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

[qunqun]

MOOD:
Playing with fire here

OUTFIT:
Something nice

LOCATION:
Ez's place

basics

MENTIONS:




INT:
Ez geminiy

tags

TL;DR: That's a transition.

tl;dr

Auguste

Auguste was just happy the entire thing was fucking over. Alex and Chas fighting? Horrible. Ez elbowing him to ask him if they should take bets? Stop touching him. Fuck off. He was never helping Ez ever again. Fuck this loyalty nonsense, he was going to go live his life in the woods and never talk to anyone ever again because clearly it wasn’t worth whatever this was.

Act two had been awful, but the monotone was more on purpose. He’d already fucked up beyond salvaging. It wasn’t worth the effort of pretending like he was feeling anything other than barely suppressed rage.

Ez was smiling at them. The traitor. Judas. He should stab the potter like Caesar for this nonsense.

“Auguste and I should be hitting the road.” Uhm… No? No. Auguste was not going with you, thank you. He had enough Ez Bullshit to last him a lifetime. Ruined his pristine reputation with this nonsense. For what? A guy that would lose interest in him when he realized that he wasn’t going to be getting anything more out of Auguste than friendship? A guy that would lose interest in him if Auguste decided to go ahead and sleep with him?

Fuck this. Fuck Ezra fucking Gray, he was not going ANYWHERE with this man. They were just going to walk out together. And then Auguste was going to go bike home and make himself a really nice luxurious dinner and read Baudelaire with some hot chamomile tea and go to bed before he decided to MURDER the man before him.

And then next thing Auguste knew he was putting his bike in the back of Ez’s truck and getting in the car with him.

At least Ezra seemed sorry. That was a very nice and welcome surprise. Sorry went a long way for Auguste, when it really probably shouldn’t. There weren’t a lot of apologies thrown his way as a kid, especially genuine ones…

Okay. Maybe Auguste wasn’t as wrathful towards the older Gray anymore, the lucky bastard.

“I am never doing that ever again.” He said simply in the face of Ez’s apology. There was a slight pause. The nice thing to do would be accept the apology. Auguste knew this logically, and knew that it would be good for his peace of mind to accept it. However, he could be a petty bitch when he wanted. Choices. Choices.

After a bit of deliberation, his conscience won over. “Thank you for the apology though… I will grant you the chance to make it up to me.” His tone got just a bit less frosty, a lot closer to the warm teasing of before this nonsense happened.

What could he say, he had a bleeding heart.

He wasn’t quite ready to show Ez his musical talents yet. That was something very intrinsically part of him. Just a bit of his soul that he wasn’t comfortable laying bare yet. Another card close to his chest. So he started off just bopping his head, drumming a finger against the top of the window frame as he listened to his friend’s singing.

He broke halfway through and began singing along to the ones he knew, freedom sounding so terribly good (even if they were terribly off key).

Music was just a part of him. A very deep part of him he didn’t think he could ever get rid of. While dance was his chosen career, he didn’t know what he’d do without music in his life. When it had been ripped away from him as a kid, he’d shut off all of his emotions in an attempt to preserve the garbled remains of what had been.

Auguste was beaming now. Something just a little bit less carefully controlled like his usual nonsense, following Ez as he went to his apartment.

“Honey I’m home!”

“That is how you greet your brother?” Auguste teased as he sat down. They had a nice place. He liked it more than his own. Less stoners. Less weird girlfriends. “You have a very nice apartment.” A small little head nod

“To horrible acting performances.”

“Salut” Auguste clinked his glass against Ez’s and took a nice leisurely sip. “I have to say, though, I made a wonderful improv - it was in the wrong language but if you understood French. Beautiful work right there.” Auguste joked, giving a little chef’s kiss as he went.

“One home cooked meal coming right up.”

“Oh no, mon frere, you don’t have to do that.” Auguste’s face dropped the joking mirth as he stared at Ez bustling around the kitchen. He was torn between sitting still and letting this happen or helping again. Because this didn’t happen. Ever. He didn’t get stuff like “family recipes” and “apology meals.” He was the cook in his family. And the cleaner. And the punching bag. The last time he had a home cooked meal that he could just sit back and relax was… well, probably before his father died.

So he had no social protocols for this. If someone was mean to him, he just laid down and took it or snarked back. If someone decided to mess around he just reflected it right back. Easy. Simple. Actual kindness from people? Unheard of. He genuinely didn’t know what to do.

He poked at the food with his fork. It was poisoned. He was going to die. It was poisoned and he was going to throw it up or something. Something was wrong here. There had to be a catch. Nobody’s life could be this-

Auguste looked up at Ez as he began talking. Glanced at where he was looking. Family photograph. Old… Old? Glance back at Ez who seemed more wistful. Wishing his family could’ve come.

He got the strangest feeling all of the sudden. The feeling that he was so achingly close to figuring out something huge. He wanted to ask. The questions were loaded on his tongue, ready to be spit out…

… but this was his friend Ez.

He would’ve felt fine digging into what had to be something bad if it was anyone else but… Ez had been one of the people who was nicest to him. He couldn’t do that to him. It was also why he never tried digging into Liv, even though he was pretty sure she was doing something wild as well.

“You’re very pleasant company to have, Auguste.”

Auguste glanced up at Ez, back to the flirting, were they. Bad shit, the dancer was starting to actually enjoy Ez’s presence. And he knew that they were walking a very fine tightrope of Ez’s flights of fancy. Auguste, when you got down to it, was a very boring person. Just your garden variety kid who life smacked around just a little bit too much. There were so many like him, and not many that got a second chance. He was, essentially, boring when people got close to him. Some people, one person, liked his steadfast nature and his general ability to just go with whatever he was given.

And usually he was fine with this. Usually… he didn’t really care if someone found him boring or not because usually he didn’t want to really hang out with them anyways… He kind of wanted to keep Ez as a friend.

They’ve been staring at each other too long. Fuck. Now things were actually kind of tense.

“Sounds like we’re about to kiss, mon frere.” Auguste said dryly, cutting the tension with a joke. Back to that careful guarded nature of his. After all, he wanted to make it through this dinner with his social life still intact.

“Your family sounds lovely though, tell me more about them?” Auguste knew two ways that were usually surefire ways of distracting Ez: Flirting and Family. And lucky for him, hearing Ez’s stories about his family growing up made Auguste feel rather warm. It made him feel good to know that there were people out there that actually had families that loved each other dearly.

As the conversation continued, Auguste finished his meal and stood, collecting the plates. “I’ll do the dishes, it’s the least I can do, yeah? The meal was lovely.”

Before Ez could really respond he’d slipped off to the kitchen and began washing the pan and the plates. It made him feel like things were just a bit back to normal. Something grounding him right now. His friend obviously didn’t mean much by this whole thing, but it did mean quite a lot to Auguste. And he knew that discrepancy was why they would never ever work ever. Ez was used to being just a bit flashy and doing romantic things with very little meaning behind it. Auguste was used to smaller gestures like just being together, and took things very seriously when people did larger shows of romance. Like flowers and dinner and the whole nine.

Still though, that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun… and if he knew what the worst case scenario was (Ez losing interest in him and immediately leaving the carefully built friendship Auguste had constructed), then that meant that in some ways he was prepared for the fallout, right?

Maybe he was reading into things just a bit too much.

He turned back to Ez, a small smile gracing his scarred lips. He was winding a lock of white hair around his finger as he stared at the decision before him.

“Dinner was lovely, but I should leave before it gets too dangerous to bike home, yeah?” Auguste said, looking towards the door, then back at Ez. Careful. Reading his facial expression. His eyes dropped to the ground. Guess he was taking the coward’s way out. Disappointing…

Huh. If he felt disappointment, then on some level he should… right? Auguste 3.0 was about taking calculated risks, and this risk had been fairly calculated now, wasn’t it.

He made a choice.

“Unless, of course, you want me to stay.” Dancing in the gray here, but Ez knew how to do so as well. He locked eyes with his friend, the small smile growing wider. “Would you like this?”

code by valen t.

 

[geminiy]

Genevieve Johannes

@NextGen has set their status to:
well...

@NextGen has set their outfit to:
casual

@NextGen has set their location to:
beach cliff thingy

@NextGen has mentioned:
Mike, Jared, Liv

@NextGen has interacted with:
Landon

@NextGen has tagged:
gh0stwriter

“Hey, Stranger.” Landon’s voice teased, though the soft lilt in his voice didn’t stop the pang of guilt from ringing through Gen’s emotionally exhausted chest.

Landon was right, Gen was a stranger. She abandoned him under the ruse that she was protecting him but, at the end of the day, he was just as hurt and alone as she was. Cutting ties was supposed to be easy, stepping away and offering him the simple route out of their tumultuous relationship was supposed to be easy, but it wasn’t easy… As of late, nothing ever was.

“What about you? How’ve you been?”

Right, they had been talking. Catching up, awkwardly filling in the gaps that Gen had forced to split them apart.

“I’ve, um, I’ve been…” Horrible. Awful. In pain. Lonely. Afraid. “Good, I guess. Busy.” Gen lied, hoping that her mention of activity would excuse why she hadn’t been returning Landon’s calls or texts, why she seemingly dropped off the face of the goddamn planet without notice. “Look, I’m s...”

Gen’s eyes looked up slightly to Landon just long enough to notice that he was looking anywhere but her, his attention pulled away as he quickly looked around in the sea of people. The slight twist of Landon’s face gave Gen a reason to carefully loop her arm around his, giving him a soft tug towards the dressing rooms.

“I think we need to talk,” she managed, a weak smile on her glossed lips, “let’s get out of here.”

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Gen barely talked as she walked with Landon to the change room to get out of the constricting gown that hugged her sides. Both Mike and Jared’s belongings were gone from the room, no trace of either boy on the counters or on the racks. It was as if they had never even been there, the earlier events seeming to have entirely erased them from Gen’s life.

If that was the way it had to be, so be it.

It didn’t take Gen long to wiggle herself free from the dress, changing into an outfit far more casual and comfortable, and even less time to guide Landon to her car. From the energy bouncing between the two and the heavy feeling in the air, Gen made the assumption that both of them had already had more than their fill of Art Fest.

The radio remained silent as they pulled out of the parking lot and onto the highway heading west, no true destination in mind as Gen pressed her foot heavily into the accelerator. She didn’t know where she was taking them, the only thought in her mind being the desire to get the hell away from that stupid stadium and from her mistakes and her drama. No matter how fast she drove, no matter how many lanes of traffic she bounced through, the feelings of guilt and shame kept pace, nipping at the back of her mind and pulling her thoughts away from her current situation.

A green exit sign indicated a spot familiar to Gen, her hands pulling the car into the sharp turn off the highway before her mind could catch up. A few short minutes later, the world seemed to settle as the road began to run out, giving way to a long ridge of cliffs overlooking a well-loved beach.

They were far enough from her issues here. There would be no nosey paparazzi, no troublesome text messages, no prying eyes. Just the two of them together, participating in a conversation long overdue.

Gen exited the car, keys twirling around her index finger with a gentle jingle. Her feet carried her over to the metal barrier that marked the end of the road with a gentle jump and down a small incline towards the edge of the cliffs. The Johanneses had had more than one picnic at this spot, secluded from the rest of the world with nothing to judge them but the ocean and the plummet of the rocks.

Her movement didn’t cease until the toes of her shoes met the edging of the cliff with the threat of taking another step and falling right off. Gen paused for a moment, her lungs taking in the salty sea air, before she crossed her legs below her and found her way to the ground, her hand reaching out to pat the empty space next to her.

Landon’s presence made it difficult to think, impossible to overcome every repressed emotion that Gen had quickly learned to bottle up in the weeks since lock-in. As they all surged forwards at once, her mind struggled to decipher what was at the forefront. Did she want to scream? Cry? Kiss him? What was it that she was feeling? Why was she so fucking numb?

“I’m sorry.” Gen blurted out suddenly, the sound of her voice surprising her own ears.

Gen wasn’t someone who apologized to anyone, especially not with the stupid words ‘I’m sorry’. She had heard those two words too many times for them to hold any true weight or meaning. People said ‘I’m sorry’ to fill in the space, to make the wronged party feel better without making a commitment to changing or righting the situation. ‘I’m sorry’ wasn’t enough, it was never enough.

“I should’ve called you back, or picked up the phone when you texted me. I should’ve found you, should’ve come to see you, should’ve shown up to your apartment. Something, anything...” Gen’s jaw clenched, lips pressing shut to stop the sentence in its tracks. Landon knew what she should’ve done, there wasn’t any reason to spell it out for him. “But I didn’t. I ignored your calls, ignored your texts, avoided you in the halls, didn’t bother to come see you even when I knew you were struggling. I hurt you, I left you, I fucking abandoned you. I can say that I’m sorry until I’m blue in the face but that won’t take away what I did to you.”

What Gen did to him. The same Gen that roped Landon into all of this bullshit with risky touches and harmless flirting that ended up being taken too far. The same Gen that told herself it was just one hookup. The same Gen who promised Evie that her feelings for Landon didn’t exist.

“I’m not even going to try and explain because honestly? I don’t even know why I did what I did. I got you into all of this shit, ruined things between you and Evie, played with your fucking emotions and for what?” Gen scoffed at her words, the forward tilt of her head causing her curls to fall in front of her face and block Landon from view. “Just to turn around and abandon you when you needed me most. You risked everything for me, for us, and I looked you in the face and threw it all away. I can’t tell you why because I don’t know.”

Gen leaned backwards, her back falling flat against the rock as her legs stretched out over the ledge. The clouds drifted overhead, slowly turning shades of pink and orange with the sun sinking on the horizon. The words that had been falling from her lips stopped their natural flow, her thoughts trapped on the tip of her tongue as she looked up at the sky.

“I never regret the time spent with you. But I do regret saying what I did to you during lock-in.” Gen eventually managed, her voice soft and barely above a loud whisper. “It feels like I was tempting fate or something, talking to you like we were some sort of couple.” Gen let out a half-hearted laugh as she sat back up, her nails tracing the ridges on her knuckles in her lap. “I was going to ask you during the lock-in, you know? To make things ‘official’ or whatever you want to call it. If you were anyone else in any other situation, I would’ve called you mine a long time ago. But they’re not different and you’re you. Besides, it wouldn’t have worked anyways because things haven’t felt right since…”

Liv. Gen didn’t have to speak the name for her sentence to be finished. Somehow, everything always came back to Liv and part of Gen was certain they always would.

“Except for you. You always felt different, always felt like someone who cared. After what happened at lock-in, I wanted no one else but you. It’s a bullshit excuse, I know, but that’s why I didn’t want to hear from you, to talk to you. I thought,” Gen sighed, “I thought it would be easier if you could make a clean escape. If you weren’t talking to me, you could patch things over with Evie, you could move on and find someone that wouldn’t fuck you over, someone you wouldn’t have to sneak around and hide with. But I guess that didn’t work and in the end, it only hurt you more.”

The break in conversation was a prime spot for the tears that Gen had been holding back all day. But as she blinked, as she stared into the early sunset, her eyes remained dry. Gen didn’t have a right to be upset, not when this was all her fault.

It had always been her fault.

“What am I doing?” Gen whispered as she leaned her head forwards to rest in her chin on her propped up knees. “Fuck, Landon, what did I do?” Her breath hitched in her chest as she forced the air into her lungs with a soft gasp, her eyes squeezing shut as she steadied her feral mind. “It’s too late to try and say that I’m sorry, to try and fix this mess I got us into.”

You ruined this like you ruin everything, Gen.

He’s just another tale of failure at your hand.

Why do you even try anymore?

“I’m sorry, Lan.” Gen breathed as she looked over at the taller boy. “I’m so sorry I did this to you.”

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:
Lucky, Josie, Dorian, JJ, Newt, Kayla, Kian, Javi

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

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His laugher was all the confirmation she needed, but the cheers was an added bonus she liked. She clinked her water bottle against his soda and all was right with the world. "As long as it's your honest answer I promise I won't hold it against you." Though she couldn't really see herself getting upset regardless of the answer weather true or not. This was all in good fun, and even if he didn't find her attractive in that kinda way it was fine because they were friends. She knew she was hot and that was good enough for her honestly.

It was weird talking so much about herself even vaguely. Even if she wasn't telling him specifics she was actually telling him quite a bit for someone she literally just met. It wasn't like her. She wondered why it was so easy to talk about this sort of stuff with him. Maybe because he seemed to want to know and not like JJ wanna know where clearly it was just to be nosey, or to try and have as ammo against her on a later date. No he seemed to want to know because he just genuinely wanted to know about her. She could be very wrong and he could just be a superb actor...but a part of her really hoped not. A part of her wanted to believe that there was more then just three people (Josie, Lucky, and Dorian) in this big wide world who could genuinely care about her. Beyond the money, power, and looks. People who really could love her for her.

She hated thinking that way because it left people like Newt, Kayla, and others out in the cold as only knowing the outter level her instead of who she really was. But then again it was a lot safer that way. Getting involved with her was never going to be a good thing with a family like hers. The only reason Josie and Lucky were spared was they fit the image her family needed for her, and the only reason Dorian could withstand the storm was because his own family was just as bad, and it seemed the evil flocked together. Misery might like company, but vultures of a feather scheme together. She knew that wasn't the phrase, but it was a much better fit for them.

Why did him saying he believed her make her catch her breath? Was she that starved for acceptance and understanding? You know what...don't answer that.

"Oh really?" she giggled listening to him talk about his misadventures. "Hey as long as you had fun that makes it all worth it." She grinned. Hearing that there was a little streak inside him too even if not as intense made her feel a bit more at ease. Why she never viewed herself as someone who corrupted others or whatever she got labeled that a lot when she interacted with "good kids" or whatever. She didn't care about it, but he might one day and she couldn't fault him if he did.

Point being she was glad that maybe neither of them would have to worry about that too much. He still very much seemed like one of the rare nice guys around these parts.

"Me too, and I you." She hummed in response to him saying that he was glad she was doing something she loved. She wondered if there were people here (other then her brother) who were here working on these skill and artistry and didn't actually love it.

In general despite some of the lows she was happy about the flow of conversation. It was easy, and smooth. Even with her little hiccup they were able to bounce back like it was nothing. Maybe she could try this whole making friends while sober thing more often? "You are absolutely right we are already friends." She giggled. "Exploring it is! It'll be so much fun! Especially since you like food, I know some pretty good places you might like." She spoke like an excited kid in a candy store. Finding cool places to eat was one of her few sober pastimes because she wanted to have plenty in her back pocket all across town for when she wasn't sober and had the munchies or nursing a hang over.

"I guarantee if you ask she she will definitely show you." She giggled. As previously mention Spencer was a good looking guy so Josie would for sure give into a simple request like that. Hell if he was interested those wouldn't be the only moves she'd show him. He didn't really feel like the type, but once again you never know. Maggie just might not be his type and he might be a total flirt with the right kinda girl.

Just like with the water bottle he took care of their empty bowls and utensils before she could even think to. It was weird but she would get used to it she supposed. Maybe this wasn't a bad version of being spoiled. He then pulled out his phone to show her a map so they could figure out where they were going, "Yah that's the one. And then this one here." She pointed to another for the later show.

They made their way over to the stage and it was really easy, which she accounted to his height. All she saw was crowd whereas he could actually see where they were going. Once they found a good spot to watch he asked who was even going up to which she just giggled and leaned up cupping her hands around his ear to drown out some of the noise so he could hear her, "They are a band now, but it's Lucky, Kian, and Javi." She wasn't sure if he knew any of them considering he did say he was new.

º º code by ditto º º

 

[ditto]

nickie abrams.

“Um…I don’t know.”

Nickie lifted her head slightly, studying the girl who always had something to say. Nickie’s lips pressed into a flat line, and her blue eyes read nothing but a deep confusion. So Liv didn’t know. No one ever really knew anything when it came to why they did anything for Nickie. Why they watched her cry. Why they comforted her. Why they cared about her. Why they helped her out.

It was always just fucking I don’t know.

“i knew the words,” Liv continued, “and…I felt like — you seemed —…” She seemed to be floundering, struggling to find any sort of reason.

It wasn’t annoying this time, wasn’t particularly irritating. Nickie didn’t feel some fire burning, felt no real anger to demand some kind of answer from Liv like she had with Hunter. Maybe it was because Nickie was too tired, or maybe it was just because this whole escapade made her feel so indebted to the other girl that she just couldn’t muster much of a reaction, or maybe it was this thing or that thing or — or she didn’t fucking know.

She guessed it didn’t really matter. It was probably ungrateful to care about the why, right?

Liv finally shrugged. “I just thought you needed help…sorry if I ruined your solo thing.”

“Oh,” Nickie said. That wasn’t any reason, really. Liv wasn’t altruistic, and Nickie wasn’t someone who ever accepted her help in the past.

Obviously. Nickie was a sullen, stubborn bitch who held grudges against anyone who did anything to offend her. She wasn’t someone rational, she wasn’t someone thankful, and she wasn’t really someone who was worth helping.

“Areee…you mad?” Liv asked.


Nickie’s brows tugged together. “Mad…?”

“Because I totally get if you are but I honestly thought you were gonna faint on stage or something and if I just sat here and did nothing I’d feel really guilty for some reason? I know we aren’t friends friends but I always figured that the two of us were kinda really similar just a little and —“ Nickie stared blankly as the rambling girl pursed her lips, then started again. “Please don’t be mad. We sounded really, really, superly good and if that doesn’t qualify for your showcase I don’t know what would.” She gestured towards the stage, and then smiled.

Nickie blinked at her. Her words were slowly processing in her head. “So,” she started slowly, looking towards the ceiling, her nose scrunching and her brows furrowing, “you think I’d be mad…because…” Her eyes trailed back down to Liv. “I hate you or something?” she suggested. “Like…?”

She sighed deeply, running a hand through her hair and closing her eyes for a beat. She was too tired to feel embarrassed or irritated by her conclusions. “Yeah…seems in-character,” she muttered, mostly to herself. “I’m the type to do that petty shit.”

God…

She paused a moment, just stood still, thought about everything that had happened.

Everything going well. Her almost breakdown onstage. Hunter cheering in the audience, probably — no, definitely internally rooting for her downfall — and everyone else cheering with him. Liv, the girl who she’d hardly done anything more than bitch at since her existence, the girl who fucking stole her lyrics, coming out and starting to sing along. Their impromptu duet.

Even now that it was done, it felt borderline unreal. Like some kind of fever dream, or some kind of nightmare turned…fuck if she knew. She wanted to think that Liv had just done it to take her spotlight, but goddamn it, she couldn’t even convince herself of that — had it not been for Liv, she wouldn’t’ve been able to finish. Even she knew that, and there was no point in trying to convince herself otherwise. Had Liv not come out there — had the girl she hated not come out there — then Nickie would’ve bombed. Fuck not making it to showcase — she’d’ve been lucky to be allowed to stay in school another week.

Regardless…she owed Liv. She wasn’t exactly eager to associate herself with or indebt herself to the girl who was now more confusing than ever, but she owed her…at least something.

Shifting her hands to her hips, Nickie looked at Liv once more. “Liv, look…” She took a step towards the girl, though her posture betrayed the fact that she was reluctant to do what she was about to do — reluctant to admit what she was about to admit.

Because…listen. Listen, as, like, quick to admit her flaws to herself that she was, taking accountability was not her strong suit. It was embarrassing, and humiliating. There was something that kept her pride intact to act like everything that was wrong with her was because of something else, was all someone else’s fault.

But she owed it to Liv.

“I’m…” Nickie’s eyes darted away to the floor. “I’ve been a bitch to you,” she admitted. “Seriously, nothing but a huge bitch. And even in spite of that, you…went onstage to help me?” She looked at Liv, and she let out a small laugh of disbelief. “Fucking…insane, Livanna. You’re honestly seriously just as crazy as I thought you were…” Her smile faded slightly, and she bit into her lower lip. Her eyebrows turned up guiltily, and she looked back at the floor. “Shit,” she muttered.

She dropped her hands from her hips, bringing them in front of her dress and picking at her nails. “This whole time, I’ve thought that you were out to get me or something…? I don’t know…I’m just, like…that shit, with the lyrics…?” She let out a quiet laugh. “It was stupid,” she admitted. “Like, really fucking stupid, but I resolved that you were my enemy. It was a stupid song for a stupid school project that no one even really cared about, but whatever. Up until about…like, a minute ago…? It didn’t seem stupid, whatever. Even saying it aloud, it’s dumb as hell,” she laughed quietly.

“So I was a bitch to you…,” she repeated, “and in spite of all of that…you still went out there and helped me. It’s…I’m…I never expected that. If it had been you out there…shit, I wouldn’t’ve done the same. I probably would have been laughing. Shows what kind of fucking upstanding person I am.” She shook her head at herself, laughing again, not because it was funny but because she had to have something to soften the blow that saying the deep realizations that she was reluctant to accept aloud were to her ego. “But had you not gone out there for me, I…that would’ve been it for me. You never would’ve had to see me again. You wouldn’t have to deal with shitty fucking me, you wouldn’t have to deal with my pettiness or my backhandedness or my bitchiness or, like, me constantly bringing up the drama or me, I don’t know, deep down fucking internally blaming you for all of that shit with Hunter — all of that fucking stupid shit, you wouldn’t’ve had to deal with it. It would’ve made your life so much easier and it would’ve been so much easier to…to let me break down onstage, and…”

She lifted her eyes to Liv. “And instead, you came out there to ungrateful, bitchy me, and you sang your heart out with me onstage, and you — you saved my ass…for…for no real reason at all.” A small wave of guilt and thankfulness washed over her, and she felt herself tear up. “Shit…shit, Liv. I’m…” She shook her head as she tried to find her words, but instead of being able to get anything out, the usually touchy, sullen girl opened her arms and practically fell into Liv, wrapping her tightly in a hug.

“Thank you,” she muttered into her shoulder, pressing back the tears that she didn’t know the reason for and didn’t feel like thinking about. “Thank you so fucking much, Liv, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you — I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

And she kept doing that, and she kept repeating herself, and she kept having to shove those tears back until the stage manager came up to her and told her that the next people were coming onstage and that she and Liv needed to exit.

As she broke away from the hug, she gave a nod to the manager, sniffling, putting her hands on her hips. Her eyes darted around, her cheeks blushing a pink as she said, “Right, yeah, we do need to get going.”

She looked over at Liv. Once again, her head reminded her that she owed her. “Hey, Liv,” she said as she began to walk towards the backstage exit, “I’m, uhm…I’m going to be grabbing something to eat?” A small, odd smile hesitantly pressed across her face as she waited by the door. “You should come with me. Like, free of charge, I’ll be paying…I just…”

Owe you.

“Ice cream is good celebration,” she said simply, as an awkward attempt to convince Liv to come along.

She pushed open the door and exited, though she didn’t wait for Liv to join her in the hallway before she began walking down and out towards the main area. Her eyes remained focused on her feet as she went.

In hindsight, that was never really a good thing to do — to focus on the ground in a crowded area. It was a recipe for bumping into people, and, with Nickie’s luck, people who she didn’t want to see.

But, like, basically, good ideas weren’t really Nickie’s thing, so, yeah, down the hallway she went, looking at her feet, and surprise, surprise, her body soon bumped into the figure of someone much taller.

“Mffph.” She stumbled a step back, then blinked a couple of times. As she realized what just happened, her face reddened, and she looked to the person to apologize. “S —“

But she chopped off her apology as soon as she saw who it was.

“Oh,” she said, her voice thoroughly disappointed. Her brows furrowed, her lips pulling into a scowl. Anger bloomed in her chest. “If it isn’t the man-child who was cheering for me to fail,” she said breezily. “Like…do you want me to say that it’s a pleasure to bump into you or some shit…? Because lying’s more your schtick, not mine, so like.”

Sparing a glance back at Liv, Nickie took a step to her left to block Hunter’s path. Her eyes moved back up to the boy’s face. There was nothing but anger in her expression. “What are you doing back here?” she asked. “And like, come to think of it, what were you doing at my fucking performance?” She folded her hands across her chest. “Cheering me on, like…?” She poised up an eyebrow. “You do realize that, like, you were impressing no one with that show? Like, news flash, cheering for me to breakdown not going to get me back, Drake, like…?”

mood
...

location
in the hall outside of the backstage exits

outfit
as ready as i'll ever be

playing...
normal

by nickie.​

mentions
n/a

interactions
liv, hunter

tags
Soap natsukashii

º º code by ditto º º

 

[ditto]

trevor callaghan​

As Ash delved into a tangent of her own, one thing stuck out to Trevor: so…Ash was a fan of the whole skater boy thing?

Damn it.

He was kicking freshman Trevor right now. He could’ve been an absolute — well, more of an absolute stud, an absolute fecking ladykiller had he just grit his teeth and kept with the whole skating thing. Buff legs — skaters had buff legs, right? Hot bod. He could’ve grown his hair, forced his ears to get used to the headache-inducing guitar thrashing, and gotten girls who weren’t piss drunk and who would, ya know, remember him come tomorrow. Feck.

Add that to his list of regrets: not becoming a skater boy.

Hell, he would’ve gotten Ash sooner, maybe, too — no, definitely. All of the hot chicks would’ve practically been ripping his clothes off at every turn had he forced himself to learn to skate after spraining his ankles that first time. He could’ve gotten with Ash a lot sooner then, ya know.

He could picture it. Girls hanging off of him at all times. Flannel and hole-y band tees of bands who he’s memorized the discography of and bleached and ripped pants that he always put his feet through the knees of accidentally and doesn’t realize until he’s out the door. Overgrown, unkempt hair that looks more like a mop than hair that he can never keep out of his fecking eyes. Bruises and scrapes all over his arms from constantly falling. A room with the walls covered in posters of greasy people from the nineties, trash splayed out across the floor, laundry accumulated in a massive heap by the closet door that smells so rank that he feels the strong urge to vomit every time he walks by it. Music that is far too loud even on the lowest volume that makes his ears bleed and gives him a splitting headache —

Okay, so perhaps that wasn’t a thing on his list of regrets, actually. He was fine. A-okay.

Being in whatever clique he was in today was just fine by him. Plus, he had Ash already, so he didn’t have to worry about snagging her or getting her interested in him.

Skater boy aesthetic was a no-go.

Still, ah, if he ever needed aid to get her going, he could…play some Nirvana or something…? Instead of smooth jazz to set the mood, it could be unintelligible muttering over too-loud guitars. Nothing sexier than nonsense being screamed at through some speakers.

"Alright so,” she said, and he pulled his focus back in, blinking his glazed-over eyes at the vision behind his windshield, “if you don't like, like…Nirvana and Def Leppard, what do you like? Like do you like any good rock? Like what about Green Day? They're literally my favorite band of all time. Or, like, The Smashing Pumpkins?"

“Aaaaaaah…” He glanced over at her, his mouth slightly agape as he dragged on his filler word, and then his lips pulled into a smile, his eyes widening as he tried to think of some response that would impress her but wasn’t a complete lie.

He was bad at improvisation and thinking in general, so nothing really came.

He looked back at the world behind his windshield, finally admitting, “As much as I despise the Brits…” He sighed. “British Pop-Rock is more my thing. Indie rock, quieter alternative music. The Stone Roses…ah, Oasis.” He glanced over at her, and then back out the windshield. “I like Fleetwood Mac…?” he tried. “They’re okay…ah, Joy Division…The Spice Girls…”

OhfeckIjustsaidTheSpiceGirls.

His eyes widened as he realized what he’d just admitted to his girlfriend. “I — listen.” He immediately launched into defensive mode, his face set seriously. “My mam's mam thought I was a girl growing up — my mam was American, and her mam was American, too, an’ senile an’ uptight and weird as hell. She thought airplane emissions were chemtrails, some kind of population control or somethin’ and refused to ride on planes because she didn’t want to support the government control, and the ol’ coot had a phobia of water so she never came to visit, and I guess my mam's father never told her that I wasn’t a little girl, an’ wit’ us never goin’ overseas, I guess she jus’ never found out that I wasn’t a pink-loving, pigtail-wearing spoiled brat who was a fan of…horses and girly pop music and sparkly dresses and subscriptions to preteen girl’s magazines.”

He put his blinker on, too distracted by the story at hand to get any sort of road rage beyond tightening his grip on the wheel as the light turned red. “She’d send me things for Christmas, an’ almost every year, she’d send me some kind of clearance CD with the price sticker still on it, and it was always, always something like…The Spice Girls or Christina Aguilera. One year it was Katy Perry, an’ then the next year she and my mam got into a fight and now I don’t know if she’s dead or alive — but all I have to say is that I made do with what I had, even as a spoiled little bastard, an’ one thing I had was Spice.”

Did he know all of the lyrics to all of the songs on that album? Yes…and on their next album, and on their next album, and…yes, on all of them, and yes, he did have to personally buy all of the other albums besides the first, but regardless —

“The songs still hold up,” he added stubbornly. “I’m not ashamed.”

He was very ashamed.

He soon turned into the parking lot of their destination, and he pulled into a parking spot…and then pulled out of it, and then pulled back into it, and then looked in his side mirror, and then pulled back out of it and then back into it.

And then they were in the lines well enough.

He hesitated over the gear shift, pulling in his lower lip and glancing at Ash. Finally, he shifted into park and then smiled over at her. “You…ready?” he asked. “To — to go in?”

He was nervous. He hadn’t realized that he was until now — even with his chattering, he hadn’t really realized just how nervous he was in this moment until now.

And now, he realized his hands were shaking, and he pressed them to his lap, and he realized how twingy his smile was, so he pressed it into a firmer line, and then he felt how hot his cheeks were and — oh feck, was it hot in here? — and his heart was racing in his chest and —

This was his girlfriend of, ah…a month? Two weeks over a month…

He felt like he was going to piss himself.

Or faint.

Or do something really, really embarrassing.

Burst into song, High School Musical-style?

…something.

mood
deploying operations of the "be a good boyfriend" variety

location
rachel

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

playing...
some nights (intro)

by fun.​

mentions
n/a

interactions
ash

tags
Winona

º º code by ditto º º

 

[ditto]

saint andrew taylor

The girl — Maeve was her name — soon headed off, and Saint was, once again, left standing alone at his large fiberglass cow sculpture named Milkshake. He considered, for perhaps the first time, how odd this might seem. A teenaged sculptor at what was (one of, if not) the most prestigious fine arts schools in the country (if not the world) had spent a sum of days tirelessly and meticulously sculpting a project for this festival, and one would expect his project to be a piece that was something never seen before; instead, the final product was a large, common bovine. Yes, the piece was still artful and passionate, and he had spent his time getting every detail as perfect as possible, losing what probably totaled to be several full nights of sleep over getting the correct wise, wistful look that live cows had, adding small details like the texture of some hair and skin, the pores on the nose, the expression in the eyes, the grains of the hooves and the horns, the veins of the udder, et cetera, et cetera, but it was, all things considered, a barnyard animal.

A master of visual art, as they esteemed students at this school to be, had created a fiberglass heifer as his magnum opus.

He felt no shame. He was very proud of this project. He tried never to create things that he didn’t see as perfect or as something to be proud of, so of course he was. He simply knew that it may seem strange to others.

There was something artistic in there, too; perhaps it was the high that he had nursed with his drug of choice in the parking lot prior to entering that prompted him to view the prospect of criticism artistically and metaphorically — that was likely the cause — but his ideas remained. In people thinking that it was odd that he created something so simple, he created noteworthiness in the mundanity, brought attention to something common, and found the art in a creature that most people regarded as stupid, disgusting, and dirty.

In his strange choice of project, there was genius.

He began to make his way around to the other projects in the area, walking towards projects that he hadn’t viewed before, but in them, he didn’t find anything that he hadn’t seen before. People often told him that he had quite an ego, but he didn’t ever really see it; his superiority was a fact, and an obvious one at that, so he didn’t really consider his acknowledgment of the fact anything more than, well, acknowledgment of a fact. He was simply more artistic, more thoughtful, and more…more than what these other projects seemed to be: pretentious, forced-thoughtful, meaningless pieces that were priced far too high for far too little; creations by basement-dwelling, turtleneck-wearing starving “artists” in the making.

How disappointing.

He spotted someone approaching in his periphery, and as he glanced over, he realized who it was: Ava Sanders. She gave him a nod as a sort of wave, and he raised his eyebrows as his own wave back.

She came to a stop with a grin on her face. “Hey, Nosebleed.”

“Hey, Ava,” he said in his stoic voice.

“Visual kid, right?”

“Yes.”

“What’d you do for your project?”

His brows flicked up for a moment, and the corners of his mouth played at a smile. So there was another inquiry about his project. “Mm,” he said. “I’m glad you asked. Here…I’ll show you…” His invitation was just as unpunctuated as the majority of his sentences.

The boy walked her over to the life-size rendition of the cow, and he gave the inclination of his head towards it. “Its title is ‘Milkshake’…though the name wasn’t quite my idea. I had to title it something, though...and that was what I went with,” he said, his stoic voice indicating no particular feeling this way or that. That wasn’t quite a lie, but there were certainly implications from his words.

He studied his sculpture for a moment. “It’s a bit large,” he added, “and rather heavy…it was a bitch to move in here.” He exhaled amusedly through his nose, and then he looked over at Ava. “This is my project.” That was probably not necessary to say at this point, but he still said it. “What’s yours…?” he asked. “You do…literature, right…?”

mood
cow

location
the celestial theater

outfit
casual-ish

playing...
god's plan (drake cover)

by our last night​

mentions
maeve

interactions
ava

tags
Winona

º º code by ditto º º

 

[Winona]

Zeph Evermore

When it came to quick thinking, or being in bad situations such as realizing that you were in the ladies' restroom, Zeph tended to... well... he tended to shutdown. He tended to go wide-eyed, panicked, and all he could think of was regret, regret, regret, and how he would apologize.

Lin really seemed to be the opposite in these situations. He yelled something about evasive action, but then he said to just stand and act like a tree, and Zeph just gave a nod of his head because it wasn't like he was about to freaking move or something, because he was way too panicked right now.

Could he get arrested for this?

Lin started to approach the lady, and Zeph thought he was going to apologize and explain their little mishap -- that they had definitely thought this was the guys' bathroom, and that they were super sorry that it wasn't.

But instead he grabbed her purse and he just--

He just--

He just yeeted it.

The purse flew past Zeph and slammed into the wall beside the Tampon machine, and Zeph's eyes just widened, an uncomfortable, apologetic smile on his face as Lin took off without him and ran out of the bathroom... leaving a frozen Zeph staring awkwardly across the room at an elderly woman.

This was going down as easily one of the worst days of Zeph's life.

"Sorry, sorry, so sorry," he said, babbling out a string of apologies as he frantically picked up the woman's purse and walked across the bathroom to pass it to her. "We thought-- I thought-- this was... I didn't... we thought it was... no urinals, but we didn't... because rich people, and I-- I--"

The woman appeared to be too flabbergasted by everything that had occurred to really cut off Zeph's awkward rambling, so he just offered another couple apologies, and then slipped out of the bathroom. There was a red hue to his cheeks as he pushed open the door and found another woman about to come in with a puzzled look on her face, so he of course had to also apologize to her, and then he was finally on his way out.

Zeph's footsteps carried him as far away from the bathrooms as he could, and he tried to duck his head a bit so he wasn't as easily spotted across the crowd -- just in case the bathroom ladies decided to call security or something to report a pervert drawing nippley pigs while playing with Tampons and spying on elderly women in the bathrooms.

As he wove his way through the crowd, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, and he nearly jumped out of his skin because his first thought? It was the police asking him to come down to the station, where they'd register him as some creep, or arrest him for vandalism.

Sweat gathered on his brow as his clammy fingers pulled the phone from his pocket and he looked at the caller ID and--

Oh, it was just Lin.

WHAT IF LIN WAS CALLING HIM FROM JAIL?

"Luhmao, I'm in the back of a police cruiser. Come bail me out. Do it luhmao no balls."

Swallowing a lump of dread gathering in the back of his throat, Zeph answered the call and brought the phone up to his ear. His heart was pounding in his throat.

"Hello...?"

“Testing, testing, one, two, skip a few, ninety-nine, one-hundo — you read me, Evergreen?” came Lin's joyful voice on the other end, “You still alive? Do you need your big, strong Lin to come rescue you?”

He forced out a laugh.

"No, no, I ah... I got... I got out," he responded with another awkward laugh. "I just... I was ahh... I ran a different direction than you. You know, in case she umm... in case someone chased us, so they wouldn't... catch... both of us..."

Yeah. Yeah that sounded like a good lie. Totally believable.

He came to a halt, glancing around him at the crowd.

"Where're you at?" Zeph asked.

mood
oh fuck

location
Arts Festival

outfit
no, he's not getting super fancy

playing...
We Like It

by Computer Games​

mentions
N/A

interactions
Lin

tags
ditto

º º code by ditto º º

 

[Winona]

Ashton West

Mark this down on the ever growing list of things that Ash and Trevor didn't have in common: music.

Sure, Ash knew who he was talking about -- like who didn't know Fleetwood Mac and The Spice Girls? -- but she couldn't say that they were bands that she exactly knew well. She'd heard of them, she could name a few of their songs, and... that was about as far as her knowledge of the whole thing went.

And yeah, she had some follow-up questions. For one, how did his grandmother spend her life thinking that Trevor was a girl? Like his explanation kind of made sense, but still, like... wow.

But those questions could wait because they were here, as evidenced by Trevor pulling into the parking spot, pulling out... back in... repeat a few more times, and he finally came to an actual stop. Her gaze had been focused outside of the windshield, eyebrows slightly drawn together as she watched Trevor readjust several times, but as the van stopped moving, she glanced over to notice just how incredibly nervous Trevor appeared.

“You…ready?” Trevor asked. “To — to go in?”

Well yeah, she was but clearly he wasn't.

Like, Trevor looked as if he might pass out.

"Hey," she shifted in her seat and moved the roses to her side so that she could turn to face Trevor better. "Hey, don't be so... so, like, nervous, okay?" Ash said with a soft laugh as she reached out and gently placed a hand over his shaky hand. She laced her fingers through his, and then she leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against his lips. "It's just like... it's just me and you, okay? Like, there's no reason to be nervous. Just... let's go and have fun, okay?"

She couldn't quite figure out why he was so nervous as she let go of his hand, but kept that warm smile on her face as she started to get out of the van. Her hand rested on the door handle and she popped open the van door, but before she could actually step out of the van, she like... remembered the only other time that she'd seen Trevor this nervous before had been at the, like, Fall Fair.

When he was, like, sober.

So she hesitated before getting out of the van, instead looking back towards Trevor with the van door partially opened. Her eyebrows were drawn together as she looked towards him, a curious expression on her face.

"Do you wanna, like... do you need to smoke or something before we go in?" Ash asked.

It was a legitimate question from a legitimate place of worry. If he was going to, like, pass out by going in there with Ash as it was, then it would be better if they just took a moment and he got high or whatever. She'd kind of gotten used to the whole, like... his whole default being high as hell, so honestly like, it was just weird to see him sober.

mood
(imagine a little heart emoji here)

location
Arts Fest

outfit
sparkles

playing...
Today

by Olivia Holt (cover)​

mentions
Newt

interactions
Trevor

tags
ditto

º º code by ditto º º

 

[Stardust Galaxy]

Maeve really liked spending time with Felix, don't get her wrong is not like she had something against her other friends, but spending time with Felix felt different, she was kind of always looking forward to talk to him and spending time together always made her feel kind of giddy and trying to not show her happiness and smile everytime she was with him was getting harder and harder as the days passed, she just needed to calm down they were just friends even if she found adorable his crooked smile or was sure that Felix had charming blue eyes.

"Okay, Maeve you need to calm down and act natural, you two are only friends that's all"

She thought to herself, but it was easier to say it than actually do it when you kind of hoped you would encounter him at some point. She let out a small chuckle as he started describing the kind of animated movies she preferred "You really described my perfect movie" she joked.

Maeve didn't want to start rambling about her insecurities once again, she was sure that Felix would find it annoying and told her she was just exaggerating and that she was too self centered, instead Felix started to encourage her and telling her that she would receive calls eventually, something that made her feel more secure about her maybe he was just saying the right thing to make her feel better but in that moment what she needed to not base her talent on what scouts wanted because there was still people that appreciated her talent.

She gave him a shy smile, when Felix admitted he liked hearing what she had to say

"Thank you, your words are making me feel better and you are right I won't get frustrated if I don't receive any calls is not the end of the world"

She said

"I guess making each other happy is kind of endearing, it means that person is important to you. Don't you think?"

She added.

"Thank you"

She said as she grabbed the food and the water bottle and followed him, she took a seat in front of Felix and grabbed the fork when he handed it to her. She started eating as Felix replied to her question about what he was going to do after the Arts Festival

"I see, it must be nice to have an agent that deals with all of that and that know what's best for you in terms of job opportunities, but I'm glad you are taking it easy, you deserve a rest it seems you were quite busy this year"

She replied after she took a sip of her water.

Then he started talking about the Ball and if she was planning to go and if she had a date, her heart skipped a beat as he started talking about it.

"Maeve calm down, maybe he is just curious to know that doesn't mean that he is going to invite you, he for sure already has a date or something. Stop reading too much into the situation"

She thought to herself as she tried her best to hide her smile at the subject.

"Yes, I'm planning to go. Is not everyday that you have to dress up fancy and have a good time with your friends"

She said with a chuckle

"And there's no a lucky guy, I'll most likely be with my friends that doesn't have a date or just you know be the person in charge of taking care of everyone belongings as they have fun with their dates. What about you? Is there a special someone that is going to be your date?"

She asked, trying to not sound curious, keep it casual Maeve.

Location: arts festival | Mood: act natural
Outift: Here | Interactions: Felix ( ditto )

Maeve Anneliese Ackerman

Code by Stardust Galaxy​

 

[hery]

MOOD: fake deep for love

OUTFIT: clothes

LOCATION: outside the celestial theater

basics

MENTIONS:
Gen, Kelli

INT:
ditto (Mike)

tags

TL;DR no

tl;dr

Veronica Crosby

Ronnie followed Mike's weary gaze to the ground, then faced back up at him. His presence was a lot less powerful up close, and his stature was only a fraction of the reason why. Even when muttering an apology the model wasn't so visibly defeated. Whatever the right thing to say was, it wasn't apparent.

"No one,” he answered finally, “I’m hanging out with no one.” Even coming from someone with such a downtrodden appearance, the admission that he was all alone for the day arrived as a jarring realization. Surely someone so cool and desirable as to be virtually inaccessible would have a plethora of willing acquaintances at his beck and call, if only for the purpose of maintaining the popular, charming aura he exuded.

“Wouldn’t say I’m out here all alone for no reason, though. I’m just waiting for someone to come out here to smoke to bum a cigarette from them. You wouldn’t happen to have one on you, would you?” he joked dryly, eliciting an uncomfortable shift from the redhead. “Or some gin? Beer? Some weed, a little baggie of coke? Anything’ll do.” While the bluntness was a familiar response, it was just as shocking as his aforementioned mellowness.

No! Why didn't I bring cigarettes?

"Uh, no, nothing on me today, sorry!" she said quickly, patting down her pants, "I'm not super great with all that stuff. One time, I breathed in a bunch of secondhand smoke and I swear I was loopy, like, my entire rehearsal." As if on command, she let out a cutesy little giggle, perhaps a residual of the bubbly personality she had just acted out onstage. "And there was this other time I got so drunk at this party..."

Oh. Right. He was there.

More than just there, in fact, but they needn't discuss that right then of all times.

“Glad to hear your shit went well, babe. At lease one of us’s having a good time, huh?” Ronnie's heart swelled, and she was unable to conceal the prideful smile that stretched across her face. She looked away coyly, redeeming the formerly heavy moment.

"God…hey, but your critiques earlier? Might need to work on them. They’re a bit far off from the mark of ‘looks like a complete, bumbling fucking idiot’ to be passable.” He chuckled bitterly.

"Hey, don't say that."

“Though I think the bitch and bastard onstage were thinking more about how fucking stupid I looked than anyone else, weren’t they?” he mused aloud. “Especially Johannes, huh? Since she was the one who changed the routine last second, yeah?”

The sophomore quirked an eyebrow. What? Gen sabotaging someone? That was...

Yeah, totally plausible.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, finding it a test of courage to maintain eye contact, "I'm not super clear on what all happened, and, uh, I'm actually pretty decent at improv, so I can't really sympathize, but, uh..." Her voice faltered, and she hesitated to speak. "One bad day isn't gonna doom you forever." What Ronnie got in response was a sigh, but that paled in comparison to the words that followed.

“Shit, why am I telling you that?” he mumbled, closing his eyes and leaning back again. “God, fuck. You’re a little redheaded sophomore infatuated with all of the shittiest people in school. I get it, I’m your fucking wet dream because I’m a completely intolerable jackass. I took you on a date as a goddamn apology, even after you said you didn’t want my pity, because I felt like I’d bullied a little kid. I’ve yelled at you and treated you like utter shit constantly. Bitched about you to fucking everyone, but acted like I was friendly with you. I feel terrible every time I think about how I’ve treated you, whatever, but I never fucking stop. It’s not like anyone give a flying fuck about any of this, or should care in the fucking slightest, but especially not you. I know you don’t, either.”

Standing beside the man of her dreams, who so casually spilled the truth onto her, all Ronnie could do was listen attentively. He spoke with a cold, uncaring drawl, which on worse days would make the girl feel awful about herself. She didn't so much as blink or twitch as she took it all in, remaining hushed as a sign of respect for the slew of words rushing out of the model's mouth. She couldn't quite place it, but Mike's candid words were unmistakably...

Heartfelt?

“Sorry,” he said flatly, no genuineness behind his words, “I’m just tired, it slipped out, yeah. You can just run along and go about your way now. Act like you never saw any of this shit, and we’ll both be better off or some shit like that that.” He dropped his hands by his side.

"What use is there in regretting it?" she asked plainly.

“I don’t fucking know. I’m just so fucking tired." He sighed again, and then cracked a small, miserable grin. "Today’s been a day straight from the depths of fucking hell, Ronnie, I swear..." His grin faded, and he slumped against the wall again, a defeated expression on his face. "I've got no fucking idea what I'm doing...God."

And then he was done. He stopped talking, leaned back, and faced forward. Ronnie felt small, like her presence was a mere gnat in Mike's perception of his surroundings. She ran a hand up her arm, rubbing her elbow awkwardly. Now was the time to say the right thing... but there was none.

And, in the absence of that right thing, Ronnie began to do what she did best: talk out of her ass.

"You feel sympathy." She shook her head and chuckled. "Somehow, you're still just as hot as before." Despite it all, she maintained a warm smile, sitting comfortably in her eminent fondness. "But, yeah, you're right," she admitted with a carefree lift to her voice, "I don't really care about any of that. I think I did for a little back around Homecoming, but I dunno. The date at the fair was more to screw around and take an opportunity than anything else."

The redhead grinned cheekily. "Heh, isn't that ironic? You probably took it more seriously than I did." She then shrugged, glancing over her shoulder at all the strangers passing by out of earshot. Nothing being said on her part was particularly embarrassing or secret, but she had to mind Mike's fragile sense of self. It certainly wasn't lost on her the several times the senior across from her had lamented about how "stupid" he supposedly looked. Big, bad, untouchable Mike was wholly, unmistakably human.

"I guess it just never really mattered to me every time you brushed me off or, like, mad dogged me in the halls." She crossed her arms and compulsively flipped her hair for what was likely the hundredth time that day. "You're probably the bad guy. Lots of people say I'm crazy for being into you. Well, only a few say that, but I know everyone's thinking it, or talking about it in DMs or whatever."

A heavy silence began to settle over the two while Ronnie mulled over her thoughts, sneaking a peek or two at Mike's arms; those were always her favorite. "But." She raised her index finger, following it with her eyes and expecting him to do the same. "Guys like you need girls like me, and vice versa. Nobody wants to be alone." Rather presumptuous, isn't it? Even if she was making it up as she went, some part of Ronnie truly did empathize with his weariness. "I think I'm kind of a bad person too, 'cause I only really like you for your looks and the whole 'brooding anger issues' thing, like you said. But at least that means I care about you, right?" She laughed. They were two tragic individuals.

She pulled the pink sunglasses from earlier out of her bag. "My friend, Kelli, I dunno if you know her, she gave this to me this morning as a, like, good luck thing, I think?" She fiddled with the glasses, being careful not to bend the cheap plastic and snap the temples. "I mean, she, like, probably got it from the dollar store or something and wanted to look silly together, but the gesture was so sweet. I don't have a huge pool of friends, so it sorta reminded me that I'm not alone here, y'know?"

God, it was so cheesy, and Ronnie loved it. All of the romance novels she'd voraciously consumed had led her to this point, injecting her with the supreme ecstasy of sharing a forced moment with the object of her affection. "You don't have to, like, care for me or anything. Like, at all, to be honest. So, like, what I'm trying to say is that there's no reason to feel so isolated, because..." She shrugged her shoulder and popped an impish smirk. "There are people who care about you. Unconditionally, no matter the reason. Even if you do something bad, or pretend they don't exist, or if you just don't feel like yourself. Gen and all those people who think your modeling show or whatever sucked? They're not the only voices in your head."

Okay, okay, the big moment... either Mike would vent his frustration and rip her head off, or he'd pick Option B which Ronnie hadn't even bothered to make up because it wasn't happening anyway. One of her greatest attributes, after all, was making the incredibly and profoundly brainless choice for the sake of romantic idealism.

"So, if you'd let me, can I pass on the 'I'm glad you're here' sunglasses to you?" She held the pair of pink flamingo sunglasses out, then slowly and gingerly rested them on his face. It went great with his outfit.

code by valen t.

 

[AkuTheWolfOkami]

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  how she's feeling...

  
  
  
  

  over it
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  what she's wearing...

  
  
  
  

  This

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  where she's at...

  
  
  
  

  at the arts fest just vibing
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  in the conversation...

  
  
  
  

  Slater ( Winona )
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

STASSI

Junior(18)- Model - Golden Goddess

-The dynamic was interesting between the two siblings. The difference rested in the stark comparison between the two brothers-in-law tasked to raise the respective child. A businessman who was used to navigating politics and public perception. A former spy who was used to directly affecting politics in the shadows, and subtlety. The two’s personality reflected in the child they were tasked to raise. Katya, the politician. Anastasia, the agitator.

She had to push the envelope. She had to be the rebellious one at risk of her own image to her parents. Nothing would be solved by being the well-behaved child. She had been the perfect child up until she was shipped away. It was not her fault that her father slept outside of his marriage. Yet, they still did. So it would stand to reason that maintaining the status quo would do nothing to benefit her. What was that quote that they loved to misattribute and misquote…”well-behaved women seldom made history”?

She hated that quote because it was always used to do something stupid, when the quote was supposed to reflect on how many well-behaved women made positive impacts on the world and rarely get mentioned. The quote fit for the moment though.

Anastasia turned her attention to their shared parents, a blank expression painted on her face as her sister inquired about their enjoyment. Of course, Ilya in a public space oversold the proud father act. She wasn’t sure how much was genuine, but she knew her father’s patterns. She knew whether he enjoyed something or not – and the man had a very narrow taste in music – and this wasn’t something he’d enjoy. What she couldn’t’ tell, however, is if his genuine enjoyment stemmed from the fact that his prized child was doing well and it made him look good, or if she was doing well and it meant he wasn’t wasting his money.

Vera, on the other hand seemed to be more genuinely pleased. Perhaps because Katya seemed to be doing something she enjoyed. Perhaps because despite the situation they all had ended up in, she wanted her daughters to find some form of happiness. That happiness that seemed to have escaped her at some point.

It was lovely dear. Maybe a touch too contemporary. Proud of you though.

Ilya had spoken – a large smile painted on his face. A smile that irritated Stassi to her core. If you ever saw a snake smile well…Their mother hadn’t added anything verbally only a small nod in agreement.

I think this school has done wonders for developing my skills, yes. It was surely worth the expense.

This would have been the part that Anastasia scoffed at Katya for agreeing with her if she wasn’t a stoic android from the coldest parts of Russia. A’las.

Thank you for allowing me to attend. I am developing songs in Russian as well, but to reach the American audience, I sing in English.

There it was. That’s what Anastasia had been waiting on. Katya and Anastasia both knew when their father said contemporary, he meant Western. He was trying his best to avoid any major criticism in public, in front of Anastasia so he resorted to more subtle critiques. Katya knew that and she was able to nip it in the bud before it became a problem. They were at a Western school. It made sense that she would be doing western music, right? Bravo Katya. That was well played.

I wish Stassi had performed today, she makes a lovely model.

Katya made her move. She wasn’t sure if it was to just deflect the attention off herself or if it was a strategic move against Anastasia. It wasn’t a very good place to probe Stassi, so maybe it was the former.

“I agree. It would have been a joy to model, but both the teachers and my agent agree. It isn’t worth the risk to my injury when I have already accomplished so much,”

she spoke and let out a fake sigh as if she was overwhelmed by grief.

I thought the doctors have cleared you. Are you at least skating again? You do not have long to catch back up.

There was the sore spot that her father had probed. She could easily wiggle herself out of questions about her modeling career. It was doing fine, especially after her Vogue feature and especially after her recent Fenty Beauty contract. Skating? That was different.

Anastasia glanced over to Katya, and while her countenance was a blank expression, her eyes showed her anger. Today they had decided to be more amber than anything and they burned with the flame of her fury. She wasn’t sure if Katya knew that the conversation would eventually fall back into questions about her skating career, but even if it wasn’t intentional, she had caused it.

She cleared her throat a bit as she looked to her father,

“I have done simple skating, but I have not done any maneuvers. I am trying to regain my leg strength first.”

She lied again. A lie while though her sister could not prove, Katya would have to have been dense to not notice that her practice skates had not left their place in their home.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Soap]

Alejandra Cortez
"I know, I know, the siren sound.”

@Realex is offline
...

@Realex has set their outfit to:
Laney vibes

@Realex has interacted with:
Simone

@Realex has mentioned:
N/A

@Realex has tagged:
natsukashii​

A few tears were shedded.

And they were wiped away with a heavy deep breath.

She felt like a child.

The thought was suddenly pushed so far back that Alejandra didn’t even remember what she was upset about in the first place.

Okay, that was entirely a lie.

As much as she wanted to sit here and pretend like tonight wasn’t a complete disaster, it was. Maybe not to the audience's eyes— but the Lit department? To herself?

Alex failed.

Every time she tries to do anything related to Literature it always ends badly. There were only so many times a girl could apply to the same department, hopes high and crushed all separate times.

Maybe it was just time for her to put her dream aside. It wasn’t happening.

The sooner she made peace with that, the sooner she’d be able to…

What? Make it as a model?

The idea alone almost made her sick to her stomach.

She sat on the steps outside as people walked past, muttering about upcoming and past performances.

“Do you think they’re actually dating? Like that gossip blog says?”

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t be surprised, did you see them on stage?”

Alex leaned away from the pair to make room for them. They barely acknowledged her and went about their conversation.

The brunette started to take pins out of her hair, ruffling the uncomfortable curls out, grimacing at the over-use of hairspray that was used to keep it there.

Her phone went off and she wasn’t surprised by the caller ID. She didn’t ignore it this time.

“This is the Cook County Correctional Facility. You have a collect call from—“ She knew how these calls worked, but she didn’t expect to hear his voice.

“Ruiz Cortez.”

“Press one to accept—“

Beep.

The line connected and Alex stayed silent. Not saying a word.

“Hello?”

“Alejandra?”

…

She debated hanging up.

A heavy silence laid on the line, but he didn’t hang up.

Neither did she.

“… Hey, Dad.”

—

It’d been years since they talked.

It wasn’t fair to him.

She knew that.

She just…

To be completely and utterly honest, Alex didn’t have a good reason other than she just didn’t want to.

There was bound to be more behind it.

There had to be.

Because if that was the case, it just meant that she was a terrible daughter even more than he had failed as a father. Maybe she did believe that.

Maybe she believed that he shouldn’t have been so selfish to risk their family for money that was desperately needed.

Maybe it wasn’t selfish.

But it was easier to think that it was instead of blaming it on herself.

Ridiculous to think that she was at fault for what he had gotten into. She was young, it wasn’t like she could’ve done anything to change the outcome.

She was mad at him.

But she still cared about what he thought of her.

“A play?! That’s amazing, Mija. How did it go?”

“It… went great, papi.” Her voice was hoarse, all said with a saddened smile.

“That’s my girl. See! I told you all those years ago— you got a standing ovation didn’t you?”

“It’s a school—“

“Doesn’t matter!”

“… yeah, yeah. We got one.”

Despite her lies.

It was a good conversation. It was nice to talk to her father again, he was her best friend growing up.

He was just one of those people you could tell anything to.

So, why did she lie to him?

Because she didn’t want to disappoint him as she did herself.

However, this meant she had to lie to her mother which was going to be a completely different ball game.

But one problem at a time.

Alex wandered backstage, barely paying attention to the other showcases. That was until Simone’s came around.

Alejandra loved the meaning of it— even if fashion hadn’t been her passion like it was for Simone.

"What I wanted to showcase was, you could look hot without spending a lot of money.”

Alex snorted, rolling her eyes at the small girl on stage.

“Fashion shouldn't be expensive. You shouldn't have to be rich to look good. And don't they look good?"

And that they do.

Maybe she felt a little special that Simone found her idea through the vintage store that Alex came across for the film.

"My mama couldn't be here tonight, but she used to tell me something that I always kept close to my heart: Mija, you are a star. And stars are not born without heart.”

Alex always admired how optimistic she was. It was refreshing to be around someone who didn’t always focus on the negative.

“This star made it, mama!”

Alejandra smiled, clapping along with the crowd and watched as she exited on the other side of the curtain.

She pondered going after her for a moment.

So, yes. Alex wanted a break from the noise, or… everyone in general.

But Simone didn’t count as everyone.

… and while unnecessarily loud from time to time.

Alejandra didn’t mind her noise.

It took a little bit of searching, but she came across Simone in a rather vacant space, sitting on top of some crates that somehow made her look even smaller.

Alex wasn’t surprised that she had to take a double take to see if that was actually Simone in the first place.

“Miss Gutierrez.” She said, approaching her with both hands intertwined, messing with a cheap ring she’d bought a few weeks back.

"Oh hey, if it isn't my personal fan.”

“I…” Alex averted her gaze, glancing towards the stage and back towards Simone.

“Didn’t think you noticed me, you were pretty busy up there.”

“With you standing over me like that, you kinda look like a hot Amazon Warrior."

Alex fought a smile— and a blush, mind you.

“Kinda? Gosh, I was really going for the wonder woman vibe with this… whatever I’m wearing.” She gestured to herself lazily— and rather awkwardly.

“That was supposed to be a really funny… something, but my brain kinda… went home without me tonight.”

She was glad the only awkward tension around them was just because Alex was Alex and not because of their almost kiss a few weeks back.

“So…”

Alejandra reached for the pink sunglasses that laid on top of Simone’s head, inspecting them and looking through the pink tint before holding them out to her.

Alex glanced at their surroundings and searched Simone’s gaze before continuing.

“Shouldn’t this star be shining for everyone to see?”

º º code by ditto º º

 

[hery]

MOOD: lol

OUTFIT: clothes

LOCATION: school

basics

MENTIONS:
Oates, Ash
INT:
Winona (Jace)

tags

TL;DR no

tl;dr

Callum Richards

Hard work was an alien concept to Callum. Even in the most ideal, comfortable conditions, it just wasn't in his nature to try. Yeah, he was a nihilist, which essentially meant that he didn't care much for most things, but it went beyond that. Part of it came from the fear of being something. Perceptible. He liked to think that being hated by all of his peers didn't bother him—which was correct, for the most part—but it was still a hindrance.

The result of all this was his signature sense of apathy, which only wavered in the dance studio. Like him or not, Callum was a great dancer. He'd gotten into Hollywood Arts without being a millionaire, which had to count for something. He made it into his third year in the dance department without a hitch, and here he was performing back-to-back solo and duet dance routines.

The solo came first, which should have mattered more as his senior solo, but it all merely served as a warmup for the main event: his duet with Oates. Of all their problems and happy moments, there was no time Callum paid more attention to his boyfriend than while practicing their routines. On his end, there was an unshakeable feeling that he could do better, not for the audience's sake, but for his own.

Callum's technical prowess—as much as most refused to acknowledge it—far surpassed a plethora of his classmates in dance class. The margin of error in his pirouettes was less than a hair and his leaps were timed precisely to the millisecond. Not to mention, he could name every ballet step alphabetically both forward and backwards. Sure, his lackluster facials left much to be desired, but of all weaknesses for a dancer, the pale boy figured it was an insignificant sacrifice.

He hadn't meant to upstage Oates; it was just a result of their differences. Even in the most cohesive of performances, there were always subtle divergences between performers, which only became more apparent to trained eyes.

Much to the pair of dancers' chagrin, one pair of trained eyes invited herself to give a commentary after their duet: Ash's mom. Jace's mom too, but Callum had immediately recognized her as the former. As she approached them offstage, he considered turning around and walking away before the lady had a chance to open her mouth, but he hesitated. Alternatively, he could have ranted about the woman's daughter and questioned how her son turned out the way he was, but that, too, was a path he did not take.

Instead, what most die-hard Callum fans (Are any of you there?) would predict, he did nothing. He stared back at the intimidating woman with a cold, dead stare and zoned out as she praised him at the expense of Oates' ego. They were both phenomenal dancers, but she was right. Callum was simply better, and the performance was dragged down by the shorter boy's novice mistakes. It never bothered Callum when his boyfriend did a step wrong; it didn't really matter. after all. He did his own part perfectly and that was all he could do.

He waved a goodbye to Oates, hoping to slip past his parents and spend the rest of the festival in peace. He was exhausted, not just passively so but because the strain of his performances had naturally taken its toll. Stifling a yawn, he stepped outside the building and fiddled with his outfit, which was one of the rare pieces he owned that didn't hang off his body like he was a child wearing his father's shirt.

His icy blue eyes scanned the area, then narrowed as they rested upon a familiar face. He really couldn't escape the Wests, could he? Loitering around straight across from his position was Jace West, one of the few friends he had that...

Well, one of the few friends he had, period.

"Jace," he said in a monotone, stuffing his hands in his pockets, "You have a bruise on your nose." He looked around disinterestedly, then suppressed another yawn. "Why do you have a bruise on your nose? Did you get into another fight?"

He didn't wait for an answer. It wasn't very important of a question anyway, and he felt more compelled to just ask it rather than actually learn anything. He liked Jace and all, but he couldn't be bothered to really care about his life. "Your mom said my dancing is decent," he continued, "And that Oates needs work. Why is she like that?" He felt horribly judged just being in her presence. Compared to his own icy glare, her passive gaze was made from nightmares, sending chills down his spine. Added onto how cold he already was, it sent violent shivers throughout his whole body. "She's not wrong, though. I wish my dance instructors were blunt like that."

Oh. He should be courteous of Jace, shouldn't he? "Oh, and how was your..." Juggling? He was a juggler, wasn't he? "... stage performance?"

code by valen t.

 

[qunqun]

MOOD: hehehehehehe

OUTFIT: Flowy white dress

LOCATION: School

basics

MENTIONS:
Jace

INT:
Stassi AkuTheWolfOkami

tags

TL;DR Feelingf uncomfortable yet, Stassi?

tl;dr

Katya

Katya was rebellious like her sister, though perhaps not in a way that was particularly apparent to everyone around her. She had no plans about singing in Russian any time soon, nor did she truly plan on taking on the family business like her father intended. Instead, she wanted to continue pursuing her music career.

Of course, she kept her cards pretty close to her chest though. Made sure that to everyone around her she was being the best Russian daughter that anyone could ever ask her to be, a politician indeed.

Stassi was rather awful at that, and Katya thought that maybe her sister could learn from time to time to be a bit more subtle with her rebellions - case in point getting disowned. Though even that didn’t seem to deter her. After all, if she’d tried to actually mold herself to what her father truly wanted, that would’ve probably killed her soul. All in all, Katya knew on some level that she was perhaps just a bit cleverer than the ice skater-turned-model.

The deflection worked easily as the family focused more upon the shortcomings of Stassi rather than her own. Easy as pie.

Her skating career, always a bit of a sore subject with Stassi with the injury and all that. Katya kept a very carefully pleasant expression - not too happy to seem American but still what the Russians would call a general cheer that went along with the mood of the whole environment around them. Please, it was too easy to hide the mixed feelings she felt as they began tearing into the skating.

Stassi was a liar. Katya knew this very well, and it was a lot of trust her sister was putting in her to keep the lie going that eventually she was going to go back into the rink. No training had been done. Skates had laid dormant.

Thing was that Katya knew how to drop bombshells lightly and easily, not like her too serious sister. It was too easy for her to do so, and very tempting. Their parents would believe Katya over Stassi as well, after all, she was the favored child of the two. So easy. So tempting to cause her sister more grief.

In fact, Katya would be sitting pretty either way. If she agreed to the lie and it came out, then she would be seen as just trying to help her sister. Some light reprimanding, but ultimately a noble showing of solidarity. If she came out with it, she would only be proving why she was trustworthy over her lying, scheming sister. And if she helped the lie and they weren’t caught, then Stassi would owe her.

If she did nothing, well, her silence spoke louder than her actual words would.

“Yes, I have seen her practice. It is like flying on the ground.” Katya said with a small smile. More sinister to Stassi probably than it would be to her parents. “She has made lovely progress. Oh! Have you told them about the American that will be joining us for dinner?”

In reference to Jace, at least. Katya continued keeping her pleasant smile even as she spoke. A little bit more needling was needed. Stassi knew what side Katya was on, Katya didn’t need her in trouble, but she did need Stassi uncomfortable enough to make a mistake.

Katya kept a pleasant tone, full of innocence and joviality as she dropped the news. Hope it wasn’t supposed to be a surprise for her parents.

code by valen t.

 

[ditto]

victoria shantel sterling​

People were staring. Obviously people were fucking staring — why wouldn’t they be staring? Two prolific literarians who had only gone public with their divorce in the summer were yelling at each other in public, venting far too many private issues for all of the day’s guests — from the casual viewer of student performances to the trashy tabloid “contributors” to the goddamn school dean and all of her teachers and all of her fucking peers see. If Tori saw this, she couldn’t say that she wouldn’t stop and stare, too, but — but it was her parents that this was happening with, this was her family business, and — and this was her thing that she was supposed to stop.

Because she was the oldest. And she was the most mature. And she was the one who claimed to have everything under control.

Yet here she was, powerless, begging her fucking little brat sister to stop her parents, her wide eyes flicking desperately to the people staring at the “family straight out of a cheaply-produced trash reality show” in spite of her best efforts to ignore them.

This was so damn embarrassing. More than embarrassing — fucking mortifying.

People were going to be talking about her. About her family. As much as she tried to stay out of the way, this whole career that she’d built, this whole — this whole persona she had of being untouchable and — and the cream of the crop and — and so much better than you and you and him and her and you, here she fucking was.

She could already see it. She could already hear it.

“Beth, you have to stop this,” she commanded silently through her stern, glassy, desperate glare into her sister’s eyes.

Her sister shook her head. “I…I can’t,” she mumbled.

Tori’s stomach flopped. The tears pricking at Tori’s eyes threatened to bubble over. Her throat tightened, her chest blooming with heat. “Beth…!” Her voice was strained.

Her sister just shook her head, and she turned her back, and, though Tori reached out to grab her shoulder again, Beth was out of her reach before she could get any kind of grip on her.

Her heart gave a squeeze. “Beth!” she called out in a yell of a whisper, just talking to keep her tears from spilling over.

She glanced at her parents, who were still arguing, as though no one was staring, as though their kids weren’t their fucking audience.

She grit her teeth, a sudden rise of anger in her chest.

The next things she did didn’t even register. Her feet carried her a step forward. Her hands curled into tight fists at her side. Her jaw clenched even tighter, and the tears at the brims of her eyes grew thicker, more fully-formed. Thousands of thoughts rushed through her head, half-formed accusations to point at her mother and half-formed excuses for her father and half-formed fucking nonsense to spew at the crowd to get them got go away.

And she turned on her heels, and her feet began to carry her away from her parents and in the direction of her sister.

“Beth!” she called. “Beth!”

Tori had gotten lost in a supermarket once. She was a little girl back then, just as ornery and proud as she was now but smaller. Her mom had sat her down out of the bascart to go look for a pair of shoes, and when she turned around, her mother was gone.

So she started to yell for her. ”Mom! Mom! Mom!” But her yell wasn’t loud — it was quiet and broken and weak, and she didn’t see her mom, so she started to walk around. But the world was so big and the shelves were so high and the strangers were so strange and the store was so big that she just wound up sitting down and crying.

Because she was scared. Because she felt — she felt alone.

And now, as she repeated her sister’s name over and over again and searched for her, she called her name as loudly as she could, though her voice was by no means loud — it was broken, and cracking, and by the fourth time that she called her sister’s name, she felt an anger rising again, and that anger caused the tears to almost come out of her eyes. She kept not seeing her, kept shoving through stranger after stranger that just wasn’t her.

And as she made it out of another group of strange, vicious strangers and stopped in the middle of an expansive hall full of unfamiliar familiar faces, she felt like she was that little girl in the supermarket again.

Small. Helpless. Weak.

Her hands fell limp at her side, and she stared, and her heart just sank and sank and sank lower.

And she turned sharply and went into the bathroom, and she stepped into one of the smallest stalls, and she sat down on top of one of those toilets with her pants still on.

And she closed her eyes.

And she tried not to cry; she just tried to…disappear.

• • • • •​

Dabbing the pad of her forefinger beneath her eye, the undyingly stubborn girl exited the bathroom and drew in a deep, sniffly breath.

1) What had happened in that bathroom stall? No one would ever know, you creep; she would die with that information, okay. What had happened before, she would maintain — it was — it was a publicity stunt, yes. This whole — this whole fight thing, this whole divorce? To anyone who asked, this was a show, and she just played along with it. Obviously, she’d gone into the bathroom just for show.

This was the completely convincing story that she’d concocted. This was what she would tell at least the first people who asked.

Of course, she’d been texting someone earlier — Bailey was their name. They could know the truth. That was all. They already knew too much as it was, and…well, she had to tell it to someone.

She was in too deep before she could pull her truthfulness back…

Though maybe they shouldn’t know the full truth. A few lies never hurt anyone, and they…ya know, protected her pride.

2) Her sister? Yeah, she was fucking dead.

As she ventured back through the hallway with no real aim aside from avoiding her parents and finding her sister so she could bitch at her, Tori spotted a familiar-ish someone — someone who had just come into her thinking, so wow, look, how convenient.

Honestly, the whole thing with them was somewhat awkward. She’d meant to text Mikaela to whine, but…well, she’d wound up clicking stranger’s dms accidentally and yadda yadda.

Truth be told, she would have kept walking — not because she couldn’t handle the particular social situation of “greeting a stranger you accidentally vented to after only ever speaking online”, because she could handle just about anything, but just because…uh…well, just because — but she just happened to looking at them just as they looked at her, and the eye contact meant that, well, she couldn’t just be rude and not give some sort of greeting.

She lifted a hand in a small wave, giving an awkward smile and mouthing a “hi” as she walked over to them. “Hi,” she repeated aloud as she stopped in front of them, folding her hands in front of her. She was hyper-aware of her posture, which was rigid, and she gave an awkward chuckle.

Confidence, Victoria.

“Uhm, hi,” she said again. She chuckled once again. “I’m Tori — Tori, you remember? Victoria, that’s my name. You’re…Bailey, right?”

The person blinked. “…No?”

Her eyes widened. “Oh God.” Oh God. Her heart kicked up in panic, and she held out her palm. Her cheeks bloomed with a dark red. “O-Oh my God, I’m so, so sorry, you just look so much like —“

And then, she actually spotted them — the real Bailey, standing at a booth.

That…made sense.

She looked back to the very confused not-Bailey and gave them an awkward smile. “I — I’m just going to go now.” She pointed over her shoulder with her thumbs. “Just…juuuust head away.” She held up her fingers in a salute. “H-Have a nice day!”

Before the conversation could be prolonged any further, the wide-eyed, intensely-blushing girl walked towards Bailey’s booth as quickly as she could.

Of course, just as she reached the booth and gave the person behind it a twitchy smile, she stumbled a step, and she frantically held out her hands in front of her and caught herself on the desk. “Hell,” she hissed, looking down at her feet as she investigated to see if she’d done any serious damage — which, thankfully, she hadn’t.

And now came the awkward part…

She lifted her eyes back up to the person behind the desk, giving them a tight-lipped smile. “Hi.” Pointing with her thumb in the direction that not-Bailey had been, she awkwardly chuckled, her cheeks burning a darker red as she thought of how to explain what had just happened. “You…I thought — there was someone who —“ She gave up, flopping down her hands at her side and letting out a deep breath, forcing a smile again as she wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt and then folded her hands in front of her. “Aaaanywho…hiiii. We’ve never met — in person, you know.” She held out her hand to offer a shake — stupid thing to do, but it was too late to take it back by the time that she’d realized what she’d done, so she gave her fingers a wiggle to make her handshake offer seem more confident. “I’m Tori. Victoria Sterling? I — I, uh, slid into your dms with bitching about my sister.” She held up her free hand in a finger gun. “Yeaaaah,” she said, awkwardly chuckling.

Oh, awkwardly? No — no, she meant confidently. She totally confidently chuckled. Yeah, everything about Tori’s demeanor read confident right now.

Yep. Totally. Uh-huh. Don’t doubt it.

mood
hi : )

location
the celestial theater

outfit
dressy

playing...
be nice to me

by the front bottoms​

mentions
mikaela

interactions
beth & bailey

tags
Winona qunqun

º º code by ditto º º

 

[ditto]

LINDSAY MORGAN KAY

Ayo, Zephy lived! Unless he was answering his phone from the dead.

Which how sick would that be?!

But nah. He was pretty sure the guy had survived and escaped the grasp of that old hag. Tee-bee-aych, that was more than Lin figured would happen, so good on that dude, luhmao.

‘course, Zeph was laughing super awkwardly and struggling for his words and shit, so Lin’s mild impressed-ness was kinda wearing off pretty quickly in favor of derisive humor.

“No, no, I ah…I got…I got out.” Zeph let out a laugh — one that was obviously forced. “I just…I was ahh…I ran a different direction than you. You know, in case she was umm…in case someone chased us, so they wouldn’t…catch…both of us…”

Zeph sounded like he was really struggling, which made Lin laugh. “Luhmao!” he exclaimed. “Dude, you shoulda ran towards me — that little old lady woulda popped a hip if she tried to follow us, luhmao! We woulda been good!”

“Where’re you at?”

Lin rolled his eyes. “Listen, bro,” the boy said in his tenor voice, cupping his hand over his microphone and lower speaker to funnel the noise from his lips into the mic. (That was how that worked — duh.) He had a somewhat serious tone. He glance at his faint reflection in the window of some rando’s Volkswagen’s window, and he tried to suppress a smirk in favor of a forced serious expression. “Bro, I’ve kinda been hiding this from you. I’ve been hiding it from everyone.” He paused to draw in a deep breath. “It’s this big humongous secret I gotta hold ‘cuz the government will send a sniper to take me out if they ever hear me tell another soul this, an’ then that’s just a whole lotta drama an’ a lotta people will see my guts…” He trialed off for dramatic effect, then lowered his voice. “…but I think I can trust you.

“But ya gotta look me in the eyes, man,” he said. “You gotta promise me ya aren’t gonna spill the beans to anyone else, got it?” He was trying not to laugh as he led the other boy on, digging his sharp canine into his lower lip. “You promise me?”

He drew in a deep breath, held it for a moment, and then sighed deeply. “Okay, here it goes.” He cleared his throat, and then spoke in his most serious tone: “I’m actually a sixty-three-year-old retired businessman turned secret agent. I was sent here to protect the world from alien invaders under the guise of being a super iconic, amazing, sexy, handsome, beautiful, awe-inspiring, talented, cool, radical, sick, hot, did I say sexy? ‘cuz sexy, fantastic, fabulous, golden-voiced musical-and-prank genius named Lindsay — and my time has come to depart from this mission. That old lady was the last of the aliens, sir…” He sniffled deeply, and he lifted up a hand to wipe away an invisible tear. “So this is farewell…Zephyr the Beaver Ass Prophet.”

As the last word rang through the air, Lin dug his tooth into his lower lip again to keep from laughing. “You…believe me?” he asked.

And then he couldn’t hold it in, and he wound up bursting out into loud laughter directly into the speakerphone.

“Kidding, luhmao!” he cackled. “Dude, I totally got you!” He clutched his stomach with his free hand, stooping and bending his head all the way down between his knees as he laughed. His face was red, and he gasped for air. “Shit, guy!” He slung his head back up and stumbled a couple of steps back into a random guy’s truck. He let himself rest against it as he tried to catch his breath. “I can’t breathe — I can’t breathe!” he laughed.

(Lin found just about everything that involved fooling — or just confusing, or infuriating — people entertaining, hence why he was almost never serious. If you thought he was serious at any point as far as things he said went, I’d advise you to look again, because it’s doubtful.)

Finally, he sighed out a breath, collecting himself. Breathlessly, he put the hand not holding his phone on his hip. “Nah,” he chuckled, “I’m in the parking lot. Out the door to the side, though. Not out the front.”

mood
pranking timeeee lmaooo

location
the celestial theater

outfit
feesh

playing...
voldemort

by lindsay kay​

mentions
n/a

interactions
zeph

tags
Winona

º º code by ditto º º

 

[natsukashii]

Corey Preston

He thought it was going as smooth as it possibly could. Adriane wasn’t doing anything that could potentially embarrass Corey in front of his family and was actually seeming like she was genuinely interested in what her sister had to say. Even as she mentioned Maddie being one of her best friends and when she surprised them -- mostly him -- at their place, Corey just smiled because not only did he want his parents nor sister to know exactly what he was feeling at that exact moment (and the ones that followed), if she wasn’t going to drop the bomb, why should he?

So he listened.

And listened.

And listened.

His father commented about how Corey was popular with the girls and didn’t think he had it in him. He said it in a way that was almost at the same energy as “attaboy”. His mother didn’t take too kindly to that and he could feel the vibrations of her socking him hard in the arm. Another indicator of that was when his father grunted and pushed Corey forward ever-so-slightly. He was bent forward like he was hunching over but it didn’t bring much attention to him. The most it did was cause Rina to shake her head at her family.

“Corey is nice! He’s probably the nicest of us all!” Rina chimed in, nudging him in the shoulder in a teasing fashion.

Corey laughed and rubbed the back of his head.

And then he heard Adri speak again. He looked at her and something just told him that he wasn’t going to like what was going to come out of her mouth.

“Well, or so I thought—”

Please no—

“—until he so rudely blocked me over nothing”

Wait, what did she say? I blocked her?

She has to be out of her mind, right? No, that’s not how it went and she knows it. She’s..she’s just trying to make him look bad in front of his family, isn’t she? Of course she is. Adriane Halloway didn’t do anything without burning someone first. She didn’t know how to be nice, regardless if it was being faked or not. Her second-handed comments about he blocked her were hilarious, really.

Okay, not exactly funny like an episode of Friends that centered around Joey and Chandler, but funny because Corey was literally trying to process how she could say all of this with a straight face, yet know that everything she’s saying are lies stacked on top of manipulated truths.

“Is this true, son?” His father asked, which caused Corey to briefly look up at his father before narrowing his eyes at Adriane.

There was a moment before he spoke that Corey thought about calling Adriane out on her bold-faced lie. It wouldn’t be hard. He would just say that he didn’t do it and that she was the one that blocked him, but that meant showing to his family that there was history between them and that was something Corey didn’t feel like explaining. How could he face his parents after he told them that the really attractive girl they met was his girlfriend for almost two years? How could he explain that? They’d never let him live it down and he just knew they’d be disappointed with him.

No, he couldn’t do that. He had to save face with them. It was bad enough he was in rocky waters with Maddie and things between them had been tense, he couldn’t afford to let his parents know exactly how he truly felt about Adriane.

“Y-yeah…” He admitted, head lowering somewhat. “It was...a mistake. I thought she was somebody else. I’ve corrected that since, but she’s not wrong about it being over nothing. An honest mistake.” At this point, Corey’s eyes were locked with Adriane’s. He didn’t speak for a few moments and neither did his family. Something about the air between them. “Right, Adriane?”

mood
Kill me now

location
Arts Fest

outfit
Looking dapper

playing...
Blinding Lights

by The Weeknd​

mentions
Eli, Maddie

interactions
Family, Adri

tags
Winona

º º code by ditto º º

 

[ditto]

trevor callaghan​

There was no other way to put it — and no good way to put it: Trevor Callaghan was perpetually a fish out of water, perpetually on the verge of a nervous breakdown, and perpetually a total fecking wreck. Regardless of if he was doing good or if he was doing bad, Trevor seemed to always be in some way absolutely fecking dying. That was how it went with him; it was a well-known thing.

When he was entering first year at his old, uptight Catholic school, Trevor had this dream — that he kept mostly to himself — of getting a starring role in one of his school’s productions. There was something that he found appealing about the idea of being in the spotlight, the idea of having all eyes on him as he spouted the sonnets penned by good ol’ Willie Shakes or another of his kind…but then, he tried out, and he realized the thing that most people around him had realized far before him: he was a horrendous actor, and he was an absolute wreck when it came to any pressure whatsoever.

Also, it was the production of Alice in Wonderland, so no William Shakespeare.

But hey, he played a damn good doorknob. Said his two whole lines fecking perfectly.

Right now, he had this whole plan in his head.

And as it played over in his head, the pessimist couldn’t help but think of just how badly he was going to fail — and just how much of an opportunity there was for him to fail.

Feck.

Feckfeckfeck.

“Hey.” Ash was talking to him, but it hardly registered the first time. “Hey, don’t be so…so, like, nervous, okay?” She laughed softly, and she reached out and put a hand over his.

He looked over at her, looking into her eyes for a moment. His hands were so fecking sweaty, and so shaky, and would have made it obvious how he was feeling if his face wasn’t already making it so readily apparent. “N-Nervous? I’m not…”

She leaned forward and pressed a kiss against his lips, and Trevor’s shoulders relaxed a bit, his thudding heart skipping a beat. She moved away. “It’s just like…it’s just me and you,” she said, “okay? Like, there’s no reason to be nervous. Just…let go and have fun, okay?”

That was — that was the plan. That was right in the plan, actually. Right in the plan. The plan went:

1. flowers (check)

2. food (ongoing)

3. whatever step three was he was fecking forgetting it right now oh god

4. get laid

He swallowed hard. “Right,” he said, but his voice cracked. Embarrassedly, he lifted a fist to his lips and cleared his throat. “Yeah…” He forced a chuckle, made himself smile. “Yeah, you’re…right.” Though he was still as pale as a ghost and as tense as ever, the boy casually placed his wrists on the wheel and dangled his hands from it, leaning back against the seat and resting his head to the side of the headrest, trying to feign as though he was very cool, calm, and collected thanks to Ash’s words and gestures.

In truth, they probably made things worse; of course, he was’t going to tell her that — most things that people did to help Trevor wound up making his situation worse, and he wasn’t intoxicated enough to bluntly tell her that.

She popped the door open, and Trevor drew in the deepest breath that he could muster, his wide eyes staring at the license plate of the truck parked in front of him, and he tried to press back the looming feeling of ohGodI’mgoingtofaint that still hung over him.

After a moment, Ash’s voice spoke again. “Do you wanna, like…”

He turned his head towards her, raising his eyebrows. “Huh?”

“Do you need to smoke or something before we go in?” Ash asked.

YES PLEASE.

His brain answered immediately, but his body was still frozen, completely taken aback. “I — smoke?” he repeated, as though it was particularly out of pocket.

PLEASE.

PLEASE, LET ME SMOKE MY GLORIOUS WEED.

Still, he chuckled. “No, no. I’m good.”

He put on cologne for this — and she’d complained about his Axe before, so he wasn’t about to venture back to covering up the weed smell with the spray.

Just this once, at least.

“I’ve, ah —“ He shook his head. “I’m goin’ ta be fine.” He gave her a smile. “No need for the weed.”

Before he could convince himself to take back that answer, he popped open his own door and stepped into the parking lot. He felt of his pocket to check and see if — yes — it was still in there, and then he remembered to take the key out of the ignition. He shoved his keys into his pocket and slammed his door shut, and then immediately pulled his keys back out to lock his van.

He walked to the front of his vehicle, and, smiling, he offered Ash his shaky, clammy hand when she joined him.

He was as pale as a ghost and still looked like he was going to faint. When he walked, his knees felt like jelly. Still, he gave her a smile, turned his head away, and began to walk her inside.

“You remember that restaurant that I mentioned?” he asked. His voice was shaky and obviously very nervous, his voice constantly bordering on cracking. He cleared his throat, guiding her down the line of vehicles. “The Italian one near my, ah…my apartment?” He bounced his head left and right. “You knooow, you were like, ‘You’re bad at picking dates.’ And I was like, ‘Italian place?’ And you were like, ‘That’s good.’” Each switch back to the (vaguely) Ash quotes involved a heightening of his voices and his own words involved a lowering of his voice.

He was nervous, and probably making no sense.

But — he had this under control. The plan was on, and he was fine.

With a quivering hand, he gestured to the restaurant front, which was still a few rows of cars away. “This is it. Classico Italiano.” He smiled back at her. “It’s not Walmart, darlin’, so haha.” He gave a mock-indignant sniff, and then looked back at her for her approval. “Aren’t you proud’a me?”

mood
date time

location
parking lot of the restaurant

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

playing...
some nights (intro)

by fun.​

mentions
n/a

interactions
ash

tags
Winona

º º code by ditto º º

 

[Xed]

Spencer Gray

“Lucky, Kian and Javi…” Spencer repeated as he stared at the stage trying to get a clearer look at the faces of the three guys who had just walked up. Wait, Javi… Javi, Javi, Javi, the name sounded familiar, where had he heard it before… ah! The guy who messaged him and asked if he wanted to hook up! Or maybe it was just someone else with the same name. It fit with what he remembered though, Javi, musician, played in a band.

He leaned down so his head was next to Maggie’s and cupped a hand around his mouth. “I don’t know about Kian and Lucky," he said half shouting, "but I think I’ve talked to Javi before.”

The guy had been very forward, also very brave and probably way too friendly for some. Not everyone took to being asked to hook up by a stranger they hadn’t even met well. Or then again maybe that was just typical behaviour nowadays and he wasn’t aware of it since he didn’t do hook-ups or sex really.

As the sound of the music poured off the stage, Spencer shifted his thoughts away from the proposition he had received from Javi in the past and focused on the lyrics and the melody as they took the audience through the song. This school really was a treasure trove of talent and he was loving every moment of this arts fest, the level and variety of performances that were being put up. And he was going to be performing after this, amongst all these brilliant performances. As the song ended, he let out a whoop of excitement, over the performance given and the performance he was going to give next a couple of stages away.

“That was awesome!” He told Maggie as they exited the area, a wide grin plastered on his flushed face. “Everyone here is incredibly talented, I hope my performance lives up to the high standards.”

And he was performing in the next 10 to 15 minutes. Good thing the stage where his performance was scheduled to take place was nearby. He could already feel the blood pumping in his veins and the adrenaline starting to take over as it always did before a performance. Some people got their thrill fix from jumping out of planes or riding rollercoasters, he got his from dancing in front of an audience, and the crowd here was massive.

“And this is where we part ways,” Spencer turned to face Maggie with a smile as he stopped in front of the backstage entrance, “I hope you enjoy the show.” He added, throwing in a playful little bow before disappearing into the backstage area to get ready.

Life had been hard to say the least… with all the turmoil that had upended his life in the past few years, Nat’s illness, putting dance on hold, Sheryl’s passing… the moments he had where he was smiling without worry were few and far between. Those pockets of happiness, of space where he didn’t feel like he was being crushed by the invisible weight of misery, had come mostly during the times when he had the opportunity to dance and perform on stage. To lose himself in the music for those couple of minutes and move his body to the beat. Outside of that, there had been times he had spent with Sheryl, some conversations and days with friends where he felt he could breathe easier and that patch of darkness was pushed further out of his mind.

But in the past year plus since his relationship with Sheryl had started to fracture and eventually ended tragically… this time he had been spending with a stranger he had just met, was one of the rare moments off the stage where he didn’t feel his misery as keenly. Yeah there had been little reminders of Sheryl that had stabbed at his heart and a slight worry that remained about her words about not being heard, but setting those aside, it was the happiest and freest he had felt since Sheryl died. He had smiled more freely than he had in a while, probably not much for others, but for him it was at a level that was praiseworthy, which probably didn’t sound any better.

The only other comparable moments he could think off of the top of his head were maybe that first night at lock in when he had hung out with Beth and she’d given him a school tour.

Perhaps it was recency bias that was making him feel this way, or the fact that coming to HA was his fresh start, his reset. Maybe it was because of the infectious joy and energy Maggie had that made it hard to feel down for too long, or maybe it was the fact that they were celebrating and well… when was the last time he celebrated anything…?

When he celebrated Nat’s birthday, in the back of his mind, there was always this crippling fear that it would be the last one. When they celebrated Ezra’s, he couldn’t look at his older brother without feeling guilty towards him about the burdens he put on his shoulders, and his own birthday? The last one had passed with him broken basically...

Maybe he would be able to celebrate more things after today. Starting with this performance and all the things he had to look forward to, like his city tour with Beth, Maggie’s promise to introduce him to some great food places, and furthering his craft at this incredible school.

He adjusted the collar of his outfit and took a calming breath as he waited for them to announce him onto the stage.

“And now, for our next performance, we have dance junior Spencer Gray and his solo dance to James Arthur’s ‘Can I be him’”

Applause greeted him as he stepped out onto the stage and he found himself looking for Maggie’s face in the crowd as he made his way to his starting position.

Any time he stepped on stage, he was always on a mission to put on the very best performance he could, but today especially, he felt the need to put on a performance that she would thoroughly enjoy, to thank her for playing a part in him smiling easier today, for letting him be a part of her celebration.

And maybe after this, he would be able to breathe easier.

mood
Thank you

location
arts fest

outfit
Nat's Pick

playing...
WONDER

by Shawn Mendes​

mentions
Beth, Javi

interactions
Maggie

tags
Kitsune2202

º º code by ditto º º

 

[ditto]

felix rian emmerson

“Yes,” Maeve answered, “I’m planning to go.”

Felix raised his eyebrows. There was a little falter in his chest at that, but he didn’t let it show in his face. I’m plannin’ to go pretty much said that she had someone to go with. But hey, that was fine, an’ good for her — he’d expected it, seein’ as, well, Maeve was as cute as a button an’ it was treadin’ rather close to the ball. He grinned. “Nice,” he chuckled.

“Is not everyday that you have to dress up dance and have a good time with your friends,” she chuckled.

“I know that’s right.” He grinned. “School dances are always fun, corny decorations, cheap photobooth props, and all,” he chuckled. “End of the day, ’s long as there’s some punch that I definitely won’t be addin’ anything to — not at all —“ He shook his head, feigning a deep, displeased frown as though the thought disgusted him, though it was obviously sarcasm. He laughed, and he dropped the expression. “— an’ people I like to be around, I’ll dance like an idiot an’ embarrass myself on whoever’s watching me’s Snapchat stories for the night an’ force whoever’s near me to do the same,” he half-joked, chucklin’.

Truth be told, he did enjoy dances — he was just never very good at the dancin’ part of it. For him, it was more “talkin’ to whoever his date was, slippin’ some alcohol into his drink, an’ makin’ a fool of himself by flailin’ his arms around in moves from the seventies and attemptin’ to do the worm”, but hey, he did enjoy himself at them.

“And there’s no lucky guy,” Maeve said.

His expression perked up. “Really?” he asked, surprised.

“I’ll most likely be with my friends that doesn’t have a date,” she continued, “or just you know be the person in charge of taking care of everyone belongings as they have fun with their dates.”

Not tryin’ to seem unsympathetic to Maeve’s plight, the blonde boy tucked in his lips to suppress a relieved grin. “Ah,” he said, noddin’. “Got it, got it.” For a moment, a pensive expression came over his face, his blue eyes focused on a nondescript spot on the table as he forked up another piece of chicken and popped it into his mouth.

Listen, he had an idea. Was it a smart one? Well, Felix wasn’t exactly known to be the smartest — look at his closest friends — but it was an idea. And hey, he really had nothin’ to lose.

“What about you?” she asked.

He poised up his brows. “Huhm?"

“Is there a special someone that is going to be your date?”

He gave her a curious look for a moment, and then he looked away, his brows fallin’ as he blinked a couple of quick times. “Uhhh…” He sat down his fork and folded his hands. Grinning once again, he shook his head. “No, actually,” he chuckled. “Not really anyone I’ve got that I’d really like to go with, beyond, well…” He looked at Maeve, his charming grin spreading wider.

Here went nothing.

“I was actually thinkin’,” he said, leanin’ forward in his chair and placing his elbows on the table as he spoke to Maeve, “that I’d really like, y’know, the two of us to go together.”

As friends, he considered addin' in the moment of pause, but...well, maybe he shouldn't add that, he thought.

“I’ve been meanin’ to ask you for a bit — I really don’t think that there’s anyone that I’d rather spend ball night with than you," he continued. "I mean, you’re such a great friend to me, an’ honestly, I have the most fun just hanging out with you.”

He chuckled softly, reachin’ up to scratch behind his ear, then gestured to nothing in particular. “Sorry ‘bout not havin’ anything really theatrical as far as ball-posal,” he apologized, “but…well, whaddoya say, Miss Ackerman? Fancy bein’ my date to the ball?” He grinned at her, quickly adding, with a chuckle, “If not, hey, I won’t be offended.”

mood
so...?

location
the celestial theater

outfit
formal, but not too fancy

playing...
take a slice

by glass animals​

mentions
n/a

interactions
maeve

tags
Stardust Galaxy

º º code by ditto º º

 

[qunqun]

MOOD: Help????

OUTFIT: Something workable

LOCATION: School

basics

MENTIONS:
Tilly


INT:
Tori ( ditto )

tags

TL;DR Wut.

tl;dr

Bailey

Bailey was pretty much over social interaction at that point. As they watched Tilly hustle away for their own exhibit, Bailey finished putting away theirs. Done. It was done and over with and they could go home now.

Well, that was what they’d say if they hadn’t agreed to help a stranger out if she needed it. A mistaken number had led to a little session of just venting at each other and the person behind the screen seemed to be struggling pretty hard.

Bailey was a lot of things: sometimes callous, sometimes sarcastic, sometimes neurotic, but they sure as hell weren’t going to directly turn away someone who was clearly struggling with something big. They just weren’t about letting someone drown like that. They were a saint, they knew. Jokes aside, it was a good opportunity to look at the competition’s tables and see what they were going to have to compete against later down the line. The little imperfections and flaws jumping out at them under their stare.

Really, they were just trying to not blurt them out, the creators probably knew about them, they didn’t need a costume maker to tell them what they did wrong.

It suddenly seemed to dawn on them that maybe this was an exercise in futility - I mean, what were the odds that Tori (that had been her name, right?) actually needed their help and would be able to find them? Not high, right?

They should just go find their parents and their siblings and go out to lunch/dinner or something. That sounded pretty reasonable to them.

They’d had their phone out, about to text their parents to try to find them.

”Uhm, hi. I’m Tori… You’re… Bailey, right?”

Well. Speak of the devil. They turned around to see a girl (presumably Tori) talking to someone that was decidedly Not Them. Oh that was awkward. Bailey cringed at the sight as the conversation continued.

Seriously, what was with them and attracted all the awkward people today? This usually didn’t happen. (Though they were usually more loners than anything)

Bailey tried nodding sympathetically at the rather sad and pathetic way Tori introduced herself and tried to recover from the previous incident. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she genuinely appeared to be on the tail-end of some kind of emotional breakdown. That wasn’t good. The talk with the parents didn’t turn out very well, then? Real rough there, huh.

God. Everything about her exuded awkwardness. Bailey wasn’t really expecting it from the pent up frustration feel of their DM conversation.

“Yeah I remember you.” Bailey gave her a comforting smile, a little pat on the arm as they leaned in to whisper in her ear. “Are you doing alright? You need to step out for a second?”

Discretion was probably for the best right now. After all, it wouldn’t be good to ask her very loudly if she was doing alright - especially if she was already embarrassed. Famous people and all that.

They glanced around, bathrooms probably weren’t the best idea because they were too obvious. Maybe just down a hallway that wasn’t being used? Yeah. That sounded like a plan.

“Come on, let’s get a little privacy.” Bailey said with what they hoped was a warm comforting tone and smile (really, they weren’t good at this “emotional support” nonsense). They gently led her away from everyone else until they were fairly certain that Tori was at least away from people that might gossip about the whole “breakdown” thing.

“Alright, so what happened?”

code by valen t.

 

[Winona]

Ava Sanders

Wow, uhh.... wow.

There wasn't really much else to say.

It was... a... cow.

Wow.

Ava wasn't really sure what to actually say as she looked from the life-sized fucking cow over to the proud artist. At first, she'd thought maybe he'd made it as some kind of joke -- like haha, cow, how stupid, right? -- but then by his expression, by the way he spoke about the cow as if he were legitimately proud of it, well... it slowly dawned on Ava that he... Saint had actually made this cow being completely fucking serious.

He'd made a fucking cow.

Milkshake the fucking cow.

It wasn't even a super cool looking cow. Like he could've made something really fucking cool with his glass skills or whatever the fuck -- you know, like make it a fucking vampire cow or some shit.

Instead, it was just a basic white cow.

A dirty basic white cow that looked like it needed a bath.

Saint was bitching about how heavy it had been to move in, and Ava just nodded her head. She managed to pull her eyes away from the cow's vacant stare to look at saint -- although she fucking swore that the cow's demonic stare was still boring into her soul. There was definitely something freaky about the glass statue.

"It's... really good," she said and, although her tone didn't sound particularly enthralled or amazed, she figured it wouldn't matter because, well, she was Ava. Her tone almost always had a bit of a sharp edge to it, and she never sounded really enthused -- usually her being excited about something was more along the lines of like... her sounding sarcastic. "And Milkshake. Really clever name."

It was dumb, but Ava had no issues lying and being fake nice about something.

At his question regarding her own project, Ava just gave a shrug of her shoulders. "I wrote a horror story. Basically the main character is kind of a total bitchy cheerleader and she starts killing anyone better than her to get ahead, blah, blah, it's whatever." She finished her explanation with another shrug.

And yes, she had found some inspiration for the main character in her own bitchy bestie, Jules.

There was a slight twinge in her chest at the thought of Jules and her dance performance.

Ava needed a distraction.

"You busy? Or do you wanna go judge the presentations?"

mood
ugh

location
The Arts Fest, duh

outfit
minus the rips in the jeans, thanks

playing...
i wanna be your girlfriend

by girl in red​

mentions
N/A

interactions
Saint

tags
ditto

º º code by ditto º º

 

[ditto]

MICHAEL K. REID​

(tw: child abuse mention)

You know, even at the lowest points in his life — even in the depths of his fucking despair, and even drunk in the bathtub at 2 in the morning going through his phone and sliding into the dms of celebrities that piss-drunk him was deluded enough to think would hit him back — Michael had never even once thought that he would be standing outside of a theater after getting his — fuck. Listen, even at his lowest points — even after Halloween, even after that fight with Landong at the showcase junior year — Michael Reid could honestly say that it never once so much as crossed his mind that he would be standing outside of a theater after evidently shattering Queen Bitch’s fragile little heart and sensitive, over-inflated ego sharing all of his personal shit with a fucking sophomore named Veronica Crosby.

He’d had way too much to do with Ronnie for the past way-too-fucking-long. Since that Homecoming shit…so, what, two months? Sounded about right — regardless, it was too long.

See, Mike regretted just about every one of his actions — big fucking shock, he was a horny teenaged boy whose raging erection for being the token player asshole trumped just about everything else. That shit with Ronnie, though? Somehow, that action had offset the fucking universe. It’d put it into motion that, after this shit and that shit, after an apology and a date and a fuck up on Halloween with the hostess and another several subsequent big oopsies, he would wind up in this godforsaken parking lot talking to the girl who he’d done nothing but…well, treat like shit, honestly. It felt like some kinda karma — his past actions coming back to bite him in the ass for the umpteenth time.

So yeah, he’d chalk Homecoming night up to one of his biggest regrets, because it’d got him fucking here.

Mike was one to be comfortable in just about every situation — a social chameleon, if you would, always relaxed, on top of things. Maybe not reserved, maybe not cool, calm, or collected, but comfortable, like this was his situation and like he owned it.

This shit, though? It was weird. This was weird.

But to be honest, he was too exhausted with…everything to think too much about the weirdness of it.

Mike was in this situation. Yeah. Fine, he might as well accept it.

It went quiet for a few moments after Mike stopped talking. Yeah, there wasn’t much that Ronnie could say to follow that up. If she had any sense, she would run along to all of the other drooling moronic toddlers and tell them about what kind of shit guy Mike was, how he was so laughable and pitiful and weak and how The Bitch “showed him alright”. Any time she saw him, she’d give him a dirty look, a scowl, a glare, and look away because of his disgusting fucking existence. She could just go ahead and get that over with if she wanted to; leave him alone for the better, and the only thing that he could say to her would be “you didn’t fucking know that already?” She should just rip off the fucking bandaid.

It was what he got, really. What he deserved for getting his shitty little self into that situation, right? At least it would get her away from him, yeah?

His shoulders lowered as he released another breath. Somehow, knowing that…yeah, it didn’t make him feel any better.

“You feel sympathy.”

The short boy looked up from the pavement and to Ronnie’s eyes. His gaze was blank, cold. His lip curled up slightly in something confusion-adjacent.

She shook her head and chuckled. “Somehow, you’re still as hot as before,” she said with a warm smile.

Hearing from Ronnie that he was hot would usually elicit a certain reaction from Mike. A scoff. A laugh. A sarcastic flirtation back. But it was the context — the fact that she said that after everything that he’d said before that, and everything he’d done before that, and he didn’t fucking know what else — that stifled any kind of real reaction beyond a small tick in his chest. There was some kind of disconnect between his ears and his brain and his body; somewhere between them, he lost what exactly he was supposed to do. Instead, he did nothing — just kept staring at her.

What she’d said wasn’t exactly processing, wasn’t quite registering.

“But, yeah, you’re right,” she said breezily. “I don’t really care about any of that. I think I did for a little back around Homecoming, but I dunno. The date at the fair was more to screw around and take an opportunity than anything else.”

He let out a short chuckle. “Figures,” he muttered tiredly.

She grinned at him. “Heh, isn’t that ironic? You probably took it more seriously than I did.”

He blinked at her for a moment, and then his brows knit together. He looked towards the ground, a sour expression on his face for a moment.

And then, he found himself grinning, too, and he cracked a soft chuckle. He pushed off the wall a bit to adjust his position, lifting a thumb to rub along his jaw. “Huh,” he said, and then he chuckled again, glancing back up to Ronnie. “Well shit.” He crossed his arms again, his grin fading.

Shit…

“I guess it just never really mattered to me every time you brushed me off or, like, mad dogged me in the halls.” She crossed her arms, then adjusted her hair. “You’re probably the bad guy. Lots of people say I’m crazy for being into you. Well, only a few say that, but I know everyone’s thinking it, or talking about it in DMs or whatever.”

He was quiet again, his eyes trained on the ground, and the air between them was silent for a moment.

“But.”

He glanced back at Ronnie, who was holding up a finger. He raised a thick eyebrow. “But?”

“Guys like you need girls like me, and vice versa,” she said. “Nobody wants to be alone.”

His brow remained anchored as his mind stalled, his internal record scratching. What did she just say?

She gave him no time to really process it, instead trucking on. “I think I’m kind of a bad person too, ‘cause I only really like you for your looks and the whole ‘brooding anger issues’ thing, like you said. But at least that means I care about you, right?” she laughed.

Michael Reid never shut up — intentionally never shut up. He always had an unnecessary comment to add, always had a cheeky remark to make about shit that didn’t even concern him. Part of the whole asshole thing, ya know?

But now…well, to be entirely honest, Mike had no fucking idea what to say.

Ronnie reached into her bag and pulled out…a pair of sunglasses. Cheap plastic ones, with gaudy foam additions to make it look like a flamingo, for some reason. “My friend, Kelli, I dunno if you know her, she gave this to me this morning as a, like, good luck thing, I think?”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, chuckling slightly. Cheap Chinese-produced products manufactured by enslaved children were lucky nowadays? Looks like he was behind on the times, huh? Geriatric and out of touch at seventeen…huh.

“I mean, she, like, probably got it from the dollar store or something and wanted to look silly together, but the gesture was so sweet,” she said. “I don’t have a huge pool of friends, so it sorta reminded me that I’m not here alone, y’know?”

He studied the glasses for a moment. They were tacky as hell, and an obnoxious Pepto Bismol pink, but Ronnie was smiling like it was the best gift she’d ever gotten. “You don’t have to, like, care for me or anything,” she said. “Like, at all, to be honest.” He looked back up to his face, his brows knitting together as he tried to figure out what she was getting at. “So, like, what I’m trying to say is that there’s no reason to feel so isolated, because…” She shrugged and smirked. “There are people who care about you. Unconditionally, no matter the reason. Even if you do something bad, or pretend they don’t exist, or if you just don’t feel like yourself. Gen and all those people who think your modeling show or whatever sucked? They’re not the only voices in your head.”

Mike knew that it was probably all just some shit to make him feel better. She was just saying all of these things because this hot guy who she was infatuated with against all rhyme or reason was down and out and she needed to do something to comfort him or some shit. And what she was saying — about people unconditionally caring about him? Yeah, well. That was movie shit. Book talk. Things that one-dimensional moms said to their main character kids, things that the sexy lamp guys in those shitty rom coms said to their object of affection.

But hell. There was something about her demeanor that was so damn genuine that he couldn’t help but feel…well, he didn’t fucking know.

He was just confused, he guessed.

“So, if you’d let me, can I pass on the ‘I’m glad you’re here’ sunglasses to you?”

He stared at the sunglasses she held out for him for a second. They were gross, honestly. Something he’d only think were cute or even acceptable if he was drunk.

But still, there was something that bloomed in his chest at the gesture. Skeptically and unsurely, he looked to Ronnie’s face. “You…sure, Ron?” he asked.

As if to answer his question, she reached out slowly, then gently rested the glasses on his face.

The world through the cheap plastic was slightly foggier than before. The glasses slid down his nose. For a moment, he stared at Ronnie over the rim of the pink glasses, his expression as stony as it had been all along.

And seeing her step away from him, with that expression of admiration, after saying everything that she’d said, caused a bloom of warmth in his chest.

All at once, his expression cracked. A grin plastered itself onto his face, and he let out a laugh — a genuine laugh, straight from his chest. “Well then. Guess that’s my answer, huh?”

He looked over at Ronnie through the glasses — his glasses now, apparently. He probably looked like a complete idiot, but he smiled at her putting a hand on his hip. He stepped away from the wall and jutted out his leg, putting a hand on his knee and bending over slightly in his best white sorority girl pose. “How’s my form?” he joked, then he stood up straight, doing a few more vogue poses. “Sexy, huh? You wanna piece of this sexy ass flamingo-glassed meat, yeah?” he laughed, and then he shook his head, continuing to laugh, the warmth of his chest spreading through to his fingertips as he lifted his hand up to grab the side of the glasses and push them up.

For some reason, it was so fucking funny to him — this situation, just all at once — and he couldn’t stop laughing.

“Shit!” he exclaimed through laughs. “Shit.”

It wasn't funny. It really wasn't fucking funny — he had no idea why he was laughing.

But here he was, cracking up and grinning at Ronnie and genuinely enjoying himself for a second.

Maybe that was it — maybe his body was just waiting for some kind of enjoyment today.

Who fucking knew — and who cared?

He let out a final laugh, then leaned back against the wall, breathless. He shook his head slightly, looking thoughtfully up at the sky. There was a light in his eyes — and not just the sun’s light. “You know…,” he said, “you told me yesterday that this would be happening? That I’d be getting Dollar Tree sunglasses from Veronica Crosby after getting publicly humiliated, and you know what I’d say?” He looked at her, a questioning look in his eyes, prompting her to guess.

He shook his head slightly, looking off again. “I’d say that you were fucking crazy, and a sadist for coming up with shit like that.” He shrugged and laughed softly. “Sounds fucking crazy to me,” he chuckled, lifting his hands up to take off the glasses. As he lowered them slowly from his face, he folded one ear at a time down. When both were folded, he stared at the upside-down sunglasses in his palms, at the uncolored backsides of the flamingoes on the glasses.

He stared at them for a long moment.

His discernment was still saying that this conversation was weird — that this situation was weird, that he needed to preserve his pride and act weird in it, or just get out of it — but his chest…was fucking warm. He felt…this felt…

“You know,” he said after a long moment of silence. He bounced the glasses in his hands. He breathed in a deep breath. He wasn’t even sure what he was going to say. He looked up at Ronnie, a pensive expression on his face. “You know, I’ve dealt with a lot of girls in a lot of places.” He gestured around with the glasses. “A lotta people in a lotta places, actually.” He chucked softly, looking down at the ground. “I’ve had friends and shit everywhere I’ve gone. Meet all kinds of people. People who try to be your friends. Dudes who are total assholes. Girls who are total bitches. Girls who wanna fuck me, too —“ He chuckled, adding, “Obviously.”

His grin faded from his face, and he looked back down at the glasses, unfolding and studying the back of them. “But…you know, the shit they say? About HA? About being a celebrity, about…fucking life, I guess…about how it gets old having people at your throat all the time, having enemies and people who hate you? How…none of your friends are really your friends and how they’re all fucking jumping at the gun to take you down for their own benefit? Nothing’s permanent, it’s always changing…” He looked at Ronnie. “Shit’s true. No one here really ever…gives a shit. When they do, it’s for a second, and then they’re onto the next fucking schmuck, ya know. You’re replaceable. Disposable. Blah, blah, blah, depressing shit.”

He sighed softly, lifting up a hand to touch his black hair. “You know, my mom’s a whore,” he said, looking away, but he glanced back at Ronnie to add, “An actual one.” He looked back to the sky, going quiet for a moment. “But when I was a kid…she was the best damn woman in the world. She’d…heh. She’d look me in a closet sometimes when the neighbor couldn’t watch me? It was a few times. I mean, not super often, but…well, ya know. She babyproofed the outlets…gave me a bowl of cereal to eat all day. And when she’d come home — when she’d let me out of there and shit, ya know, and pick me up and tell me how she loved me for, what, five minutes, max…” He smiled. “I’d really fucking feel it, ya know. And then she’d shove me into my room…and go to fuck a guy in the back.”

He shrugged. “I learned that it was a lie eventually. It just started feeling fake one day. ‘course, I mentioned it to her at first, and she was like, ‘I’ll love you no matter what.’ That was a damn lie, but I bought it for another couple of seconds…and now, here I am,” he chuckled. “All fucked up. Skeptical. Cynical. And I know when people say that shit, it’s just a lie to make me or them feel better.”

He looked back at Ronnie, and he was quiet for a couple of moments. Then, he held up the sunglasses. “But it’s shit like these regifted, idiotic, rinky-dink little sunglasses your...little weird ass friend gave you…that…I don’t know.” A small smile played at his lips, and he looked back at the sunglasses. “It’s…” He struggled for the word. “Shit, I’m bad at talking about ‘feelings’ or whatever…God, you’re just getting my whole shitty life story instead,” he chuckled. His eyes moved to her again. “It’s…it feels…nice. Nice, I guess, but…that’s…not really it.”

He shrugged slightly. “I dunno. I guess…I buy your story,” he chuckled. “I pick up the shit you’re spewing. For now, at least. Maybe it’s desperation, maybe it’s because I’m lonely, or maybe the balls you suddenly grew to say that shit that’ve just got me swooning over you,” he teased. “But…” He paused a moment, just studying the girl for a second.

For some reason, she didn’t look so childish right now.

His face broke into a soft smile, and he leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek.

He leaned back slowly, smiling warmly at her. “Thanks,” he said, “Veronica. For being here and shit. For saying that shit. You're..." He didn't know what exactly to call her. "Heh," he chuckled. "You're...something alright."

For a few beats, he smiled at her, and then he chuckled. “You know, you’ve got some real ‘nads, babe. ‘Guys like you need girls like me.’ Mildly psychotic, but hell.” Naturally, he followed it up with a toothy grin. “Hot." He gave her a wink. "I like that in a woman.”

mood
well.

location
just outside of the celestial theater

outfit
dressy

playing...
drunk face

by machine gun kelly​

mentions
gen & landon

interactions
ronnie

tags
hery

º º code by ditto º º

 

[Winona]

Jace West

He wasn't sure how long he found himself alone, but it felt like too long and not long enough all at once. In some ways, Jace found himself dreading being alone -- despite how he might act, he did like having... some... companionship, except that whenever he seemed to find that companionship, he'd soon find himself growing frustrated. Stressed. Eager to put distance between himself and everyone else.

Right now, he felt as if he'd rather be alone. The last thing he really wanted were other people to come up, maybe comment on his performance and offer some stinging remarks about his poor performance. At this point, it would just be tossing more salt onto the already deep wound.

Jace was content to remain alone until he eventually trudged out to his car, headed home, and laid alone on his side of the bed for a while until he found... something to drag him out of bed.

Instead, Callum found him and came walking over.

"Jace," he said, "You have a bruise on your nose. Why do you have a bruise on your nose? Did you get into another fight?"

He brought a hand up to his nose, pressing a couple fingers against the bruise that had apparently started to form across his nose. Jace winced and dropped his fingers away and gave a little shrug of his shoulders. After the performance and the brief conversation with his mother, Jace had more or less forgotten that he'd been roughed up by Mike just a little earlier in the day. Unfortunately, the bruise plastered across his skin made sure he couldn't forget Mike's mark.

"Some... something like-like that..." Jace mumbled back in response.

What was it that Mike had said?

Oh yeah, "tell anyone and I'll kill you."

He'd already stupidly blabbed to Dorian because, well, Jace was terrible at keeping secrets from his best friend, but he could manage to do so from Callum. Sure, they were total besties, but Jace didn't feel the need to press all of his unwanted secrets onto Callum. That was the nice thing about their friendship. They got along great and everything, but they didn't feel the need to bitch to each other too much about their personal issues.

Such as Jace getting bullied.

"Your mom said my dancing is decent," Callum continued, "And that Oates needs work. Why is she like that? She's not wrong, though. I wish my dance instructors were blunt like that."

A twinge of jealousy pricked in the pit of Jace's stomach. Maybe to some people decent wouldn't have been a wanted compliment, but Jace would've taken that over anything that his mother had ever said about him. Jace would've killed for her to at least say once that he was decent.

"Oh, and how was your... stage performance?"

"Rough," Jace mumbled, although it was nice to have someone ask. He pointed towards his nose with a thin finger. "Hard to-to... to sing when your nose... when it's all..." he cleared his throat awkwardly, his hand dropping back to his side, and he gave another shrug of his scrawny shoulders. "It-it was... was okay..."

"H-how were your... your dances?" His words were slower, less frantic than usual, which kind of benefitted him because there was less stuttering. "S-s-sorry I couldn't... couldn't come, I was... I was... busy."

A lie, but it was what it was.

mood
...

location
Arts Festival

outfit
snazzy

playing...
Stuck Like This

by Jace West​

mentions
N/A

interactions
Callum

tags
hery

º º code by ditto º º

 

[Winona]

Ashton West

Obviously, she was like, super surprised when Trevor actually turned down the opportunity to smoke (and a little disappointed, because she wanted to be anything but sober today), but she gave him one last smile before she hopped out of the van and slammed the door shut behind her. Sucking in a nervous breath, Ash walked to the front of the vehicle to meet Trevor, a warm smile on her face as she took his hand.

She followed behind him as he led the way towards... wherever the heck they were going. There was a nervous pattering in her chest, a little skipping of her heart beat, because like... there was just like... she always got a little nervous on dates. And like, obviously she was excited, but that didn't mean her mind wasn't still swirling with a million what if's that reminded her of what could go so badly wrong.

Plus like, there was still the whatever that had happened with Lucky, and Eli's whole "you gotta tell Trevor" thing was still nagging at the back of her thoughts, which was kind of just throwing a damper on this whole date thing.

She would get around to it... eventually.

There was still an excited smile on her face as they walked, though.

Well, until Trevor started talking.

“You remember that restaurant that I mentioned?” he asked.

Her smile faltered and her footsteps started to slow down.

“The Italian one near my, ah…my apartment?” Trevor continued. “You knooow, you were like, ‘You’re bad at picking dates.’ And I was like, ‘Italian place?’ And you were like, ‘That’s good.’”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Yeah, she had said that, but she hadn't thought that Trevor would literally take her there. She'd thought it was just a dumb conversation that he'd forget pretty soon, so... like just... like... fuck.

“This is it. Classico Italiano.” He smiled back at her, and Ash tried to force a smile on her face. “It’s not Walmart, darlin’, so haha. Aren’t you proud’a me?”

She would've rather been at Walmart.

Maybe she could just, like, get a salad or something. Push the food around a little bit and Trevor wouldn't even notice, because like, oh god oh god oh god. She couldn't like... her stomach was doing uncomfortable flips, and she felt like she might just be sick right there in front of the restaurant.

... At least puking would get her out of this.

"Yeah..." she started, her voice tentative and wavering as she started to speak, so she tried to force a little stronger tone to her voice as she repeated; "Yeah, yeah, really proud." But her voice still sounded strained, and her smile didn't feel quite right on her face, and Ash pulled her hand away from Trevor's.

Her arms wrapped around her stomach, her teeth biting into her bottom lip as her slow steps finally slowed to a stop. She didn't want to, she didn't want to, she didn't want to, she couldn't. She couldn't go in there and fake this, not when it was just the two of them that were going to be in there.

"This is... this is like... like... really sweet, I can't believe you umm... you remembered -- like, like that I said that." Her teeth dug into her bottom lip again, biting down hard until she thought she could taste iron, so she quickly let up. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her head spinning as she glanced from him to the ground at her feet. Her arms tightened their grip around her stomach and she pressed her lips together.

"It... it's just, like, it's like... I mean, what if someone we know, like, they see us in there, and then it's all like... it's all like back to everyone thinking we're together. I mean, like, you don't... you don't want that. And like, I bet it's really expensive, and umm... like... like I don't even... like I don't know about you, but like, I'm not even that hungry, so maybe we just like... maybe we just... I mean, like..." Ash was floundering.

Her voice was wavering, her words felt like they were getting twisted on the tip of her tongue, and her stomach was clenching and squeezing, and oh god she was going to be sick, and there was that familiar feeling of something gripping her lungs so it felt like no matter how deeply she tried to breathe, she couldn't get oxygen in, so now her breaths were coming in short little gasps, and she was feeling light-headed and-- and-- and--

"I don't, I mean... I mean like if you... if you're, if you're fine with... with all of that, then let's just... go in."

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

mood
(imagine a little heart emoji here)

location
Arts Fest

outfit
sparkles

playing...
Today

by Olivia Holt (cover)​

mentions
N/A

interactions
Trevor

tags
ditto

º º code by ditto º º