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

[ditto]

trevor callaghan

quite the catch

Trevor chuckled at Ash’s sarcasm. There was the biting that he knew her for. “After I watch it, does that mean I get boobs, too?” he kidded in his slightly-slurred way. “I could add one more body part to tha tally of those t’at Jo could scoop out an’ sell on the black market.” He put his free hand to his heart, looking into the distance and giving a deep, fake sniffle. “Yes, unfortunately, t’at number is above one.”

RIP his uterus.

(It was an inside joke.)

At Ash’s insinuation that he, Sean Trevor Callaghan, perhaps the manliest hunk of man that was ever to be a hunk of man, would have watched such a movie as The Notebook, he chuckled softly.

Shite, she knew.

Defense mode: activate.

He shook his head quickly, and then slowed down with the shaking, chuckling again. “I know a lot of stuff,” he said, as if it were a given. “My brain is threatenin’ ta burst through my skull as we speak. They call me Einstein— or, rather, Highnstein.” He gave her a proud, dopey grin at his dumb joke. “Trivia is my forte, darlin’,” he continued, “and math is my piano.” That was an overstatement. “Pianissimo…?” he tried to correct, brows furrowing as he focused on finding the right term.

Pianississimo.

He feckin’ sucked at math, alright?

He trailed off, looking at the television as she continued to fiddle with the remote, doing some kind of wizardry to turn on the movie without opening seven thousand menus. “I mean, it’s your TV,” she said with a laugh. “You should be able to use it better than me. Do you just…not use it?" She glanced at him, and his eyes flickered away as he chuckled. "Like, what do you do if you don't watch TV?” she asked. “Do you just…like….do you really just write all the time?"

“Are ya tryin’ ta attack me fer my doin’s, darlin’?” he said, mocking grumpiness with a grin on his face. With a chuckle, he dropped the false demeanor. “See, ya learn somethin’ when ya live in an apartment wit’ three other fully capable, far too gracious people...” His eyes trailed to the screen, and he chuckled. “…and t’at’s how ta freeload.” He looked over at Ash, grinning his dope-ish grin at her. “Either I get my roommates to work it for him, or I spend thirty minutes messin’ wit’ it an’ accidentally get it stuck on children’s programmin’, slam the remote against tha table ta get it to change to somethin’ else, accidentally dent tha table and bust open tha remote, and scramble ta put it together before one of tha girls asks what that noise was. Oh, an’, of course, there are two of tha four batteries that I can’t find, so I have ta jus’ stand up an’ feel around tha floor like Velma wit'out glasses, an’ I find one. I cry out in victory an’ place it in its spot, sit the remote on the cushion, then discover t’at, well, shite, one of them rolled beneath the recliner. I go to tha recliner, try an’ lift it up, and can’t pick tha damn thin’ up, so I jus’ kick it, an’ I end up breakin’ the seams on the fabric over the back of it. Of course, t’at doesn’t help, so I sit down on tha floor while tha Cat in the Hat sings in tha background an’ jus’…sit an’ stare bitterly at the recliner— before I remember t’at I have long arms. So I lay down on tha floor, an’ jus’ as I grasp it, here comes Jo, an’ of course, I’m half way under the recliner, so she comes up and grabs me by my ribs. Now, it’s a natural instinct to lift up an’ jerk— but I don’t have enough room for that, so I end up slammin' my neck against tha damn bar beneath the recliner. So I have to sit wit’ ice on my neck for tha rest of tha week, and I’m here getting called PBS Sean by my roommates for a solid two months.” He sighed softly. “True story. Sad, but true.”

He looked back at the television. “But, more commonly, I use somethin’ else. I dunno if ya’ve heard of it or not, but…” He set his free hand in front of himself, tapping the air as if typing. “It’s this wonderful piece of technology called a laptop.” He grinned over at her. “It’s really underground. Super indie project.” He chuckled, shaking his head slightly, and then he began to gave his actual answer: “I mostly watch movies and shows on my laptop. I have them on in the background to provide a bit of ambience as I write.”

Did that mean that he had memberships to legitimate streaming services, seeing as he had the money to and everything?

Psh, what kind of guy did you think that he was?

Obviously the answer was absolutely not.

Trevor was a couponing soccer mom at heart. He wasn’t about to do such a thing. He would rather take his chances with the piracy sites where his eyes were blinded by obscene advertising for miracle pills or sites that had 1,000 LONELY SINGLES NEAR YOU WHO WANT YOU! and gave him viruses with every watch now button clicked than spend that kind of money on such things.

“But, I will give ya this, too…” He trailed over to look at his girlfriend. “…Yeah,” he admitted, voice mildly defeated. “I write all of tha time, for tha mos’ part.” His eyes flicked to the journal on the couch, then back to Ash. “A lot.”

He had a life, okay?

…

(…okay, yeah, no, he didn’t.)

He glanced back at the screen as the movie began to play. His eyes glued to the screen, Trevor gently pulled Ash closer to his body, his hand poised on her shoulder.

He watched in silence for a few moments, his face one of intense concentration as he took in the sights on the screen.

“This looks like a nature documentary.”

It was here that you should note that Trevor was notorious for being a terrible person—

(Stop laughing. He wasn’t leaving it there, no matter how true it was.)

— to watch films with.

Trevor enjoyed films, yes. As iterated several times before, he was quite the film buff. That said, he enjoyed them in his own unique way.

That was, he commented on the movie every five seconds, regardless of whether he’d seen it fifty times or no times at all.

Was it because he didn’t know how to appreciate much of anything?

Why the hell were you asking that question? You were looking too deep into this.

“The piano music is too emotional for a credits scene,” he mumbled. “It seems more like an ASPCA commercial. Donate a cent a day to…” He trailed off as the names on the screen faded into others, and then faded into others. “Produced by Mark Johnson— yeah, see?” He gestured to the screen with his free hand, glancing at Ash, though he wasn’t particularly talking to her. He smiled slightly “I was right. He directed Narnia, too. Got a few Oscars, and a Golden Globe…,” he gushed to the television screen, words losing their track as his eyes focused on the characters now on screen.

His eyes glazed over with an odd kind of focus as he listened intently to the scene, completely silent. His brows knit slightly.

And then he ruined the quiet again. “She kinda looks like Nana,” he commented, voice slightly agitated, for whatever reason, “though Nana fits the generic old lady look. You see an old woman on the street and odds are that she looks like…” As there was more movement on the screen, Trevor’s words lost their way again, his face relaxing, his gaze entranced with whatever was happening on the screen.

“They synced over that line,” he chuckled. “You can tell if you watch closely. The lip movements were just off, and the mic quality was too…”

He trailed off once more, studying the screen again.

If you want your personal antisocial, generally unpleasant, self-loathing Irish stoner to speak up, simply give him at least two of the following:

1. Weed

2. Alcohol

3. A hot girl (this option comes with the added bonus of miserable awkwardness and/or weirdness that appears mildly charming when (and only when) heavily under the influence)

4. Anything for him to criticize— or not criticize, because he’ll criticize it anyway

Collect more to increase your chances!

That’s right! It’s as easy as that!*

*Restrictions apply, results may vary. Efforts are nonrefundable.

mood
trevor: film critic edition

location
his apartment

outfit
t-shirt & sweatpants

playing...
eyesore

by glaive​

mentions
jo

interactions
ash

tags
Winona

º º code by ditto º º

 

[mogy]

Oates Oates
" podcasts, amirite? "

@bigO has set their status to:
go on, callum, trust me

@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

Hope was what Callum preached, and fittingly enough, exactly what Oates needed to hear. The tears that formed in his eyes now found their way down his rosy cheeks and onto the table he'd been leaned over, his limp hands in the other boy's, cold yet protected. His eyes were intent on looking into Callum's, only making him remember how different it was to look into Kian's. One, a world of infinity and love, the other an ocean, now, instead of with water, filled with melancholy and despondency.

He couldn't help but give the waterfalls on his cheeks potency, letting them slowly pass. From the looks of things, luckily, Callum didn't mind the crying, continuing to convince how much things were going to be different than what they were before and how good they were going to be, together again, if only they were to try once more. If only...

It was almost a physical sort of relief to hear that there was a way out of the mess Oates created by choosing to stay friends with Callum, no matter how false or how cunning the words leaving Callum's mouth were. He wasn't sure if a way out existed when the question left his mouth, and a risk taken paid off, Oates now knowing there might have been a release for Callum. The boy's words were a light at the end of the tunnel, even if only artificial; even if only a glimmer of hollow hope to keep Oates going just a little while longer until an actual light at the end of the seemingly endless tunnel was visible. Callum knew what he was doing, and unfortunately for Oates, it was working without a flaw, the shorter boy being slowly pulled back into what he walked away from just a few weeks ago.

But then again, how could one not have believed in wonderland if presented right in front of them?

They could be better. Better than the sleepless nights and the silent days; better than being together only for the sake of not being alone. They could be so much more than what they were when they were separate, so much more than just Oates and just Callum. He knew that was the truth—it had to have been because otherwise, love wasn't love, and everything he based his beliefs on was but a mere thin glass floor just waiting to shatter.

"And that will help you?" He muttered out, trying to suppress the sound of crying in his voice. "Like truly actually help you? Because I can't hurt you again, Callum, and I don't think you can stand me hurting you again either. I don't want to be the reason for your pain, and I don't want you to be the reason for mine."

It appeared as if he were thinking about what to do, but the truth was that his decision was made the night before, listening to Callum muttering something in his sleep. Who would Oates have been if he denied Callum the only help the boy ever had? Who would Oates have been if he denied Callum the only chance of happiness he had? Sure, it might not have been the only chance of happiness for Oates, or the way to the most joy and love, but he simply couldn't take away Callum's hope.

"I can trust you. I will trust you with everything I've got, but please, Cal, please try to trust me back." Both Oates and his eyes begged for this. It was the only way this thing was going to actually work this time, and if he was going to sacrifice himself once again for the purpose of Callum's wellbeing, Callum needed to be on board.

º º code by dildo º º

 

[jasmyn]

M O O D : "Here goes nothing!"

L O C A T I O N : Brunch Date.

I N T E R A C T I O N S : Jared.

T A G S : Kitsune2202

Kennedy Parks had a date with Jared Darrington. It was sure to make headlines the moment they were captured out together which was the whole point, right? Ken and Jared had spent a good couple of months building a friendship for their fans to see and speculate about as requested by their managers. People seemed to love the idea of the very polar opposite pair getting closer. Her team said that it was good for her career and that the benefits were worth the act. Was it though?

Ken hadn't been so sure at first and it took a lot of convincing but she'd obviously cracked and agreed to try it out. She just hoped that she could keep up and make it look as real as it needed to. It was a big challenge for the girl who was used to being so open and raw with her fans online to now be deceiving them but who knows. Jared had been a gentleman so maybe it wouldn't be so hard to "date" him. Besides, maybe something would actually bloom from it? Was that just wishful thinking? Probably.

Honestly, Kenny was a nervous wreck as she rummaged through her closest in search of the perfect outfit. She had to be fashionable enough to be on the arm of model, Jared Darrington but not overly fancy since it was just brunch. Not to mention that even though it was all for show, a date was still a date. Ken hadn't been on one since her last relationship and that was so long ago. The end of sophomore year when she'd briefly dated Eli, to be precise.

Of course, that was completely different than this. With Eli, things had been easy and natural and...it was Eli.

After sending Charlie a million outfit choices, she'd finally been able to choose one and just in time too. A knock came from the living room and Ken grabbed her bag off the bed before leaving her room, clothes still tossed all over her bed. "I'm leaving, Mags! See you later on! Don't forget your house key!" she called out, unsure if her friend had actually heard her through her hangover-induced sleep.

The girl wasted no time in swinging open the door to reveal Jared, offering him a bright smile. "Hey, you look, uh, great," she said as she stepped out and closed the door behind her, locking it before motioning in front of them. "Shall we? I am starving and they run out of beignets fast at this place," she laughed a little, hoping that her nerves weren't too obvious.

KENNEDY PARKS

º º code by ditto º º

 

[hery]

MOOD: wuv me?

OUTFIT: jammies

LOCATION: oates' apartment

basics

MENTIONS:
n/a
INT:
mogy (Oates)

tags

TL;DR no

tl;dr

Callum Richards

Words have a strange way of manifesting themselves in reality. Sometimes, whether through sheer will or persistent dedication, hopes and dreams just come true. Callum hardly hoped or dreamt, if at all, but just this morning he began to wonder if he would make everything alright with a simple prayer. He wanted so badly for things to be normal, or at the bare minimum to feel the comfort and humanity he'd experienced with Oates when they were together.

Then again, it's easier to want than it is to try. No one told Callum what trying was supposed to look like, though. He could feel his resolve slipping away at every moment Oates clung to his speech. He didn't know what he was saying. He didn't believe half of it, but his entirety wanted to. And, for a flash of a moment, he almost felt like his entirety was trying to. Some faint spark was there, beckoning the aloof boy forward into the harsh, burning sunlight.

He felt exposed. But not alone.

In front of him sat Oates, who continued to profess his faith (or at the very least goodwill) toward him. Although it was only their hands that connected, he felt the magnitude of their bond sending ripples through his soul, urging him to bear the painful, uncertain light bathing his form. It was as though he was stitched to the ground, his words of make-believe hope hacking at the sinews holding him in place.

With the teary-eyed, hopelessly compassionate boy's promise of loyalty and charity, Callum was compelled to carry on. He found strength in the desperate, but soft gaze staring him right back in the eye. "You know you could never hurt me the way I've messed things up for us. Just let me take responsibility," he pleaded, "The last thing I want is to hurt you when all you've done is show me nothing but kindness. I wouldn't be able to live with myself." His thumb gently rubbed at the back of Oates' hand, the warmth of his flesh freeing him from his doubts and despair.

"It haunts me thinking of the way I lost you and myself. I want to trust you, because you deserve it. And I'm going to try to with everything I have." He bit his lip, rushing to pick the right words in the span of a second. "I need you with me, Oates. I think I-" He cut himself off. You don't. Not yet.

He just... wasn't ready. It hurt to come to terms with, but everything Callum had already said was enough to exhaust him for days. "Please stay with me," he whimpered, raising a hand to the curly-haired boy's cheek to wipe a tear. He still hated the sight of them.

"Don't leave me," he added hoarsely, immediately shoving the lump in his throat downward. He stared at Oates for a while. He didn't need an immediate response of any fashion, as he wasn't particularly listening for one. After laying it all out on the table, he entrusted his patience and longing with the one boy in the world who ever came close to bringing him peace.

And so, he leaned in for a kiss.

Suddenly, the little lie he'd fabricated felt an ounce more real.

code by valen t.

 

[hery]

MOOD: pallin' around!!!!

OUTFIT: clothes

LOCATION: park

basics

MENTIONS:
Adriane

INT:
Winona (Damien)
ditto (Felix)

tags

TL;DR no

tl;dr

Javier Cervantes

Felix's sickeningly cordial tone left... much to be desired. Javier found his charming, crooked smile to be anything but endearing, leaving a nauseous feeling in his stomach. The guy was transparent as ever in his stupid business code, but the curly-haired drug dealer nonetheless felt alarm bells ringing in every inch of his head. The sunny, cheery demeanor his apparent business rival gave off seemed to be laced with poison, inciting a paranoia Javi hadn't felt in a long time. Why should he have to watch his step around the pharmacist of the Barbie fucking Dreamhouse?

"You're fuckin' strange, man," Javi replied, noting that he oddly still wasn't alarmed enough to shove Felix's hand off his shoulder, "I mean, not that I mind. We all got our income and shit, but that doesn't mean I'm signing some stupid ass business contract, verbal or not." He cracked his knuckles, which was most definitely a sign of confidence and not a nervous habit. "Like I said, I'm not tryna fuck with your shit, but that doesn't mean I'm worried about any threat." He smirked, then put up finger quotes. "Or 'warning'."

The fact that this dorky, blonde boss baby was so easily able to steer the conversation back to something lighthearted was a little unnerving, but it didn't much surprise Javi. He played the harmless nice guy role excellently, and it seemed no matter where Javi tried to take things, he'd always center them back on something nice. Did anything he even said matter at this point? They'd gotten to the nitty gritty, but in a flash returned to smiles and laughter.

"Obviously you're the calculated, scheming-type boss. You look like you got tons of shit on your mind," he asserted, raising an eyebrow in thought, "Not that you're necessarily scheming anything fucked-up. But who knows."

He's totally plotting my assassination. Probably Slutter too if he knows so much about this dead asshole Ben. They all got shifty eyes.

"You're not abandoning me now that ol' Blondie's back, are you?" Javi whined, putting on his best impression of a sad puppy, "I've always been there for you this past month or so, Slutter, compadre." He winked at Felix, not even sure how many boundaries he was crossing at this point. Damien wasn't exactly a prize... no one would fight over a customer like him, even if he was absolutely loaded like Adriane's bra. But, of course, money is money.

"It's a small price to pay for the Javier hospitality," he reasoned, swinging an arm over the two boys' shoulders, "If we can all manage it, I'd love to forge some kumbaya bullshit with you fine gentlemen. I'll try to be good." The muscular boy sent an impudent grin to Felix.

He reached into Damien's pocket, feeling for his wallet. He patted it, but refrained from fishing it out. "I may be a little rough around the edges... and dumb, but I'm a reasonable businessman." He pondered a moment, his stare growing vacant with no apparent cognition behind his eyes. "And, uh, friend," he corrected, "I fuckin' love negotiating. It's my shit." Yeah... his left fist was his foreign policy, and his right was his tax plan. Hopefully that smug, blonde, business-grabbing, mafia man, Ken doll shithead wouldn't have to schedule a rhinoplasty so long as he played his cards right.

And oh, how right it was for imposing dickheads to avoid fucking with Javi.

code by valen t.

 

[jasmyn]

M O O D : "This is gonna be weird."

L O C A T I O N : Buger Place.

I N T E R A C T I O N S : Nate.

T A G S : Winona

Warmth. Bliss. Saftey. Unconditional love. That's what Genevieve Johannes' embrace felt like to Evelyn. Falling asleep in the arms of her best friend after a shitshow of a night felt like a safety net and she was eternally grateful to know that was always there.

She'd gotten up while Gen was still in the shower, the fresh scent of a floral body wash seeping into the room through the door. Grabbing her things, Evie left a note on the girl's vanity telling her they needed to catch up later before fixing the bed and leaving.

When Evie stepped out into the sunlight she groaned a little at the bright light. Luckily her hangover wasn't too overbearing because she hadn't had nearly as much as some others but it was annoying nonetheless. She wasn't supposed to be waking up and having to drive. The plan was to still be in bed right about now, enjoying a late morning of sleep or something.

The morning after Halloween she assumed she would be half-dressed, still wrapped up in the sheets next to the hot guy she'd ended the night with. In her mind, that guy was likely to be Nate since they had been together most of the party and they were no strangers to her bed anyway.

Besides, it wasn't like she'd been sleeping with anyone else over the past couple of months (minus the Dei disaster following homecoming). No, no, that wasn't because she liked Nate or anything. If an opportunity had presented itself then it's not like she'd have said no because of him, she just hadn't been searching for another hook-up because she didn't need to. It was unnecessary work. So...whatever.

Either way, her Halloween itinerary had been ruined by the bomb Nate had dropped on her. The great confession of 2020 by Nathan Woods. For some reason, he'd decided to tell her that he liked her and she was still struggling to wrap her head around the why of it all. Nate wasn't exactly in the habit of expressing his emotions so it had completely caught her off-guard. Had it been the alcohol? The weed? Maybe so but she couldn't help but feel like he meant what he said. And she fucking walked away.

Total bitch move.

Normally she would've just left it at that. Avoided the conversation, the mistakes, him. She would've avoided him. It's what she was good at. Pretending that her issues were non-existent until they no longer mattered. This wasn't something she could do that with though, not with him.

Look, Evie actually cared about Nate so regardless of not wanting to be in a stupid relationship, she didn't want to lose him as a friend. They had created some kind of a bond outside of these continuous hookups and it was actually important to her now. Which was why instead of just acting as if last night had never happened she had chosen to text him to see if he would meet her so they could talk.

A few hours passed before Evie was finally ready to leave and face the awkward conversation ahead of her. As she reached for the handle of the front door, she thought about calling out to her brother to let him know she was leaving but his music was too loud that he likely wouldn't have heard her. Besides, he'd ask a million questions anyway so she just slipped out the front door and made her way to her car.

As soon as she walked into the burger place she spotted Nate at a table, staring down at his phone. Evie took a deep breath and walked over, pulling her skirt down a little as she sat down so that her thighs weren't touching the cold plastic seat. "Hey," she said softly, glancing across the table at him. This was going to be even weirder than she initially thought especially because her mind was struggling to find words.

"So, I know I said it in text but I feel like it needs to be said out loud too or it doesn't really count. I'm sorry for walking away like that last night, it was stupid. I just, I wasn't exactly expecting you to...you know," she broke eye contact for a brief moment.

Where the hell did they go from here?

EVELYN SINCLAIRE

º º code by ditto º º

 

[gh0stwriter]

Love Me Dead | Ludo

Landon Sinclaire

"The Better Sinclaire."

The air was tense. More tense than he had prepared for. Did the apartment look messier than he was used to? Yes. Were there more instruments than pieces of furniture? Yes. But, there was a difference between messy and dirty, right? Landon rarely bothered himself with semantics. He had people that took care of that kind of stuff and, in truth, he’d have it no other way.

Tense. Yes. Back to the tension. Thankfully, he was fairly certain that it had nothing to do with him.

“Favorite person is a bit of an overstatement,”

His face fell slightly. Okay, so maybe it had a little bit to do with him, but this was classic Jace. The Arts Festival was just a few weeks away. Everyone was on edge, but Jace...he had added pressures.

“My favorite person is Dorian if I had to choose..”

Okay, now he was just being being a dick. Landon couldn’t help but narrow his eyes as he sat up straight. And to be honest, he couldn’t tell if he was more upset that Dorian had wormed his way into Jace’s number one spot or if it was because Landon had very few actual friends. Work had always come above all else. Stella and Jace understood that better than anyone. They never judged him for flaking for an audition because they did the same.

But Jace was a constant...at least he used to be, but after the several unreturned calls and texts, he had assumed that he just needed time away. Time to process what had happened and time to get the fuck over it. He took a sip of his tea as he scooted toward the edge of the bed as Jace gathered his thoughts.

“Wretched,”

He got over the jealousy. Not jealousy cause Landon didn’t get jealous. Especially of Dorian Holloway. But he got over the fact that he didn’t like that Jace had a new favorite. If you want to call it jealousy, then go fuck yourself. Anyway, he was over it and ready to be a good friend.

Landon watched pensively as Jace explained his woes. Elise had struck again with demolishing any ounce of confidence her son could build up between their conversations. To say that Landon wasn’t a fan of Elise would be redundant and pointless. No one cared for the elder Wests, but Jace still held his mother’s opinion in high regard and he’d made the mistake of challenging it one too many times that he just gave up.

It just reminded him of how lucky he and Evie had been. Their parents never cared if they were successful or even wanted to be in the spotlight. They had just been supportive. Even for the week when he was six and wanted to be a mailman, they cheered him on. Sure, he had taken the neighbors’ mail from their mailbox and went door-to-door delivering their mail. And yes, he had delivered said mail to the wrong addresses, but he was fucking amazing at it. Kind, courteous. He'd even wave. It was adorable.

“W-what about you? How was uhh… the uhh… the movie?”

He could talk about himself all day. A wide smile appeared on his face as he took a deep breath. “I-it was amazing dude.” He slapped Jace’s leg playfully as he placed his feet on the ground. “Elizabeth Moss was like so fucking nice and you know how she’s got that face? It’s not as bad in person. She’s actually really pretty when she’s not crying or being beat up.” He said with a shrug. “The trailer is supposed to drop in a few months.” He sighed. “I was hoping that maybe I could get something to show at the festival, but I’ve got a few things in the works.” He shrugged.

He sipped his tea as it got quiet again. There were always moments of silence. Landon could talk enough for the both of them. Plus, Jace wasn’t a ‘words’ guy, but it was never stagnant. It was comfortable and easy and Landon missed it. Missed the times before everything got complicated. "You gonna let me hear what you got or do I have to beg?"

| mood: The BEST Sinclaire | mentions: NA|outfit: outfit|
| interactions: Jace | tags: Winona |

º º code by ditto º º

 

[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:
Evie

@NathanielWithoutTheIel has mentioned:
N/A

@NathanielWithoutTheIel has tagged:
jasmyn ​

A little pep talk from Mike... did not fucking pep him up one bit. However, it did give him something to look forward to later that night -- getting drunk on the beach tonight with Mike and skipping school tomorrow? Absolutely the only thing he was looking forward to right now, especially since he was expecting this conversation to go a lot like... well... a lot like teeth getting pulled.

Why, he wondered, did Evie feel the need to bring up his mistakes from the night before and just toss them back in his face?

Why, he begged, could she not just leave him to wallow in his own misery?

Why did she have to rub salt in his wound?

When he heard the ringing of the bell on the front door, he glanced up from his phone to see her walking in. Part of him considered just diving underneath the table and then army crawling his way out the back or something -- something that could help him avoid this awkward fucking conversation that he just... he wasn't ready to have it, alright? Nate was horrible when it came to facing the consequences of his actions.

Exhibit A: the conversation with Liv this morning. Exhibit B: this right now.

As she approached, he contemplated escape routes but, upon coming to the conclusion that escape was impossible, he instead switched his line of thought to what he would say, how he would say it. The excuses that he could potentially weave of why he'd been such an idiot the night before.

Look, yeah, everything he'd said the night before had been true, but that didn't mean Nate was going to come clean about it -- especially since Evie had fucking run away the last time he had and if that wasn't a good enough answer for you about she felt, well... you weren't the sharpest tool in the shed, were ya? Or maybe you were one of those hopeless romantic types, but Nate wasn't.

His heart threatened to beat out of his chest as she took the seat across from him. Heart pounding, were his palms sweaty? Shit. Fuck. The way he felt right now wasn't okay or cool in the fucking slightest -- tense, quiet, stone-cold Nathan Woods was practically shaking like a Chihuahua in the presence of Evelyn Sinclaire. (And no, he wasn't actually shaking, but the pounding heart and sweaty palms -- something only he was experiencing and that Evie wouldn't even notice -- was enough to make him think he was.) This was fucking... he was fucking... fuck.

His eyes flickered to hers and met hers as she started to speak.

"So, I know I said it in text but I feel like it needs to be said outloud too or it doesn't really count. I'm sorry for walking away like that last night, it was stupid. I just, I wasn't exactly expecting you to...you know," she broke eye contact, and he looked away, too.

Nate's fingers tapped against the table top. "Yeah, I wasn't expecting it, either," he mumbled, his tone defeated and astonished as he spoke. And look, Nate wasn't expecting it -- sure, he'd wanted to tell her, but not like that. "I was... I was really fucked up last night," -- not until I met up with Liv, actually -- "and I'm uhh... yeah," there should've been some kind of apology here, but the words I'm sorry never left the Woods boy's mouth. It had been one of the things that had really turned Lecompton against him -- his general unwillingness to apologize for his actions.

"Thanks for... meeting up with me... I guess..." He continued, his voice growing quieter with each uttered word until he trailed off completely. Words, as previously stated nearly every post that Nate's dialogue is severely lacking, wasn't his strong suit.

He kind of felt like he'd always felt back in the day when he was taken down to the police station for whatever -- sitting there in the cold chair, being interrogated over shit that he knew everything about, but that he couldn't come clean about. So he'd do as he was doing now. Fingers drumming lightly against the table top. Fingers focused on said cold table top. If there was no table, his fingers would move to clasping together and tapping against his hands and his eyes would focus on something in the distance, just past whoever the fuck they'd sent to try and knock some sense into him that time.

Nate's ability to turn off his thinking and just shut down was impressive.

He couldn't do that here, though, not to Evie -- not really.

"What's this about?" His mouth felt dry. He already knew, but he wanted to hear her say it.

º º code by ditto º º

 

[ditto]

felix rian emmerson

it's all my pleasure

If Felix were cleverer, he woulda made a joke here, or maybe some kinda pun, or basically anything that wasn’t as dumb-sounding as what he said. (But, to be fair— and give him his credit— he did think of a better response during his evening shower— and only just about twelve hours late!) Hell, honestly, he woulda responded in any other way that he did.

But, yeah. Look, Felix wasn’t the most clever with his words or nothin’, and he didn’t have the most hard-hittin’ words. Typically, it was his sweet, “Southern charm” that got him places, not his words themselves.

So, to Javi’s long-winded thin’ about how unworried he was about Felix— even though Felix obviously had the upper hand, ya know— all that Felix said was:

“Alrighty, then, bud.”

Sweet, simple, short, unremarkable. Far from memorable.

How was that for making an impression?

(You shouldn’t let this fool ya, by the way. He was clever...just not quite with his words.)

"Obviously you're the calculated, scheming-type boss. You look like you got tons of shit on your mind," Javi added, raising an eyebrow as if in thought. “Not that you're necessarily scheming anything fucked-up. But who knows."

A ton on my mind? Hey, Javi already thought more of him than his good bud Slater did, so that was somethin’— and good on that guy. He was smart, then. Sharp as a whip, as they said in the South.

“Well, again, I’m flattered by your assertions, Mister Jav-ee-air, bud.” Felix flashed his charming, crooked grin. “Again, think whatcha wanna.” He gave him a slight nod, a little go-ahead.

Felix’s eyes shifted over to Slater as he answered Javi’s question. Made sense, checked out, but why wouldn’t it, ya know? Felix grinned at his friend’s words. He was really talkin’ up his shit. Mad ups to him, ya know?

"But we don't hangout outside of business, really. Felix here kind of cramps my style and really makes it hard to get laid when I go to parties and shit,” Slater continued, and Felix blinked in confusion. “The babyface makes everyone think I'm babysitting him or something."

There his Dorit— wait, no, amigo pardon— went, back with the interestin’ commentary on his person. It was kinda like clockwork or somethin’, waitin’ for Slater to go back to that thin’ he did. Didn’t bother Felix in the slightest.

Felix chuckled, shakin’ his head slightly. “I like to think I’m like a lil’...dunno, animal assistant, like in those Disney movies. Isn’t that a more pleasant way to look at it? I’m your Thumper, or somethin’,” he teased lightly, snickerin’. “Plus, I’m great for holdin’ drinks and personal belongings durin’ your...uh...seduction.”

He didn’t really know what else to call it. Matin’ dances? Spreadin’ of the ol’ pheromones? Uh...roundin’ up of the doggies? Fuck if he knew.

(Not even to mention Felix’s remarkable wingmannin’ skills. Now, maybe the lies he told weren’t nearly as believable as he slaughtered a man in the cold blood, but it took a lot to reach that level, ya know.)

(By the way, did you know that Slater once broke his pinky toe on a twisty slide at a playground when they were fourteen or somethin’ and he only cried for two minutes— and the choice words he said to that five-year-old were frankly impressive.)

(See? How was that for a drawers-droppin’ stretch of the truth?)

(He knew, he knew, he knew, but there was no need to pay him...)

(Oh, if you insisted. His Venmo was—)

"You're not abandoning me now that ol' Blondie's back, are you?" Javi whined. Felix sent a grin over to Javi— not in a gloatin’ way or nothin’. "I've always been there for you this past month or so, Slutter, compadre." The muscled boy winked at Felix, and Felix cocked his head slightly, blinkin’, his grin still plastered on his face.

"It's a small price to pay for the Javier hospitality," Javi said, and Felix let out a quiet “oof” as Javi’s arm went over his shoulder. This guy was bulky and broad, and his muscle mass made Felix wonder if he also partook in...well, usin’ certain types of...”experience enhancers”. "If we can all manage it, I'd love to forge some kumbaya bullshit with you fine gentlemen. I'll try to be good." Javi grinned over at Felix.

Felix chuckled slightly. “Kumbaya, my Lord?” he tried to say enthusiastically, this his tone came out more confused than anythin’.

Javi went pattin’ around at Damien’s pocket, and Felix resisted the urge to raise his eyebrows in surprise. "I may be a little rough around the edges... and dumb, but I'm a reasonable businessman. And, uh, friend, I fuckin' love negotiating. It's my shit."

Felix chuckled slightly, movin’ out from under Javier’s arm. There was somethin’ about bein’ under the arm of a bulky, attractive, mildly imposin’-but-not-anywhere-near-intimidatin’ guy...yeah, no.

“Well,” Felix began, grinnin’ at Javi, “the more you talk, the more I like ya, my man.” His voice was as casual and slow as ever, the expression on his face easy. “I think they call this the sproutin’ of a healthy business relationship and a friendship, yeah?”

He looked over at Slater. “Oh, Slater, by the way...” He walked closer to him, givin’ him a pat on the back. “You’re my ride, so...”

In the gaze and grin that Felix sent his friend was an unsaid any time you’re ready, I’m ready— I’m a busy guy, ya know.

mood
greetin’ and meetin’

location
the park

outfit
somethin’ casual (you could call if business casual. get it? ‘cuz— ...i’ll see myself out)

playing...
title track

by machine gun kelly​

mentions
n/a

interactions
javi and slater

tags
hery Winona

º º code by ditto º º

 

[Winona]

Casey Clairmont
"Don't stop doin' what you're doin'."

@basketcase has set their status to:
buzz

@basketcase has interacted with:
Chas

@basketcase has mentioned:
Cami, Chanel

@baseketcase has tagged:
hery ​

He'd saluted the tour bus when his family had exited it for what would be the last time for a while. It was a way of him silently sending it off -- he liked to imagine that boat captains and pirates probably saluted their ships when they left, and the tour bus had basically been his family's pirate ship. Except that they weren't robbing people. Or hunting for buried treasure... well, not normally. Casey may have tried a couple times, but to no avail.

Look, Casey had once upon a time thought that pirates were the coolest thing ever. He'd since learned that there were much cooler things than being forced to accentuate the pronunciation of your r's for life.

Fire. Yeah, that's right, Casey's first appearance in this roleplay was being started with reference to fire.

Casey was supposed to go over to Chas' house for uhh... hanging out or something -- friend stuff. Yeah. Because Casey had those. (And by that, he only had Chas -- it was hard to make and keep friends when you were constantly on the road.)

However, Chas could wait. Casey was a consistently late fellow, anyway, and that wasn't going to start changing today. So he stood outside of the house that his parents had arranged for the triplets to live in, his blue-eyed gaze reflecting the sparks that crackled out of the fire in front of him. There was something simply relaxing and refreshing about breathing in the warm smell of fire, listening to the soothing crackling of flames, and staring into the glowing embers.

From his pocket, Casey produced an old piece of paper. He unfolded it, his eyes squinting together to try and make out the faded letters on the aged page. Faintly, he could make out the scribbles from when Baby Casey had tried to write his first song. He let out a small laugh, his lips curling back into a nostalgic smile as he crumpled the paper into a ball and then gently tossed it into the fire.

He watched as the edges lit up, curling and darkening as the flames consumed them.

What? It was like his way of saying goodbye to the nomadic tour lifestyle and instead, saying hello to staying stationery in Los Angeles.

Casey tore his eyes away from the fire to look out at the ocean that their house bordered.

Well, there could be worse places to be stuck.

--------------------​

Naturally, Casey hadn't changed following his refreshing fiery experience. Sure, he smelled aggressively like campfire smoke, but it was kind of like his thing. Instead of wearing copious amounts of cologne, Casey elected for the more natural smell of smoke. Plus it wasn't like changing his shirt would've actually taken away the putrid smell -- it clung to all of his clothing these days.

Also as it turned out, part of being a rich as fuck Clairmont meant that their parents had hired drivers for the triplets.

So, that's how he arrived at the Marino's mansion. In style. Of course, as they pulled up to the mansion, Casey already had the car door halfway open.

"Alright, you can drop me off here, I'll walk on up." He said as the driver glanced into the rearview mirror and slammed on his brakes when he noticed Casey's door halfway open. Yep. This was why he'd had those child locks turned on in cars until he was twelve. Or, ya know, he was shoved into the middle between Chanel and Camille so he couldn't actually reach the doors -- but talk about uncomfortable.

"Are you--"

"I'll see ya later, yeah?" Casey cut the driver off -- not because he was rude, but simply because he hadn't been listening. "Bye." He said, hopping out of the car to land on the pavement and slamming the car door after himself. He gave a happy little wave to the driver, a bright smile on his face as he waited for the guy to start slowly driving off, and then he turned towards the imposing Marino mansion.

With a little skip in his step, Casey bounced his way up to the Marino mansion's... locked gates. He glanced over at the buzzer, giving it a quick press and then waiting but after about two seconds had passed, Casey grew bored. So he pressed it again. Another two seconds passed and still nothing.

Maybe he could just scale the fence.

He looked it up and down. What if it was electrified and he became a barbecued Casey, though?

Barbecued Casey... getting into the mansion faster...

It was a hard choice.

So instead, Casey just took to pressing his finger against the buzzer again but this time, he didn't pull his finger away.

º º code by ditto º º

 

[geminiy]

Kian Phelan

@lockandkian has set their status to:
please don't let me get ghosted

@lockandkian has set their outfit to:
"I couldn't find the pink button-down"

@lockandkian has set their location to:
the park

@lockandkian has mentioned:
Oates

@lockandkian has interacted with:
n/a

@lockandkian has tagged:
mogy

The risk Kian had taken was calculated but holy shit, was he bad at math.

So maybe his reunion with Oates hadn’t exactly been how he had imagined it in their years apart. All of the stupid cutesy ways Kian had pictured meeting with Oates again had been idealistic and improbable anyways. Sure, making out on the floor half-dressed in your sister's clothes while the person you’re kissing looks like a full on demon creature may not be the perfect teen-movie reunion but hey, it had its charm if you squinted.

Kian hadn’t even registered his picnic proposition until long after he had dropped off Kelli and Ronnie back at their dorm. In fact, it didn’t even hit him until he stepped through the front door and noticed a rather large tree branch in his living room window, surrounded by pieces of shattered glass. For a long while, Kian simply stood there and stared at it. It was almost funny how often shit hit the fan in his world and come on, coming home to a random piece of a tree in your living room is hilarious if you really think about it.

Anyhow, after a lengthy argument with his landlord who did not particularly wish to fix the busted window in question, Kian sat down with his pillow and his blankets and contemplated just why the hell he thought it was appropriate to ask Oates out on a date (Not date? Real date? Semi-date? Date of illusions?) at a Halloween party after some sloppy fun on someone’s guest bedroom floor. His standards had fallen so far from where they had used to be. Hell, Kian hadn’t even been on what he would consider a real date for close to a year. Sure, there was that whole relationship with Alex, but that was another story since he would hardly count his behaviour during that time as anything close to acceptable boyfriend material.

After contemplating cancelling the whole event, Kian had passed out before he could hit the send button. Waking up the next morning to a rather cool breeze, he found his phone beside him with the message still unsent. The text that met him was rather jumbled, meaning completely clouded by his incessant ramblings sparked by the anxiety beating around like an angry gorilla inside his chest. So, instead of hitting send or retyping the message, Kian just deleted it and began to get ready for the day.

He spent a great deal of the morning packing up an old picnic basket with all of Oates’ favourites and praying that his tastes hadn’t changed too much in their time apart. Then, after cleaning himself up from the party, he began to panic over his wardrobe. Was this what girls felt when they looked at a closet full of clothes and said they had nothing to wear? Everything in his closet was just so bland and typical. He needed to stand out, make a good impression.

Everything had to be perfect. His outfit, the clothes, the location, the weather, the everything. Of course, perfection was impossible, Kian knew this very well. But the attempt had to be there and by golly (do people even say by golly anymore?), Kian was going to give it his best college try.

After arriving at the park, Kian shared his location with Oates and began to set up, his thoughts running rampant in his mind. A perfect canopy of tragic what-ifs laid out in front of him as he carefully spread blankets and pillows, removing food from the basket and setting up the spread.

Kian was not typically an anxious individual, priding himself on his carefree and unbothered attitude so the fact that his fingertips seemed to be unable to stop trembling or his throat to dampen was quite the feat. It took a certain type of person to render him completely defenseless and, if he was being honest with himself, he thought that Oates was long past leaving him open and worried. Yet there he was, sitting alone on the picnic blanket and anxiously glancing at his phone for any sign of Oates. The clock ticked on, his messages remained empty.

What if Oates simply didn’t show?

º º code by ditto º º

 

[jasmyn]

M O O D : "Good vibes only."

L O C A T I O N : Breakfast place.

I N T E R A C T I O N S : Lucky.

T A G S : gh0stwriter

Sunday morning and Dorian was standing in the line at one of his favorite breakfast spots just as he’d done many times. As usual, the line was wrapped outside and he stood on the sidewalk, waiting to make it through the doors of the building. It was all very routine to him. Same old, same old. What was different about this day? Well, for starters he was expecting Lucky to meet him and of course, he was supposed to grab an extra coffee for his girlfriend too.

Yeah, that’s right. Dorian Harlow was no longer on the market. Sorry ladies.

As of last night, he was officially dating the most stunning girl (in his opinion) at HA and he was damn proud of it too. The boy had been trying to work up the nerve to ask JJ the winning question for weeks. It wasn't that he'd been expecting her to say no but just, JJ was very intimidating. Even if he'd been graced with seeing a softer side of her, he knew there was still a chance she'd laugh in his face when he asked. What if she didn't want to date him, ya know?

His twin sister had been making fun of him for his insisting that he needed the perfect words and the perfect gift. Not that he assumed he could buy her, absolutely not. Gift-giving was a love language Harlow's excelled in and one he knew JJ liked. He wanted to get her something that would actually be meaningful-

Okay, whatever. So he was sorta sappy. Sue.

His focus shifted back to the line and as he got closer to the doors he heard a familiar voice, turning to see Lucky walking up. “I didn’t get as wasted as you did, man. I know my limits,” Dorian teased. “You don’t look as shitty as I assume you feel so that’s something,” he added as they finally got on the inside of the building.

"Oh, and please make sure the muffin is the one with the most sugar on it," Dorian insisted as he pulled his wallet out and motioned for Lucky to order. "It's on me or well, my mom," he said before Lucky could say no, holding up the credit card with a grin.

"What the hell did you do last night anyway?"

DORIAN HARLOW

º º code by ditto º º

 

[geminiy]

Isabella Dupont

@bellaissima has set their status to:
exhausted but excited

@bellaissima has set their outfit to:
travel chique

@bellaissima has set their location to:
the hollywood arts dorms

@bellaissima has mentioned:
n/a

@bellaissima has interacted with:
n/a

@bellaissima has tagged:
n/a

Bella Dupont hated flying. The act of being in the air wasn’t so bad if Bella could distract herself with the beautiful fluffy clouds and brilliant sunshine peeking into the plane through the small windows. But by the time the sun had set, casting the plane into darkness as travellers took the opportunity to sleep, her mind began to wander. As a child, her and her father had watched a lot of the show Lost, an obsession that Bella gave 100% credit to her fear of planes. There was little more mortifying than the idea of crashing on some deserted island with a creepy smoke monster.

The fact that she wasn’t travelling alone brought her some comfort, though most of her trip was spent reassuring her older sister that they were not, in fact, going to die. Sure, Bella disliked flying, but Jackie was completely terrified. Luckily, Jackie passed out halfway through the flight leaving Bella with her thoughts and her poetry.

By the time they landed in the LAX, Bella was thoroughly exhausted. She had only managed to catch a few measly hours of shuteye between Paris and Los Angeles, turbulence and a busy mind keeping her from slumber. The sisters sluggishly crawled through the airport, spending far too much time waiting for luggage and boxes to come through. No amount of espresso could keep Bella from desiring her bed awaiting her at the dorm, plush blankets and fluffy pillows waiting to embrace her into sleep.

The airport was in a complete state of disarray. Weekend travel was always unfavourable due to the insane amount of foot traffic buzzing about. More bodies meant slower transit time, slower transit time meant longer lines, longer lines meant a grumpy Jackie, and a grumpy Jackie meant a frustrated Bella. Did Bella almost fall over her own feet multiple times from dodging angry businessmen with douchey Bluetooth headpieces? Yes. Did Jackie almost deck one of them for calling Bella a bitch? Also yes.

The dorms were a beautiful sight to behold, sparkling and platinum against the morning sky. After several trips to the 4th floor, most of the boxes were inside the single unit that Bella would call home for the rest of the year.

“Now, are you sure you have everything?” Jackie asked, placing the final open-topped box in Bella’s thin arms. Bella laughed softly, nodding her head with a gentle smile.

“Oui, I promise I do. I’ve triple checked everything, Jackie, I swear.” Bella giggled as Jackie stoically rolled her eyes, arms crossing over her muscular chest.

“I’m just making sure! Attitude not required.” Jackie sighed with the smallest hints of a laugh as she grabbed Bella’s shoulders and pulled her in for a hug. “Je ne suis jamais loin, d’accord? Juste un coup de téléphone et je suis là.”

Bella wiggled out of Jackie’s grasp, silently thankful for her gushy sister sentiment being in French rather than English. The last thing Bella wanted was for people to think she’s some wimpy sophomore afraid to be on her own… Even if she was.

Taking the stairs back up to the 4th floor, Bella pushed the large door to the floor open with her hip, tripping slightly with the sudden movement. Her fatigue was not helping her typical clumsiness nor was the box crumbling in her arms. She could feel the sides of the caving in, the bottom slowly ripping at the tape seam until…

CRASH!

The contents of the box spilled out and directly onto the floor, the spine of a particularly loved poetry book slamming right into the top of Bella’s foot. Yelping in pain, Bella dropped the box and jumped around slightly to distract herself from the pain.

“Oh, tout simplement merveilleux.” Bella cursed under her breath, wiggling her foot about as the pain began to subside. With the hallway scattered with her things, Bella bent down and made an attempt to gather everything up in her arms with little success, books and candles falling off the top of the pile everytime she attempted to stand. A pair of students passed her by with a laugh and zero attempt at helping her. Bella huffed, a piece of her dirty blonde hair fluttering up with the breath. “Combien incroyablement impoli!”

Great job, Bella, off to a wonderful start.

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:
actually good for once

@Fire&Ash has interacted with:
Trevor

@Fire&Ash has mentioned:
N/A

@Fire&Ash has tagged:
ditto ​

Trevor talked...

A lot.

It was weird, different -- but good weird, good different. It was just new to her when she'd grown accustomed to him being tongue-tied. She'd grown used to him stumbling over his words over the handful of times that they'd spoken and hung out following the disaster that was Homecoming. Every instance after that (you know, Monday morning, when she'd gone over his apartment, and the start of the fair -- so literally only three instances, but it had been enough for her to presume that without the combination of alcohol and weed, he didn't really speak), he'd been stumbling over his words and unable to meet her gaze.

This was fine, though. This was good. She liked being able to listen to his nonsensical rambling about stories that she wouldn't remember in an hour. It took the pressure off of her to try and speak more, which was... well, like, it wasn't as if she wasn't alright with talking. Ash probably talked, like, way too much or something and probably annoyed the heck out of people when she did start talking, so she kinda... tried not to... but you know when you try to not do something so then you just end up doing that something even more than you'd been doing it before because you were more aware of it?

Yeah that was kind of what happened.

So she (mostly) listened as Trevor wove his tale about why he... didn't... use the remote? Look if she was being completely honest, she kind of spaced out halfway through it and didn't catch all of his story. But she kept a polite smile on her face, adding small giggles and little nods at what she deemed appropriate times as he spoke. Yeah, Ash was a master of always appearing interested. It was something you kind of picked up easily when you were raised the way she was -- in the, you know, "children should be seen and not heard" kind of manner which involved a lot of smiling and nodding while not speaking.

Anyway.

As the movie started, she figured that the talking would cease -- or at least slow down. Like, she didn't care if he talked throughout the movie, that was kind a normal thing when watching movies, right? Making comments on it throughout?

Just not the whole time.

He pulled her closer to him, and she leaned into his side, her head going back to rest against him as she sank down into the couch.

“This looks like a nature documentary.”

An amused smile grew on her face. "Yeah?" was all she offered in response, and then she turned back to the movie. Granted, she'd seen the beginning of the movie at least half a dozen times, if not a dozen times -- so she already knew this part and most everything that happened. The general gist, so to speak. Of course, the entire movie in and of itself was cliché enough that she wouldn't even necessarily need to pay attention to know what happened.

Which turned out to be a blessing in disguise, because Trevor was apparently one of those people that talked about every little plot hole or... well, in his case, every bad move that the movie production company had done in its creation.

“The piano music is too emotional for a credits scene,” he mumbled. “It seems more like an ASPCA commercial. Donate a cent a day to…”

Apparently, he never really finished his thoughts, either. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to stifle a small laugh, before she reopened them and looked at the screen once more while Trevor went on and on, gushing about the director of the movie.

Literally stuff that she could've cared less about.

Silence enveloped the room for a moment, and she started to relax, getting swept up into the movie, until--

“She kinda looks like Nana,” he commented, “though Nana fits the generic old lady look. You see an old woman on the street and odds are that she looks like…”

As he trailed off again, all Ash offered this time was an "uh huh" and heaved a sigh through her nose.

Her previous iterations of liking (more or less) him talking more could be tossed out the window now. Every ten seconds giving comments on the movie? It was the type of thing that grew annoying fast, but she was still keeping that amused smile on her face, and trying to take it lightheartedly. As in like... she was trying not to get annoyed with it as the movie played on.

Again, it wasn't like he was ruining anything that she hadn't seen before -- at this point, Ash could probably recite most of the start of the movie.

It was just the ending she'd never managed to make it to.

“They synced over that line,” he chuckled. “You can tell if you watch closely. The lip movements were just off, and the mic quality was too…”

She lifted her head away, turning her head to look up at him as he trailed off yet again. "You talk too much," she remarked, although it wasn't meant to come across as an insult or anything, alright? It was simply an observation. She was still smiling as she spoke, her tone more amused than anything else, because it was kind of amusing and not... terribly... annoying -- the whole talking over the movie thing.

"Like... not too much," Ash started to correct herself, her gaze shifting away from his as she looked back at the movie and leaned her head back against him. "Just a lot -- but, like, not in a bad way." She was talking in circles and overcorrecting herself and it was just... not going well.

At least, not to her.

She cleared her throat and naturally pulled her legs up onto the couch and towards her chest. Again, she shifted her position away from him so they weren't touching, other than his arm still around her shoulders, her arms loosely wrapping around her legs.

"Sorry, that was mean." She said, her teeth lightly biting into her bottom lip as she tried to focus on the television screen in front of her and pretended to be just... really into whatever was happening on the screen, although she was having a hard time focusing.

º º code by ditto º º

 

[Kitsune2202]

Dangerously Soft
Amethyst Jones

@If.U.Seek.Amy has set their status to:
Detective by day, and handywoman by night

@If.U.Seek.Amy has set their outfit to:
Casual weekend drip

@If.U.Seek.Amy has set their location to:
Home -> Library

@If.U.Seek.Amy has mentioned:
Josie, Trev, Saint

@If.U.Seek.Amy has interacted with:
Charlie ( geminiy )

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Last night's halloween party had started out so promising. It was a great night for the most part even looking back on it now. Should she let the ending ruin the whole memory? Probably not. Will she? Of course. Because now she was having to deal with world war roommate edition. The night went from drunken giddiness in the blink of an eye to this shitstorm because...well she wasn't even really sure why.

Sure she knew technically why. She saw the events unfold before her eyes on her phone like everyone else did, but wrapping her drunken and even now sober mind around it was boggling. It was the perfect storm of all of their bad quirks and qualities mixing into one another. For the first time all their vices was on perfect display and they had to face the fact that their demons did in fact NOT play well together. She supposed up until now when ever one of them showed their faults the others were still fine enough to make up for it and calm things down...but all three of them? Or at least two out of the three cause she wasn't sure if Josie was actually mad, or more confused on why Charlie was so emotional over the whole thing.

Still 50% wasn't good enough it seemed. Amy spent the rest of the night playing damage control, and had even managed to get Trev to confess and explain everything to her...which was a step in the right direction. If he got it out once, he could do it again but this time with Charlie...once she's calmed down. The two of them ultimately needed to sit down together to resolve this. Mostly because while Amy could carry the messages, they were both stubborn people...Charlie more so then Trevor in this case, and wouldn't believe it not coming from his lips. How did she know this? Cause she tried. She did everything short of sending screen shots for crying out loud.

Amy adored, loved, and admired Charlie so much, but once her mind was set it was nearly impossible to get through her thick head anything else. It was a great but also annoying trait, since no one likes talking to a brick wall, but being sound in your own convictions is good too. Anyways, point was there was nothing more Amy could do to fix things. They had to do that. All she could do was help them get in a mindset to where once they do talk hopefully both are open-minded and in a good enough mood to actually listen, and forgive. Things were too easily taken out of context and assumed when intense feelings were involved.

Amy's alarm went off at 7am because she forgot to turn it off due to it being the weekend, but she was glad for it since her dreams were plagued by the drama from the night before as well as her conversation with Saint. Yah that was someone she didn't anticipate seeing her her dreams.

As much as she didn't want to admit it she'd much rather focus on her roommate drama then that conversation. She hated the way Saint talked sometimes because he spoke like everything that comes from his mouth is fact...even when you KNOW it's not. His conviction is so unwavering it still makes you doubt. She had to admit that maybe he had a point? She couldn't admit it last night to him, but she was holding onto her pride that was true. Was her pride worth it? Yes? Maybe? Ugh! This is why she admired Charlie's stubbornness sometimes. She was trying to be committed to this whole not forgiving Dei thing, but what if it was holding her back? Her writing lately had been...different. She supposed once these two singles drop she'd find out if it is good or not.

Note to self...steer clear of Dei's friends.

She sighed and got up and ready for the day. Showering and getting dressed in a casual grey long-sleeved shirt and jeans. She went to go knock on Charlie's door, but decided to just open and of course found her gone. She wasn't surprised, she'd said she would be. She sighed and opened up Trev's door as well to see him still sleep. He deserved to have his alone time with Ash, so she knew she should leave as well. Not because he didn't want to see her, but because third wheeling on a secret she's not supposed to know about would be difficult and awkward, and Amy wasn't interested in dealing with that so early.

So that means todays to do list is to leave, find and hang out with Charlie, then wish Trev and Josie a happy birthday tonight. Sounded like a good plan right?

She grabbed her bag and walked out the apartment locking the door behind her. Step one complete, next find Charlie and pray to god she doesn't get upset with you as well. Finding Charlie would prove a bit difficult since she didn't tell her where she was going today. Amy made her way to a nearby corner store to grab a snack for breakfast as she scrolled through twitter and Insta seeing if Charlie was on and posting anything.

Today was her lucky day! She messaged back and forth a bit and found out she was at the library! Perfect she could go steal her from the library and then they could go to the mall and have some nice distracting fun. Amy made her way over to the public library, a familiar route since it's honestly one of Amy's go-to spots to study off campus as well. However walking always made her wish she could afford to take Drivers Ed and buy a car like Trev.

She walked inside smiling and waving at the other regulars she recognized as she walked in. She scanned the rows of books, and seated area's for the tiny blonde and finally found her. "Gotcha" She whispered to herself. With a bright smile curled onto her lips she slid right next to her best friend, "Hey there Char~ Found you." She hummed sweetly. She glanced down at the book in hand, "What are you reading about?" She asked curiously. Charlie always seemed to read fascinating things. Amy's knowledge was usually very specific fields, but extensive in those fields where as Charlie had a much wider array of things she studied...or at least that's how it felt.

º º code by ditto º º

 

[geminiy]

Genevieve Johannes

@genjohanne has set their status to:
this is going to be... interesting

@genjohanne has set their outfit to:
casual vibes

@genjohanne has set their location to:
madam bisset's studio

@genjohanne has mentioned:
n/a

@genjohanne has interacted with:
Mike

@genjohanne has tagged:
ditto

“Hey, Gen. Did you miss me, babe?”

Gen looked up from her phone, a soft laugh escaping her lips as she looked at Mike. He knew the honest answer to his stupid question; of course she didn’t miss him. Why would she? If it wasn’t for the fact that Gen was determined to attempt to right some of the many wrongs between her and Mike, she likely would’ve come across in total bitch mode. Instead, Gen shoved her phone in her pocket and nodded her head dramatically.

“Oh yeah, I missed you like crazy, handsome.” Gen swooned with a playful roll of her eyes. “I thought I was going to waste away while you were in there for all but ten minutes.”

Carefully pulling open the door to the driver’s seat, Gen gracefully slid into the car and threw her bag in the back seat. Placing the key in the ignition, Gen paused for a moment to look over at Mike who, for all she could tell, was genuinely fascinated by her car. Instead of asking what the hell he was doing, Gen just watched him for a moment. It was rather funny to see him admiring every nook and cranny of the vehicle as he moved the seat back and forth into place. What the hell was so interesting about her car?

“You dreamt of this, didn’t you, babe? Being in a luxury vehicle, Michael Reid in your passenger seat...”

Gen audibly laughed significantly louder and harsher than she had intended to, shaking her head as she twisted the key in the ignition.

“The luxury car was a dream, yeah, but I’ve had way hotter passengers.” Gen looked over, her smirk on her lips. “I got a car with a big back seat for a reason. Unfortunately, you don’t meet the height requirements to ride that ride.”

The car roared to life as Gen pressed her foot to the gas, the car smoothly picking up speed as she swung out of the parking lot without answering Mike’s question about their destination. Gen was a safe driver, not even so much as a parking ticket on her license, but she was a woman who loved her speed. So, as soon as they pulled onto the highway, Gen picked up the milage as she cranked up the music on the radio.

“To answer your burning question, now that you're done eye-fucking my car,” Gen started, speaking carefully over the volume, “I have no intentions of killing you, though the night is young. I did, however, book out time at one of the studios I work for. I figured I’d get started on the project even if you and Jared weren’t around. I got tired of waiting around so I was just going to start without you guys but now that you’re here, it’ll speed things up a lot. Now enjoy the ride, we’re not far.”

Checking to see if there were any cars on her left side, Gen merged lanes and once again picked up the speed, cranking the music once again as she rolled the windows down. With the wind making her curly hair dance on the breeze, Gen began rocking out in the driver’s seat as if Mike wasn’t even there, singing the lyrics to the song confidently as her fingers danced on the edge of her steering wheel. Gen loved driving all carefree and happy, that was a feeling not even Mike could take away.

╬╬═════════════╬╬​

A short drive later, Gen was pulling off the highway and onto a main street of downtown Los Angeles. Slowing the car, Gen lowered the music and rolled up the windows again, sighing heavily as they pulled to a stoplight.

“Okay, a few ground rules about this place.” Gen said rather seriously, a sudden air of professionalism about her. “And before you say I’m being pretentious or stuck up or whatever, save it. I owe this place a lot with respect to my career so if you screw up, I screw up.”

Traffic began to flow again and Gen continued driving, her shoulders straightening.

“Any of that shit that happened to us? Put it behind you, they don’t want to know nor do they care unless it impacts their image. You’re at the bottom of the hierarchy there so don’t pretend that you’re tough shit. They may know who you are from your work but unless they decide to sign you, they don’t care if you’re the best damn model in the world, you’re at the bottom of the pile. Final rule: if someone asks you to do something, do it. Question me all you want but if someone asks you to work a job or help out, just say yes. That’s how things roll there and I expect that you’re not going to fuck it up. Mike sized dents in my hood are expensive to fix but I’ve got the cash.”

Driving down a series of side streets, Gen pulled down into a rather inconspicuous parking garage. Reaching into the back seat, Gen fished out a lanyard with an identification badge on the bottom and slung it off her rearview mirror.

“You’re going to want to get a piece of ID. They’ll be checking.” Gen advised, rolling down her window as they pulled up to a security booth. Putting on a smile, Gen handed her ID to the guard behind the glass. “Good morning, David, you’re looking chipper today.”

“Ah, Miss Johannes, it has been a while!” David chirped as he scanned Gen’s ID. Noticing Mike in the passenger seat, he reached his hand out for the ID which Gen quickly grabbed from Mike. “You brought a friend with you, hmm? New recruit?”

Gen laughed, gracefully taking back the IDs from the guard.

“He wishes. We’re just here to work on a project, that’s all.” Gen conversed sweetly, her voice more high pitched and gentle than usual. “You take care now, David, and tell the wife I said hi.”

The security gate swung open and Gen drove through the parking lot, finally pulling into the wide spot with her name written on the wall. Parking the car fully, Gen turned it off and hopped out, stopping only to grab her bag from the backseat and lock the doors before taking off. She walked as if she was in charge, smiling and greeting familiar faces as they passed.

Taking the elevator to the main floor of the studio, Gen grinned widely as she opened her arms and spun in a circle as she stepped off the elevator. The studio was much larger and way more fancy than it seemed to be from the outside. The front desk was huge, countertop lined with white quartz illuminated by fancy crystal chandeliers overhead. Floors glistened underneath the click-clacks of expensive shoes, tall doors swinging open to reveal fancy studios. Somewhere on the glass-lined second floor, the flashing light of a photo session illuminated the bright open pathways.

“Welcome to the land of the famous, Reid.” Gen giggled, blowing a kiss to the two girls at the front desk as she made her way over to the elevators. Stepping inside, Gen pressed the button for the 3rd floor and stepped back as the doors closed. “For reference, I am like 99% sure that my mentor is going to be here. Do not fuck up in front of her. She’s tiny but boy is she mighty. I swear, she makes me look like a peach. Remember how I said ‘don’t ask questions if people tell you to do something, just do it’? Yeah, that was about her. So smile and look pretty Reid, you’re good at it.”

The elevator doors opened once again and before the two could exit, a small figure was on the other side of the door with her hands on her hips. Much shorter than both Mike and Gen, the woman portrayed a power much larger than the two of them combined. Aged fingers were lined with diamond and ruby matching the necklace around her thin neck and heavy earrings peaking out through thinned white hair. For someone that was clearly older, she looked good for her age and definitely like someone who took regular baths in hundred dollar bills.

“Genevieve Johannes.” The woman spoke loudly and with a heavy Italian accent, crooking a finger for Gen to step out of the elevator. Shooting a warning glance at Mike, Gen grabbed Mike’s hand and stepped out of the elevator, carefully pulling him into the wide open studio that was the entire upper floor. “It has been what? Two, three months since you last came here? What am I now, not good enough for you?”

“Madam Bisset, you know how-”

The woman, clearly the mentor Gen spoke of, hip checked Gen out of the way and walked directly up to Mike. Reaching up, she took Mike’s jaw in her hands as she twisted his face every which way to get the best view of his face. She gently gnawed at her bottom lip as she seemed to be memorizing his features, her eyes squinting along with each movement of Mike’s face. Finally, she released her grip and stepped back, offering a playful grin to Gen.

“You’ve kept me waiting all this time for a boy, hmm?” Madam Bisset giggled, taking Gen’s hands in hers. “I would understand it if he was pretty enough, but I personally think you can do better.”

Releasing Gen’s hands, the woman turned on her heels and walked further into the studio. The place was massive, split off into several workshops and photo booths with a lounge and kitchen in the centre by the elevator. At the very back of the room was Madam Bisset’s office, identified only by the large golden plaque above the door.

“I saw you booked out studio space, Miss Johannes. Have you come to work or have you come to play?” Madam Bisset asked, pouring two cups of black coffee and handing it to Gen and Mike. Gen laughed, sitting down on the couch and gracefully crossing one leg over the other.

“Work, unfortunately. We have an assignment due for school and I figured what better place to work than the finest studio in Los Angeles?” Gen proposed politely, sipping the bitter coffee down. Damn, she hated that stuff so much. At least she had mastered the face of no reaction.

Genevieve seemed to have become a completely different person in the studio. She was well put together, her words careful and mature. Years upon years of training and working hard in the presence of such fine people had left her completely remodelled.

“I suppose I should introduce you. Michael Reid, this is Madam Bisset, my most beloved mentor. I’ve been working with her since I was a child. She’s worked on some of the biggest red carpets in the world and she was the one who got me my offers at Vogue and Elle. Truly a master of fashion.” Genevieve hyped carefully, nodding to the older woman sitting across from them. “And Madam Bisset, this is Michael Reid. We go to school together, he is also a model.”

Madam Bisset huffed loudly, standing up from her spot across from Mike.

“No relationship?” She asked bluntly, squinting her eyes at the boy. Gen laughed, shaking her head.

“We’re just friends, I’m afraid.” Gen answered, patting Mike’s knee.

“Good. The last thing I want is someone coming in and screwing up my dear Genevieve’s life.” Madam Bisset bit, her smile still on her face. “I will get out of your hair, I will be in the office if you need me. And do not have sex on the desk in your room, it gets messy.”

With a wink to Gen, Madam Bisset turned on her heels and walked away, her footsteps short and quick as she disappeared behind the large doors with a thud. Gen tried to ignore the burning in her cheeks, feeling somewhat like a kid being found out about something bad. Clearing her throat, Gen straightened up and flicked the hair over her shoulder.

“So that’s my mentor. I apologize for her… Whatever that was.” Gen laughed, standing up and looking around before pouring the coffee down the sink. “Well, what do you think? Besides the crazed mentor, this place is a second home to me. Play your cards right and this place can get you jobs you never even dreamed of. Besides, believe it or not, I think Madam Bisset likes you.”

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 ​

If it was possible to die of utter embarrassment... Zeph was pretty sure he was bordering on that edge right about now.

His cheeks couldn't get any redder or burn any hotter as he finished stumbling over his own words, and then Lin started to speak again -- and naturally, the other, much cooler boy started his own ramblings off with a totally polite remark towards Zeph that definitely wasn't an insult in anyway.

“Laaaaaame-ohhhh,” he teased, “luhmao! You’re such a fuckin’ lame-oh!”

Ouch.

Well it would be ouch if Zeph could be easily offended or hurt, which he couldn't. He was typically more of a-- ... okay, no, he wasn't a go with the flow type of fella. But he also wasn't the type of fella to get all worked up or in a tizzy over someone calling him something as childish and immature as lame-o. Especially not when Zeph dejectedly had to admit that it was absolute true -- he was a lame-o.

Hence why he was, you know, here with Lin -- trying to become less of a lame-o and become a uhh... what was the opposite of a lame-o? A cool-o? Yeah, one of those. A cool-o (imagine the sunglasses emoji right about here, or at every utterance of the totally not made up cool-o word).

With a laugh, Lin let go of his arm and gave Zeph a little push. The taller boy stumbled a bit, letting out a small chuckle as he caught himself.

“Plus, plus, plus,” Lin continued, “when you hang with me, my coolness makes you cooler.” He gestured casually at nothing in particular. “It’s a perk, luhmao— ask Charles.” He put his flattened palms on top of one another, then wiggled his arms as if they were a wave. “It’s like a drug. Cokayne, luhmao.” He paused a moment. “Or meth, ‘cuz couple of guys’ve lost their teeth ‘cuz of me, luhmaooo. Or maybe it’s like nuclear fallout.”

Did...

Did Lin just compare himself to drugs?

"Co... kayne?" He echoed.

But Lin was already off on a new tangent, while Zeph's brain was still churning and trying to piece together his friend's words.

"In other words, you’re booooor-eeeeeeng eye-are-ell, luhmao?”

Again -- ouch. Even if it was disappointingly true, that didn't mean he needed to continue to remind Zeph of his aggressive shortcomings. His smile faltered a bit, fading into something that was a little less... happy. Not unhappy, just mildly uhh... like, mildly uncomfortable, so to say. You know those smiles that they ask you to do on Picture Day at school but you just got new braces and you really don't want to show those off?

Yeah, that kind of smile.

“I mean, props to you, luhmao. You’re an expert in Twitter hype, bro, so that’s decently cool. One point to Gryffindor. Ooh, and you’re the best fuckin’ wingman, too.” He continued. “I bet I would be a better wingman, but no one’s counting that, luhmaooo, ‘cuz I’m the best at everything, sooooo…” He shrugged slowly, and then laughed and dropped his shoulders. “You said you’d chant me on during sexy time, so that’s another point, and that’s juuuust enough to throw you over the edge of everyone else except for Charlie and me in terms of coolness, luhmao. ‘Cuz everyone here is lame as hell.”

Well, at least the teasing had ended and instead, Lin had taken to hyping up Zeph's good points. His... admittedly sparse virtues, and a couple of them weren't exactly virtues that Zeph was proud to possess (chanting a friend on during sexy time, for example, which had obviously been a joke, was something that made Zeph cringe when he thought about it), but he appreciated the effort on Lin's part.

“Luhmao, I get it. I won’t expose your big secret. You don’t have to worry about that, luhmao.” He skipped a step. “You suck at bets, and you’re kinda a loser, but psssssssht, who fuckin’ cares?”

Well there went the whole "at least he was done with insults and had taken to acknowledging Zeph's few virtues" take.

Well.

It had been short-lived.

He listened with that familiar childlike wonder in his gaze as Lin kept talking, giving Zeph tips on how to be... cool? Yeah. Cool-o. Coolio.

1) Look dope -- which apparently the boas delivered. Zeph didn't really think boas were dope, but he nodded his head to Lin's words anyhow but made a mental note to look dope without the assistance of neon colored feathers.

2) Swaggy... swagger? Zeph looked down at his feet as he walked. He kind of shuffled a bit. He looked back up as Lin talked again -- hip action? What?

Well, that whole lesson was forgotten as Lin paused for a moment to twerk, and Zeph let out a snort of laughter.

"Or, like, if you’re kidding with someone or fucking with them or whatever, you throw in luhmaos, too. Luhmao is the universal, superior interjection, luhmaooo.”

"Luhmaos?" Again, he echoed Lin's words, although saying his signature catchphrase aloud just sounded wrong coming out of Zeph's mouth. He wrinkled up his nose, trying it again with a quiet "luhmao" before deciding that this was yet another thing that may have made Lin look cool, but did the complete and utter opposite for one Zeph Evermore. So, he'd risk appearing as lame-o as opposed to using the distasteful luhamo.

He was still in the middle of churning these thoughts over in his head when Lin started speaking again.

“Hold up, I don’t know anything about you, luhmao.” He let out a loud laugh as Zeph looked back up from his feet to blink at Lin. “All I know is you…ahem. You put shrimp on tha barbie down there, mate.” He said in a horrific Australian accent, dropping the accent and saying, in a very matter-of-fact voice, “You’re Aussie.”

Yeah, an Aussie dancer. That's about it. But not one of those Thunder From Down Under Aussie dancers.

“And you’re a fuckin’ giant,” he continued. “And you do the dancies. And you’re not into dudes.” Lin said. “And that’s it, luhmao.” He elbowed Zeph. “So gimme your life story or some shit. I wanna hear it.”

Zeph chuckled, rubbing his side where Lin had elbowed him as Lin started chanting “Gimme, gimme, gimme.”

"Alright, alright," he said, hesitating as he tried to think of anything else about himself that Lin hadn't already said. "Well..." he was buying himself time right now as his eyebrows knit together, "I'm from Melbourne -- well, I was born in Brisbane, but we moved to Melbourne when I was... I don't know, twelve or something?" Because his mother had gotten sick and they wanted to be closer to his grandparents to help out with the kids, but Zeph left that part out.

"I have two little sisters," he held his hand out at about waist level to indicate the height of his sisters, although they were not nearly that short -- or that young anymore. They were already fourteen and eleven, a fact that made Zeph feel old. "Violet and Almira," he continued to explain as he dropped his hand back to his side and gave a casual shrug of his shoulders. "That's about it -- grew up in Melbourne with them and my mom and my dad. My mom was a secretary for the mayor or something, and my dad's a dentist." Zeph glossed over the whole his mom dying thing.

That kind of threw a wrench into stuff. Brought down the mood. Plus, Zeph didn't like to think about it or really talk about it -- he was far enough away that, other than a lack of calls from her, he could pretend that she was still alive and waiting for him to return home.

It's why he'd only told Stella when she passed.

"What about you, man?" Zeph asked with a grin. "All I know about you is that you like to say luhmao, you're freaking awesome at bets, you really like spoiled food, and... you've got impeccable style."

º º code by ditto º º

 

[hery]

MOOD: professional

OUTFIT: clothes

LOCATION: marino mansion (living room)

basics

MENTIONS:
Landon, Callum, Lin, Charlie, Seb, JJ, Cami, Chanel

INT:
Winona (Casey)

tags

TL;DR no

tl;dr

Chas Marino

That party sucked.

It was painful to admit that Landon, in a sense, had won the night's battle. He got Chas angry, jealous, and wasted half his night standing around tapping his foot as Seb went and mingled for an eternity. Partially thanks to Callum, Lin, and Charlie, Chas had managed to upset Seb, leaving them at this awkward stage of "forgiven, but kinda still hurt".

Chas had no other choice but to fear for the longevity of his relationship when every voice in their ears was telling them to break up. They were all narrow-minded pricks (and probable homophobes in JJ's case), yet Chas couldn't shake the feeling that there was a kernel of truth to his and Seb's incompatibility. Even by the age of 17, he had fully expected to have at least been acquainted with some sort of strategic business relationship for the sake of the family. It wasn't as though it hadn't been done before in Hollywood. Chas had looked forward to it, but at this point in his life he began to crave what little control he could manage.

Thankfully, Chas hadn't indulged himself too much at the party, leaving him without a hangover to deal with in the morning. Say what you want about Chas Marino, but he had a knack for thinking ahead.

And so, the short(ish!) boy rose at a reasonable time, brewed a pot of extra strong, organic Andean coffee, and got ready for the day. It was imperative that Chas woke up at a fairly early time, as it took ages just to pick an outfit, wash his face, douse himself in cologne, and style his hair. It was all too much preparation just to meet with Casey Clairmont, son of two of the Marinos' most influential connections in the entertainment industry. There was no doubt in Chas' mind that the blonde boy had yet to shower in the past two or three days, yet that was all the more reason for him to one-up him in the hygiene department.

It was the small victories that kept Chas going.

After making his way downstairs and sipping a second cup of hot coffee, Chas met his mother barking at the help in the kitchen. He had almost forgotten the glamorous witch herself had flown back into town this morning in time to record her next set of gossip-mongering talk show episodes. In fact, he hadn't seen much of her in the past month, leaving him with a pile of conversations he dreaded having to engage himself in. At the very least, he'd only have to do it once given the rather hands-off role his father took in his life. It was the ever so humiliating and regretful conversations Claudia Marino relished having, as she was a natural at digging up the dirtiest dirt on anyone and making a spectacle of it.

Chas' tooth, his boyfriend, his less-than-flattering media presence as of late... there were plenty of topics Chas wished never to acknowledge again, no less with his family. He could just hear the mocking laughter of his older siblings as he sat by the counter, head down and staring listlessly at the black mug of coffee in his grasp. It was all too shameful to bear, and Chas had begun to regret coming home to the Marinos' estate last night rather than his cozy, bitch-infested apartment. It was a socially self-sabotaging move, but Chas couldn't help but be proactive in arriving to the location he had committed to meeting Casey at about a half a day earlier than expected. At least his old bedroom was comfy, adorned with fabulous, gleaming trophies and awards left and right. It made for a narcissistic night's sleep.

Time went by as Chas sipped his coffee, compulsively checking his watch every few seconds in anticipation for Casey's arrival. They had plenty to discuss, but the main objective that day was their appearance on his mother's show closer to wintertime. As expected of a reality television star, Chas always planned what he wanted to say first. He could fool all of the moronic viewers out there into eating up his so-called "off the cuff" remarks. They'd love him, just how they did when he was a little kid. He'd regain that level of notoriety if it was the last thing he did, although nowadays Chas had a much heftier list of responsibilities. Not that he didn't enjoy it, of course, as being needed and in charge was a status he came to adore.

"Oh, honey, your father and I always knew you'd turn out gay," Claudia stated plainly, wrapping Chas in a hug from behind. Her shawl draped itself over Chas' shoulders, and he crinkled his nose at the odd, sterile aroma of her perfume. It smelled expensive, but in the worst way possible. "My only grief is that you didn't wait until pride month to let us know—think of the remarkable June episode we could have had!" The high-heeled lady shook her head and clicked her tongue. "I suppose your impatience is a trait you've inherited from your father. It's a shame, but I blame myself for being so busy as of late. You'll come to understand worldwide relevance someday, I'm sure, stellina."

Chas could only look away and grimace, not daring to display his disgust with his imposing mother. Above all else, Chas was a very patient guy and an expert at the long game. How dare she! Moreover, it was a shock to learn that there were never plans to arrange him with a girl, but he had to be a little relieved not to have to fight his parents on it. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. The next step, of course, was to find some rational way to explain that he was hopelessly attracted to a virtual nobody.

"I'm sorry, Mother," he apologized flatly, his voice low and subdued, "Come December, Casey and I will make very engaging guests for the show. In fact, I have a film project I'm considering showing-"

"Wonderful, dear, and let's really zero in on that Twitter nonsense you and your peers have been so absorbed in; the Internet's been loving it. Is Casey on his way?"

"Yes, I think he should be here any minute. And speaking of Twitter, we haven't addressed my boy-"

"Good. Chas, you're doing the family a great honor in befriending a Clairmont. Now, try not to lose any more teeth while I'm away. I trust you can handle things from here."

With that, Chas' mother pat him on the cheek twice and vacated the kitchen, fluttering away like a wraith in her smooth, silky dress. He placed a hand on his cheek, the print of his mother's hand more frigid and unfamiliar than he'd ever felt before. Was the lady low on iron or was Chas beginning to grow more and more disillusioned from this whole media charade? The touch of his mother had become more like that of a stranger's by the day, leaving a sorrowful pit in his stomach.

Finally, he picked up the sound of the buzzer being abused, no doubt by the day's guest of honor. Peering out the window, he could see Casey being escorted to the door by the estate's security detail. The boy looked as raggedy as ever, at least in Chas' harshly judgmental eyes. He really needed to lose the lip ring. Even if that was a good look, it was assuredly several seasons out of style.

"Hello, Casey, pleasure to see you. Come in," he cordially greeted him after opening the front door and beckoning with his arm to come inside. He gave a nod to the security guard and closed the door, pitying the man for no doubt being subjected to Casey's idiotic, disjointed rambling.

He pointed his arm to the front room, which was just past the rather expansive foyer. The front room was furnished with incredibly expensive, antique sofas, cushions, tables, and a grand piano Chas worried would be tainted by Casey's grubby fingers. He held no contempt for the boy, but he really was lacking in the class department, much unlike his more dignified sisters. Of course, the trade was that Casey was far less irritating than the two snobby, stuck-up girls who had a habit of running their mouths. Chas didn't dislike any of the Clairmonts in particular, but he supposed he'd have liked them more if they learned to sit down and shut up.

"Tea? Coffee?" Chas offered, scanning the area for some form of housekeepering. He paused, pondering on how he was going to conduct this strategic business meeting that the success of Celebrity Gossip Hour with Claudia Marino depended on. He had to act professional and collected, just like the rest of his family did time and time again in interviews. Well, except for Chas' brother, but he'd gained all his fame in being a crazed, hedonistic asshole in the first place. "Do you want... snacks? You seem like the type to eat Doritos or something."

After nodding to a passerby housekeeper to heed Casey's incoming request, Chas seated himself on the couch, noting with lament that the hot coffee mug in his hand was only a quarter full. "We've got plenty to discuss regarding our televised appearance, but first, how's the road been? You've been well, I presume, from what little I've had the time to keep up with."

code by valen t.

 

[Winona]

Jace West
"Who am I to tell me who I am?"

@JaceOfHearts has set their status to:
uhhhh...

@JaceOfHearts has interacted with:
Landon

@JaceOfHearts has mentioned:
N/A

@JaceOfHearts has tagged:
gh0stwriter ​

He was only partially listening as Landon told him about the movie. What? It wasn't like Jace was necessarily uninterested in it, but, well... the whole... you know. Well, movies in general greatly disinterested the boy. When it came to most things, Jace was known for his relatively short attention span. He preferred bite-sized pieces of media -- five to ten minute segments. Even half hour long shows were pushing it for him in terms of keeping his attention, and he'd often find himself staring off at the wall, his mind elsewhere in the last handful of minutes following the ending of a show.

That being said, the one thing that could keep his attention for longer periods of time was music. If French was considered the language of love, then music was the language of Jace West. It was the one that he was most fluent in, the one that didn't cause his words to catch his throat or his tongue to get all twisted up in his mouth over trying to translate his thoughts into words.

He thought in terms of lyrics and beats, not straight, structured sentences.

That was easily why English was his worst subject.

Jace flinched involuntarily when Landon slapped his leg, but this wasn't something that registered with him. It had been been an uncontrolled reaction that, if asked why, Jace would just blink at the ask-er and ask what they were talking about.

"Elizabeth Moss..." he tested the name out on his tongue after Landon spoke it. He recognized the name from somewhere deep within the recesses of his brain, but he couldn't conjure up an image of his face, so he wrote off the name being stored in his memories as probably being mentioned by Landon at one point or another. "Use the trailer for the Arts Festival...?" He asked, his hollow voice trailing off with the tail end of the question.

Could one use a premade trailer for the Arts Festival?

Heck if Jace knew -- he didn't know what the actors did, despite two of his best (and only) friends both being in that department. Jace only knew how the music department worked -- and most of that had just been from his mother beating it into him over the last three years of him being at this school.

"Cool." His voice was hollow as he stared down at his papers. Look, Jace was tired, Jace was distracted, Jace wasn't good at this whole social thing in case that hadn't been made clear already. On the bright side, he wasn't stuttering, which was certainly an improvement over how he usually handled discussion with others in these types of situations. Granted, he tended not to stutter when around friends.

Or, you know, at his apartment where he felt most comfortable.

(Yeah, this was Jace at peak comfort."

"You gonna let me hear what you got or do I have to beg?"

Oh heck.

Jace turned in his chair to look over at Landon. He blinked a couple times, not responding right away -- and then, instead of responding, he just rubbed at the back of his neck, his gaze faltering to fall against the floor instead of at his friend.

"I don't... I mean..." he mumbled, and then let out a heavy sigh. "Okay..."

Refusing to move out of his roll-y chair, Jace instead turned it and pushed himself across the floor until his chair came to a slow stop beside the keyboard which, naturally, was set up, just awaiting someone to play it.

He spun in the chair so he was facing it, his feet coming to rest on the legs of the chair, one of his feet bouncing as he switched the keyboard on. Jace cleared his throat, glancing over his shoulder to look back at Landon as if to ask "you sure?" before he turned back to the keyboard. His fingers pressed against the keys as he tested the sound, and then he started playing it, his fingers growing more sure as he remembered the tune that he'd written down but tossed into his trash.

Of course, Jace didn't add any lyrics to it. His mother had told him those sucked, so now all he had was a wordless tune, but hey, it was a pleasant tune.

He played for a few seconds, going through the score, his lips moving wordlessly through the lyrics, before he came to a halt and sat back in his chair, his posture returning to its slumped nature as his hands fell uselessly into his lap.

Jace turned his chair again to face Landon, giving a shrug. "That's uhh... that's 'bout all I got right now," he mumbled, "although I'll probably change all of that after I... write a new song... you know... and there'll be... you know..." his fingers moved into position like he was playing an imaginary guitar, "and, well, words... I'll do the uhh... words and the..." -- his hands again moved to play the imaginary guitar -- "but I'll get someone to do the uhh... piano... well, keyboard..." he gave an awkward grin and reached back to pat his beloved keyboard, although his fingers hit the keys and made a rather unmelodic tune.

He glanced around his room, suddenly becoming aware of the clutter and gave a small, sheepish grin. "Sorry about the mess," he added quickly. "I'm uhh... I was going to clean up, but I kinda forgot you were coming over..."

That sounded mean, but that didn't occur to Jace in the least bit.

º º code by ditto º º

 

[ditto]

LINDSAY MORGAN KAY

fuckin' hype

Lin stood on one leg and hopped forward casually as Zeph told his whole life story it was like some kind of weird Chick-Fil-A commercial. You’d seen those, right? The ones with the whole like “oh my God, this chicken changed my life— I was a broke college student, and I ate this chicken and my eyes were opened” or some shit like that. He didn’t know really what they said, because he had Adblock because the bad bitch didn’t have time to waste on watching advertisements and shit, but they looked all dramatic like that was what they said.

Lin highkey wanted to go on one of those commercials. His alias would be Kindsay Norgam Lay.

Oh, shit, that would be a dope ass stage name, though. Maybe that could be his next era— get Layed, luhmao.

“What about you, man?” Zeph asked, and Lin dropped his other foot onto the ground and looked over at his grinning friend. "All I know about you is that you like to say luhmao, you're freaking awesome at bets, you really like spoiled food, and…you've got impeccable style."

A wide grin spread across Lin’s freckled face, and the boy let out an exuberant laugh. “You forgot to add that I’m Lindsay mo-ther-fuh-king Kay, luhmao.” He slammed his fists down at his hips and gave a pelvic thrust at each syllable of motherfucking. With another one of his laughs, he dropped his fists, wiggling his shoulders. “I’m from Montreal,” he began, looking over at Zeph. “You know, big bougie Frenchie place just north.” He pointed over his shoulder with a thumb, and he laughed, shrugging. “Well, I guess I am. I was birthed there. Came outta my mom’s womb there. Said yo, yo, yo, I’m not an embryo no mo, luhmao.” He grabbed at the neck of his shirt, giving it a couple of tugs as if he were popping a non-existent collar, and he dissolved into laughter. Had to flex his rhyming abilities.

Lin gave a spin, continuing to talk in his casual way as he did. “But I didn’t stay there long or anything. My mom and I moved a lot— usually every couple of months, but sometimes it was half a year or something. Nothing really more than a year ever, I don’t think.” His brows knit together slightly, and he looked up at the cloudless sky with a squint. Oh, wait, shit, no, he realized, dropping his eyes to look back in front of himself as his expression faded back into its neutral position. He’d stayed in Abbotsford for a solid year and a half there. He’d forgotten about that.

He gave another shrug, finishing off that conversation that he’d had with himself inside of his head. “Mom’s a nurse, and my dad an stick-up-the-assed, insufferable prick.” Yeahhh, the guy wasn’t Dad to Lin, except to his face, and, even then, it felt all blegh calling him that. He looked back over at Zeph, an unamused expression on his face, the corners of his lips tucked downward tightly. “I think I told you who my dad was before, but— Ricky Westborne?” The dude with all of those awards, yeah. The one with the seven-hundred-thousand-trillion-bajillion Oscars and that Golden Globe. The one who everyone’s mother drooled over when he came on screen. Yeah, that baby-blue-eyed bunghole. Lin’s bland, monotone tone of voice relayed his feelings about the guy even more than his next words did: “He’s a bitch, so I call him Pricky Worstbastard.”

Lin sighed, the corners of his lips untucking as he studied one of the strangers passing by him. It was a blonde-haired woman wearing sunglasses and a loose, orange sundress. He caught her head moving slightly in what was definitely a once-over, and Lin cocked a grin at her. Oh, hell yeah. This getup got them looks.

(Sure, her lips curled up in what was definitely disgust and confusion, but it was still a fuckin’ look.)

Lin’s grin faded slightly as he continued his life story. “I don’t have any siblings— that I know of. Pricky’s a whore, so ehhh?” He slowly shrugged, holding his palms face up and waving them around, raising an eyebrow. “Probably have a squadron of half-siblings, if I’m honest, luhmao.” He dropped his shoulders and arms with a laugh, wiggling his shoulders.

Lin was getting bored about talking about his family life, because talking about his sucky sperm squirter didn’t really rivet him. “I sing and play the gooey-tar,” Lin said, changing the subject but keeping himself the subject. “Acoustic, mostly, but I can play bass and lead and electric.” He grinned and mimed that he was playing a guitar, making a little “whow-neeeeyow” sound like he was playing something. With a laugh, he mimed that he was slamming the guitar on the sidewalk, raising his arms, with his hands clasped around the invisible neck of the guitar, and throwing them down suddenly— “croosh!” He dissolved into laughter again, looking over at Zeph. “And fuckin’ keytaur, man! I can also play keytaur. Fuckin’ sick, right?”

Duh, it was. It was Lin that could do it, and he was the fucking sickest.

Lin wiggled his shoulders, grinning widely. “I collect shit, too. Bottle tops and those things from those twisty vendy things in restaurants and Hot Wheels— and Hot Wheels knockoffs. I’ve got some kid’s tooth, too. Bro— I found it for the first time since I got it the other day, and it was just chillin’ on my counter, and I was like ‘what the hell is this tooth doing here?’ Fuckin’ sneak attack, man.”

(How did he get a tooth? What tooth was it? Was it a baby tooth? There were so many questions, the answers to which the world may never know.)

“Not to m—“

Lin cut himself off with a laugh, a grin spreading across his face, and he stopped at the curb, raising his arm slowly to point at something just in front of them.

And ah, there it was: the dollar store, in all its mystical glory.

“Hell yeah!” Lin cheered, grinning over at Zeph before grabbing his wrist. “Yo, c’mon, dude!” He began to tug him toward the store— and then suddenly dropped it, laughing impishly. He stopped, and then cocked a grin over at Zeph, looking up through his eyelashes with a look that told exactly what words he was going to say next:

“I’ll race you!”

And, with that, he took off toward the entrance, yelling, “You get there last, you’re a fucking boiled egg!”

(And, yeah, that was way worse than a normal egg.)

mood
ARRIVALLLLLLLLL LMAOOOO

location
tha dolla storeeeeeee

outfit
spot the drip lmao

playing...
tongue tied

by grouplove​

mentions
n/a

interactions
zephy

tags
Winona

º º code by ditto º º

 

[mogy]

Oates Oates
" podcasts, amirite? "

@bigO has set their status to:
go on, callum, trust me/go on, kian, dont get hurt please

@bigO has set their outfit to:
oversized shirt and shorts/jeans, shirt, jacket

@bigO has set their location to:
oates' apartment/picnic

@bigO has interacted with:
callum, kian

mogy has mentioned:
hery , geminiy

Trust.

A word so simple yet unimaginably cruel to those who believed in it. More than familiar to the curly-haired boy, it was the root of everything wrong that resided in the relationship between the two boys sitting across each other—hands connected, worlds apart. Tears on his face then, much like they were now; it was why Oates destroyed everything the two had and left Callum to justify himself to an empty hallway. Trust created pain, and lack thereof did the same, so what was the point of trust if the result would've always been pain? Maybe Oates was dumb to believe in it if the latter had been the case, but there was always hope coursing through Oates's veins, even if of the tiniest proportions. It was what made him go back to Callum every time, but this time it would be different.

A promise was made, and while the boy couldn't sense much proof of its trustworthiness, the fact that it came from Callum's mouth was enough for him to believe in it without reservation. Callum wouldn't lie to him, right?

Maybe this was him falling, yet again, for the twisted mind games that marked the last year and a half of the boy's life, but something seemed different about the words resonating around the room. The simplicity of Callum's thumb gently rubbing against Oates's hand, his eyes having just a little bit more color, and the feeling of guilt being just a little bit more bearable—perhaps the currents of the cold sea changed and the two finally stopped drifting away from each other. Perhaps both of them could feel it this time? Perhaps it wasn't only a sensation this time?

As Oates decided on the words that would've fit the situation best, the boy before him spoke something only heard in the most beautiful of dreams. Yet, much like those beautiful dreams, the sentence was left unfinished; words missing; hope failing to fill the holes that remained; the conversation moving forward...

But unlike dreams, this was real, and not only did it mean more hope for the curly-haired boy, but it was also almost proof that once it was actually going to happen—Callum was going to love Oates, and all that remained was time that the two could only wish would pass sooner rather than later.

All that remained was to officiate the unspoken agreement both of the boys understood. The two of them together didn't end well last time, but agreeably, their sum was so much better than them apart because at least then their tears would be acknowledged by the person lying next to them. Connecting his own lips with Callum's meant once again shattering the glass floor he stood on and letting himself fall into oblivion, the only rope saving him from more pain being placed into the taller boy's hands, but wasn't that exactly what trust was? It was what Oates liked to think, anyway.

Before long, as Oates leaned forward, without much hesitation locking his fate into Callum's cold hands in the form of a kiss, it was Callum's turn to trust that he was strong enough to pull Oates back.

But as the two eventually moved to the couch, talking about the future, kissing and making up for the few weeks they weren't together, Oates's phone started ringing, interrupting them. He, at first, couldn't really remember why he would put an alarm at that particular time, but as a message from Kian arrived, it soon clicked in his brain how very very late he was to meet the other boy at the park.

"Oh no." He exclaimed with the realization hitting him before he dashed to get dressed and to then put on his shoes. How was it that every time Oates tried to do something for himself, it always found its way to bite him in the ass? And why did it always have something to do with Callum?

Oh well, I guess we might never know, and besides, this didn't have to go so badly because Oates still had about half an hour before Kian's feelings were hurt by him not showing up, which, if he managed to get there on time, he would have to replace with Kian's feelings being hurt by Oates telling him he wasn't single anymore. Boy, oh boy, from one cryfest to another it seemed.

---

Coming into his view, Kian had set up a whole picnic as they talked on Twitter not long ago, a fact which just made Oates's legs feel heavier and heavier the closer he came to Kian. Maybe the fact that Kian's back was turned towards him had been a blessing given to Oates by God and he still had the time to get out of the situation and let the boy down easily via text?

No, that wasn't really like Oates, was it? "Hi." A wave partnered with the awkward greeting and the smile on the curly boy's face. This is going to be one tough situation.

º º code by dildo º º

 

[ditto]

trevor callaghan

quite the catch

“You talk too much,” commented the girl beneath Trevor’s arm, and the stoned boy watched another few seconds of the images flickering on the screen before he realized oh, wait—

That was directed at me.

When the realization came upon him, his brows began to gradual lower on his face, knitting together, and he slowly turned his head to look at Ash’s face. “…huhn?” he grunted slowly, his lip raised slightly in a deep confusion.

“Like…not too much.” Her eyes moved back to the television. Her head went back to his shoulder. “Just a lot— but, like, not in a bad way.”

There was a beat in which Trevor stared at Ash in confounded silence.

She cleared her throat and pulled her legs onto the couch and held her knees to her chest, moving away from him so that even the arm around her was barely holding her. Her arms came to wrap around her legs. “Sorry, that was mean.”

He noticed her biting her lip again. He’d learned to pick up that that meant nothing good.

He stared at her another beat.

Okay, hold up, why the feck was the air as tense as it was between them?

…that was a dumb, stupid fucking question, actually. He knew why.

Again, it was another one of his “act like it doesn’t exist and it won’t exist” moments, but he couldn’t toss money at this o—…

…well, he could…

No.

He wasn’t going to throw money at his girlfriend. He took that back.

He couldn’t throw money at this one, and he couldn’t shut up and change the subject, because there was no subject to be changed. It was just…

The damn fight.

It was the damn fight that was plaguing everything.

Way ta go, dumbarse.

He paused another beat, considering what to say— which was a rarity for him when he was high.

“The hell are ya apologizin' for?” he asked finally, moving back from her slightly and pulling her arm out from around her. “Where’d all’a that biting’ go, darlin’?” His face read deep confusion still, and he let out a slight chuckle. He reached over to the remote, a sudden enlightenment coming upon him to allow him to turn the volume of the movie down without open several hundred other menus. He couldn’t talk and think at the same time—

Wait, no, he couldn’t, uh…hear and talk at the same time. That was what he meant.

“What happened to yer unapologetic if you an’ I were tha last two people on Earth, then I would still rather just jump off of a cliff than have sex wit’ yous?” he asked with a slight chuckle. “Am I talkin’ ta Ash two-point-oh?”

He glanced at the television and then became momentarily caught up in the people on screen. “Another synced line,” he commented, half-jokingly, and he looked over at Ash, cocking a small, dopey grin at her, his droopy eyes focusing on her again.

For an instant, he studied her face, saying nothing and just kind of smiling in the vague way that he did. He held out a palm for her, his brows flicking together. “Hey, I, uh…”

He…uh…

Where the hell was he going with that?

He moved closer to her. “Are ya…”

No, if he asked her if she was okay, then she would just say that she was.

…well, shite.

He was all…fucking…

He didn’t know what to do.

He really didn’t know how to talk out problems.

Problems just pissed him off.

All he ever did was yell.

Or bang his head against a wall.

Or both.

Usually both.

And then he would go off and write several thousand words on an unrelated subject to get all of his anger out.

Touchy-feely bullshite was never his strong suit.

Comfort was never his strong suit.

Hey, what’s wrong?s were never his strong suit.

…caring was never his strong suit.

What could he do, offer an olive branch? How the hell could he do that?

Think, think, think.

He slowly brought his other hand to touch the top of her hand, looking into her eyes with a warm, genuine look.

And then he asked literally the first thing on his mind, cocking a grin:

“Can I kiss you…?”

(Yeah, he fecking sucked. He got that. But this was him trying to be genuine.)

mood
how to solve problems??

location
his apartment

outfit
t-shirt & sweatpants

playing...
eyesore

by glaive​

mentions
n/a

interactions
ash

tags
Winona

º º code by ditto º º

 

[ditto]

MICHAEL K. REID

asshole supreme

Turned out that the sexy car was an even sexier ride. Genevieve Johannes might’ve had a lead foot, but the wheels were so smooth that it felt to Michael like he was riding to Heaven on a cloud-drawn chariot.

What kind of gas mileage did this babe get? He leaned back in the seat, running his hand along the dashboard, the console, the controls on the door, the leather of the interior…

Goddamn, this was a gorgeous ride, and it probably cost more money than he’d ever seen in his whole life.

(Yeah, if it wasn’t obvious by now, Mike was a bit of a motorhead. It was a total fucking shock from a dude who drove a 2008 Toyota Camry that looked like it had been on a round trip through the battlefields of WWII France promptly followed by a pit stop by the fifth ring of hell, he knew. Don’t mention it.)

The windows came down, and his curly black hair played with his forehead as the wind whipped against his face. He hummed along beneath his breath to the music that Gen blared. If he wasn’t totally enraptured in the sex appeal of this vehicle, he might’ve been caught staring at her, but oh, shit, this ride had three cupholders? How fucking innovative.

• • • • •​

Mike lifted his hand from the console, turning his eyes to Genevieve as she slowed the vehicle and then up to the view behind the windshield. They had to be downtown— he recognized a few of the restaurants and red brick buildings from a couple of shoots that he’d done in this area.

“Okay, a few ground rules about this place,” began the girl in the driver’s seat, and Mike looked at her, brows knit slightly in a look of focus. “And before you say I’m being pretentious or stuck up or whatever, save it. I owe this place a lot with respect to my career so if you screw up, I screw up.”

“I’m a professional, babe,” he said, giving her a flash of a grin as affirmation that yeah, he fucking knew.

She seemed to have forgotten that she’d worked with him in the past, ya know, and that he wasn’t a dickhead when he worked. If he was going to work, he was going to work, and work was work, at the end of the day. There was no personal shit to add into it. That just muddied everything.

She also seemed to have forgotten that he also knew better than anyone not to act like he was at the top of shit.

When he’d come to HA, he was just another “pity case”. Just another guy who everyone around thought was a kid from a low-income family who the school had to accept so as not to look totally callous against the world. He’d had to claw his way up to where he was— more than she could ever know. He knew that he’d have to do the same at every other place that he had to deal with.

I’m a professional, babe.

The vehicle tugged into a parking garage, and Mike studied the signs as they passed them: 15 ft. clearing, you’re on camera, no vehicles exceeding—

“You’re going to want a piece of ID. They’ll be checking,” Gen stated, and Mike began to dig his wallet from his pocket as Gen made dealings with a guard at the booth, addressing him by name.

As soon as he’d retrieved his license, from his bag, Gen had swiped it, and he studied her with a blank expression on his face, not really paying attention to her conversation and more paying attention to what happened to his license.

Look, that shit was expensive to replace— nine dollars was a lot to waste on a replacement.

(Yeah, yeah. Fucking laugh it up. Hardy-har-har. Yeah, catch Mike on next week’s episode of Extreme Cheapskates. Did that make you feel better about yourself?)

As soon as Gen parked, Mike popped the door open, shifting from admiring the interior to admiring the exterior as he exited the car. When Gen began to walk away, though, he immediately followed, his gait casual, giving easy smiles at those who walked by him, though the expression was, more often than not, met with downturned noses and slight scowls.

Professionals were bitches. He got used to it.

He stepped into the elevator after the girl, in awe of the…whatever this shit was. He should have been used to places like this by now— ya know, LA, big shoots, pretty solid commercial success— but he never quite was— and the view when he stepped off was even more impressive.

How much had those chandeliers overhead cost, did you think? One cost at least five of his payouts— at least.

His shined shoes squeaked slightly against the polished floor, and he slowed his walk slightly to lessen the noise.

Nothing said I belong in the world of the richies like two year old loafers squealing against marble.

“Welcome to the land of the famous, Reid,” came Gen’s voice, and they approached another set of elevators. He stepped inside and watched her press the button on the board. His eyes moved up to the counter above the door as the door closed. “For reference, I am like 99% sure that my mentor is going to be here. Do not fuck up in front of her. She’s tiny but boy is she mighty. I swear, she makes me look like a peach. Remember how I said ‘don’t ask questions if people tell you to do something, just do it’? Yeah, that was about her. So smile and look pretty Reid, you’re good at it.”

I’m a professional, babe, he thought again with a chuckle, grinning to himself.

The bell dinged, and the doors opened to reveal a small, older woman who oozed rich, judgmental fashion mogul who’ll hack off your ass and mount it on the wall to admire while she sips her delicately-steeped tea at the glass table on her patio overlooking her private island.

His smile became much more polite and subtle, though his confidence didn’t quite waver.

“Genevieve Johannes,” said the woman, who had the exact voice that he imagined her with— loud, heavily-accented with some accent that Mike couldn’t quite identify.

Gen shot a look over at him and grabbed his hand, tugging him into—

Was this whole floor a studio?

He looked around the room as the woman spoke to Gen, taking in the look of everything.

Everything was so fucki—

The woman came to a stop in front of Mike, and he looked down at her, brows raised slightly.

Her hand jutted up to grab his face— though not in a particularly aggressive way. His eyes clouded with mild confusion as the woman moved his face about.

Looked like Mike was the next specimen at the great HA model dog show. Stay tuned to see him complete— ooh, ahh— an obstacle course.

She dropped his face, and he felt himself release a breath that he’dn’t even realized that he’d been holding.

“You’ve kept me waiting all this time for a boy, hmm?” said the older woman, grabbing Gen’s hands. “I would understand it if he was pretty enough, but I personally think you can do better.”

With that, she walked off toward a place further into the floor. Mike studied her motions, his neutral face resuming.

“I saw you booked out studio space, Miss Johannes. Have you come to work or have you come to play?” the woman said. She poured two cups of coffee from a pitcher, and she handed one to Gen and Mike. Mike gave her a slight nod as thanks, watching Gen lower herself onto the couch and poise her legs atop one another. Mike sat himself down on one of the oddly-shaped chairs, seating himself near the edge and sitting how he’d been taught to in formal settings: feet flat on the floor, back straight, slight smile on the face.

“Work, unfortunately,” Gen answered. “We have an assignment due for school and I figured what better place to work than the finest studio in Los Angeles?” She sipped from her cup, and Mike followed suit. It was black coffee— straight black coffee— and the warmth of comfort flowed across his chest. It was just as he liked it.

“I suppose I should introduce you,” Gen continued. “Michael Reid, this is Madam Bisset, my most beloved mentor.” At that, Mike looked to the older woman, giving her another nod of acknowledgement and a slight smile. “I’ve been working with her since I was a child,” Gen explained. “She’s worked on some of the biggest red carpets in the world and she was the one who got me my offers at Vogue and Elle. Truly a master of fashion.” She nodded to the other woman. “And Madam Bisset, this is Michael Reid. We go to school together, he is also a model.”

Madam Bisset huffed loudly, standing up from her spot across from Mike. “No relationship?” Mike’s eyes flickered over to the woman at her blunt question, catching a narrow-eyed look from her.

Gen laughed, reaching over to pat Mike’s knee. “We’re just friends, I’m afraid.”

He chuckled slightly, grinning as he glanced at Gen.

Yeah, right.

“Good. The last thing I want is someone coming in and screwing up my dear Genevieve’s life.” Mike looked back over to the one called Madam Bisset. She wore a smile, but her eyes told him that she could carved his heart out with her nails in milliseconds. “I will get out of your hair,” she said. “I will be in the office if you need me. And do not have sex on the desk in your room, it gets messy.”

For an older woman, she had a surprising amount of bite. He appreciated that.

Mike chuckled as she winked and walked away, disappearing behind two large doors that shut with a thud.

He looked back over to Gen, a light smirk playing at his lips.

“So that’s my mentor,” Gen laughed. “I apologize for her…whatever that was.” She stood and walked over to the sink, pouring her coffee down it.

What a waste.

Mike took another drink from his cup.

“Well, what do you think?” she asked. “Besides the crazed mentor, this place is a second home to me. Play your cards right and this place can get you jobs you never even dreamed of. Besides, believe it or not, I think Madam Bisset likes you.”

Mike stared at Gen for a moment, and then a laugh escaped his laugh. “Well, she seems like the type to file off my balls whilst she manicures her toenails, and my cajones are still intact, so I think you might just be right,” he half-kidded with a chuckle and a grin.

He swung his body forward, standing and striding a few steps. “This place, though?” he continued. “Reminds me of Edna Mode’s building. Straight outta a movie set. You mean you come here often?” He let out a soft chuckle. “Not surprised. Hot damn.”

And the fact that he’d worked himself into a position to be “good enough”-ish with someone who had gotten here herself— much less, that there was the slight prospect that he could have an ins here, at some point? Yeah, it was moments like this that really stroked the fucking ego and humbled him in one fell swoop.

“So...,” he started, finishing off his coffee and discarding it in a trash can, “what exactly are we doing? Some kind of...catwalk thing, featuring a shoot, yeah?” he asked for clarity. “Or do I have that totally wrong?”

mood
damn

location
?? someplace bougie

outfit
polo and pants

playing...
drunk face

by machine gun kelly​

mentions
n/a

interactions
gen

tags
geminiy

º º code by ditto º º

 

[ditto]

kellian phelan

boogie on down

Alrighty, so Kellian still had no idea what the heck she was going to be doing for the Arts Fest, and the day had kinda been a bust— but it had been a fun bust! Like a, uhm…

(Psst, hey, what was something illegal but fun? Not drugs…)

…CDC-violating candy bust! Yeah!

(Thanks! She owed you one!)

Now, Kelli lay on her floral-printed bedspread, her hair splayed out around and beneath her head like a puddle of molasses, her dark brown eyes reflecting the twirling and jumping and wiggling figures on her laptop screen, and a fluffy, pink blanket thrown over her person so that it looked like she was some kind of museum artifact with a tarp over it to preserve it. The front of the bottom of her bulky laptop rested in the middle of her sternum, and her palms cradled the bottom to make sure that the screen didn’t crash into her forehead (and that method to keep the laptop from falling onto her worked, for the most part!— except when her hands got tired…and then it kinda hurt). Her face was so near to the light of her laptop that the bars around the sides of the screen made it look like she was in a theater, and the blanket shielding the world from her view helped to enhance this experience.

When she’d gotten back from her excursion, she’d told herself that she would totally sit down and read her Geometry textbook chapters that she’d been assigned to do a summary of and make that neat little slideshow for American History (that maaay or may not have been due Friday…but that had definitely been due Friday), but she’d gotten out her laptop and opened her book at her desk, and then her YouTube app said that she had notifications from one of her favorite dancing channels, and she’d already been on that watch adventure today, so she figured that she might as well go a bit more…

And then that turned into a bit more…and she’d made herself cozy on her bed…

And that turned into a bit more…

And now here Kelli was, beneath Fluffian (yes, that was the blanket’s name— wasn’t it adorable?), all nice and cozy and watching her videos, with her eyes sagging because she was pretty tired…

And she was all niiice and cooooozy…

…and then she woke up with her laptop half-shut and hanging off of the bed on its side in a pocket in Fluffian, who was now straining beneath her back and hardly even covering more than her chest, instead covering more of the floor, with a wet spot on the pink pillow that she’d had supporting her head.

She glanced at the Minnie Mouse that she’d tacked to the closet door, and she let out a soft gasp at the time on it.

Wow…had she just time-traveled?


Noooo! She had so much work to get done!

Kelli slowly raised herself up, the laptop clunking on the floor, though the blanket made the sound quieter. She rubbed her now-tossed hair, then stretched, yawning. She rubbed her palm against her chin to help clean off the drool, and she made a soft “blegh” as she tossed her legs off of the side of her bed, placing her feet flat on the ground.

After a quick run to the bathroom and a greeting to Ronnie (who had, at some point between the start and end of Kelli’s nap, come in to just chill), Kelli dropped down into the desk on the left wall that she and her roommate had designated as her desk (yes, the one labeled the little pink construction name card with a butterfly gem glue-sticked to it that she’d taped to the corner of the desk! You got it!) and she picked up the book that she’d told herself that she was going to read what felt like so long ago and put on her headphones and tried to start reading.

…

Crash!

The sound from outside startled Kelli right out of the fifth paragraph on page 204, and she jumped in surprise, letting out a soft gasp, her hands popping up and the book shutting itself. She pulled out her earbuds, looking back and at her sweatpants-ed roommate. “Did you hear that?” Kelli asked, though it wasn’t necessarily directed at Ronnie, and she raised herself from the chair, slowly shutting her laptop as she did.

Curiously, she walked to the door, and she opened the door to see a girl bent down in the hallway, a ton of things scattered about the floor in front of her.

“Oh my gosh!” Kelli gasped immediately, beginning to gather up several books without even thinking and tucking them close to her chest as she went around. She glanced up as she moved about, gathering as many books as possible, and she gave a soft, concerned smile to the other girl as she fit the remainder of the candles on the floor into the crook of her arm.

As Kelli stood, she made a soft “oop!” of surprise at how much the weight of the books threw off her balance. The girl, in spite of how little she seemed, could still hold the books and candles like they were nothing once she caught her balance. (Dancer arms for the win!)

“Oh…hi!” she said, greeting the other girl finally, a bright smile coming across her face. She didn’t recognize the other girl, but it didn’t stop her from talking like she did. “Where do these need to go?” she asked. “The Kelli-train—“ (She tried to make a pun and miserably failed, but she tried!) “— is bound for whichever station is yours!”

Chugga chugga choo choo!

mood
helping out

location
the dorms

outfit
cute!

playing...
apple pie

by the scary jokes​

mentions
n/a

interactions
ronnie (technically) & bella

tags
geminiy

º º code by ditto º º

 

[Winona]

Casey Clairmont
"Don't stop doin' what you're doin'."

@basketcase has set their status to:
buzz

@basketcase has interacted with:
Chas

@basketcase has mentioned:
Cami, Chanel

@baseketcase has tagged:
hery ​

As it turned out, aggressively pressing the buzzer did eventually get you some irritated security. Wow. The Marinos had security.

.... Yeah, no, that actually didn't come as a surprise to the youngest Clairmont. His own family did, too, when they were on tour. There were just too many crazy fans that felt the need to try and toss themselves at the Clairmonts. The amount of teenage girls that screamed his name when they saw him or just wanted to touch his hair was honestly way higher than he'd care to admit.

Girls were weird.

(He knew this because he had two weird sisters.)

The security detail came up appearing irritated, probably thinking that Casey was some crazed fan that had found the Marino mansion, but their annoyed expressions faded slightly when they saw that it was just little ol' Casey Clairmont. Also their hands moved away from their positions of resting on the pepper spray that clung to their belts, so that was an upside. He really didn't like the idea of pepper-flavored eyes.

He wondered briefly what pepper spray tasted like and made a mental note to try and spray some on his tongue later. Maybe it could be used as a condiment.

They opened the gate and he hopped through with a little bounce to his step. Neither of the guards talked much, but that was fine because Casey could easily talk enough for the both of them and himself.

"So how's working as security for the Marinos?" He kind of drew out the o in Marino as he spoke the last name, and naturally, he didn't give either of them a chance to reply before he was off on the next tangent -- or, rather, the same tangent but with more interesting questions. "Do you get to carry guns or something? Or you gotta call the real cops if you want those? Ya know, if I had to hire security, I'd give 'em blow torches. No one wants to mess with someone wielding a blow torch. OH. Or ya see those cool blow torch gloves you put on?" He held up his hands in fists and started punching the air. "Yeah, ya kinda just go bop bop and then every time you bop your fist goes," and really, there isn't a word for this, but think about fiery explosion noises. That's what he did.

"You know what'd be cool? If they made that a sport. Like uhh... like boxing or something, but boxing with fire. Everything's just hotter with fire, ya know? See I used to say 'cooler' with fire but ya know, fire doesn't make things cooler, it makes things hotter, so..." he gave a casual shrug of his shoulders as their little posse arrived at the front door, right as his buddy Chas was opening it.

"I'll see ya later, fellas. Think about what I said," he added to them with a wink and gave one last little punch of his fist in their direction while mouthing the fiery explosion noise before turning back to Chas and hopping his way up the stairs to the front door. With his back to them, Casey totally missed the two guards exchanging a look and just shaking their heads in what could only be described as a like... what the hell kind of way.

"Heyo, Chas," Casey greeted back, although is greeting was much less formal than his only friend's. He gave a wide grin as he hopped through the front door, only to realize that he wasn't entirely sure where to go, so he slowed down and turned back to look at Chas. The other boy pointed towards the front room, and Casey was off again, still keeping the slight skip in his step as he walked.

"Tea? Coffee?" Chas asked, and Casey glanced back over his shoulder at him. "Do you want... snacks? You seem like the type to eat Doritos or something."

"Ah, no snacks, but I'll take a tea," Casey said as he spun on his heel so he was walking backwards and could focus on Chas, "yeah like uhh... yeah, any kind of tea'll do." Yeah, he didn't really drink a lot of tea. Casey's diet was pretty much made up of pop and junk food. But hey, it was impolite to say no to every offer of something to drink, and if he had to pick something, tea was certainly the lesser of the two evils.

(Coffee was blech -- which was probably good because Casey plus copious amounts of caffeine was a dangerous combination.)

"We've got plenty to discuss regarding our televised appearance, but first, how's the road been? You've been well, I presume, from what little I've had the time to keep up with." Chas continued, which was just blah blah business.

But Casey was clearly a professional businessman.

He continued his backwards movement until his legs bumped into a chair, and he flopped down onto it with an exasperated sigh. Now, Casey naturally felt comfortable most anywhere, so it didn't take long for him to make himself at home -- by wiggling until he was comfortable on the chair, his arms resting on the armrests, and he kicked his feet up on the coffee table in front of him, resting his dirty Converse on the undoubtedly expensive table.

"Straight to business with ya, huh?" He asked with a chuckle, an easygoing smile on his face. "Never change, Chas." Casey joked. He let out a sigh, sinking farther down into the chair with his arms dangling over the edges.

"Road was great, I gotta do a lotta," he paused, lifting his hands up and pretending to play the guitar. "Ya know, on the big stage. Got to open for the parents a couple times and ya know, there's something about hearing audiences chanting your name that I'm really gonna miss." He finished off with a small chuckle, his expression turning slightly nostalgic as he thought back on his experiences.

"What 'bout you?" Casey went straight back to being upbeat without missing a single beat as his arms fell back to the sides of the chair. "You said uhh..." he waved one hand as he tried to recall Chas' words, "you've been busy, yeah? Book signings or something?"

Okay, so Casey really didn't know what Chas did. But it was something with words.

º º code by ditto º º