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

[Winona]

Zephyr Evermore
"Cheer up! 'Cause nothing really matters."

@zeph.evermore has set their status to:
hypeee

@zeph.evermore has interacted with:
Lin

@zeph.evermore has mentioned:
N/A

@zeph.evermore has tagged:
ditto ​

Zeph didn't know who in the heck Pricky was, but he certainly didn't want to be like this Pricky fella. He wanted to be... cool and carefree. Both things that the sophomore hadn't been since, uhh... well, a really long time. Maybe elementary school. Yeah, probably then, back before... his mom got sick and Zeph had to step up as the eldest kid. He'd been more carefree then, kind of stupid. Definitely broke his arm one time because he tried to climb too high in a tree.

But Zeph knew that he sure as hell didn't want to be like that. He was in LA now -- thousands of miles away from his home and away from his siblings. Zeph knew that he needed to just... stop acting like he was still their big brother.

Well.

He was still their big brother, obviously, but he needed to stop acting like he had to be totally responsible because of them.

Well, he still needed to be responsible, but you get the gist. He didn't have to eat super healthy meals, or turn in by ten o'clock, or avoid drinking or partying because it would be a bad influence on his little sisters. Zeph was free from all of that here.

Just... go with the... flow... he could do that.

"Alright, alright, sorry, man," he said with a little chuckle -- apologizing for the surplus of questions, mind you. Go with the flow, alright, yeah. What did go with the flow type of people do...?

Right, they hung upside from bannisters. That's what they did.

“I dunno what we’re gonna fight with— we could fight with anything, man.” Lin gasped. “Ooh, ooh! And we could fight out at my pool.” He pointed toward his right and Zeph's gaze followed, but he didn't see any pool out there. “Out back, luhmao. Could play chicken, but it’s just the two of us, luhmaooooo— sounds fun as hell. Loser has to walk the plank, luhmao.”

Zeph wanted to ask a couple important questions following this.

How would you lose a game of chicken in a one-on-one match?

I don't see a pool? Hahaha.

But that wasn't what he was supposed to do now -- Lin had said go with the flow. Cool guys just... went with the flow. Cool guys just... didn't ask questions. So Zeph swallowed the worry and the fear that he was experiencing and instead just laughed and nodded his head. Hey, maybe there was a kiddie pool out there! Kiddie pools seemed... perfect... for two high schoolers to sword fight to the death in.

Cool guys also obviously didn't wait for their popcorn to cool down, so he grabbed out a few of the popped kernels and tossed them into his mouth.

"Like walk the plank off the diving board?" He asked, his voice slightly muffled as he chewed and swallowed the popcorn before continuing. "Your hat's perfect for that." Zeph added, pointing towards the shark hat his friend wore. "Act like you're being eaten to death when I make you walk off the plank."

Zeph watched as Lin grabbed the other bag of popcorn, wincing in sympathy when Lin hit his hand on the microwave door.

Lin returned to the counter by Zeph and then he was off again -- his mouth moving a million miles a minute, listing off shit that they could do today. Zeph's head was kind of spinning trying to keep up, but he smiled and nodded his head in agreement, offering a little "yeah" here and there to make it seem like he knew what the hell his friend was talking about. Not that he didn't, of course, just that he was having trouble keeping up.

He ate a few more bites of the popcorn while his friend spoke, a grin spreading across his face. "The bubble juice of our enemies," -- well that didn't make much sense, but alas -- "dude, that would be freaking cool. Imagine sword fighting and there's just bubbles everywhere. We should get one of those bubble machines! I bet Mitsubishi would love the bubbles and shit."

“Luhmaooo, bro, bro, bro— wanna rob the store?” Lin asked.

There he went again with the jokes about robbing the store and shit. Hilarious.

"Hell yeah, bro." Zeph replied with a chuckle. He didn't really understand why Lin always joked about robbing shit, but he could... kind of see the joke. "Shove some of those bubble wands up our shirts and walk out. No one would know."

He laughed, grabbing some more of the popcorn. "Wanna go now? Go rob that store?"

º º code by ditto º º

 

[ditto]

[

oh, ain't it lovely, ain't it sweet
to be staring at my feet, when i see you on the street

M O O D : friends!

O U T F I T : cute

L O C A T I O N : dani's (and cole's) apartment

M E N T I O N S : cole, kian

I N T E R A C T I O N S : dani

T A G S : @sunshineysoul

​

Kelli bounced her heel against the carpet. It was a nervous habit, like twirling her ring and sucking her upper lip in to nibble on it, both of which she was also doing now.

She was antsy— but…the good kind! She was here, talking with a pretty girl in a pretty girl’s room, and this pretty girl wanted to be her friend— or, well, she wanted to, at least, spend time with her. Or…well, she wanted to, at least, help her with her project, which had to mean something good, right? People didn’t help people who they didn’t like or want to like.

Except Kelli. Kelli did that…

Was Dani the same way?

She was overthinking it, she knew. It was a small thing, and it wasn’t even really like…

Nope, nope, nope! Positive thoughts! Optimism! That was Kelli’s middle name.

(Actually, it was Nadia. Shhh.)

“Texas?” Kelli repeated, smiling. “Dope! I wish I was from some dope place like that.” Not that her hometown wasn’t dope enough, but it wasn’t as dope as the mystical Texas. Kelli didn’t really know where exactly that was besides not California and in the South, because she was really bad with geography, but it was still dope!

She also hadn’t been out of California.

Wait! That wasn’t true. She went to a museum in Nevada once for a field trip. That was dope, too.

See? Her point remained.

“Ooh, a ranch?” she asked, her brows raising in awe. “With cows and horses and stuff? Dope! So you’re a bonafide cowgirl? Do you have one of those ten-gallon hats and stuff, too?” She held two hands straight up, miming the shape of a cowgirl hat. “One of these?”

Dani continued, talking about her brother, and Kelli laughed slightly.

Wasn’t that dope? They were both new(-ish) sophomore girls with big music bros. How ironic—

No! Coincidental! Aha! That was right. She knew her correct grammar terms.

(If it wasn’t obvious by now, she didn’t have the best grades, but she tried her hardest.)

When Dani mentioned her mother, Kelli’s smile faltered, her brows knitting together in concern. She reached her hand out to place it comfortingly on Dani’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Dani…,” she said, her soft voice even softer. She tried to give a reassuring smile. “Hey! You’re here now, yeah! I know you’re an amazing dancer— I have that gut feeling, and I have psychic guts of steel.” She gave a sure nod.

(She had a really weak stomach, but hey! Shhh…)

“Speaking of…,” she said, moving to change the subject to get the air all excited again rather than all down and out, “…how do you…start with this whole routine thingy? Are there…guidelines or anything, or is it just whatever you feel like, or…?”

kellian phelan

º º code by ditto º º

 

[mogy]

Oates Oates
" podcasts, amirite? "

@bigO has set their status to:
i can help you

@bigO has set their outfit to:
oversized shirt and shorts

@bigO has set their location to:
oates' apartment

@bigO has interacted with:
callum

mogy has mentioned:
hery

The periodically interrupted sound of the tap running in the bathroom soon became the only sound that could be heard in the apartment if one was to ignore the background noise of the A/C. Oates was almost done with getting all of the makeup off his face, and the white water which flowed into the drain with time became only slightly tarnished. It hadn't been long before Oates turned off the tap and searched for a towel with his hands. It was only when his face was buried in the towel, and his eyes weren't overwhelmed with light, that the boy noticed the calm around him. The silence of the apartment was eerie, but like most disconsolate things, something Oates grew accustomed to because of Callum. His mind wandered again, and he found himself thinking about how it would feel like to fall asleep next to Callum once again.

"If you want to use the bathroom now, I have a spare toothbrush and floss because you obviously didn't know you would end up at the apartment, but--" Oates' sentence came to an abrupt stop at the sight before him—Callum fast asleep, mumbling something only audible to him, his costume thrown on the floor next to the bed. Oates put down a red bucket next to the bed and quietly walked to the maid costume, which he then carefully placed onto the empty side of the bed next to the sleeping boy. It was weird seeing Callum falling asleep before Oates. In any of the scenarios that went through Oates's head as his mind wandered previously, the two just lied in bed until one of them—undoubtedly always Oates—fell asleep...

But, this didn't mean much, only that it was Oates' time to go to bed as well. Leaving the bedroom, Oates left the door ajar in case drunk Callum woke up and needed his assistance for something in the middle of the night.

Taking off his own costume, Oates was too tired to take a shower, but it didn't matter as he had more than enough time to do so the next day. Slipping into bed, all that was left for Oates to do was to stare up at the wall and listen to the ordinary sounds around him. Thinking about it, this was how Callum felt every night, and however peaceful it felt, Oates could see why the boy was tired of it and tired in general. But how could Oates have helped? He wanted to. He really did, but if he only knew how to.

He thought that maybe being friends would help, that it would bring the best of both worlds for the both of them, but it was clear enough that had not been the case as through Callum's veins now flowed alcohol just as much as blood.

But being in a relationship was different, and Callum never got as drunk as he did; he never had episodes like this; he seemed more Callum when he was with Oates—in a relationship—than he did when the two were left to be merely friends.

If the roles were reversed, would Callum even try to help? Would the boy spend his time lying in bed trying to figure out how to make the situation work for the two of them? But, then again, did it even matter? Because every time Callum wasn't there for Oates, Oates was there for Callum, and if he wanted to help, he would continue to be there.

Though Oates thought about a lot of other things, his mind would eventually find itself shifting back to Callum, and every time it did, he was reminded of the sheer amount of pain that was burdening his ex. And that he couldn't help him if they were just friends.

Was giving it another shot that bad of an idea? This time could really be different. Callum could get better and the two of them could finally be happy together. They could go out on dates and dance together again. They could fall asleep at the same time and wake up as such.

It felt almost impossible, but it was a nice thought to end a night on, and so, Oates was off to dreamland, joining Callum in search of happiness.

---​

Sunrays landed on Oates's face and though outside was cold, they were warm and annoying enough to wake the curly-haired boy up. The clock showed a time that suggested Oates didn't get as much sleep as he usually did, but it would do.

His large gray shirt was comfortable enough to sleep in, but it wasn't really something the boy would let people see him in, but then again, he wasn't expecting Callum to have been sitting at the kitchen table that early in the morning.

"Good morning..." He rubbed his eyes. "You sleep alright?"

º º code by dildo º º

 

[ditto]

[

TAKE ME TO YOUR BEST FRIEND'S HOUSE
ROLL AROUND THIS ROUNDABOUT, OH YEAH

M O O D : lmaoooooo fuck yeah lets rob a store

O U T F I T : spot the drip lmao

L O C A T I O N : his condo

M E N T I O N S : n/a

I N T E R A C T I O N S : zephyyyyy

T A G S : Winona

​

Lindsay Morgan Kay had a reputation.

Luhmao, that sounded so serious, luhmaoooo.

Okay, luhmao, not one of those everyone’s scared of me so I gotta keep punching everyone to keep that up or my family is rich and bougie, and now I gotta be a big ol’ pompous asshole so I don’t let ‘em down or whatever kinda reputations. Nah, Lin wasn’t a guy with one of those typical, cliché kinda reputations. Those were blegh. All bland and boring. You talked to someone with one of those kinds of reputations and you fell asleep every time. People with those kinds of reputations had sticks up their asses the height and length of a telephone pole, luhmao. You just didn’t talk to those kinda guys.

Nah, Lindsay had a reputation, but it was a reputation all his own— a repukaytion, if you would, luhmaooo—

Lin had a reputation for doing whatever the hell he wanted to do.

Or whatever the hell anyone else wanted him to do— for the right price, luhmao.

It was his thing— his schtick, luhmao.

Pfft, sure it had gotten his license suspended, but so? Luhmao, half of the thrill was the risk of getting caught.

The other half was the looks that he got when he did it— or, ya know, the lack of looks, depending on what it was.

So, Zeph’s response? It was fucking music to his ears.

“Hell yeah, bro. Shove some of those bubble wands up our shirts and walk out. No one would know.”

Lin cackled happily at Zeph’s response, grinning widely as he shoved another handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Hell yeah! You get the idea, you get the idea— sounds hella fun, eh?” He laughed again, shoving more popcorn in his mouth. Thanks to the lack of sugar in his system, Lin wasn’t bouncing off the walls or anything, luhmao, but this? Oh, this got him fucking rearing to go, luhmao.

“Wanna go now?” Zephy asked. “Go rob that store?”

Lin’s eyes lit up with the impish flame of what most people would call a dumb as fuck idea.

The way that Zeph was laughing and eating his popcorn, he probably thought that this was a joke, but, luhmaooo.

The clueless ones always made funner accomplices, luhmao.

“You ever done it before?” Lin asked, knowing the answer. Pfft, Zephy, even though he was hella cool, wasn’t anywhere near Lindsay’s level, so of course he hadn’t.

Lin shoved a last handful of popcorn into his mouth and crumpled up the bag, then ripped open the last bag and shoved his hand in it.

He patted Zeph on the back with his free, kinda buttery hand, grinning at him. “It’s alright, luhmao. I’ll show the ropes— ’s long as ya remember one thing, bro.”

Lin gave Zeph a squeeze and a wiggle with his arm, tugging him down to be eye level.

The mischievous gleam in Lin’s eyes shown brightly as he said his next words: “You’re taking the fall for this if we get caught, luhmao. No kidding, luhmao.”

Duh. Zeph had to cover his ass. It was standard procedure, luhmao.

He laughed, dropping his arm and stepping away from him. “It isn’t all that hard,” Lin said. “I do it all the time, luhmao— it’s hella fun, though.” He picked up the empty bag, crumpling it and grinning at the trash can.

He made another basketball shot. “Yee—“

It missed.

He huffed.

Stupid fucking bag, ess-em-aych.

His dog threw his aim off.

He waved his hand dismissively, chuckling as he went to pick up the bag and toss it in the trashcan.

He looked back at Zeph with a grin, wiggling his butt as he ate another big handful of his current bag. “Bro, finish your popcorn— hurry, hurry, hurry.” He turned around, bending over and twerking a couple of beats to an “nnts, nnts, nnts” (supplied by himself) with his butt to Zeph before spinning back around and laughing happily, then putting a peace sign around his left eye and holding the pose for a moment before shoving that hand in the popcorn bag. “We got a dollar store to debut at, luhmao.”

He grinned at him. “Like Bonnie and Clyde, but without the lame ass names and the death thing, and with Lindsay Kay.” He wiggled a shaka, brah hand at Zeph, laughing happily. “Hella cool, luhmao— the fucking coolest.”

Ya know, except for Lin and Charlie, but Zeph didn’t have to know that, luhmao.

After taking about thirty seconds to devour the rest of his popcorn like the absolute fucking beast he was, Lin tossed the bag into the trash can beside him— without doing a shoot, because he didn’t wanna be rudely interrupted again, ess-em-aych, and not because he couldn’t do it, ‘cuz he had done it and you had all seen it, ess-em-aych— and looked over at Zeph, dusting his hand off.

With a wide grin, Lin lowered his brows, looking at Zeph with that rascally look in his eyes, his next words containing a mildly-dark-but-mostly-fucking-hype undertone:

“Ready to go be the best damn burglars the world has ever fuckin’ seen, Sir Zephaniah Schmephaniah the Seventeen? Or are you too pussy?”

LINDSAY MORGAN KAY

º º code by ditto º º

 

[Winona]

Ashton West
"I heard that you've been having some trouble finding your place in the world."

@Fire&Ash has set their status to:
okay

@Fire&Ash has interacted with:
Trevor

@Fire&Ash has mentioned:
N/A

@Fire&Ash has tagged:
ditto ​

She could... like, she felt herself relax now.

Kind of. Mostly.

Look this had gone a lot better than she had originally expected it to. Ash had braced herself for more yelling, for Trevor to tell her to... what... fuck off again? And this time, she probably would've -- this wasn't her home, so fucking off was a lot easier here.

And then he was promising that it wouldn't happen again. That... whatever last night had been had simply been a fluke, and she let out a small breath of relief -- because yeah, she fully believed him. Look, he was promising her that he was going to try to be better, and that this wasn't going to happen again, and that he wanted to last longer than a couple of weeks. And Ash, naturally, believed everything he said.

It was kind of one of her flaws -- Ash tended to see the best in everyone and take what they said at face value. Like sure, somewhere deep inside, there was probably a little whisper of doubt at what he was saying, but her need to believe everything he said so that she could keep sitting on this couch beside him was stronger than any shadow of a doubt. Because if her doubts were realized, well...

There would be a good chance that she would stand up from this couch, flip him off, and walk out.

... Well not really because this was Ash, and she would feel waves of guilt from doing something like that for weeks afterwards, but you get the drift.

He held his hand out and her lips cracked again into a faint smile, but this time it actually held instead of just falling away. She reached out, lacing her fingers through his before she scooted closer to him.

“I…are you okay? I mean…ya probably didn’t want to come here, I…” He lifted his other hand to rub his neck, chuckling ashamedly. “I should’ve asked you if ya wanted to come before I told you ta come…I…uh…well, I was a bit preoccupied.”

No, she wasn't okay. But like... she wasn't necessarily super un-okay, and sure, they'd just promised to talk to each other more or whatever but... she wasn't... that un-okay. So like, that meant that her issues weren't important -- duh -- and clearly Trevor was more not okay than she was, so it would be bitchy of her to start lamenting about her own issues. Especially on his birthday.

"Yeah, I'm okay." She responded simply.

And hey, it wasn't really a lie. Technically speaking, she was okay. Like... she wasn't... dying... so she was okay, right? Yeah. Yeah that made sense to her.

“I didn’t mean for you ta have ta spend yer day…spendin' time wit’ me when ya could be enjoyin’ it,” he continued. “I’d love ta spend time wit’ ya. Honestly, we don’t get ta do it enough, ya know. I mean, a week in, and we’ve only hung out— really hung out, ya know, like…twice, not countin’ tha fair, an’ even then…I jus’…like ta spend time wit’ ya. Hangin’ out wit’ ya after school on Wednesday was fun, an’… Well, I jus’ like ta spend time wit’ ya.”

Her heart beat a little faster in her chest. A faint blush crept onto her cheeks. It was just... nice to hear. Like, that he enjoyed spending time with her or whatever. Of course she like... kind of knew he did -- or at least figured he did, but there was still always some hidden worry that he just didn't -- so hearing that squashed those feelings for the time being.

“But, uh, if ya don’t wanna be here, you can…leave or somethin’. I…I want you ta stay when ya don’t want to. It wouldn’t…ruin my day, if that’s not what ya wanna do.”

He looked pitiful when he finished speaking and as he waited for her response.

Instead of answering right away, Ash reached up with her free hand to touch his cheek, and then she leaned in and gently pressed her lips against his. After a moment, she pulled away, her hand dropping away from his face, a smile on her lips.

"Yeah, I want to stay here with you," she said with a small laugh. "I mean, it's your birthday and like... I don't want you spending your birthday alone. And like, even if it wasn't your birthday, I'd still want to be here with you." Look, she wanted to make sure that Trevor didn't think she was staying just because it was his birthday. "I like spending time with you, too, and we just... never have time."

Because of the whole secret relationship thing that she'd so dumbly suggested. The conversation with Dorian had just... really made her regret ever suggesting that. Ash had really hurt him because of the whole thing, and she just didn't want to hurt Trevor in the same way. Or at all. Trevor was sweet, and the last thing she wanted to do was for this to end in the same way for the same reasons.

Ash wanted this to last longer than a couple weeks, too, although she didn't voice that. She figured that was just something he would know -- after all, who really got into a relationship that they didn't intend to be in for as long as possible?

Plus, with the Arts Festival rapidly approaching, well... Ash was going to be busy with practice which meant even less time to hangout with Trevor later. So today? She'd gladly dedicate her entire day to him.

"I wanted to come over, Trevor," she repeated just in case he still didn't believe her. "And do... like... whatever you want to do for your birthday."

º º code by ditto º º

 

[Winona]

Adriane Holloway
"I want to live, not merely survive."

@omg_adriane has set their status to:
tension sucks

@omg_adriane has interacted with:
Corey, Maddie, Gus

@omg_adriane has mentioned:
Landon

@omg_adriane has tagged:
jasmyn @Wayward Son @sunshineysoul​

She started to reply to Maddie -- to reiterate her absolutely not to the pancakes when she heard movement behind them. Adriane turned her head to see Gus walking over. She watched as he came over, leaning against the wall near her.

"Morning," she echoed back to him, her voice colder than normal -- which was saying something when Adriane was basically the ice queen. She plucked the last remaining coffee from the carrier and handed it out to Gus. "Your usual. You're welcome."

Gus looked like hell, but Adriane decided not to tell him that -- because she was clearly such an amazing friend. Instead, she kept the fact that he looked as if a bus had hit him and then backed over him three times to herself. She kept to herself how embarrassing it was to end up on your ex-girlfriend's couch because she thought you were too drunk to be left home alone.

Maddie was too kind for her own good clearly.

This was why Adriane didn't date.

This, and to avoid awkward situations like the one she currently found herself in -- aka, Corey sitting to her side. They were both trying to ignore each other and for Adriane, it was starting to work. Corey was totally out of sight, out of mind, so to speak. If she just didn't look over at him, she wouldn't think about anything from the past. Plus it wasn't like she really felt bad about anything that happened.

High school relationships never worked out in the long run. There was too much change and growth to really consider them worth a sliver of her time. Dating Corey had been a mistake -- and not because there was anything wrong with him, but because it had distracted from Adriane's goals in life. The whole modeling dream that she had when she first came to LA as a starry-eyed freshman.

Now with Gus awake, Adriane was ready to suggest that they leave -- get started on their day. Leave Corey and Maddie to their own, and the two of them could go off on their own way, and she could pretend none of this had happened.

But Corey spoke up, suggesting that Gus stay and eat something.

Adriane closed her eyes. The typically calm and collected girl let out a breathy exhale through her nose.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Oh yeah, he was insufferably fucking nice.

Dick head.

"Well I'm not eating," Adriane repeated shortly. "Pancakes have too many carbs and bacon is just straight strips of fat. But..." she hesitated, sucking in a deep breath to steady her nerves, and she really couldn't believe that she was saying something like this and expanding on the torture and allowing the tension in the room to increase tenfold, "Corey is... right, Gus." She wanted to puke to admit that.

Adriane turned her pale gaze on him. "You should eat something," she reiterated Corey's suggestion. "It'll help with your hangover."

º º code by ditto º º

 

[hery]

MOOD: cool. collected. callum. cucumber.

OUTFIT: jammies

LOCATION: oates' apartment

basics

MENTIONS:
n/a
INT:
mogy (Oates)

tags

TL;DR no

tl;dr

Callum Richards

Callum's eyes lazily lifted themselves open, restrained by invisible weights tied to his eyelashes. After the initial push to open his eyes all the way, it became much easier to gradually wake himself up and get accustomed to the light in the room. After years of insomnia, Callum's eyes had grown far more comfortable in the pitch dark, or at least his brain enjoyed it more. In the hours just preceding dawn, Callum found the dim light shining through the window to be a pain and a nuisance.

To protest these soft, largely unwelcome beams of light, the pale boy stretched and hauled himself out of bed. Despite still getting an insufficient amount of sleep, it was enough for Callum to know that not only was his sleep interrupted, but he could hardly recall any strange dreams. Regardless of the actuality of their arrival to Oates' place being only a few hours ago, he felt unnaturally refreshed. It was almost as if moving his muscles didn't take the strenuous labor it typically did when he was wide awake, although that section of his consciousness had yet to be fully brought to life in the sparse moments of alertness brought upon him.

He was groggy, but the fog in his brain was the least of his problems. It felt like a hammer was going down on his brain, causing his head to throb painfully. At every strike, more and more of last night's thoughts escaped Callum's brain until he was left with an array of scattered puzzle pieces urging him to say something to Oates. Whatever Oates wanted to hear was beyond Callum, but perhaps it was his punishment from the past two years to be left so utterly clueless.

Keeping these thoughts in mind, Callum trudged out of the room in his pajamas, grabbing his half-charged phone on his way out. Finally feeling the effects of his poor nutrition, he swung open the refrigerator door and rooted through Oates' food, specifically dodging the leftovers mentioned last night. Instead, his hand greedily darted straight for a bag of celery, then closed the refrigerator behind it.

With a yawn, the very, very hungover boy seated himself at the table and began idly munching on the green stalk, nibbling with the same small bites as an adult squirrel. He scrolled through his texts as he ate, allowing the time to pass as he recharged both his social and intellectual batteries. What did all that last night mean? Callum had a pretty decent memory of what had gone on and there was only one glaring question persistently on his mind:

Was that the real Callum?

Was he really that sad and desperate not to be alone? It goes without saying that Callum was a largely antisocial individual, yet there always seemed to be a multitude of mental hoops he had to jump through to rationalize just why he was so attached to his ex-boyfriend. Whether it was the kindness he'd shown time and time again or the unconditional appreciation and attention he received, he couldn't say. It wasn't as though he was inclined to ever acknowledge or reciprocate it in any way, so... why did he think like that?

Without needing to process a logical answer, Callum knew all of those feelings he'd poured onto Seb were very real. The words, undoubtedly an incoherent mess, may not have reflected exactly how he felt, but the desperation and loneliness in his slurred voice spoke leagues more than any formalized speech ever could have.

He spent hours ruminating on this topic until the sun peeked higher and higher, eventually enough to rouse Oates Oates, who seemed to sleep like a baby in all respects. Callum swears he caught the rosy-cheeked boy sucking his thumb in his sleep at least once before, but then again the lanky boy was always turned over facing the wall when the they were in bed together. It wouldn't have surprised him to catch his ex partaking in such a harmless, innocent little gesture, even if the boy was far wiser beyond his years. At least, he was in Callum's sunken, blue eyes.

"Hey," he greeted the boy, immediately looking up while suppressing his natural instinct to eye him both eagerly and intensely, "I'm fine. You didn't get your nine hours. You must be exhausted." His tone was laced with irony, considering they both knew how little Callum cared and how hypocritical of a statement that was.

"Come sit," he commanded, gesturing to the seat across from him. He finished the last bite of his celery stalk, the crunch of his food resounding throughout the otherwise silent kitchen. "I need to apologize for last night. Among other things." His voice was cold and monotone, but softer than usual, lacking the trademark edge to every word he said. "And then I'll get out of your hair. I know you; you've got things to do this weekend, I'm sure."

His hands joined together, folded neatly within one another on the table in front of him. He made a point not to break eye contact with Oates, his gaze still subdued but firm. "Before I start, tell me what you think happened while we were apart. And why. I'm sure Jace told you something."

His gaze hardened, and his body stiffened a bit. "Be honest."

code by valen t.

 

[Winona]

Damien Slater
"When you see my face, hope it gives you hell."

@damien.slayter has set their status to:
drugs and friends -- perfect day

@damien.slayter has interacted with:
Felix, Javi

@damien.slayter has mentioned:
N/A

@damien.slayter has tagged:
ditto hery ​

With drugs now securely in his pocket, Slater was more or less done with this conversation. He was ready for whatever came next which, on his agenda for the day, happened to be a fucking RAVE with that hot Josie chick for her birthday or something. Sure, she'd invited him when she was clearly too drunk to make actual decisions, but that wasn't going to keep Damien from showing up.

He probably needed to bring her a gift or some shit, though... what did girls like? Shiny shit, right?

Well... the drugs in his pocket would just have to suffice. Sure, Slater threw his cash around for the dumbest of shit, but he wasn't about to waste his money on some chick he'd never even met. Yeah... he spent his cash freely, but only on himself.

“Right,” Felix agreed with Javi who had definitely bought Damien's story. “Slater’s stretchin' the story a bit, but…he’s a family friend, yeah, and it just kinda came from there. Ain’t no shame in that,” he continued, “though he seems to be a lil’ bit embarrassed by it, since he’s excusin' it as wardin' off my bullies, heh.”

He met Felix's gaze, narrowing his eyes in a dark glare. How dare his friend not support the tale that he'd so expertly crafted. Some friend he was...

Granted, "friend" was a strong word. Damien considered his relationship to Felix to be less friendship and more just... general acquaintanceship between a dealer and his client. Of course, he'd expect a little more loyalty out of the little twerp (yes, Slater was in fact referring to the guy that was two inches taller than him, in the same grade, and the same age as him as being undoubtedly younger).

For the most part, Slater kind of spaced out -- more from being mad at Felix for outing his lie like that and less from just being bored. Look, he didn't understand why they were still talking. He gave Javi the money, Javi gave Slater the drugs. They should be done.

Slater probably could've just walked away. Said same time next week and gone on his merry way and left Felix there to his own devices. It wasn't like Felix was a total washup and unable to fend for himself, after all, and it wasn't like Javi was a serious threat. The guy had the energy of a dumbass jock -- which meant that sure, he could probably throw a punch, but just a few harsh words and he'd be crying.

Damien didn't really start paying attention to the conversation again until--

“I’m your competition. It’s nice ta meetcha.”

His head snapped back to look at Felix, his gaze incredulous for a moment before fading back into a vacant look. How fucking dumb was his friend? Why in the fuck would he tell someone he'd just met that shit? "Oh, hi, how ya doin'? Yeah I also deal drugs."

If Javi tried to take his competition out right there, Damien was going to become very interested in the carvings on that tree next to him.

Felix threw his arm around Slater, and Slater glared at him.

“Slater here knows that I play fair— I’m not one to play dirty or nothin’.” He grinned over at Damien again and Damien considered just smacking him in the face right then and there, but Felix turned back to Javi before he could. Bummer. “Stay in your lane, and you and I should have no qualms, bud.”

"But if you don't stay in your lane, ya know..." Damien brought a finger up to his throat and made a line across it. You know, in one of those you're dead types of motions. "Ever heard of Ben Palmer? He used to sell a ton of shit around here, until he crossed Felix and, well..." Slater grimaced, giving a slight shake of his head, his expression one of sorrow for the death of a fake man. "Poor Palmer."

º º code by ditto º º

 

[Winona]

Ava Sanders
"Life is for keeping score."

@queenofhell has set their status to:
ugh

@queenofhell has interacted with:
Alex

@queenofhell has mentioned:
Naomi

@queenofhell has tagged:
@Soap​

Ava probably would've cared more about her roommate's sharp words if, well, she cared. However, whatever anger that was causing Alex to spout off about the soap (which Ava hardly even used so it wasn't her fault that they were nearly out -- it was clearly hers, but that was beside the point) obviously had nothing to do with her. Alex's anger was obviously directed at something else, but she was taking it out on Ava.

Not that she cared -- she wasn't some sensitive bitch. Hence why she had managed to remain as best friends with one JJ Jameson since childhood.

"I'm looking for my stupid jacket. I swear to god I could never find what I need in this damn place. Qué mierda de vida." Alex continued and Ava's gaze shifted around the room in a lazy attempt to look for the jacket, and--

Bingo.

Her gaze landed on said jacket on the television stand. She picked it up and went to hold it out to Alex and let her know that, well, she'd found the damn jacket so maybe Alex would calm her goddamn nerves, but her roommate was still ranting away. Normally, Ava would've spoken up, cut her off, tossed her the jacket, and returned to her room to resume her scheduled murdering bitchy assholes on various shooting games, but she figured Alex maybe, maybe, just needed to rant away. Plus not giving her the jacket and letting her continue to freak out was kind of a middle finger towards Alex for being a bitch.

So she listened -- brunch for a school thing? Boring as fuck. Threatening to bless this place? Annoying as fuck.

Finally, Alex turned towards Ava and her gaze fell on the jacket. Ava held it out to her, a smug smile on her face as Alex took the jacket from her.

"You're welcome," she responded dryly.

Ava's eyes remained on Alex as she pulled the jacket on, fixing her shirt. Her lips pursed together. She was still turning over Saint's words regarding Naomi from the previous night as she leaned against the wall, crossing her arms over chest.

"Don't tell me I hurt your feelings or something." Alex said, and Ava let out a snort of laughter.

"Well," she started. "I don't appreciate you threatening to bless my friends out of the apartment," -- she was referring to the demons -- "but no, you didn't hurt my feelings. What the fuck you think I am? I'm not that easily hurt."

Ava hesitated -- she was... debating. Debating on whether she should keep what Saint had told her the previous night to herself, or if she should warn Alex. The other girl was so... not soft, but kind of dumb. Naïve, in a way, at least when it came to crushing or dating or anything else of the sort. Not that Ava could necessarily say anything -- she was sixteen and had yet to have her first kiss, her first girlfriend, anything.

Not that Ava cared whatsoever. Why waste her youth on someone else?

(Also the only girl she wanted to be with was straight, but shh.)

"What's going on with you and Naomi?" Ava asked. "Just a dumb crush, just friends...? What?"

She paused for a moment before continuing. "Look I don't want to see you get hurt, okay? And Naomi's... great, but she's got... a reputation and I don't want you to end up just being another heart she breaks."

º º code by ditto º º

 

[mogy]

Oates Oates
" podcasts, amirite? "

@bigO has set their status to:
go on, callum, tell me the truth

@bigO has set their outfit to:
oversized shirt and shorts

@bigO has set their location to:
oates' apartment

@bigO has interacted with:
callum

mogy has mentioned:
hery

"Pretty much, but it's good enough to last me through the day." Oates agreed with Callum's statement, still squinting through his fingers while waiting for his eyes to adjust to the abundance of light around the room in contrast to the much-darker bedroom he came from. As was for his metabolism, it was still too early for the boy's trademarked Callum Irony Sensor to be functioning properly, so those few darts of ridicule which usually wouldn't, now went unnoticed right past Oates, probably hitting one of the plants in the apartment and killing it instantly.

However, it didn't take a genius for one to sit down when one was told to do so, which was what Oates did at Callum's oh-so-kind gesture.

Worth mentioning, the two were in Oates's apartment, but weirdly enough, Callum had the entire situation in his grasp like some sort of a game maker, everything around them dancing to the beat of his dispirited song. It was weird how quickly the boy could get things to turn to his side, and if Oates didn't just wake up a minute ago, it would be something he noticed immediately, this not being the first time everything around him had been aligned to accept Callum's words the moment they left his mouth. Perhaps the extra time he had after waking up gave him the upper hand in the conversation, but did it truly matter? Or at all?

A celery stalk found itself in Oates' hand and soon between his teeth. Perhaps not the breakfast of champions, but certainly an intense enough flavor to prevent whatever words left Callum's mouth the following moments to have a meaningful effect on the curly-haired boy. He was ready for everything from more scoffing to an outburst of emotions to...

...an apology?


"What?" A confused look appeared on Oates' face. True, Callum did get drunk, but he didn't really ruin the whole night for Oates, did he? Well, he kind of did, but the shorter boy definitely wasn't one to confirm it. "No need to apologize. Really. We came to the party together, and we left together. Simple as that."

While Oates was still at the pleasantries of it all—as if the conversation they were having could be called anything near pleasant—it appeared that Callum was ready to get right into the middle of the whole thing. Right to what Oates was thinking about before he fell asleep or to what he thought about as he was leading Callum in the empty street. Even the now-awaken Oates who wasn't all that bright could see where the conversation was going, and he was dumb enough to let it.

"Well," He tried to formulate a sentence that made sense all the while he recalled what it was that he thought had happened. He probably knew much less than what Callum thought he knew, and maybe that was for the best. "Jace messaged me saying that you were drunk... And that reminded me that I promised to meet you, so I went to get you some water, and then I got to the room." The boy took a bite of the celery before continuing. "I think he mentioned something about some guy, but it wasn't what the conversation focused on, you know."

Truth be told, now that he remembered it, Oates was curious. He could've sworn that there had been some guy mentioned, but his phone was all the way back in the bedroom—too far to check who Jace was talking about, or if a specific name even was introduced. Hopefully, Callum would've explained it, or if he didn't, Oates would've asked, but it wasn't really Oates' place to play the jealous person considering what he was doing at the party. But that was a problem for another time.

º º code by dildo º º

 

[gh0stwriter]

Coming Clean | Green Day

Lucky DuBois

"Life's a bitch. That's all I got."

Fuck Halloween.

Seriously. If Halloween was a person, he’d hunt it down and punch it right in the throat. Hell, he’d prolly kick it a few times, too, while it was on the ground struggling to breath. You get the idea. He wasn’t a fan. To say it didn’t go according to plan, would be the understatement of the century. Why he expected anything less? He wasn’t really sure. Nothing ever went his way.

Fun.

That was all that he had wanted. Was it too much to ask? He didn’t think so. Cramming his nuts into a skin-tight spandex spider-man suit wasn’t his idea of a good time, but he was trying, okay? He made an effort. He had attempted to have a nice, uneventful evening where he could drink and forget about his problems.

Spoiler alert: he did not forget about his problems AND somehow (by no fault of his own, of course) managed to create even more problems.

Okay, so it wasn’t ALL bad. Ash had made the evening somewhat tolerable. Even though he lost five bucks to her on a bet but he did gain a partner for the Arts Festival so it wasn’t though the night was a total bust, but the bad...the very bad outweighed the good by a landslide.

He groaned as the sun glared down on his face. Unable to escape the harsh rays, he wasn’t ready for the day to begin. Why did he have to open his mouth about breakfast burritos? He threw the covers off him and rolled over. God, he felt like shit. He wasn’t sure how much alcohol he had consumed last night, but he was pretty sure he shouldn’t be alive.

He pushed himself up and rubbed his head. Holy hangover, Batman. His head was pounding. He hadn’t slept. His brain, despite the booze, had refused to turn off. All he was able to do was replay the horrible, horrible decisions he’d made last night. He took another deep breath as he pushed himself up from the bed.

“Fuck!” He shouted as he hit the floor with a thud. He rolled over and looked down at the spider-man costume still attached to his feet. He hadn’t forgotten he gave up trying to remove the deathtrap of a costume.

If this was any indication of the day ahead, Lucky would be wise to just lock himself in his room and not come out until this day was over. But Lucky doesn’t make good decisions. We’ve established that.

He pulled the tight costume off his feet and hoisted himself up. He felt like he was hit by a semi-truck. With a deep breath, he made his way to the bathroom. Nic was quiet as usual. He really needed to find a new place, cause it was getting old keeping to himself and pretending that he didn’t have a roommate. He turned on the shower and waited for the water to heat up.

_________________________________________________

The shower helped. And by helped... he felt he got hit by just a regular truck instead of a 14-wheeler, but hey, at least he was feeling better...physically anyway.

He’d royally fucked up.

And for what? To get laid? For thirty minutes of not having to think about his fucking problems? Was it worth it? Last night. Yeah. It was. He needed it. Aside from his time with Ash, it was the only thing that provided him any kind of distraction. A ‘fuck you’ to his father for scaring him straight all those years ago and it felt good. It felt really good.

Today? He couldn’t say the same. He’d spent years. Years pretending that this was a phase and that it would pass. He’d gotten by just fine. He loved girls. Well, he loved sex with girls. And that didn’t cause any problems. It didn’t cause people to look at him weird. It didn’t cause the judgements that people like his father had. And to be honest, Lucky wasn’t sure he could handle them. Not when he was trying to get his music career started. Not when he was trying to keep his head down.

He had downed a gallon of water before he left and popped a few advil. He just needed to feel better by this afternoon. Josie would never forgive him if he didn’t show up to her birthday festivities. After all, he’d been tasked as the party planner for this excursion. Thankfully Mags had a brilliant idea of ordering a party bus. Simple. Booze included. Very little planning for the massively hungover Lucky.

He made his way down the street in a slow, sluggish manor. He needed coffee like it was nobody’s business and the breakfast burrito he’d been dreaming of since last night was SO CLOSE he could taste it. He perked up as he saw Dorian in the distance and sped up. “Dude, please tell me you feel as shitty as I do?” Alright, Luck, everything is fine. Deep breath.

| mood: Hung-the fuck-over | mentions: Javi, Ash, Josie, Mags| interactions: Dorian|
|outfit: here| tags: jasmyn |

º º code by ditto º º

 

[jasmyn]

"Life is much more fun in the fast lane..."
Josephine Bennett

@JoMama has set status to:
"Happy birthday to me."

@JosieMama has set outfit to:
Ex's t-shirt & black jeans.

@JosieMama has set location to:
Saint's place.

@JosieMama has interacted with:
Saint

@JosieMama has tagged:
ditto

It wasn't that it was super uncommon for Jo to blackout when she partied but usually it was aided by some sort of party favors which she hadn't had in many months. That's why the girl hadn't been expecting to wake up with her memory partially wiped but yet here she was, her mind betraying her and not producing a single clue to help her put this puzzle together. Stupid brain. Help a girl out, man.

The last thing she could even remotely pull from the night was the car ride. Flashes of her being in the passenger of his car with the window down, the wind blowing her hair all over the place as they went down the road. Jo had been dancing and singing very loudly, and very off-key, to some DNCE song. Now that she thought about it, what was the name again? It was one of her favorites and she couldn't even remember...

Oh! That's right! Cake By The Ocean! Damn, she had great taste. That was such a good party song. Who didn't want to dance when that came-

Shit. Distracted again. Think Jo, think... Nope. Nothing.

This felt too much like when she first started partying only back in New York when Charlie had been accepted into HA and she hadn't. Trying to avoid the fact that she felt like she wasn't good enough Jo had stumbled into the world of teen drinking and partying and things got pretty wild, pretty fast.

At first, it was just a couple of drinks, then it was sneaking out to venture into bigger parties with the wrong crowds. Someone offered her a pill one time and it went out of control from there. Of course, she had some good memories too, like meeting Lucky and all the fun nights with Mags. There were so many good stories and the stuff she could actually remember, well, it was fucking epic!

It’d gotten a little too out of hand though and when she transferred to HA she continued the cycle. Well, until the school threatened to pull her scholarship after her grade started slipping and she started missing practices because she was too hungover. Of course, they didn’t know all the reasons why behind it but it was enough for Josie to stop with the drugs and to only party hard and drink when she didn’t have important stuff to do the next day.

Maybe saying she was “tame” was a stretch but she’d been less wild. Well, she thought she had been but here she was in her ex-boyfriend's apartment. The same ex who had stranded her at a party about two months ago. Who had so bluntly told her he didn't care about her and that she was at fault for their break up.

Good fucking going.

His disinterested "calm down" nearly gave the illusion that he could hear her thoughts but then she realized she was still rambling on absentmindedly. It was pretty clear that Josie's rambling had fallen on deaf ears as evident by Saint's slowed movements and him not even bothering to answer her actual question. Of course, why would she even think that she would get a straight answer? Thing is, she knew he wasn't avoiding a yes or no to mess with her. It was just...him.

Jo took her phone from his hand, checking it and replying quickly to the messages she had before her eyes shifted to the bed where she noticed the pair of pants that he'd set down for her. Honestly, she had forgotten that she'd left anything at his place and while part of her wanted to feel as if he'd kept them for a reason, she knew better.

The reality was that it was just convenient and he couldn't be bothered with getting rid of them. Luckily for her though, now she wouldn't be doing the walk of shame to an uber in last night's Halloween costume. So, she climbed out of his bed and pulled on the pants before she followed him out of his room, scooping up her belongings as she did and setting them on the couch in the living room.

The girl watched as Saint made his way around the apartment in silence, not really paying much attention to what he was doing but instead focused on him. The way each movement was careful and calculated and how his curls slightly bounced when he turned. Her eyes traced the lines of the floral tattoo atop his left forearm, one of the many gracing his smooth, chestnut skin.

When he stopped in front of her, she was pulled from her trance and her gaze met his for a moment before shifting to the pills. Jo took them from his hand, popping them into her mouth and chasing them with the water he'd put on the table before he could even finish telling her what they were. Bad habits die hard. Old habits? Something like that.

The brunette stepped over to the table and placed the glass down, picking up a piece of toast in its place. Strawberry jelly, Jo's favorite. She could only assume it was one of his roommates or leftover from her but either way, the fact that he remembered caused a smiled to tug at her lips. "Thanks. Having a hangover isn't exactly my idea of fun so," she shrugged, the soft smile still present for a moment.

Josie's phone went off again, and then again, and then on the third ding she finally picked it up. A few happy birthday texts, Javi talking about having some party favors for her to try, Lucky checking in on her. She replied before placing the phone back on the table and glancing back to Saint. Shit. The unanswered question was still present but asking it just felt repetitive and pointless at this point.

Had she slept with him? Had she not? What difference would it really make? Ending up in his bed was still sending the same signal regardless. She was still just as dumb and desperate either way. He was still going to look at it how only Saint Taylor could. What the hell was she thinking?! Answer: she obviously wasn't.

"How drunk was I last night? I can barely remember how I got here," she finally spoke up again.

º º code by ditto º º

 

[ditto]

[

Guess I'm an eyesore, baby
I advise you look away

M O O D : soooooooooo...

O U T F I T : t-shirt & sweatpants

L O C A T I O N : the apartment

M E N T I O N S : n/a

I N T E R A C T I O N S : ash

T A G S : Winona

​

Trevor Callaghan lived at the corner of heap of moaning, groaning, self-loathing misery and stiff-backed, clenched-teethed, tense-muscled angry arsehole. This was a fact of which he was (oh so disappointingly) aware. He often tried to deny it— which came when he was teetering on the arsehole side of things— but, when it all boiled down to it— or, more accurately, when it all boiled over and spilled out and burned and blistered his feet at times like last night— that was who he was, and undeniably so.

This, for Trevor, was less of an acknowledgement of his faults and more of an acknowledgement of this was who he was, because there was no way that he could change, and there was no way that he even knew how to go about it. It was in his nature to be this way. He wanted to get better…and he was sure that this want would get him far enough.

As Ash pressed her lips against his in a gentle sign of affection, Trevor thanked his lucky stars that that was enough for Ash— that he was enough.

Sure, he was a feckin’ mess and a feckin’ prick, but she was kissing him, so he couldn’t’ve been that bad.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, he knew that everyone else would disagree. When— if— they went public, everyone else would constantly be on her back for dating him, the “bottom of the barrel” or whatever the feck everyone liked to call him. Trevor didn’t pride himself on standards; he’d stated on public Twitter multiple times his proclivity toward speaking to the drunkest girls at parties with the sole purpose of ending the night with them. It was kind of what he was known for— which was one reason that he didn’t get into relationships and why those who did get with him tended not to recall his name— or, if they did, didn’t really want to claim that they did.

He wasn’t a good guy, but he wasn’t the worst, and…it wasn’t a good idea for him to be hers in public, but he…

Well, he enjoyed to be in private.

As she pulled back, he studied her face, his brows unknitting.

"Yeah, I want to stay here with you.”

Damn.

"I mean, it's your birthday and like...I don't want you spending your birthday alone. And like, even if it wasn't your birthday, I'd still want to be here with you."

He let out a soft breath of laughter, a smile curling onto his lips.

"I like spending time with you, too, and we just…never have time."

Feck if I know why you like ta be near me in the first place.

"I wanted to come over, Trevor," she repeated just in case he still didn't believe her. "And do…like…whatever you want to do for your birthday."

Well, that was…unfair.

She was really getting the short end of the stick.

“Really?” he asked, though it wasn’t necessarily because he didn’t believe her.

The whatever you want probably wasn’t the best choice of words.

(Again, he was a gross, teenaged boy.)

He tried not to let his mind go there.

He didn’t deserve a rew—

Not reward. Reward made it sound like…a prize or…

A gift...

That wasn’t what…

Fuck.

His ears twinged red, and he chuckled softly, shifting slightly.

Whistle, rub your neck, look away, and she won’t notice anything.

He cleared his throat. “Well, I guess tha next thin’ is…what we wanna do, then, huh?” he asked, grinning slightly at her.

That, that, that, that, that.

No, no, no, no, no, not that, that, that, that, that. Terrible suggestion after…no.

Very bad idea.

He swallowed, chuckling softly. “I should’ve thought this far ta begin wit’…” He sat back slightly on his place in the couch.

Hm.

…yeah, usually his friends dragged him along to things.

(Which...they weren't here to do today.)

He wasn’t good at coming up with…ideas of how to hang out.

He generally didn’t like to be around others or...hang out, so...

Look.

He smoked with others, he slept with others, and he got dragged around by others.

Being asked like this…

Well, he was fresh out of ideas, unless one of the former two were what Ash wanted to do.

He knew that she would...probably go along with anything, but...

The second, the—

He tried to suppress that.

…but he tucked it into his back pocket for later.

“Er, ya got any ideas?” he asked. “My only thin’ is…”

His grin spread a bit., bringing his hand up to brush a hair behind her ear— though his lack of dexterity just made it fall again.

He breathed out a chuckle, meeting her eyes. “I jus’ wanna be wit’ you.”

Gushy.

He sounded like a simp.

“As long as t’at happens…I couldn’t care less what we do,” he finished.

Sure, that meant I can only think of weed or sex, but I don’t think that you’d want to do either, particularly, so I’m letting you come up with the idea, but she didn’t know this.

He laughed quietly, shifting in his seat a bit more. “So what’ll it be, darlin’? Shoot.” He smiled at her. "Tha world's yer oyster, an' I'm...here fer tha ride, as long as it's pleasant."

TREVOR CALLAGHAN

º º code by ditto º º

 

[ditto]

[

bitch, sit down
be humble

M O O D : getting around

O U T F I T : let loose

L O C A T I O N : the apartment

M E N T I O N S : n/a

I N T E R A C T I O N S : jo

T A G S : jasmyn

​

As Saint Taylor moved from the table where his ex-girlfriend now sat eating her “hearty” breakfast of toast covered with (disgustingly sweet) strawberry jelly, which he still failed to understand how she could stand to eat, his eyes caught on her image in his periphery.

Though there were several key differences in this night and those, Saint couldn’t help but be reminded of the times when things like this happened when they were together.

Saint was always her nurse, thanks to his being the designated driver the previous night and his lack of a hangover. He wasn’t sure if he could count on one hand (or even two) the times when she’d dragged herself up front behind him, seating herself at the table dressed in little more than (if any more than) one of his t-shirts as he made her a breakfast of whatever he was having while her phone, beside her on the table, buzzed off the hook.

If Saint cared in any capacity, this would be a bittersweet moment.

(Wasn’t it a shame, then, that he didn’t? He certainly didn’t think so.)

“How drunk was I last night?” came her question from the table as he loaded the toaster again. “I can barely remember how I got here.”

Saint made no motion to respond, instead going to the cabinet and grabbing himself a glass to pour himself some milk, taking his time setting it on the counter before walking over to the refrigerator to leisurely draw out the gallon of two-percent. His mother back home called that cow wash and often exclaimed her distaste for it. Maybe it was because he’d grown used to drinking it for his school lunches, but he actually kind of enjoyed the taste.

His pieces of toast, with a loud pop, shot their heads out of their spots, and he retrieved a plate from the cabinet. He grabbed the toast, tossing it on the plate before grabbing some grape jelly from the refrigerator.

Getting a butterknife from one of the drawers beneath the counter, Saint made his way back to the table.

He finally gave his answer to her first question as he lowered himself into the seat across from her:

“Very.”

He then began to eat his breakfast, as if he hadn’t heard her last question.

His eyes focused on the window behind her head, which faced out and over the parking lot. One of the perks of being on such a high floor was the view, and, as the sun hauled itself over the horizon line and the buildings glared their morning greetings at him, the golden light fell onto the back of Jo’s head, silhouetting her slightly.

He tried to memorize the image quickly. It would be a lovely painting.

Her phone buzzed again on the tablet, and he glanced at it.

He’d spotted one of her texts when he’d grabbed up her phone this morning. He simply couldn’t help it; it was right in front of his face, and he had to glance at it.

It wasn’t jealousy that burned within him in the slightest, but who the hell was this Javi guy?

He studied Jo’s face as he finished his first piece of toast and moved onto his second, considering the question.

She looked bewildered, confused, and mildly pained, and there was something in her eyes that made him decide against it.

Truly, it wasn’t because he cared about her.

He simply knew that she would fight him about it, and he didn’t want to waste his time fighting with her again.

He looked back out at the horizon as the sun dragged up the sky, each crunch of the toast another thought about Jo.

He hadn’t thought about her this much, really, in…months.

Now that she was in front of him, he couldn’t help it.

He stood after finishing his last drop of milk and his last bite of toast, retwisting the lid on the jar of jelly and moving back over to the refrigerator to place the jar back inside of it. He moved by the sink, placing his dishes in there, and then, he headed back to his room, wordless.

A few moments passed in silence. The air conditioning above kicked on, blowing cold air into the room. There was a soft chirping from outside of the window from a nest in one of the nearby windowsills.

Then, heavy footsteps began to trod back up from the back, and Saint rounded the corner into the kitchen once more. He held something colorful and small in his hand, and, as he set it on the table, it became obvious what it was.

It was a wrapped present, about the size of a box of deodorant, labeled Josephine.

“It’s your birthday,” Saint said simply. “Unless I’m mistaken.”

He’d bought the gift so long ago, but he’d still remembered the location where he’d hid it: right inside of his closet, just inside of one of his shoeboxes.

The wrapping paper was a thick, brown paper covered in blotches of paint with intricately-drawn flowers on it that were obviously done by hand.

His steady gaze set on Jo’s face for a moment.

He didn’t care about her reaction.

He’d bought it a couple of months ago, as a preemptive gift, because she’d commented on it in one of the store. The…the only reason why he’d kept it was because it was too much of a hassle to return.

Not because he’d hoped that they’d get back together.

His eyes flicked away from her, and he moved away from the table again, going toward the sink to wash the dishes.

“If you were wondering what happened,” he began to say, stoic, slow, low voice just loud enough for her to hear over the running water, “I drove you home because you asked me to, and that’s all of it…” He grabbed a rag, pouring soap onto a sponge and scrubbing the plate and the glass inside and out. “Not much of a story…at all. You took a shower, and I lent you my shirt…which you can have, as far as I’m concerned…since my washer ate your costume.”

It was hardly a costume at all, anyway.

He wasn’t trying to calm her down; he wasn’t trying to negate her fears. This wasn’t any of that.

They hadn’t slept together, and there was no point in letting her continue to believe that they had.

He assumed that she could pick that up.

He draped the rag back over the side of the sink, then wrung and washed out the sponge, setting the dishes to the side of the sink in the rack to dry.

“I can drive you home, or to wherever you need to go,” he said, making his way back to the table to gather her dishes.

He accidentally met her eyes for a moment.

For an instant, he was caught up in their golden brown, the slight gleam of them, and the utter expression in them.

And then he looked away.

He truly didn’t care.

“…if you need me to,” he finished.

saint taylor

º º code by ditto º º

 

[hery]

MOOD: guts: spilled

OUTFIT: jammies

LOCATION: oates' apartment

basics

MENTIONS:
n/a
INT:
mogy (Oates)

tags

TL;DR no

tl;dr

Callum Richards

Callum frowned. Oates was being sensitive to his feelings, which was absolutely the last thing he needed. In all honesty, it would have stung less if the boy had stood up and screamed at him, broken down in tears, expressed his disappointment, or anything other than the routine, cut-and-dried platitudes Oates meant to be uplifting. Instead, it just left Callum frustrated that the two could never be on the same page.

He knew that wasn't fair to Oates, especially when he was trying so hard to move on and forget their relationship. Callum had spent the last two years shutting himself off from him; it shouldn't have come as so much of a shock that Oates wasn't going to pour his heart out to him again. He wasn't ready to accept nor give it then. He just needed more... time. He needed some hidden variable to make itself known and free him of the fear of throwing all his cards on the table.

But that wasn't fair to Oates. He'd missed his chance to save himself and, consequently, their relationship. The flood of emotions that poured out of Callum the night before was no doubt a product of these suppressed feelings, but how could he ever explain that to Oates? Normally it was enough to just not say anything at all and forget about it, but Callum feared this would be the last time they would ever be together while he was compelled to make himself heard.

Losing his patience with his aching head and Oates' delicately-worded rambling, Callum cut through his words. "It was Seb. Whole name's Sebastian or something, if you've met him." His gaze drifted to his hands, but out of sheer determination, he adjusted his sights square in Oates' eyes once more. "You two had... similar costumes, I guess."

He hated where this was going. Regardless of how little or how much Oates knew, Callum had to discard a tiny piece of his soul at every painful, shameful admission. "I thought he was you, so I went and just started... saying things to him," he continued, pinching his nose to make his mortification apparent, "Things like how I, like, you know..."

He let out an exasperated sigh, inhibition constricting his neck more tightly by the second. "Listen, O, I was pissed off. I was pissed that you got a clue and dumped me. And that you were happy without me." He bit his lip, anxious as to whether or not he was saying the wrong thing. No matter if either of them wanted to hear it, it was the only thing Callum could think of for days. "I can't be your friend. I know it's easy for you to move on and act like everything's peachy, but it's not for me. I can't escape how much I need you. It's all or nothing for me."

He took a beat to gauge Oates' reaction, doing his best to be frank while subtlely pleading for forgiveness with that charming, indifferent expression he loved to wear. "I'm so fucking lonely, Oates. It took me putting on a maid dress, running on a Saturday, subjecting myself to a party, and then getting wasted at said party to realize how desperate I am for you to notice me. And I mean really notice me. " Before continuing, Callum cleared his throat. He could either maintain a steady, yet aloof tone or throw all of his raw, unbridled emotions at Oates all at once.

The former seemed more polite.

"You know, uh... explaining things isn't really my... thing." He talked a big, angsty game, but Callum didn't avoid social scenarios just because of his major apathy; he didn't have many social skills to start with anyway. If he didn't try to use them in the first place, no one ever had to know how much of an awkward loser he was. He didn't mind the whole social pariah aspect all that much, but it made times like these a giant pain. "I don't know if I can ever put into words how I feel. About anything. I'm trying so hard to want to try, but..."

"I don't know, O. I just don't know what I'm supposed to do. And last night I couldn't take it anymore, so, sorry for that."

code by valen t.

 

[Winona]

Nathan Woods
"Here I am, living a dream that I can't hold on my own."

@NathanielWithoutTheIel has set their status to:
fuck

@NathanielWithoutTheIel has interacted with:
Liv, Evie

@NathanielWithoutTheIel has mentioned:
The roomies

@NathanielWithoutTheIel has tagged:
@Soap jasmyn ​

How the fuck, Nate wondered, did one go about responding to someone that they had a crush on asking to talk?

The answer was play dumb, so Nate sent back a simple "about what?" because you know, maybe it was about something else. Yeah, maybe Nate was just overreacting and this was about something completely different. Maybe Evie had moved on like he had -- hooked up with that fucking Ryder guy that clearly just wanted to get in her pants, or uhh... well, literally anyone in the school. Everyone wanted to either be her or be with her.

Her next message, which clearly stated that was it was about the confession, squashed that little flame of hope.

Well, fuck.

Nate's words had woken up Liv -- or, well, she'd probably already been awake and decided to stir now at this. He glanced over at her, wincing when he saw her in his shirt -- you know, the shirt for his costume that Evie had pieced together -- and looked back down at his phone. He ignored Liv for now, instead exchanging a few more texts with Evie before he tossed his phone on the bed.

"You have to tell her." Liv said.

Nate had been picking up his pants when she spoke, and now his head jerked towards her, a look of alarm on her face. "No," he replied before he could even think about it before he pulled his pants on, buttoning them and letting out a sigh. His hand ran through his hair again, messing up the already messy brown locks. "No, I can't... Liv, I can't tell her. Are you fucking kidding me?"

How the fuck would that even go?

"Oh hey Evie, I know you want to just talk about being friends, but I really got something to tell you. So last night, I fucked my old drug buddy who also happens to be the girl that our mutual friend was sobbing over last night. Yep, Livanna Moore. You know the one. I think we fucked, anyway. I woke up in her bed with no pants and she had my shirt on, so all signs are pointing to yep, we fucked."

If he told Evie, Evie would tell Gen, and then Nate's balls would be hanging over her fireplace.

Yep. Nope. He couldn't tell her.

Liv's rapid fire questions of "What if she changed her mind or something? What does she want to talk about? Did she say? Does she know somehow?" were too much this early in the goddamn morning.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to quell the pounding in his head while also trying to piece together some kind of an answer for a very panicked Liv -- because Nate didn't know what the fuck to do. This right here was why Nate was going to swallow his feelings and not say shit. The backlash was simply too much, and he thought back to that fuzzy memory with that Trent guy.

That Trent guy had been right. Swallowing it and not saying shit would've been the better way to go.

"What if she asks me something? What am I gonna say? Yeah, sorry. Slept with your not-boyfriend who you're totally interested in and lied that you weren't."

Nate glared at her.

"She's not fucking interested in me," he snapped as he caught his shirt and slipped it on. He looked down and quickly started to button up his shirt with shaky fingers. It proved to be a lot harder when one was distracted by stuff such as this, and he ended up giving up and leaving his shirt halfway buttoned. He let out a huff, his hands dropping away from the buttons as he turned his gaze back to Liv. "Look, she said she just wants to talk about being friends or something. She's not interested."

Every reutterance of "she's not interested" made Nate want to shove his head in a pot of boiling oil or something. It wasn't so much that it hurt, so much as it just fucking embarrassed the hell out of him. Nathan Woods had been shut down by Evelyn Sinclaire and really, he wasn't surprised. If anything, he was pissed at the plethora of fuckers that really thought it was a good idea to convince him she felt the same.

... Nate kind of wanted to insert some kind of "he didn't really feel anything for her" right here, but fuck it. There would be no point in doing that now.

"... sorry. I just... what are you gonna say?"

"Nothing," Nate responded. He walked over to the bed, picking his phone back up and slipping it into his pocket. "I'm going to say absolutely nothing and you," he pointed a finger at her, "aren't going to say shit until I figure out what the hell she wants to talk about. Okay? Okay."

He didn't wait to hear what Liv might say in response -- Nate really didn't care. They weren't going to say anything. End of story. Fuck Liv and her feelings regarding the matter, because Nate had made his decision and he was right about this.

Right? Right.

"I'm going to see her, try to save this friendship, and you aren't going to say anything because this whole fucking thing is your fault. Evie not wanting to talk to me is your fault because
you convinced me that I had feelings and that she returned those feelings. So I'm going to go try and fix what you fucked up, alright? And we're going to act like this," he gestured between himself and Liv, "never happened because it didn't."

And with that, he headed out of the apartment.

-------------------​

Two hours, Nate decided, was quite simply not enough time to get yourself cleaned up from a night of mistakes.

He took an Uber back to his apartment which was just shameful as he climbed into the backseat in last night's Halloween costume. His face was still smeared with the makeup from the night before, and the fake blood still covered the shirt and the pants.

Embarrassing.

He understood why it was called the Walk of Shame.

Nate headed up to the apartment, fully expecting both of his roommates to either be asleep or gone. However, when he stepped through the front door, he was somewhat surprised to hear movement in the kitchen.

Naturally, Nate didn't want to talk to whichever it might be -- Saint would just stare at him and Nate would stare back and that would be that, but Gus would probably whine wondering where he was and Nate would have to come up with some excuse. Look, he wasn't embarrassed about sleeping with Liv, but he also didn't need Gus whining in his ear about "oh so now you care more about Liv than me, too."

Fucking Gus had been the worst mistake of Nate's life. He hadn't expected the bastard to be so goddamn clingy.

So he tiptoed his way to his room -- or, well, tiptoed as much as one could -- and grabbed some fresh clothes from his dresser before heading to the bathroom where he washed away away the makeup and the scent of regret.

Once showered and dressed, Nate called yet another Uber to take him to Gen's house.

He'd figured the last thing he needed was to get his car first and risk Gen seeing him rolling up to grab it in last night's costume.

Everything else went fairly simple.

Nate got to Gen's. Grabbed his car. Drove to the burger joint that Evie had asked to meet him at.

And then he sat in his car, staring blankly at the steering wheel in front of him.

Normally after a night of sex and drugs, Nate felt... relaxed? Rebooted, maybe? Usually, he'd feel better. The tension would've left his shoulders, and he would've felt calmer, and with some sense of happiness.

Instead, Nate just felt numb.

He reached over to pop open the center console in his car. His eyes trailed to the lone half a joint and he considered smoking it while he waited, but ultimately decided against it and closed the console once more. Nate couldn't be bothered to be under the influence of something else, and it wasn't like weed had exactly gotten him anywhere good in the last few weeks.(Literally every time he got high, he spilled secrets that were better kept under lock and key.)

Nate considered messaging one of his friends, but who would he even text? What would he even text them? "Hey, fucked Liv after telling Evie I like her. Evie wants to talk. Advice?" All of his friends were kind of dumbasses and would probably just give him advice that would make the whole situation so much worse.

This was something that Nate knew he had to face alone, and something that Nate knew he couldn't avoid -- both were things he wasn't exactly the most skilled at, so maybe that was part of what was feeding into his apprehension.

Finally, with a heavy sigh, Nate turned off his car. He opened the door, sliding the keys into his pocket, and slammed the car door behind him.

And then he walked up to the burger joint and headed inside, taking a seat at a table.

And he waited.

º º code by ditto º º

 

[Winona]

Zephyr Evermore
"Cheer up! 'Cause nothing really matters."

@zeph.evermore has set their status to:
hypeee

@zeph.evermore has interacted with:
Lin

@zeph.evermore has mentioned:
N/A

@zeph.evermore has tagged:
ditto ​

Had he ever, what? Robbed a store before? Was Lin serious?

"No, no," he said quickly with a slightly uncomfortable chuckle. Awkwardly, Zeph brought his hand up to rub at the back of his neck -- the one that hadn't been touching the popcorn, mind you, because Zeph was not about to have a greasy neck. "Well, actually, when I was like... five or six...?" His eyebrows crinkled together as he tried to recall the distant memory from the deepest, foggiest recesses of his brain. "There was this cool toy and I hid it in my shirt and tried to steal because my mom said I couldn't have it, but uhh... she found out when we went to leave and the uhh..." he brought his hand away from his neck and gestured in the air as he tried to recall the word, but eventually gave up, "the buzzy alert thingy. Anyway, they took the toy and I started crying, and my mom lectured me when we left so I never like, tried that again."

It was one of the earliest memories that Zeph had of his mother and it brought a small pang of hurt to his heart to remember. For a moment, the general smile and easygoing demeanor faltered, a faint look of hurt passing through his eyes, but Zeph downturned his face and reached into the bag of popcorn, grabbing out some more and keeping his face down so Lin wouldn't pick up on it.

Yeah, Zeph had been close with his mom before she got sick -- he'd kind of lived his life by this motto of doing whatever he thought would make her proud, and, with her now gone, that motto had grown even stronger. He didn't want his mother like... rolling in her grave because Zeph was doing things that she wouldn't approve of or that wouldn't make her proud. Plus, sticking to himself and being good meant that his dad didn't have to worry as much.

Heck, half the reason he was even being trusted halfway across the world in LA was because his parents thought he was responsible enough for it -- imagine sending your fifteen-year-old son off halfway across the world because he was responsible.

Zeph had to prove that he was and that they were right to trust him.

And nothing quite said "I'm mature and deserve to live on my own in LA" quite like a feather boa and a bloody unicorn horn hat.

“It’s alright, luhmao. I’ll show the ropes— ’s long as ya remember one thing, bro.”

Zeph popped the last bit of popcorn from his bag into his mouth, chewing and swallowing as Lin patted him on the back and then pulled him down to his eye level. He looked at his friend, eyebrows knitting together a bit in confusion as he waited patiently for Lin to continue.

“You’re taking the fall for this if we get caught, luhmao. No kidding, luhmao.”

Oh, that was it? Zeph chuckled as Lin let go of him and he straightened back up.

"Yeah, sure, I'll cover for ya." He said with a joking laugh because well, again, there was no way that his friend was being serious. This was clearly just a joke, and Zeph was perfectly fine with joking along.

Although he did find it a little weird that Lin kept joking about robbing a store.

"Okay, okay," he said, waving a hand dismissively in Lin's direction as he shoved the last bit of popcorn into his mouth. He crumpled his own bag of now gone popcorn and walked over to the trashcan, tossing it in from just a few inches away because again, Zeph was no wild child that was about to throw his trash across the kitchen. Like that would just be so uhh... so like... irresponsible or something and as previously noted, Zeph was stickler for being responsible.

He watched, in almost awe, as Lin finished off the last bag of popcorn in record time. Wow. This guy was clearly going to end up in the Guinness Book of World Records with how absolutely fast he did everything.

“Ready to go be the best damn burglars the world has ever fuckin’ seen, Sir Zephaniah Schmephaniah the Seventeen? Or are you too pussy?”

Haha. Wasn't he so funny?

Zeph cracked a grin and repeated the mantra of just go with it that Lin had so kindly bestowed upon him earlier. Just go with the flow, right? And nothing... nothing could go wrong if Zeph just went with it.

"I'm not too pussy," he said, a slight frown furrowing his lips together. "Alright, let's do this. Before you chicken out."

Bam. Ha. Look at Zeph dealing out the uhh... the uhh... sassy remarks. Yeah. That.

º º code by ditto º º

 

[Winona]

Ashton West
"I heard that you've been having some trouble finding your place in the world."

@Fire&Ash has set their status to:
okay

@Fire&Ash has interacted with:
Trevor

@Fire&Ash has mentioned:
N/A

@Fire&Ash has tagged:
ditto ​

Part of being asked on a date and part of her saying that they could do whatever he wanted because it was his birthday was for the sole purpose of Ash getting out of having to come up with something. She wasn't... good at picking what to do -- Ash was the kind of person to just go along with what everyone else wanted to do. If, when, she was asked what she wanted to do, her thoughts would almost always cease to function and she would fall quiet trying to think of something, inevitably failing in that endeavor, and then turning it back on whoever she was with.

Ash, simply put, didn't make decisions or suggest things. She followed along with what other people wanted.

Add this to the list of things where Ash and Trevor were similar in the wrong way.

"I don't have ideas," she said with a huff. She pressed her lips together, shifting in her seat so that her back was against the couch so she could lean her head against Trevor's shoulder while she tried to think of something.

However, something was a lot harder to do when you were in a secret relationship. And like, sure, normally, she could've probably suggested something that would've taken them out of the apartment and if people did happen upon them, the could just pass it off as them hanging out because it was Trevor's birthday and like, friends totally did things on each other's birthdays in a super platonic way.

(Not that anyone believed a word that came out of her mouth when it had to do with Trevor anymore.)

"Like, there's nothing to do when you're stuck at home," Ash added as an afterthought -- and partially to buy herself a little more time. But okay look, she was right, okay? The only things to do were, like, watching TV, or... like...

Yeah, that was basically it.

That or, you know, but she wasn't about to suggest that.

Secret relationships, Ash decided, simply sucked. The secrecy and lack of drama wasn't worth it when it meant that you were stuck hiding out and couldn't go anywhere, because there was just nothing to do alone at home. And yes, she realized how hypocritical this was given the fact that she was the one that wanted it to be secret, but look. Maybe she was starting to regret that whole suggestion.

But she wasn't about to mention that to Trevor now when they were actually doing okay.

"Movie?" She suggested after a moment of thought (and not being able to come up with anything else) and lifted her head from his shoulder to look at him for his reaction. "Like, it's kind of... boring, like watching a movie, but I can't really think of anything else we could do."

º º code by ditto º º

 

[mogy]

Oates Oates
" podcasts, amirite? "

@bigO has set their status to:
go on, callum, tell me what to do

@bigO has set their outfit to:
oversized shirt and shorts

@bigO has set their location to:
oates' apartment

@bigO has interacted with:
callum

mogy has mentioned:
hery

"Oh." A sigh stuck somewhere on the thin line between relief and concern was all that tumbled out of the boy's lips as his almost-hopeful gaze at the boy in front of him intensified. He explained, and Oates listened, faultlessly catching every word submitted to his comprehension. Things Callum said were convincing by creation but hardly true by nature, no matter the sheer belief the taller boy held in them.

How was Oates to argue something almost doctrine to Callum, though was there a point in discussing it if it was dogma to Callum?

It was Oates's own fault that he made himself so happy and so joyous while he left the garden of this relationship to the charity of weeds, but what was he supposed to do? He wasn't wrong for not putting his life on hold for a person he thought didn't care for him, but sometimes things seeming right plainly weren't, and sometimes those things were only the ones in Oates's life that surrounded Callum. If that was any kind of a sign, the shorter boy was oblivious to it.

Soon, silence settled around the room, and it remained the centerpiece as Oates thought about the entirety of what had just been presented to him. Different to his own idea about the happenings of the night previous, and much worse for it, time was needed for the boy's brain to even try and comprehend what it was that Callum shared. He didn't need to say the full story for Oates to grasp at how complex the issue for the two of them had been, and this time, there was no guilt he could use to justify walking away.

The boy in front of him awaiting an answer, Oates didn't know how to say what he wanted to; how to portray all the words that resided inside of his head rightfully, doing both them and Callum justice. He thought long and hard about how this conversation was going to go as he tossed and turned before he succumbed to exhaustion, but all of the ideas he had seemed to perish in front of the actual possibility that consequences for his words existed.

"Obviously, this, the whole friends thing, it isn't working. You're not doing well because of it, and I don't want to be the reason why you're not doing well because it hurts, Callum." No need to state the obvious, though this definitely was, hope had resided in Oates's mind that saying it out loud would give him some magical deus ex machina—some normal way out of this impossible puzzle that was the intricate relationship between the two. The boy didn't hesitate to put his hands forward, reaching Callum's across the table. "It hurts me to see you hurt and to see you broken and to see you doing this to yourself, and I want to be here for you..." The moment he began to speak again, his eyes started filling up with tears, his voice dancing on the verge of being broken. It wouldn't have been Oates if tears hadn't made an appearance, and so, even looking at such a broken person before him made it almost impossible to contain himself. "...but I don't know how, Cal. Please tell me how."

Just as much as his words, Oates's glossy eyes pleaded—basically pulled for the taller boy to say something, to paint any kind of a path forward for the two of them because he couldn't move on without Callum. Well, actually, the situation might have been the exact opposite, however, for Oates, a difference between the two had been lacking. If Callum needed him, there was no question about it: he was going to be there, for Callum. And with that clear and out of the way, they now needed to stay there and figure out a way out of the mess they created for each other, no matter how long it took them. Sadly, that was the toughest part.

"How can I help? Can I help, even? What can I do to make you feel better because there has to be something? Ple- please." With the words leaving his mouth, a small sign of support came in the shape of a light squeeze that with time collected into a stronger one begging Callum for this nightmare to be over, as if the taller boy had any way of ending it.

º º code by dildo º º

 

[ditto]

[

TAKE ME TO YOUR BEST FRIEND'S HOUSE
ROLL AROUND THIS ROUNDABOUT, OH YEAH

M O O D : lmaoooo lez gooooooo

O U T F I T : spot the drip lmao

L O C A T I O N : his condo --> outside

M E N T I O N S : n/a

I N T E R A C T I O N S : zephyyyyy

T A G S : Winona

​

Lin laughed loudly at Zeph’s line, his trademark crooked, toothy grin spread wide across his freckled face, the deep dimple in his right cheek shining back at Zeph. “Chicken out? I’m not the one you gotta be scared about, luhmao!” Lin cackled, punching Zeph in the shoulder jokingly, though the punch was a bit harder than it had been previously. “You’re the bawk-bawk-bakawk here.” He tucked his hands into his armpits and flapped his elbows, making a couple of clucking sounds.

Dissolving into laughter again, Lin bent down to pick up the dog gnawing at his sock. “Beeshee, are you weady-woo?” he asked, puckering his lips and knitting his eyebrows as he baby-talked his dog. His dog stared up at him, her tongue poking slightly out of her closed mouth. He laughed again. “She’s ready!” he said, looking up and over at Zeph. “I’m ready, I’m ready,” he half-whispered, wiggling his butt with two hits to the left and then two hits to the right. He stuck his tongue out through his teeth as if it would help him to focus on his dance moves as his dog licked at his wrist.

He spun around, looking at Zeph and beginning to walk backwards out of the kitchen and into the foyer. Luhmao, trust him, he wasn’t gonna fall— Lindsay was an expert at walking backwards through the house, luhmao. He practiced it all the time, ‘cuz everything was funner when you did it backwards. He could say the alphabet backwards, he could ride his bike backwards, and, when he drove, he could drive hella good in reverse.

He was also an expert at doing the worm around the house, luhmao.

Wanna see him worm up the stairs, luhmao? It’ll cost you five bucks. Pay up, pay up, pay uuuup.

Opening the door for himself by placing his hand at the back of his pants and grasping the handle near his butt— without looking, luhmao, duh— Lin shoved his feet into the shoes by the hanging Dora umbrella beside the door. His dog was still cradled in his right arm as he bent down to tie his shoes with his left hand.

Duh, Lin was ambidextrous, and, duh, Lin could tie his shoes with one hand. It was all in the flick of the pinky, but he didn’t expect you to get it, luhmao. He was a fucking master of life, bro. He thought you knew that, ess-em-aych, luhmaooo.

“Lez go,” he called to Zeph, and he walked out of his room, obviously expecting Zeph to shut it behind himself. He touched at his chest to make sure that he had his house key. The door was super fancy and schmancy— ya know, it auto-locked and all of that cool shit, so he had to keep an actual key on himself. He used to have one of those cards for that bougie, black scanner to the side of the door so it could click open when he tapped it, but, after he lost it the seventh time, the condo people got all pissed. Something about five-hundred dollars for a new card or something. What lameasses.

Yeah, it was the same guys who told him to stop rigging the bathroom door to have a slingshot because it kept “putting holes in the ceiling” or something dumb like that and stop filling your pool with Orbeez because it “broke” something or something or something else, blah-blah-blah-blah-ba-blah. It was all just boring shit that he didn’t pay attention to, luhmao. They just didn’t want him to have fun, ess-em-aych. It wasn’t like his dad wouldn’t pay for repairs, ess-em-aych.

Lin wiggled his butt in the hall, swaggering at a rather leisurely pace for a boy who ran nearly everywhere. He made his way to the clear-stepped staircase to ascend to the dog babysitter’s floor. Mitsubishi, cradled in his arm, poked her head over his arm to look back at Zeph, cocking her head slightly.

“Luhmao, this is gonna be hella fun,” Lin said, continuing to talk to Zeph even though he wasn’t looking at him. “I get to show you the ropes, luhmaooo. Like one of those guys in hardhats in those movies. The work safety ones, luhmao. Not the ones who always get impaled by falling nails or lose an eye or something, but the ones who are like that’s not how you do it. Yeah, like those guys, luhmaoooo.”

He turned sharply to get off at the third floor, and he grinned back at Zeph as he came to a stop in front of a door with a Christmas wreath on it. “Excusez-moi un instant, je vous prie,” he said, holding up a finger to Zeph to convey the meaning of his words: one moment.

Yeah, he could’ve just said that, but he had to flex that French that his mom had shoved into his brain, luhmao. It was on brand, ess-em-aych.

“Yo, Serena! ’rena!” he called, lifting a hand to bang hard on the door, as if he were trying to break it. “Nuh-nuh! Yo, Lin’s here!”

The door swung open, and a tired-looking, greying brunette stood in the doorway. “Can you please not call me that?” she asked in a drained voice. Several dogs yapped at her feet.

“Yo, Nuh-nuh’s here!” Lin piped, giving her a wave and a grin as if she didn’t know of her own presence. As the woman heaved a long sigh, he sat his dog down on the ground. “Here’s Beeshee. I got my wallet in my buttcket, and I’ll pay you when I come back to get her.” Buttcket was butt pocket, duh. “Sound like a plan, Nuh-nuh, my man?”

The woman at the door sighed, looking over to the boy behind Lin before looking at Lin. She stared at him a moment, and Lin could feeeeel the irritation oozing off of her, luhmao. He fucking loved when he could see that, and, plus, it was technically his neighbor who was an adult, so he could bully her however much she wanted and she couldn’t say a thing, luhamooo.

She heaved another sigh, obviously deciding against it as she bent down to pick his dog up. Mitsubishi yapped, wriggling slightly, and Serena looked up at Lin again. “You said you'd be back at…what, five o’clock tonight?”
 Serena asked, obviously trying to get her information clarified.

Lin shrugged. “Ehhhh, dunno.”

Unprofessionalism obviously wasn’t one of Lin’s concerns, luhmao.

He rubbed the side of his head. “Prolly? Dunno. Could be seven, maybe ten.” He gave another big shrug. “I’ll pay ya for it all, anyway, luhmaooo— I’m not gonna gip you.”

“Luhmao…uh huh,” Serena echoed, pursing her lips. It was obvious that she was used to Lin’s antics by now— and, duh, she was, ‘cuz she used to be his neighbor downstairs, luhmao. “It can’t be past midnight.”

“Booooring. You’re giving me a curfew?” he scoffed, laughing. “Psht, fine, fine, fine. I’ll be back to grab her by then” He rolled his eyes. “Treat Beeshee like a queen!” he commanded, raising a finger to wag at her with a laugh. He turned away from her. “Bye-bye-bye,” he sang, and he grinned at Zeph, wiggling his butt.

“C’mon, man!” he called, and then he took off, calling, “I’ll beat you to the entrance! Last one there’s a rotten egg!” As he reached the stairs, he added, “Smell ya later, Serena!”

Serena watched behind Lin as he disappeared, and then looked at Zeph. “Make sure Crack Kid doesn’t run into the street again. I know I won’t have to be the one to call his mom this time, but…you don’t want to deal with her,” Serena sighed, and, with that, the door slammed shut.

Lin whooped from the stairs. Now at the bottom, he began to run even faster, sprinting to get to the door before Zeph could, not even looking behind himself to see how close or how far Zeph was from him.

He reached out his hand to tag the shiny black handle of the push-and-pull front entrance, and he finally came to a halt. Breathless, he hunkered over, turning to face from whence he came.

Zeph was a fucking slowpoke, luhmao. Where was—

“Yoooo!” Lin called as Zeph came into sight, lifting himself up, his grin spreading across his face again. “You’re a fucking eeeegg!” he teased, prodding his friend as he came up. Turning he grabbed open the door and stepped out, not holding it open for Zeph. “Egg boy, egg boy!” he sang impishly as he stepped out onto the concrete sidewalk.

He walked to the end of the building, teasing egg boy over and over again, and he stopped when they reached the gate. “From here, we head to the dolla store, eh?” Lin said, breath regained from his running. His hand fiddled with the lock of the gate. As he popped it open, he grinned over at Zeph. “Look at that— wasn’t that smooth? Luhmaooo.” He stepped out of the gate, throwing it open behind himself. Zeph could get through it on his own, luhmao. Sure, not everyone could unlock it as quickly and as nimbly he had, but it sucked to suck, luhmao.

He gave a few hops as he waited, and, as Zeph came to the other side of the gate, he grinned widely. “Aight, aight, aight— I know the way, just come with meeee,” Lin said happily.

With that, he began to trek toward the holy grail of holy grails: the dollar store fifteen minutes away.

LINDSAY MORGAN KAY

º º code by ditto º º

 

[Kitsune2202]

"Goddess of Chaos"
Magnolia Darrington

@Rebel.lia.on has set their status to:
Feelin like Kesha's Tick-tok song

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

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

@He.went.2.Jared has mentioned:
N/A

@He.went.2.Jared has interacted with:
Ryder (@sunshineysoul )

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Maybe Magnolia should've showed a bit of restraint? But what's the fun in that? What good is it to have the reputation and none of the perks? Opening the door to a friend in just her towel seemed plenty fair game to her. The smirk on his lips and what looked like some possible blush on those cheeks was just a priceless enough reaction to be well worth it, and in general well received.

She liked pushing these limits with people. Seeing what they were comfortable with what they were not. Unlike her family she didn't do this to hurt anyone or have leverage, nothing like that. She genuinely pushed it to know where the line was so she wouldn't cross it. Sure she might once to find it, but never again. She didn't take pleasure in it, but usually the boring old way of just asking was met with confusing and people usually didn't seem to know their limits. They didn't know the answer until it's presented. So...she'd take that dive.

Not to mention when you pushed the limits and turns out they can take the heat? Thrilling. And Ryder was proving to be one of those more exciting connections. Grinning in return before turning to walk off she shot him a wink over her shoulder, "I've never been one to waste time Ry."

Even though he couldn't see her in her room she couldn't help but playfully roll her eyes about his shower comment. She hated to admit that it'd actually worked, but only during a time like this were she needed to sober up decently quickly would she ever do that. As she made her way back and into her position she hummed begrudgingly, "Effective, but still the devil." She replied.

She watched him curiously from the countertop her legs crossed as if she were Fran from the Nanny. She could cook, but she didn't do it often. There wasn't ever a real need to if she was honest. He looked like a professional though and it was amazing to her. Not that she wanted to seem like she was gawking because that's not cute. She had an image to uphold after all. She couldn't let it get out that all you have to do is cook her some food and she melts...as true as that might be. She had front row seats and she'd keep the awe and wonder her herself, no more then a glimmer in her eyes.

She couldn't help but laugh at his response about his time back. "Oh well, looks like the welcome wagon pulled out all the stops for you then! You should be proud to have sparked such a thing." She giggled the smirk never leaving her lips. It was fun to see everyone all riled up so long as no one she cared about was getting hurt over it.

She didn't care about what the "popular" or the self proclaimed "queens" of this place thought about or said. Everyone thought they were the most important people in the world. The ego was draining if she was honest, so any chance to pole a hole? She'd do so with pleasure. Especially if you prop yourself up by tearing other people down then turn around and claim it's a "joke" to save your own skin. No one believes that and no one was laughing except you and the horde. She considers it a win if the best they have in return is to tell her to "fuck off" or "it's none of her business" cause honestly most things weren't anyone else's business but they stuck their noses in anyways. Hypocrites the lot of them, so what did it matter to her if they didn't like her for it?

Her train of though came to a halt when the scent of the food hit her. Good it smelled amazing. She wasn't sure if that was 100% true, or the hang over talking, but she didn't care. If she were a less poised person her mouth might actually have been watering. She just internally thanked her body and her stomach for not betraying her by openly growling the whole time. It had a tendency to do that at the worst times. "Hey I said surprise me, so I'm good with whatever the chefs specialty of the morning is." She smiled blowing a chefs kiss his way.

The moment he was finished and handed her the plate she dug in. It tasted as good as it smelled! She still wasn't sure if it tasted so divine because she was hungry and hung over, or if it was just him being a great cook. She'd have to see if he'd cook for her again sober to be sure. For now though? God of the kitchen in her book. She munched away and shrugged at first before swallowing her food, "Ehh same old same old. I just got back in town last night cause Jared dragged me back for that party last night. I mean I didn't mind. I'd rather party with friends then be with my family." She hated having to touch base every now and then with her family.

Having them still keeping tabs on the both of them was so annoying and frustrating. She couldn't wait to be 18 and outta their realm. She couldn't ever understand how Jared accepted it and even thrived in it. Maybe she was the bad cog in the machine. Something fucked up in her genetic make-up that made her different from the rest of them. Sounded about right. She was still deciding if that's a blessing or a curse. Life would've been a hell of a lot easier if she could function like Jared. If it was in her nature to just follow suit. Oh well. No need to dwell on what she couldn't change.

"Trying to balance working on the festival stuff and in my free time not being bored outta my mind." She giggled. "How was touring!? Now that sounds exciting." She asked curiously. She'd yet to experience something like that, but she really wanted to. She knew she needed more music under her belt though before that'd happen. That's why she'd been working so hard especially this year. She wanted to do less youtube and actually release more songs. In fact all her free time not partying with Lucky or Josie was spent doing just that. Writing up a storm, and hoping for some studio time soon to put it all together.

º º code by ditto º º

 

[gh0stwriter]

Love Me Dead | Ludo

Landon Sinclaire

"The Better Sinclaire."

The music was LOUD..

The walls were vibrating.

Just how he liked it.

If Evie wasn’t awake, she definitely was now, but she was glad to have him home...no matter what she said or bitched about on Twitter. And yeah, he missed filming, but he was happy to just relax. Focus on school and booking more gigs. Gotta stay relevant if you wanna make it in the business. That’s what his parents always said.

He slid up to the sink dancing along to the music and reached for his toothbrush, pulling it up to his lips. “I want it with whipped cream on it, baby. Gimme, gimme, gimme your love.” He sang into his makeshift microphone as he rocked his head to the beat of the music and grabbed the toothpaste, placing a small dab on the bristles.

“Cause I’m hungry, you can’t keep it from me. Lord knows you got more than enough.” He slipped his toothbrush in his mouth and hummed along. He felt great.

Last night started out rough. Sure. He had to deal with miniMike and that was never fun for anyone. Literally. Did anyone enjoy his company? Nope. Mikro was obviously clinging to any sort of relevance for dear life which meant that he was going to have to come in contact with the douchebag from time to time. He had just hoped it wouldn’t have been his first night back.

And then there was Lindsay. That little troll. Did he deserve what he got? Yes. He did. Was Evie completely off base for chastising him? Yes. She was.

But the rest of the night? Was fun. Beer pong. An excess of alcohol. And he got laid. Sure...it was with Adriane, but, hey, it could have been worse. He couldn’t think of anyone at the moment, but he was sure he was right. Plus the idea that Evie would be pissed made it that much sweeter. Teach her to tell him how to live his life when she couldn’t even be honest with herself.

And the best part? He wasn’t hungover. He spit into the sink and rinsed his mouth. He couldn’t help but chuckle at Twitter. Everyone sounded like they felt like utter shit. Landon had learned early on to pace himself.

You can’t just drink everything in sight, act like a chump and expect there not to be paparazzi ready to catch you at your worst. He’d seen too many fellow up and comers’ career ruined by one too many drinks. He’d promised himself that that would never be him. He flashed his pearly whites in the mirror and gave himself a wink before exiting the bathroom.

______________________________________________

He walked up to the familiar building and buzzed himself in. It’d been months since he’d seen Jace. Sure...on paper they would never be friends. A long list of why Landon and Jace should accept their social standings and just go their separate ways, but he was one of the first people to show him the ropes at Hollywood Arts. And yeah, getting Jace to show you anything was like pulling teeth from a seizing dog sometimes, but hey...he was one of his best friends and for Landon, that meant something.

He stepped onto the elevator, holding their freshly made Starbucks beverages and pressed the button for Jace’s floor. He swallowed hard. Things had been tense. He knew it. Jace knew it. But he was determined to move past it. You can't get rid of a Sinclaire with a little cold shoulder. Jace was gonna have to try harder than that.

The ding of the elevator echoed through the hall as he stepped off the elevator and knocked on Jace’s door and opened it without giving him a chance to answer.

“Rise and shine, West. Your favorite person has returned.” He said jokingly as he shut the door behind him. Maybe he should have given the boy more than ten minutes notice, but he didn't want Jace to have a chance to come up with an excuse not to see him.

He maneuvered his way through the clutter as he had done hundreds of times. “One disgusting, iced caramel macchiato with nonfat milk for you.” He said as he set the coffee down next to Jace and sat on the bed.

He sipped his black tea. “Fuck that’s good." He stated with a dramatic Ahhhhh sound. "I’m still trying to get the taste of freezer burn out of my mouth from last night’s hook up.” He said with a playful smirk as he gave Jace a chance to take everything in. He was a lot...especially for the other boy, but if they were gonna move past things, it needed to be business as usual. "How've you been, buddy?"

| mood: The BEST Sinclaire | mentions: Evie, Mike, Adriane |outfit: outfit|
| interactions: Jace | tags: Winona |

º º code by ditto º º

 

[0k_mang0]

MOOD:
music vibe

OUTFIT:
click here
​

INFO

LOCATION:
hill trail, near south of Griffith Observatory

WITH:
no one​

ACTIVITY

beep

TAGS

CAPPIE

By the time he told his friends on Twitter that he was coming home in a couple of days, Cappie Monterey was already on the plane for his 10-hour flight back to Los Angeles.

Cappie arrived at the Johannes’ grand house around 6 in the morning, just barely as the sunrise floated up in the partially hazy sky. When he exited his taxi, he saw the front of the house and thought it looked okay—until he went inside, and with barely two steps in. Yikes. Kind of a shame that he missed the whole event.

Maybe he should’ve come back home a week after the Halloween party, not the day after it, but it wasn’t really his choice to make. Hollywood Arts only allowed him to stay in Japan for one day after he finished his part in the movie project that he’d been away for since the school year began. Most of his weekends there had been spent catching up on normal class assignments, and he had little time to be a tourist or talk to his friends. At least he earned some extra credit for his department program.

When he first got the callback before summer vacation ended, Cappie was beyond thrilled. He was going to be in his first major feature film!

However, he later learned that the script was edited. His character’s role had been greatly reduced, and he had to die within the first 5 minutes of the movie instead of appearing several times throughout it, alive. All that hype for nothing.

Okay, it wasn’t really nothing. He still got to be part of the movie, even if he wasn’t going to show his face or say more than 5 words. In the first month, he flew to Toronto, trained with the stunt crew to learn the choreography, gained a few more pounds of muscle, had a costume fitting, and then filmed a couple of action scenes (including his tragic death) in some parts of Toronto’s forest as a post-apocalyptic masked ninja-scavenger.

Initially, Cappie was only supposed to be gone for one month, but just before he finished his schedule, a main supporting actor’s stunt-double injured his hamstring badly. Because his athletic body frame and height matched the actor’s, Cappie was chosen as a replacement for the few remaining fight scenes and parkour chase scenes in Japan. (Actually, he was about one inch taller than the actor, but that’s okay. No one will notice the difference.)

Also, he was cheap. His resume was kind of short on big-time professional stuff. He’s only done stuntman jobs in 3 or 4 small projects on YouTube videos so far, including a short fan-film of a Spider-Man/Robin crossover team-up that he’d made for a Hollywood Arts class project last year and it has over a million views so far. (He was Robin.) So, his paycheck would probably end up being less than two thousand instead of two-hundred thousand. But still, this was the best opportunity Cappie had gotten so far. His face still wouldn’t be shown in Grauman's Chinese Theatre, but at least his body will. With clothes on, of course.

And now he was back in LA to focus on school again. The past few months were a bit exhausting, but he’d managed to have a decent sleep during most of his flight from Japan. Cappie entered the house quietly, assuming everyone there was still asleep. While carrying his suitcases to his room, he saw some guy sleeping on a couch and had no idea who that was. He wasn’t surprised that a few party guests had slept over. It happens sometimes, and this house had over a dozen bedrooms for a reason. Thankfully, he did not find a random drunk person in his since he picked a room with its own lock and key, so he can avoid situations like that.

Instead of unpacking his suitcases, Cappie took a relaxing shower, changed his clothes, dusted off his motorcycle helmet, and zipped away on his old motorcycle. He got it for a good price several months ago, and it was an ugly monster. It would barely start, rusted and scratched up in certain places, he might’ve almost died test riding it once or twice... It took him all summer to get it working smoothly. It was still a bit of a piece of junk. Too often, it took him at least five times to start the engine. But he still loved it, even though he could probably die from it someday.

He just cruised through the city, taking advantage of the weekend’s light early-morning traffic. He was still trying to get his dream car, but that might take a while. Besides, he liked being able to lane-split legally. He rode to the seaside port of Marina Del Rey to meet up with a friend named Carlos and give him the ten refrigerator magnets from Japan to add to the collection on his boat. This guy really loved novelty magnets for some reason. Carlos was the one who helped Cappie get the parts needed to fix the Triumph bike, and also let him drive one of his cars at not-so-legal drag races sometimes, help him get the extra cash that paid more than Cappie’s real job.

Not gonna detail about that any further.

Later, Cappie went to a little cafe east of the Observatory. He bought an egg salad sandwich, took a 15 to 20-minute hike up a trail, and sat on a bench on the edge of a hill, watching a surprisingly gorgeous view of the city’s mid-morning skyline.

Los Angeles may not be an entirely kind place, but sometimes it has its fine moments if you know where to look for them. Like now, Cappie found a great place to drink his cappuccino in peace before he’d surprise his friends later.

This wasn't something he did often. He was very certain that he had some jet lag, but he could fix it later, eventually.

code by valen t.

 

[ditto]

[

Guess I'm an eyesore, baby
I advise you look away

M O O D : a techxpert. that's what i am.

O U T F I T : t-shirt & sweatpants

L O C A T I O N : the apartment

M E N T I O N S : n/a

I N T E R A C T I O N S : ash

T A G S : Winona

​

Trevor Callaghan hated making decisions.

Granted, Trevor Callaghan hated most of anything, so one more thing on the list didn’t really raise any eyebrows.

Look, decision-making was difficult. Even after weighing the options, he could never set his mind on one thing or the other, and, when he finally made a decision, it was usually the wrong one.

Decisions were still his to make, though. He never relented this. The last thing he wanted was someone else making the wrong decision for him. That was his job.

When he did try to be “easygoing” (or whatever the hell they called recklessly letting others take you where they want to go nowadays), he always ended up in situations in which he didn’t know what to do.

Like this one.

“I don’t have ideas,” Ash huffed.

It seemed as if they’d reached an impasse.

A small smile spread across his lips, and he shook his head slightly. “No ideas of nothin’?” he asked.

His fingers were not crossed that she would suggest one of his earlier two ideas in the slightest. He was a gentleman— he would never hope for such a thing.

…okay, feckin’ fine. Since today was the day of “honesty”, apparently, he’d concede that maybe he was hoping to hear her ask him you wanna go blaze a joint with me? or do you have a condom?, because the answer to both would be an automatic yes.

But.

He knew Ash, and—

Okay, no, he didn’t. You caught him again.

He was dating a virtual stranger who he had a schoolboy crush on because she was hot and nice.

Let him rephrase that:

He knew Ash well enough to know that that fantasy was just a fantasy.

What a bummer that was…sigh.

Her head lowered to rest on his shoulder.

His heart caught in his throat for a second.

That was cute. She was cute.

She was close to him.

Touching him.

Stopstopstopstopstop.

“Like, there’s nothing to do when you’re stuck at home,” she said.

“Mm,” he said, smiling at his thoughts.

There was nothin’ ta do when you were stuck at home with your significant other, really.

Nothin’ except blaze an’ bang. Nothin’ except smoke an’ sex it up.

His eyes studied her face, the tips of his ears growing hot as he watched her eyes. He could tell that she was thinking.

Telepathically, he tried to communicate to her what he totally didn’t want and what he himself would never ask for on a date so romantic as this.

Finally, her lips curled to speak.

“Movie?”

He grinned widely. Hell ye—

…

A movie…?

His grin faded slightly.

Well, shite.

He needed to work on his ESP.

“Like, it’s kind of…boring, like, watching a movie,” she continued, lifting her head from his shoulder, to a slight, disappointed thud of his heart, “but I can’t really think of anything else we could do.”

As the disappointment of not having either of his ideas come out of his girlfriends mouth subsided, Trevor found himself smiling once again.

Watching a movie wasn’t a bad idea or boring in the slightest.

He knew how much of a shocker it was that he, Trevor, the screenwriter, enjoyed films. He knew that he had a stick so far up his ass that the doctors couldn’t pull it out last time he went for his physical and that he never enjoyed anything.

(He also knew that you would take this literally, so here was where he told you that that was all sarcasm.)

Look, Trevor was a film buff.

(He blamed it on his dad. Part of growing up with loaded parents was the exorbitant amount of useless shite that they had lying around the house. For example, in their private cinema, in the closet beside the projector screen, his father stored his cardboard actor and actress cutouts.)

“Movie could be interestin’,” he said, trying to seem less interested than he actually was. “’s long as yer good wit’ what we watch, I’m good wit’ what we watch.”

Or what we don’t watch…wink, wink.

(The one-track mind struck again.)

“I’m sure we got some popcorn or somethin’,” he suggested. “I’m a master of the art of microwavin’ popcorn, in fact.” (He really was. He had a knack for picking just the right time.) “They call me Gordon Ramsean. I’m kinda a big deal,” he teased lightly.

He looked to the television, and he leaned forward to grab the remote with his left hand. He slung his other arm across the back of the couch as he leaned his back against the couch, and he held the remote up slightly to click on the power button. “Television’s all fanc—“

He pressed a wrong button or something like that, and the television suddenly started blaring an infomercial: THE WONDER KNIFE! BUY IT NOW FOR ONLY TWO PAYMENTS OF—

“Shite.”

He stared at the remote, squinting to try to see what he could have pressed. Input, maybe? Or…settings?

He looked up at the television, brows knitting tighter as he pressed button after button and got weird pop-up after weird pop-up after weird pop-up.

“What the…”

He knew just what to do.

He held out his palm and then SMACK! He slammed the remote as hard as he could.

“Ow!” he hissed, shaking his hand and blowing on it as the television still yelled random facts about THE WONDER KNIFE!, which was now cutting a roasted goose limb from limb.

With a huff, he looked back at the television, pressing another couple of buttons before the VOLUME DOWN notification appeared on the screen.

His face relaxed as he pressed the button over and over again until the volume got to tolerable.

With a chuckle, he shook his head dismissively. “Technology, amiright?” he said casually.

He was as cooooool as a cucumber. Nothing had happened there ‘tall.

(Ya see, if he acted like nothing happened, then nothing may as well have happened. That was how it worked.)

“TV’s a bitch sometimes, ya get it,” he laughed, offering the remote to her as he lowered his right arm and its tingling red hand to sit back across the back of the couch. “Bah, whatever,” he chuckled softly. “Pick som’n’, an’ I’ll watch it wit’ ya.” He ventured to lower his arm from the back of the couch to go around her shoulders.

“We’ll…” He trailed off, looking up and searching for the right word. “Bond over this.”

He looked over at Ash again, meeting her eyes as a kind of cautious grin spread across his face. “Ya know…or somethin’ sappy like that.”

TREVOR CALLAGHAN

º º code by ditto º º

 

[geminiy]

Genevieve Johannes

@genjohanne has set their status to:
hating life ngl

@genjohanne has set their outfit to:
get that gym on

@genjohanne has set their location to:
the hollywood arts gym

@genjohanne has mentioned:
liv, mike, gen, eli, cap

@genjohanne has interacted with:
n/a

@genjohanne has tagged:
n/a

Gen woke up to the soundtrack to some unidentifiable show softly playing through the speakers and the dull glint of early morning glinting through the blinds. She was in someone’s arms, someone who smelled of perfume and liquor, someone who felt like home. Gen smiled warmly as she nestled her head into the girl’s arm, allowing her eyes to flutter shut for just a brief moment.

Evelyn Sinclaire. Gen was convinced that there was no one else in the world outside of her family that she loved more.

I’ll be there for you when the rain starts to pour.

Gen’s eyes opened as she looked at the television which was playing the opening scene to yet another endlessly rewatched episode of Friends. Laughing softly to herself, Gen attempted to sit up slowly. How perfect of a show to wake up to after a night such as that one. Running a hand softly through her hair, Gen scooted back slightly so that she was sitting with her back against the headboard of the bed.

Did she remember most of what she had done the day before? Unfortunately, yes. Did she regret drinking so damn much? Yes. Did sleeping help to cure the raging guilt and anger that bubbled in her system? No.

Did making out with her best friend before bursting out into a fit of laughter at the absurdity of their drunken actions before falling asleep in each other’s arms to a lovely episode of Friends do the trick? Abso-fucking-lutely.

What? Did you really think they were going to fuck? Ahahahaha gotcha, bitch.

Slowly peeling herself off of the bed, Gen made it two steps until the world began to spin and her stomach began to lurch. Abort mission, abort mission.

Thus marked the day that Gen became best friends with her toilet and arch nemeses with tequila. Everything hurt: her limbs, her throat, her head, her heart. As she emptied the contents of her stomach into the porcelain bowl, the memories of the dreadful prior night flooded back to her. The destroying of Jan, the breaking of hearts, the absolutely pitiful desk fuck…

Gen rested her head on the cold ceramic that lined her bathroom walls and let a hefty sigh fall from her chest. God, she was a fuck up.

Eventually pulling herself from the floor, Gen made her way to the shower. The feeling of the water dripping down her smooth skin was sobering, the steam flooding her pores and nose. Gen tilted her head backwards to allow the water to rush down her neck, her eyes fluttering shut at the sensation. If it was possible, Gen would scrub and scrub and scrub until every monumental fuck up of the day before off her body. Every touch, every word, every harsh word, every tear; if Gen had her way, it would all be washed away and down the drain, never to be felt or seen again. Unfortunately, that’s not how the world worked.

By the time Gen was done with her shower and had managed to pull herself together enough to face the rest of the world, Evie had long since left the warmth of Gen’s bed leaving the sheets and blankets carefully folded behind her. The house itself was eerily quiet, the buzzing silence alerting Gen that no one was home. Looking down at her phone, Gen’s eyes widened slightly in shock. Had she really spent nearly three hours in the bathroom?

The house was empty as Gen walked about, getting ready for her day. Eli had left her a plate of breakfast and a note saying he had left for the studio early, Ash had obviously also left to do whatever she had planned for the day, and Cap wasn’t back yet. Although the lonely feeling only added to the anxiety bubbling in her chest, the quiet did wonders for the headache pounding around inside of her skull.

Popping two Tylenols, Gen slid into her usual spot at the breakfast table. Her fork pushed around the berries on her plate and the smell of butter and jam on toast was wholeheartedly nauseating though she still attempted to pick at the food that Eli had made for her. Thoughts bubbled around in her head as the pieces of the very fuzzy puzzle began to click together. Her overly dramatic, though honest, threats to Jan leading to the tequila leading to the tears leading to the locket leading to Liv leading to… fucking Mike.

Gen audibly groaned, abandoning her attempt to eat at the thought of actually sleeping with him. Fighting with Liv was one thing but getting with the guy who caused her so much emotional pain in one night was a whole new low for Gen. Revenge fucking was fun and all but this was just awful. Sure Gen and Mike had flirted in the past but it was all in good fun and 100% not them actually pursuing each other. Hell, after two years of friendship if they were going to screw for any normal reason they most certainly would’ve done it before that night. He was a mistake, a horrible, stupid, dreadful mistake, a mistake that Gen was determined to avoid for the rest of time.

Tired of sitting around, Gen cleaned up breakfast and grabbed her gym bag from her room. She needed to do something, anything to get her mind off of everything that had happened. If she couldn’t wash the night off, maybe she could sweat it out and if that didn’t work, Gen would do what Gen does best: throw herself into her work until she cannot think or speak about anything else.

Arriving at the school, Gen used her access card to get in through the back of the building near the gym. Hollywood Arts almost always left the school open for students, especially when a big event such as the Winter Arts Festival was lurking just around the corner. Why pay for a gym membership when you get access to a great gym for free? After changing into her workout gear, Gen plugged in her phone to the gym speakers and began her daily routine.

º º code by ditto º º