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

Reader mode
Characters
Here
MOOD: gr

OUTFIT: clothes

LOCATION: outside lit class
basics
MENTIONS:
JJ, Precious, Adriane, Casey, Ezra
INT:
n/a
tags
TL;DR no
tl;dr
Chas Marino
Your tie is coming undone. Look, the tail is all—

Ugh.

With a bad-tempered sigh, Chas ripped his necktie undone. He hung his head backward, holding it in place until all of the anger in his head seeped down his chest, then his arms, then his legs until the brunt of his consternation had leaked down a drain somewhere.

Every morning was like this. The hopelessly fashionable screenwriter would spend a good chunk of the hour rifling through his wardrobe for something tasteful, he'd finally get to putting it on, do his hair, then break down over the most minor, yet frustrating of conveniences. He was beginning to think it was whatever higher deity there was out there playing a sick joke on him. If it was trying to drive him to insanity, it sure was working.

Chas' bundle of repressed emotions was growing in volume by the day, yet the frayed twine that held it all together maintained its length. He was moments from losing it. And it wasn't like Big Precious, Little Precious, and the Subzero Vag were capable of noticing, let alone caring.

Everyone was too wrapped up in their tiny little worlds and Chas knew that. But it's all just high school. Too ridiculous to give merit, right? That's why the only time he said anything, he made sure it counted. As in, it got him something or, say, rescued him when he was cornered.

Ezra was great at cornering him, he'd found.

That was probably why the enormous artist knew so much about him, as little as it seemed. Chas was self-aware enough to know he was another two-dimensional, corrupted dreamer of a teenager in a sea of lost souls. It was Ezra's mistake in judging his fleeting intrigue enough to take the plunge, letting all of those flailing claws drag him down into a pit until, before he knew it, things were weird.

They were weird for Chas, at least. Confronted with the truth, he slipped away. This time, possibly for the first time, the Italian didn't squeal once he found himself in that familiar corner in the wall. Instead, he shut his trap.

No.

That was giving Chas too much credit. He faltered, and when his fingers dashed to type an excuse, they froze in place. How could he explain Casey to him? In what universe would that bear a result anyone wanted? He stared at his phone a good while before Ezra shot another message. Things weren't looking good. In the face of inaction, the kiwi swiped the power right out of his hands, logging out before Chas could even force out a stifled "Wait!"

Yet, again, even that was misplaced credit. He had plenty of time to say something. Literally anything at all.

He thought a lot about what he could have said that morning. As in, this morning. Promptly after he arrived at school without his precious coffee. At least he had gotten his tie to cooperate.

"God..." the clean-cut boy muttered to himself, rubbing his temples thanks to a combination of stress headaches and caffeine withdrawal. He strode with a hurried pace, as always, never forgetting to look as scary and awe-inspiring as possible. As in, "If you're not worth my time, step out of my way."

He grabbed his things from his locker, then slammed it shut, toting around a messenger bag in addition to his backpack. How else could he fit all the books and papers and his computer with his lunchtime skincare routine kit? The ritual was about the only thing keeping that bundle in his head wound together.

With a huff, Chas tried the literature classroom's door handle. It jiggled, but did not budge, a perfect inconvenience to add to the list of stressors for the day.

It's not even...

Chas checked his watch. It was a good bit of time before class, but not egregiously so.

...that early!

Uncertain what else to do with his morning, the boy crossed his arms, standing visibly impatiently outside the door. The rapid tap of his feet played an angry melody, one he could only hope would strike immense fright and remorse into the teacher the room belonged to. Chas stopped keeping track of most of H.A.'s staffers; if their name didn't come to mind in half a second, they were likely a nobody and not worth his time.

That's how his dad rationalized not giving handouts, at least, and he guessed it sorta stuck.
code by valen t.
 
MOOD: Angry and petty and always right.

OUTFIT: Dirty jacket, weird shirt and zebra print pants.

LOCATION: School hallway.
basics
MENTIONS:

INT:
Viva ( ditto ditto )
tags
TL;DR Beel forgave Viva for being so crude, again.
tl;dr
beelzebub


How rude!

When somebody shakes your hand, you’re supposed to shake it back, right? It was common courtesy here in America. Maybe it was different in Italy, but that didn’t really matter because Beelzebub was quite offended at this action. The girl pulled her hand back when he was just trying to be a gentleman and introduce himself properly. Wow.

The same way she was sizing him and studying him after that awkward try for chivalry, Beelzebub did so in return, not really sure how to feel about the girl who made him run into a wall. Sure, she seemed normal enough, but then again, she didn’t shake his hand, and she speaks Italian, so was there something wrong with her? There must have been, because only dealers and junkies speak Italian. Everyone knew it was a made-up language created to support drug trade from the west of the country, to the east. At least that was what Beelzebub’s dad told him when he was little. But at the same time, it did seem quite odd for this dancer ballerina type of person to be in a gang or to have anything to do with drugs.

Maybe she didn’t wash her hands and there was a trace of something, Beelzebub thought, so he made sure to sniff his palm thoroughly—especially the parts that touched the girl’s hand—just in case some residue rubbed onto his own skin.

No luck.

By the time he was done sniffing, she was ready to actually start talking to him again, and boy oh boy, she had many ugly and horrible words to say to the short king.

She tried to show him how much of an unpleasant stranger he was, but he didn’t buy it for a second because she was lying. She then spoke of America stinking of eggs and sewage which was entirely true, but even liars tell the truth sometimes. She continued on about walking speed like he was a car when he had obviously been a person. Silly girl.

During all those awful words forwarded to him, he looked at her, no trace of amusement in his eyes. And eyes were the windows to the soul, which meant that his soul was not amused. They were all low insults not even directed at him but at American society that he just happened to be on the receiving end of. Though, she soon focused on him as an individual, and let me tell you, those words hurt. Deeply.

“You are also not an actor, nor a singer. You are absolutely not in the Plastics department. You are, then, an artist. That would explain the fashion. Perhaps, then, you are also new, because you were running down the hallway.” With every insult, a gasp escaped his lips, and his hand found itself on his heart, as if he waited for it to stop from the pain inflicted upon him. Whatever happened to the golden rule, huh? Was that not a thing in Pastaland?

“Well, I am interesting, not to toot my own horn or anything.” He pretended to flip his bleached hair back as if he had enough of it to do that. Those were her words, not his. “But if you think that will make up for all the insults that you just gave me and the American society as a whole…”

His eyes squinted exactly as they did before when he called the girl a bobblehead.

“…You would be completely right!” He forwarded the weird dancer girl a grin showcasing all of his nice pearly yellows. “Follow me.”

He adjusted the backpack on his back, and gestured to her what he just told her, walking, yes walking this time, in an unknown direction. Something would surely come up for the two of them to do. “My name is much more interesting than Violet. And just so you know, I knew you were a dancer before you knew I was an artist. Because I am very smart. Are you smart, Bobblehead?” He turned his head back every time he asked a question or said a statement he expected a reaction from, what to actually see the reaction, what to see if she was following him. He needed to find out more information about her drug business.
code by valen t.
 



Roxanne.





































  • mood



    Annoyed but whatever

















Rox would never admit it, but the ball actually wasn’t bad. She may have even (gag) had fun. Dancing with Lillian was nice. And she even spoke to friends. It was honestly out of character. If she hadn’t been shitting on the music all night, she’d be disappointed in her friends for not thinking she was replaced by aliens or something.

“If I ever hear another pop song again-“


The worst part, Rox didn’t even get high. Not a single drug and yet… joy. Vom. At least she got laid after. That was worth it.

The days that followed were better. This time she got weed. Score. Bongwater tried to drink the bong water though. So not cool dude. No chicken nuggets for you now.

Oh, and Lillian invited some guy to live with them. That was… happening. They did have the extra room, but Rox was skeptical at best. Men? In her house? Barf. But he was Lillian’s friend and actually kind of nice (ew). This was probably against their lease, but she wouldn’t argue with cheaper rent. Bongwater should really pay his share as well. What do you have to say about that bastard cat?

Meow.

Thought so. Freeloader.

School was normal, boring even. It kept her from having to stay with her mother for Yule a few days longer though, so Rox shouldn’t complain. She would though. Frequently.

As of now, she was sitting in the music room, working on a piece that she couldn’t quite focus on. It was missing something. Or it was too much. She had no idea.

🎶Brains missing, we are the Walking Dead

Everyone parties and worries 'bout getting head

Stick to plastic chairs towards the summer

Not to sound too Californian, but damn that's a bummer🎵

Maybe it was the fact that she’d never seen the walking dead but like, that reference couldn’t be too off. Brains? Zombies? Pretty self explanatory. And that turned into getting head because of the brain thing? Did that make sense? And she wasn’t sure how many people cared enough about sticking to their desk chairs when it gets warmer. The thigh problem. And then bummer rhymed with summer, which was kind of lame, but she couldn’t think of anything else.

Was this… bad? This lacked substance. Clearly she was missing some deeper meaning here. Maybe if she wrote it while getting head…

Rox couldn’t overthink it anymore thanks to the interruption. Just what she needed: boys. Okay, ever since Matt she swore up and down she wouldn’t be instantly judgmental towards men. Still, gross.

You’re not Newt.

“Last I checked I don’t look like a fucking tadpole,” she mumbled, closing her notebook. Why the hell did they think there would be a Newt in here? It was winter.

No, no, no. Don’t come over here. Don’t-

Fuck okay, this was happening.

Blah, blah, blah. So annoying.

Okay stop calling people animals, that’s weird.

So much for getting anything done.

“I didn’t ask.”
Rox took her headphones out. This was her version of being nice. Usually she told men to fuck off right away. She was being polite.

Hunter and Casey sounded like such douchebag names. But so did Matt and so far he had been fine. She could do this. She could treat men as people without losing her lunch.

“What’s shaking is my shit lyrics,”
Rox finally looked at the boys who had approached her. Generic. Ew.

“I’m Rox.”
Normally she wouldn’t freely give information to men. They should feel special.

Shit, this was a whole conversation now. She was conversing with not one, but (gag) two men.
“What’s ‘shaking’ for you?”


































American River



Destroy Boys










♡coded by uxie♡
 






Zeph Evermore


How lovely was it that Zeph had hit his major low at only fifteen years or so of age? That's right, his low had clearly been his mother getting sick, and everything that had compiled from that. Just last spring, he'd felt like he was drowning in responsibility, even from halfway across the world from his family, but now... now, it was like he could finally breathe. Like a pressure had been lifted from his chest, and Zeph was feeling...

Well, he was feeling freaking great.

There were no more restless nights, there was no more dread looming over him. Instead, for the first time in what felt like ever, Zeph could see his whole life laid out before him. And he could see himself walking down that golden brick road with Stella clinging to his arm, and that just...

He knew that it was stupid to put so much emphasis on a relationship that he'd gotten into in his sophomore year of high school, not to mention it being his first relationship, but ah... what was in that people in love always said? When you know, you know or something like that?

Because Zeph had known, and he'd become even more certain when Stella had stayed the night with him after the Winter Ball, and... well... you know.

Yeah, they hooked up. Was it called hooking up when you were in a relationship, though? Zeph wasn't really sure, but taking that next step in their relationship had just felt... right. Perfect. Amazing. He'd had a huge grin that seemed to be permanently plastered on his face since Winter Ball night.

And, well, he was going home for the holidays, which definitely served to also up the boy's mood. He'd kind of been counting down the days until he got to go home and see his little sisters and his dad. Sure, LA was great and everything, but well... well, it was nothing compared to getting to go home.

Anyway, it was Tuesday morning, the last day of school before Zeph got to get on the airplane to head home. He had already packed a backpack to take home with him (he traveled light so he didn't have to... ya know, pay extra, or wait impatiently at the bag checkout line thingy). He'd just arrived at school, probably a little later than he'd planned to, but eh... he'd still have time to gather his books from his locker and make it to class on time.

Of course, as he stood at his locker grabbing his books, he found himself glancing down the hallway, his gaze momentarily catching on someone that he didn't personally know, but who he recognized. Javier Cervantes. The angsty older brother of Angel -- and how the two of them had come from the same parents was beyond Zeph.

Okay, maybe his gaze lingered longer than just momentary.

What? All he could really think about was how on that weekend forever ago, Lin had roughed Angel up, and then started bitching about how his dad was having a daughter.

It'd be a strange correlation -- one that he hadn't really understood, nor that he'd thought about, until his memory was refreshed by the other, older Cervantes.




mood
chill

location
the bathroom

outfit
clothes





playing...
Uh Oh
by Junior Doctor​




mentions
Stella

interactions
Javi

tags
hery hery


º º code by ditto º º
 






Mikaela Ainsley



Tori ran off, Mikaela texted Kian inviting him to join them come Tuesday, and then the rest of the night just started to fly away in a daze of colour and lights and noise. Everything seemed so floaty, like bubbles or clouds. That was probably the effect of all the bubbly she had drunk. Illegally of course. Every half hour that passed, she loaded up more and more in between chaste little dances and short trips gallivanting around the ballroom listening in on various conversations. Which was all good and fun but just oh so boring, especially as everything started to get so wonderfully floaty. It was like she was floating, maybe even flying but everyone was just engaging in boring little dances fitting for a party of six year olds, even the few kisses she had seen so far weren’t really kisses, just pecks on the lips. Boooooo.

Someone give a real kiss, like in those non Disney PG13 kid safe movies. Those steamy set your heart on fire kind of kisses. Like the kiss she had given Ezra. Super Frenchy, super sexy, super steamy, super non PG13. Mikaela would happily give them all a demonstration right there and then cause nine of them were getting it right but having come to the ball alone she didn’t have a partner and none of the guys in her vicinity looked remotely hot enough for her to want to – Oh! Yes! Finally someone was giving her a real kiss, well not actually of course, her lips were very much single and unoccupied which was unfortunate but that, that was an honest to goodness real kiss. Certainly nowhere near as good as the kisses she gave but compared to the rest of the kisses she’d seen thus far it was excellent. It wasn’t just a peck, they were actually holding each other, melting into each other, savouring the kiss and – it was over. What a dissatisfying ending. They should have just for much longer and –

An audible gasp escaped Mikaela and she blinked as her eyes clocked in the two people she had just seen kiss. Was that Nellie and Cappie?? OMG. She was practically squealing with delight as she ran off before either of them noticed her. Nellie kissed Cappie! Like a proper kiss! This was big news! She had to find Cami and tell her! And that kiss was all thanks to her helping Cappie with asking Nellie to the dance. (Obviously not but she’s too high at present to believe otherwise.) Teehee she was a genius. Best cupid ever.

Now where oh where in this giant hall was Cami hiding? Perhaps she was getting in her own steamy kiss with her dashing little Knight in tights. Not here, or here, just where – ahah! There she was!

Mikaela started to make her way across excitedly then stopped. Standing across from her was an apologetic looking Eli. Come to think of it, she’d gotten so excited about Nellie and Cappie kissing but had Cami and Eli kissed? Both of them weren’t as bold or proactive in fact they were more like little lambs… what if neither of them were sure of what to do or how to make the first move? Cami had very little experience with boys and Eli seemed like the type to move at a snail’s pace when it came to such things. Actually, Nellie might well kill him or slap him with a lawsuit if he made the first move. And then Gen would fire back and then it would be all out war and the two of them would be like Romeo and Juliet and it’d be a complete tragedy and she couldn’t possibly let that happen. This wouldn’t do she had to help them. It was her duty as their friend and honorary sister.

So with convicted steps, Mikaela marched, well more like half stumbled, heels were a pain and there were too many people to weave her way around. Anyway point was she made her way over to the dashing little pair, sweet Eli and Cami, Romeo and Juliet, but with the happy ending and without the warring families and such. She’d make sure of that.

Up close they looked positively adorable in their cute outfits, like the cuddliest little teddy bears that you just wanted to wrap into a hug and never let go.

“Cami!” And with that jubilant shout of her name as the only warning, Mikaela launched herself onto her friend, arms wrapping themselves around her neck. “You look gorgeous! Positively stunning, and Eli, what a handsome prince charming you make.” She released Cami from her hold as she spoke and moved over to Eli, slapping her hands on his cheeks with a big old smile as she gave him a once over. “They should cast you in the next remake. Just look at this face and these muscles.” She gave his arm a squeeze as she spoke, laughing all the while as if she’d been hit with a blast of laughing gas. She laughed a little too hard and the momentum plus the heels almost sent her tipping over but luckily Eli was there with his sturdy frame to steady her, her hands catching onto his shoulders as she regained her balance. “My you even behave like a prince, what a hero, what a catch you got yourself tonight Cami, handsome and charming and strong and gentlemanly and...” Ope, and she was starting to get side tracked, she almost forgot what she had come over here for. That was bad, very bad. Tsk tsk tsk, bad Mikky, getting all giggly and nearly forgetting to do her job.

“Have you kissed him Cami?” She asked, looking over her shoulder at her friend, hands still on Eli even though she’d already regained her balance, “You haven’t right?” She answered for her, clicking her tongue all the way as she continued talking, ignoring everything else as she bulldozed ahead, “Just look at him, how can you keep him waiting for so long? His poor lips look sooo miserable because you been neglecting him. You should kiss him already or others will beat ya to it. You dunno how right? Lemme show you.”

Her hands moved from Eli’s shoulders to grab the back of his head and then with all the force she could gather in her 5’4 frame, she pulled his head down towards her, her lips crashing hard into his. She leaned into the kiss, holding his head in place with her hands, her body pressed up against his and her teeth chewing his bottom lip. She made sure Cami got a good view of the whole thing so she could see exactly how it ought to be done.

“Just like this.” Mikaela said breathlessly once she broke the kiss and released Eli from her grip before breaking into giggles of laughter again.





mood
watch closely

location
Winter ball

outfit
Hot dress





playing...
song title here

by artist here​




mentions
Clairmont Sibs, Tori, Kian, Cappie

interactions
Eli, Cami

tags
Winona Winona jasmyn jasmyn


º º code by ditto º º
 
Charlie Howell
@howedoyoudo has set their status to:
...

@howedoyoudo has set their outfit to:
...

@howedoyoudo has set their location to:
the apartment dining room

@howedoyoudo has mentioned:
Jo, Amy

@howedoyoudo has interacted with:
Trevor

@howedoyoudo has tagged:
ditto ditto
The second Trevor’s lips parted and the words dripped like venom from his tongue, Charlie knew that she was right. She was always right, even when it was agonizing to be so.

“D-Don’t s-say her feckin’ name. I can’t feckin’ stand it.” Charlie’s hand on the tabletop curled up into a fist, knuckles turning a ghastly white with the strain. She had never seen it before but now, Charlie really understood the hype around wanting to knock his stupid fucking teeth down his throat. As if he had been hearing her internal threats and silent pleas to keep composed, Trevor’s eyes widened and he spoke again. “Oh…shite, feckin’…”

“Stop fucking stuttering. You’re pathetic enough without that shit.” Charlie spat, jaw clenching so tightly that her teeth began to ache. “Go ahead, Trevor. Spell it out for me.”

“Yeah, feckin’…feckin’ fine, I dated Ash in private an’…an’ you can kill me now if you want to.” Trevor’s face met the table. Charlie hoped that he had hurt himself upon impact. Then, a hand raised to touch the back of his neck which, as a matter of fact, was looking particularly strangleable at the moment. “If ya kick there hard enough, I hear it’s painless.”

The deep, guttural laugh that echoed through the dining room even caught Charlie off guard. Rage wasn’t enough to describe the ice in her veins or the complete disregard for safety floating around in her mind. No, she was the kind of mad that came across as entirely unhinged, the type of mad that bridges the gap between sanity and complete mental disparity, the type of mad that people would quote when they pinpoint the exact moment in time that Charlotte May Howell lost her fucking mind.

“Oh no. No, no, no. If I was going to kill you, it would be anything but fucking quick.” Charlie snarled, lacing her fingers through Trevor’s hair and pulling his head up to look at her. Bending down, their faces were inches apart as the maniacal grin fell from her lips. “I’m not going to hurt you, Trevor. But you are going to look me in the fucking face when I remind you how fucking stupid you are.”

Charlie roughly released Trevor’s hair and took a step back, hands shaking at her sides. She needed a minute away from him, a minute in her own head to calm her inner thoughts lest they take control and Trevor ended up with a broken nose. At least this time if Charlie got into trouble, she’d be entirely justified.

Once again betrayed by the people she calls her best friends. When was it ever going to end?

Leaning forward onto the countertop, Charlie blinked the tears from her eyes. Stupid fucking emotions being hardwired to her goddamn tear ducts. Forcing her breath to slow, Charlie swallowed before forcing her voice to form the words rattling aggressively around inside of her skull.

“You let me believe for,” she took another breath, “fucking months that I had tried to ruin your life by setting you two up. You treated me like shit for months, antagonized me for months, pretended like I was against you when all this time, you were FUCKING HER? You fucking let me be in pain this whole time when you were fucking DATING HER?”

Charlie’s hand slammed into the countertop, a rather stupid move considering the pain that shot through her knuckles and into her wrist then up her elbow. With a sharp hiss, Charlie pulled her hand back and reached her other hand up to grasp it in a failed attempt to soothe the endless throbbing through her bones. A string of curse words fell from her lips as she turned to face Trevor, her typically sweet features contorted and twisted from the pain, both emotional and now physical.

“I am losing fucking EVERYTHING, Trevor Callaghan. I don’t give a fuck about where you stick your goddamn dick.” Charlie growled, voice teetering on a full on scream with every passing word. “Some of us have bigger fucking issues than your little secret girlfriend. What about Jo and Amy, hmm?” Charlie looked his features over and let out a laugh. “Right. Right, they both knew. Why wouldn’t they know? It’s not like anyone here but me ever does anything wrong, right? And your birthday? I assume that was her too?”

Charlie sighed and, in the mistake of taking a breather, the tears began to stream down her face, chest heaving with a heavy sob. “Why do you fucking hate me? What did I ever do to fucking deserve this? Not only did you lie to me but you let me think for MONTHS that you were mad at me and that I ruined your fucking life when all I ever did was be there for you. Every single one of your fucking hissy fits, every single one of your monumental fuck ups. I was the first and sometimes only person in your goddamn corner. Then you lie to me and treat me like total shit for that? Now you almost kill my fucking cousin, drive around town like a goddamn drunken idiot, and you expect me to have pity for you right now?” Charlie reached her unijured hand to wipe the trails of mascara and tears from her splotchy cheeks. Then, through a pause in her crying, her eyes drifted back up to Trevor's eyes. “Why do you fucking hate me?”

º º code by ditto º º
 
the boys are back in town
Isaac Carlisle
The Carlisles were intense. As in way, way over the top. It came as no surprise to Isaac when his dad presented him with a prospectus for Hollywood Arts, one of the most high-profile schools in Los Angeles. He knew well of Ezra, a childhood friend whom Isaac had always thought very highly of. He felt secure knowing that at the very least, Ezra was a sound guy who would have his back. The two had grown up in the midst of two wealthy, successful families and both understood the implications and consequences that came with that. Isaac looked forward to seeing him; everyone else he had a vague knowledge of at Hollywood Arts were acquaintances he met in the industry that had attended and become moderately successful, usually going on to be scouted for international contracts or events. The family’s intensity had aided Isaac in that way; the Carlisle family was already well known among the LA social sphere and had been tipped to become one of the most successful newcomers in Hollywood this year. Isaac had contacts coming out of his ears. His acceptance to the school only increased the buzz around him and his modelling career, much to the delight of his parents. It was like they said, any publicity is good publicity – and the fact it was good publicity made it all the more exciting.

Isaac was unlike his parents. He enjoyed his career, don’t get him wrong, but it didn’t matter all that much to him. If he stopped modelling – what, they were going to stop paying his rent? Unlikely. He’d do something else, make a name some other way. Isaac knew he had it cushty, and money was no object for his parents when it came to keeping up appearances. Lavish cars, expensive properties, the best schooling and only the most elite friends. That’s how they did it. Play the part, look the part, be the part.

It was 5am when Isaac’s wakeup call from the concierge rang through. He fumbled with the phone next to his bed, pulling it hastily to his ear. “Yep? Oh. Oh, oh yeah – great – thanks, Leonard.”

He swung back the cover, planting his bare feet on the wooden floor.

Waking up wasn’t so hard when you had underfloor heating.

He rose from his bed, bare-ass naked, and trapsed to the bathroom. There, he performed his morning routine, his morning ritual, slipped into a pair of shorts and promptly headed downstairs to the gym. He passed through the lobby, acknowledging Leonard sat at the desk with a brief nod, and headed for the rowing machine. He had a tight regime; 20 minutes on the rower, six upper body exercises interchanging with six other exercises, then a ten-minute cool down and stretch. He preferred the gym at this time of the day, quiet and empty. He’d go for a run after college, replenish with a few protein shakes, then catch up with his PR manager to talk through some business affairs. And so his days went.

Later that morning, Isaac rolled out of his building’s garage in his beloved Range Rover, matte black from wheels to sunroof. He bopped his head in time with his music as he drove, some pop-rap chart-topper that he unironically enjoyed. The road was mirrored in his silver aviators and the sun gleamed off the bulky silver wristwatch as he gripped the steering wheel. He wasn’t nervous, he wasn’t overly confident, he was just… going about what he had to do. He knew his dad was right: Hollywood Arts was an opportunity – a good one. That was all it was – a business move. It provided everything; A good education, more gigs, chance for PR stunts, broader connections, paps lying in wait, tabloids gagging for a story. It was a day job.

He parked up and sauntered into the school like he had been there a thousand times before, collecting his locker number and orientating himself accordingly, heading to Visuals. He kept a stern and curious look on his face as he traversed the hallways, wondering why they weren’t just allocated lockers based on the actualdepartment they were in, instead of half way across campus. He supposed it was nice to check out the rest of the school, seeing as though he had been warned that cross-departmental projects were a regular occurrence.Well. he had thought, I best make some friends then.

Isaac had barely been at his locker 30 seconds before a hand appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and slammed it shut. What the fu-

“Well well well, if it isn’t jolly ol’ Isaac Carlisle.”

Leaning against the metal lockers was Ezra, a wide grin spread across his face. Isaac laughed, seizing the outstretched hand in front of him and pulling the other boy into his chest, his other hand clapping him on the back.

“I was warned I may run into you round here. How you doing, bro?”

They chatted briefly, Ezra still as complimentary as ever. Isaac didn’t consider himself short, nor did he ever really give two thoughts to his height, but if Ezra stuck around, he’d have a complex in no time.

Ezra suggested skipping a class to hang, and Isaac checked his watch. “Yeah, let’s do it. I got time.”

The two of them headed into the pottery studio and plotted themselves in a quiet corner away from students frantically sculpting and moulding their clay. The walls were lined top to bottom in shelves of bowls, cups, mugs, planters, decorative vases… the list went on.

“Any of this yours, Ez?” he asked, dipping his head to admire an obscenely large and intricate vase. "This is some... artistic stuff."
  • outfit


coded by reveriee.
 
spiralling
lillian kimura
‘Good morning, sunshine,’ Lillian chimed, bounding into the kitchen. She had barely slept, half from excitement and half from nerves, but felt lively, nevertheless. Bongwater was perched on the counter, longingly watching as Matt forked eggs into his mouth. Matt barely lifted his head and gave Lillian the finger.

‘Morning. I don’t care how you slept. Need a ride?’

Lillian bent down to coo at Bongwater. ‘Oh!’ she whined, solemnly petting the cat’s head. ‘He is so rude, huh?’ She looked sideways at the dark-haired boy, rolled her eyes, and nodded. No way was she walking when Matt had a Honda Civic sat out front. Now, don’t get her wrong, she didn’t expect anything in return for putting Matt up with her and Rox, but a ride was a ride, and until she got her permit she would be relying on his generosity for the foreseeable. It was just an arrangement Matt would have to come to terms with.

‘After you, milady,’ Matt chuckled, holding the door. ‘Sorry. Can’t call you that with a straight face.’

‘Excuse me,’ Lillian snapped, spinning around. ‘I am a lady and will thank you for addressing me as such. Bitch.’

Matt drove while Lillian bickered with him over the music. She would jab the skip button only for Matt to turn it back, and so on and so forth. The result was Matt turning the radio off completely, leaving Lillian to glare sullenly out of the window as if she were a child that had her candy stolen.

They’d found their lockers, somewhere up in the Lit department. Lillian was unloading the contents of her backpack when she felt the vibration of Matt’s head hitting the locker in front of him.

‘You think that’s bad; I’d rather have English than-’ she said, taking a glance at her schedule. ‘Ugh, fucking math.’

She sighed. Academic subjects weren’t her… thing. She just didn’t do well in them. Studying was an uphill battle that Lillian never seemed to conquer. Her passion was in her music, and that’s what she was interested in. She knew what she wanted to do, and math wasn’t any part of it.

‘Think about it, what use is knowing what pi is? How does that help me? Trigonometry? Algebra?!’ she huffed. ‘What am I supposed to do with that?!’

Lillian watched the students around her shuffle up the corridor to their classes. ‘I haven’t even spoken to Rox today. I wanted to see her before class. I hope today goes alright for her.’

She turned to Matt, her head resting against the lockers. ‘You don’t think she’s going to like, y’know,’ she rolled her eyes, frowning. ‘Disappear. Find new friends. Find someone better. There’s some real eye-candy at this place, and I dunno…’

She struggled to find the words she wanted to speak into existence. That was what she believed; if you didn’t say it, it couldn’t be real. However, the thought of Rox finding something better had eaten her up since their night at the Winter Ball. Of course, they’d had a nice time, and Lillian had even coaxed her begrudging girlfriend into having a dance, but the realisation of the calibre of persons at Hollywood Arts bowled Lillian over. The models, the musicians, the women… they all had these backstories, these fascinating tales and personalities and connections and Lillian had… well, Lillian had Matt and Rox, that was it.

She sighed again, touching her forehead. ‘What I’m asking is, she’s not gonna find some hot Plastics girl and fuck off, right?’
  • outfit


coded by reveriee.
 
MOOD: anger ! ! !

OUTFIT: clothes

LOCATION: hallway
basics
MENTIONS:
Angel, Maddie, Adriane, Dorian, Cappie, Gen, Jace, Evie, Nickie, Corey, Lin, JJ, Charlie

INT:
Winona Winona (Zeph)
tags
TL;DR no
tl;dr
Javier Cervantes
The longer Javi's lazed trudge slowed, the more reluctant he was to reach his class. Something about the day was strongly deterring him from even looking at anyone he knew, especially in music class. He hated the stares, the feeling of eyes on his back, and vicious thoughts he couldn't hear. He couldn't name one person who didn't sit on a throne of lies sans Buddy the elf. It was just in time for Christmas, too.

It was his third as a new, dissenting cousin of the Westbornes and his second estranged from his immediate family. And the stupid baby on the way. Who could expect anything less in the world capital of sellouts?

But never mind that. Out of sight, out of mind.

After turning a corner, the bassist saw a head turn in his periphery. It belonged to a taller, nearly as muscular boy. His wide, inspecting eyes were trained on his form, giving a subtle look up and down. Javi narrowed his eyes, snapping his head in the boy's direction. The hell was this prick looking at? Had he ever heard of leaving pissed-off-looking dudes be? It just goes to show how stuck-up and sheltered this school was if Javi was some grand spectacle.

With a surge of impulse coursing through his veins, he stopped for a moment, then started to walk diagonally toward the staring guy. If he valued his life, he would have looked away immediately. Javier's frustration with his environment was going nowhere but up, rising like a scorching cloud of steam until it reached his eyes, which burned holes into the boy his gaze now remained fixed upon.

"Can I help you?" he growled, then added, "Do I look I'm giving free shows, kid?" Though an inch or two shorter, that didn't stop the junior from radiating an intimidating, imposing aura. This was exactly what the old Harlow bitch was talking about before she kicked him out of her house. And Javi wasn't ashamed of it.

Couldn't a guy just be left alone? For once? The doe-eyed asshole probably thought he didn't belong there. Like he looked out of place walking among all these rich, egotistical shitheads. Well, he was right. Javi wasn't like them, but he sure as hell deserved to be here, even with everything that was said about him. Even if they tried to kick him out.

He continued on, seeing only the image of Dorian and his smug, condescending grin in front of him. "Does everyone here just think I'm a fucking lunatic? I don't even know you!" This staring mystery kid was too quiet. Too apprehensive, like his snobbish, horrible thoughts weren't written all over his disarming mug. The urge to immediately push him into a locker was strong, but temporarily restrained.

"What are they saying about me now, huh? Tell me," he barked, closing in on the boy's face, the aroma of peppermint mouthwash filtering out of his mouth. He was hardly watching his surroundings, but something in Javi knew everyone around him was laughing, turning up their noses and pointing at the stupid ape losing his shit. Somewhere in there, Angel was shit-talking him. And so was Maddie, Adriane, Dorian, Cappie, Gen, Jace, Evie, Nickie, Corey, Lin, JJ, Charlie... the list went on.
code by valen t.
 






Casey Clairmont


There was a real suspicious look to Casey's gaze as he looked at the girl that was crashing their real cool band practice session with her gross girl germs. See, he had sisters, so he knew all about nasty girl germs, 'course he also knew that girls didn't really like it when you said things like that, so he didn't say anything.

Also her reply about not being an animal just confused Casey, until it occurred to him that newts were animals. He'd opened his mouth to speak, tell the girl that he'd actually meant his rainbow-haired friend, but then Hunter was talking, introducing as an odd duck, which got him even more riled up.

He was no duck, and he didn't quite appreciate being compared to one. 'Course, he kept this fact to himself, too, 'cause he knew how girls were and the boys needed to be a combined front lest she wiggle her way between them and make them hate each other or something like that.

Yeah, Casey knew alllll about how girls worked.

"Well, is the issue your lyrics or how you're playing music with it?" Casey asked, ignoring her question and instead diving right into what they were here for. Music. He fixed his guitar so that it was resting in front of him, and he took a seat on one of the nearby stools in the little music room. He brought his legs up so that he could rest his guitar on his lap, his shoulders slouching forward as he did so. "'Cause, I've gotten some real bad lyrics before, and I'm like... how am I supposed to make lyrics 'bout underwear sound good, ya know? But hey..." he shrugged. "I did it. Got number one in a few countries, and ahh... oh, was featured on Nickelodeon for a bit, which was real cool."

He brought his fingers up to rest in their appropriate places on the guitar, relaxing even more now that the odd boy was fully in his element. Sure, he might've stuck out in the whole high school setting like a real sore thumb, and he felt like he was constantly getting bullied, what with the death threats (didn't matter if they were probably joking, still hurt like hell) and all the shit tossed at him for dating Chas, 'cause here he was, right where he belonged.

Sure, he might belong in the whole school, but he did belong in their little music rooms. 'Cause he was Casey Clairmont, the big shot son of the famous band and nephew of Zoe Lockwood, and 'course, he had all those songs that had played on radios and what not, and heck, a couple had even made it into the Top 40.

"So, c'mon, we were just gonna do some practicing with our band, but Newt's not here, so go ahead..." his fingers tapped impatiently at his guitar, "what's the lyrics?"




mood
hypehypehype

location
a music room

outfit
the normal band shirt and jeans





playing...
Kerosene
by Courage My Love​




mentions
N/A

interactions
Hunter, Rox

tags
Harrowhark Harrowhark natsukashii natsukashii


º º code by ditto º º
 
ahlivia richardson
Junior - Lit - 17
school (gag)
anxious
OOTD
interactions

majid AkuTheWolfOkami AkuTheWolfOkami

When it comes to the five styles of management conflict - fox, shark, turtle, owl, bear - Ahlivia Richardson was definitely an avoiding turtle.

"The best solution to the conflict is to get yourself out of there. If you ignore it, it doesn't exist."

She'd repeated the mantra to herself so many times over the years that she had gotten it made into a bumper sticker. It was currently stuck to the back window of her car and she tapped it for 'good luck' every morning. Was it a toxic way to think? For sure, but even if you told her that she wasn't going to listen to you. Her therapist tells her it isn't a good way to think and if she's not listening to her advice what makes you think she'd listen to anyone else?

Ahlivia had managed to 'absentmindedly' avoid seeing Stassi the entire day. She may not have been actively trying to do so, but she wasn't actively trying to seek her out either. What happened during the ball was confusing and Liv didn't do well with confusing so the next course of action was to ignore it completely. Which meant ignoring Stassi, it seems, but really she just didn't want the girl to bring it up. During the time they've spent together as friends Ahlivia had come to know the girl as someone who wasn't going to just let something go.

Especially if it were bothering her.

This? This she was hoping she would just let go and brush it off the same way Liv was doing.

As she was walking towards her next class, she swore she saw Stassi walking down the stairs and internally panicked. Fuck, what was she going to say? What was she going to do? Liv looked around for some sort of escape when her eyes landed on her secret knight in shining armor.

Majid.

She quickly walked over to him, linking her arm with his and smiling brightly at him. "You know, for someone who's supposed to be my 'boyfriend', I don't think you take me out on enough dates," she joked.

A few months ago, Majid had asked her to pretend to be his girlfriend to get his parents off his back. Though she's adopted and was raised in America one of Ahlivia's parents was Iranian. Both herself and her parents are unsure of which parent it is but the fact remains. Her parents have tried to make sure she was raised around the influence of her heritage and culture - something Liv often appreciates - but with that brought Majid's perfect cover.

"Did you end up going to Du-Par's?" Though she was maintaining eye contact with Majid, she was also on the lookout for Stassi and making sure she didn't see her.





coded by natasha.
 



Nikolai.





































  • mood



    Looking for a distraction

















Nikolai’s time at the ball was… nice. Maybe they didn’t remember the whole thing, but what they did remember was an actual good time. Points were taken off for drunk driving. The only thing worse than Nikolai's driving was Nikolai’s drunk driving. In this drunk state they may have forgotten to drop Rikki off. With both of their infinite wisdom, they made it through Nikolai’s window as quietly as possible. It was a miracle her mother never woke up.

Rikki was welcome to crash with them. But he had to be quiet, something they were both bad at right now. There was lots of shhhing and laughing back and forth. Nikolai didn’t remember passing out or Rikki leaving. They did, however, remember setting the alarm for their fake school work plans. Right, best to keep lies in order. Still, Rikki’s absence was concerning. There was no sign that he had been there at all other than the slightly open window and the chill that came with it.

Nikolai did try to contact his date, but with no luck. Well, Rikki was Rikki, that was something they couldn’t change. She spent the majority of that Sunday at the library, getting some much needed homework done. Which Auguste appreciated, even if the two of them apparently weren’t friends. That part was not so nice.

When Tuesday rolled around, Nikolai still hadn’t heard a word from Rikki. It was like he vanished off the face of the earth. Or at least, vanished from their life. It was easy to ignore his problems during practice, focusing more on dancing than their not friends, but after was when looking at Auguste became painful and every check of their phone drove them crazy. If they hadn’t had a free period class could’ve taken their mind off it. But two hours until the next dance class left them restless.

So Nikolai returned to their locker. Maybe they could get ahead in calculus. Anything other than this. Wow, this was a mess. Half of these papers were ripped and old. Should they clean it? While time consuming, cleaning was not effective at thought consuming. But it would never get better if she didn’t-

Oh, hi!

Matteo Wright, a newer student, a bit of a mystery, but quite the subject of the rumor mill. Nikolai was no stranger to that. However, they’d rather experience the rumors than believe them blindly. This was the kind of distraction they were looking for.

“Nikolai Beck, the pleasure is all mine.”
She smiled, shifting her weight onto one side. He was a head shorter than them, thick with the scent of smoke. His face said he didn’t want to be there, which she found easy to believe. It seemed they had that in common. If the rumors were correct, it was easy to see what he wanted from them. They gave in and closed the locker.

“Just passing by?”
With any luck, he’d say no.

































A Little Death



The Neighbourhood










♡coded by uxie♡
 






kellian phelan


“My Ball?” Ronnie repeated, laughing. “You’re the one with the sexy, mysterious artist!”

Kelli tried to keep her smile from spreading wider as a light blush bloomed on her cheek. Oh nonono, she scolded herself. Her night was super fun — a real blast!…but to Ronnie and anyone else who asked, it was no big deal. People started thinking things when she got too excited, and she knew that she would get, ya know, too excited if she thought too much about last night. You know, Ronnie and others would be all like…ya know…oh, Kelli likes this guy — and see, people couldn’t be thinking that, even though it was really true. It would just…mess everything up. And plus, it really wasn’t…see, uh, as far as deals went — like, ya know, big deals or whatever — this was as little of a deal as you could get. It was probably just a little something that would go away in a couple of weeks. Stuff like this usually did. There was no need to occupy Ronnie’s time with, uh, ya know, concerns about, uh, ya know, Kelli and Angel.

“I just meant,” Kelli giggled softly, making her way to her bed to tug on her Skechers, “how was your Ball night?”

Ronnie smiled. “Oh, what can I say!” Kelli’s grin widened at Ronnie’s words, her eyes alight with a bright curiosity as she scooted toward the edge of her bed, the hands holding her shoes frozen as she eagerly awaited her roommate’s answer. “He knows how to keep a girl interested,” Ronnie continued.

Kelli cocked her head, raising an eyebrow. “Whaddoya mean?”

“I made the first move!” Ronnie exclaimed, and Kelli’s eyes widened.

She gasped softly. “Walt, so…?”

“And he was, like, so into it,” Ronnie continued. “We were there until they started kicking people out, then we said, ‘Hey it’s still so early,’ then…well, we didn’t end the night. How could we?”

Her eyebrows rose to her hairline. “Ronnie!” she gasped, giggling. The translation, if Kelli’s instincts were correct, was that Ronnie and Hunter had gone kissy-kissy aaaall night long. She shook her head. “No way!” she said, her tone less disbelieving and more excited on Ronnie’s behalf.

“And don’t even get me started on Nickie Abrams,” Ronnie said.

“Nickie Abrams?” The name kind of rang a bell. Kelli didn’t really know a ton of upperclassmen (or too many people in her own grade, for that matter, beyond the people who she’d been assigned to sit near or work with). All she really knew was that Hunter — the guy who Ronnie had gone to the dance with — had dated that girl, and there was a lot of messy drama with it that Kelli wanted to stay out of.

“It was so embarrassing for her,” Ronnie said. “She, like, got all mad Hunter moved on with me, then threw a drink on him, then had, like, a complete breakdown in front of the entire ball.”

Kelli’s brows crumpled with sympathy, for all parties involved. “Oh no!”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she ran to the dumpsters and cried the rest of the night.” Ronnie gave a laugh. “It was…!”

“Awful…,” Kelli finished Ronnie’s sentence, shaking her head and finally getting back to tying her shoes, her pace slower than before. “That sounds really sucky for you all…”

“Well, it was pretty hard to watch,” Ronnie said. “But I did anyway. Poor girl.”

“Poor girl…,” Kelli repeated. She couldn’t imagine that it would’ve been fun, either having a drink thrown on you by your ex or, uh, breaking down in front of a ton of people. Both sounded like they sucked butt.

Really, a lot of people weren’t as lucky as Kelli. Either they’d picked bad dates and had terrible times with, uh, getting smooched when they didn’t want to, or they’d had a drink thrown on them and watched their ex break down, or they’d, uh, well, gotten punched like her brother had…

She really had been super duper lucky that her night had been…well, the freaking dopest. It made her feel almost guilty that she was the one whose night had turned out so well, though, when it could’ve been literally anyone else instead.

Ronnie waved a hand dismissively. “But I’m sure your night was way crazier,” Ronnie said. “I was going to check on you, but I was, like, real busy, you know?”

Kelli lifted her head to glance at Ronnie. “Hm?” she asked, dragging herself out of her head, and then it registered with Ronnie had said. She smiled, giving a slight shrug and giggling. “Oh, no,” she said, shaking her head. “I get it! And no, it really wasn’t crazy or anything…”

"Angel's head over heels for you, right?” Ronnie asked. “Who made a move? I bet he did."

Ronnie’s assumptions lit Kelli’s face up like a red neon sign. Of course, she had asked such a pointed question (one that Kelli lowkey wished she could answer with an enthusiastic “yes”). She shook her head erratically. “No, no, no!” She covered her face embarrassedly with one hand, holding her other hand out to Ronnie in a halting sort of manner. “No, no, no!”

Her dramatic reply, she realized, probably looked suspicious, and she slowly lowered her hang, giggling softly. “Uhm…” Her voice wobbled a little bit, and she shook her head again. “Oh, no,” she said breezily, “it wasn’t anything like that.” Swallowing, she gave a slight shrug. “You know, we just, like…we just went as friends.” She gave Ronnie a smile. “So we did what friends do, you know. Like, uh, we, uh, danced, uhm…and we, uh, also ate some of the cookies!” She could feel her face growing redder and redder as she struggled, with stilted speech, to pick the words that would arouse the least amount of suspicion. She waved a hand dismissively, as Ronnie had done. “But, uhm, nothing like your night.” She cleared her throat. “Yeah, no, we’re…we’re just friends, no. Even if he, like, did, like, drop a condom, uhm...no, it was — that was his brother's, it wasn't his, and, uhm, I, uhm, am, uhm...he's...yeah, he's a really great friend, though, and we, uhm, danced and, uhm, stuff, and, uhm, I..."

Have a crush on him, but I can't tell you that, sorry.

Kelli ran a hand through her hair, quickly trying to brush past her night. “Anyway…you and Hunter?” she asked, cocking her head. “Are you, like…are you going to be a thing? Or was it just a one night thing? Not to be nosey. You don’t have to say.”




mood
tell me more, tell me more

location
the dorm

outfit
casual clothes





playing...
dance
by foxes​




mentions
angel, kian, hunter, & nickie

interactions
ronnie

tags
hery hery


º º code by ditto º º
 






v. vallese


“Well, I am interesting, not to toot my own horn or anything.”

Violetta Vallese did not quite like people, nor did she quite like conversation, nor did she quite like engaging in conversation with people. Those who spoke less, she believed, were those who had more to say and simply chose to keep it to themselves and were, therefore, more intelligent. The ignorant were those who enjoyed speaking; they must have been speaking all of their thoughts aloud and been left with none inside their mind.

From what she could surmise, the boy in front of her was the latter type: a fool. He was interesting — the thoughts that he spoke seemed to be spurred a way that many people’s thoughts were not — but he was a fool.

“I do not believe we are thinking of the same interesting, Belze,” Viva muttered lightly, her monotone voice remaining as unamused as ever, her brows lowering to indicate her assessment of the boy in front of her. He had agreed with her as though she had been complimenting him, but her words had not really been intended as a compliment, per se. It was typical of fools, to take everything as an inflation of their ego.

“But if you think that will make up for all the insults that you just gave me and the American society as a whole…” His eyes squinted, and, internally, she could not help but give a scoff. They had not been insults, merely comments. “…you would be completely right!”

“Fortunato me allora,” she said beneath her breath, sarcastically. She did not believe that he could understand Italian, but she said it low enough that he could not make her words out regardless.“Ottengo l'approvazione dello sciocco. Questo è tutto ciò che ho sempre voluto.” It wasn’t that she cared whether or not he could hear her; she would probably simply avoid more conversation if he didn’t.

The boy gave her a wide grin. “Follow me.”

“Follow you?” she repeated. “Follow you where?” But she got no answer; the boy simply began to walk off. She slowly began to follow. “You move quickly for a tiny boy.”

“My name is much more interesting than Violet,” said the boy.

The awful name, which reminded her of that dreadful caretaker of hers, caused her lip to curl up into a scowl. “Violetta,” she said. “Viva. Not Violet. Anything but Violet.”

“And just so you know,” continued the boy, uncaringly, “I knew you were a dancer before you knew I was an artist.” It was quite obvious that she was, or so she hoped; she thought herself far more graceful than those of other disciplines, like the disheveled artist before her or the megalomaniac actors or the miserable-looking poets. “Because I am very smart.” That was simply not true. “Are you smart, Bobblehead?” he asked, looking over his shoulder.

“I am not Bobblehead,” she said, her accent coming through in her mild agitation, though her tone did not waver from its rather monotonous, stoic resting state. “I am smart, yes. It is said that people who are truly smart do not brag of their smartness, as you do. I do not brag of mine. I am simply smart, smarter than average, and that is all that there is to it.”

She looked around the hallway, her nose scrunching up. “Odore terribile,” she said. She glanced down at the polished floor to see a crumpled up piece of paper. She kicked it aside with a flick of her ankle. “Terribile,” she repeated, “and I was under the impression that this school was of the highest standard. I do not believe that is true anymore.” She breathed out a small sigh. “I seem to have overestimated Los Angeles as a whole. I had no expectations to begin with, and even those have been crushed.” She glanced over to see a couple kiss one another, and her lip curled up in disgust. “The scenery is unpleasant.” And then, a slight shake of the head. “That is an understatement.” She looked forward, toward the boy. “Does anyone ever clean this hallway, or is its cleaning schedule the same as yours, Cicalone?”

The nickname was far more fitting for the blabbermouthed boy — far better than Belze.




mood
hello.

location
the school

outfit
clothes





playing...
mammamia
by måneskin​




mentions
n/a

interactions
beel

tags
mogy mogy


º º code by ditto º º
 






trevor callaghan​


(tw: uhhh, trevor does self-harming behavior when he’s in distress, if you haven’t picked that up by now; also self-loathing. it’s…rough. if you’ve forgotten how mentally unwell trevor is…this post is an unpleasant reminder.)

“Oh no. No, no, no. If I was going to kill you, it would be anything but fucking quick.” Trevor felt a sharp yank on his head, and he lifted his eyes to a furious Charlie as she yanked his head up from the table. She was grinning; something within Trevor trembled. He gave a half-hearted attempt to pull free from her grip. “I’m not going to hurt you, Trevor. But you are going to look me in the fucking face when I remind you how fucking stupid you are.”

Her grip left his hair, and his head went back down. Still, his eyes looked at her. “You let me believe for fucking months that I had tried to ruin your life by setting you two up.” He couldn’t recall him saying that she’d tried to ruin his life, but the part that was focused on the pain in her eyes and her voice shoved his snarky voice down. “You treated me like shit for months, antagonized me for months, pretended like I was against you when all this time, you were FUCKING HER?” Her words rattled the brain within his skull painfully. “You fucking let me be in pain this whole time when you were fucking DATING HER?”

Killing him would have been a more pleasant experience for the both of them.

Trevor’s heart shuddered in its place within his chest. Inside his head, his brain rocked against his skull.

Look at what you’ve fucking done. It felt like a knife in his side. Look at what you’ve fucking done.

Charlie was on the countertop now. “I am losing fucking EVERYTHING, Trevor Callaghan. I don’t give a fuck about where you stick your goddamn dick. Some of us have bigger fucking issues than your little secret girlfriend. What about Jo and Amy, hmm?”

His eyes dropped from her, and he winced.

She laughed. “Right. Right, they both knew.” Shut up, shut up — a chorus of defensive thoughts like a shield against his violent psyche, which still told him, along with Charlie to look at what you’ve fucking done. “Why wouldn’t they know? It’s not like anyone here but me ever does anything wrong, right? And your birthday? I assume it was her, too?”

The shitty moments replayed in his mind, a highlight reel of all of the fucking shite that he’d put his friends through — stuff he’d already reconciled with Amy, with Jo, with Charlie for. It was all coming back to sink its venomous teeth into him.

He felt paralyzed. Small. Insignificant and helpless against the best of his past — the beast of what he was capable of doing and what he’d fucking done.

“Why do you fucking hate me?” She was crying; he could hear it. He couldn’t look at her. “What did I ever do to fucking deserve this? Not only did you lie to me but you let me think for MONTHS that you were mad at me and that I ruined your fucking life when all I ever did was be there for you. Every single one of your fucking hissy fits, every single one of your monumental fuck ups.”

They were on replay in his mind, the words coming from megaphones and loudspeakers, blaring in his ears. He wanted to cover his ears until the blaring all went away, until this all fucking went away.

“I was the first and sometimes only person in your goddamn corner. Then you lie to me and treat me like total shit for that? Now you almost kill my fucking cousin, drive around town like a goddamn drunken idiot, and you expect me to have pity for you right now? Why do you fucking hate me?”

She was looking at him. He could feel it.

It hurt. It all hurt.

His eyes couldn’t train on her. The concoction of stomach acid, alcohol, and guilt in his gut wouldn’t let him look at her. Instead, his bloodshot, glossy, hazel eyes gazed almost impersonally at the table as they leaked. “I don’t feckin’ hate you.” His shoulders were shaking too hard, his voice trembling and slurred practically beyond comprehension. “If I could go back, I swear to feckin’ God that I would do everythin’ different…” His words were barely coming out. His trembling voice sounded almost mangled, as though he was speaking through a clenched fist around his throat. “I would’ve walked Ash home that night, never feckin’ touched her on that goddamn stupid feckin’ couch — never would’ve feckin’ touched her before then, either, never would’ve even went to that fuckin’ Homecomin’ party, or even spoken to her with that fuckin’ Googled pick-up line that first time — fuck, I would’ve locked myself in my room on the day of the date, refused to move, ran away when I saw Ash comin’ toward me.” His fingers trembled as though he were a leaf on a branch that barely clung on in the wind of a hurricane, or like a small body gripping a tree branch that hung over a rushing, fierce chasm. His expression was almost blank, even as all of him quivered. “Every single step I took, I would’ve taken backward…not even that, I would’ve just never feckin’ taken.”

He could trace it back a hundred million times, go through every step he’d taken and how he’d taken it, but he still wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t end up in this spot right now. In his mind, as it reeled with drunken thoughts, he could not decipher any future, even when the past was changed, where he wasn’t sitting in this spot, at this table.

He hated it — he feckin’ hated it.

All at once, his expression crumpled. His head slammed back on the table. “I’m a feckin’ idiot!” His words were forced through tightly clenched teeth, his entire body tense as though he’d been shocked with something. “I’m a feckin’ idiot, and there’s no way I can help myself feckin’ now, because no matter how hard I feckin’ try, there’s no goin’ back now!” His hands gripped his hair, threatening to rip clumps out by the root. He wanted to rip it out — wanted his teeth to break. “I’ve hurt — I’ve hurt you. Jo. Amy. It — it looks like I hate you. I’ve…I’ve…I’ve…I’ve even said it to myself. But I…!” He shook his head, his hands wrapping around himself and gripping him tightly as a sob rocked him.

“I don’t,” he choked. “I don’t hate you. I can’t — Charlie, I don’t — I swear it, whether you can believe me or not, because I — I know I wouldn’t believe me if I was watchin’ me break down. Because…because I’ve treated you like…like…shite. Worse than that. Worse than…worse than I would treat even my enemies…and…and…there’s no way I can prove it — I’ve made my situation feckin’ hopeless, an’ —“

Sobs rocked his body. His tongue felt like a backward-turned blade, stabbing him in the back of his throat so that every word he said felt like warm, sticky blood — felt like his own fucking ruin, like he was gutting himself.

But it was what he deserved. After treating Charlie like this — after treating Jo like this, after treating Amy like this, after treating the people in his life who actually gave a shite about him like this — it was what he fucking deserved.

He breathed in a breath as though gasping for air after being submerged in the ocean. He lifted his head slightly, hung it low, clutched his shoulders as though his life depended on stilling their shaking. They didn’t deserve to shake. They didn’t deserve to mourn, to loathe the shite that they were a part of allowing in the first place — none of him did. “I don’t feckin’ hate you,” he breathed. “I…I love her.”

There it was, the crux of all of his actions — or at least, how he’d justified it to himself. Even now, it sounded feckin’ stupid — it was feckin’ stupid.

“I love her, and it makes me sick.” Physically ill — he could vomit right now. “I love her, and it drives me insane. I love her, and I feckin’ —“ He kicked the table, and it bumped a few inches away. His face squeezed together, his jaw clenching so tightly that his head shook. He curled his legs up in the chair with him, hugging them to his body so tightly that it seemed like his bones would crack. His face was red from the strain. “I feckin’ hate her,” he struggled, “because it’s not her who feckin’ did this to me — it’s feckin’ me!” The words were pained, hurt. His next words came almost in hyperventilated waves: “I treated you like shite on Halloween, I feckin’ drove home when I could barely even feckin’ stand up, I’m the one here, yellin’ at you, because I’m the feckin’ insufferable jackarse with pride he refuses to lay down even when it’s all but feckin’ gone any way. What feckin’ pride should a guy like feckin’ me have in the first place? I drive a goddamn van. I smell like feckin’ weed — I’m a feckin’ imbecile, and I’m only here because my grandparents are feckin’ rich and can pay my way out of academic prohibition, while you’re out here workin’ yer arse off to even stay here, an’ I just treated you like you meant nothin’, because — because compared to all of my other shite, you felt so feckin’ small — an’ it makes me feckin’ sick — I make me feckin’ sick, because what feckin’ worries do I have?!”

With a sob, he opened his eyes, looking mournfully at Charlie. To see her face hurt him, but he forced himself to look — you fucking did that yourself. “I — I’ve got the best fuckin’ friends I could ever ask for, yet I still act so goddamn lonely, I still feckin’ drag around all the time, because somehow, that’s not feckin’ enough for me — and I hate it —“ He shook his head, gripping his hair again. “I hate it, I hate it, I hate it — I hate me, I feckin’ — I make myself sick.”

He paused a long moment, his words seeping in and registering again. A wave of nausea hit him; it was all he could do not to lose the contents of his stomach as he gripped the table in his hands, barely holding his body up from falling down upon the tabletop again. “I don’t feckin’ hate you,” he said, quivering. “I feckin’ hate me.”




mood
...

location
the apartment

outfit
blue suit





playing...
i wanna slam my head against the wall
by glaive​




mentions
eli, amy, ash, & jo

interactions
charlie

tags
geminiy geminiy


º º code by ditto º º
 






Elizabeth Sterling


Super cool joint project thing? Now that had piqued Beth's interest, because like that sounded way better than her having to attend her other classes. But like, obviously she had to be super cool and she didn't want her curiosity coming off as too needy or desperate to hang around Polly more because like... eww, why would it ever be that? Polly was okay or whatever, but she wasn't like... cool enough to obsess over or whatever.

Plus, Polly was in the plastics department. You know that department -- the one with all the really hot, really cool bitches like Evelyn Sinclaire and Genevieve Johannes and all of those less cool bitches. Evie had even said that Beth herself would make a good model -- that's right. Her. Beth. Elizabeth Sterling, the stupid little sophomore lit girl. A really hot, really cool, really famous plastics senior thought she'd make a good model.

She just needed her in, and what better in than tagging along with the other, clearly more unwanted redhead? Like, really, Polly should want Beth to come along. She'd totally make her look so much cooler.

"Oh really?" Beth said, trying to feign not that much interest, but kind of failing. "What's it for? Some kind of modeling thing or whatever?" She sighed, again trying to feign disinterest. "Really, sounds kind of boring. What're you gonna do? Just... walk around in circles in fancy clothes?"

She let out a laugh to like, pretend that she wasn't at all interested and thought it was really dumb, even though that's all Beth really wanted to freaking do.

"Maybe I'll tag along. Like, I don't have anything going on, anyway, and I don't know..." Beth gave a little disinterested shrug of her shoulders. "Sounds like it might be kind of cool. I can see what you're, like, all into and what you think you're so good at." She gave a cheerful smile, stepping away from the lockers and giving a little clap of her hands.

"Alright, where are we going to?"




mood
whatever

location
lockers

outfit
clothes





playing...
Good Girl
by Julian Moon​




mentions
N/A

interactions
Polly

tags
jazzyball jazzyball


º º code by ditto º º
 






RYDER VAUGHN


Ryder was so close to taking the bottle from her as she joked that Minuteman was his name, but she redeemed herself by calling him by his actual name, not the dumb joke of an insult his first girlfriend at Hollywood Arts had tainted him with in his first month here. It had been a very short relationship and Ryder regretted it more and more every day.

Minuteman. What a joke.

Ash's redemption was immediately backtracked as she said what Genevieve Johannes had apparently said about him. Adri had warned him that being friends with her would automatically make him a lot of enemies, but he hadn't expected to become public enemy #1 so fast. Not even the terrifying demon that was Adrine Holloway could protect him from the wrath of Gen. The whole school feared that psychopath.

The sudden seriousness of her voice caught Ryder's attention, and he almost laughed at the fact that she'd just admitted some big secret relationship to him after only a few sips of booze. This girl was ridiculous.

He contemplated for a moment, he could go run off to Adriane and tell her this poor girl's business and probably earn some brownie points for being her little spy, but honestly he didn't care enough and he didn't want to get dragged into the mess of drama that seemed to follow Ash around. He didn't want to get even more on Gen's bad side, or whoever this mysterious boyfriend of hers was.

"I won't say anything. Probably." He joked, offering her a cheeky grin to lighten up the mood. This girl was really harshing the vibe, but it was better than standing out her alone and bored.

"This guy does sound like an asshat." Ryder remarked, quite an expert on male behavior if he did say so himself. "I mean it seems silly to obsess about something before it even happens." He shrugged, though he could understand the feelings of insecurity, he didn't understand hurting yourself by ending the relationship before anything bad enough to breakup over even happened. If you lived your whole life that way, you'd never accomplish anything.

"You know, you're the one standing out in the parking lot with Minuteman, right?" He replied sarcastically, taking the bottle from her grip and taking another swig of the alcohol before handing it back to her. What a bottle hog.

"So what are you doing after this? Are you gonna drink away your sorrows alone or come to the after party?"




mood
bored and annoyed.

location
the parking lot outside the ball

outfit
cool guys wear blue





playing...
golden boy

by bryce fox​




mentions
Damien

interactions
Ash

tags
Winona Winona


º º code by ditto º º
 






MICHAEL K. REID​


Jason West was funny, in a pathetic way. You know, like a toddler lost in a Walmart, crying for his mommy, or a tween girl sobbing because the guy she’s in love with is thirty and famous and completely unobtainable. Funny, in a pathetic way. He couldn’t get full sentences out, could hardly hold himself upright. Shit was funny as hell.

“O-oh,” West stuttered, pushing up from the ground. Mike could see that his fingers were trembling, and he snickered softly. He took a step back from Mike, bumping into another desk, and then he fell backward onto the desk. It was like a Rube Goldberg chain reaction of pathetic thing after pathetic thing after pathetic thing.

He tried to scramble up. “I-I n-nothing, I just…n-nothing, I-I gotta…Callum, h-he’s waiting…waiting for me, I…”

“W-Waiting fow y-you?” Mike mocked, raising an eyebrow. “Y-Your wover did-didn’t want t-to come in w-wiff you?” He scoffed softly, rolling his eyes. “Well, damn.” He shook his head, stepping toward West and putting a hand on his chin, looking up toward the sky as if deep in thought or debating something with himself. “Damn, damn. I think that stops me in my tracks, actually.” He looked over at West, a grin slipping onto his face. “I mean, who am I? A guy who works on his abs for living. Shit, and that guy? Fifty pounds in wet clothes, with bones that could snap at a single tap? Oh shit, I’m really no match for him.”

Mike shook his head again, clutching his hands around himself and making his figure smaller to mock West. He made himself shiver. “You’ve r-r-r-reaaaaally got me shaking in my fucking boots just thinking about the wrath of the anemic osteoporotic asswipe that I’ll experience when he sees that I’m paying the West family disappointment a friendly little visit.” He raised his eyebrows, pouting in mock fear. “What’ll he do, do you think? Scold me? Do some ballet moves? Terrifying. Almost makes my pants as wet as yours.”

He dropped his hands from around himself, stepping back toward West and letting out a chuckle. “Look, if he’s waiting for you, h’ell just have to wait a little longer — after all, we’re busy having a reunion, aren’t we?” His grin spread wider as he leaned back against a desk. “I mean, it has been so long…”

He raised a finger, gasping with a little idea. “Oh, oh, oh boy,” he said, mocking enthusiasm. “I heard about your Ball. Care to rerun the details?” Grinning venomously, he chuckled, “Maybe I heard it wrong — I mean, there’s no way any girl would come even remotely close to your cocksucking pie hole, right?”




mood
catching up

location
school

outfit
clothing





playing...
drunk face
by machine gun kelly​




mentions
callum

interactions
jace

tags
Winona Winona


º º code by ditto º º
 






Hunter Drake


Hunter kept a casual glance on Rox. The way she looked from the makeup to her outfit certainly stood out in all the best ways. Unlike him and Casey, which wasn't taking away from either of them, but she looked like a rocker, while Case and Hunter looked more like the pop rocks variant that sizzle in your mouth after consumption.

Wait, did Hunter really just insult himself?

Fuck, he did.

Wait what was he going to do again?

Wait, did she say comparing others to animals was weird? Nah that's not weird. Hunter meant it in a flattering way. Odd duck was a compliment because ducks are awesome. Just look at Daffy and Donald. They're iconic just like Casey was...in his own way, of course.

Scratching off that mild detour, Hunter laughed off her comment about shit lyrics. He's been there.

Or maybe he still was.

No, don't entertain that thought.

Hunter followed Casey's lead. As the blonde went for his guitar, Hunter went for his. He took a spot close to where Casey was but made sure there was enough room for both of them to examine their axe comfortably. Hunter sat on a stool and opted for the shoulder strap for his guitar. He held it up. Hunter was a lefty, so naturally, he held like so his left arm was draped over and near the strings. He started tuning it up as Casey started to talk about his experience with bad lyrics and Hunter chuckled.

"You're the only one I know actually managed something like that, Case." Hunter grinned at his blonde brother.

Looking back at Rox, Hunter's grin settled into a surprisingly comforting smile. "I think what Case meant by that was we can help ya out. Jam with us and we can totally help you find better lyrics. Or you can do it all by yourself and you can jam with us and figure the second part by yourself. Totally your call, Rox. No hard feelings either way." Hunter said as he strummed the strings of his guitar with his index and middle finger. It really was a bad habit of his.




mood
Let's jam!

location
Music Room

outfit
Casual fit





playing...
Pretty Fly (For A White Guy)
by The Offspring​




mentions
Casey, Rox

interactions
Casey, Rox

tags
Winona Winona , Harrowhark Harrowhark


º º code by ditto º º
 






Ashton West


After party... god, why would they have one of those tonight? And like, sure, normally she would've been down to go to some after party, but right now, all she really wanted to do was get out of this stupid dress, and just... try to forget everything that had happened -- not even just tonight, but over the last couple weeks, where she just... she was just kind of fucking everything up. She just didn't want to feel like everything was crumbling and falling between her fingers like dust.

"If there's an after party," Ash started because like, she hadn't heard about one, and she couldn't really imagine that there would be one. Everyone would be spilling out of the Ball late, and everyone had stupid dates, and stupid dates meant like... well, most people went home with said dates. But hey, maybe she was being like, abnormally pessimistic given her recent issues. "I'm not going. It's probably like... gonna suck."

Yeah, that was definitely the pessimism speaking.

"I'm umm... I'm going home," she stated, as if that weren't already obvious. Ash pushed away from the building, bottle of vodka still dangling from her fingers as she took a couple steps away in the direction of the parking lot. "Oh, and thanks," she held up said bottle of vodka, a vague smile on her face. "I'm taking this with me, so..."

What? This was Ash West and once she had her hands on a bottle of vodka, well... she didn't tend to separate herself from it. Especially when she was feeling as down as she was.

... But then again, this was Ash West, and she did tend to feel some guilt towards talking too much to some guy she didn't even know, and then stealing his vodka just to walk away. So her steps had halted, her bottom lip curling inwards as she chewed on it, and then she let out a sigh.

Like, it wouldn't hurt to ask. It would clear her conscience, and he'd probably say no, and everything would be great.

"And I guess, like... if you wanted to come with you could. Since I am taking your alcohol, and like, I dunno, my roommates are probably going to be doing the same, so..." she shrugged, leaving the offer out there.




mood
.....

location
the Ball

outfit
purple





playing...
Boys Ain't Shit
by saygrace​




mentions
Trevor

interactions
Ryder

tags
a z u l a a z u l a


º º code by ditto º º
 






Simone Gutierrez


(tw. mentions of drugs, use of drugs, and alcohol)

In hindsight, the way that Simone spent her weekend was, at the very least, a mistake.

Now, you might be asking yourself: wait what was a mistake? Oh, the whole God-forsaken weekend. Simone accepted an offer from someone she thought was cool. Or at least wasn't a loser like he ended up being. She couldn't remember his name: Ethan or Colt. He was a white boy, though. One of those types that wore backward baseball caps, tried to act gangsta with their low-hanging chains and jeans, over-sized t-shirts. Pretty much looking like B-Rad from Malibu's Most Wanted.

Yeah, they wish they had Jamie Kennedy's swagger.

Anyway, Ethan Colt...yeah, that was it. Ethan Colt, he was maybe a couple of years older than Simone. He was probably a lot older, but he told Simone that he was twenty. He invited her to a party at his father's house. She wouldn't call him little because everyone was taller compared to Simi, but with how big he talked she expected him to deliver. Like yeah, the party was amazing. It was fully stacked from the people who filled in the space to the party favors and even down to the music. The Fake Slim Shady was probably all talk and nothing else, but one thing she could admit was he knew how to throw a party.

And at this party, Simone got so drunk (and maybe high as fuck because she definitely remembered snorting a few lines for...science, of course), she couldn't remember what happened after a certain point. All she knew for certain was the next morning, as she lifted her head up and stood up, she was in a jail cell.

Since she was eighteen, they didn't have to call anyone.

And they didn't. They weren't even charging her. The only thing they had her on, as she soon found out from the cop sitting at the desk a few feet away from her cell, was disorderly conduct and public urination.

Which thankfully she didn't remember, because holy shit that would have been absolutely amazing to remember.

Now, fast forward a couple of days to Tuesday and Simone was no longer feeling the effects, though her brothers back home in Mexico found out. They were overprotective assholes, but every once in a while there came a moment where they were in awe of their baby sister was wild, which she was feeling mixed about. On one hand, it was refreshing to hear actual praise come from their lips, especially when it was a reaction to something like the weekend she had and, of course, getting arrested. On the other hand, it felt just a little weird that they weren't disappointed and that they actually condoned that kind of behavior from her.

But she wasn't complaining and she'd let them hear her do anything close to that.

All she knew, though, was that she had to find Alex. She hadn't spken to Alex in a few days. While not exactly weird or out of the norm for them, because they sometimes had their days without really speaking, but Simone always left her a text every day. Nothing too major, but just a "hey" or a "what's up". But the last text that Simone sent Alex was on Friday evening. Believe it or not, the model actually felt guilty.

As she spent close to five minutes walking up and down the halls, a thought just came to Simone. Maybe the reason she couldn't find Alex might be that Alex wasn't even at school yet.

Yeah, that might be it--

And, of course, fate loves to test Simone sometimes because there she saw the behind of Alex.

Yeah, it might be a bit odd that she could recognize Alex just from her backside, but Simone paid close attention to those who she truly cared about.

Alex was one of those people.

So with a grin — one of a mischievous nature, at that —Simone tip-toed her way closer and closer to her close friend. She had no idea what was about to happen.

In a single moment, as Simone ducked, she extended her arms and dug her fingers into Alex's sides in a quick motion and tickling her on the spot, shouting "HEY! GOTCHA!" She snickered as she continued despite how she expected Alex to react and might even persist after the fact.




mood
SURPRISE!

location
Hollywood Arts Halls

outfit
Back to it





playing...
Royal
by Dounia​




mentions
Great Value B-Rad, Alex

interactions
Alex

tags
@Soap


º º code by ditto º º
 
MOOD: BOYS

OUTFIT: clothes

LOCATION: da room
basics
MENTIONS:
Hunter, Angel, Nickie

INT:
ditto ditto (Kelli)
tags
TL;DR no
tl;dr
Veronica Crosby
Ronnie's freckled cheeks blushed a rosy red, curling up in a sudden, uncontrollable state of giggling. It felt nice to have her scandalous, romantic exploits really interest at least someone. These days, it finally felt like she was becoming the star of her own story. Like, here's your chance, spread your wings and step into the big leagues! A girl could only dream big in these conditions.

In fact, when Kelli expressed her sympathies for the whole Nickie debacle, Ronnie had to repeat her friend's words in her head twice to discern the meaning. It was sucky for... huh? How was that a bad thing for Ronnie and Hunter? She supposed having a drink thrown on her wouldn't be the nicest of experiences, but it wasn't all that big of a deal. Especially when it's done by a hysterical ex-girlfriend.

Maybe normal people were supposed to be bothered by all of the conflict, but Ronnie thrived off of it in the least toxic fashion she could convince herself of. It can't be that much of a crime to smile at the downfall of your enemies. And if it was, lock her up. Cuff her and jail her, because Ronnie couldn't live in a world where she couldn't bear the fruits of her success. She was only human.

"Come on!" she pressed, hopping off her bed and plopping beside the other girl, "Don't hold out on me." Kelli was red as a beet, waving her hands in a frenzied refutation. Ronnie had stirred something in her, something that had been raging and swirling within as a result of her dubious emotions.

A satisfied smirk crept across her face, which otherwise looked extremely eager and attentive. Kelli's voice was sheepish and reluctant, rising to a hint of unspoken feelings that ultimately shrunk back by the jerk of an iron chain. It was like her brain wasn't agreeing with her tongue, tussling until all the dancer could force out was a depressing amount of enthusing about cookies or something.

"Were his eyes on you or the cookies, honey. Be honest." Why was she so afraid to play into the whimsy fairytale? Whatever was stifling Kelli's self-assurance, it had an grip of steel on her heart.

Oh, but forget all that stuff. Ronnie's jaw dropped, slowly opening up to a huge, enraptured grin. "A condom!" she exclaimed, voice pitchy and positively engrossed in this latest revelation, "Kells, he wanted to...!" A hand slapped onto her mouth, her eyes practically jumping out of her skull. She gave her roommate a shake, quietly laughing with totally believing disbelief. "What more do you need?"

Her eyebrows creased, joining together with a contemplative gaze. "Wait, by friend, did you mean..." She gave a little gasp, then a knowing scoff. "You're those kinds of friends?" Well, color Ronnie impressed!

"Well, never judge a book by its cover," she teased, getting back up to grab her things. She bent over her bed, fixing the sheets until she found her cell phone. She stuck it in her pocket, then went about the room with her daily before-school routine. The musical sophomore peered at Kelli over her shoulder, gripping a sweater. "So do you wanna ask him out? Or do you want him to ask you?" Those were the two options.

Even with the question eventually turned on her, there was little Ronnie could say to avoid her indecision. "I don't know what we are," she admitted frankly, perhaps alarmingly nonchalant, "We do make a good pair though, don't you think?" She looked herself over in the mirror, imagining the tall boy with an arm wrapped around her. "I'm definitely not opposed to being with him, but I'd want our relationship to start off right."

Her vision began to wander to Wonderland again, the air around her filling with sickeningly sweet hearts and disarmingly adorable cherubs. "We're too invested in each other to just rush into things all willy-nilly like N-I-C-K-I-E. Like, we haven't even had a despairing moment in the rain, reaching out and opening each other's hearts just as the clock strikes midnight. Not enough cute dates, hardly any pics... and not one all-is-lost moment!"

Ronnie's steps carried her to her bag for the last time, which found itself jumping up and around the small girl's shoulders. "It's all calculated risks... of love. Like when Angel dropped that condom in front of you. He was sending a big, bright, neon sign." Off in the distance, wedding bells tolled. "And now the ball's in your court." The redhead grabbed the door handle, preparing to make herself scarce.
code by valen t.
 
fucking fuuuuuuuuck fuck
lillian kimura
“Rox could not possible do any better than you. You're a total babe, alright?”

Lillian shrugged. She didn’t think Matt was lying, per se. She just… had reasonable doubt in the validity of what he was saying. Lillian was a big fish in a small pond back in West Covina. Now, her situation was the total opposite. She was starting again. Rox was one of two people Lillian had to tie her down; to remind herself of who she was. If Rox were to disappear, Lillian would be left hanging in the balance.

“Now, I’ve gotta get to class, keep your chin up, okay?” he said, squeezing her shoulder. Lillian forced a smile, knowing he was trying his very hardest to comfort her during what she would describe as a crisis. She didn’t know what brought it on; Rox was an immense source of love and reliance for Lillian – everything a girlfriend should be. This was the big leagues, now though. Crossing your fingers and half-assing your way through wasn’t going to cut it anymore, meaning Lillian would have to work to keep Rox as interested in her as she was in Rox.

Matt disappeared down the hallway. Lillian closed her locker and took another glance at her schedule. Cross-department project? But she thought she had…

“Oh, fuck!”

Lillian turned on her heels, practically throwing herself down the hallway as she raced across campus. Math was next period on Monday. Today, to her surprise, was in fact Tuesday.

This meant Lillian was momentarily supposed to be in attendance of a school-wide project featuring a number of models, musicians, artists and fuck if she knew who else. The auditorium was back in the main building she had entered through. Fuck this school, she thought, making me run on the first day. That was the thing with Lillian, she had this ferocious and urgent energy that made taking notice often impossible. Details and information regularly went unprocessed because Lillian just moved too fast to notice them.

She arrived at the auditorium and burst inside. To her surprise, only one other person could be seen in the room.

“Jesus,” she cursed, one hand on her chest as she panted heavily, making her way down the aisle. On the edge of the stage sat a brown, curly haired girl. The whites around her chocolate irises were glazed and red, much to Lillian’s excitement.

“Hi, I’m Lillian –“ she said, panting again. “Sorry – I just ran here. Basically.” She paused again, attempting to compose herself. “You’re stoned, huh? I wish I could say the same. Couldn’t find my papers this morning.” She sighed, leaning on the stage next to the mysterious other girl, playing it cool. “So, what’s your name?”


coded by reveriee.
 






Zeph Evermore


You would assume after his rather disastrous encounter with a certain tiny angry man in the bathroom, Zeph would've learned to keep to himself -- not that the tall sophomore had ever been the type to go out of his way to pick a fight or piss others off. Rather, he preferred to stay where he felt that he was just now, which was away from the scrutiny of others and just living his own life. Not having others really bother with him.

Perhaps it was this reason, this general invisibility that he felt he held (despite his rather intimidating, unable to ignore stature -- after all, he was tall and he was fairly built, although anyone who knew him would also know that there was nothing behind the intimidating stature), that had caused him to not tug his gaze away from Javier Cervantes. Like everyone, he knew of the boy's angry tendencies, so it would've made sense for him to duck behind his locker. Hide his face from view, fingers crossed that the temperamental dealer would continue on without turning his rage onto Zeph.

Instead, unfortunately, Javi came charging up to Zeph. The rather surprised sophomore didn't really know what to say, his lips parted but no words coming out as there was a barrage of questions and accusations tossed against him. And even if Zeph was forced to look down upon the shorter junior, he certainly felt like the one gazing up at the intimidating figure at this moment. There was a numbness to his fingers, a certain panic in the back of his throat.

After all, deescalating situations hadn't exactly proven to be his forte.

"Does everyone here just think I'm a fucking lunatic? I don't even know you!" Javier continued, his harsh words just causing Zeph's deer in the headlights look to increase tenfold. His eyes were wide, his eyebrows raised, and he kind of just shrugged helplessly, a confused look on his face.

Clearly the guy was having a bad day, and Zeph had just so happened to be wrong place wrong time... well, and he'd happened to stare a little too long in the incorrect direction.

"What are they saying about me now, huh? Tell me," Javi snapped, and he brought his face closer to Zeph's so that the taller boy could practically smell the scent of his breath (gross) and see every angry crease in the boy's face.

"No-nothing," Zeph started, his words stumbling and tripping over themselves for different reasons than, say, a certain boy associated with the color yellow that this rper also had. Instead, his words were stumbling and tripping not because he was nervous, but simply because he didn't know what to say. Staring at Javi had had nothing to do with what others had said, and simply him wondering questions that really, the boy before him probably had no answer to.

"I... I just... you see, I'm like... I'm friends with ah... with Lin," probably not the correct thing to say at this moment, but the harsh fire that burned between Javi and Lin was something that Zeph was blissfully unaware of, "I just-- and your brother, Angel? Yeah, Angel, I ah... I know him, but he... I dunno, him and Lin got issues, and I was just... I saw you and I just... I was thinking about that -- about those issues, about how Lin was all... was all grr and knocked some bubbles over when he was talking with Angel, and I just-- ... just, nothing really about you."

His stuttering words were hindering with a certain that felt apologetic, although apologetic for what was beyond Zeph. Because he felt some touch of guilt for drawing the boy's attention? For making him think that, what, Zeph was judging him or had heard some harsh rumors about him?

Zeph didn't even really know him.




mood
chill

location
the bathroom

outfit
clothes





playing...
Uh Oh
by Junior Doctor​




mentions
N/A

interactions
Javi

tags
hery hery


º º code by ditto º º
 






Anastasia Perova



Disaster. A word often reserved for such catastrophic events as hurricanes, tornadoes, and earthquakes. It would not often be attributed to the life of a teenage high school student. Anastasia, however, would claim that the events that transpired at the mall were just that. Catastrophic.

It was always Jace. Jace was her permanent natural disaster. Well, hopefully that was no longer true. Still the damage was done, and she had to turn off her phone just to avoid every buzz her phone made about an article, or comment, or tag or POST OR SOMETHING that included her name reporting on the display Jace had brought on at the ball.

It was her fault. She admitted. She admitted several times not just to others, but herself too. She wasn’t sure what possessed her to kiss him. Perhaps some sliver hope that he would magically not be gay anymore?

It was the drugs.

It had to be the drugs, right? To make her brave enough to attempt such a hopeless mission as the one she embarked on.

Though she’d take Jace cussing her out in front of the public over the hour-long verbal beating that she took from her father. She had never heard him so mad at her before, and he’s had plenty of reasons to be mad. She was sure he had said words she didn’t know existed in Russian along with cursing in four different languages.

Even Uncle Mikhail hadn’t been pleased with what went down and that was every indication she needed to know that she had made a mistake. You know the solution to that mistake? Drugs.

Every day since that evening, she took any type of drug she could get her hands on. Cannabis, coke, opiates, molly, it didn’t matter what it was. If it would disconnect her from her reality even if it was just for a few moments, she would take it.

This morning was no different as she rose from her bed like a zombie who had just reanimated from the dead. Her head throbbed causing her to put her dominant (right) hand to her temple as she tried to get her wits about her. What day was it?

“Right…” came the Russian from her mouth, but it really came out as an inaudible gargle of nonsensical sounds. More akin to baby speak than anything.

She didn’t know what day it was, or even if it was morning or nighttime, all she knew was that she had woken up and was crashing hard. The only way to fix this? More drugs. Obvious answer. So she reached over to her night stand and grabbed one of her prescription bottles that weren’t prescribed to her, and threw back three pills of she didn’t even know what.

It took a moment but eventually she was able to get to her feet and get ready for the…what day was it? She glanced over to her phone and groaned. Okay. It was a school day. So she was right to assume to continue to get ready. She stopped for a second and looked back to her phone and the reminder that it was a project she was supposed to be apart of.

It was a quick bit to get ready and she was dressed and in the uber luxe on her way to class. She got out a few blocks before the school, and decided she would take an edible and more pills. Maybe that was too much?

Maybe it really was because she didn’t remember the rest of the walk she just knew someone has spoken and woken her out of her stupor.

Hi, I’m Lillian –

That name sounded familiar. Oh. The project, right.

Sorry – I just ran here. Basically.

You’re stoned, huh? I wish I could say the same. Couldn’t find my papers this morning.

She took a moment to process what she was saying before she reached into her purse and held up another edible. She took a deep breath before chuckling, ”If you still want to…”

So, what’s your name?

“Anastasia Ilyanovna Unzha- ….excuse me…Anastasia Mikhailnovna Perova,” she mentioned rolling her eyes a bit because it was hard to tell when she was supposed to use which name, “But most people call me Stassi. So Stassi is preferred. Nice to meet you. Officially, I guess.”








playing...
Pink Moon

by Pink Sweats




Outfit




dear.szmm dear.szmm


º º code by ditto º º
 
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