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Realistic or Modern Ocean Ridge

Reader mode
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Block Party // Open Mic
  • Index



    • Raven Rivera





































    • mood



      ??? -- > annoyed

















    Water trickled down onto her hair and the tiles below– which was the only audible sound in the bare bathroom that smelled entirely too much like chemicals.

    They’d only moved in a week ago.

    Her back became numb with heat. It wasn’t scorching– but it was enough to hurt until you’d gotten used to the temperature.

    That’s the only thing she’d gotten used to so far.

    A hand reached for the knob and twisted it farther. The heat of the water increased and she closed her eyes. It was a good burn. It reminded her that she was capable of feeling something other than just–

    “Raven? You okay?”

    “Yeah,”

    She wasn’t sure how long she’d been in here. But it was long enough that AJ felt the need to check up on her. “I’ll be out in a minute.” She turned off the water and grabbed a towel.

    She noticed there were still bits of paint that hadn’t washed off her knuckles but Raven couldn’t spend anymore energy trying to scrub the gray off.

    Clothes stuck to her wet skin and her hair continued to drip water onto the floor. She clasped the golden necklace around her neck with minor trouble. It was a cross she wears religiously--But she wasn't religious.

    Raven was drying the ends off with a towel when she’d finally emerged from the bathroom and out into the hallway that matched the paint on her hands.

    AJ suggested they’d hire someone to do it but Raven refused. Especially when she offered to pay for it.

    So they’d done most of the house improvements and heavy lifting themselves. The house was coming together surely but slowly, there were still quite a few boxes that laid in the living room and kitchen. But they’d gotten the basic necessities out of the way and it was slowly starting to feel…

    Like a place that wasn’t her own.

    But she hoped that’d change with time.

    Raven went from living in a small apartment with her best friend to moving into the suburbs. Two bedrooms, white picket fence, a yard and all with her girlfriend.

    It wasn’t something she was against— Raven was just having a hard time adapting. While she felt as though Alaska somehow fit right in.

    She passed by the few photo frames they’d managed to hang up and the hint of a smile appeared on the edges of her lips. They’d been together for three years. Maybe two and a half– but Raven was being generous.

    She deserved it.

    Alaska was rummaging through a box and she struggled as strands of hair got in her way.

    She deserved a lot more if she was being honest.

    Raven approached her from behind and wrapped two arms around her waist. “Pajarito,” It translated to “little bird” which was a nickname Raven had given her in high school.

    How it came to fruition– don’t ask. She (and the writer) don’t remember.

    Her chin settled on AJ’s shoulder. Peeking at the meaningless junk that was being thrown around in the box.

    “Have you seen my journal?”

    “I might’ve.” Alaska had decided that she didn’t want to “chase the spotlight” anymore. While fame still found her in many ways. Music was always a part of her– and AJ decided to write songs instead of singing them.

    Raven always wondered if she regretted it.

    AJ glanced over at her and the brunette rolled her eyes in return. Wordlessly she left Alaska and opened the door to the room they’d barely touched since they moved in.

    They talked about making it an office. Somewhere where Raven could work on segments and stories while Alaska wrote her songs in the quiet that was away from the neighbors kids.

    The light-green walls of the room nauseated her and the cute hand-painted animals in every corner taunted her. The couple who lived here before them had a nursery. Simply being in here was enough to grant an awful taste in her mouth.

    The red-leatherlike journal sat on a rocking chair the couple had left behind and Raven picked it up. Narrowing her eyes at the small elephant that was staring straight back at her.

    She couldn’t wait to paint over it.

    The door to the room shut softly but almost forcefully and she emerged from the hallway with a grin, holding it out to her girlfriend.

    “Got cozy, last night?" She asked referring to where she'd found it.

    "It’s pretty old, you know, there could be ticks hiding in the wood.”

    Was it a tactic to throw out the rocking chair?

    Yes.

    But she wasn’t wrong.

    When she worked for the newspaper. A bunch of information Raven had no business of knowing was practically implanted into her brain. She misses it a lot– no, not learning weird facts she’d never use– or being an assistant to a workaholic middle aged woman who refused to learn her name.

    She missed writing.

    Raven was never good with her words– (something Jade was very vocal about) podcasts and radio segments aside… She was right.

    Raven didn’t voice her feelings.

    She wrote them.

    And after she’d quit… Raven didn’t really see a point to write anymore. It was just another part of herself that she lost.

    Sometimes that’s not so much of a bad thing though.

    Because while she did lose quite a few parts of herself… Raven gained a lot too.

    Alaska held out a hand for the journal and Raven held it out of reach as she spoke.

    “But that aside… I think I deserve a reward for finding such a priceless item… AJ Vaughn’s journal? Do you know how much that’s probably worth?” She leaned in and froze as if she was second-guessing herself.

    “So… yeah, I do need some kind of reward…” Raven mumbled before she pressed her lips against AJ’s. One kiss turned into two and three turned into…

    The journal fell to the floor and Raven reached for the hem of AJ’s shirt but settled on her waist instead, gently pushing her against the kitchen counter.

    It might’ve been unsanitary…

    But Raven doesn’t cook much anyway.

    AJ was lifted onto the counter and Raven reached for her shirt again, their kiss deepened when her fingertips brushed against her skin--

    The doorbell rang and Raven pulled away, irritation evident as she held up a finger to AJ.

    “If we're quiet, they'll think we're not home."

































    Sex, drugs, etc.



    Beach Weather










    ♡coded by uxie♡
     
    Last edited:
  • Index
    • coded by sugarnaut
    T
    hursday, September 15th, 2022, 5:15 PM

    The news told her before the call came. The goddamn news. She hadn’t even been watching the news. She’d flicked on the TV to be background noise while trying to apply to jobs she didn’t want. Something about a fatal crash on the highway. She hadn’t even really been listening then because the A key on her keyboard was stuck. The voices on the TV didn’t sound English at all in that foggy haziness of background noise. The A key had come unstuck. The helicopter footage of the crash had cut back to the anchor, who was reading out some sappy speech from the teleprompter.

    “They’re telling us that three different cars were involved in the crash and…” There was a pause, and the anchor lifted his hand to his ear like he was listening. Sawyer wasn’t. But then he’d said something about another death and Sawyer had lifted her head from her computer just as the footage cut back to the live overview of the highway. A blue Honda Accord flipped over on its hood with that stupid “I Brake for Aliens” decal on the back bumper. She’d shot up out of the kitchen chair she’d been sitting in and was out the door. The laptop on the table showed an application for a library job in Boston with the section that reads “Work Experience” filled out with aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.

    Present Day

    Sawyer didn’t know when she’d zoned out, but a gangly teenage boy was standing in front of her with his hands outstretched like he was offering her something. She blinked, once, twice, at him until her eyes focused on the paper clutched between his fingers. She shook her head to try and dislodge whatever was making those memories pop up again. Why was he handing her a paper? Sawyer blinked up at him again with eyebrows now furrowed a little in confusion. The boy, Ty, shifted from his left to right foot and suddenly looked a little awkward.

    “The, uh, the analysis we were supposed to do.” Ty offered the paper again as if catching sight of it might shake Sawyer out of whatever stupor she was in. Right. Antigone. Sawyer grinned at him and chuckled a little under her breath. They were reading Antigone.

    “Yeah, yeah, of course.” Sawyer plucked the paper from his hands and tucked it into the neat little pile that was beginning to form. “Sorry, I spaced out a little there,” she apologized with a lilted humor in her tone. Ty seemed to accept this as a reasonable explanation and just nodded his head as he whipped around to return to his seat. Sawyer sighed silently, a long-drawn-out exhale. The clock above her head read 3:30 when she turned around to check it. Or maybe it was 3:31, Sawyer had never been very good at reading analog clocks they never made any sense to her. The sounds of backpacks zipping up and the commencing of soft chatter interrupted her scrutinizing of the analog clock.

    Sawyer spun back around and smiled as a few stragglers came up to hand in their analysis. The bell rang soon after and the room was emptied of her pubescent tutelage. It was strange, how suddenly alone she felt. There were people in this building all around her, yet, the second they left her sight it was like she was the only person in the universe. Sawyer folded her head into her arms on the desk when the walls began to feel suffocating. She was used to that lonely feeling, she’d never liked being alone, but it all seemed entirely too exacerbated recently. The emptiness had become her greatest enemy when once it had just been a nuisance. Sawyer blamed Haven, for all the good that did.

    The reverberating of lockers slamming through her skull was comforting. Someone screamed in a loud peel of laughter in the hall and a shoe squeaked right outside her door. The owner of that shoe peeked their head inside and knocked in that quiet, shy way that nervous people did. In the ajar doorway stood the frame of a bird-boned girl with auburn burned hair that spilled out around her shoulders. Sawyer lifted herself from her desk and stretched her arms over her head as her visitor stepped further into the room.

    “What’s up, Katie?” She had never thought when she took this job, that she’d feel any sort of way about the teenagers that filtered in and out of her room every day. But kids like Katie were easy to like and Sawyer found it increasingly easy to care about them. Her kids. Those who spent hours in the theater huddled over rows of chairs or exposed their hearts on the stage. They were the reason she didn’t feel like she was drowning all the time. The Sawyer who would have scoffed at a job like this was long dead, she realized, and she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

    “We got some paint for the set backgrounds,” Katie started, folding her hands in front of herself, “but, um, they’re having a bit of an argument about what to, what to paint.” The girl tilted her head in the direction of the door with a little grin. “I think it might be smart for you to come and help us decide.” Sawyer didn’t miss the way she leaned to hide her face behind her curtains of hair, hiding the traitorous grin that was splitting up her face. With narrowed eyes, Sawyer tried to lean down and catch Katie’s eyes. The girl just made a little noise in the back of her throat like a barely restrained laugh and spun around to quickly exit the room, calling over her shoulder as she went, “come on!”

    Sawyer chuckled a little before following Katie just in time to see her duck into the theater down the hall, a chorus of laughs echoing behind her. They were not very good at trying to surprise her, Sawyer didn’t think any of them could be subtle if they tried. Ironic for a bunch of theater kids. It didn’t matter much anyway, Sawyer walked into the belly of the beast with a smile alighting her face. A face that was soon assaulted by globs of various colored paints the second the door swung shut behind her. Her kids sounded like a bunch of hysterical monkeys but soon morphed into terrified monkeys when Sawyer bounded up the rows after them, scooping still-wet paint of herself as she went. Yeah, maybe that scoffing part of her was dead, but Sawyer was almost certain that was a good thing.

    It didn’t even matter that she’d forgotten she’d asked for the art teacher’s help and they were currently wasting all their materials.



    I'm trying to kill the moon,

    it's out of my range.

    coded by sugarnaut
     
    coded by sugarnaut
    T
    here was exactly two people in this whole world who Camille Vega would let exist in her space like this. Too close for comfort. Too close for her to breathe. One of them had been in the ground for years and the other took great advantage of her allowance. It wasn’t like she had much of a choice here anyway. Seth was an extremely physically affectionate boy and Camille didn’t think she could stop him from expressing that even if she wanted to. So, while he squeezed the life out of her standing in the middle of the kitchen, she ignored the increasing tightness in her chest. It took him few minutes to decide that was enough and pulled back to grin that broad, sparkly grin at her. Sometimes when she looked at him, all she saw was their mother in the curve of his mouth and the sharp jut of his jaw but when he grinned like that with too bright teeth and puppy dog eyes it was entirely him. Camille found it hard to reconcile how a person like him could even be tangentially related to her. She knew it was because he their parents were gone to the wind by the time he was old enough to be affected by them, but she didn’t like to think about how different he might be if he wasn’t. It was nicer to imagine that her little brother was always meant to be the boy he is. The pastel daydream to her hard-edged reality.

    His pastel face contorted into a frown as he stared back at her, reaching up to tap her on the forehead twice. Seth was taller than her by at least a few inches and when he ducked his head to put himself into her field of view he had to bend at the waist. Camille shook herself back into the present moment. Seth’s eyebrows drew together furrowing in a way that reminded Cami of the way he used to look at her when she came home from school with her shoulders hunched and feet dragging. He was worried he’d crossed that thin boundary that Camille put up against the gaze of the world. He was always worried about everything, she wished he wouldn’t worry so much. Camille was supposed to be the worrier.

    “I lost you,’ he started with those furrowed brows lowering further, “are you good? I’m sorry I didn’t even think about if you were feeling the whole hug thing today. I know you told me last week that you don’t care if I do it, but I just want to make sure that you’re not just saying that because you have like a weird obligation to accept my hugs.” Seth sucked in the breath that he had expended in that ramble of words and opened his mouth to start again. He snapped it back shut when Camille laughed. The worried expression on his face morphed into confusion and then lifted back into his white beaming grin. Better.

    “It’s okay. Relax.” Camille patted him a little awkwardly on the shoulder and Seth huffed a silent snort. He’d never blamed her for the stunted way she approached affection. He’d also never asked about it. That was good, she though, because Camille didn’t know how she’d even begin to explain the way she flinched like a kicked puppy the moment someone stepped inside her personal space. She was probably treating him like a he was still a toddler blinking up at her with his too big eyes, but Cami didn’t think she would ever be able to see him any other way. So, she smiled as he clutched his present to his chest, “I’m glad you like it. I was worried you already had too many of those things.” Camille gestured vaguely to the leather-bound journal pressed to his heart.

    Seth shook his head so vigorously she was afraid he’d give himself whiplash, “no way! You can never have too many journals, asesina.” He winked to end his sentence. That stupid nickname was the bane of her existence. Of every possible word he could have chosen, Seth had decided on killer. He knew it got on her nerves and he did it completely on purpose and if he wasn’t running from her at that very moment, she might actually give him a reason to use it. Pequeno mocoso. She loved him.

    -------------------------------

    “You’re sure you want to do this?” Camille leaned up against the side of the counter, tying an off-white apron around her waist while Seth shifted from foot to foot in front of her. For all the ways that they were different, the Vega siblings were both a reserved kind of person. Seth was a little shy and you wouldn’t be surprised with the way he pressed his chin to his chest at her question. He needed a haircut, curled tufts of hair falling over his face.

    “Poetry is meant to be heard, Cami, and,” he lifted his head and looked around them with a little grin, “you set up this whole open mic night thing. You even got help and I know that was probably annoying to you.” He sucked in a breath and squared up his shoulders, resolute. She’d have to take it.

    “Alright, mi poeta. You’ll do great.” Seth nodded and waggled his fingers at her as he turned to go sit with a gaggle of other teens who Cami couldn’t name if she tried. She huffed out a puff of air that blew her bangs out of her eyes. Behind her, shuffling around the kitchen, she caught sight of Reign. She never had too many employees at the same time, but Reign was probably one of her best. She liked him and his kid was nice to have around. Maybe it was the kid in her that still latched on to positive father-daughter relationships, but she’d never thought that deep into it. Cami finished tying off her apron and came to lounge next to the window to the kitchen, eyes following Reign for a moment before she spoke.

    “My best cook, have you drowned in orders yet?” Her smile was an amused quirk of her lips, “I’ve come to help keep you afloat.”


    Interactions: Reign jazzyball jazzyball

    I'm mostly scared,

    mostly unprepared.

    coded by sugarnaut
     






    Emilia Campbell





    When she got behind the wheel of her Lamborghini, Emilia usually went as fast as it could take her, especially on an empty road, but on the drive to Ocean Ridge she had moved at a snail's pace. She didn't want to return to that wretched house on Warren Heights any faster than she needed to. She hadn't even told anyone she was moving back, aside from Cori, and she hadn't told her she was moving in today. After all, she didn't know how to tell Cori about the baby in her passenger seat and at this point she was just delaying the inevitable. She needed that space to breath, before she was bombarded and overloaded with questions she didn't know how and didn't want to answer.

    Em was going to be sick. She could already feel the tingle of cold sweat on her neck, the lump of emotions that she tried to swallow back down. She hated this place, hated that she had to come back, that her health had raised every red flag it possibly could and she hadn't had a choice. It hurt too much to stay in New York unable to work and she had promised that she would try to be a good mother, that she wouldn't ever be like her parents but still, to have to come back here...

    The car rolled to a stop as Emilia slumped over in her seat, her head pressed against the wheel, her hands wrapped in a vice grip around it. Her breaths came in heavy and uneven, a stark contrast against the gurgles of her son beside her. She shouldn't have come back here. Nothing good ever came out of being in Ocean Ridge. Cori was the one exception. Even if it created more stress and harmed her health further, she should have looked for another property in another place. This place came with its own stresses, its own nightmares and demons. Her son's gurgling voice tangled with the sound of her breaths, ringing in her ear as memories of Ocean Ridge flashed in her mind. Her mother's face in the rearview mirror, the silence and darkness of the house, Regina Campbell's words.

    Emilia threw open the door of her car and jumped out, slamming it behind her as she leaned against the side for support. Her head was tilted to the sky as she tried to steady her breaths, to push the images out of her mind and clear her head. As her breathing eased and she lowered her gaze, her eyes settled on the building in front of her. The words were slightly blurry, but she remembered it from the last time she was here. Peach's diner. She needed a drink. To clear her head. She needed cold brew. The cold brew here was barely decent as she recalled, but it would do. Taking a breath, Em locked the door of her still running car and headed inside, her usual apathetic gaze on her face. She felt guilty, leaving her son in the car, but she wasn't ready to show him to anyone yet, to deal with the questions and all that shit. She'd make it quick she promised herself. Once she got the cold brew, she would be back to him and on the way to Warren Heights.

    The little bell jingled as Em pushed the door in and made her way over to the counter. She had hoped the place would be on the emptier side but of course it wasn't that way. "Cold brew on the double." She said, quietly scanning the area. She really did have the worst fucking luck in the world.





    mood
    make it quick

    location
    Peach's Diners


    nice and simple    https://www.theplace2.ru/cache/arch...-gthumb-gwdata1200-ghdata1200-gfitdatamax.jpg





    playing...
    nil

    by nil​




    mentions
    Cori

    interactions
    Open/Whoever is manning the counter at Peach's diner

    tags
    here


    º º code by ditto º º
     



    bellamy.





































    • mood



      irritated but curious??
















    Bellamy didn’t want to go to the stupid block party, but seeing as she intended to worm her way back into her parents’ good graces, and they had requested that she come along, it didn’t seem as if she had much say in the matter.

    It was odd to be in Ocean Ridge again. Despite growing up there, Bellamy had been away long enough to put distance between herself and who she used to be—the world was smaller there, and it felt like trying to cram her foot into a shoe that no longer fit—but there was something comforting about the town’s consistency. Leighton had returned from culinary school, Jade and Cori never left, and Tabitha’s coinciding added presence was the cherry on top—it was like high school all over, except this time, Bellamy had an unwanted guest.

    Only recently did Bellamy find out about her pregnancy, and luckily, it was too early to show, which made hiding it that much easier. Eventually, she wouldn’t have that luxury, but if everything went according to plan, the inconvenience would be terminated way before she reached that stage.

    Around her, neighbors milled about on the sidewalk, and Bella watched as her parents mingled with their friends, offering a polite smile—as polite as she could muster given the circumstances, anyway—to anyone who glanced in her direction. Already, things were off to a bad start. She’d been hoping to meet up with Cori—the two girls had been to many such gatherings in their lifetime and had learned from experience that the parties were always more tolerable if they stuck together—only to find that her sister was already in the company of someone else when Bellamy at last spotted her.

    Sam Cox had to have been one of the most obnoxious people Bella had ever had the misfortune of being acquainted with, and she had no idea how Cori tolerated him, much less dated him. Bellamy didn’t have the best track record in terms of romantic partners, but she’d never stooped that low. Sam followed the older Adams sister around like a stray dog after being fed table scraps—he was a leech, no matter how useful he may have been to her.

    At the first opportunity to present itself, Bellamy fully intended to leave the get-together in favor of going to Nox, a nightclub across town, and at first, she believed this to be said chance, but she was mistaken because just as she was turning to go, she noticed a figure approaching out of the corner of her eye. While she knew most people in attendance, there’d been a few fresh faces she didn’t, and this boy had been one of them. She’d seen him before—during one of her latest visits home, which were few and far between and usually timed with holidays—but had yet to actually speak to him. He was tall, brown curls framing his handsome features, but the way he carried himself was enough for Bella to realize he wasn’t a person of interest. He reminded her of the guys she’d encountered during her stay at Yale—too rich for his own good and used to getting his way, and while Bellamy too possessed those qualities, she pulled them off better than any man ever could.

    Still, Bellamy decided to give him the benefit of the doubt; she’d entertain him for a while, if for no other reason to quench her curiosity for the newcomer—granted, he probably wasn’t that new anymore, but anybody who wasn’t born and raised there was new to some varying degree. Besides that, it was nice to meet someone different for a change, someone without preconceived notions about who she should be and one too many questions about why she was back in Ocean Ridge. Perhaps she could’ve avoided that outcome if she’d produced a bullshit excuse for her sudden return rather than arriving swiftly and silently under mysterious circumstances, but she didn’t intend to stick around long enough to care about their unsolicited and whispered opinions.

    Bella greeted him, giving the man a once-over. “Make it quick, Pretty Boy,” she said, turning towards him. “As much fun as this little party is, I’ve got places to be and people to see.”

    Molly, to be specific.

    Out of all of Bellamy’s friends, she’d known him for the briefest period—a few short months—but they’d bonded easily. Their relationship—if you could even call it that—was fun and playful, based on a mutual attraction for each other. During their previous interactions, Bella had been unable to act on it much, given her prior engagements, but with her newfound freedom from the boy who’d put her into this situation, there was nothing holding her back. When he’d invited her to stop by the club after learning of her return to Ocean Ridge, she’d jumped at the opportunity—though she kept her eagerness well-hidden for the most part—but it seemed as if the universe was intent on working against her thus far.

































    afterglow



    THE DRIVER ERA










    ♡coded by uxie♡
     
    MOOD: trying to be a workaholic

    OUTFIT:
    casual blue peacoat
    ​
    INFO
    LOCATION: club nox

    WITH: molly, some lawyer

    MENTION: sawyer's​
    ACTIVITY
    Soap Soap
    TAGS
    Deo V. Solomon
    Ain't No Rest...


    He spent the last three days sleeping.

    Not for three straight days, just sleeping most of the time. First day back in Ocean Ridge, after arriving home from the airport, Deo dropped his suitcases in the foyer and went straight to his bed.

    12 hours of sleep later, he woke up tired in the evening.

    It could’ve been from jetlag, his messy sleep schedule, or both. He hadn’t made any announcement that he returned from England, or going there for a while a month ago. (Except for a few people who had to know, like his probation officer.) He still wasn’t done unpacking his suitcases.

    He didn’t want to come back to Ocean Ridge. At all. But the choice to leave and travel to God-knows-where freely wouldn’t be available to him for another 20 months. He had nobody to blame but himself.

    Ironically, he didn’t even have enough time to blame himself for his reckless mistakes. Since becoming the owner of his dad’s nightclub, Deo had less free time and more paperwork he didn’t initially expect to deal with.

    At least it made dealing with grief a bit easier. He was fine.

    Today he was finally awake in the daytime—didn’t sleep so well last night, but he was fine. Really. He had lots today… kinda. Called a tow truck to bring his dad’s old black Cadillac De Ville to Sawyer’s dad’s shop. Stopped by the Sleeping Hedgehog cafe and drank two cups of strong coffee. Smoked a couple of cigarettes he wasn’t supposed to have outside. That was it so far.

    There was a block party event today, but he wasn’t sure about participating in it or not. Most likely not.

    Deo was told that he didn’t have to visit the club, but hey, he was the boss and can do whatever he wanted to. Maybe. He still didn’t understand how nightclub business worked, give him a break. He just wanted an excuse to be busy and get out of the house.

    Nox Tempus was empty, saved for a few management team employees that were in for a short time and Molly, who was preparing for something that Deo didn't care about. Deo sat in front of the first-floor bar counter, taking a lazy drag of his fifth black cigarette as he read through a small stack of papers about inventory and other nightclub business things, checking his smartphone. He checked out some of the new bottles on the shelves that arrived earlier. No, he didn’t open any of it. He wasn’t a daytime drinker… usually.

    Steady footsteps approached him from one side. Deo looked up, snuffing out his cigarette in the ashtray, and saw a person dressed in a dark gray suit while holding a briefcase. Judging from that and the strong expensive cologne, he knew what they were before they introduced themselves.

    “I already talked to a lawyer about my dad’s will and stuff weeks ago,” said Deo.

    “That lawyer was for your father’s personal matters. I deal mainly with his business activities, specifically in the U.S.,” said the business lawyer. “Which is why I’m here. To clear up a few things regarding Nox, one of them being your father’s debt, and the club’s ownership…”

    Deo got off his barstool, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I’m the owner of Nox.”

    The lawyer hesitated. “Well… Uh, is Mr. Mahdi De Silva here?”

    “Why? What did he do?” Deo looked across the room at Molly. “Molly, what did you do?”
    code by valen t.
     



    isaiah.





































    • mood



      fuck my life



















    The blue light of the computer screen was starting to burn his eyes.

    Three hours, and he hadn’t even written a full page.

    Zach, his campaign manager, had suggested that writing a memoir would be a good way to promote his campaign. Let the people see the inner workings of his mind, or some bullshit.

    The only issue was that Isaiah hadn’t written anything since he was in college, and even then, he usually paid other kids to do the work for him.

    The cursor blinked at him. Mocking. Like it was laughing at him. He sighed, pushing up his glasses and rubbing at his tired eyes.

    “Isaiah? Mama said she needs your help.”

    “Huh?” Isaiah mumbled, swiveling around in his chair. In the doorway stood a little girl with a head full of perfect blonde curls. “Oh, hey, sweetie,” he said, giving her a soft smile.

    As much as he had started to resent his relationship with Sutton over the past year or so, he truly loved her daughter as if she were his own.

    And it wasn’t that he didn’t love Sutton—he did. He just wasn’t so sure he was in love with her anymore… if he ever was.

    In a way, the way he felt about his fiancée was the same way he felt about politics.

    What once filled him with excitement now just made him feel tired. Drained.

    Isaiah patted his thigh, and the grin that spread across her little face gave Isaiah one of his own. She bounded across the carpeted floor of his office and climbed into his lap. He wrapped his arms around her and pressed a kiss to her temple.

    He felt the crushed red velvet of her dress underneath his fingers and sighed.

    He had never seen it before, and when he looked at the tag on her neck, his stomach dropped.

    Bloomingdale’s. Of course.

    He didn’t even want to think about how much it cost. Or about how Barbie would grow out of it within a year.

    Eyes glazed over and staring off over Barbie’s shoulder, Isaiah didn’t even realize she had helped herself to his laptop. Before he could even register what she was doing, his entire document was gone. She looked back at him and giggled.

    Oh well.

    It was shit anyway.

    If Zach wanted a biography so bad, he could write it himself.

    Isaiah gingerly lifted Barbie off his lap and set her on the ground. “Come on, let’s go see what your mama wants,” he said, standing up and taking her hand.

    When the duo entered the bedroom, Sutton was standing in front of the mirror. Her dress was unzipped, and she was clasping on a pair of earrings when their eyes met in the mirror.

    She looked beautiful, of course. She always did.

    “Can you zip me up?”

    “Of course,” Isaiah replied, letting go of Barbie’s hand and stepping up behind his fiancée. He stood there for a moment, tracing his fingers softly across the bare skin of her back. Connecting the dots of her freckles.

    He recalled a time when the terrain of her skin was new to him.

    When they first started seeing each other and Sutton stayed the night, he would often stay awake long after she had fallen asleep and do the same thing. Back when everything was new and exciting, and he wondered how he had gotten so lucky.

    Now he couldn’t even the last time they had sex. The bumps and grooves of Sutton’s skin had become routine and ordinary.

    Sutton gently cleared her throat, and Isaiah was pulled back into reality. He gave her an awkward smile and zipped up the back of her dress. Then he leaned down and softly kissed her shoulder.

    She thanked him, and he responded with a curt nod. He turned and sat on the bed, watching as she continued getting ready.

    Her attire was a little fancy for a poetry reading at a diner, but it was very on-brand for Sutton.

    God, he’d created a monster.

    “You look lovely,” he said. “I’m sorry I can’t join you tonight.”

    A hum in response.

    The sound of Barbie playing in the other room.

    Then silence.

    The truth was, Isaiah could join them, if he really wanted to. But he didn’t. He knew that, and Sutton knew that.

    But neither of them were willing to address the truth.

    A few months ago, things might’ve been different.

    A few choice words.

    A slammed door or two.

    But they were both tired.

    And it was just easier to deny that anything was wrong.

    Almost like they had grieved their relationship in reverse.

    Isaiah sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

    “Zach has really been on my ass about this whole book thing. He wants to get it out as soon as possible,” he explained, more to make himself feel better than to comfort Sutton. “But to tell you the truth, I—“

    His phone vibrated in his pocket, derailing his train of thought.

    He pulled it out and glanced down at the text.

    Hey, want some company tonight?

    He didn’t even have the number saved.

    It made him wonder just how many people had his number that he didn’t even remember.

    “—I don’t think I’m that interesting.”

































    take what you want



    post malone










    ♡coded by uxie♡
     



    Mahdi De Silva





































    • mood



      focused —> confused —> ???

















    He lifted the glass to his lips.

    Salty.

    Sweet.

    Bitter.

    His tongue darted around in his mouth as he tried to differentiate the flavors. Mahdi’s lips smacked together and he shook his head. “Tsk.” He wrote something down with a click of his tongue while Deo passed by him with an inventory list in hand.

    “You’d think it’d be easy finding a non-alcoholic substitute for a martini.” He glanced over at Deo exasperatedly, a frown line tugging at the edges of his lips as an elbow laid on the bar counter.

    He didn’t answer.

    Molly knew Deo wouldn’t have a solution. The most he’d known about alcohol was how to drink it. (So he believed, anyway)

    He knew who to ask. Unfortunately, that person retired a little too early for his liking. His eyes found the disco ball that sat unmoving and swallowed. Begrudgingly returning back to his list.

    “Milk?” He asked with one hand under his chin and the other gestured toward Deo with his pen.

    “No, tried that already. It shouldn’t taste like chocolate milk.”

    “And I’ve tried cream already, it’s not anything special.” Bellamy was coming over later tonight– and for whatever reason, (one that was a drug-test she confirmed with him earlier) she couldn’t drink.

    But since he was feeling uncreative… Molly didn’t want to change their original plans to find her “signature drink.”

    I know what you’re thinking.

    He wasn’t trying to get in her pants.

    Though he wouldn’t exactly turn the opportunity down… and his mind traveled there more than once the few times they’ve enjoyed each other’s company– they hadn’t slept together.

    Bellamy was interesting.

    She was fun– new, uncharted territory if you will.

    And it seemed like Bellamy’s attention seemed to spark an anger in Tabitha. Which was more than he’d gotten out of the blonde in months.

    She blamed him for Ed’s OD.

    Molly didn’t sell him the drugs. He was with him hours before but Edgar hadn’t given him any reason to suspect he’d be reckless– his personality aside.

    He couldn’t have known.

    But that was just Molly trying to convince himself because the guilt was eating him alive.

    Ed was fine.

    But the way she looked at him… he couldn’t stomach it.

    “I just don’t want it to be too much, y’know? I need sweet but something bitter enough to balance it…” He trailed off. The pen tapped against the bar counter continuously which had agitated Deo enough to look up from the inventory list unbeknownst to Molly.

    With a snap of his fingers he stood up straighter. “I got it.” He hit the bar counter twice in an inadequate way of patting himself on the back and beelined towards the storage.

    There were bottles upon bottles of alcohol, mixers, crates of glasses and stoppers, a fridge for the garnishes that’d perish without and finally… the freezer.

    It was an alcoholic’s dream but Molly wasn’t that fucked up just yet. He was professional.

    Sometimes.

    The door swung open and the draft of cold air was welcoming, even more so when his eyes landed on the solution to his problem.

    He re-emerged from the storage to catch Deo mid-conversation with an older man that screamed business.

    Deo’s head snapped towards him.

    “Molly, what did you do?”

    A quizzical look was given and he gestured to the coffee-flavored ice cream in hand for an answer.

    __

    They sat on faux black leather and the lawyer across from them in the VIP section. A comfortable and Molly’s go-to for all things meetings.

    He didn’t have an office but he had a spot and that was more than enough for him.

    The lawyer had talked liquidation, equity, debt and finally—

    “Bankruptcy.” Molly finished, twisting one of the many rings he had on his left hand with his other.

    He nodded in agreement.

    “August had invested in a number of businesses, stocks, possibly more using the club’s equity— while I, myself, don't know what his business plan was…”

    He took a sip of scotch Molly kindly offered when they exchanged introductions.

    “If the club doesn’t pick up and start making up for the losses… you’ll have to declare bankruptcy.”

    Mahdi chewed the inside of his lip and glanced back at the disco ball that still stood unmoving.

    “Alright, so… how long we got?” Molly asked, redirecting his attention back to the lawyer.

    He seemed hesitant to answer as if he was trying to remember off the top of his head.

    “It’s hard to say, depending on the income… December?”

    “Before the end of year.” The lawyer finished.

    Molly didn’t say anything but nod, taking in the information before a paper was slid towards him.

    “Now... Mr. De Silva. Did you know that you were added onto August Solomon’s will as of…” He looked down onto the paper.

    “July seventh, 2021?”

    He blinked. Shaking his head as he leaned over to pick up the document that was so filled with legal slang Mahdi couldn’t even find his name.

    “He labeled you as a beneficiary for the club.”

    “What does that mean?”

    “It means you own it,” The lawyer glanced at Deo and cleared his throat.

    “Well, part of it. Fifty percent. While…”

    “Deo owns the other half…”

    “Exactly. Do you have any questions? Do you need a financial advisor…” His words became white noise while Molly processed what just happened.

    He didn’t know how to feel. He didn’t even attend his funeral because someone needed to look after the club.

    England? For a funeral?

    He wasn’t going to be welcomed.

    He wasn’t family.

    The lights of the club strobed around him in a variety of colors, red, blues, whites and he danced with no abandon. High on… something he couldn’t even remember and every move he made somehow felt slower.

    His body gave up on him and the next thing he knew he wasn’t in the club anymore.

    He was outside.

    It rained hours earlier so the humidity was wrong and the air felt stale. He stared at his reflection in a puddle near the flickering light behind Nox.

    Molly’s body was shivering despite the warm weather that’d only gave him cold sweats as he gagged violently.

    A group of girls left through the backdoor and grimaced in disgust when they’d caught sight of him.

    “Molly?” A familiar, deep voice spoke in a light English accent and Molly’s vision was hazy when he caught sight of him.

    “Mahdi, hey, what’s going on? What are you on?”

    He mumbled unintelligibly.

    “Talk to me.”

    “Mahdi?”

    “Huh?” He said, only registering the fact the lawyer had said his name probably for the fourth time.

    “I’ll… let you two get back to it.” He slid over a business card and gave him a firm nod.

    “If you have any questions. Have a good day… and uh…”

    The older man gestured around the room, a creased wrinkle in the middle of his brow when he noticed the disco ball.

    “Good luck.” The man took his leave and Molly poured out another glass of scotch.

    His throat felt dry and his mind felt numb. He’d taken a sip, staring at the brown liquid that swirled along the crystal-like glass.

    “I think we’re gonna need a bit more than luck here, brother.”

































    i feel like i’m drowning



    two feet










    ♡coded by uxie♡
     
    Last edited:






    Quinn Daniels


    Back stuck in her hometown was far from where Quinn had foreseen her life heading, but life was a cruel mistress, or so she was fairly sure she'd heard at one point or another in her life.

    An art teacher, back in Ocean Ridge. How unbelievably pathetic.

    Today, they were assisting the theater kids in putting together a few different sets for their upcoming play. Quinn had briefly returned to the art room to gather some more brushes, but she was lingering, taking her sweet time in returning to the scene of the crime -- there was little desire in the passive blonde to return back to the belly of the beast. Aka, the stage where they were putting everything together.

    The kids had begun to argue before she had left, and Quinn had decided to leave them to figure everything out. However, as she grew closer, she could hear yelling, which caused her to pick up her face to a risk walk.

    She burst into the room shortly following Sawyer's entrance, and Quinn's eyes simply widened at the scene. As another glob of paint came flying in her direction, she found herself dipping behind the taller theater teacher. Her hand reached out, grabbing the blonde's shoulder and spinning her to face Quinn. Her pale eyes, typically placid, were currently burning with an angry fire.

    No way the school would reimburse any of that paint, and Quinn knew that.

    "What are your kids doing?" she snapped. "What are you doing? Stop them."




    mood
    ehh

    location
    location location location

    outfit
    outfit outfit outfit





    playing...
    song title
    by artist​




    mentions
    mentions mentions mentions

    interactions
    Sawyer

    tags
    KingofAesir KingofAesir


    º º code by ditto º º
     



    Corinne.





































    • mood



      fuck if I know she’s bipolar


















    Kitchen dance parties were an essential part of any baking—while baked—session, and today was no different as Cori made a batch of brownies to bring to the block party that was to happen in a few hours.

    She’d just had a new oven put in after the Great Pizza Box Incident of Monday Morning ™️, and she’d checked to ensure it was empty about ten times since she’d begun preheating it, paranoid.

    Be so for real, how does one even set their oven on fire? (Soap I know you’re thinking the same thing)

    Her dance party was being graciously dj’d by miss Billie Eilish, though from Corinne’s loud and admittedly horrid singing, wielding a wooden mixing spoon as a microphone, you’d think the brunette was on the world’s biggest stage, thousands cheering her on while the smell of baked chocolate wafted into the room.

    Her neighbor banged on the wall separating their apartments, muffled swearing just barely audible over the music.

    Okay, rude.

    With a sigh, she turned the blaring speakers down just enough to stop the rattling of glass cups inside her cupboards, shooting a glare at the offending wall. Her neighbor, evidently, didn’t know what true art was.

    And…neither did the real estate agents she’d met with downtown while scoping out an old warehouse for her art studio. She was so close to saving up enough…but they wouldn’t budge on their price. Bastards, the lot of them.

    With the double shifts at Jerry’s and helping her father at the shop on the weekends, Cori was suddenly saving up more than she ever had in her life. She’d always been notoriously awful at managing her finances, but this art studio…well it had been her dream for years now.

    But it was hard to stay patient when you were so close.

    And so tired she noted, as a yawn slipped from between her red painted lips. It was her first day off in weeks, and while she’d really like to lounge about her apartment all day and watch reruns of Modern Family, she’d already promised Sam that she’d attend this stupid block party with him. And…he was due to be here in twenty minutes.

    Cori was grateful she’d had the foresight of getting herself ready before baking the brownies. If not, there is was not a single chance of her being ready in time, and cancelling her hard earned dance time was a big no from her.

    She kept her priorities in order, evidently.

    Her phone chimed and she paused the music with a resigned sigh, grabbing it from its spot on the counter before flopping rather dramatically onto her green cloth couch, checking her notifications.

    Fucking Gmail.

    She’d been waiting by her phone anxiously all morning for a text from her little sister Bellamy, not that the younger Adam’s sister knew that of course. Bella had just returned from her big fancy university a few days ago, and Cori had yet to see the her, though she supposed some of that was her own fault.

    It was hard, sometimes, looking Bella in the eye, and while nobody in her family would ever say it out loud…Cori felt like a disappointment. Everyone had moved on with their big, beautiful lives, and was doing something great, or starting a family or any number of things, while she herself had always been stagnant, never moving too far.

    And all she had to show for years of sleepless nights, blood, sweat and tears was a closet full of paintings, a sister who didn’t text her very often and a mother who’d been more on her ass now more than she’d ever been when Cori was growing up.

    And they said it would get easier once you were an adult. Fucking liars, the lot of them.

    With a frustrated sigh, Corinne heaved herself off the couch and walked back into the kitchen, stooping by the stove to check on the brownies.

    They were definitely done.

    Sure, the tops were a little crispy but nobody would notice, right?

    …

    Okay, seriously, did anyone expect the girl who’d just burned her oven down to make perfect anything?!

    Her phone chimed again, this time the screen lit with a notification from Sam telling her he was there. Just on time, too.

    She left her apartment without much ceremony, brownies in hand and on a mission. Three flights of stairs and a brisk walk through the parking lot later, and she tugged open the passenger side door to Sam’s car, clambering it.

    “Hi,” she greeted him breathlessly, shooting him a smile and closing the door behind her. “And before you say anything about my brownies, they’re supposed to look like this.”


































    happier than ever



    billie eilish










    ♡coded by uxie♡
     
    Last edited:
    coded by sugarnaut
    S
    arah Kline

    “I’m still alive, I’m free and the latest story on the BBC is about the death of Cardinal George Pell” Sarah stopped the recording on her small laptop. She hated doing these recordings but she knew that as long as she could keep it up then there would be no way for her parents to get the police involved. Checking the time she quickly uploaded the voice note into a dropbox before closing her computer. As she turned away she scowled at the clothes strewn out across her bed, she had been thinking about what to wear to this block party when she remembered that she still hadn’t done a recording this month.

    Whenever she had asked about what to wear people just said casual, as if that helped at all. Her scowl deepened as she huffed before grabbing a pair of jeans without holes and a dark green polo shirt. She pulled on the clothes staring at a variety of hoodies in the cupboard before settling on a leather jacket. It was less comfy but it would keep her warm enough and probably looked slightly better for meeting new people. Checking the time she grabbed her rucksack, preloaded with cider and wine, and headed out.

    The rumble of the bike's exhaust filled her ears as Sarah raced around the roads connecting her little apartment to Shores Crest. She had taken the long way just to have more time on the bike and to make sure that she didn't arrive too early. She was still slightly confused about how block parties work, especially as she wasn't from the block in question, but people kept saying that it was open and she did need to meet new people out of work.

    As Sarah reached the block in question she drove by the end of the road to see what was happening, seeing quite a few people already milling about she parked her bike down the nearest side road, dismounted and headed over to the party.

    It wasn’t difficult to find the common table so in no time at all Sarah had successfully traded the cider and wine that she had brought for a plastic cup of very mediocre white wine. She let out a small, sad sigh as she looked around the party. It was mostly made up of middle-aged couples who all either had kids playing nearby or back at home. Still she came to meet new people so she schooled her face into a well practiced smile and slowly began to work her way around the crowd. Working the room like this brought back memories of doing this same thing back in England and while the people were different, nicer and less cutthroat, the act of doing it was the same and fitted Sarah like an old glove.

    After she had stopped to talk with several of the small groups that had formed in the yard Sarah caught sight of Bellamy standing off by herself oozing bored discomfort. She knew the younger Adams a little, mostly stories from Cori, but had only had a few very short conversations with her in passing at the Garage. What was immediately clear however is that Bellamy definitely shared her sister's view on fashion, Sarah could almost see the designer label from the cuffs and collar. Just as Sarah was about to make her excuses, to her current group, and head over she caught sight of a young guy approaching. His look screamed rich college kid following the designer trend set by Bellamy and then raising it with meticulously styled hair that he had clearly spent a ridiculous amount of time fixing before he came to this party. Cori hadn’t mentioned her sister having a boyfriend but Sarah decided to give them some space and at least finish her current conversation before going over.



    How long does it take,

    for your mask to become your face.

    coded by sugarnaut
     



    Sutton St. James





































    • mood



      fine —> irritated… —> okay.

















    The soft sponge delicately tapped against her face in a precise motion. The foundation covered up the dark circles that’d started to set in the last new nights.

    Sutton had these… recurring nightmares that tended to come up every so often and it was beginning to interfere with her sleep. Whoever came up with the “warm milk does wonder” was on crack.

    That shit doesn’t help anyone but newborns.

    Nights like that she often peeked through Barbie’s door just to watch her for a few minutes.

    Creepy, maybe— but ever since she was born, Sutton had this little voice in her head that said; “Just check on her, make sure she’s breathing.”

    Where the motherhood anxiety came from, she had no idea.

    Maybe it was because her own mother was so emotionally detached it made Sutton more protective? She wasn’t a shrink. She couldn’t give you a real reason why.

    It could’ve had something to do with Roland. Her daughter’s father had embedded some fear in Sutton— it wasn’t fear as in… she was afraid of him. But more of a reminder of why she left in the first place.

    To protect herself.

    And why she left her ex-husband? (May his soul rest in peace.)

    To protect her daughter.

    Normally, Isaiah would wake to her sudden jolt in bed and ask what’s wrong. But lately he’d been finding more and more excuses not to be around her.

    Excuses that could very well be work. But somewhere down the line Sutton just felt like his heart wasn’t in it. He wasn’t talkin’ though, so she wasn’t saying jack shit and living in the bliss that was ignorance.

    Small footsteps accompanied by bigger ones made their way up the stairs and Sutton seemed satisfied with her makeup.

    It was only a small gathering after all… who needed to be so dressed up for a kid throwing around poems?

    The diamond earrings Isaiah had bought her last Christmas was handled delicately, the velvet box opening as carefully as she did Christmas day.

    Sutton knew she’d get them, she dropped hints all month— and she knew she had to because they were worth almost as much as the necklace around her neck.

    “Isssssiiiiaaaaaaaahhhhhhh.” Barbie introduced in a dramatic manner as she entered their bedroom.

    “Thanks, baby. Go put on your shoes.”

    “Can I—“

    “Yeah, you can wear the light-up ones.” Sutton said exasperatedly, yet a smile played on her lips.

    Isaiah met her gaze through the mirror and that smile only faded by an inch.

    “Can you zip me up?”

    “Of course,” He let go of Barbie’s hand and she ran off quicker than a roadrunner trying to outrun a coyote.

    A silence sat between them— it was a comfortable one at that. Compared to the other men Sutton had been with… there was some unspoken trust between her and Isaiah.

    Well, she wouldn’t call it trust exactly. There was always a tension there that she couldn’t place her finger on.

    In better terms… Sutton felt safer with him than she had in her past relationships.

    After the election, she’s hoping things start to… mend themselves.

    Because if she’s being honest… she’s polite, she’s a people-person, she’s a good gift-giver and party organizer but Sutton didn’t know the first time about “fixing” a relationship.

    Admitting there’s a problem only makes a bigger one.

    Learned that from her daddy.

    Isaiah’s fingers gently traced over her back and she’d taken a sharp breath that went unnoticed by him. She couldn’t remember the last time they had sex.

    And Sutton wasn’t sure if she was glad or relieved at that fact.

    She cleared her throat. “Havin’ fun, there?” The blonde teased to which she received an awkward smile as he zipped her up. He placed a kiss against her shoulder and she leaned into him ever-so-slightly.

    A small gesture and a sweet one at that. Sutton just wished it felt genuine.

    A thank you was mumbled and she looked for the right shade of lipstick as Isaiah had taken a spot on the bed. She felt his gaze on her but didn’t say much of anything.

    “You look lovely,” he said. “I’m sorry I can’t join you tonight.”

    Sutton hummed, a thinned smile over at him before turning back around and applying her lipstick to a smile that dropped as soon as her back was turned.

    She wasn’t angry.

    More so disappointed because she knew that it was a choice. Work this and work that— if he didn’t want to spend time with her, she’d rather him say it.

    Ignorance is bliss, sure. But the longer he pretended felt like she was becoming a pushover.

    Been there, done that.

    Not again.

    She didn’t want to fight. It was a simple outing after all— nobody in that diner truly cared about her image and vice versa.

    She didn’t have any energy to fight. More importantly, it feels like one move here and one truth there…

    She lifted a peach-tinted lipstick, her gaze lingering on the engagement ring that sat perfectly on her finger.

    And it’d be over.

    The sounds of Barbie playing in the other room, humming a tune of some cartoon she’d become obsessed with these past few weeks.

    Sutton, for many reasons, wasn’t ready for this to be over.

    “Zach has really been on my ass about this whole book thing. He wants to get it out as soon as possible, but to tell you the truth, I—“

    His phone buzzed and she rubbed her lips together, a manicured thumb reaching to clean the corner of her mouth.

    Sutton turned around and eyed the phone in his hands. “You…?” She trailed off, waiting for him to finish the rest of his sentence.

    “—I don’t think I’m that interesting.” A breath of amusement escaped her nose and she walked towards him as he pocketed his phone.

    Sutton took note of that.

    “You’re kiddin’ me, right?“

    Hell, Sutton could write an entire biography about this man, while her writing skills wouldn’t even earn her a pity applause at open mic night, readers would be entranced by him alone.

    Everyone loves a successful man. Anyone who says otherwise is jealous.

    “I can’t say I’ve met any people who studied philosophy and lived to tell the tale, but…” She joked, taking a seat next to him.

    “In all seriousness, I’ve met quite a lot of people and I’m sure my word means nothin’.” Sutton put her hands up in defense and a finger up for Isaiah not to interrupt.

    “But you’re the most interesting person I’ve met.”

    Money implied and aside.

    It was true.

    Barbie’s father was handed everything to him on a silver platter because his grandad died, Sutton’s ex gambled his own earnings away, the few people she was close with here in Ocean Ridge didn’t seem to have a plan other than to “wake up” the next morning.

    “You’ve worked so hard to get where you are today, you—“ Sutton laughed, almost forcefully in disbelief.

    “You quite literally worked for the president— maybe before he was president but you helped get him there. You’re accomplished, compassionate and a hell of a smart-ass, sure… and I may be biased…”

    Sutton lifted her hand and wiggled the fingers, the engagement ring shining in the sunlight that was starting to set, an orange-glow around their bedroom provided Sutton with a warm sensation.

    Almost like what their relationship used to feel like.

    “But I can’t say I’ve met many people like you.”

    She glanced down at his lips and narrowed her eyes back at him.

    “What even is a memoir anyway? You just talk about yourself? I could do that all day, give it here.”

































    tell that devil



    Jill Andrews










    ♡coded by uxie♡
     
    MOOD: getting a headache maybe

    OUTFIT:
    casual blue peacoat
    ​
    INFO
    LOCATION: club nox

    WITH: molly

    MENTION: n/a​
    ACTIVITY
    Soap Soap
    TAGS
    Deo V. Solomon
    Ain't No Rest for...


    Deo knew his dad had taken some loans and did other stuff (that were very legit, I promise) to get sole ownership of the club and keep it afloat for more than initially expected. He’d always assumed all of those things would be taken care of. He thought his dad had taken care of most of it before the stupid lung cancer won.

    Bankruptcy. That was the only term Deo understood. Well, he kinda understood it. He only knew the gist of it. Basically, if the club doesn’t earn enough on time, Deo would be forced to sell it and all its assets to pay off their debt.

    Well, now Deo and Molly would be forced to.

    “Mr. De Silva. Did you know that you were added onto August Solomon’s will…

    “It means you own it...Fifty percent…”

    Why was there an odd twist in his chest?

    “I wasn’t told about this before…” Because you were only told what you would get from the will, not about anyone else that might be in, Deo remembered. He made a mental note to have another talk with his dad’s other lawyer later.

    While Molly was zoning out from whatever was going on in his mind, Deo asked the lawyer about how much they owed.

    And there were a lot of zeroes. Deo’s own savings was nowhere near enough to pay off half of the debt.

    “One more thing, Mr. Solomon,” the attorney added before leaving. “Smoking and vaping in public and private indoor workplaces is illegal in the state of New York. And I heard you’re currently on probation—don’t worry, I won’t report on you for it. I actually like the coffee-vanilla tobacco scent from your cigarette. Your father enjoyed that brand. But I do advise against smoking inside Nox as of today.”

    Deo silently clenched his jaw, partially glaring at the lawyer’s back before it vanished from sight.

    He had enough common sense to not smoke inside most places like supermarkets, but he genuinely didn’t know that law also applied to clubs. No wonder he couldn’t find a single ashtray in Nox until he’d brought his own.

    “I think we’re gonna need a bit more than luck here, brother.”

    “I’ll… we’ll think of something.” Deo tried to skim through a couple of papers, but he gave up and massaged his temples. Why did business and finance have to be so hard?

    And why Molly? He’s just a club promoter and wannabe playboy. Did August believe his own son couldn’t handle it on his own? Deo rarely understood his dad’s intentions for anything until it was explained.

    But he’s not here anymore…

    “Maybe we can sell some stuff from the storage room,” Deo suggested. “Decorations, furniture, posters, backdrops that haven’t been used in years. The lost and found boxes. There’s probably a gold chain or earrings that some drunk patrons forgot.”
    code by valen t.
     



    Livanna Moore





































    • mood



      a little icky, but she got a slushie, so

















    Small towns were... everything it was cracked up to be.

    Liv had been here a total of two weeks and it was nothing like LA.

    Which was more welcoming than she originally thought, the people here gave her a sense of familiarity despite knowing them for a short time and she hadn't had any trouble with being recognized.

    Well-- she was recognized but she wasn't being perceived in a negative light unless you count the AA meeting.

    Liv said a silent prayer before she'd gotten here that nobody was following the mess that was the lawsuit against Third Muse.

    Her old record label.

    The court dates had kept getting rescheduled and pushed back. At this rate Livanna wouldn’t have to attend another “trial” until next year.

    Both, a blessing and a curse.

    She sat in the driver's seat of the dark blue jeep, reaching a hand for the radio, a cartoon-ish white noise played every time she switched stations.

    Folklore, Christian radio shows, rock, she froze when she heard a familiar tune.

    Her old music always made her stomach turn.

    Liv’s new sound was something she was happy about— but with the lack of an agency or a label… the only thing she relied to boost her listens was social media.

    Third Muse found ways to get her music on the radio even before it was released online.

    Years later and it was still being played.

    "Trust me. They'll eat this up."

    "... It just sounds like the other three songs we've already recorded."

    "What? No, no, see, you're looking at it all wrong Livvy." He placed a hand on her shoulder and tapped the paper on the thin black stand. Gesturing to the lyrics that were-- technically completely different.

    "No, I know, that's not what I..."

    His grip tightened ever-so-slightly.

    "Okay, yeah. It's fine... just start it again, I guess." She spoke, receiving a thumbs up from the girl on the other side of the studio glass, the music started back up and she opened her mouth to sing the lyrics that felt more forced than their agreement.

    Sometimes, I--

    She turned off the radio, sighing throughout her nose when a white flash had startled her.

    “Aw, shit.” Liv said in realization that she’d passed a red light.

    At least there weren’t any cops around. She’d take a mailed ticket more so than actually talking to a police officer.

    They’d probably make her use a breathalyzer.

    Did you know if you refuse, it’s likely you'll get in more trouble?

    Liv had no idea.

    She glanced down to her cup holder that had a bunch of change lying around and old candy wrappers.

    The AA chip stood out. She’d just thrown it in here the day she’d gotten it.

    One year.

    Frankly, Liv didn’t believe she deserved it.

    Because the day she’d gotten it, she’d gotten the news that Liam Hendrix (her ex-manager) had gotten released due to lack of evidence.

    The case wasn’t closed, he wasn’t able to promote minors but something about it set Liv off and she called her dealer.

    That was the last time she used.

    Three months ago.

    She felt like a fraud, lying about something so “important” yet insignificant to her.

    She knew that being honest would only catch the attention of the people she cared about— confirming what they’d already believed.

    She was a problem.

    If it was up to Liv, she wouldn’t have kept attending these meetings.

    But Evie had so gracefully found her a group right as Liv moved her bags into the old family home that… wasn’t hers to begin with.

    Livanna both loved and hated new places. But new AA groups? She absolutely despised.

    “Thank you, Wes.” The older woman said, smiling and clearing her throat.

    “We have someone new… would you like to introduce yourself?”

    As if they didn’t recognize her already.

    “Um, hi, I’m Liv.”

    She left it at that.

    It was only her seventh meeting when she was eighteen she realized that you weren’t obligated to say what you were an addict of.

    “Anything more you’d like to share, Liv?”

    No.

    Their gazes burnt into her and Livanna forced herself to speak.

    “I’m… a year sober.” She lied.

    Scattered applause was given around the room. It was rare she’d actually enjoyed these meetings— with their tips, tricks, and trickled judgement.

    They swore this was a safe place.

    But every time someone told a story or explained that they relapsed the night before, she saw the way their gazes turned from indifferent to pity, some envious and others angry.

    Saying anything was a “safe space” was just a trick to get you to feel sorry for yourself.

    “That’s great, Liv. How are you liking the town so far?”

    “It’s… nice. I like the people.” She met eyes with the boy across from her and Liv tore her gaze away.

    “It’s nice.”

    It was.

    But it could’ve been better.

    Liv had only moved here because of the movie she was filming in the city. Living on the upper east side of Manhattan was the easier choice— she just hadn’t gotten around to purchasing furniture or… real food. Something that Evelyn Sinclaire had a lot to say about.

    Evie was her best friend— her and Landon were family at this point. They met when Liv was only fourteen and going on tour for the first time.

    She tends to get attached easily and her stylist was unable to break the curse that was being Livanna Moore’s friend.

    After the tour was over, they still made time for one another and became closer— Liv’s parents weren’t as involved in her life as they thought they were.

    In a way, Evelyn was the only parental figure Liv had. So when she stepped into her apartment for the first time Evie asked Liv to move out and into her place.

    Of course, Evie’s way of “asking” was just forcing her own agenda on the people she loved.

    Liv appreciated it more often than not, but the few moments of freedom she had in LA was taunting her when she looked back on them.

    All Liv wanted is one of those fresh starts like those hallmark movies, but with Evie, Landon, Tabitha and AA?

    It didn’t feel like that was going to happen anytime soon.

    It started to become a pattern with her friends, they were always concerned about her choices and sobriety more than she was.

    Going home and hearing Evie ask; “how was it?” Didn’t sound like too much fun.

    An open sign was noticed in of the corner in her eye and before Liv could pass the store, she quickly pulled into the parking lot. (Almost sideswiping a car probably, but she didn’t, so.)

    (She’s actually a good driver, be quiet.)

    The brunette sat in the car, the constant hum and click of the car continued to go off, politely annoying her about her seatbelt she unbuckled.

    O-p-e-n!

    Each letter lit up and flashed in her direction.

    —

    The entrance to the convenience store swung open with a jingle and an automated bell, announcing her presence.

    She roamed the aisles of candy, knowing she hadn’t had an appetite for them in the first place. Her eyes lingered on different chocolates, taffy, and whatever else that seemed remotely interesting and Liv…

    AA meetings bummed her out more than anything did.

    A blue neon in the corner of the store caught her attention.

    Slushie-Sensations!

    The sign flickered under the fluorescent lighting.

    Spiked cherry slushies were way better, Liv thought when the straw slid into the cup and took a sip.

    She approached the counter and dropped three different packages of gum onto it.

    She recognized him.

    “Wes, right? You were at the meeting.” He scanned the few packages of gum and Liv glanced at them.

    It’s not to cover my breath from alcohol, if that’s what you thought.

    She didn’t say that.

    “I’m Liv— but…”

    He knew—

    “You knew that.” She bit the inside of the lip and tapped on the plastic cup.

    She hadn’t even noticed he was likely waiting for her payment.

    “Um, do you like working here?”

    Was it obvious that she didn’t want to leave?

    Painfully.

































    I hope you’re miserable until you’re dead



    liv moore










    ♡coded by uxie♡
     
    Last edited:
























































    Wes Greene










    filler










    • Wes had only been at this convince store job for a couple weeks, in the town for about a month, and he's already gotten the routine of it all down pat. Restock the drink coolers when they're low, check IDs for purchases of tobacco and alcohol, give exact change. It wasn't that hard, it was just mundane. The conversations with the locals weren't too bad, except when practically all of them insisted on commenting on his accent which he had tried oh so hard to suppress to no avail, he might as well be Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.

      "You're not from around here are you?"

      "Ooh, what kind of accent am I getting there?"

      "I love that southern twang of yours."

      Most of the time he just muttered a response as he scanned their items, overall trying to keep the interactions as short as possible. He knew that they rarely ever meant any harm, it was just that considering he moved nearly a thousand miles to strictly get away from his roots, it was a pain in the ass to have them be brought up daily. Not that he was ashamed of his past, just parts of it, large parts of it.

      A fresh start was supposed to be good for him, a new place where people didn't already know him and his entire life story but instead allow him to pick and choose what chapters to share. While he hadn't made many new connections or had many opportunities to rewrite history, it was already a relief to be able to walk down the street and not see people whispering about him.

      "There's that Greene Boy, the youngest... The one with the 'problems'..."

      "I heard he fell off the wagon."

      "I can't believe he's already out of rehab again, I think it's too soon."

      It felt good to get away from all that, and as strange as it sounded, it felt good to be a nobody in Ocean Ridge, even if that meant enduring so much repeated small talk that made him start to wonder if he was caught in a time loop.

      Perhaps it was about him to start making some connections in this town that went a little deeper than some of the regulars who appeared at the store for their daily necessities of cigarettes, coffee, or snacks. It was about as much social interaction as he was getting outside of his meetings. Being in a social setting that wasn't an AA meeting would probably be good for him. He'd have to get on that soon. He couldn't live in this town without knowing anyone forever.

      He slipped a hand into his pocket as he watched the empty store, wrapping his fingers around the medallion that he kept on his person at all times. He was up to four months sober at the moment, soon to be five. It simultaneously felt like a lifetime ago and just like yesterday since he had slipped. His hubris had lead him into thinking he had moved past his addiction, but he should've known that that was something that would be staying with him for a lifetime. That having a drink at a 4th of July party would surely end with him and a needle in his arm a few days later.

      And it had.

      Owning his status as an addict was something that had taken a lot of work, but he'd come to terms with it. Still he hoped that it could be an aspect of him, instead of being his entire life. He'd rather highlight other portions of his persona rather than the negative ones, getting out a little more would give him a chance to do that.

      The bell above the door chimed and he withdrew his hand from his pocket as he watched her roam the aisles. Though he tried not to stare in a creepy way, more so in a 'this is the first movement I've seen in this store in like an hour and I've been so bored' way.

      He slid the packages of gum across the table towards himself with his left hand before passing them to his right to scan them, trying not to draw attention to the lack of general motor functions in his left and formerly dominant hand. Five surgeries, hours of therapy, and he still couldn't really use his own damn hand. Hopefully it went unnoticed as he finished scanning the packages and began typing in the code for the slushie.

      His attention was suddenly drawn back up towards the woman's face as she spoke.

      “Wes, right? You were at the meeting.”

      He nodded, still typing in the number "Yeah, and I was. Although I think mentionin' that outside of a meeting kinda defeats that whole 'anonymous' thing, doesn't it?" he cracked a slight smile as he spoke, partially to indicate that he was joking but also because there was just something about speaking with another addict felt like any potential judgement had been reduced regardless of how well he knew the other person.

      “I’m Liv— but… You knew that.”

      He'd only really seen her in the meetings the last few weeks, and she rarely ever shared anything. Which tended to be par for the course with newbies at any meeting. He probably went like five meetings without speaking in a row when he first moved to Ocean Ridge. She'd probably warm up eventually, or maybe not.

      A few more button presses and he had the total flickering on the register's display $5.90.

      “Um, do you like working here?”

      Wes offered her a shrug, but followed it with a slight nod "I think so. It's not much but if I work here at least three days a week I get the price of my rent on the place upstairs knocked down." he said with a gesture towards the ceiling "So, all in all, not a bad gig."

      The display of the register continued to blink it's LED lettering, reminding him that he was still in fact at work.

      "That'll be $5.90 by the way."











    content filler area (ignore!)






    ♡design by yourlocal-eboyy, coded by uxie♡
     
    coded by sugarnaut
    H
    indsight was everything and Sawyer probably should have nipped this in the bud the second it started, but humans were all flawed in their actions. She had never been a particularly serious person anyway. That lackadaisical attitude Sawyer carried herself with probably should have been a red flag in the hiring process. She remembered sitting in front of the principal while he droned on and question after question was trialed out of his unenthusiastically plain face. She didn’t really like that guy and maybe he didn’t really like her, but he’d decided she was good enough anyway. But, sure, maybe she should have stopped this, but she didn’t particularly want to. Especially not when a cold hand clapped itself down onto her shoulder, a vice like grip that felt concerningly like claws, and she was face-to-face with a woman who looked like she wanted to strangle her.

    The art teacher. Right.

    “What are they doing?” Sawyer was startled at the sound of the smaller woman’s voice and glanced behind here where several of her students were now standing stock still in the isles and crouched precariously behind seats. Okay. So, maybe the stories she’d heard about this woman were true. “What are you doing? Stop them.” Her voice had an edge to it that made Sawyer prickle a little as she turned back to face her. What was she doing? Sawyer managed to shake off the slightly embarrassed twinge of her eyebrows and replaced it with a slow-growing smirk. With eyes now trained squarely on the whirling hurricanes staring back at her. Good first impressions were important, a brief pause before she said anything, but so were memorable first impressions. She’d always opted for memorable.

    “We’re obviously having a paint war,” Sawyer swept her had in a broad arc behind her, gaze never leaving the other woman, “I was ambushed, and my honor is at stake. If you would.” Sawyer nodded, spun on her heel, and continued marching up the isle toward the boy who was certainly to be the mastermind behind this. Preston didn’t move, Sawyer thought that was probably because he was focused on Quinn simmering brightly behind her, no matter. Her strides were long and quick, and she was patting a healthy amount of cyan-colored paint into Preston’s hair before he could do much of anything.

    “Now, my devious pupil, if you would fetch the mop from the prop closet.” Sawyer spun around the face the rest of the teenagers standing about the theater, “the rest of you think about the tragedy that took place here today long and hard,” She started to look back toward Quinn but stopped as if she was struck, “and remember, I don’t lose!” A few giggles behind her and Sawyer was back in front of Quinn with that same easy grin on her face as always.

    “Honor restored.” She glanced down at her paint-covered hands, “I’d offer a hand, but I seem a little indisposed. I’m Sawyer, it’s a good day to meet.” Her canines flashed briefly as the grin morphed into a devilishly amused smile and settled back down to a soft upturn of her lips. A good day to meet indeed.


    Interactions: Quinn Winona Winona

    I'm trying to kill the moon,

    it's out of my range.

    coded by sugarnaut
     






    aj




    filler



    filler



    filler



    filler



    filler



    filler






    • home (filler tab)



































    stand atlantic



    hate me (sometimes)








    Stability wasn't something AJ ever thought she would have. A dream of a concept that felt always out of reach, an ideal that other people got to have, something that would slip through her fingers every time she grasped for it. But here she was, cooking in the kitchen for her long-time girlfriend, the sound of sizzling beef and the quiet noise of Raven in the shower a peaceful soundtrack to the mindless work she was doing. Slicing onions and cutting parsley was boring, but it gave her hands something to do while she thought up song lyrics, mind racing as her fingers moved automatically.

    Dumping all of the ingredients into the bowl, she realized that she had stumbled into a usable string of lyrics, darting away from the counter to write it down before it escaped her. Searching through their bedroom, there was no trace of her well-loved notebook anywhere, likely lost in one of the many boxes still unpacked. Heading over to the living room where their stray belongings lay, she listened to the never ending stream of water coming from the bathroom. Raven had been in there for an abnormally long time, and though it was unlikely something had happened to her in the seclusion of the bathroom, AJ couldn't help but worry. Anxious fingers rapped against the door, ear pressed against hard oak as she waited for a reply. Even when it came, it didn't ease the unexplainable clenching in her chest.

    Between the laughter over Chinese takeout and noir films, there were glimpses of Raven that AJ was certain she wasn't supposed to see. They had always spent a lot of time together, but since moving in together there was rarely any time apart. They had talked of converting their second bedroom into an office for this exact reason, guilt hung 'round AJ's mind like a heavy shroud, insecure that perhaps her girlfriend regretted giving up her own space to purchase a house together. It was a big step, a huge shift in the dynamic of their relationship and AJ couldn't blame Raven for second-guessing this huge decision. AJ wasn't easy to love, and she certainly wasn't easy to live with, but until Raven said otherwise she tried to stay optimistic about their new domestic bliss.

    Still rooting through the disorganized mess of their things, familiar hands around her waist had a smile dancing its way across her lips, brightening at the sight of Raven over her shoulder, silken wet hair and reddened skin from the prolonged kiss of water droplets. The brunette was a sight to behold, whether covered in paint and drywall dusting her hair from their new home, brows bunched together as she hunched over a riveting article, or disheveled hair and weary eyes still hazy with sleep. Even in a museum, Raven was always her favorite thing in the room to look at.

    Leaning up against the couch as she waited for Raven to return, AJ absentmindedly hummed a tune to remember the words she'd wanted to write down. Matching Raven's grin, she sat up from her soft leather perch and reached for her prized possession, pouting as Raven playfully held it out of her reach, though there wasn't much to pout over if this conversation was headed where she thought it was.

    "Coming up with an excuse to check me for ticks and asking for a reward? You know we live together, you don't have to play coy."
    AJ quirked an eyebrow, mirth sparkling in her eyes as she eagerly met Raven's lips, lyrics and journal forgotten.

    Just as things were getting hot and heavy, the doorbell ruined the flames creeping up AJ's insides. Before she could say anything, Raven was shushing her and planning their escape route, irritation vibrant on her face.
    "You're cute when you're bossy. Are you afraid the neighbors are going to bite?"
    With a laugh, AJ pushed her girlfriend's hand out of her face and untangled herself from their embrace, placing one last kiss on her cheek before heading for the door. Living together meant they had all the time in the world to kiss and caress, but they only had one chance at making a good impression on their neighbors.

    "Oh, hey Scott!"
    Their cheery next door neighbor stood on their porch, eyes bright and smile wide as he spotted the newest additions to the block.

    "Hello AJ, and Raven."
    He called out loud enough for the brunette hiding in the kitchen to hear.
    "Sorry to bother you, but do you happen to have that plate we brought over? Laurel needs it for the block party"


    "Yeah just let me grab it, sorry we didn't return it earlier we've just been-you know buried in boxes."
    AJ backtracked to the kitchen, scrambling for the pristine white plate that their neighbors had brought delicious "welcome to the neighborhood" cookies on. It was embarrassing, to have forgotten to return it and make their neighbors come asking for it back. In a suburb full of soccer moms and actual loving fathers, AJ and Raven were playing pretend, like two children unleashed with a box of crayons, drawing the house of their dreams and not quite knowing what to do with it.

    "It's no problem at all, it looks like you've made quite a bit of progress. We'll see you at the block party later, yeah?"
    Scott's voice filtered in from the doorway as AJ spotted the dish on the drying rack, ignoring Raven's silent plea of franticly waving hands, earning a mouthed "what?" from the musician.

    "Of course, we wouldn't miss it for the world! I'm making beef kafta kabobs."
    AJ smiled until Scott was gone, closing the door and whirling around to face her more insane than usual girlfriend.

    "What is wrong with you?"
    She asked, more amused than annoyed, there was no way that her reaction was just because their makeout session had been interrupted.





    ♡coded by uxie♡
     



    Cameron.





































    • mood



      anxious as fuck


















    If Cameron had it his way—which seemed to rarely occur these days—he would have never shown up to this stupid block party in the first place. To be honest, the thought of being surrounded by people he barely knew, people who were sure to see his expensive clothing and nice car and immediately have this…idea of him in their minds made his nauseous. A far cry from his days, weeks, months of wild partying while in college.

    But he was there, scowling down at his phone in the corner of the party, trying not to draw attention to himself. The bright orange shirt didn’t help, either, and he was feeling particularly insecure after one of his clients, a singer named Naomi Keenan, dropped him because said shirt was ‘garishly orange and honestly hard to look at’.

    Cameron, you need to get your shit together. I don’t know what the fuck you’ve been doing with your time in Ocean Ridge but we’re losing clients in your branch more than any other and it needs to change. Immediately. Don’t make me regret helping you boy.


    He’d received the text from his father this morning, and it bothered him enough that he’d forced himself to come, though now that he was here…

    He had no idea what he was doing.

    But standing around looking suspicious didn’t help, either. With a sigh, Cameron clicked off his phone and looked around the crowd, hoping maybe he’d spy Tabitha, or Landon or even Livanna so he could talk to her about signing.

    Especially Livanna.

    Instead, however, his eyes landed on one Bellamy Adams, who glared back at him with startling intensity. He’d spoken to the younger Adams sister maybe once in the three years he’d lived in Ocean Ridge, but he’d never forget a face like hers.

    So Cameron pasted an easy grin on his face and approached, nodding his head at people he passed, the picture of bored nonchalance.

    To his surprise, she spoke first, her voice cool and low, laced with sarcasm and contempt, golden brown eyes locking with with his own green eyed gaze. It surprised him enough that he was quiet for a moment, before his grin grew, more genuine this time.

    “Cameron,” he said smoothly, though she hadn’t asked. “Charmed.” He tapped a leather clad foot on the grass beneath them, making a show of observing the party and people milling about.

    Cam shot her a wink, tongue tucked into his cheek as he tried not to laugh. “You’re telling me that you have somewhere to be more interesting than this?” His hands splayed to encompass the yard and drink table. “It’s practically a rager.”

    The sight of a bottle of Patron on the long plastic table caught his attention, and he forced himself to turn away, chewing in the inside of his cheek.

    “So…did you grow up here?”


































    Wiseman



    Frank Ocean










    ♡coded by uxie♡
     



    Mahdi De Silva





































    • mood



      a lotta things

















    There were a number of things Molly couldn’t wrap his head around. Authority, taxes, girls (most of the time) but the one thing he could’ve– was how to gain a crowd. Deo talked about selling some things in storage and he nodded along.

    “Sure, we’d be able to make… an even thousand. We could have a nice spa day?” He knew his sarcasm wasn’t going to be taken well. But Molly needed to let him down easy. They were partners now, after all.

    How was he expected to handle a business? More importantly, why was he expected to handle a business? August Soloman was a man of many mysteries. He could say one thing but mean the other.

    But he usually had an endgame.

    He had a plan.

    Molly just wasn’t sure where he fit into it. “Let’s get some live entertainment.” He swished the drink around and downed the rest. Placing the glass back onto the table.

    He wasn’t worried about the debt. They’d find a way to get out of it. The only worry on his mind was exactly how much responsibility was on his plate. Fifty percent…

    Forty-nine percent too much.

    “Start charging for entry those nights…” He stood up and tapped Deo twice on the shoulder to further his point and gain his attention. “We’ll… throw a valentine’s day extravaganza. Wear red if you’re single, pink if you’re D-T-F, white if you’re taken,”

    classic-college tactics.

    Molly never went to college but he knew the basics. “If anyone wants to get some, they’ll have to charm their way into their pants with alcohol—“

    A hand on his heart and a twinkle in his gaze Molly couldn’t help himself.

    “And our valentine, you ask?” A wolfish grin danced onto his lips, he rubbed his thumb and index finger together. “One Benjamin Franklin after the other. It’d be classified as the biggest orgy inside our pockets.”

    They needed more.

    They’d need more than one extravaganza, more than one comedian and more than one orgy in their pockets to rid them of the debt that August had left them with.

    At least he can’t say August never gave him anything.

    He was in and out of consciousness, unfamiliar grays, abstract art and intricate vases told Molly that he wasn’t home.

    He was laying on a cherry-stained leather couch with what had to be the thinnest blanket in the world over him.

    He felt clammy, his stomach felt raw and he felt like his veins were on fire. A trash bucket sat next to him and as soon as Molly laid eyes on it— he threw up. “You’re awake,” August said, adjusting his cufflinks as he walked down the stairs of the penthouse.

    “Which is it?”

    Molly looked up at him, a quizzical furrow on his brows.

    “Bad reaction or withdrawals?”

    He didn’t say anything. “Both?” Mahdi swallowed and rubbed at his face harshly, his head was pounding.

    “Shower. We’ll get…” August lifted his wrist to check the time on his Rolex. The watch alone cost more than this apartment.

    “A late brunch.”

    Molly’s reflection in the glass table beside him faded into a steamed reflection of himself staring back in a mirror. There were clothes laid out for him— clothes that he would never be able to afford.

    The sun hurt his eyes, the birds chirping had him grimacing after every sound and the unintelligible conversations around him had Mahdi hoping this entire restaurant would just drop dead.

    They sat across from one another and Molly shifted uncomfortably in the slacks and light blue dress shirt to which he tugged at the collar every few seconds.

    August flashed a charming smile to their waitress when she placed two plates of food in front of them.

    Molly didn’t even order.

    “What are you doing?” Mahdi finally spoke up, asking the question that was floating around his mind all day.

    August lifted his fork, freezing halfway to his mouth. “Should I not eat?”

    “Why are you helping me?”

    He nodded, taking his bite of food after all and despite the swirl in his stomach Molly felt envious of the hunger August was able to take advantage of.

    He lifted a glass of orange juice, taking a long sip and leaving Molly to wait impatiently. August swallowed with an audible sigh of satisfaction. “You work for me.” He said simply.

    “Fire me?”

    “Why would I do that?” August laughed, genuine curiosity shown on his features as it seemed he forgot his breakfast altogether at Mahdi’s admission.

    “Why wouldn’t you? I’m a liability. I’m a risk?”

    “I like taking risks. You’re perceptive.” He replied, pointing at him with the fork in hand.

    “Who admits to their boss they’re a liability? How do you know you're a risk?” August continued.

    “It’s… common sense, I guess.”

    “Wrong. It’s self-sabotage— but you’re self aware. That’s a trait I like in my employees.”

    He’d only been working there a little over four months. August wouldn’t be losing anything dire if he decided to cut him now.

    Mahdi just didn’t want to beat around the bush any longer than he had to.

    “I offered you the job when I caught you selling drugs in my club.” He spoke so nonchalantly, with no fear, no worries, no ounce of care for anyone’s judgment.

    Not even the cop sitting behind them.

    “Let me put it to you in my perspective.” August started,

    “You spot some kid, stealing customers from your business. You keep an eye on him for a few weeks, let him make whatever he needs for rent money and think to yourself, I’m throwing his ass to the curb. He’s not gonna be allowed in here, he can find some different prick to smooch off of.” A hand tapped on the wooden table and a silence sat before August broke it again.

    “Then you realize that sales have been up drastically, you think to yourself… could it be? Could this nobody be beneficial to me?”

    Molly listened, his head down in both shame and the ever present headache that wouldn’t leave him.

    “You offer him a job, see if he can do anything that isn’t illegal, see if the drugs hadn’t scrambled his brain long enough to come up with a decent idea… and he does, a few months goes by and you made over forty percent what you used to before he came along,”

    “So you need me.” Molly interjected and August grinned almost wolfishly, shaking his head.

    “We help each other— I’ll keep you alive, fed, out of jail while you…”

    “You can find any other person who can… come up with shitty—“

    August’s voice had a change in tone. Whilst earlier it seemed carefree and light— it suddenly became serious and deeper.

    “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. I don’t need you, Mahdi.”

    Molly looked up to meet his gaze and the plate of food slid closer to him.

    “You need me.”

    It wasn’t going to be easy.

    Both of them knew that but Molly was confident that they’d be able to make it out of debt— though he was right.

    Luck wasn’t going to help them… but if Molly could get sales back up to forty percent all those years ago…

    Who’s to say he can’t do it again? Deo just didn’t need to know the “how” just yet.

    “I’ll tell you what, you look into getting us that entertainment and I’ll take these numbers off your hands…”

    Mahdi lifted the spreadsheet from him and eyed their earnings.

    They were making sixty percent less and he knew why.

    They needed him. It was too bad death wasn’t just a week vacation.

    “We’ll cut some hours on the bartenders, just until we reach a certain point… lemme ask you a question, brother.”

    He gestured towards Deo, suggestively.

    “Ever make an old-fashioned?”

































    i feel like i’m drowning



    two feet










    ♡coded by uxie♡
     
    Last edited:



    Livanna Moore





































    • mood



      a little icky, but she got a slushie, so

















    "I think mentionin' that outside of a meeting kinda defeats that whole 'anonymous' thing, doesn't it?"

    He smiled and she matched it with one of her own.

    Liv didn’t notice his accent at the meeting but she supposed it was because even though she was usually there– mentally she was in a different place entirely. It was easier to pretend like you were paying attention when you memorized the basics.

    Liv could recite some of their sayings and it made her seem dedicated to her recovery– which… she was… in some ways.

    Wes explained that he lived above the store and it had Livanna’s gaze glancing around with a different perspective.

    Didn’t it get… lonely? Tiring? Repetitive?

    It seemed like an awfully small place that’d only grant you the lightest bit of entertainment in the tiniest amount.

    Liv wouldn’t be able to do it. She’s lived in big cities with tons of people and roamed a bunch of places.

    Not to mention her attention span was at an all-time-low ever since she moved here. There weren’t many things to do around here– or many people to do them with.

    "So, all in all, not a bad gig."

    Liv let out a hum for a reply and her gaze seemed to linger anywhere else that wasn’t directly near him. Landon and Evie were spending most of their time with the people they were closest to. Edgar, Cam, who Livanna was avoiding for her own reasons.

    She'd visited town in the past... maybe once or twice. Though it was difficult to act like you're comfortable in a city you barely knew where everyone knew each other. It was hard not to feel like an outsider when you weren't just visiting.

    She was just new. And that could be taken in either a positive or negative light.

    Liv just wasn't sure which side she was on herself.

    "That'll be $5.90 by the way."

    “Hmm?” She glanced back at him and the LED light showed her total. “Oh, sorry.” Livanna pulled her phone out of her back pocket and slid the card out. Inserting it into the machine as it buzzed, whirred and asked if she needed money back to which she tapped the red button on the screen.

    “You know,” She started, taking a sip of the yellow and blue swirly-cup. The kind that made you wonder what flavor was inside whenever you’d notice someone with one in hand.

    “If they wanted to keep it actually anonymous, they wouldn’t have us introduce ourselves.”

    Were there any rules that said you couldn’t introduce yourself with a fake name?

    “I would’ve introduced myself as someone else if I didn’t think they’d get upset.”

    She couldn’t get away with it though. It was a downside to fame.

    There were more downsides than pros– but not a lot of people knew that.

    But that defeated the point of AA didn’t it?

    The entire point was just dwelling in the person you are– or “were” so to say. To feel badly enough you vow to create a better version of yourself?

    She doesn’t think she could get any better– and that isn’t a subtle brag. It’s just honesty. Liv reached her limit. She’s confident she peaked at eighteen probably.

    The machine beeped once, asking her to remove her card and it went unnoticed by Liv.

    “I think I’d want to be… like a… Gia or something. Who works at the diner as this super-cool waitress everyone knows.”

    The machine beeped twice.

    “Or… maybe Gia works at a convenience store and she’s incredibly bored out of her mind so she takes advantage of all the free slushies and makes her own mystery flavors every week.”

    It beeped a third time and Liv finally noticed.

    Sliding her card out when the receipt came out on his side.

    “Would you though? Like, if you had the chance? Become someone entirely different for a night?”

































    I hope you’re miserable until you’re dead



    liv moore










    ♡coded by uxie♡
     



    bellamy.





































    • mood



      bored > ????
















    “Bellamy,” she returned, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of her lips. “People usually are.”

    Eyebrows raising in amusement, Bellamy scanned Cameron’s face before following his gaze to the crowd around them—mostly middle-aged and older adults making small talk, much like they were doing. “Right,” she agreed, playing along. “Why would I wanna miss this? The Bensons sure know how to throw a wild party. They might even break out the Cornhole later.”

    There it was, one of many dreaded questions used to dredge up the past.

    Bellamy did grin this time, though it was humorless. “Yeah. Home sweet home.” She conveniently skirted around the fact that she shouldn’t have been in Ocean Ridge at all, had things gone better for her at school; there was no need to dive too deep. She’d keep things vague for as long as she could. “I’m just visiting for now, though. I study at Yale, so I stay there most of the time.”

    The polite thing to do would’ve been to return the favor—ask Cameron how long he’d been in town and what for—but frankly, Bella couldn’t scrounge up the curiosity or patience for it.

    “You know, I’d love to hear whatever tragic story brought you here, of all places, but like I said, I have somewhere to be, and I don’t wanna keep Molly waiting. I’ll see you around.”

    It probably wouldn’t be intentional, of course, but Ocean Ridge was small, and their paths were bound to cross again eventually, whether Bella liked it or not.

    Bellamy’s white Mercedes sat waiting for her at the side of the road that ran parallel to the block party’s street when she at last managed to sneak off. She dug her keys out of her purse before climbing in and pulling away from the curb without so much as a glance back. Being the child of a wealthy family was what most people could only wish for, but along with it came the endless stream of mindless civility, something that her time at college had cast a shadow over to the point she’d almost forgotten what it was like. Bella never had been skilled at accepting the bad with the good; somehow, the bad always found a way to seep out of her memory.

    She could only hope the same would be true of other recent events.

    It was a short drive to Nox Tempus, building coming into view, its sharp corners silhouetted against the pinks and purples of the sky’s last fading light. The car rolled to a stop in an empty spot along the sidewalk in front of the club. Bellamy shifted the vehicle into park and reached over, turning the music down as she flipped open the sun visor’s mirror with her other hand. Dark eyes checked her reflection, flitting over even the smallest details of her makeup, and upon finding it unsatisfactory, applied a new layer of pink lip gloss. After running a careful finger along the edge of her mouth, Bella pulled her key out of the ignition and finally exited the car.

    It was a slow night for Nox, with the block party and Peach’s karaoke night stealing away its usual attention. The inside was dark and smelled like cigarette smoke—a stereotypical club-like atmosphere, despite its lack of patrons. Save for a handful of employees, Deo and Molly included, the space was relatively vacant.

    “Hi, boys,” Bella greeted as she neared them. “Am I too early?”

































    afterglow



    THE DRIVER ERA










    ♡coded by uxie♡
     
    MOOD: work stress

    OUTFIT:
    casual blue peacoat
    ​
    INFO
    LOCATION: club nox - jerry's

    WITH: molly

    MENTION: bella​
    ACTIVITY
    Soap Soap lvcid lvcid
    TAGS
    Deo V. Solomon
    Ain't No Rest...


    Deo was unimpressed with Molly’s sarcasm.

    And he almost slapped Molly’s hand after feeling the tap on his shoulder—he also wanted to slap his face, but he didn’t dislike Molly enough to do that yet.

    Nox already had an entry fee. Patrons had to pay 10 dollars to get inside, which, compared to most nightclubs, was an incredibly good price, and probably one of the reasons why Nox was popular. But they might have to change that soon. Bump up the fee to 20 dollars, 30 to 40 for certain events and music performances…?

    Some customers weren’t going to like that.

    A Valentine’s Day event was… Well, it was actually a decent idea. But one problem.

    “We still need money to do something like that,” Deo said. Live music, DJs, decorations, food, drinks—none of those things are free. And a dress code? Really? This was a nightclub, not a middle school dance in the gym.

    “Ever make an old-fashioned?”

    “Whiskey, sugar, and a useless piece of an orange peel, right?” Now it was his turn to be sarcastic, albeit a little drier than Molly’s. Deo knew that wasn’t the exact recipe, but he didn’t remember it either. Mixology wasn’t a skillset he’d ever considered… Actually, he did, but he was just too lazy to try.

    “Molly, I drink cocktails, not make them,” Deo said. “I’ll talk to Trixie and the security team later. I can do a shift on some nights. Throwing out jackasses is my specialty.”

    As Deo poured about an ounce of scotch into a glass, he heard a new voice in the room and saw a dark-haired young woman. Bell-something, the one with an annoying older sister.

    “Hi, boys. Am I too early?”

    Did nobody hear the club was closed today? Deo remembered Molly mentioning something about hanging out with someone later, which would explain the non-alcoholic cocktail experiments from earlier. And why non-alcoholic?

    Actually, he didn’t care why. Deo silently reminded himself to tell Molly to charm a girl or guy at his own place next time, not the club.

    “I’ll take care of the V-day budget and music. Don’t sell anything from Nox without letting me know,” he muttered to his new business partner. After finishing his scotch in one gulp, Deo gathered the papers the lawyer gave them and put them on the desk in the manager’s office.

    Then he picked up his blue coat and called an Uber ride. All that talk of debts, club planning, his dad… He needed to get out. Get some fresh air.

    Well, Jerry’s bar might not have the freshest indoor air in town, but it was better than staying in Nox or at his house alone.
    code by valen t.
     
























































    Wes Greene










    filler










    • “Or… maybe Gia works at a convenience store and she’s incredibly bored out of her mind so she takes advantage of all the free slushies and makes her own mystery flavors every week.”

      Wes chuckled slightly at that, he'd be lying if he hadn't gotten into trouble like that around the store during those painfully slow days. Particularly the few times he had needed to work the graveyard shift. Those time he would do anything to stay awake.

      The fact that she had almost read his mind just then was a little strange, but maybe it was simply more of that mutual lack of judgement.

      “Would you though? Like, if you had the chance? Become someone entirely different for a night?”

      He pondered the question, truth be told a large reason he had fallen so heavily into using drugs. When his entire life felt like it had been pulled out from beneath him and he lost the ability to do the single thing that defined him, he didn't want to be himself anymore because he didn't know who that person was without the praise of being a rodeo star.

      Being spun out on coke or oxy, or both, to the point that he couldn't walk straight was much easier than confronting the fact that he didn't really have a personality outside of the one that had been placed upon him. But it wasn't like he was much better when he was high, the person he became when he was under the influence was not someone who he knew either.

      He was a monster, and the people he hung out with then weren't the best crowd either. The days and nights worth of benders, huge fights with his family over him blatantly lying when asked if he had stolen money from his sister's purse, things he had done to score a hit when he was desperate, and plenty more of the heinous other things he had done often flooded his mind and kept him from sleeping fairly often. The blurry memories overlapping and skipping around, mixing with one another like a VHS tape that had been recorded over multiple times played in his head most nights, leading to him trying to drown them out with music blared through his headphones or reruns of episodes of The Golden Girls until he couldn't hold his eyes open any longer and he finally passed out to sleep for the night.

      He was most unnerved by the gaps and missing time, more than one occasion he had seemed to blink and then wake up on the other side of several hours later, sometimes days. Imagining the kinds of things he might've done or gotten up to haunted him, and of course it wasn't like he could ask anyone about it, all his 'friends' were usually in a similar state.

      Wes tried to push the thoughts away and focus on the current conversation "I don't think so." He said, attention suddenly drawn to the receipt paper being printed form the machine in front of him. "I think I've spent enough time trying to be someone I'm not." he took the paper in his hand and tore it clear from the edge of the printer, hesitating to hand it over to her for a moment. The gravity of what he had just said suddenly occurring to him, he laughed wryly.

      "I s'pose I should save that kind of talk for the next meeting." He joked, trying to lighten the mood again. He glanced down again at the receipt he was holding hostage in his hand, and then back up to Liv "Will I, uh, be seeing you there?" he asked, finally reaching over the register and offering the paper towards her.

      Was it technically bad form to be asking about her plans to attend an AA meeting? Yeah. But it wasn't like he was in any position to be shooing away the opportunity for social interaction.

      Of course potentially befriending someone who already knew about his status as an addict did kind of defeat the whole 'moving to a place where nobody knows who you really are.' thing, but it's not like he was ever really going to escape that whole thing anyways. Might as well be talking to someone who understands, at least a little.











    content filler area (ignore!)






    ♡design by yourlocal-eboyy, coded by uxie♡
     

    MOOD: amused.

    OUTFIT:
    a white cardigan, a plaid skirt.
    ​
    INFO

    LOCATION: Goodboy Vinyl.

    WITH: Carter.

    MENTION: X​
    ACTIVITY
    Soap Soap
    TAGS
    Tabitha Cohen
    Cinnamon Girl



    “That's a good one.”

    The customer, a tall, lanky boy, whipped his head around to look at the owner of the sweet voice talking over his shoulder. Tabitha smiled at him. It was not a boy she’d ever seen before- he had a young-ish face, looking like he could enlist in the army, but not yet buy a beer. She doubted he’d ever seen her around town either. The last time she left, she tried to erase any trace of her that was left in Ocean Ridge. She never expected to end up right back where she started: killing time at Goodboy’s, smelling like cheap cigarettes and expensive perfume,

    The speakers inside the record store blasted Fleetwood Mac. That too had been Tabitha’s doing, who urged Carter to let her pick the music for the day. “It’ll add to the manic-pixie-dream-girl energy.” She argued, knowing she was correct when she said: “And that's really what every guy who steps into a record store is looking for.”

    Looking at how nervous you the guy in front of her was, he had all but confirmed her theory. She blinked down at the record in her hand, hazel eyes big and bright, pretending to be a Clementine or maybe even a Summer as she peered over the Gorillaz record.

    “Demon Days.” She read, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I quite like their old stuff. I mean, I grew up on Blur records, and…well, of course you know Blur, right?”

    Tabitha batted her eyes, and her target anxiously shook his head.

    “Uh, n-no, not really.” The boy flushed, obviously embarrassed to admit to the cool, pretty blonde that he didn’t know what she was talking about. Tabitha smiled with her teeth, her blonde curls falling perfectly over her face as she tilted her head. Taking a couple records off the rack, she handed him Parklife and 13.

    “You totally should listen to these.”

    5 minutes later, her target not only had bought her recommendations, but also two more records that Tabitha had checked out for only a few seconds.When the transaction was done, and the oblivious happy customer was on his way out, Tabitha walked over to the counter where she found Carter- and suddenly, all her saccharine sweetness vanished into thin air. There was no need for that shit around him, not when he knew exactly who she was.

    “Men are too fucking easy.” Tabitha snickered, leaning against the counter with an extremely satisfied smile across her freckled face. “If I had told him to give up all his life savings for a goddamn Madonna album, he would’ve done it in a heartbeat.”

    She laughed brightly as Silver Springs faded out. Tabitha never really had to work before, but she always reckoned she’d be quite good at it. Money had always been her parents’ favorite way of apologizing- and since they were always fucking up, she never lacked for it. If she got slapped across the face on Monday, by Tuesday she had a brand new pair of Louboutins. At 16, it felt almost fair. Or at least, that’s what she told herself.

    “You should hire me, MacCabe.” Tabitha hummed, sending Carter an amused smile. “Obviously your clientele loves me. Look at how your sales boost like crazy when I’m around. I’ll be the best PR Goodboy’s will ever get.”
    code by valen t.
     
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