and memorizing all the cues and positions of both his partners was a part of that.

Though if anyone asked he'd simply say it was for during rehearsal if either needed help or that it came naturally from seeing it so many times.

"I believe you." He replied simply knowing that there was nothing he could really do or say to sway her from whatever she was about to go do. If she said it wouldn't negatively affect himself and her, then what did it matter? He had his own separate project even if this did backfire. If she was willing to set this bed on fire with both her and Mike in it just to see him burn so be it. That was a level of what some might call passion (he deemed insanity) he couldn't reason with, and wasn't going to try.

Plus when he finally looked at her he could see it in her eyes that she wasn't falling a part right now. She was steel and this was just forging her into a stronger version of herself. If she pulled off whatever scheme was swirling around in that dangerous sea called her mind he expected things would get very interesting down the road.

Just like that she let him go and disappeared for a bit right after they were announced to be going on in five. He took this moment to close his eyes and run through the show in his mind, but this time paying special attention to all of Gen's parts rather then his own. After all he had to give the same level of performance that she would've.

Jared hadn't noticed that Mike had still followed behind them until he spoke up. If anything Mike should be the one to bail. He had no idea what Gen had in mind, but it couldn't be good for the boy behind him. He was about to reply, but Gen returned and answered his question for him. Though did his question really need a response? Like Gen would bail out on something this important to her?

Neither of them completely just how capable or vindictive gen could possibly be, and the unknown was the absolute worst to Jared. How Mike could bare it was unknown to him. How he could toss himself into situations without thinking about all the consequences and weighing them out properly was beyond him. He never understood people like him. Even like Gen to an extent. People who put personal feelings above all else. Who put impulsive desire above reasonable and probable outcomes that either did or didn't benefit you.

However it wasn't his job to understand. His job right now was to have faith in Gen. Which in general was difficult for someone like him regardless of who it was in because that meant that even if it was only slightly their was a level of emotion connected that outweighed reason. Something Jared hated doing, and he hated the fact he really had no choice but to trust in that, and in her making her the second person in this school who has (even if unknowingly) made him feel vulnerable.

He hated feeling vulnerable and not knowing what was coming next. Thanks to this ass hole behind him pissing off the girl beside him he felt both.

“Sorry about that, I had to use the restroom.” Gen apologized sweetly. “How about it, boys? The show must go on.”

That was a damn lie, but Jared said nothing of it. After all what loyalty he did have...(which usually was very little to begin with) lied entirely with Gen in this situation. He owed Mike nothing. He saw little value in keeping him around, and the civility he offered was because of their connected peers sorry "friends". Which now? Now seemed to be one less connection. In truth the only one they had left now was probably Nate.

Gen once again reminded him of his job, and then the music started to play. It was showtime.

His brow quirked up a moment as the music started to play since it wasn't the same as any of the rehearsals. This wasn't the show he'd just replayed in in his head. What had she done? Before his brain had a chance to panic with the thoughts running through his head he felt her reassuring squeeze reminding him to just play the part he'd been told.

Jared was a meticulous person so it was hard for him to mix and match the steps he knew to lights and music he'd never heard, but as previously stated Jared excelled under pressure, so of course he was going to perform come hell or high water. Under the extremely unlikely case his parents where out there he couldn't risk not living up to the expectations placed on him. He swallowed hard and Gen released his hand and stepped forward on what originally was Mike's cue.

With that motion it suddenly became clear what was going on, and with that moment of clarity he was able to put his game face on following after her and taking the step out onto the stage originally meant for Gen. He let the crowd's cheers dull any left over anxieties. Not that he'd ever admit to having them. Confirmation of what he'd started to think was proven when Mike tried to step out and there was nothing for him. No cue, no light, no imagery...nothing.

Hot damn was Gen a cold-hearted bitch and a genuine pleased smirk curled onto his lips as they were out there. Maybe that proved that Jared wasn't the best person in the world either, but he quite enjoyed the look on Mike's face. He should've listened to her and not even stepped foot on the runway. Saved himself this utter embarrassment. When he didn't see a first cue he should've backed off, but no he stayed and humiliated himself in front of everyone. Gen always said she could ruin careers, it was nice to see she was a lady of her word.

Jared and Gen on the other hand? Put on the show of a lifetime it felt. This wasn't his bread and butter, but for the first time since doing these types of shows, he was actually enjoying himself. There was a difference between doing something because you are good at it and it's a decent pastime and doing something because it actually made you feel good. There were very few things that fell into the latter category for him, but this right now? Was definitely one of them. Nothing got his heart pumping like cut-throat tactics it seemed.

Twisted? Maybe. Did that matter to him? Not at all.

As the show came to a close she took his hand and walked to the edge of the stage with him. He didn't have to see how they looked to know how stunning they were. The picture perfect power duo that honestly made him think of couples like Jay-Z and Beyoncé. Minus the romance of course, but couples that basically ruled their industries and could make or break anyone without tarnishing their empire.

To let it sink in further she told him to turn around, and an image appeared on their backs. As if it was the plan all along he felt her hand on his face causing him to look her eye to eye and they held that pose for all the world to get their fill of. His smile towards her the most genuine he'd probably given anyone in a while being the cherry on top. Well that and the fact they were towering and blocking Mike out completely.

They were black magic and excellence at their finest, and he knew this was going to be the show the media would be buzzing about for a while when they talked about this showcase. He could feel the interview calls now. With every boost of exposure, and influence this was bound to give them...it cost Mike.

It was a heavy price to pay for ones pride. However this all went back to not thinking ahead, so Jared felt no sympathy for the boy.

The only tiny price Jared had to pay for his involvement, was now he was going to really ham up his performance with Maddie later because while this was bound to make headlines, he needed them to paint the right picture. His parents wouldn't stand for any wrenches being thrown in their plan even by the infamous Genevieve Johannes. The title needed to say power duo, not power couple.

Once the photographers got their fill, it finally crossed his mind as he walked back off the stage...when had gen found the time to set all this up?

As he made his way off stage he didn't spare Mike a single glance. What point would it serve now? This hadn't been his plan, or his fault, and after being overshadowed both figuratively and literally the whole show...sentiments would be a waste. Gen had done the same, and honestly Jared was surprised he'd stayed on stage the whole show. Though running off like a dog with his tail between his legs wouldn't have helped his image much either.

Once they all were back Gen gave him a hug which he returned grinning, "Thank you, but I should be praising you. You were mesmerizing out their a true vision, and to think you had this in your back pocket? The media will eat this up for a while." He replied smoothly, but his tone was soaked in pride. "It was fun." He added honestly.

She turned her attention to Mike to give a few more verbal jabs at him as if he hadn't been humiliated enough by now. All Jared did was take out his phone to text Maddie that he was on his way now, and to update him on how everything was. None of that was any of his problem any more. Feeling Gen pat him snapped his head back up. He quickly raised a peace sign in the air as he took off in the opposite direction as to not deal with the crowd or press so he could get to his own runway as there seemed to be an issue brewing.
---------------------------
It didn't take him too long to get to the stage where his own brand was being released and he looked around to find Maddie. What he found instead almost enraged him. Why was one of his models NOT dressed. I'll tell you why because this idiot decided to go off and watch another performance and on the way back tripped and fell and ripped his clothes.

Why the hell he left the dressing area in his suit to be presented instead of spare clothes he didn't understand. Was he an idiot? Was this his first show? No really explain to Jared WHY people were the ban of this worlds existence!

He knew he had to think quickly. He didn't know where Maddie was at the moment since she hadn't responded to his text yet, and honestly was probably out enjoying the fest until it was time to be on. Which is also probably why this disaster happened because he hoped 1. she wasn't also out and about in her clothes cause she at least knew better, but 2. because if she was here she could've told this idiot NOT to wear his clothes out! 3. but not least if she was here she could've already been finding someone to help fix it.

He wasn't upset with her, it was just his opinions.

As fuming as he was on the inside...on the outside he just gave the model a cold stare and took out his phone to start making calls. Unfortunately he didn't know a whole lot of other plastics that dealt with the creation part of fashion. Most of his connections were with the models. There was Evie, but he knew she had her hands full right now. While he felt if he asked for the favor she'd still try to deliver, he didn't want to owe her. Halloween was enough, and he still needed to repay that. He wasn't in the business of owing favors he would much rather cash them in.

Then it hit him! He did have one favor he could cash in and it was of equal value in his eyes. Luciana. The girl was capable, even Evie would sing her praise, so that would have to do. He found her name in his phone and called her up, "Hey, Luc? It's Jared. I'm gonna have to ask to cash in that favor of mine, you free enough to swing by right now? With a sewing kit."

º º code by ditto º º

 

[Xed]

Dalton Kirby

Wow. Wasn’t someone full of himself. Did he seriously believe he was better than him?

Dalton had thrown the insult his way figuring there would be some kind of comeback or reaction, but he had to admit, Woods certainly had a bit more bite than he expected

Well… not that he expected much of anything out of Nathan Woods anyways, in fact…he didn’t really know what he expected… just a reaction really. He always seemed kinda dead in the eyes, like that other artist… soulless really.

Artists without souls. Hah!

Dalton’s thoughts about the tall and bulky artist – who contrary to what he seemed to think, was in no way a better model than him, no matter what he might tell himself or his girlfriend might say to boost his ego – could be summed up in one sentence.

Simpclaire’s latest boy toy and crackhead artist.

He was in what could be considered a pissy mood but hearing Woods’ insults just made him crack up inside.

How blind did he have to be to think he was seriously better than him?

Hah!

That was hilarious. Joke of the century.

As if he could be any better. The guy was fucking delusional if that was what he thought.

On any other day that might have pissed him off but…

Getting pissed off only ever delighted the other side and the fact that the insult came from a guy who clearly barely knew what he was doing on stage?

It was honestly hilarious, in fact absurd that Nate thought he was better than him, or that he couldn’t do his job.

…

The guy was lucky he had other places to be. AKA anywhere but here where his parents could catch him at any moment.

Dalton finished putting on the rest of his clothes, before grabbing the outfit he had worn for the show off the bench.

With the bare minimum amount of care, he hung the outfit on a hanger and shoved the hanger back onto the rack.

The matter settled and dealt with, he made a beeline for the door, pausing briefly beside Nate’s chair as he passed.

“Looks like you’re in desperate need of an eye check at the very least,” Dalton kept his voice even, almost sympathetic even as he rested a hand on the back of the chair, “might want to book a brain scan and run all the other tests while you’re at it. Seems all that crack you smoked did a number on you if you really believe what you just said. It’s sad but hey,” he smirked as he pushed his hand off the chair and adjusted his jacket, “at least Simpclaire’s rich enough to help you foot the bill.”

And with that, he patted the back of Nate’s chair and swiftly left the room, letting the door swing shut behind him.

Now then, all he had to do next was get the hell out of here before either of them could –

“Oh, honey, look there he is. Dalton! Over here.”

….

Bloody. Fucking. Hell.

Barely two steps around the corner of the backstage exit and whose voice did he hear but one Miranda Slater, mother of the brat legally dubbed his stepbrother.

Dalton shoved his hands deep into his pockets as he turned in the direction opposite to where her voice was coming from.

Just pretend you don’t hear a damn thing.

He could almost hear Miranda frown as she spoke in a voice that was far too loud and carrying far too much.

“Honey I don’t think he heard us.”

Damn right he didn’t. Didn’t want to hear them either so please!

Take the goddamn hint and leave.

Now.

“Dalton.”

Great, now his old man was joining in.

“Dalton.”

The voice jumped up a few notches in volume but Dalton kept on walking away, trying to make himself disappear as quickly into the crowd as possible to give them the slip. But giving them the slip on a way too fucking crowded pathway when you were over six feet tall was proving to be damn near impossible.

Another stupid group cut right into the path of his escape route and he swore under his breath when he heard his father’s deep booming voice coming from right behind him.

“Dalton Ignatius Kirby.”

A hand clasped on his shoulder.

Shit.

No running now.

Dammit!

He turned reluctantly, greeted by the sight of his father and stepmother.

Why the fuck, did his father have to marry this woman?

Why the hell had Slater opened his damn mouth and told them about the arts fest?

If not for him, neither of them would be here and he wouldn’t have to be standing face to face with them like this.

If not for her, his father would be in an office or off giving a speech or partaking in a political campaign somewhere far from here.

And he would actually be able to have a semi decent day.

Fuck he hated Slater. He was the cause of all of this. Every single fucking problem he was dealing with right now was his fault.

At least the little weasel was nowhere in sight.

For now.

He had no plans of sticking around long enough to find out when he was going to pop back up.

“Dalton, it’s good to see you.”

Miranda’s greetings never failed to amaze and disgust Dalton.

It wasn’t like she didn’t know that he had basically beat up Slater everyday when they were younger.

The fact that she could stand here like this, saying those words in that voice of hers with a nice little smile like absolutely nothing was wrong.

At least his own mother had been honest with him about how much he disgusted her. How much she hated him.

Compared to Miranda, her honesty made her look like a saint.

“Hello.” He greeted tersely, keeping the numerous insults and vulgarities swirling in his head out of his mouth.

“Manners Dalton.” George chided, fixing him with a stern look before glancing back at his phone where his thumb was dancing across the screen.

“I gave my greetings.”

At that equally curt reply, George returned his attention to him, ready to rebuke Dalton again when Miranda cut in, touching George’s arm with a smile.

“Yes, he did, thank you Dalton. We saw your performance earlier,” her smile seemed to tense a little as she broached the topic, as if not quite able to find the right words, “you did… great… walking on the stage… in front of so many people.” Somehow the woman managed to maintain her smile to the end.

…

Seriously?

“Yes. It was some very impressive walking. You commanded the stage well.”

If his father could do a better job with his compliments than you could, that was not a good sign. At all.

Not that he was surprised to get this kind of response or that he was looking for lavish praise and proud boasting parents. He'd opened up his eyes and given up on that kind of bullshit long ago. If anything, it was exactly what he expected.

Even so it pissed him off.

Was he supposed to feel grateful and appreciative that she was trying so hard to compliment? That his father actually gave a decent little bit of praise for once?

Not happening. Look somewhere else.

He wasn’t impressed, he wasn’t happy, he certainly wasn’t grateful, and he just wanted to be anywhere fucking else other than here.

mood
Burn. Seriously just burn and disappear.

location
arts fest

outfit
dapper

playing...
song title here

by artist here​

mentions
Slater

interactions
Nate

tags
Winona

 

[gh0stwriter]

Lucky DuBois

Okay.

Crisis averted. Anything weird or awkward had cleared up and they were able to go back to normal. Go back to being Lucky and Ash. Two friends that are one hundred percent just that. Friends.

He couldn’t risk fucking up this opportunity. He couldn’t fuck up the one person that’s had his back since coming to Hollywood Arts. He had Dorian. He had Josie. He had Maggie, but he had them before. And even then, it was more of a formality. He just didn’t need the drama.

He smiled as her excitement rose. It was nice to know that she at least seemed to respect him as an artist. Respect him as a musician. Enough to risk her image to record a song with him. “Yeah, okay, yeah, I’ll ahh…talk to my manager and umm…I’ll text you. It’ll be, like, amazing. Don’t worry. Like, we totally got this.”

A smirk formed on his face. “Isn’t that usually my line?” He said with a playful nudge as they made their further and further from the dressing room.

They stopped suddenly. “Dad!” He looked around. Dad? Uh oh. Lucky didn’t do parents. They didn’t like him. He didn’t like them. It was a mutual understanding. Usually it was because his friends tended to be a little out of his financial status. They usually assumed he was just a degenerate that was latching onto them for a handout. Fucking pricks.

He hated it. The way they’d look at him. Disgust. Pity. Every cell in his body was on high alert. He usually didn’t let it bother him too much. He knew who he was. He knew that he’d never taken a handout. He didn’t ask for help. That’s why he’d made it a point for no one to really know anything about his past. A few select people when he hand to, but other than that, it was none of their fucking business.

“Oh, this is umm…this is Lucky. I did the performance with him. Lucky, this is my dad.” Her voice brought him from own head. He looked at the older gentleman as he walked up. Sized him up. He stood up straight and reached his hand out and gave him a firm handshake. “Likewise, sir.” He said with a nod and half-assed smile.

“Where’s mom?” Great. Mom’s especially loved him. And yes, that was sarcasm. He was a mom’s worst nightmare. A guy with authority issues and doesn’t really give a shit about how he comes off? Who wouldn’t love him? He took a deep breath as he listened to Ash and her dad go back and forth. It was…awkward. Probably only for him. But the things he’s heard about Ash’s mom were…less than stellar.

But he needed to be on his best behavior. He didn’t need to give them a reason to think the things he knew they were already thinking. “There’s a lot of really good, like…singers here. I don’t blame her. Like way better than me, umm…I’m glad you saw it though.” He glanced over at Ash. The disappointment was evident on her face. “Pfft…she’s underselling herself, sir.” He looked up at her dad. “She was…”

“Ashton.”

Fuck.

He eyed as Ash’s mom came in hot…and not like she was hot, but like she was on the warpath. Like she felt she was better than everyone else in the room. Like she was a total bitch. His eyes narrowed as she gave Ash a look up and down. “Who dressed you? Honestly, Ashton, if you wish to dress like a whore working the corner, use your own money, not ours. This is disgusting.” Okay. Maybe total bitch was underselling it.

Rage bubbles up inside his body. The combination of the fact that Elise was a total c-word and the familiar feeling of being broken down by the person the was supposed to protect you from the world was…not making it easy for him to keep his cool.

“You shouldn’t even be showing this much skin if you aren’t going to keep up with your diet. If you’re going to continue to slack like this while living with the Johannes’, well have to make different living arrangements for you.”

He bit the window of his cheek and glanced at the ground momentarily to try and gain composure, but Bitchlise…that’s what Gen called her, right? Bitchlise was determined to make sure Ash felt like she was the size of an ant. No wonder the girl had zero confidence and second guessed every decision she made for fear of disappointing the Momster Twat.

“Ah, no, I’m sick and tired of listening to your ridiculous little excuses.” His eyes went to Ash and his heart sank. He wanted to step in. Wanted to make it stop. To protect her, but he knew, from experience, that would only make things worse for her…even though it would make him feel great. He slowly inched closer to Ash.

“Honestly, there is no reason you should be slacking this much at this point. Do you think Gen or Maddie or JJ are slacking?” He discreetly reached out and took her hand softly and gave it a gentle squeeze. “No, they aren’t. They aren’t letting petty little things like…boys or whatever it is you waste your time on get in the way of their careers. You know that why you always lost to Maddie and JJ, right? You’re not a child anymore, Ashton, and you need to start behaving like it.”

“I’m sorry.”

Sorry? He knew that sentiment all too well. When his dad would get on him, usually after downing a bottle of whiskey, it was the only phrase that would possibly save him from the situation escalating. It didn’t happen too often…the saving that is, but sometimes you had to placate. Lucky hated it. He hated watching Ash shrink into herself when just moments before she’d been ecstatic about their performance.

“That’s better.” Fucking bitch. “And that performance.” Wasn’t she fucking tired? Didn’t she need to take a breath? Someone needed to knock her the fuck out and he had wished that Josie was here cause she’d clock her right in the face. Just on principle. “Ashton, if you aren’t going to take my advice — which you should be, it’s not as if I’m head of the performing arts department at a prestigious university or anything. It’s not as if I know what I’m talking about.” He lowered his head to allow his eyes to roll as she continued. God, he hated people like this. It was people like her who gave the industry a bad fucking name. “But if you’re not going to listen to me, then at least try not to embarrass yourself with these…this silly outfit, that childish performance.” What now? They killed it. “And this lyrics. Ashton, I’ve heard better songs written by twelve-year-olds. Honestly, I’ve given you everything, and yet you continue to disappoint me.” He gripped her hand tighter but wasn’t sure if it was to comfort him or to keep him from blowing up, either way…it was building and unless he was willing to crush Ash’s hand, Elise needed to shut the fuck up.

“And if you’re going to do a duet, perhaps pick someone with actual talent, and not just the first guy that looks at you, alright? Pick someone that will help your career, not just for it. I couldn’t tell who was worse, you or him.”

This. Fucking. Bitch.

His gaze drifted over to Elise, a look of surprise on his face. Did she not see him standing here? Of course she did, she just didn’t care. He gazed over at her dad, unsure as to why he’d stand there and let her talk to his daughter that way. Parents sucked.

“Are you going to cry?” No she wasn’t. He knew she wouldn’t. He hoped she wouldn’t. She was too good for that. She was too good to give this bitch the satisfaction.

“That’s umm…that’s Lucky, that’s—“ he caught her gaze and gave her a sympathetic smile.

“Yes, I’m aware, and I don’t care, Ashton. As far as I’m concerned, I think he needs to leave.” Not a fucking chance lady. Ignoring the dismissive wave. He took a deep breath and stepped slightly in front of Ash. His eyes narrowed. “Lucky for me, I’m not too concerned with what you think.” See what he did there?

“Hi. I’m the first guy that Ash looked at.” He said sarcastically. “And all due respect, Mrs. West, but you're way out of our target demographic, so maybe you should let Ash’s five million fans tell her if she disappointed them or not.” He said staying strong. People like her can sense weakness. And he wasn’t going to back down.

mood
restless...not nervouslocation
dressing room

outfit
looking good

playing...
Drowning

by Olivia Holt & Ross Lynch

mentions
na

interactions
Ashtags
Winona

º º code by ditto º º

 

[geminiy]

Elias Johannes

@elithegreat has set their status to:
JJ's gonna kill me

@elithegreat has set their outfit to:
atlas

@elithegreat has set their location to:
the sign-in line

@elithegreat has mentioned:
JJ

@elithegreat has interacted with:
Corey

@elithegreat has tagged:
natsukashii

Eli was doing his best not to feel awkward trapped in line with Corey. The wait, if the slowly creeping line ahead of them was any proper indication, was going to be a long one. At least Eli could be thankful that Corey wasn’t being weird, or that Corey wasn’t someone in the long line of people who disliked him due to his unfortunate siblinghood with Genevieve.

This wouldn’t be too bad, would it? A half-hour isn’t that long.

“Forty-five minutes?” Corey echoed Eli’s thoughts as the dancer shifted his weight.

“I wish I could say I was joking.” Eli groaned through a laugh. “But hey, at least we’ve got company now!”

Eli kept his bag open so that Corey could grab whatever he wanted from his stowed away in snack pouch (Eli always came prepared to competitions, that boy could eat so much when he was out and about).

“I could eat. I’ve been so nervous lately about my performance that I honestly forgot to eat,” Corey sighed as Eli zipped up his bag, an energy drink and homemade granola bar in hand. “Oh, I’m doing a poem. A spoken word poem, actually. Honestly, it’s my first time doing it. Like, I’m not what anyone would call a performing artist -- not like Dorian is. And I’m probably going to mess up.”

“Nah, don’t be nervous. I’ve seen your stuff before and you’re a great writer, I’m sure you’re a good speaker too. But keeping up your strength is important, you need sustenance to thrive, ya know?” Eli responded as he pulled the thin wax paper wrapper from around the bar. “Bon appetit.”

Clinking their drinks together, Eli unscrewed the cap and took a long swig. By the time he had taken his drink and pushed the cap back onto the bottle, they had taken a few steps closer to the sign-in table. Still, in Elias’s opinion, they were not close enough.

“Sorry. I’ll shut up now. What about you, Eli? You doing some kind of history lesson?”

Eli blinked a few times, following Corey’s gaze down to his shirt sticking out of his bag. “Hmm? Oh, this ol’ thing.” Eli laughed warmly, running a hand over the smooth, pale fabric draped over the side of his bag. “JJ’s idea, actually. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t be caught dead in something like this. But, um, we’re doing this dance duet together. Choreo is my doing, the music and the… costumes, although rather founding father-esque, were JJ’s. It’s a small price to pay to work with someone so amazing.”

The line moved slightly again and the pair crawled closer. Eli’s mind drifted to the dance, then to JJ as he peered around the line. He silently wondered if she was there somewhere, just as stuck and frustrated as he was. So, he picked up his phone and messaged her.

“Crap.” Eli grumbled at her response. Of course she was already there, leave it to him to be the late partner. “Have I ever told you how much I hate group projects?” He laughed half-heartedly. “I’m always worried that I’m going to let the other person down. Kinda like I am right now, I guess. JJ’s… well, she’s JJ and damn, she’s scary when she’s mad. She’s scary and she’s here before me.” Eli reached a hand up to rub stressed circles into his temples. “Corey, she’s gonna kill me.”

Eli fell silent beside the writer, trying his best to think about anything but JJ. He had really fucked up this time.

“Hey, um, if you’re nervous,” Eli forced himself to think, trying to find himself any kind of distraction from the event at hand, “I find talking about it or practicing works. Want to give it a try? I’m a very good listener.”

º º code by ditto º º

 

[Winona]

Jace West

He was shaking, he was trembling like a leaf. This was like his worst nightmare on steroids or something. Alone, in a room, with Mike, who always looked like he wanted to see Jace's face bleeding and injured. Like he got off on it or something, and there was no one around. There was no one to save him right now.

There was no Dorian, there was no way that any yelling would do anything to get anyone's attention. He was at the mercy of Mike and as everyone knew, Mike didn't have a single ounce of merciful compassion in his tiny little body. Which meant that Jace was going to die right here, right now.

He'd say he was too young to die, but he was eighteen, so he'd lived a full enough life. Jace kind of wished that he'd left his bedroom a little more throughout his life but--

Actually, no, he didn't.

He could die with zero regrets.

As Mike's fist came flying through his face, Jace's eyes squeezed shut and he waited... and then the familiar feeling of a fist cracking across his face sunk in. And for a moment, Jace didn't react. He didn't move... and then the pain set in, and he felt the familiar flow of blood dripping down his face.

Jace slowly brought a trembling hand up to his face, and he pulled his sticky fingers away. Of course they were stained red, and he glared at Mike as he dropped his hand to his side.

“A little nosebleed goes a long way, Slowest Sperm.” Mike said.

That didn't even make sense.

"What is... what is... what is wrong w-with you?" Jace snapped. His voice was more nasally than normal thanks to the whole obstructed airflow thanks to the freaking blood that was currently clogging up his nose. As it started to drop down his face, he brought a hand up to cover it and try to keep the blood from staining his clothes.

Jace glanced around the room and his eyes settled on a box of tissues. He pushed away from the wall and went over to the table, pulling several out and pressing them against his face.

"Leave," Jace mumbled, "please."

He didn't want to fight, and it's not like he could really fight if he wanted to. He just wanted to stop the blood from dripping down his face so he could go and try to do his stupid performance.

mood
HELP

location
Arts Festival

outfit
snazzy

playing...
Stuck Like This

by Jace West​

mentions
N/A

interactions
Mike

tags
ditto

º º code by ditto º º

 

[ditto]

kellian phelan

Kelli had experienced a lot of wild things so far in her time in Hollywood, from taking her first drink of alcohol (blegh, she didn’t recommend) to meeting actual, real life celebrity idols, to being given a charm bracelet by a pretty girl at their second meeting to now…uh…seeing a picture drawn of herself by a virtual stranger that made her look like the freaking Mona Lisa, featuring a lot of pink clouds. She was starting to think that maybe all of these crazy things were normal here, but they’d never be to her.

Because legit — this whole situation was totally surreal, right?! She still couldn’t believe what was happening right now. She’d been drawn by a…stranger…or maybe not a stranger, technically. Regardless, her point remained: this was crazy! Being drawn randomly, and so, like…beautifully? Wack! Insane!

Seriously, someone pinch her, because she had to be dreaming!

(Don’t actually pinch her, please, though — she had a low pain tolerance.)

Her flattered, star-struck enthusiasm was probably weirding him out a little bit, she realized. She noticed him shifting somewhat nervously, and she became acutely aware of how she probably looked to him — a slack-postured, wide-eyed, loud, way-too-excited stranger. She pressed her palms against the front of her skirt, playing with the fabric, and she tried to tone down her smile just a little bit. She didn’t mean to be…weird or make him nervous.

(Her smile did not tone down, nor did she manage to really keep down any of her excitement.)

His mention of lizard people momentarily distracted her from her self-consciousness and made her giggle. Lizard people? She wanted to see those, too, honestly — it piqued her curiosity. Was it, uh, the lizard people that the tin foil hat guys talked about, like Rihanna and Mark Zuckerberg? Were they little lizards with little clothes on? Were they mermaids but, uh, lizards plus humans?

The boy also called her pretty, but it didn’t really have time to register before he quickly bushed past it to say how highly her friends thought of her, which made her face flush and her smile brighten even further than been.

"You're really good at compliments," he stated, chuckling. "Ever consider being a professional? Like uh, a film critic, but for art and with nice things to say and less technical jabbering." He stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked slightly forward and back. "Or, I guess that's an art critic? But with nice comments and big words and, uh — I mean smaller words, but not in a dumb way of course, and…eheh..."

He still seemed nervous, and Kelli realized that it was probably performance anxiety, and then that, gosh, this kind of performance had to be so much harder than dance. Er, maybe not harder, but it was probably more nerve-wracking, at least. Kelli had gotten only four-sh hours of sleep the night prior because of her nerves — a fact that she was, uh, feeling but trying to pep her way through — but her performance was just four-ish minutes and that was it. Her movements were temporary, and they could only judge the mistakes that they caught while she was performing. Sure, there was a video of it, but you had to be looking for it if you were going to watch it then.

With art like this, though, it was a constant performance for however long it was displayed — it was constantly up for being judged.

Eeesh, she got a bit jittery even thinking about it. No wonder he looked so nervous.

And even in his nervousness, he was complimenting her — what a seriously dope person! And the fact that she was meeting him on such an off chance, too, was just proof that, yeah, this seriously had to be some kinda dream or something!

“You think so? You mean, those guys with the berets and the moustaches who drink coffee and stare at stuff all day in those bougie places? Heck yeah!” She laughed softly, smiling at him. “That’d be dope, honestly, if it meant I got to look at art like yours all day!”

She realized, once again, that, uh, she was probably doing too much with her weird shower of compliments, so she gave him a slightly-awkward, apologetic look before looking to his project and once again searching for his name. She finally found it — Angel Cervantes, junior.

Was he Angel Cervantes, Jr., or was he Angel Cervantes and a junior?

She didn’t really have time to decide before Angel’s response to her guess of who described her came. His eyes widened, and he looked amazed. “Well…it was actually…” He mimed an envelope, and he pretended to hold it up. “…your seventh grade math teacher.”

Kelli giggled at his joke, snapping her finger and terribly faking disappointment. “Drat! Not Mrs. Hammerstein!”

The boy grinned at her and gave her a wink. “Just kidding, but actually, I’m seriously impressed.”

In mock arrogance, she put her hands on her hips, turning her chin up high. “Well, all in a days work,” she said, sniffing indignantly. She couldn’t maintain the stance for even a second longer before breaking, though, and she dissolved into laughter, putting a hand over her mouth and looking at him with happy eyes.

“Although,” he continued, “since you guessed Bella right, I guess the project is a success!” Once he spoke the words, though, he seemed to come to some sort of realization, his facial expression shifting. "Wait... it was a success." His smile spread wider, and then he looked to her, his eyes alight with a bright excitement. Her smile brightened in return — seeing people’s joy was infectious. “It was a total success! The whole ‘lens’ thing, how you see people differently and all that, and…” He laughed, and she couldn’t keep herself from giggling along with him.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you Bella! And thank you too, Kelli! You have no idea how happy you just made me."

Her smile warmed. “Yay!” She held up fists at her chest and shook them excitedly. “You’re welcome!” It always felt nice to know that she had a hand in making people happy. “I can really see your passion in your work and I wanted to let you know!” she added, giggling.

“I can put this project to rest and focus on other things,” he said. “Like Maddie’s show, or my brother’s band thing, or wherever the heck Lydia is…” He trailed off, his jaw dropping. “Oh, I’m not keeping you from anything, am I? Sorry!”

With the attention suddenly back on herself, Kelli shook her head quickly and enthusiastically. “Oh, no, uhm, not at all!” She gave him a smile, her eyes darting away and to the board once again, specifically to where the boy’s name was. “My performance was a little bit ago, and I’m, uh, just killing time…before…my…brother’s…band…goes…on…” The space between her words lengthened as her own epitome dawned on her, and she slowly turned to him, her eyes finally set fully on him by the utterance of her last word. “Wait a second…hooold up, dude…” She held her hands out, blinking a few times in disbelief, her face wrought with a confusion.

And then, it fully clicked, and her face lit up with a sudden, excited knowingness. “You’re Angel Cervantes!” Her voice was an excited whisper-yell as she stated her realization, and then she laughed at herself for not realizing it sooner. “Sorry, it, uh, didn’t click before,” she said, embarrassed. She popped out a shaking hand for him to shake, nervously rushing to explain herself. “I’m Kellian — Kelli — you….knew that already, whoops.” She laughed at herself again, dropping her hand. “But it’s Phelan, and my brother’s Kian — it’s — our, uh…sorry, bad at words.” She cleared her throat, shook her head, and tried again. “My brother’s Kian — it’s — um, our brothers, their band, you know?”

Gosh, no, she was just sounding weird again.

“Sorry, that didn’t make much sense,” she apologized again with another laugh. “Okay, last try — uh, our brothers are in a band together!” She held up her palms and wiggled her fingers, giving a awkward jazz hands. She felt a blush coming onto her cheeks, and she folded her hands in front of her again, giving him a smile. She suddenly had these nerves upon realizing that he was her brother’s bandmate’s younger brother, for some reason — probably because she was super embarrassed for not realizing it before. “Neat-o! I know we’ve talked before, uhm…I think you dropped your sketchbook out of your locker once and I gave it back to you or something, but I didn’t — it didn’t — I just didn’t realize until now who you were again! Gosh, sorry — but also…wow! Kian talks about how dope your brother is, so I’m going to have to tell him how dope you are, too! Runs in the family or something,” she half-joked.

She chattered a lot when she was nervous.

“Their performance is soon, actually,” she added absently, smiling. “You’re going to it, too?”

mood


location
the celestial theater

outfit
: )

playing...
dance

by foxes​

mentions
bella, kian, & javi

interactions
angel

tags
hery

º º code by ditto º º

 

[Winona]

Ashton West

TW: alcoholism, abuse, suicide

Naturally, instead of having pretty much any kind of reply or even being totally there, Ash had started to shutdown at some point during her mother's patronizing of... pretty much everything she'd done today. And like, she was used to it, so it wasn't like it was anything she'd been unprepared for.

The words were being spoken at her, but she'd stopped registering most of them a while ago. She felt Lucky's hand brush against hers, and then his hand lightly took hers and she felt him squeeze her hand gently. And then as her mother finally seemed to be coming to an end of her insults, she directed some of her words towards Lucky, and... that was apparently the end. Like the end of Lucky, because he decided to spout off to her mom, which was like...

Never a good idea.

Sure, he was still polite enough, but like...

It was her mom.

Her mom got annoyed over, like, literally everything.

As he moved to stand slightly in front of Ash, her mother's cold gaze shifted from Ash over to look at him, and she could see her mother's gaze darkening.

Yeah, she never exactly took nice to guys like... stepping in for Ash or whatever. Or anyone, really. It was one of the reasons that she hated Gen so much, but obviously not enough to like... try and keep Ash from talking to her.

“Lucky for me, I’m not too concerned with what you think. Hi. I’m the first guy that Ash looked at. And all due respect, Mrs. West, but you're way out of our target demographic, so maybe you should let Ash’s five million fans tell her if she disappointed them or not.” He said, and all Ash could think was like...

Oh no.

Because like.

Oh no.

Duh.

"Lucky, come on, let's just go," Ash tried to say quietly, her voice weaker than usual as she tugged at his hand. "Don't, like... it's fine, c'mon."

But it was too late, because Elise was staring him down now, and Ash knew that her mother wasn't going to let them just walk away after he "disrespected her" or whatever it was she'd come up with later.

Oh no, oh no, oh no.

"Lucky DuBois," her mother started slowly, her words somehow colder than they had been. "I happened to look into you after you first asked my son to perform with you for the Arts Festival, and then once Jace informed me that you'd be performing with Ashton here." She stopped speaking for a moment, reaching to smooth down the front of her shirt, and then she clasped her hands together in front of her.

"It was quite easy to find what I wanted about you. As I expected, a nobody with a sob story from the bad part of New York City? And here you are, speaking to me because I offered a little bit of constructive criticism to my daughter that you thought was too harsh, correct? The only reason she has any fans is thanks to the work I've put in, so I would suggest that you mind your business."

"Mom--" Ash started, but Elise held up a hand in her daughter's direction.

"You're not the first of Ash's little boy toys to try and stand up to me, and you certainly won't be the last." Elise let out a breathy sigh. "But why would I expect you know to know anything about showing respect to adults? You moved out here to get away from your father, right?"

"Or, rather, because your father was finally freed from you due to his actions. Driving into a liquor store." She let out a soft laugh, as if amused by the idea. "Tell me, was he driven to drinking after your mother died and he realized he was going to be alone in raising a wretched brat such as yourself?"

"Mom, stop."

"Elise, this is too far."

Instead of listening to her husband or her daughter, she kept her gaze glued to Lucky, her expression not changing as she continued to speak.

"At least he's ended it now, right? I'm sure he's in a better place, where he doesn't have to wake up every morning and look at a leech such as yourself."

"Now," again, Elise made a shooing motion with her hand. "Leave."

mood
help

location
Arts Fest stage

outfit
sparkles

playing...
Drowning

by Ash and Lucky obviously​

mentions
N/A

interactions
Lucky

tags
gh0stwriter

º º code by ditto º º

 

[geminiy]

Genevieve Johannes

@NextGen has set their status to:
ugh

@NextGen has set their outfit to:
glam

@NextGen has set their location to:
quiet spot in the stadium

@NextGen has mentioned:
Ash & Lucky

@NextGen has interacted with:
Trevor

@NextGen has tagged:
ditto

Genevieve knew her presence had a way of unsettling people, of putting them on edge without cause and keeping them on their toes until she left their side. Trevor Callaghan, however, seemed to be taking this anticipated reaction to a whole new level, practically jumping out of his seat as she began speaking to him. She hardly cared to look at him, instead keeping her eyes trained on the stage in front of her as she waited for the response to her question.

“Y-Yeah,” Trevor stuttered, making Gen silently wonder if he had picked up the habit from Jason. “The last performance was nothing special, but, ah, I’m, ah, I think that Ash W-West is next, right? That’s what I’m really here for in the first place.”

A small laugh bubbled from Gen’s chest as she gracefully crossed her left leg over her right, manicured fingers wrapping around her now raised knee. “Relax, Callaghan, I’m not going to bite your head off,” Gen attempted to soothe, though she knew that her words were a lie. She was incredibly good at biting people’s heads off and Trevor was no exception. “But yes, she is. Ash is performing with that Lu-”

“I’ve always, y’know, had an admiration for her vocal abilities…,” Trevor cut off, though Gen was certain he likely didn’t even hear her when she had been speaking.“Not so much Lucky — guy’s a prick, but.”

Gen’s teeth found the inside of her cheek, gnawing away at the soft flesh inside to keep herself from smiling. Could he be any more obvious? The boy was practically green with envy, red in the face with adoration. Genevieve made a mental note to enlighten Ash with this information at a later date: she knew how much Ash liked the boy.

“Ah, yeah, anyway, I’ve been enjoying what I’ve seen so far.” Trevor laughed rather awkwardly as he reached up to rub his neck. “How about you, Ms. Johannes?”

“That’s wonderful to hear.” Gen entertained politely. Slowly, the lights dimmed overhead and Genevieve settled into her seat. “And please, call me Genevieve.”

As soon as the lights were completely out, replaced only by the glistening spotlights of the stage, Trevor muttered a curse word under his breath. He was considerably worked up for someone known to constantly be in a state of high. If Gen was anyone else, maybe she would have given his shoulder a reassuring squeeze or a gentle word of encouragement, but she simply didn’t care to. In fact, it was almost entertaining to watch the boy squirm.

The music started up and her beloved Ashton West showed up on stage next to that dark haired boy, Lucky, that she had been working with. Gen’s eyes flickered over to Trevor beside her, still shifting around in his sheets as he stared unblinking at the duo before them.

Ash and Lucky were killing it, absolutely nailing every note and every move as Genevieve had expected. Ash had a habit of thinking that she wasn’t as good as she really was, setting herself up for failure before she had even begun. Gen was happy to see her embracing the talent that everyone knew she had with a certain poise and confidence that Gen took immense pride in. Gen was always proud of Ash, though, so this was not a new occurrence.

Trevor was breathing heavily beside Gen, pulling her away from the performance on stage to him. His chest was struggling to rise and fall in rapid succession, jumping with each nailed chord on stage.

“Headache,” he excused.

“Sure it is.” Gen added sarcastically, turning back to the performance.

Gen’s attention was pulled back to the stage just in time to see Ash kiss Lucky. Wait, no, they didn’t actually connect. Gen’s lips parted into a smile at the action. Clever, Ashton, very clever. The press would eat that shit up for weeks, speculating on who Ash was actually kissing thus in turn bringing her all sorts of needed attention. Maybe Gen’s advice hadn’t fallen on silent ears after all.

“That was exactly what I was…expecting,” Trevor spoke from beside her, making contact with Gen’s eyes. “I enjoyed it,”

“As did I,” Gen agreed with a nod of her head, “Ashton West, you clever girl.”

“I’ve, ah, got to go,” Trevor spoke through the small silence, standing up from his seat “I think my roommates are performing soon. I'd hate to miss them, and they’d, ah, skin me alive if they found out I didn’t go to their performances, ya know…”

Gen stopped herself from speaking some sort of snarky comment, dismissing him from her side. Instead, Gen looked up at him with squinted eyes as she watched his already pale figure turn lighter, his entire body ready to pass out cold on the floor. She really didn’t know what she was doing or why she was doing it, but Gen found herself standing and holding her arm out for Trevor to steady himself on.

“Take a breath, Trevor.” Gen spoke calmly, avoiding making eye contact so as to not make him more nervous. “Come on, let’s go get you something to drink.”

Carefully, Gen guided Trevor through the crowd and out the back doors to the guest area. Walking up to the concessions stand, Genevieve swiftly cut the line and reached right over the counter to grab a bottle of water. Sliding a bill down onto the counter for the employee, Genevieve winked a thank you and continued on to the nearest quiet spot away from peering eyes and overly nosey minds.

“Here, take a drink and a damn breath.” Gen instructed bluntly as she uncapped the bottle and handed it to Trevor. She allowed Trevor a second to collect himself as she pulled her heels off to get her down to Trevor’s height. Once he seemed to calm down a bit, Gen crossed her arms over her chest and did her best to hide the mildly concerned expression on her face. “Are you okay?” She asked, the question foriegn on her lips. Fuck, she was going soft in her old age. “You seemed pretty fucked up back there.”

º º code by ditto º º

 

[geminiy]

Isabella Dupont

@bellaissima has set their status to:
remember to breathe, bella

@bellaissima has set their outfit to:
dentelle

@bellaissima has set their location to:
the celestial theatre

@bellaissima has mentioned:
Mentions

@bellaissima has interacted with:
Casey & Avery

@bellaissima has tagged:
Winona & Xed

Bella stiffened as Casey moved to hug her, glaring up at the taller boy as her hands balled into fists at her side. No, they were not close enough for him to hug her. They were teammates by coincidence, nothing else. All they needed to do was to get through this performance and their short-lived rather annoying business would be over. Casey seemed to get the memo and reached his hand out for a fist bump which Bella returned with a roll of her eyes. Fist bumps? Really? How childish.

"Are ya ready? I am so ready. I've been practicing this all the time -- just ask Cami and Nellie. They're all omg Casey stopppp singingggg and I was all sorry can't, the music's in me and then I launched into that song. Like ya know, the one that's all I got the music in me, but don't worry, I ain't gonna do that today. Nope, sirree, not on this stage, I'll be keeping myself together for this one."

How Casey talked non-stop without seeming to take a breath, Bella did not know. But the conversation lulled just enough for Avery, who had otherwise remained unfortunately silent, to chime into the conversation.

“Yeah!” Avery began, clearly feeding off of their singer’s over abundance of energy. “You look really pretty today as well Bella. Oh and you aren't late. There's still some time before our performance is due to start."

Bella smiled warmly and grabbed Avery’s hand, giving it a gentle welcoming squeeze. “Thank you, you look lovely too.” Bella looked over to Casey, forcing the smile to remain on her face, slowly and softly releasing her hand from Avery’s. “Both of you do, in fact. And I am glad that I am not late, I was afraid I was going to be.”

"Ya guys ready? Ready to go in? We gotta sign in or something, I think. Ya both gonna be up there with me, yeah? Like backstage? Or are ya guys sitting in the audience?" Casey asked, earning a firm nod from Bella in response. The boy may piss her off but she wasn’t about to not be there for him.

“I’m ready I think.” Avery replied, relieved that he understood Casey’s last round of questions.

“I’m not too sure where we’re supposed to go though.” Avery replied. “Are we even allowed to be backstage if we’re not going on stage?”

Bella shrugged and, without saying much of anything, walked past both of the boys to the stage door. Carefully, she pushed it open and peered inside. Stage equipment lined the sides of the walkway, people decked out in all black weaving through the crowds of performers silently on their way to their respective tasks. Surely not everyone back there was performing. Turning back to Avery and Casey, Bella shrugged once more.

“I do not think there are limitations. So, if you want us to be waiting backstage, we will.” Bella confirmed with a soft smile. “Or we can wait in the audience…”

Bella’s voice trailed off as she watched Casey’s demeanour change slightly, his entire attitude shifting at the mention of backstage. He must have been used to having people back there for him, his family being famous and all. Readjusting her own stance, Bella nodded to herself and walked over to the stage door, pulling it open and making room for Avery and Casey to go through.

“You know what? We will be back here for you. An… entourage, if you will.” Bella spoke confidently, quietly pulling the door closed behind her.

The trio made their way up the stairs to the set list, Bella carefully signing off on the sheet that the three of them were present. Eventually, their names were called and they made their way towards the stage. Instinctively, Bella found herself in front of Casey fussing about him like a concerned mother, her hands running carefully through his blond hair as she moved from one thing to another, adjusting anything she could see that could possibly show up oddly on stage.

“My gosh, how much hair gel do you use?” Bella asked as she fluffed his hair about before moving onto his shirt, running her hands over the wrinkles in short strokes. “And would it have killed you to iron your shirt? This is an important performance and…”

Bella stopped herself, her hands pausing on Casey’s chest for a moment before quickly jerking them back to her side She was doing it again, that stupid fussing thing she did when she was nervous. As of late, Avery had been her frequent target of unbridled perfectionism. He seemed to understand it, never making her feel weird about it, but she was certain Casey wasn’t going to let her get away with it.

Reaching over to the case against the wall, Bella carefully freed Casey’s guitar and handed it to him, looping the strap over his head and shoulders gently so as to not ruin his hair. With a final fixing of his sleeves, Bella stepped back and nodded, a soft smile on her lips.

“Good luck, Casey. You are going to do great.” Bella said sweetly. As soon as he was out of earshot, Bella’s facade dropped, replaced with anxiety as she turned to Avery. “I really hope our song does not suck. Casey may be a good singer, but there is only so much he can do with horrible lyrics.”

Bella laced her fingers together in front of her, forcing a deep breath into her lungs. Breathe, Bella, don’t forget to breathe.

º º code by ditto º º

 

[0k_mang0]

MOOD:


OUTFIT:
in costume as "Marty" (Mary)
​

INFO

LOCATION:
backstage

WITH:
chanel

MENTION:
n/a​

ACTIVITY

Soap

TAGS

cappie

Gotta admit it, Chanel had a pretty good poker face. Cappie couldn’t tell if half of anything he said got through to her. Sure, she was paying attention, listening to what he said, but he wasn’t sure whether or not she was listening-listening to him. If that made any sense. She just didn’t always seem expressive with her own true feelings, which made it challenging for Cappie to understand her.

For all he knew, Chanel was, most likely, silently dismissing his words as lame excuses. She seemed like the type of no-nonsense person who’d do that. At least, that’s what Cappie guessed so far since knowing her for a short time.

He was, however, able to catch her contradicting statement.

“I noticed nothing more than the fact that you were wearing a jacket in eighty-degree heat…”

Cappie suppressed his witty remarking habit with a small amused smile, without saying a word. He remembered last week’s temperatures being in the high-to-mid 70s, not 80s during this time of the year. He didn’t doubt Chanel noticing his clothing choices during rehearsals, but he figured that her pride made her stubborn enough to deny.

Cappie didn’t mind. He was a forgiving guy. Nobody else besides his housemates had noticed anything wrong with him either.

However, he wasn’t sure if Chanel was forgiving like him, especially after noticing the tone of her voice the moment she told him to finish icing his shoulder.

Was it just him or did she sound colder than usual?

Was it something he said?

That was often the case. His mouth tends to run on its own before his thoughts. His mom warned him to be careful with what he said to girls, even though she knew better than anyone that her son always meant well. Cappie usually didn’t mean any ill intent—unless he was interacting with someone he really dislikes and for justifiable reasons, because in that case, he can be snarky all he wants.

But here’s what he knew from his experience: Girls never explain what exactly bothered them. Or rarely, and not always right away. They build on that resentment and then use that excuse to act more or less passive-aggressive to him, make him feel confused and terrible about himself. Sometimes they still do this and pile on his mishap even after he sincerely apologizes.

Cappie still wondered how he wasn’t more attracted to guys than girls at this point.

Look, it wasn’t entirely his fault that someone would take him too seriously or overthink anything he says. Understanding sarcasm was one of those skills that not everyone has. At least he didn’t have a major chip on his shoulder and act unnecessarily passive-aggressive and edgy with his jokes, unlike some of the other assholes at school. His banters were actually more harmless than theirs.

This wasn’t the first time that he and Chanel poked fun at each other, and they moved on and tolerated each other afterward.

Which begged the question currently in his head: what’s made it different now?

Before Cappie could ask Chanel what was bothering her, one of the drama teachers supervising the backstage—Mrs. Walpole or something like that—told them and a few other students nearby to make way for the stagehands so they can move the play’s farmhouse porch setup onto the stage. She was right, they were going on soon.

“I guess I’ll see you back home later, Wilma,” Cappie said, suddenly feeling hesitant. “Or is it Willa…? I’ll recheck the script again. Y’know, to be sure. Hair looks great, by the way.”

He was genuinely complimenting Chanel's hairstyle. Part of him hoped that a simple compliment would help her consider being a bit more forgiving to him.

After readjusting his suspenders, Cappie gathered his belongings, which was only an ice pack and his script, and started walking to his dressing room.

Maybe, he thought along the way, Chanel could channel some of whatever she was feeling from what he said, into her character’s own feelings, put Hollywood Arts’ method acting lessons to good use. Gotta stay optimistic somehow.

code by valen t.

 

[gh0stwriter]

Lucky DuBois

Okay.

Maybe he overstepped.

He knew he didn’t, but did speaking up only cause more trouble for Ash? Would she reap the consequences of his actions. If that was the case, then he wasn’t sure it was worth it. By the looks of things, she would have been dealt this hand whether he was present or not, but it was stupid of him to step in, no matter how much Elise needed to be put in her place.

He felt a tug on his hand. “Lucky, come on, let’s just go.” It was a good idea. Get out before things got out of hand. Before he did irreparable damage. Before he got himself in even more trouble than he was already in.

It wasn’t fine. And if Ash sat back and took it…he couldn't really blame her. He wish he could. Wish he could tell her that he did it and it was the best thing he ever did. But he never stood up to his dad. He never told him to stop. He never put him in his place. He sat there. Defeated—like Ash was doing now. Wandering through life thinking you were a piece of shit. Never good enough. Wouldn’t amount to anything.

Okay.

He felt her hand in his and it was comforting. Calming. She was right. There was no talking to people like Elise. It would solve no problems.

“Lucky DuBois.” His attention returned to Elise. A more dismissive look on his face from before. She knew his name. Did she want a pat on the back? “I happened to look into you after you first asked my son to perform with you for the Arts Festival, and the once Jace informed me that you’d be performing with Ashton here.” His grip on Ash’s hand tightened slightly and he did his best not to react.

“I’m flattered.” He said sarcastically. What could she know that Ash doesn’t already know? What else could she know that hasn’t already been discussed on Twitter. She going to bring up his status? The fact that he’s on scholarship? He internally laughed. Bring it on, bitch.

“It was quite easy to find what I wanted about you. As I expected, a nobody with a sob story from the bad part of New York City?” A small smirk formed. “Bad part of NYC? Lady, I’m from Brooklyn.” Fucking bitch. “And here you are, speaking to me because I offered a little bit of constructive criticism to my daughter that you thought was too harsh, correct? The only reason she has any fans is thanks to the work I’ve put in, so I would suggest you mind your business.”

“Mom—“ He glanced over at Ash. “It’s fine.” He said quickly as he turned his attention back to Elise. Hasn’t said anything he didn’t knew she could dig up with a quick google search. “You’re not the first of Ash’s little boy toys to try and stand up to me, and you certainly won’t be the last.” But he’d be the best at it. He knew how to get under their skin. And he was sure any of Ash’s exes were anything like Lucky. No offense, Dorian. And not that he and Ash were even a thing…but yeah…that isn’t the point.

“But why would I expect you to know anything about showing respect to adults? You moved out here to get away from your father, right?” He tensed. How—how could she possibly know that.

He stood his ground. He wasn’t going to back down. He wasn’t going to let her scare him. Been there. Done that and he promised himself he’d never do it again. “Or, rather, because your father was finally freed from yoh due to his actions. Driving into a liquor store.” He could feel his body tense even more. Her laugh only fueled his resolve. “Tell me, was he driven to drinking after your mother died and he realized he was going to be alone in raising a wretched brat such as yourself?”

Okay. Gloves are off. Got it. He just didn’t know how far she was willing to go and how awful of a person she could be. Yeah, he was warned, but this was way more than he ever expected.

He barely registered Ash’s and her father’s objections. This didn’t have anything to do with them. This was personal now. “At least he’s ended it now, right? I’m sure he’s in a better place, where he doesn’t have to wake up every morning and look at a leech such as yourself.” He kept his eyes on Elise. He couldn’t face Ash…not now. See the pity she’d have on her face. It happened every time. The minute people found out, it changed the way they viewed you, talked to you, acted around you.

And he was doing everything in his power to keep it together. To keep himself from breaking down. To keep himself from giving her the satisfaction of knowing she’d gotten to him. He glanced down at the ground momentarily.

“Now, leave.” He smirked as his head rose and his eyes locked on Elise. “Leech, huh? That’s funny coming from someone like you.” He said as he took a deep breath. “A woman so far out of her prime she’s trying to relive the glory days vicariously through her children.”

He stood his ground. “Did you expect me to cower? Back down? Thankfully, I got my resilience from my mother.” Not breaking eye contact. “You don’t scare me, Mrs. West. And you can dig up all the dirt on me you want. You can belittle me, you can bring up my past, you can get your rocks off on tearing your daughter down, but that won’t change the fact that she has more talent than you ever did.” He took a deep breath.

“You’re just a washed up wanna be. What’s that saying? Those that can’t do, teach.” He said as he smugly. He glanced over to Ash. “You ready to go?”

mood
restless...not nervouslocation
dressing room

outfit
looking good

playing...
Drowning

by Olivia Holt & Ross Lynch

mentions
na

interactions
Ashtags
Winona

º º code by ditto º º

 

[Winona]

Elizabeth Sterling

Oh no. Oh Beth had so totally forgotten just how much their parents hated each other, and she had totally blanked on how much it would piss her dad off if she pointed that their mother got the first copy. And no, that wasn't a smug smile that had tugged its way onto Beth's lips when she saw the somewhat look on her dad's face, or heard his nearly sarcastic "lucky me" remark. Nope, certainly not at all.

But as they said, it was the tiny things that really counted -- and Beth had to admit that like yeah, while this was super small, it was also a super satisfying victory. And it wasn't that she didn't love her dad or whatever, but like... well, Beth was closer with her mother, and she knew that it would stress Tori out beyond belief. And there was something about that that also brought a tear of joy to Beth's eye.

Of course, Beth had to roll her eyes as Tori flipped open the front cover of the book and started to point out everything that she'd written -- as if she'd done a bigger portion than Beth herself had done. And yeah, maybe she'd done a little more than Beth, but it wasn't like she'd done an extraordinary amount more or whatever. It was enough to get under Beth's skin, and she let out a little huff of annoyance, her arms crossing over her chest as her lips pursed in a pouting fashion.

“I see.” Their dad said, lowering his voice, although not enough that his words were lost to Beth and their mom. “So Beth takes after her mother in her willingness to contribute.”

Beth pursed her lips to keep herself from saying something, although she did look down at the ground. Sure, she understood that her dad was just trying to make a joke, but it was still a hurtful joke. Her eyes stayed glued to the floor until she felt a hand on her shoulder, and she lifted her head to see that her mother had moved to stand beside her while staring daggers in the direction of the girls' father.

Her dad rolled his eyes, holding up his hand to her mom. “God, Judy, I’m just kidding,” he said. “Lighten up.”

It was clear that their mother had words to say, but Tori gave an awkward laugh and all eyes pulled to her as she started... like... what? Trying to change the subject or something?

Oh my god. Someone send help to Tori. She was faltering as she tried to change the subject, not that Beth was surprised. And so, it was with a bit of an amused smile that she watched her sister.

“So…so, so, I, uh, do my reading in…” She lifted her arm to glance at her wrist, then dropped it. “…t-minus-I-don’t-know-because-I-don’t-have-a-watch.”

"No one has watches anymore, check your phone. Duh." Beth stated the obvious, although Tori apparently -- in her little panic -- missed the fact that Beth was talking to her, because she didn't acknowledge the suggestion, and instead just continued to trip over her words.

Not that Beth was complaining. It was so entertaining.

Until Tori said her name.

Damn it.

“Beth,” she said quickly. “You…mentioned something you wanted to do earlier, right? Right?”

No, Beth hadn't, but if Tori was going to throw her under the bus, well... then Beth had no problem in throwing her sister right under the bus back.

"Me?" She asked innocently and placed a hand over her chest, her pale eyes blinking rapidly as if surprised by this suggestion, and then Beth let out a little giggle. She stepped closer to her sister, gently patting her arm before she smiled over at her parents. "Tori, please, it was you. How could you not remember? I do believe that you wanted to, ummm... oh... what was it..." Beth gave a little shake of her head, dramatically pausing even though she knew exactly what she wanted to say, and then her eyes lit up again as she looked back at Tori.

"Oh that's right. You wanted to introduce mom and dad to your boyfriend, right? What was his name again? Ezra Gray, right?" Beth laughed, turning back towards their parents. "She's been, like, a little bit shy about the whole dating thing, so it's been kind of a secret or whatever, but..."

Beth smiled back at her sister.

Could she have been a good little sister? Helped Tori out?

... Well yeah but that wasn't fun.

"So Tori takes after her father in keeping secrets," her mother deadpanned, and then glanced towards their father with a smirk. "Kidding, Keith."

Well.

Beth had tried to help.

She gave a little laugh.

"Alright, Tori, so where is he?" Beth asked awkwardly.

mood
ugh

location
Arts Festival

outfit
classy

playing...
It's Still Cool If You Don't

by Briston Maroney​

mentions
N/A

interactions
Tori

tags
ditto

º º code by ditto º º

 

[Winona]

Ashton West

TW: alcoholism, abuse, suicide

God, god, god. Ash was like... she was like, she was really, really, really trying not to freak out or whatever, but she was also having a really hard time trying to breathe, and she kind of felt like her lungs were seizing up, and she kind of felt like she might puke, and she was like... like... like...

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, this was horrible. This was bad, bad, bad.

Usually in these situations, Ash would find herself walking away as fast as she could, and she'd just go like... try to catch her breath in a bathroom or whatever alone, except that she couldn't, because Lucky was still here. And like, Lucky was clearly not budging, which was just... so...

Oh my god, they needed to go.

“Leech, huh? That’s funny coming from someone like you.” Lucky started, and Ash's lungs squeezed again. “A woman so far out of her prime she’s trying to relive the glory days vicariously through her children.”

She was going to pass out and her mother was going to kill her later for Lucky like, speaking out or whatever. Like legit legit dead. Like everyone would be receiving invitations to Ash's funeral, except that her mother wouldn't take that kind of risk, so her mother would definitely just pull her out of this school, say something about how all of this was Eli and Gen's fault, and then she'd seen her to the freaking private school and like, like, like.

Oh god she was going to be sick.

“Did you expect me to cower? Back down? Thankfully, I got my resilience from my mother. You don’t scare me, Mrs. West. And you can dig up all the dirt on me you want. You can belittle me, you can bring up my past, you can get your rocks off on tearing your daughter down, but that won’t change the fact that she has more talent than you ever did.”

Her mother wasn't going to be phased by this. Like, nothing phased her.

“You’re just a washed up wanna be. What’s that saying? Those that can’t do, teach.” Lucky said, and then he looked to Ash. “You ready to go?”

Uhh, yeah. She'd been ready to go.

Ash nodded her head. "Yeah, yeah, let's go," she agreed and started to walk away and pull Lucky with her, except that obviously, her mother couldn't stand not having the last word.

"It's a shame that the best you can do are a few measly insults, but I'm sure that that mouth of yours is the reason your father beat you. Too bad CPS never did a single about the abuse 'allegations,' isn't it? They must've known that it was called for." Elise let out another sigh. "But I'm not wasting any more of energy on a wannabe star who will be a washed up alcoholic just like his deadbeat parents before he's twenty-one."

Ash squeezed her eyes shut, sucking in a deep breath, and exhaling slowly before looking at her mother again.

Now, Elise's gaze had shifted to turn on her child. "We're having dinner with the Harlows and Darringtons tomorrow. Don't forget and don't be late, and no acting out. I don't know what has gotten into you lately, but I'm sick of this ridiculous little rebellious teenager phase that you're going through. Alright?"

"Uh... yeah, yeah, I'll be there," Ash said, giving a little nod of her head, and then tugged at Lucky's hand again. Her eyes shifted from her mom to him for a second, and then down towards the ground. "Ready?"

mood
help

location
Arts Fest stage

outfit
sparkles

playing...
Drowning

by Ash and Lucky obviously​

mentions
N/A

interactions
Lucky

tags
gh0stwriter

º º code by ditto º º

 

[ditto]

trevor callaghan​

(tw: panic. typical for a trevor post, but idk, this time in particular just felt like it needed a warning.)

Heart palpitations — ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum.

Constricted veins.

Tight airways.

Turning stomach.

Faint head.

Static in his head.

They said that your life flashed before your eyes in the moments before you died. If that was true, then Trevor’s life really must have been pathetic, because he wasn’t seeing anything right now, even as he felt a heart attack coming on.

Here would be the time that he’d tell himself to breathe, if he could formulate thoughts. Here would be the time where he tried to calm himself down, if he was capable of really doing anything.

But right now, it was taking everything in him to stay standing up. He tried to will himself to turn and walk away, but he felt himself anchored to the ground, as though there were weights around his ankles. His whole body felt heavy, like he was being pulled to the ground. His posture was rigid and uncomfortable, his eyes were wide, his nostrils were flared, his heart was thudding out of his chest, his stomach was sick, his head was hurting and dizzy, but at least he was still fecking standing — and it was all he could really do to keep standing.

There was an arm at his side that he squeezed to support himself without even realizing what he was really doing. A voice broke through the throbbing and the static, saying, “Take a breath, Trevor,” and he shifted his wide, I’m going to die eyes from the floor to Gen’s face. Her stern, concerned gaze, set on him, broke him out of his head just enough for him to register the jumble of noises that’d left her lips were words pointed at him.

He stared at her, taking a second to decipher and process her words, and then he broke eye contact, drawing in a deep, shaky breath and taking a deep breath. He glanced down at his hand, and then at her face again, and he spared her an apologetic expression as he slowly loosened his grip on her arm. He didn’t take his hand off for fear that he’d wind of falling over and fainting on the floor if he did. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat and manage a smile, but he couldn’t do either of those things — his mouth was far too dry, and he was still far too out of it to psyche himself up to forcing any kind of expression.

“Come on,” she commanded, “let’s go get you something to drink.”

“A fifth of whiskey, maybe?” he mumbled beneath his breath, a joke mostly meant for himself, but even he didn’t laugh. “Ah, alright, shh…ure. Sure.”

Upon his answer, Gen began to carefully guide him through the crowd. It was crowded inside, and stuffy, and the walls were closing in on him. People were breathing down his neck, and staring him down, and he could feel the heat from all of the bodies. His lungs felt like they were being pushed from the front by an iron fist. His windpipe was too constricted for him to really breathe deeply, but he tried, even as they moved past figures that were mostly smaller than him yet felt like towering walls. He felt like they could all hear his racing heart, were all condemning him and glaring after him as he disappeared through the back doors.

He was going to die, he was going to die, he was going to die.

But this time, it was serious. His mind was reeling so much that it was just giving him radio static, refusing to command his body to do its basic functions and instead making him more and more pallid and making his chest hurt more and more and twisting his stomach in more and more knots.

He had this sinking feeling that everything was wrong. Every single thing was wrong, and — and — and — and — and — and he couldn’t do anything to help it, or stop it, or fecking anything.

When they came into the guest area, Trevor managed to breathe in a gasp of air. It was sudden and loud, more of a heave than a typical rise-and-fall, but it was still something.

He was being dragged along, and his eyes knew what was going on but his head didn’t. The world was stiller out here, and the pulse in his ears was louder. There was a hum of voices, the whir of an air conditioning unit, and the crying of a kid somewhere, but it was all lost in a tangle of nonsense by the time it wormed its way to his eardrums, settling as a mess inside the white noise of his psyche and getting tossed aside as something to process in favor of furthering the sinking, panicked feeling in him.

And now, there was a bottle in front of him, and he once again was broken through to by a command from Gen. “Here, take a drink and a damn breath.” An uncapped bottle presented itself to him, and he shockingly reached out and took it, then turned it up to his lips and began to guzzle it.

After the first large gulp, his turning stomach gave an extra toss, but he squinted his eyes tightly and forced down he next swallow. He drew in a deep breath through his nose, pausing to swallow, and then held it as the next guzzle went down. In some way, the cold, crisp water helped to clear his mind a bit, and by the time he opened his eyes, the walls and eyes and that sinking feeling weren’t gone, but they were at least pushed back enough that he was conscious of what was going on around him.

Lowering his now empty bottle, Trevor Callaghan looked around at the people. None of them were looking at him — besides, he realized, the girl beside him. His racing heart skipped at self-conscious, embarrassed beat as he dropped his hand from her arm.

That display had to have looked very fecking concerning.

“Ah, thanks,” he said, shyly offering a twinging smile and a glance with his hazel eyes before looking down at the bottle. Inside were small beads of remaining water, slowly trickling down the walls of the thing to settle in the crevices at the bottom. “I, ah…apologies about, ah…that.” Whatever that was. “Yeah…”

Gen crossed her arms, and Trevor drew in another shaky breath. The sharp pain in his chest was subsiding, slowly.

“Are you okay?”

Her voice was concerned and took him aback. His eyes darted to her face. “Sorry?” he asked. He wasn’t sure he’d heard her right.

“You seemed pretty fucked up back there,” she said.

Trevor forced a dismissive chuckle, shaking his head. “Oh, no, I’m fucked.”

It was a Freudian slip, and it took a few more seconds of forced chuckling for the words that’d left his own mouth to register with him. He quickly shook his head, his stomach flopping against the floor. He forced a tight smile, shaking his head again. “Wait, shite.” He chuckled once more. “No, no, no, nono, no, I’m, ah…”

But there was a second wave of realization that fell upon the boy as he realized that he hadn’t been just repeated her phrasing and had, in fact, meant what he’d let slip. The color, energy, and awkward smile drained from his face, and an expression of pained, panicked defeat came onto his face. After a moment, he breathed, “Christ…I’m so fecking fucked,” and he laced his hands in his hair, gripping tightly. He felt his chest growing taut again, and he squeezed his eyes shut a moment, feeling the pain for a moment before forcing in a breath that felt too deep for his constricted lungs. “Jesus,” he mumbled. “Jesus. Feck…”

As his last word settled, he looked back at Gen, realizing once more that he wasn’t alone. He gave her an apologetic look. “It’s…jus’…stress,” he only half-lied. His words were stilted, pained, shaky, and unsure. “It’s…a…lot.” He gave a forced chuckle and lowered his hand from his head. “A lot to deal with, a, ah, lot to take in, an’ I, ah…it’s just…I don’know. I mean, I’ve got tha strong urge to bang my head forcibly into a wall or rip my hair out or gnaw my nails to their beds. Sensory overload, too much at once, too many fecking emotions, I’m…ah…sure ya get it.” His eyes flicked away and to a nondescript face seated on a bench. “I was sittin’ in that seat thinkin’ of…of jus’…way too much shite,” he said, his voice soft and overcome with a pensiveness that made it seem as though even he didn’t believe his own words.

He blinked. Gen was there. He kept forgetting that. He looked at her. “Probably…fucked…up your viewin’ experience,” he chuckled, a small, forced smile twinging at his lips. “Sorry…about that.”

(I’m tired so act like the parenthetical narrator made some kind of snarky comment along the lines of, “Trevor really wasn’t being himself — after all, he was out here apologizing,” thanks.)

There was a pause, a slight rest after his words that tumbled into tense silence, and Trevor was so obviously lying that even he couldn’t just let it sit.

“And…,” he began again slowly, his voice more genuine this time, and also more pained, “ah…well…I don’know if I can tell you what else, but…” He made his way over to a nearby bench. “It’s…somethin’…big — monumental, an’…somethin’ I’m…I don’t know. An’ I was told, ya know, that that performance was jus’…” He was struggling for his words, but for once, not because he was overthinking them — simply because he didn’t know how to form his dreadful thoughts into words. ‘I felt like…I just kind of felt like I was…lied to, ya know? An’…like…I don’t know. I feel…I don’t fecking know, but it’s nothing…nothing good…” He trailed off.

He realized that he wasn’t making much sense, and he looked at Gen with wide eyes. He cleared his throat awkwardly, forcing a slight smile, and when he spoke again, the shy, embarrassed, self-conscious disingenuity was suddenly back into his voice. “But that’s beside the point,” he began quickly, speaking as though he was in a rush to get his words out now, a stark contrast from the pained, genuine, vulnerable words from before, “and God feck, I’m talking too much, I’m sorry —“ He chuckled a single-syllabic chuckle. “— I should just shut my bitchin’, thank ya for the haych-two-oh again an’ let ya go, ya know —“ Another chuckle. “Go gallivatin’ off on my own to find my grandmother so she can kick my arse for avoidin’ her, because that’s all I’ve been doing all mornin’ — oh feck, she’s goin’ to have my ’nads.” He drew in a shallow, panicked breath, and now, his expression faded into the same panicked one as before. “An’ I need those an’ my headache’s already feckin’ killin’ me, an’ my head’s goin’ ta feckin’ explode when she starts naggin’, an’ all she does is nag, an’ I’m goin’ ta have ta hear all kinds’a questions pryin’ about what I’ve been doing an’ I don’t want ta say I’ve been avoidin’ her, but I can’t ever lie convincingly, an’ even if I say I was watchin’ Ash’s performance, she’ll get all teary-eyed an’ start yelling, an’ then I’ll feel bad — I already feckin’ feel terrible, feck — an’ feckfeckfeck…”

The longer he spoke, the more genuine his tone grew, the more panicked his expression became, and the shorter and more panicked his breathing became. His spare hand found his hair again, gripping it tightly, and his final sentences came out in a panicked rush, less like actual words and more like garbled gibberish: “An’Ineedthosean’myheadache’salreadyfeckin’killin’mean’myhead’sgoin’tafeckin’explodewhenshestartsnaggin’an’allshedoesisnagan’I’mgoin’tahavetahearallkinds’aquestionspryin’aboutwhatI’vebeendoingan’Idon’twan’tasayI’vebeenavoidin’herbutIcan’teverlieconvincinglyan’evenifIsayIwaswatchin’Ash’sperformanceshe’llgetallteary-eyedan’startyellingan’thenI’llfeelbadIalreadyfeckin’feelterriblefeckan’feckfeckfeck…”

It was doubtful that she could even understand that part.

His mind was reeling. For a moment, he stared at a random spot, feeling the pain in his chest and that crushing weight on his shoulders and that faintness and that weakness that was pulling him down towards the ground.

His eyes flicked to Gen, and he swallowed hard.

The lump still didn’t go down.

Still, he forced another weak, soft laugh and a smile. Nervously, he lifted the bottle to drink from it — but it was empty. Embarrassed, he lowered it, and then squeezed it tightly in his hands. It let out a loud crunch! and then several smaller crackles as his grip tightened, and then popped as his grip loosened once again. Shyly, he looked away from her again. “You…didn’t…want to hear any of that, did you…?” he asked in a small voice. The answer as obviously no — he talked too much, he was annoying, and there was no wonder why people didn’t want to be around him. He complained constantly, and all he did was give the worst possible answers. She’d probably asked him if he was good for small talk, and he’d gone and fecking done that. “An’ I jus’ gave you an earful,” he answered himself, “like you haven’t got…stress of yer…own…”

He glanced back at the bench that he’d walked up to before and once again became conscious of its presence. Carefully and shakily, he lowered himself into it. He sat on the very edge of the very far corner, as though he was squeezed onto it, though there was no one else sharing it with him. He sat the crushed bottle beside him. Out of his grip, it began to grow again, letting out soft pops. His eyes trailed from it to the ground, his hands crossing over himself, his shoulders hunching, his posture slouching, and his head sinking. He seemed almost to be growing smaller, or to intentionally be making himself smaller.

He wanted to retract into his own skin and…fecking disappear.

His teeth chattered from a sudden chill, his wide eyes frozen open as he heaved in a shaky breath and heaved out another. Heaved in, heaved out.

He slowly trailed up to her face. “Sorry,” he said, “I’m just a bit…” He struggled for the word, pulling his arms from around him to gesture with his hands as he searched for the right term. He pressed his palms flat together, putting the tips of his fingers to his lips and drawing in a deep breath. Finally, he slowly turned his wrists outward, pointing his palm-to-palm hands at the ground. “…neurotic.” He tried to make it sound like a joke, but it was more a feeble, genuine apology for the way that he was.

He drew in a deep breath, folding his arms across his chest again, and his lips pressed into a flat line. He was silent for a moment, and it seemed as though he wasn’t going to speak at all. Then, finally, in a small, somber voice, he said, “I usually smoke to help my stress.” He paused, then laughed a small, self-depreciating laugh before he said what he’d laughed at: “I’m sure you know…I’m only really known for my smoking, ‘pedovan’, an’…er…anal-ness.” His lips pressed into a line again, and he quieted once more. “I can’t smoke today. If I smelled like weed or Nana — my grandmother — realized I was high, I don’t think I’d survive…”

He swallowed hard, was silent for another couple of moments, and then looked up at Gen, cracking a small smile. “Any tips?” he asked. “On, ah, surviving weed-free, I mean. You’re not high, but ya seem put-together, ya know. Or if you are high, teach me your stealthy ways. I need it.”

mood
…

location
the audience of ash's performance

outfit
before you say a single fecking word, this wasn't his idea.

playing...
some nights (intro)

by fun.​

mentions
ash

interactions
gen

tags
geminiy

º º code by ditto º º

 

[Soap]

Livanna Moore
"Find the positive in everything. ”

@Livieeee is has updated her status to:

@Livieeee has interacted with:
Nickie

@Livieeee has mentioned:
Kayla

@Livieeee has set her outfit to:
Sparkly-Sexy

@Livieeee has tagged:
ditto​

Yesssss!

Kayla was totally cool with hanging out tonight, and while it probably wasn’t going to count as a second date or anything super special.

It was still exciting.

Liv hated going out alone. Well, she hated being alone but that was different and overly depressing to talk about right now.

She was hyped for later tonight.Later being the drugs and dancing part, that is.
Not the whole… sticking around for a little and watching everyone else perform-- and performing herself, and--

Listen.

Liv loved everyone here. Well, some of them. And she wanted to see them perform, yeah. Of course. But she wanted to have fun. And sitting around backstage was so, not fun.

Besides, would anyone even notice that she wasn’t at their showcase?

Nope.

The only time Liv is noticed is when she’s ruining a relationship.

Exxxxactttlyyyyy.

Wait.

Which relationships did she ruin again?

Oh, yeah.

Her own, Nickie’s, and Nate’s? Not Nate’s yet. Nevermind. He was too busy keeping it a big secret so Evie hates her later on too.

Oh no.

Oh nooooo.

Here goes the internalized panic.

She wanted to listen to Kayla go on about her performance… or whatever she was talking about. But right now?

Liv’s mind was so far into the abyss she had no idea what Kayla was saying anymore.

Until she took a hold of her hand.

Livanna glanced down at her hand to see an envelope, a small smile played at her lips and she looked up towards Kayla.

“What’s th--”

A small tug her way and she stumbled closer to Kayla, Liv was confused for a second until the girl pressed her lips to her own.

And Liv got hit with a whole ton of butterflies.

…

And a whole bunch of doubt at the same time.

It was as if she was floating, but somehow getting k down to reality with such a force that she couldn’t explain.

Yet, she pulled away with a smile.

“You were wrong.”

Her smile widened, but her eyes didn’t match it.

Kayla turned to leave and Liv wanted to say something.

Anything.

But nothing came out.

Kayla left and Liv was alone.

Her smile faded instantly as her gaze fell to the envelope and her curiosity had gotten the best of her, flipping it open and pulling a card out.

‘Good luck! Xoxo.’

Two tickets were at the bottom and she took that as a sign that Liv was indeed getting a second date. She had a mixture of emotions. But she pushed it all away.
This was a good thing. It was a great thing. Amazing, even.

So why did she feel so bad about it?

Liv took a deep breath, exhaling the extra weight that laid on her chest.

She pulled out her phone, sending a quick message to Kayla.

‘Thanks for-’

Liv held the delete button until all the words disappeared.

‘It was swe--’

No.

Don’t mess this up, Liv.

Come on.

Tears filled her eyes but she couldn’t let them fall. She’d ruin her makeup.

She was getting overwhelmed.

“What are you doing? Are you read--”

“What’s the issue now? Is it about the song? I told you it’s--”

“No, I’m just tired. I don’t know. I’m fine.” Liv wiped the corners of her eyes, sniffling. Nick furrowed his brows, looking at his surroundings before shoveling through his pockets and holding out a circular tablet.

She looked at the pill and he stared at her expectantly.

Reaching for the tablet, she popped it into her mouth as he handed her a bottle of water that was conveniently placed on her vanity.

—

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting here for, but it couldn’t have been that long.

She felt better.

Calm.

Liv blinked multiple times, still glancing down at her phone, unsure of what to message Kayla.

“Liv!”

“You’re on, baby.” Nick clapped his hands together, gesturing towards the stage and a glare that had only meant to get a move on. Throwing her phone just about anywhere, Liv rushed towards the stage waiting to be introduced before walking on.

Everything felt like it was moving slowly.
Not slow enough to where she was flipping out or anything.

It was just smooth.

Every movement, every shift of her eyes.
Nick gave her a once over and nodded in approval.

“Smile, sing, do your thing.”

She hated when people told her exactly what to do as if she wasn’t already about to do it.

He held out the mic to her and she gripped it tightly.

And then tighter when it felt like she wasn’t holding anything in the first place.

Her name was called and cheers erupted, although she wasn’t sure if the cheers was her imagination or if it was actually happening.

Had Liv imagined all her fans?

That’d make senseeee.

Heel boots clicked on stage and music started to blast so loudly that it felt like the stage was shaking.

And she missed her que.

Oh.

She lifted the mic to her mouth and a laugh escaped her, but one of those laughs that came from the stomach y’know?

You knew she found this entirely too funny.

“Sorry boys, sorry. I’m good. Run it baccckkkk.”

The band exchanged glances but listened to her nonetheless.

The music started up again, the bass was boomin’ and all that was left was for Liv to—

“I guess it’s time that I mentioned I got myself an obsession.”

Nailed it.

The rest of the performance went by without a hitch.

It was sexy.

“Cowboy boots, cowboy boys, Mmm— joy.”

Exciting.

“B-boots and boys, they bring me so much joy.”

Crazy4uCrazy4u.

It was amazing.

She was amazing.

—
“Did you see! Hahahah.” Her laugh echoed as she walked backstage with a wide smile. Her makeup artist had given her a thumbs up, her costume designer merely smiled in response and Liv’s smile quickly turned into a frown when she noticed nobody had anything to say.

“Hey, why—“

Nick emerged, kicking off of the vanity he was balancing himself on.

“What was that?”

“... what was what?”

Everyone near them dispersed, but he kept his tone low incase anyone would pick up their conversation.

“The fuck are you talking about Livanna? The choreographer, you missed your—“

“That’s not my fault! I didn’t plan to use this song! I wasn’t prepared!” She exclaimed, it was loud enough to catch eyes and Nick put his head down, letting the attention die down,

Liv turned to leave and he took a hold of her wrist.

“Is it that you weren’t prepared or were you just too strung out on something to focus?”

“But you—“

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“What? No, you're the one who gave it to me!”

“You shouldn’t have fucking needed it in the first place.” His grip tightened enough to ache and her voice fell quiet.


“You’re hurting me.”

Nick’s glare seemed to soften in realization and he immediately let go of her.

Weary eyes glanced around as he spoke. “We’ll talk about this later.” Her manager walked off and Liv was alone again, blinking away tears.

You’re so stupid.

So stupid.

Her free hand rubbed at her wrist and Liv started to walk around aimlessly.
Muttering small greetings and goodbyes as she passed some of the workers and students.

She kept walking and soon enough she wound up next to Nickie.

“... Hi.”

Huh? Where’s the creepy compliments? Come on, Liv. You’re in there somewhere.

A forced smile appeared on her face and Liv closed some distance between her and Nickie.

“Ooooo. Look at youuuuuuuu, you look delicious.” She stuck her tongue out momentarily, making a show of licking her lips— not in a seductive way at all, more like a little kid trying to annoy another.

“I didn’t come with a pig’s foot— is that what people use for good luck? I can’t remember, I mean I know it’s some kind of animal but it’s probably something that’s really—“

“Sorry, good luck. Break a leg but not really? Girls that can walk?”

Livanna fanned herself, mouthing the word ‘hot.’

That’s not to say girls who couldn’t walk aren’t hot because it all depends on personality and whether or not their face is up to par.

She was rambling.

Again.

Whoops.

º º code by ditto º º

 

[gh0stwriter]

Lucky DuBois

Fuck that.

He didn’t overstep.

He was more sure of that than anything else. She deserved to be put in her place. She deserved to be told what a shit person she was. She deserved a hell of a lot more than Lucky had said. And if she wanted to keep going, he would. Some might call him stupid. She’d definitely call him a degenerate, but opinion meant nothing to him.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go.” Their eyes met and he felt her tug on his hand. It was for the best. The sooner they got out of there, the better. He took a few steps before he stopped as he heard Elise speak.

“It’s a shame that the best you can do are a few measly insults, but I’m sure that that mouth of yours is the reason your father beat you.” He looked to Ash as the final skeleton in his closet had been revealed and before he could read the coming expression, he averted his eyes. His free hand clenched into a fist.

“Too bad CPS never did a single thing about the abuse ‘allegations,’ isn’t it? They must’ve known that it was called for.” If he hadn’t met her. If he hadn’t already witnessed the way she treated her own child. He might be surprised by that last statement. But he wasn’t. It stung…stung more than he wanted to allow. His chest grew tighter as his eyes narrowed in on Elise.

He could tell her. Tell her why the ‘allegations’ were dismissed. Tell her that it was because he hid the truth. He lied to CPS—not to protect his father, but to make sure he and Lennon didn’t get separated. That he took it to keep his family together. But it would be pointless. All she cared about was status and appearances. Family didn’t matter to her, clearly.

He felt Ash tense as her mother’s attention found her again. “We’re having dinner with the Harlows and Darringtons tomorrow. Don’t forget and don’t be late, and no acting out. I don’t know what has gotten into you lately, but I’m sick of this ridiculous little rebellious teenager phase that you’re going through. Alright?”

Dinner. With the Harlows? Why hadn’t Dorian mentioned that? Probably cause he wasn’t invited. Probably cause Mama Harlow didn’t have him on his radar yet, but it figured that she and Mrs. West would be friends.

“Ready?”

His eyes were still glued on Elise. Refusing to give her any satisfaction. He looked to Steven momentarily. “Good to meet you, Sir. ” He offered a small smile. He didn’t blame the guy. Elise probably had his balls in a safe back in New York. And then he brought his attention back to Elise.

He offered a pleasant smile. “Lovely to meet you, Mrs. West. We really should do this again sometime.” A small smirk formed. Unbothered. That was his goal. He wasn’t sure if it was working because he was balancing between blowing a fucking gasket and blowing a fucking gasket. And it wasn’t going well. “Be sure to tell Aunt Angie, Lucky says hello.” He regretted it the minute he said it, but it was too late. Dorian was gonna kill him.

He turned toward Ash, but refused to make eye contact. “Ready.” He said quickly as they headed away from her parents. It took a minute before he found a spot that was quiet and didn’t have a million people roaming around. He needed quiet. He didn’t know what Ash needed. Probably anyone other than him. The person that probably just made her life ten times worse.

He stood there a moment replaying everything that had happened in such a short amount of time. What the fuck? He glanced down at his hand that was still holding Ash’s and finally gained the courage to glance up at Ash. “You good?” He cleared his throat. “I mean, are you okay?” Stupidest fucking question he’s ever heard.

mood
restless...not nervouslocation
dressing room

outfit
looking good

playing...
Drowning

by Olivia Holt & Ross Lynch

mentions
na

interactions
Ashtags
Winona

º º code by ditto º º

 

[Winona]

Damien Slater

Well, well, well, it would appear that Damien hadn't lost the little bit of game that he was oh so proud of. That or, well, the girl was just that fucking desperate, but he wasn't about to complain about his good luck.... Nor was he about to admit to himself or anyone else that it was probably less about his own flirtatious charm that she was still talking to him, and more probably just because he was here.

Right place, right time as they said.

The girl was clearly digging him and come on, let's be honest -- who wouldn't be into Damien fucking Slater? He was fucking hot. He was fucking cool.

(Again, ignoring the fact that the girl was clearly just lonely and wanted someone to keep her company.)

During Damien's pretty much nonsensical rambling, the girl shook her head and placed a finger over his mouth. His dark eyes widened in surprise because like, what the fuck, but the words on his lips died as he tried to look at the finger on his mouth (which just gave him a little bit of a headache thanks to the whole cross eyes business), and then he looked back towards the girl as she started to speak.

“Shh shh, you talk almost too much, no?” she moved her arms around his and spoke again, “Come come. We can find somewhere that is little more quiet.”

Oh, oh, OH.

So this girl didn't want to do any kind of talking, huh? She was all business clearly, because why the fuck else would she be touching him and telling him to talk?

Also hearing that he talked too much -- not exactly something he was used to hearing from people he was trying to bang. Usually it was a matter of him not talking enough, so now imagine how excited he was about his good luck because he didn't have to worry about being fucking charming or whatever.

Clearly, this girl just wanted one thing, and it was the one thing that he tended to mention as often as he could.

This dick.

Ha.

Not that he could blame her. Anyone in their right state of mind would want his fucking dick.

"Yeah, c'mon," Damien said with a grin as he glanced around him... and then his gaze settled on a door -- not one that led to a janitor's closet, because fucking to the scent of bleach wasn't exactly something that he wanted a repeat of, but it was a door that clearly led to backstage. And hey, there were so many people going in and out and no one keeping watch, so surely they could just slip in.

Slip in, fuck real quick, and then Damien would go find his mother and go back to being the good little boy she thought he was.

Foolproof plan.

And so, Damien led the way over to the backstage area. He pulled the door open for her and followed her in (which was definitely just because he was a chivalrous gentleman, and not at all so he could check her out from behind) and then he started trying the different doors, until he found one that was empty.

Ha, jackpot.

He tugged it open and again stepped inside, closing the door after Anastasia followed him through.

He looked towards her with a little lopsided smile on his face. "So..." he said.

Well.

mood
hey there

location
Arts Fest

outfit
classy

playing...
98 Degrees

by Arrested Youth​

mentions
N/A

interactions
Stassi

tags
@AkuTheWolfOkami

º º code by ditto º º

 

[natsukashii]

Hunter Drake

For a moment…

Actually, it was more than just a single moment.

For a series of moments that were consecutive to each other, Hunter’s usual habit of flapping his gums had ceased in a way that would be uncharacteristic for him. Even for someone who has only known him for maybe twenty minutes - thirty minutes tops - would know it: Hunter Drake liked the sound of his own voice. It wasn’t that he had an exceptionally amazing speaking voice. It was somewhat deep in how it sounded and had an almost baritone quality to it, but that wasn’t why he liked it. He liked it because he could yammer away into someone’s ear and unless they outright disliked him, they’d let him. And he had a lot of thoughts he needed to get out. Hunter had opinions on several topics that he always felt needed to be shared. It didn’t need to be necessarily important, but if it was even remotely interesting to him, there was a high chance that he’d give his two cents.

So, you’d think when Remi just had confessed that he loved Amy, he would have something to say.

Well, there were a few reasons why he didn’t say something immediately. Remi kept talking about it and Hunter was really into the piece of gum he accepted from him. It wasn’t an exceptional flavor. It was like one of his favorite toothpaste, but Hunter enjoyed the minty freshness it had about it, so he just stood there and listened to Remi talk about Amy so fondly that he couldn’t believe the small world.

How was it that Hunter, who was someone that thought of Amy as an older sister?

Okay fine, yes he had Mimi and she wasn’t that bad, but it wasn’t the same. Mimi was...okay, Hunter actually didn’t have any justifiable reason why he didn’t like Mimi. She was sweet and a bit of a basket case sometimes, but she never was mean to him in the slightest, but he had bonded with Amy in ways that Hunter valued above most things. He might even go as far as to say that he took a vested interest in trying to protect her if he could. Maybe it was his way of making up for not protecting her from Dei being Dei and how he didn’t apologize until weeks later.

But yes, he was here, listening to someone he enjoyed talking with. Remi was cool. He had a vibe that was a lot more mature than Hunter’s, but he didn’t shoo him away, so that was a plus. Usually, by now, everyone who gets to know Hunter just treats him like the little brat he might be sometimes (Just don’t tell Evie or really anyone who isn’t his friend or his stalker that). So it was all aligned for him to be friends with Remi.

But he honestly didn’t know what to make of this or say. Remi and Amy were dating? Except they weren’t? God, Hunter remembered when he and Nickie were “unofficially dating”. Granted, neither of them were vulnerable like Amy was (that’s something Hunter could agree with at the least), but they sure took their sweet ass time getting to Official City. Of course, though, Amy was completely different than Nickie was. Amy was coming off of a traumatizing relationship with someone Hunter had very mixed feelings about.

“Damn man,” Hunter said finally after trying to process all of this. “So, you and Amy. That’s...well, that just fan-fucking-tastic! And I mean that in the most genuine way possible!” Hunter almost grinned. He patted Remi on the shoulder, looking at the man as he spat his gum out since it lost all of its flavor. “I’ll tell you this: you’re a hell of an upgrade from her last relationship--” Hunter stopped himself because he could feel Remi was about to correct him, “--yeah yeah, I know you said unofficial, but before Nickie tore my heart out and ripped it to shreds, he rode the unofficial ride for a bit. Probably not the same, but hey maybe you guys will be Official City-bound before you know it.”

Hunter amazed himself. He gave the best advice. He was pretty damn incredible at being able to use the bitch stain that was the aftermath of his relationship with Nickie as a way to maybe help someone who, for once, would be a catch for Amy. Still, there was the elephant in the room. “But I have to say, you’re probably right about her not being in the best of places right now. I mean, how much do you know about her ex?”

mood
Chatty

location
Arts Fest

outfit
Ready to kill it

playing...
The Bitter Taste

by Hunter Drake​

mentions
Amy, Nickie, Dei, Evie (briefly)

interactions
Remi

tags
@AkuTheWolfOkami

º º code by ditto º º

 

[ditto]

nickie abrams.

Butterflies rammed against the side of Nickie’s stomach, too sickening to be dismissible, even as she tried to tell herself that she’d got this, you’ve got this, you’ve got this. Her knees felt jello-like, and she crossed her arms across her stomach. She was going to be sitting at the keyboard during her performance, which was a fucking relief, but there was no way she could keep standing until then. She glanced back at the backstage manager. “Can I…get a chair?” she asked in a murmur.

The woman gave a soft click of her tongue and pointed to a chair just a few feet away from Nickie.

You’re so fucking stupid. “Thanks,” she said, smiling a soft, embarrassed smile for a short instant and walking over to the chair. She dropped herself into the seat, crossed her legs at the knee, and folded her arms against her stomach. Breathing out a soft, nervous smile, she focused in on the thudding music onstage. Behind the curtains, the voice was quieter, but it still clicked: Liv.

Nickie’d lied to her and told her she was coming to hear her perform, but it turned out that it wasn’t a lie, she guessed.

It was funny how things went.

A bitter taste came into her mouth. She frowned, disgusted. Fuck, how did she end up…in this position, listening to the bitch that’d stolen her lyrics and who the boy she’d loved’d kept a secret past with and thinking, ”Wow, it’s funny how things work”? Could she even really trace it back to a spot? Like, was she here, dreading going out there and showing her face whilst listening to a girl who she would frankly be happy to hear dropped off the face of the earth because in early September, she set her eyes on the mini-me of the boys she couldn’t have — one because things “didn’t pan out” when they were talking and another because he was gay?

Pathetic.

She heard that in JJ’s voice first, and then her own: Pathetic.

The small, still part of her, the forced positive section that kept repeating, You’ve got this, you’ve got this, you’ve got this, was slowly being overtaken, and the longer she sat here, listening to the pulsating, loud music that her pounding heart metronome-d the eighth notes of, the sicker and sicker she felt.

She’d eaten a granola bar for breakfast, but now, she was regretting even eating at all.

The music sounded great. Amazing, even, and Nickie knew that her sad little performance was going to not only pale in comparison but was going to be simply fucking laughable. The aim was to go out there and show everyone that she was okay, but the emotions she was feeling were just as fucking stupid as the broken heart beside her name that everyone’d laughed at, too.

Performance anxiety wasn’t entirely foreign to any performer, much less Nickie, but this felt like it was more than that this time. Because this wasn’t just a performance. It wasn’t just her talent being judged.

It was…her…everything being judged.

The last of the noise from Liv’s loud performance finished out, and suddenly, Nickie felt her latently thudding heart catch in her throat. “I can’t do this,” she whispered to herself.

Okay, fuck it. Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it. She wasn’t going to go out there and give those bloodthirsty bitches what they wanted, because even if she knew she was pathetic, she wasn’t going to show it and make everything else they said true.

That wasn’t what she was supposed to be thinking. She was supposed to be thinking, You’ve got this, you’ve got this, you’ve got this.

Goddamn it.

Thankfully, performances exited stage left, and she was stage right, which meant that she was spared from seeing Liv…hopefully. She slowly, shakily stood from her seat, pressing her palms against her skirt as she did and letting her arms droop at her side. Her heart was pounding in her throat now, but she forced a nervous smile for herself, doing her best to press back the nausea and the nerves and the fucking dread of going onstage and feeling all of the eyeballs on her in favor of rockily mustering the strength to internally recite her mantra once more.

You’ve got this, you’ve got this, you’ve got this.

“…Hi.”

Nickie’s eyes flicked to the owner of the voice, and she instinctively held her breath. An extra shot of nerves caused Nickie’s ears to give a little rattle.

Just when she’d thought she was safe from one thing.

She swallowed hard, her smile dropping from her face. “Liv,” she said flatly, her voice weak. Her disappointment was obvious — as it always was when she had the misfortune of having to fucking interact with Livanna Moore.

Of all fucking people, of course it had to be her.

Of all fucking times, of course it had to be right now.

“Ooooo,” said Liv. “Look at youuuuuuuu, you look delicious.” She stuck her tongue out, licking her lips.

Typically, Nickie would snark, insult her, scowl, glare at her, call her a creep, but she didn’t have it in her right now. Nervously, in a flat voice, she simply said, “Yeah.”

“I didn’t come with a pig’s foot — is that what people use for good luck?” Her voice, while grating, still didn’t get much of a reaction from Nickie. “I can’t remember, I mean I know it’s some kind of animal but it’s probably something that’s really —“ She cut herself off, and then said, “Sorry, good luck.”

Nickie blinked at her, confused.

“Break a leg but not really?” Liv continued. “Girls that can walk?” She fanned herself and mouthed, “Hot.”

“Riiiight…” She breathed out a long sigh. “Thanks? I think I’ve got it,” she said shortly, swallowing hard.

It was a lie, obviously. Liv could probably tell.

“Dominicka.”

She glanced over her shoulder to see a man — her manager — approaching.

“Is it time?” she asked, though it was obvious.

“One minute,” he said with a nod. “They’re getting the keys set up for you right now.”

Her heart gave an intense throb at his answer. She breathed in a deep breath, swallowing hard, and she looked over at Liv. “I’ve got to go,” she said, starting to step away. “Bye…”

She made it a few feet before she stopped and looked back at Liv.

Her heart in her throat, she added, “Good job…by the way. I guess.” Her voice was quiet, and weak. “And…thanks for the luck. I really needed it.”

……………………​

(Pssst…scroll up on the middle aesthetic image at the bottom and click the play button to hear the song. ; ) )

Her fingers, shaking, set on the keyboard. She, the drummer, the guitarists, and the pads player all waited in the background beneath dimmed, dark blue lights for the first chord of the song. It was so quiet in the audience that a pin drop would’ve sounded like a bass drum.

Her eyes flicked up to the red clock mounted above the middle exit of the concert hall.

Time was wasting, so here went nothing.

Drawing in a deep breath and leaning towards the microphone, Nickie pressed down the first chord on the keyboard. The notes rang out in the silence, soft and free, the lights above slowly brightening as the first beat rang out, cuing the bassist to begin his steady eighths through the first bar. This rendition was much slower than the recorded version — whereas the original was around 120 bpm, this was about twenty beats per minute slower, and more acoustically arranged. Her hands found the next chord, the bassist followed, and with a swell from the pads, the intro was finished — and there was her cue to start.

“Think I drank too much again…”

Her mellow voice was on pitch, the tiredness in her timbre obvious but adding to the character.

“Looks like fun but it’s pretend…”

The beats went on, and she faded into a meager confidence, her shoulders relaxing as her eyes focused on finding the right keys for her fingers and her mind focused on remembering the next words. She lived from beat-to-beat, a serene, calm expression on her face.

“Why do I try to fit in when I just want to go home?”

As the song came to the pre-chorus, a small smile came onto her face, her eyes closing. Her confidence grew with the swell before the pre-chorus, and when she began it into it, her voice had a strength to it that it hadn’t before. “And I know this isn’t like me, I just want people to like me, got my glass up in the air, and I act like I don’t care…”

She opened her eyes to check her hand position, and her eyes flicked up for a moment —

And caught on the clock, and the dark crowd.

There were so many goddamn people.

They’re all looking at me.

Her confidence and her smile wavered, her blue eyes widening and her heart giving a solid thud. “And I take —” She had to take an unplanned breath here as a pressure set on her chest. “— something I shouldn…” She was losing her breath support, and she had to take yet another breath, fading one word out without an end and missing a word. “…say things that I wouldn’t, and I’m just part of the crowd…but I feel better now, so —”

The music picked up at the chorus, loudening, and her hands found the right keys, but when she opened her mouth to continue, nothing came out.

Shit, no.

Shit, shit, shit.

This couldn’t be happening right now.

She shook her head, swallowing hard. The background instrumentalists stalled on the four bar measure, replaying it and replaying it and replaying it, and as Nickie tried to catch her words, she entirely lost herself.

Her vision was growing black around the corners and throbbing with the panicked beats of her hearts. The piano felt far away, hard to touch. She felt the urge to vomit once more, and her eyes welled with tears, and the next chords she played — the same chords for that bar that she’d stopped on — were weak, offbeat.

Pathetic.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

mood
...

location
onstage

outfit
as ready as i'll ever be

playing...
normal

by nickie.​

mentions
hunter

interactions
liv

tags
Soap

º º code by ditto º º

 

[Kitsune2202]

"Goddess of Chaos"
Magnolia Darrington

@Rebel.lia.on has set their status to:
Time to celebrate!

@Rebel.lia.on has set their outfit to:
Performance outfit

@Rebel.lia.on has set their location to:
Arts Fest

@Rebel.lia.on has mentioned:
Josie

@Rebel.lia.on has interacted with:
Spencer ( Xed )

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Maggie was actually having a really good time laughing and joking around right now. For the first time in a while she wasn't even craving a drink, or any other sort of substance. Would it make her feel even better? Probably, but the thought to make this better wasn't on her mind because it already felt awesome. She laughed as he imaginarily picked the name out the sky, "If I can eat there at a discount, it's yours free of charge!" She grinned.

She did wonder if it was something he'd actually do, or want to do. She supposed some careers like dance, or even singing and modeling don't last forever. For some people sure, but most? Most have to have other avenues at some point because just like they were fresh up and comers now...soon there would be new faces to replace even them. Thinking about that she wondered what her back-up plan would be.

Technically her back up plan is supposed to be taking over her mothers company just Like Jared is supposed to do for their fathers Law firm. But that's not what she wanted to do. Then again other then music...what else was she good at enough to honestly do for a living? She spent most of her days now in a haze, with only music, friends, and school pulling her out for a brief moment of clarity before sinking back into the fog.

Maybe after being in the industry she could do things like producing? Maybe she could branch out like others did into acting or something? She liked to think she had plenty of time to figure this out, but she was a junior already, and didn't have any real hobbies? Thinking of the future was difficult, and so maybe it was best to just let the chips fall where they may. Was that responsible? Hell no, but would you expect anything less from her?

His reaction to her question was better then she anticipated, but he wasn't as egar, or as quick with his witty response as he'd been on all the other topics, so that told her a bit of what she needed to know about him. Not the most comfortable of topics, maybe a bit too out there, but he was still willing to roll with it. why? She wasn't sure. Maybe it was just easier for him, maybe he was used to it, maybe he just didn't want her opinion of him to be different. The possibilities were endless, and truthfully didn't matter.

While she did like to see people squirm that was usually reserved for people she didn't like, or pissed her off, or her family. People she just met? She could be accommodating. So far she really liked Spencer, so she'd relent for him. Though watching him try to think of an answer was amusing.

She knew since they didn't know each other the answer could be tricky. At least if he was trying to not be offensive to a person he didn't know. He could just be blunt and honest and she'd be perfectly ok with that. To bad he didn't know her well enough to know she'd be ok with that. There were some pretty dickish females around this school who wouldn't appreciate it, so she understood the hesitation if he's had the unfortunate experience to meet any of them while here.

“A lot can change between now and 30 years later,” Spencer’s gaze returned back to her as he continued, “ask me again in 30 years and I think I’ll be able to give you an answer then.” He concluded with a slightly cheeky smile.

She had to admit that she wasn't disappointed in his response. Safe for sure which in of itself kind of boring, but it left wiggle room to tease and bring it up later which she enjoyed. "30 years huh? Ok We'll put a pin in that and I'll ask then." She smiled playfully pretending to stick a pin in the place he was previously tapping his fingers against the table. "Though you do know this means you've just agreed to be my friend for at least the next 30 years right?" She smirked laughing the whole time, "And there's no take backs either."

Did she actually mean that? Not really, of course she'd never force someone to be her friend, especially with all the chaos and drama that surrounds he life constantly. She knew she was a lot to deal with which is why she was grateful for the few real friends she did have. But It was fun to joke around about it because what if he does manage to stick around? What if she doesn't wind up scaring him off. A girl could dream.

“Sounds like you have a bit of a troublemaking streak huh?” He teased.

He had NO IDEA. Truth be told that made this conversation all the more refreshing that he clearly really didn't. He'd never heard about her and the messes that she made for herself or her family made for her. This was someone who she could have a completely clean slate for. well while it lasted. She knew herself better then to think it would stay that way. "I like to think it's all in good fun." She chimed placing her hand over her heart in mock innocence. "What about you? Ever take a ride on the wild side?" She hummed curiously. He didn't seem the type but you never know.

"Though I will say. My er...streaks are harmless to others. I wouldn't actually do something that'd hurt anyone else, especially my friends. Contrary to popular belief I do think before I do things." She replied simply as she took a drink of her water.

Most people who knew her saw her wild side and thought she lacked impulse control, or was reckless. While maybe the reckless could be true, she was more just spontaneous, but that still didn't mean she didn't think about things. Maybe not all the way, maybe not enough...but thought was there. She truly never did want to HURT anyone or for anyone to be hurt because of something she's done. She felt that'd make her too much like her family. Uncomfortable, sure. Squirm, of course. Be held accountable and feel guilty if they do something shitty hell yah. But to hurt someone just for the sake of it or for "fun"? No. Not her preferred style.

“A dance can be used to express a lot of different things and emotions depending on the routine, like love, sadness, nature, change,” his hands were at work again, pulling out the imaginary words with his hands, “but I think at the core of every dance, professional or recreational is joy and having fun with it.” Spencer concluded by bringing his hands together to hold an imaginary ball of joy between them as he flashed his smile.

Maggie smiled brightly listening to him agree and talk even more. She was happy that he felt comfortable enough to actually continue, and not shy away from it. "I believe that. I think Music is the same, and not just singing, but the beats, melodies, and instruments themselves. Whatever piece is playing or being contributed emits that aura. Plus if there was no joy behind it all there wouldn't be much good in going it."

As sad as she sounded earlier about her start to music that didn't mean she didn't love it. The most fun she has (while sober) is when she is creating or listening to music. It's her sweet and healthy escape from all the bullshit of her life. Yes she likes to be listened to and that would be great, but also it's her voice in general, and it makes her boundlessly happy to get to express herself. Her true self. "I at least wouldn't want to do something that doesn't bring me joy at the end of the day." She corrected herself a bit.

Enough of her life was misery without her adding a joyless hobby on top.

There it was...she'd done it this time. Maggie could see the shift in Spencer after she'd spoken up about her family and not being heard. She hadn't thought it was that personal sounding on the outside...but clearly she was wrong. She shouldn't have said anything at all. It didn't matter anyways. It wasn't his burden or problem to bare and she'd dumped it on him anyways after everything he's done to appease her and make her happy. Shit.

She couldn't let all that go to waste, so she moved on, she dropped it and acted like it never happened. She was good at that by now. Avoiding issues hoping they'd just go away on their own in time. She wanted to spare him that much. She wasn't sure if he couldn't find the words or if she'd moved on too quickly for him to...either way was fine by her. What could he really say?

She didn't even register his actual response because her brain had already shut that part of the conversation down. She wanted the warm cheeky smile that'd been gracing his lips most of their time together to come back. She didn't like this awkwardness. She didn't want the pain vulnerability gave her. The unease that settled in those around her for it. It wasn't worth it.

She smiled back as he accepted her change of pace, "Well i've gotta introduce you she's super cool!" Josie would love him. He's nice, he's cute, and he dances. Then again Josie likes most people to be fair. "Well then I hope you'll consider me one of your new friends." She chimed with a playful grin. This really was fun, and she'd actually love to get to hang out with him again like this. "I can show you some cool places I've found around here. I just moved from NY last year."

She nodded along as he told her about his friends who already performed and where going on. She had a mental note of all the performances she should see today, but she didn't actually know when any of them where. She was pleasantly surprised when he offered to stick with her to see her own friends. Truth be told when she originally bumped into him she didn't expect him to tag along and certainly not for very long, but Spencer seemed to be full of surprises for her, and she was estatic.

"Really!? That's awesome thank you!" She cheered pumping a fist in the air. "You are the best celebration party I've had in a while." She giggled. To be fair it's not her friends fault once they are all trashed the roam into different directions. It seemed rare when partying now a days with them that they all arrived and left together anymore. Where they ended the night up was always a mystery.

"Josie apparently already performed sadly. I do have a couple friends in music that are about to go on, and then we can go to your dance, then we can go see your friends Beth and Tori! And if you still wanna stick around with me after that I have a performance by a friend and my roomie to go to at the end. It'll be great!" she was totally prepared for him to bail at any point in time, especially after they see his friends perform. However long he decided to tag along for the ride she'd be happy for at this point. She finished up her bowl quickly and stood up. "Well he has two. One with his friend is already over, but his band is going up next." She amended herself.

º º code by ditto º º

 

[ditto]

MICHAEL K. REID​

(tw: bullying, milf jokes (mild misogyny? idk, might classify as that), suicide, child abuse, blood. trust me, it’s…very…bad.)

Mike felt a surge of power as a trickle of bright red blood ran down West’s face. The amount flowing from the smaller-framed boy’s nose increased by the instant, and it seemed to take the Piss His Pants a couple of seconds to realize what was going on. Yeah, kinda what Mike’d come to expect from a guy with the cognitive ability of a two-year-old who’d been dropped on his head a few too many times, and the buildup to his realization was all the more fucking entertaining. With trembling fingers, West felt of his nose, and he looked at his hand with wide, angry eyes.

The whiny bitch’s eyes flicked to Mike, glaring, and Mike let out a snicker, a predator-like grin spreading across his face. Good fucking God, he looked like a toddler pouting about getting the wrong McDonald’s toy. “What is…what is…what is wrong w-with you?" the worse West snapped in a nasally voice. He brought his hand up to cover the blood, obviously trying to keep it from getting on his clothes.

Mike blew out a puff of air, rolling his eyes. “I get asked that a lot, and I’ve been told there’s a lot, actually, Family Disappointment.” He watched the boy push away from the wall, moving towards a box of tissues on the vanity like a starving bastard to a crumb of bread. He pulled several out, pressing the against his nose, and Mike let out a bemused chh.

"Leave," West mumbled, "please."

“Aww, Littledick said, ‘Pwease.’ How well-mannered,” Mike chuckled arrogantly. “Next comes, ‘Tank you,’ but knowing you, you greedy, masochistic sonuvabitch, you’d just say, ‘Pwease, beat me some mowe, siw — an’ whiwe youw at it, piss in my mouff?’” He walked closer to West, and he caught his reflection in the vanity. With the other boy hunched over and desperately trying to stop his nose from bleeding on his precious outfit straight out of a Goodwill reject bin, Mike was taller, for once. “Well,” he said, “since you’re asking me so kindly, I just might.”

He lifted his leg, kicking the other boy hard in the back of the knee. “Break a leg, Cum Smudge.” His voice was proud and casual, but there was a glint in his eyes that betrayed how much he was fucking enjoying this.

Mike was on a power trip.

Don’t you have a heart? The answer was apparently fucking not. Not according to Genevieve Johannes, and God fuck, she ruled the world. She was the person who commanded everything fucking living thing, controlled every single fucking thing in this world —

Except the boy who was right here, bleeding, cowering, begging for fucking mercy.

“Better hurry up and get your nose dry before it gets all over those aww, handsome big boy shoes, Piddle Pup,” he said, “and pray to whatever sorry smuck above that’ll ignore you that you don’t piss your, grr, manly black jeans onstage in front of Mommy Dearest, Big Kid Now. I mean, if you do, that little…?” He pointed to his nose, and then chuckled, dropping his hand. “That shit’ll look like a fucking paper cut. I’ve heard your mom’s a bitch with claws, and she’s going to rip you to fucking shreds regardless, so you’ll at least come out with a beating heart if you keep your incontinent little piss hole closed. Duct tape it’d be my suggestion, though your dick’s so tiny that you’d probably wind up ripping that thing off when you pulled off the tape. Strong adhesive, ya know.”

Laughing, Mike took a step back, crossing his arms. “Here’s where I would end it off with, ’Give my mom your number,’ but come to think of it, if she made you, I feel like I’m going to fucking upchuck thinking of what she’s got to look like. Actually, fuck it, it’s not like I’ve got fucking standards, and any woman who hates you is one with enough sense for me to fuck, so you can send her my way. Slip her my number. We’ll bond over making your life hell. She’ll give me tips, and I’ll give her my tip, huh? It’ll be better than your dad’s genetically passed down microdick.”

The whole I’ll fuck your mom prod was classic and never got fucking old.

“Fuck, maybe you could talk me up to her while she’s humiliating you by adding that I did that to your nose. I’d make my next punch extra gentle and loving if you did that. Sure it’s nothing compared to her beatings, but hey, I’d be down for her to teach me how. There’s nothing that turns me on quite like a MILF beating a male-inclined incel over his miserable existence.” His broad hubristic grin seeped a venom that came from the knowledge that there was nothing that West could do to stop him. Mike was saying everything he could to make him uncomfortable or upset or really have any kind of negative reaction, and it was obvious, but in the end, he knew that West’s balls were smaller than fucking marbles.

The little bitch was too weak to do anything to him, or even to say anything about it. Mike’d proved it to West last time West tried, and Mike’d do it again — much worse than before.

“Kidding,” Mike said, stepping forward again and chuckling, “because if you tell another fucking soul —“

He gripped West’s shoulders and jerked him around to face him, then gripped his collar tightly. He wrenched the Kleenex from his hand, then bent over and snatched a Kleenex from the table and shoved it on West’s nose, holding his own hand there forcibly and aggressively.

It was so that that he didn’t get any blood on his own clothes, not for Piss Kink’s sake.

His face and eyes were serious, and his voice was nearly a growl when he spoke again in a low voice. “— your ass if dead fucking meat. Got that?” He shove the Kleenex harder against West’s nose to emphasize his point. “I’ll. Break. Every. Goddamn. Bone in that flimsy fucking carcass of yours, West, and you know I fucking mean it.”

For a second more, he remained, holding him by his collar and glaring into West’s eyes with an intense, dead-serious heat. Finally, he dropped him, then gave the Kleenex a last shove before dropping it, too. When he pulled his hand away, he realized that some of the blood had soaked through, leaving small, red beads on his skin. “Ugh!” he exclaimed in disgust, and then he held out his hand, snatching West’s collar with his free hand again. “Look at what you fucking did, you cocksucking dickwad,” he hissed, shoving him back aggressively and letting go. “You’re so fucking disgusting.” He quickly reached out and smeared the blood on West’s cheek, making a faint, inch-long red streak. He gave a chuckle, then spat at his disgusting fucking shoes. His aim was off, and the spit didn’t hit, but it was fine enough.

Taking a couple of steps away from West and towards the vanity, the shorter, broader boy mimed as though he was holding up a champagne flute. “Here’s to Ashton — oh, whoops, my bad.” He chuckled. “I mean, Jason Wannabe West, the family disappointment who never stops fucking disappointing.” He pretended to lift the champagne to his lips, but he pulled the glass back as though he’d remembered something at the last moment. “Oh yeah, and here’s to another pathetic attempt at making his parents happy when the only thing that’d satisfy them was if the bottom scum was to finally spare them from the embarrassment of having to call them his son, put a gun in his mouth, and end his fucking misery.”

Chuckling, he dropped his glass, casually continuing, his relaxedness hardly masking his bullish delight. “I know they’re thinking that maybe they should’ve cut your dick and balls off at birth so you’d have a shot at being a sliver of what your sister is,” he laughed, smirking. “You’d be more fucking useful as a eunuch than whatever the hell you’re trying to be right now. I mean, you’ve got the blue fucking sneakers and whininess of a fucking toddler and the career of a washed-up, nerve-shot pill pusher talking about the glory days that never really fucking happened just waiting to happen. I’d call it an identity crisis, but it’s more just the lack of any real personality or fucking identity at all.”

He gave a wave as though he was trying to get his attention. “Yoo-hoo, heads up, news flash — you’re nothing like who they want you to be, and you will never be and can never be who they want you to be. And there’s nothing you can ever do about it.” He reached over and picked up a bottle of cologne that sat on the vanity. He turned it over in his hands. Shit looked expensive. “How fucking sad is that, Human Toilet?” He looked at West’s face. “You’ve got no fucking hope, no fight, and no real way to get yourself out of this except — well, you know.” Laughing, he dropped the bottle to the ground. It shattered with a high-pitched “crash!”. “God,” he continued, “I can’t even imagine.” He glanced down at the bottle he’d just broken, and he started to walk towards the door. “I’d clean that shit up if I were you. If you tell them that someone broke in and started bullying you about your mommy issues and piss kink, they’d just laugh in your face and no one would ever fucking believe you.” He looked up and around, then back at West. “There’re no cameras back here, no way to prove that you ever fucking saw me. Just hope you don’t cut your hands — then you wouldn’t be able to play your little rinky-dink tune on your little rinky-dink guitar and sing your generic fucking lyrics that could’ve been written more eloquently by a literal fucking fifth grader.”

With a chuckle, Mike gripped the doorhandle. “Catch you on the flipside,” he said, “unless you actually have the balls to off yourself — in which case, I’ll be dancing on your fucking grave, Ashton’s Little Wannabe.” He lifted two fingers to his forehead and flicked them off in a salute. “Dasvidaniya.”

With that, he ducked out into the hallway, shut the door, and then disappeared into the crowd once again.

As he walked away from the scene, he felt a swell of pride, a kick of powerful adrenaline from having done that shit.

He felt a little bit better, actually.

Still, as he continued to walk, the immediate rush wore off a little bit, and he felt the need to once again get away from everyone.

Could you really fucking blame him? You acted like it was a crime for him to bully a guy and then want to be alone for a bit.

Seriously, you could fucking chew him out later. He wasn't in the mood right now.

He made his way out the side doors and into the parking area, leaning against the side of the building.

Fuck.

He didn’t smoke, but he really needed a cigarette or something right now.

mood
sayonara, little bitch. thanks for the mild relief.

location
the celestial theater

outfit
dressy

playing...
drunk face

by machine gun kelly​

mentions
gen

interactions
jace

tags
Winona hery

º º code by ditto º º

 

[ditto]

victoria shantel sterling​

Tori had a lot of faith in humanity, okay. Maybe a bit too much. Some people called it naïveté, but that wasn’t really what it was — after all, as she verbally established every chance she got, she was mature, and wise, and all that jazz, so she couldn’t possibly be naïve. Listen, she was a romance writer — a fluff romance writer — and it was kind of inherent given her genre that she held the belief that people generally helped other people whenever they could.

This faith extended to her little sister (and Mikaela, too) — stupidly, she knew, since Beth never chose the option that would involve her being helpful or basically humanly decent and instead opted to fuck with her in every effing way she could and be as much of a little shithead as possible. Still, Victoria always held out on the faith that just once — just this next time that she tried, maybe she’d help her out, since obviously, she was struggling.

“Me?” Beth said, placing a hand over her heart. She blinked rapidly, giggled, then stepped closer to Tori. She patted her arm, and immediately, Tori knew, once again, that her hope had been sorely misplaced.

Elizabeth Sterling was never, ever, ever fucking helpful.

Tori gnashed her teeth at her sister as a warning, but Beth — the little brat — smiled at their parents and said, “Tori, please, it was you.”

Tori scoffed. “No, it —“

“How could you not remember?” Beth continued, completely disregarding both of their better interests. “I do believe that you wanted to, ummm…oh…what was it…”

“Elizabeth, what are you doing?” Tori hissed beneath her breath.

Beth looked back at her, eyes alight with a spark that the older sister knew was never a good sign. “Oh that’s right. You wanted to introduce mom and dad to your boyfriend, right?”

Tori went rigid.

“What was his name again? Ezra Gray, right?”

Oh.

My.

GODBETHWASFUCKINGDEAD.

This it. This was where Tori died.

This was where she suddenly literally just, like, ceased to exist.

She’d die of mortification, and inscribed on her headstone would be, Here lies Victoria Sterling, the hotter, sweeter, kinder, more lovable, more mature, more responsible, and all around better sister, taken so swiftly from the world by her lying brat sister’s insistence on making her life as hellish as possible, and after they had her funeral and all cried over her grave and, she didn’t know, some very hot guy who had some kind of secret crush on her kissed the marble headstone and professed his still undying love for his dearly departed lover (because obviously, that would happen), everyone would turn to Beth and point to her and say, “You did this,” and then Elizabeth would have to live out the rest of her life in shameful solitude as an old maid, never to find love and always to live with the overwhelming, crushing guilt that she and she alone was the death of her kind, loving older sister who never, ever mistreated her and permanently severed said kind, loving sister from her handsome secret admirer.

(End scene.)

Whilst Tori was still frozen in stunned embarrassment, Beth kept the whole thing going. She turned to their parents. “She’s been, like, a little bit shy about the whole dating thing, so it’s been kind of a secret or whatever, but…”

Beth looked at Tori with a smile, and Tori’s face screwed up, her lips opening as she struggled for words.

"So Tori takes after her father in keeping secrets," deadpanned her mom, which earned a glare from her dad. She smirked. "Kidding, Keith."

“Of course you are,” said her dad. “When are you ever serious, Judy?”

Finally, Tori clenched her fists and slammed them at her sides. “It’s not a secret!” she interjected, but then she realized how that sounded and quickly stammered, “No, that’s not what I — I mean, n-no, I mean — I mean, he’s not my frigging boyfriend!” An intense, angry, flustered blush came onto her face. “He’s — he’s not!” she said insistently, looking between her parents. “Seriously, Mom and Dad, I swear!”

Beth gave a little laugh. "Alright, Tori, so where is he?"

“Fu — he — heck if I know, Elizabeth!” Tori gasped exasperatedly, stomping her foot and glaring at her sister. “Can you stop?! He’s not my boyfriend, nor is he even remotely close to anything like that, and you know it!”

She looked at her dad, who had an eyebrow raised at her. Tori grit her teeth and crossed her arms, puffing out her cheeks. “He’s just a friend of mine — Beth’s just being a little brat,” she grunted. “Seriously, Dad, can you believe her?” She looked at her mother, puffing her cheeks out again. “Mom, I swear to Christ — cross my heart, she’s lying,” she huffed. “She's, like, jealous, you know.” She lifted up a hand to gesture as she continued, pointing her hand and her fingers at her words as though it’d help to convince her parents otherwise. “She thinks that just because I’m friends with a decent-looking guy, I’m his girlfriend, but I’m not and we’re not dating. I’d never date him.” That sounded rude. “I mean, I woul —“ She started to correct, but then she just scoffed, “I mean…not interested. I’m —“

She was floundering.

But wait — no.

No, no, no, Tori couldn’t lose her upper hand in this situation. She was the older, more mature sister, and she wasn’t going to take this kind of behavior.

And so, very maturely, Tori smoothed out her skirt and quickly spouted, “Beth’s actually got her own little someone, actually — Ezra’s little brother, Spencer.”

Her dad chuckled. “The Grays are a popular bunch with you two, huh?”

“No, no, just Spencer — and uh, just Beth, uh — Beth’s all about him,” Tori laughed. She gave Beth a smile. “I mean, they hung out aaaall the lock-in. Ran away when I wasn’t looking, the whole nine yards. Who knows what they got up to while they had me distracted.” She rolled her eyes. “She’s just projecting her own issues on me. I don’t have a boyfriend, but she totally does. I remember now — she wanted to go see Spencer’s performance. Same last name, easy to confuse.” Laughing, Tori waved her hand dismissively.

Not at all nervously.

Never nervously.

She had control over the situation at hand, so there were no nerves to be seen here.

Look away.

“Mom,” Tori said, now pointing her words at her mother as she beamed, “like, seriously, she was super dreamy-eyed over him, and…” Her smile faded slightly as she realized what she’d just let slip — that she lost track of her sister on lock-in night. She gasped, shaking her head. “Oh, but, like, wait, but I don’t mean that I, like, let her go off and do something bad — like — I just — she kept running away from me. And then she whined about me telling her why that was a bad thing for her to do. She really doesn’t, like, respect me. She’s kind of a little…” She reached over and put her hands over her sister’s ears and leaned over to whisper to her dad. “…bitch sometimes — right now, too.” Laughing slightly, she dropped her hands, smirking at her sister with a loving kind of self-assured condescension. “But I don’t hold that against her — and I don’t think Spencer does either, so good for him.”

“A little bitch…?” Her father repeated the words that she’d whispered to him, and she felt a slight panic as she looked over at her sister. She wasn’t supposed to hear that…and neither was her mom. She gave her mom an apologetic look as her dad continued. “Huh, the maternal genes must run stronger than even I figured,” he chuckled.

Tori forced a laugh at her dad’s personal affront on her mother, trying to dismiss and move past that comment as she smiled up at the tall man. “Puppy love,” she laughed. “Literally like something out —“ She pointed to the stack of books behind them. “— those. I mean, there’s a story I wrote that’s practically word-for-word what she’s talking about.”

That was a lie, actually, although there was one about friends reuniting after a couple of years and quickly becoming lovers.

And no, before you ask, it was not from experience, nor was it a personal fantasy or anything.

Literally, it couldn’t be — it was set in the 1920s, so, yeah, no, sorry. If you were looking for a self-insert, you couldn’t find one here.

Even if the female lead did, like…bear a striking resemblance to herself.

It was just coincidence.

mood
you. little. bitch.

location
the celestial theater

outfit
dressy

playing...
be nice to me

by the front bottoms​

mentions
mikaela, ezra, & spencer

interactions
beth

tags
Winona

º º code by ditto º º

 

[Winona]

Casey Clairmont

Okay, okay, so yeah, there was this little phew moment for Casey when Bella said they'd be back there for him. His timid smile lit up and Casey's excitement and general upbeat attitude returned tenfold at that. Like sure, he was a professional and he knew what he was doing and it wasn't like he got stage fright or anything, but he was still just a kid at heart and he liked having people on the sidelines to glance at him.

As they headed backstage, Casey's thoughts kind of took a turn. Not a bad turn, but he did start thinking more. About some of his old concerts, and then all he could think about was how freaking cool it would be if he could get everyone to do the little lighter thing, 'cept he was pretty sure that would be bad in an enclosed space, and then his excitement was kind of deflated for a moment again, 'cept that he knew he'd still have fun 'cause he was gonna be on stage and nothing was more fun than being able to go out on stage and-- and-- and--

Most people had some kind of like... uhh... like little ritual routine thing they'd do before they'd go on stage. Casey wasn't one of those types of people, probably 'cause he didn't really have a lot going on up there in his head as people liked to say to him. Pretty much, he'd kind of just stand there, the monkey playing cymbals in his head occupying his thoughts along with dancing images of flames.

Nothing much.

Just simple stuff that'd calm him down.

Course, Bella didn't seem to share the same cool relaxed attitude that Casey had, which was kinda funny, 'cause her job was pretty much done. Like she'd written the song and it sounded good and stuff, and now it was all up to ol' Casey to make sure that it sounded real good.

....

It didn't occur to him that maybe living her project in Casey's hands was what was stressing her out.

Anyway, Bella was basically all over him. He was kinda bent over 'cause Bella was kinda short so she could fuss with his hair, and then she was all like fretting over his shirt, but that was fine 'cause then Casey could straighten back up which was real nice 'cause his neck was kind of hurting from being all bent over.

“My gosh, how much hair gel do you use?” Bella asked. “And would it have killed you to iron your shirt? This is an important performance and…”

"I used an iron once, but I burned my hand real bad 'cause I touched it, so I don't really use 'em anymore, ya know." Yeah, despite Casey's affinity for fire, him and hot things didn't exactly mix well.

She paused in her fussing, her hands resting on his chest for a moment and for the first time that day, his heart gave a solid nervous couple pumps. Her hands jerked away from his chest, and his head resumed its normal speed, and Casey gave Bella a friendly little smile.

As Bella stepped away from him, Casey took the moment to psyche himself up. So he gave a little jump and down and a little punch punch at the air in front of him, all 'til Bella came back over with his guitar.

"Ah, thanks," he said, leaning down so she could slide the strap over his head, and he grinned down at Bella as he straightened back up. He let her tug at his sleeves, finishing up her little fussing over him, before she finally stepped back.

“Good luck, Casey. You are going to do great.” Bella said.

"'Course I will," Casey said with a laugh, and then he turned and headed out onto the stage.

Now this was what Casey was used to. This was what he'd been born to do and now that his footsteps were back on the familiar feel of the stage, well... he was calm, cool, and collected.

Normally, he was known for his upbeat, positive songs and his wild presence on stage. It was kind of the Casey Clairmont thing -- being wild and crazy, ya know. It fit his image, it fit him. But this song that Bella and Avery had written wasn't... it wasn't one that needed all of that.

Which was frustrating for Casey, in a way, but whatever. As his parents would've said had they been there, it was a nice chance for him to push and expand on his uhhh... his uhh... ah... musical... es... ness....

Yeah.

So he walked to the microphone on stage. His fingers found the familiar places on his guitar and, as the opening beats started, his fingers started playing the chords. For a moment, his tongue poked outta the side of his mouth while he concentrated real, real hard on what he was playing, and then the song actually started and Casey leaned closer to the little microphone so he could start singing into it.

The performance of the song went by without a hitch. Casey totally nailed every note, every word, and he didn't even jump around on the stage as much as he usually did, although he was kinda moving a little bit where he was on stage, but that was just 'cause Casey did better if he was moving.

Around the first part of the chorus, he looked towards backstage at Bella and Avery, and his lips pulled back into a grin, and then he was looking back at the crowd.

And then as the song came towards its end, he again looked towards them... the music ended... he let the guitar fall so that it was dangling around his neck...

And, as the crowd started to applaud him, Casey real quick like ran off stage. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon," he urged, and he grabbed Bella's hand 'cause he knew she wouldn't follow him if he didn't, and he dragged her and Avery after him back out onto the stage, and then he gave a whole big ol' wave at the crowd with his free hand ('cause his other hand was still holding onto Bella's) and, as the applause started to die away, he ushered the two of them off the stage and followed them off.

"So, so, so?" He asked, his words rapid fire as he pulled the guitar strap over his head and walked over to the case. Carefully, he set it back inside and closed up the case before turning back towards Bella and Avery with a wide grin on his face. "How's that? Perfect, yeah? Like ya know, totally nailed it, totally made all those words way better 'cause I had that mad," he brought his hands up to mimic his guitar, "ya know, yeah?"

mood
hypeeee

location
Arts Fest

outfit
Cami said no band shirts

playing...
Valentine

by Casey Clairmont​

mentions
Cami, Nellie

interactions
Avery, Bella

tags
Xed geminiy

º º code by ditto º º

 

[Winona]

Nathan Woods

Dalton's insults were childish. Basic. Nothing that Nate hadn't heard on a nearly daily basis since Chas had announced to the entire school that he'd had a history with drug abuse. Maybe if it'd been some kind of new fucking insult, Nate would've bene a little more pissed, or he would've reacted.

But he just continued what he was doing -- tying his shoes, and then he stood up, and he pulled his jacket over his broad shoulders. Dalton walked out of the dressing room, and Nate was left on his own.

Could he of pushed the fight and actually fought the bastard?

Of course.

Nate could've easily taken him in a fight, too, but he, well...

It just wasn't fucking worth it. Nate was the kind of fella that would only jump into a fight or lift a fist when it was for something that he thought he legitimately needed to stand up for -- and a bunch of jealous pricks that thought he was a simp for having a girlfriend, and who made fun of him for having gotten over a past addiction simply weren't fucking worth his time or energy. He could handle the few snide remarks.

He paused in front of a mirror, his fingers working to smooth down his dark tousled hair, and then he started out of the dressing room. Evie was still busy with her fashion shit, so Nate figured he'd head out. Walk around the theater a little more. Maybe slide out through a side door and smoke a bit.

However, as he was walking along, someone smacking a vending machine caught his attention. In his sober state, it was much easier to recognize someone that was clearly high, and a little smile spread across his face when Nate recognized said high chick. Naomi.

He'd slept with her a couple times, never really talked to her past there. She'd been his roommate uhh... Toni -- yeah, that was the dude. She was his cousin or some shit.

And so, Nate decided to have a different little detour from his heading outside to smoke. Instead, he walked towards her, coming up to stop beside her as she yelled at the vending machine. He looked at it and at the stuck honeybun, and then glanced over at Naomi.

"Hey," he said. "Munchies?"

But Nate didn't did a response to know the answer to his question. It was rhetorical or some shit -- he didn't know. He wasn't a fucking writer.

Naturally, Nate tried the same that Naomi had -- a hit to the side of the vending machine, although it didn't knock the honeybun loose. Well fuck. He stepped back, staring at the machine, and then shrugged, looking back towards Naomi. "Sorry," he said, again keeping his words to a minimum because well... it was fucking Nate.

"Want more weed?"

mood
ehh

location
Arts Fest

outfit
ehh

playing...
Ho Hey

by The Lumineers​

mentions
Evie, Dalton

interactions
Naomi

tags
Kitsune2202

º º code by ditto º º