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

[gh0stwriter]

Landon Sinclaire

Everything was fine.

Just. Fine.

The lie he’d been telling himself since Lock-In. The lie he’d been telling him since his sister found out about him and Gen. The lie he’d been telling himself since Mike took a cheap shot. The lie he’d been telling himself since Evie kicked him out.

Alright. She didn’t kick him out. She told him that either he left or she would. Figured it was best, given the circumstances, that he was the one to go. He didn’t want to. He wanted to stay. Fight it out. Like he and Evie did any other time that they got into an argument.

But this wasn’t an argument. This wasn’t like the other times. This was a betrayal. This was uncharted territory for the Sinclaire siblings. They’d never been in a real fight. Not one that had lasted this long and since Evie has avoided him at school, not answered his calls and blocked him on Twitter. He was pretty sure she was never going to speak to him again.

He hated it. He hated it so fucking much. He’d failed at every relationship he attempted, but Evie was always there. She was his constant. His protector. His conscience. She was his big sister. He couldn’t imagine life without her and when he did…well…it wasn’t a good look.

If he could just explain. If she’d listen. Understand that he didn’t want to hurt her. That Gen didn’t want to hurt her. They fucked up. Feelings. Emotions. They muddled the waters and left him and Gen feeling lonely. It was his fault. Gen could say otherwise, but he knew the truth. He’d pursued it. Flirted. Kept flirting.

And when they were at a low for reasons no one needed to know about, they slipped up. Then they slipped again. And again. And Gen became his friend. Someone he cared about. Someone who was there for him and he could talk to. And why would Evie have a problem with that?

Maybe it would have been different if he had the balls to tell her. But Gen didn’t want to and, to be honest, he didn’t either. He hated lying to her. Keeping this secret, but what if Evie would have told them to stop? What if Evie would have done exactly what she was doing now?

It wasn’t the first time he lied to her. Or at least withheld information, but it had to be the last. Hurting her. Knowing that he caused the pain that she was going through was the worst feeling. A feeling he wasn’t able to shake.

He was miserable without her.

Jace had been kind of enough to let him move in. It was supposed to just be for a few days until Evie cooled off, but…that wasn’t happening, so he sent for the rest of his things and made sure to update the apartment. Jace was happy. He didn’t show it, but Landon knew deep down that Jace enjoyed having him there.

Landon tried to be a good roommate. Cleaned up after himself. Let Jace pick the movie, which he never did cause he hated movies. He made popcorn. All the things that Evie and he used to do. Still wasn’t the same. It wasn’t Jace’s fault. He just wasn’t anything like Evie.

Jace was a great friend. The best. He even tried to fix things with he and Evie, but…it didn’t work out. Jace wasn’t really a people person. It wasn’t his fault, it was just how it was, but he was thankful for the gesture. He tried his best. He didn’t know what he’d do if Jace and he hadn’t made up.

“Ow…FUCK!” He shouted as he collapsed onto the bed holding his big toe and groaning in pain. He rolled over and stood up. Jace’s anti-spooning wall had been destroyed and now laid among every piece of clothing Landon owned.

It had to be here. The shirt Evie had picked out for him. He needed the perfect outfit. He was talking to Evie today. He was gonna make her talk to him. They were going to settle this. He was going to make it right and everything would go back to normal.

A wide smile formed on his lips as he discovered the shirt. He quickly dressed and did his hair. It was going to be a busy day. Make up with Evie. Work on the Arts Festival project. Figure out how to break the news to Jace that he was moving back in with Evie after they make up. The guy will be devastated, but he’ll understand. That’s just how Jace was.

He fixed his hair and checked himself in the mirror. He looked good. Dressed for the California weather, but also looked the perfect mixture of hopeful and ‘I’m sorry I fucked your best friend and lied to you about it’. He didn’t want Evie to think he was dismissing her feelings. He just wanted her to know that he missed her and that he was sorry.

———————————————————--------------------------------

The ride to school was quiet. He needed to think of the perfect words. Something she couldn’t shut down. “Hi.” And “Hey.” Didn’t seem to work. Probably cause she didn’t get to actually see how sad his face was. Context was always lost over text.

He took a deep breath and exited his car. The moment of truth was at hand as he acted as if everything was peachy keen. No problems here. He entered the school and looked toward Evie’s locker. She’d be there any moment. All he had to do was wait.

The longer he stood there, the more nervous he became. She had shut him down on Twitter. Blocked him. Gen’s advice to just leave her be rang in his head. Maybe…he bolted down the hall and entered the nearest bathroom. Made his way to the sink to splash some cold water on his face.

Everything was gonna be fine.

Right?

mood
optimistic and terrified

location
school bathroom

outfit
clothes duh

playing...
just give me a reason

by pink​

mentions
Evie, Jace, Gen, Mike

interactions
you'll see

tags
ohdittoh

º º code by ditto º º

 

[jasmyn]

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  stylish as always

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  where she's at...

  
  
  
  

  nate's car >> school
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  in the conversation...

  
  
  
  

  nate Winona
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

evelyn sinclaire

the fashionista ~ 18 ~ senior

The best way to explain the lock-in? The night that fucked everything up. Yes, everything.

Evelyn Sinclaire and Genevieve Johannes went back to the very start of their Hollywood Arts days. If you had asked Evie two weeks ago she would've told you how Gen was her other half; like Cher and Dionne. A lot had changed though, the friendship that had been built up over all these years had dissolved in a matter of minutes whenever Evie found out about the betrayal. Of all people in Hollywood Arts, in California, Gen just had to hook up with her younger brother. Go fucking figure, right?

Landon was just as bad, worse even. There were plenty of opportunities for him to come clean and tell Evie what was happening but instead, he just lied, made her feel like she was reading into their flirting too much, or that it was all harmless. He was her brother. Even when other people lied or stabbed her in the back, he was the one person she was supposed to know had her, and yet when it came down to it, he chose Gen.

They chose each other over Evie without hesitation and that alone was enough for her to ice them both out instantly. Two weeks had come and gone and Evie still hadn't talked to either of them, well, there were a few Twitter exchanges but nothing good. What was the point? At least she had someone in her corner which she was reminded of when her ringtone sounded with Nate's text letting her know he was parked outside.

If Evie was being honest, Nate had actually surprised her. Not because she didn't actually believe he would have her back but because she knew Nate well enough to know drama was something he actively tried to avoid. Twitter aside, usually if it wasn't Nate's fight, he left it alone. In fact, the only time she'd really known him to get involved in drama that wasn't his was when it was...well, hers. Still, she had almost expected him to call her dramatic or tell her to get over it but he didn't.

Instead, he let her ramble on and on about the whole thing, validated her feelings, even left his friend to meet her so she wasn't alone or whatever. Even though it was sorta weird, it did feel nice. Maybe not as nice for him since he had to listen to her bitch but hey, he still did it and honestly, that's what counted if you asked her. Plus, the weed was good and the rooftop sex was even better so it'd actually helped.

Fifteen minutes after the first text and Evelyn was finally making her way down to the parking lot where his car was. "Sorry, sorry. I couldn't find these boots," she said as she climbed into the passenger seat and closed the door behind her. Pulling her phone out of her bag, Evie scrolling through Twitter as they started down the road. Her mind was all over the place lately and she'd noticed that more when she kept getting pulled from her thoughts, like now for example as Nate broke the silence in the car with one simple word.

"Weed?"

"Thanks," she nodded, plucking the joint from his hand. It rested between her perfectly manicured fingers as she brought it to her lips and took a hit, holding the smoke in for a moment before exhaling. "You know, I don't think I ever smoked as much as I do now before I started hanging out with you. You're quite the influence," she teased. "Now, here I am, the accidental stoner with the expert stoner boyfriend. Who would've thought," Evie laughed a little, holding the joint out for him to take it.

Evie leaned back a little in the seat and thought for a moment about what to say next before remembering something she'd been meaning to ask him. "Oh, have you decided what you are doing for the Arts Fest yet? I know you were bouncing between ideas but it's coming up pretty fast," she questioned. "Anything you do will be good but you already know that," she shrugged.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Winona]

Damien Slater

At some point, the bleeding subsided enough that Damien was able to just shove some paper towel up his nose so he could use both hands to work on the animation -- which was way fucking better, because shit went so much faster when he wasn't trying to one hand it.

Of course, there were now bloody paper towels scattered around the floor by his feet, but he wasn't really moving his chair anywhere, so they were more or less forgotten. Don't worry -- he'd pick them up eventually, but not right fucking now while he was still actively fucking bleeding thanks to fucking Dalton. Dumbass stupid older not brother... it wasn't Damien's fault that their parents had gotten married. If anything, it was Dalton's fault for beating him up so much that their parents were forced to keep talking. Really, Damien should be the angry one here.

And he was -- angry, that is.

For the most part, though, animation was very... mechanical for Slater. The hard part had already been done -- all of the actual designing and shit. The story. Now, it was just a matter of getting the voice clips finished (hence Felix) and getting everything together, which was what Slater was currently enthralled with.

“Already crackin’?” an all too familiar voice sounded from behind Slater, so he didn't even bother to glance over his shoulder. Of course Felix had been the one to actually fucking show up ahead of time. Who knew where the fuck Beel was?

He did glance in Felix's direction as he leaned in to look at what Slater had so far, and maybe he took a little more pride in Felix saying that it was gnarly and shit than he'd like to admit. As in like... it was nice to hear, that someone actually thought it looked good. Because when you stared at your own creations long enough, you'd start to notice all of the fucking little mistakes, and then it'd just look like shit.

But hey, if it didn't look like shit to anyone else, then Slater was good.

“That’s fuckin’ gnarly, bud,” he complimented. “I see you started without me, huh? That kinda day or somethin’? Or are you just really crunchin'?”

"Of fucking course it's gnarly," Slater said, only flexing that ego of his a little bit. He leaned away from the computer, turning in his chair so that he was facing Felix better as he kicked his feet up on the desk beside the desktop and keyboard. "Shit day. Dalton's a dick." He said and to add emphasis to his point, he pulled the nasty tissue from his nose and held it up before dropping it to the ground beside him.

He brought a finger up, lightly touching underneath his nose, but luckily this time when he pulled away? No fresh blood. Well. About time shit started looking up.

"Also Beel's fucking crazy and I swear to god if he shows up, I might fucking punch him." Slater finished explaining, his arms crossing over his chest as he let out a small humpf.

mood
fuck you, what the fuck, and fuck me

location
classroom

outfit
ah yes, yesterday's clothes

playing...
Sex for Breakfast

by Life Of Dillon​

mentions
Beel & Dalton

interactions
Felix

tags
ohdittoh

º º code by ditto º º

 

[Winona]

Jace West

Clearly, Mike was some kind of sadist. He definitely got off on watching guys like Jace in such freaking fear, and then this guy had the nerve to ask Jace to perform for him? Like what? Did Jace look like a circus monkey that could just start working like it was nothing and he'd be satisfied with a few peanuts tossed in his direction?

(Don't answer that, because Jace knew exactly what people would say, and he was hurt -- really. To think that he resembled a monkey in any way.)

“Play me something, Piss Party. C’mon, let’s hear the one thing you think makes you worth something, huh?”

Jace was almost willing to argue that there was more that made him worth something, but the spinning wheels of his brain thought it over and... came up with absolutely nothing. Mike, for once in this pitiful day, was actually right about something. Jace really wasn't good at much of anything, nor did he take pride in anything, except... his music. Because damn could he play some instruments well, and damn could he uhh... sing.

Yeah that.

Of course, as someone that had gone on some smaller tours and performed in concert before, he was used to performing under pressure. It was kind of a thing that came with the job. However, he wasn't used to the kind of pressure that he was now feeling as he forced his shaky legs to take him over to his guitar. He glanced back over his shoulder at Mike, eyes suspicious, as if he thought that the guy might shoot across the room and break the guitar over his head.

Would Jace cry if that happened? Yes, but not from the pain. The guitar? Old, repaired more times than he could count, but the sentimental value was the reason he kept it around. Yeah, yeah, Mike could've broken any of his other guitars and he would've still been upset (he did still love them like his children), but this guitar in particular.

It was just different.

He carefully picked it up, pulling the strap over his head, and situated it in front of him. Jace glanced away from the guitar over towards Mike. His heart was still pounding a million miles a minute, his legs still felt like jelly, but his hands felt a little stronger now that he had the familiar guitar situated in his hands. Almost like it gave him a breath of much needed confidence (much needed because without it, he had zero confidence).

Jace cleared his throat, strumming the guitar once, and then he started fiddling with the tuning heads. Another strum, another fiddle, and then he decided that it sounded good enough.

Another glance in Mike's direction.

Didn't look like the dude was killing him yet.

So Jace started to play, just a little thing that he had in his head, the little thing that he was working on for the Arts Festival. But he didn't offer any lyrics -- as if he'd actually sing for the guy, more because Jace was pretty sure that his voice might crack if he tried to do that, plus imagine singing for some stupid dude.

As he finished the little thing, his hands let go of the guitar so that it was dangling from his neck. He placed his hands on his hips, looking at Mike expectantly.

"Happy?"

mood
SOSHELP

location
music room

outfit
like just a sweater and jeans

playing...
pity party

by lovelytheband​

mentions
N/A

interactions
Mike

tags
ohdittoh

º º code by ditto º º

 

[ohdittoh]

saint andrew taylor

Saint watched, stone-faced and mildly amused, as the small-framed boy began to fumble around inside of his wallet once more, as per Saint’s suggestion. It seemed as though Avery was willing to do just about anything, like a toddler or a small rodent with low-functioning cognitive abilities. It was also somewhat pathetic, the boys naïveté and unawareness towards everything, but Saint would refrain from commenting on such things; he was, after all, receiving money from the poor child.

Avery held out more money, giving a slight smile and saying, “There.”

Saint took the cash silently, his face still cold, and Adriane began to speak.

“Avery,” she said. The boy turned towards her upon hearing his name. “It’s oh so nice of you to provide us with some kind of cash after you so rudely threw my point onto the ground. Honestly, if you can’t keep up with us? Why are you here wasting our time?”

“Oh you’re welcome,” Avery responded, a lopsided smile on his face. The answer seemed a bit random, but Saint could tell that the boy was struggling to process everything that was going on, though there wasn’t too much going on. The irony of Saint’s commentary on this matter, given how long it took for him to process just about everything that happened around him, was entirely lost on him. There were certain kinds of people whose gears you could see turning any time you looked into their eyes. Typically, it was this way with children or people with three brain cells to their name. The boy in front of him was this way, which said little more about him than what Saint already knew: Avery was the equivalent of a toddler, and that was all.

“You’re lucky that you ran into Saint and I,” Adriane continued.

“Yeah, I am!” The boy sounded happy and nearly excited, in spite of Adriane’s condescension.

“Because if it had been anyone else in the school, you would’ve been put through a window, or just snapped in half and tossed in the dumpster like the trash you are,” Adriane said.

“Perhaps worse…,” Saint added, glancing down at the boy. “Brutality is all too common here…and someone with…as weak of a will as yourself would’ve been entirely eviscerated had it been just about anyone else. Perhaps Adriane and I are a bit too kind, seeing as the bare minimum of what would happen to you if anyone’d had this happen to them would’ve been some form of bloodshed…”

Saint was having a mild enjoyment taunting in a serious voice the child who knew no better and had no idea that he was being taunted.

“Do you think anyone would actually miss you if that happened?” Adriane continued. “Spoiler: the answer is no. Your parents are probably as disappointed as the rest of the world that the bullet didn’t end your pathetic, miserable little life. There’s enough waste of spaces at the school already, the last thing we needed was another one.”

The boy simply blinked with his wide eyes.

“I don’t think it understands…,” he said in his low voice, looking at Adriane.

“I’m going to give you one warning,” she whispered to Avery. “If you ever try to kiss me again, I will make sure that I am the last thing that you will see. And since you’re oh so dense and dumber than the pedovan loser, let me break it down for you: I will claw your eyes out, I will beat your face so far in that you’ll be lucky to keep breathing. And if you ever try to imply that I am dating Saint or anyone else, I will not hesitate to crush you throat. Do you understand me?”

"Pedovan loser?” echoed Avery. “What's a pedovan loser?”

Saint had much the same question.

About the death stuff, the child asked, “Is that even possible? And wouldn’t that hurt your hands?”

“Possible…?” Saint repeated. “It’s more than possible…it’s actually fairly easy. Adriane could do it without even harming herself.” He looked at the girl. “She’s certainly done it before…she knows how to minimize blood spatter, I’m sure.”

Saint may have been antagonizing the child there.

Now, the boy seemed to process the we aren’t a couple part of Adriane’s spiel. “Oh…you’d make such a good-looking couple though.” His smile faded, for some reason.

“We make a good-looking not-couple as well. In fact, I prefer us as that,” Saint said. “I’d appreciate it if you watched your words more carefully…though it’s more for your sake than anything. Adriane’s threats are far from empty.”

Adriane held out the joint to the boy. “Now, to make it up to me? You’re going to pay us twice what you already gave Saint, and then you’re going to smoke this entire thing, because it is just so wrong to let it go to waste. Got it?”

And the boy was going through his wallet again, fishing for more money. How much did he carry on him? It was a wonder that no one before had drained his pockets. “Um I think this is the right amount.” He held out the money, exchanging it for the joint. “Here. Uh…can I borrow your lighter?”

When the lighter was in his hand, the boy put the joint on the ground and flicked it on.

Throughout Saint’s life, he had seen countless displays of idiocy. When his mother had gone out to the lake one time, a boy put Walmart bags on his arms to use as a flotation device because he forgot his lifejacket. He’d gone to a fair once and saw someone trying to open eat a funnel cake in one bite. Those, however, paled in comparison to what was occurring before his eyes at present.

Saint watched, blinking, as Avery moved the lighter up and down over the candle.

“Hm…” Saint stooped, plucked the joint from beneath the lighter easily, then casually took the lighter from the boy’s hand. He stood straight. “I had confidence that you at least knew how to light something on fire.” He easily flicked on the flame, putting it to the end of the joint to light it. “You seem like the type to put your hand on a stove because you forget that it’s hot, though. I doubt that you can even feed yourself…so we probably should’ve expected as much from you.” He held the joint out to the boy. “Here. Put your lips to the not-lit end…breathe in. You’ve done it before. Don’t drop it this time…or you’ll just have to pick it up again and pay us more.”

mood
weed

location
outside the school, beside the parking lot

outfit
flowers

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

by our last night​

mentions
n/a

interactions
adriane & avery

tags
Winona @Xed

º º code by ditto º º

 

[jasmyn]

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  good vibes only
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  what she's wearing...

  
  
  
  

  a little sheer never hurt anyone

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  where she's at...

  
  
  
  

  cafeteria
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  in the conversation...

  
  
  
  

  maggie (@Kitsune2202)
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

josephine bennett

the wild card ~ 17 ~ junior

After a few minutes passed, Maggie was approaching the table where Josie sat and wasting no time in plucking the remaining donut for herself. Jo's eyes lit up at the sight of one of her closest friends (yeah, yeah, Jo had a lot of close friends, sue her). It had honestly been way too long since they had just been able to catch up and like she said, she had a lot to tell the girl. "Mags! I feel like we seriously haven't hung out in so long! I mean, it's only been like two weeks but still that's like six months in Jo time," she smiled as her friend sat down.

"So I was able to swipe Jared's keys from him this morning after we got out the car." Maggie declared as she dnagled the keys for Jo to see. "No Uber for us!" she repeated excitedly.

Josie was used to taking an Uber most places and she hated it. The drivers she always got stuck with were so strange. There was the guy who smelled like vomit and gym socks, the creep who kept pushing for her number, then one time this guy kept insisting that he take a 'shortcut' to her destination. Needless to say, avoidind Uber was a big plus for their little adventure.

It wasn't that Josie couldn't drive because she totally could but her parents refused to get her a new car after the accident and she hadn't save up enough to get one on her own yet. Look, it wasn't even that bad and they completely freaked; that tree came out of no where! Either way, her totaled car had been towed away and now she was left to Uber or get rides from friends. It was a pain sometimes.

"Do you like my top? It's new. Apparantley Mrs. Washington doesn't. She dress coded me the second I stepped in the building. I swear, she waits around the corners and watches out for me every morning," Jo rolled her eyes, letting a laugh out. "I mean, it's not even that bad," she added. Okay, so it was like 97% see through but whatever. It was 100% hot.

Opening the strawberry milk in front of her, Josie took a sip before redirecting the conversation. "Oh, sooooo, how was the lock-in? Do anything worth talking about?" she asked curiously. What? If they started talking about the lock-in then it gave Jo a reason to bring up Saint and she needed to spill the details to someone. Plus, Maggie was brutally honest sometimes but she wasn't about to give Jo some heart to heart lecture about it so that made her the perfect person.

"My skinny dipping plans got ruined so that was a bummer...at first," she added, twisting the cap back on her drink.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[ohdittoh]

Victoria Sterling​

Mikaela took the Chapstick from Tori and smiled hugely. “Deal.”

Tori felt an immediate panic— stop what are you doing quit it noooo— as Mik’s hand moved to shake hers. She opened her mouth to try and rescind her offer— or at least amend the conditions. “Wa—“

But by the time she started to speak, Mikaela was already shaking her hand.

Tori sighed. Shit.

Looks like Victoria had practically sold her soul for a day to Mik. Actually, probably multiple days, seeing as she’d said “no drugs the first time”, which implied that there were going to be more times.

Oh God. Tori was going to fucking die— or at least shave a solid thirty years off of her life. Hell, she was probably going to lose a limb, maybe an eye. She was going to have to get half of her organs removed. It was all going to go so badly.

Oh right, and then she’d have to explain to her mom and dad and sister what happened. She’d end up writing some memoir called I Sold My Body on a Bet Because I’m Not a Pussy-Ass Bitch and Now I Have Gonorrhea, One Leg, and a Shattered Heart— or something along those lines. That was just the working title.

Tori could already feel all of the regrets piling on, and she’d only just now agreed to do it. She couldn’t imagine what was it was going to be like when she actually had to go through with it.

But this looked like one promise that was going to be hell to get out of. It wasn’t like she could just blow Mik off for this— at least, not without 1) looking like a lying promise-breaker and 2) without looking like a shitty friend.

But also, the fact that Tori had just promised her that she’d do anything except drugs…fuck.

“I can’t wait,” Mik said. “We’re going to have so much fun.”

Tori sighed, laughing slightly. “Uh-huh,” she agreed, the same confident, doubtful, patronizing tone in her voice as ever. “Well, it’s more just going to be me proving that your ‘fun’ isn’t really fun, but whatever.”

“Since you’re always busy, I’ll let you pick the date,” Mikaela said, smiling and taking a drink of her coffee— and then she seemed to suddenly remember that she hated the coffee, and she practically threw her cup back down on the table whilst gagging.

Tori snickered. “Can’t even handle your coffee,” she teased. “And you expect me to believe that you can handle your alcohol— and cocaine, too.” She rolled her eyes. “Sure, Mikky, sure.”

Tori lowered her purse off of the table, now short one tube of Chapstick, and she poised her elbows on the table, propping her chin up in her palms. “Sooo…a date…” She tapped her fingers on her cheek.

Okay, so she wasn’t actually busy…like, ever. Fine, she’d admit that. The issue was that she told Mik that she was busy, and now she had to pick a random date for something that she didn’t even want to do while acting as though she had other shit to do around that time.

Wait, but she wasn’t given a timeframe…sooo…in theory…

Tori’s eyes lit up with an idea. “How about Ma—“

“But it has to take place in December, before my birthday.”

Damn it. Mik knew exactly what she was going to do.

“That’s the latest I will allow,” Mikaela said. “Of course, if it’s too difficult for you then I can just pick instead.”

“No, no, no,” Tori said quickly. Ugh, she wasn’t about to make it look like she couldn’t handle that. Not after she was this far into it, anyway. “No,” she sighed, trying to sound calmer than she did at first. “I’ll pick it.”

Shit, she had no idea what dates were when.

“So your birthday is…the 30th…so…how about…December…?” Tori put a hand on her chin, thinking. What was a good number…what was a good number…? “Twenty-second?” She looked at Mikaela, starting to pull out her phone to check when exactly that was. “I’m pretty sure we go to school all the way up to Christmas Eve. The twenty-second is what I say, so li…”

She trailed off as she opened her calendar app, and she looked up at Mikaela.

“Wait, shit, shit.” She looked up at Mikaela, waving her hand dismissively. “That’s a school day. Some…other…time, then,” she said, starting to look for another time, hoping to find one before Mikaela could insist on that date.

mood
...fine, whatever.

location
a table in the hallway

outfit
white & grey

playing...
be nice to me

by the front bottoms​

mentions
beth

interactions
mikaela

tags
@Xed

º º code by ditto º º

 

[ohdittoh]

felix rian emmerson

Oh shit, he was bleedin'.

When his friend turned to him, Felix moved back in horror. A bloody tissue up the nose, bleedin’ spots on his face. It looked painful, and Felix put a hand over his mouth, avertin’ his eyes.

Blood made him queasy.

“Of fucking course it’s gnarly,” Slater said, as confident as ever. Slater kicked his feet up on the desk beside the desktop and the keyboard.

Felix risked a glance over at him. He tried not to look at his nose, instead focusin’ on his eyes. “Looks like you’ve been hard at work on it.” He cracked a grin. “Ya start to incorporate the dancers?” he joked. “Usin’ Miss Jameson’s reference, of course.” At his teasin’ clarification, he shook his head and chuckled. “She did give it to ya, right? The rest of the conversation after I left went ‘why, sure, Slutman, I’d love to be your reference’, and the night ended with you two sharin’ a lovin’ embrace atop the rain-soaked roof overlookin’ the Hollywood skyline.” Of course, Felix knew that there’s no way that that was how it went down, but yankin’ Slater’s chain was always a riot.

Felix snickered and looked at the current frame that Slater had been scribblin’ at. “Damn…,” he muttered. He spared another glance at Slater. “So I’m assumin’ you were in here workin’ because…?”

“Shit day,” Slater answered.

Felix’s brows knit in sympathy. “Already?”

“Dalton’s a dick.” He reached up and—

Felix held back a gag, turnin’ his head away as Slater pulled the bloody tissue from his nose. He expected him to drop it right away, but he kept holdin’ it up for some reason. Maybe he was like a cat showin’ off a rat’s carcass or somethin’, expectin’ to get a comment before he put it down, so Felix said, in a weak voice, “Uh…that sucks ass. Sorry you gotta deal with that.”

Slater dropped the tissue beside him into a pile of snotrags that Felix just now noticed on the floor. He grimaced, and he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. Blood…not a fan.

Felix leaned back in his seat. He opened his eyes, kickin’ his legs up beside his friend’s and crossin’ his ankles. He propped his arms up behind his head, bendin’ them at the elbows.

“Also,” Slater said, and Felix looked over to him. He could see a bit of dried blood beneath his nose, but it wasn’t grisly enough to elicit any sort of reaction from him. “Beel’s fucking crazy and I swear to god if he shows up, I might fucking punch him.” He crossed his arms over his chest, humpfin’.

“Beel…,” Felix repeated beneath his breath, his eyes trailin’ to the ceilin’ as he tried to place the name. Er, nickname.

Beel…as in the dude who offered to suck his dick for some shrooms? That one? Erratic drug addict? Bleach-blonde hair? Wore a sweatshirt with his own face on it? That’n’?

Was the world really that small? Huh.

“Beelzebub Woods, right?” Felix cocked his head over at Slater. “What’s so wrong with him? Did something happen with you two or somethin’? D’ya fight?”

mood
workin' hard

location
the school

outfit
somethin' casual

playing...
take a slice

by glass animals​

mentions
beel

interactions
slater

tags
Winona

º º code by ditto º º

 

[gh0stwriter]

Lucky DuBois

Awkward.

It was awkward.

Not the fact that he brought Ash hot chocolate. Not the fact that he wrapped his arm around her. Not the fact that she gave him a light squeeze before she stepped away.

Trevor.

He was the awkward one. Like a baby who discovered its reflection for the first time. Or a really constipated gorilla. He just always had this look of misery and shock. Like he thought he knew the answers, but realized he was taking a math test, not a spelling test. He didn’t get it. Obviously, for whatever reason, he and Trevor did not get along. The few interactions they’ve had proved that it was likely to always be the case. But he had to try. At least be civil. For Ash’s sake.

He smiled. Her constant surprise that anyone went out of their way for her amused him. They’d been working on this project for a solid two weeks. And every time he brought hot chocolate or snacks, she was shocked. Unable to fathom why someone would do that. He got it. He never expected anything from anyone. It was easier that way. Kept you from ever being disappointed.

He noticed Ash pull away. It was slight. Barely noticeable but he wondered if it was because of Trevor’s presence that any prolonged closeness would only make things worse. He wasn’t upset. Or jealous. Or any of those typical high school reactions. He was just curious.

Trevor was into Ash. There was no doubt about that. The moppy-headed giant toddler made it very apparent any time Lucky so much as looked in Ash’s direction. Did that make him a dick for wrapping his arm around her? Absolutely not. He and Ash were friends. And as far as he knew, she wasn’t taken. And he didn’t owe Trevor jack shit.

Focus on Ash.

He repeated that mantra. Mantras were his thing, okay? And he really needed it right now. The last time he and Trevor were in the same room, Ash got caught in the crossfire. He promised her he wouldn’t let that happen again and he intended to keep that promise.

“So sweet of him”

The words.

The words he could ignore. But the laughter. The creepy, ‘i-bludgeon-young-girls-and-stuff-them-in-the-floor-of-my-van’ laughter that spouted out of his mouth made his skin crawl and burn with rage. What was always so fucking funny? He glanced over at Trevor, Lucky’s trademark smirk on his face. “Can’t help what comes naturally, Trev,” he said with a small shrug.

He let the other boy process. So far, Trevor hadn’t crossed the line. Hadn’t given Lucky a reason to mouth off or be a dick. Not that everything leading up to this moment didn’t warrant it, cause it did, but if he was going to break his promise, he was going to make damn sure, he wasn’t at fault.

It was imminent. Trevor wasn’t one to keep his opinions to himself. Even when they were wrong, invalid and pointless. Like Trevor himself.

Trevor laughed...again.

Like a rabid hyena who thought someone was about to steal the gazelle it had just slaughtered.

“It’s going, like, well, though. Like it sounds really good, I think. Lucky is like...a really good singer.”

Lucky cheeks heated. His gaze returned to Ash and his tense nature softened. “She’s underselling herself, as usual.” He chuckled. “Ash is the real talent. Killer song. Killer vocals. I just have to show up and stand where she tells me and we’ll have this in the bag.” He said, returning the compliment.

“Oh yeah?”

He nodded with a tight-lipped smile.

Just ignore him.

“I’m...so impressed.”

Ignore him.

“I’m impressed you’ve last this long. Ya seem like the type who’d...I dunno. Ya just don’t seem like the..” He bounced his head from side to side. “Commitment type. You seem more like a...hm.”

Lucky breathed deeply. Impressed? He tried. He fucking tried to hold his tongue, but this needle-dicked douchefuck, was trying his patience.

“You’d be amazed at my stamina, Trev.” His attention returned to the taller boy’s. “As well as my commitment to my work.” A smirk formed. “I always make sure everyone is one hundred percent satisfied.” He crossed his arms as stepped slightly closer to Ash. Two could play that game. “I’m sure you’re the same way with your little…films.” He said plastering a smile as fake as Trevor’s on his face. No need to pretend. It wasn’t a secret they hated each other.

He looked back at Lucky. “I’m amazed, frankly.” His smile became a near-sneer when he spoke, but immediately faded back during his pauses to that tense, forced smile. “Though I figured, with your…”

Keep it up, Seanie. Lucky was losing his patiences. His fist clenched together.

“Appearance, you’d have to work a bit harder with your voice to get where ya are, so it’s really no wonder how well you’re doing here.” He laughed. “Even if you’re…well.”

He rolled his eyes. That the best you got, Trevor? He didn’t expect anything more. Trevor was lackluster. Like a package of starbursts that only contained yellow and orange. Or Lucky Charms with no marshmallows.

“It can be difficult.” He exhaled a breath. “Being this good-looking…” He paused to wink at Ash. “...and insanely talented makes it difficult for people to take me seriously.” He chuckled softly. “Must be nice for you to not have to worry about that.” He said nonchalantly as he started to relax.

He could get through this.

“Well,” he said, “I suppose I should probably get goin’, shouldn’t I? Wouldn’ want to encroach on this…" His eyes moved to Lucky again. "...nice, longchat over lovingly-prepared and so kindly-remembered drink orders between such good, bonded friends, now would I?" His venomous, jealous gaze set on Lucky, his smile grew tighter. "I should leave you to it, shouldn't I?”

“You’re free to watch.” His eyes locked on Trevor’s. “If Ash is okay with it. I don’t mind an audience.” He stated smugly. Might learn a thing or two, dickbag.

“Might be good to get an outside perspective. It is a love song, after all.” He smirked. “Gotta make sure all that passion is…palpable.”

He hated him.

Plain and simple.

He fucking hated him.

mood
In need of caffeinelocation
somewhere in the school

outfit
clothes duh

playing...
Figure Me Out

by The Summer Set​

mentions
n-a

interactions
Ash and Trevortags
Winona ohdittoh

º º code by ditto º º

 

[Winona]

Ashton West

Lucky and Trevor argued back and forth in their pointed, passive aggressive manor. It was in moments like these that Ash was more or less forgotten, because even if her name was tossed back and forth throughout their discussion, nothing they said was really directed at her. And honestly, that was fine. She didn't want to be dragged into the middle of whatever... whatever this was, because Ash honestly didn't understand it.

Okay -- she did get it, to a degree. Trevor acted jealous for, in her opinion, absolutely no reason, and he took that jealousy out on Lucky which just... didn't... make sense to her. And Lucky provoked him back, by making sly comments that if you squinted, could be made out as innuendos. Oh yeah, she'd picked up on those, but like...

Well, she'd thought that this whole little petty argument between the two of them would subside whenever they realized that they had no reason to hate each other. And yet, it seemed to get worse with every passing day.

Ash's fingernail absently picked at the cardboard of the coffee cup. Her eyes flicked between the cup in her hands and the two boys in front of her.

She should've just grabbed Lucky and walked away whenever he approached him.

Cut him off before he could say anything else to Trevor.

Just been like "oh wow, thanks for the drink, okay bye, Trevor, we gotta go practice. See ya later." And then, like, just walked away really, really fast to avoid this.

Her gaze flicked between the two boys, tracking whoever was speaking.

“She’s underselling herself, as usual.” Lucky chuckled. “Ash is the real talent. Killer song. Killer vocals. I just have to show up and stand where she tells me and we’ll have this in the bag.”

A faint smile crossed her lips, and she looked back down at the cup in her hands. It was nice to hear compliments directed at her regarding the whole music thing, even if she didn't completely believe what he said. There were plenty of things that Ash had excelled at over the years, but when it came to music... it had always felt like one of those things that she had to push and struggle at to keep up with everyone else.

She wasn't the best, she could recognize that -- not even close -- and it wasn't like it was something that she was insecure about. It was just a fact.

Still, it was nice to hear something else from someone else.

“Oh yeah?” Trevor asked, his voice sounding strained as he looked over at Lucky. “Ahahaha, I figured. I figured she’d been working you very hard. I’m…so impressed.” His eyes flicked to her for a moment, and she offered a half-hearted smile, before his gaze moved back to Lucky. “I’m impressed you’ve lasted this long. Ya seem like the type who’d…I dunno. Ya just don’t seem like the…” He bounced his head from side to side. “Commitment type. You seem more like a…hm.”

Really?

“I figured ya’d keep with it for two days max, and then…” He made a shooing motion. “You know?”

Trevor offered her a smile, and she tried to give a faint one back, except that it kind of faltered and fell from her face immediately.

"It's just a song," she said quietly, her words lost even to herself as she let out a soft exhale of breath. Her fingernail kept picking away at the cardboard of the cup, and she tried to focus on that until the two of them tired themselves out. Or until there was enough of a gap, enough of an opening, that she could grab Lucky, bid a goodbye to Trevor, and the rest of the day could continue on without a hitch.

“You’d be amazed at my stamina, Trev.” Lucky said. “As well as my commitment to my work. I always make sure everyone is one hundred percent satisfied.” He crossed his arms as he stepped slightly closer to Ash, which didn't help the situation in any way, but she was sure he knew that. “I’m sure you’re the same way with your little…films.”

It was just a song.

She glanced over her shoulder, hoping that there may be someone that she recognized that could help to try and clip the tension, or to give some kind of out. Like a way to break this horribly tense conversation, but -- surprise, surprise -- there was no one that she happened to know. Damn it. With a sigh, she looked back at the two boys, her gaze catching on Trevor as he started to speak, and as her teeth started to bite into her bottom lip.

“I’m amazed, frankly.” Trevor started again. “Though I figured, with your… appearance, you’d have to work a bit harder with your voice to get where ya are, so it’s really no wonder how well you’re doing here.” He laughed. “Even if you’re…well.”

“Round of applause for yer so damn impressin’ self.”

Seriously?

"Trevor..." she started, but just shook her head and let her gaze drop back down to the cup in her hands.

“It can be difficult.” Lucky started, because apparently neither of these boys knew how to bite their tongue. “Being this good-looking…” He paused to wink at Ash, and her jaw dropped a bit in surprise. “...and insanely talented makes it difficult for people to take me seriously.” He chuckled softly. “Must be nice for you to not have to worry about that.”

Oh my god.

“Well,” Trevor said, “I suppose I should probably get goin’, shouldn’t I? Wouldn’ want to encroach on this…" His eyes moved to Lucky again. "...nice, long chat over lovingly-prepared and so kindly-remembered drink orders between such good, bonded friends, now would I? I should leave you to it, shouldn't I?”

Oh thank god, an out.

“You’re free to watch.” Lucky said. “If Ash is okay with it. I don’t mind an audience. Might be good to get an outside perspective. It is a love song, after all.” He smirked. “Gotta make sure all that passion is…palpable.”

Oh for the love of god.

"Uhh, yeah," Ash said, interjecting herself into the conversation before one of the two ended up dead (and she had her money on which of the two), as she stepped forward so that she was between Trevor and Lucky. You know... to stop them from killing each other. "It was a, ah, song I wrote a... while... back. You should come to, like, one of the practices, though," she added, smiling up at Trevor as she did.

Maybe so he could kind of see that all they were doing was practicing the song, and maybe this little jealousy thing would kind of die back a bit.

"Not today, though, I'm sure you're, like... busy with your movie and whatever, but umm... yeah." And he was already clearly at the end of his fuse, so dragging him to the practice? Well, it would obviously do nothing but serve to make him angrier than he already was, which was just... not what she wanted. Obviously.

She wrapped an arm around him, trying to keep that uncomfortable little smile on her face as she did so. "I'll see you later, Trevor. Text me or whatever."

Reluctantly, she let go of Trevor and looked away from him to smile at Lucky.

"Ready?" she asked, but didn't really wait for a response before she gestured with a tilt of her head for Lucky to come with her, and then she started walking down the hallway. After a few steps down the hallway, she glanced back over her shoulder at Trevor, gave him one last smile, and then looked back at the hot chocolate in her hands.

"You know what makes hot chocolate, like, so much better?" She asked as she took a quick sip of the hot liquid before continuing. "Vodka."

Sue her. She was stressed out now thanks to whatever the hell had just happened. She could feel her heart pulsing in her throat, and her stomach felt like it was twisted into knots, and their first class period hadn't even started yet. Of course her mind immediately went to the idea of alcohol.

mood
happy, good, amazing, totally great

location
hallway or something idk

outfit
omg great oufits

playing...
I Don't Know Why

by NOTD​

mentions
N/A

interactions
Trevor, Lucky

tags
ohdittoh gh0stwriter

º º code by ditto º º

 

[ohdittoh]

MICHAEL K. REID​

Before you said it or thought it, no, Michael wasn’t a sadist. He just kinda delighted in seeing other’s pain was all.

”But wait, that’s the textbook definition of sadism—“ Well, hoity-toity. Who woulda thunk it. Thank you for the enlightenment, Confucius.

What were you, Merriam-Webster’s personal bitch? Who made you an authority on what constituted a sadist? He got it, you were a kinky sonuvabitch, but there was no need to project.

Now…as he was saying…

As he watched the wordless, anxiety-ridden rat terrier of a human being (?) make his (its?) way towards the guitar, Mike couldn’t help but grin to himself. Sure, Jason “The Sequel Was Better” West wasn’t whimpering as much as he would’ve preferred, which was somewhat disappointing, and there wasn’t a puddle beneath his feet, which meant that Mike could’ve done a better job, but he was doing just what Mike asked him to, no questions, so Mike couldn’t help but feel somewhat triumphant. He made his way to a table— one of the few in the room— and dropped himself onto its surface.

He sat his elbows on his thighs, folding his hands in his lap and putting on his most polite expression. “Choppity-chop, Water Leak,” he hummed. “I haven’t got all day to wait for your scrawny ass to start serenading me. If you don’t move fast enough, I might just have to come over there and give the thing a whirl myself, huh?” He grinned cockily, eyes pressing.

What? West needed a little more of a push, it seemed.

Well, he also needed a gentle shove off of the nearest skyscraper’s roof, just to put him out of his misewy, the poow boy, but Mike really only felt to urge to do the former. He wasn’t a fucking psycho.

Quaking like Granny off of her meds, West seemed to finally take enough of a hint to actually pick up the beaten-up, miserable piece of scrap wood that West seemed to treat like a guitar. What kinda hell had it been put through? Mike was frankly appalled at the thought of what the hole in its center had seen.

The strap went around West’s head, and Mike watched him carefully, a cocky smile on his face. West glanced at Mike, and Mike chuckled. “You gonna start sobbing? You gonna vomit? What’s that face, Widdle West?”

West cleared his throat and— wow!— gave the guitar a strum. How fucking impressive.

Mike gave a patronizing clap of the hands as the boy began to tune. “Woo, love this song. My fucking jam. Nyyyyyown,” he cheered unenthusiastically, mimicking a tuning string with the last word, and he rolled his eyes, clapping his hands a couple of quick times. “Tick. Fucking. Tock.”

This was getting boring.

West’s hands stopped messing with the pegs, and he glanced at Mike again. Mike gave a nod, smiling as if encouraging a toddler to come to dada. “C’mon! C’mon! You can do it!” he cooed in a babying voice.

And then— Piss Pants McGee actually started to play.

He wasn’t singing, no, but…hey, he was playing. And he actually wasn’t half bad.

If you didn’t look at his face. That ruined the whole experience.

Finally, West’s hands stopped moving, and he placed them on his hip. He looked at Mike expectantly. “Happy?”

Mike stared at him for a moment, his cocky grin still latent on his face. He pushed up off of the table, and he began to approach him, wordless, his eyes on West’s.

Finally, he reached him, and he put his hands on the neck of the guitar.

He locked eyes with West again.

“Sounded like shit,” he said.

He moved his hands to West’s chest to give him a shove, and then he laughed to himself, walking back towards the door.

“Well,” Mike said, “sounds to me like I’ve heard just about everything there is to hear about your shitty redeeming factor.” He shrugged, putting his hand on the doorknob and not sparing even a look back at West. “Maybe go die in a ditch? Do us a favor, huh? If your guitar and your singing’s your last hope, then you’re just fucked. Coulda told you that from the start, though—“ He looked over his shoulder finally, grinning. “There’s nothing about you that doesn’t scream waste.” He twisted the handle, and then remembered to add: “Hey, and you tell anyone about this? You’re fucking dead.”

With that, he pushed open the door, picking up his backpack and heading out into the hallway. He left the door open, just so every passerby could see Jason “Daddy’s Little Failure” West’s reaction.

He hoped to hear about it later.

”Yellow Snow? Yeah, he drowned in his own tears in a music room this morning.”

Grinning to himself, Mike made his way down the hallway and to the bathroom, sighing deeply. Laser-focused on doing his usual “piss, then piss off” (go in, do his business, wash his hands, and leave ASAP), he dropped his bag into the corner of the alcove before dipping inside.

Steps one and two down, he made his way to the sink to do step three— and there he saw him.

There was always something somewhat jarring about seeing the fuckhead. Something that sent a jerk through Mike, kind of made him more aware of everything.

Pissed him off.

No. Calm. Mike was going to be fucking calm, though.

But wow. Two family disappointments in one fucking morning! Mike couldn't believe his fucking luck.

Or...what was the opposite of luck? Yeah, it was probably more that than anything.

He settled at the sink to his left, and he turned it on casually, washed his hands, and then flung his hands about, flinging water onto him.

And he finally gave him a look.


“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the fucking family disappointment of the hour.” Mike grinned. “Landick Sinclaire. Been a bit, huh? How’re the balls? Didn’t intend to leave them intact— sorry if I did. I could finish the job here. One swift kick’s all it’d take, and boom! Like that, all fixed and so are you, huh? Whaddoya say?”

mood
salutations, fuckhead

location
the bathroom

outfit
something casual

playing...
drunk face

by machine gun kelly​

mentions
n/a

interactions
wow! two family disappointments! must be his lucky day!

tags
Winona gh0stwriter

º º code by ditto º º

 

[ohdittoh]

trevor callaghan​

Trevor Callaghan, unlike the narrative that was pushed about him claimed, was not a total fecking dumbarse.

Could he do basic addition?

…okay, that was an irrelevant question to his point.

But could he tell when he was being fecking talked down to?

Looked down upon?

Hated?

Specifically, hated for no fecking reason?

Yes.

Yes.

Yes.

And yes.

When you lived your whole life as the butt of the fecking joke, with noses snubbed up at you, with everyone casting their oh-so-holy judgement on you at every given chance, ya kinda learned to spot shite like that.

Behind every word that left the babyfaced prick’s herpes-infested trap, Trevor could see the implications and the true meaning— and could hear it within his pounding head, in Lucky’s unpleasant, ear-grating, snarky whine.

“You’d be amazed at my stamina, Trev. As well as my commitment to my work.” A smirk slithered onto Lucky’s face.

If Trevor thought that he could take him, he’d wipe it off, but there was no way that he could take fecking anyone, so that was off the table.

“I always make sure everyone is one hundred percent satisfied.” Lucky crossed his arms, stepping closer to Ash. Back the feck off. “I’m sure you’re the same way with your little…films.”

Translation: ”I got stamina— but I bet you finish in two seconds, Seanie. Yes, I’m misspelling your nickname that you specifically asked me not to call you even in my dialogue.”

Like he knew fecking anything.

“Everyone is one hundred percent satisfied. Especially Ash. Unlike everyone with you. Especially Ash. You’re always so disappointing, I’m sure.”

Lucky didn’t fecking know him, and Lucky—

Just because he got fecking time with Ash—

No.

No, no.

Trevor wasn’t fecking jealous of this—

This toddler-faced sleazeball.

Oh, and no forgetting that he’d also basically said, “My work is so much more legitimate than yours. Yours are just widdle films.”

“Ahaha,” Trevor laughed.

How pathetic. Trying to get a rise out of Trevor, and for what?

It wasn’t going to work.

It.

Was not.

Going.

To.

Work.

“It can be difficult…being this good-looking…” Lucky winked at Ash.

Trevor’s smile tightened.

I WANT TO FECKING STRANGLE YOU.

“...and insanely talented makes it difficult for people to take me seriously.” Lucky chuckled softly. “Must be nice for you to not have to worry about that.”

“Oh shit, I’m so good-looking and talented. Oh, and you aren’t. Aren’t I so great? So funny? Look at me.”

Did he think he could just get fecking away with that?

Trevor’s head throbbed.

“I think we have more in common than what you think,” Trevor chuckled tensely.

I’m fecking hot.

I’m fecking talented.

You?

You could go die in a hole.

Actually, no could.

Please.

Just go do it.

Good riddance.

Don’t worry, I’ll come to your funeral, just so I can dance on your fecking grave.

“You’re free to watch.” Lucky locked eyes with Trevor. “If Ash is okay with it. I don’t mind an audience.” He was so fecking smug.

So fecking smug.

Oh good fucking Christ.

“Might be good to get an outside perspective. It is a love song, after all.” Lucky smirked again. Did he realize how disgusting it was? It made Trevor want to vomit. “Gotta make sure all that passion is…palpable.”

Translation: “Oh, what’s that? It pisses you off that I get to spend time with Ash and you don’t? Why don’t I just throw in the unnecessary comment that you can feel all of our ‘passion’? Would that make your blood vessel burst? Come on, slip up. Yell at me. Make an arse of yourself. I believe in you. You can do it.”

Someone.

Shove

A.

Goddamn.

Rod.

Through his ears.

Please!

Thank you!

Come again!

Trevor’s smile had been growing tenser throughout all of Lucky’s un-fecking-warranted provocation.

“You…,” Trevor started again, stepping closer to Lucky, but Ash interjected.

"Uhh, yeah," she said. She stepped between Lucky and Trevor, and he looked down at her. "It was a, ah, song I wrote a…while…back,” she continued. “You should come to, like, one of the practices, though.” She smiled up at him.

His face softened slightly, and he let out a sigh. “Ya think?” he asked, laser-focused on Ash.

If he looked elsewhere (aka, at Lucky’s ugly fecking mug), his sudden urge to have a makeup session with the Grim Reaper would come again, and God forbid that.

"Not today, though,” she added, “I’m sure you're, like…busy with your movie and whatever, but umm…yeah."

He pressed his lips into a line.

No. I don’t want to listen to my girlfriend and the boy who so desperately wants to get in her pants that he’s practically humping her leg every chance he gets perform a fecking love song that surely is about someone other than me. Gouging my own eyes out with a ballpoint pen sounds more enjoyable, to be fecking frank.

“Ha…yeah, I’ll think about it,” he said.

He wasn’t going to outright reject her in front of DuBitchface. That’d be a win on the fecker's scoreboard, and that was a no.

She wrapped her arm around Trevor, and he quickly gave her a side-hug back, the line his lips were pressed into tinging up into a very uncomfortable, very tense smile.

“I’ll see you later, Trevor. Text me or whatever,” she said.

“Yeah, see ya, daaaarAsh.” He corrected himself halfway through his word, and then he let out a soft, tense chuckle. “I’ll text you, yeah.”

She let go of him, and he caught sight of Lucky again.

Trevor’s hazel eyes bore into Lucky’s, his soul-rooted hatred palpable.

“Bye,” Trevor added, giving Lucky a tense smile.

Please don’t walk into a busy freeway and get hit by a semitruck. That would be an utter travesty.

"Ready?" Ash asked him, starting down the hallway.

Trevor sighed, turning away and making his way towards his locker.

But he couldn’t help but turn back and spare a glance at Ash…and the cocksucking girlfriend-humping leech to her side.

Ash glanced over her shoulder too, and she smiled at him.

He smiled back, and then he turned around, setting his eyes forward as they grew in intensity.

Fuck Lucky.

Fuck getting blown off.

Fuck.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

FUCK.

He walked down the hallway, eyes set forward, posture tense, not looking at any of his peers. He worked his jaw, gripping his backpack straps as he forced a smile onto his face.

No one was going to talk to him, so he didn’t have to worry about that. All he had to do was internally jab various objects into Fucky’s voodoo doll and hope that that somehow caused some physical damage to him.

But Trevor was fine.

Absolutely fecking fine.

Not pissed in the fecking slightest.

He got to his locker, and he just kind of froze for a second, smiling slightly.

And then he dropped his head into it, closing his eyes and letting out a long sigh as his forehead collided with the metal.

His head throbbed.

Rattle! Rattle! He gave it a couple of bounces against the metal, but not another bang.

Throbthrobthrob.

He sighed again, pulling back and putting in his combination.

Wrong the first time.

Wrong the second time.

Wrong the third fecking time.

“God fecking—!” he hissed beneath his breath.

But it looked like that helped to get it open the fourth time.

He whipped it open, and he took off his backpack, shoving it inside.

And then he just kind of…stared at it.

Angrily.

Seethingly.

And then his mind trailed back to being blown off by his girlfriend for fecking Lucky.

“Goddamn it.”

He heard shuffling to his left. He usually would have ignored this, but seeing as his head was fecking pounding so hard that it felt as if it was going to burst, the noise sounded booming in his ears. He clenched his eyelids shut, putting a hand to his temple, but the shuffling persisted.

Glaringly, he looked in the direction of the noise, over to thin, tall, boyish figure with the locker door whose face was covered. They were moving slow, but fuck, it was so fecking annoying.

Now that he didn’t have to maintain his grace and eloquence in front of his girlfriend, he was going to just speak however the feck he wanted to.

Could you blame him? He was pissed.

Wait.

No.

Not pissed.

He was not pissed.

Whatever the feck satisfied you.

“Could ya not?” Trevor asked, voice curt and irritated. He wasn’t sure if they’d heard him, so he reached out and rapped a knuckle against their door: rattle, rattle. “Hey. Hey. Can ya fecking not?”

mood


location
the locker

outfit
something casual

playing...
i wanna slam my head against the wall

by glaive​

mentions
n/a

interactions
ash, lucky, & spoiler alert: callum

tags
Winona gh0stwriter hery

º º code by ditto º º

 

[hery]

MOOD: fame fortune and flabberghastery

OUTFIT: clothes

LOCATION: school

basics

MENTIONS:
Alex, Landon, Chanel, Mikaela
INT:
Winona (Casey)
geminiy (Ezra)
qunqun (Auguste)

tags

TL;DR no

tl;dr

Chas Marino

He said "pfft." What an ignorant dingbat.

He flinched a little in reaction to his hand being torn off of Casey's shoulder, then immediately corrected his visible embarrassment. There was no reason to fear a conflict even remotely physical when it came to Casey; he was as easygoing as he was stupid.

"I ain't gonna judge ya if ya want some nobody's name on your little film project, but just imagine," the blonde began, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. Why did the most insignificant, wholly undeserving people always end up hogging all the height? Was it biological checks and balances, or was it another attempt at robbing Chas of his much-deserved glory?

"I ain't gonna judge ya if ya want some nobody's name on yer little project," he mouthed, mocking Casey with a moronic facial expression. He almost needed an interpreter just to get this idiot's rambling into a coherent, meaningful thought. The light in his eyes faded as the conversation grew more tiresome, and he began counting in his head every reason why he remained on good terms with the Clairmonts to begin with.

Sigh... they were too much of an asset. He knew that.

"Imagine?" he echoed, crossing his arms to make his impatience known.

"...whatever your film's fancy little name is and right under it, 'music done by the one, the only, Casey Quinn Clairmont'."

"Pass."

"Imagine how much more attention you'd get. We could be on that ah... that uhh..." he snapped his ignorant fingers together as he tried to remember the vapid name, and then it popped into his dense head, and he pointed his gratingly loud, snapping fingers in Chas' perfect, stunning direction, "The Today Show. Or, ooh, that one where they do the little, ah, the little music-y battles. Imagine me vs. you, Chas! Bet they give out keyrings, too."

"Listen, I'll get in contact if I find a job for you, okay?" The exasperated senior checked his watch, and stepped side to side trying to get past Casey, whose lumbering body lay right in his path. "I'll see you—" He stepped past the boy and started toward the door.

"I'll see you later, Case." Finally, he turned around and waved goodbye, wasting no time leaving Casey to whatever he was planning on doing in the bathroom before their paths crossed.

He speedwalked down the hall, compulsively checking his watch every so often. He'd thought he was okay being late to his own filming, but putting it into practice just felt tasteless and awful. His wounded pride ached more than his miniscule sense of guilt for making his team wait, but the sentiment was still there, buried deep, deep down. It was stored somewhere beside his fraternal resentment and the occasional conscience he tapped into.

Once he reached the filming room, he stopped outside the door, his hand freezing just shy of the handle. Should he just turn back and get an iced latte since he was already late? Running away and downing a gallon of coffee felt so much more comforting than facing the entire cast and crew's inevitable chastising for being roughly ten minutes late. They must have been bored out of their minds waiting for the director to tell them what to do.

Steeling his courage, Chas swung open the door, his entire body deflating upon the realization that only two people had arrived. He didn't know whether to release a sigh of relief, or grow red in the face and start ranting about his unpaid employees' shoddy sense of professionalism.

Catching movement behind the tarps Chas allowed Ezra to set as a work perimeter, he stalked toward the area. There were two bodies behind the tarps, that he knew. That was two less than he was expecting. He instantly ruled out Landon, the leading male actor, as one of the two people; there wasn't a chance the cocky bastard would be one of the few to show up and take things seriously. Same for Mikaela, but that was more related to Chas' lack of confidence in a girl who he'd deemed a reckless party girl. She wasn't even at H.A. to act in the first place...

At least Alex found her in a pinch. Thanks, stuck-up, bratty, diva megabitch Chanel.

There was Alex, who Chas bet the most on being there in a timely manner, considering how it was him doing her a favor partnering up with her at all. The Barbie doll in glasses challenged his authority, but she wasn't so thoughtless as to piss him off and take him for granted.

And, of course... Ezra. Ez. The slutty Gray. The whorish dickhead who thought making a mockery of his character and painting him (metaphorically—the distinction has to be made considering the guy's an artist) in a sexual context. He still didn't know how to feel about enlisting him of all people to design the set and props, but it wasn't as though there were many other options this stage in the game. He was also a tad unruly, but at least he was a good worker.

The only times Chas really regretted fake-begging (it was an act, he was never that desperate) him for help was when the bottom jokes started being hurled out, or when he had the gall to question his creative decisions. Or, worse... deferring to Alex instead of him, the rightful lead director of this short film. How could everyone question the only kid in the room with actual directing experience!?

Only at Hollywood Arts.

"Alex? Where the hell is everybody?" he called out, moving the tarps out of the way and letting out a slight gasp when the room's only other occupants were the last he expected. Who invited Auguste, the ignorant jerk who thought being quiet and reserved absolved him of any of his annoyingness?

"What's he doing here? This is a private shooting," he said at once, shooting the guy a warning glare. He looked Ezra up and down, then stumbled backwards slightly as he jumped to conclusions. "And cover your torso!" he barked, releasing a breath of disgust, "What have I told you about getting it on in the filming room?" He jerked his head to the side, averting his gaze from Ezra's abs. At his stature, it was hard not to be visually assaulted by the artist's nipples staring right at him.

"You need to leave. Now," he commanded, glancing at Auguste for a moment before turning back away.

code by valen t.

 

[hery]

MOOD: cold

OUTFIT: clothes

LOCATION: school

basics

MENTIONS:
Oates, Ash, Gen, Jace, Mike
INT:
ohdittoh (Trevor)

tags

TL;DR no

tl;dr

Callum Richards

The Lock-in, in short, sucked. That wasn't to say it was a wasted suckiness, given that he'd finally cut Ash out of his life, but the ensuing chaos was more conflict and social stimulation Callum had bargained for.

Gen's words rang in his head all night, like a mite burrowing into his flesh.

I bet that you do the same thing I do. I bet you’ve stayed up many late nights wondering why people can’t stand you. I bet there’s times that you look at your reflection in a mirror and see nothing but a fucking unrecognizable monster. I bet you wonder when everyone will leave you because hell, you know no one is really around because they actually care about you. No, they’re around because they want to fix you.

Words he'd long thought to himself manifested in the girl's voice, and somehow it stung more when they were all thrown back to him. He hated her for it. Somehow, it helped him hate himself a little less. Dragging her down to his level was an attempt he didn't regret, despite the strange response.

He didn't talk to Oates much about it that night. Then again, that may have told his boyfriend more than enough of what he needed to know. It wasn't that he didn't trust Oates enough to give him a recap of the whole fiasco, but it was just a bit awkward to repeat. He wasn't ashamed, but the whole thing was shameful. The way he let Gen get in his head, the verbal abuse he withstood from Mike, and then a minor betrayal on Jace's behalf.

He was tired.

He was tired then, and he was tired when he got to school on Monday, the 16th. It was another day Callum and Oates had scheduled a dance practice for. The Arts Fest wasn't far off, but he was still showing up to practice on minimal sleep. He always gave it his all in dance, but the thought to prepare and be healthy before he did so every day always seemed to escape his mind. That was nothing new for Callum, though. He made an effort not to plan too many things in the week, not that he ever had much to do anyway. That was how he liked it. Still, one would think he would make sure to get a decent eight hours on the rare days he actually had something to do.

At least Oates would understand. And regardless of the boy's incredible dancing talent, Callum could still do better with far less effort. Sure, he was lacking in the emoting and the visible passion departments, but he made up for it with sharply precise technique. They contrasted that way. It was their thing, and the two of them were banking on it to impress the audience. Almost all cohesive duos embrace their differences; it's a necessary part of fine-tuning.

Storing their developing choreography in the back of his head, the pale boy sauntered down the hall toward his locker. He spaced out, his cold gaze only softening out of a lack of awareness for the present world. There was nothing behind his eyes, as his entire body operated on autopilot and half speed.

He cranked his lock side to side, hooking it with his index finger and dropping his hand to his side once it unlocked. He opened the door, managing to make it creak due to how slowly he was moving. It was freezing, and the cold was sapping his strength.

The door opened all the way. He dropped his bag. He looked from book to book, his hand grazing across each one before he retrieved his math textbook. It was all so routine. It didn't bring Callum any comfort, per se, but it was nice and easy not having to think.

Bang! Rattle!

Metal clanged to the lanky boy's right. He tried not to pay it any mind, considering he didn't particularly care about whatever was happening around him. Still, it was out of the ordinary. Was someone having problems opening their locker? It wasn't like Callum could help, so he ignored the sound.

He continued going through his books at a snail's pace. Every so often, his hand would dive into his backpack to place a textbook or pen he didn't need into the locker. They made small thuds and pings on the metal. He probably could have been done had he been moving at a normal pace, but he was just too cold and tired to think. It was too early for any of this, but when wasn't it for Callum?

“Could ya not?”

Hm?

He ignored the voice, doubting the message was for him.

“Hey. Hey. Can ya fecking not?” the voice persisted, accompanying itself with a few metallic knocks on his door. Callum's eye twitched. That was annoying.

He closed the door halfway, then peered over to his side. He instinctively looked down, but raised his head back up at the realization that he was speaking to someone actually close to his height. He probably would have been taller than the other guy had he been standing straight, but petty things like posture didn't matter much to someone like him.

"Could I not what?" he queried flatly, closing the door all the way. It made a sharp clang, despite being closed slowly and delicately. "Do you have a problem?"

He yawned, his weary eyes scanning the irritated boy in front of him. It was Trevor. Trevor Callaghan. He smoked a lot. Weed, not tobacco. He was Irish, Callum guessed.

He seemed on-edge. Wasn't Callum's fault. "Were you hitting your locker door?"

code by valen t.

 

[Soap]

Livanna Moore
"...”

@Livieeee has set her status to:

@Livieeee has set her outfit to:
Imagine me in something HOT

@Livieeee has mentioned:
Hunter, Jasquisha

@Livieeee has interacted with:
Ronnie, Nickie​

Bleh.

She hated waking up early. Hated. Despised. Ew ew ew ew ew. But Liv only needed a few minutes to herself before springing into action. She’s always been a little hyper. These past few years her energy had only evolved into a bunny who couldn’t stop skipping— hopping, same thing.

Except this time she was standing still. Taking two circular tablets out of the little bag that was nicely hidden in her locker, swallowing them and pocketing the bag somewhere in her shirt before slamming the locker shut.

And oh boy, was it a jumpscare.

Ronnie’s face behind it, chanting her name like some kinda redhead slightly attractive witch and Liv started to walk down the hall a little bit quicker. It wasn’t like she completely hated Ronnie’s company.

She could just be… a little bit a lot sometimes.

Liv wasn’t used to receiving the same energy back from people.

"LivLivLivLivLiv! How goes it, GirlyPop?”

Liv returned her smile, to be nice but also because she’s her friend, so. Friends deserved smiles back.

Omg.

Liv’s the goldfish.

She was the snack that smiled back! She’s totally gonna get that re-trademarked or something. That’s awesome.

“It goes.” It goes indeed, Liv was absolutely not at her peak. Bunny energy be damned, Liv today was just— not all Liv. That made sense, didn’t it? To not feel completely like yourself? It didn’t feel very good, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t about to fade.

She just had to wait it out.

Ronnie went on and on about the date that Liv setup for her, and the shorter girl furrowed her brows in slight confusion.

“I know, I was the one who—“

"Not that I dislike him or anything!" Liv decided to be quiet and just allow her to ramble on. Yup, you heard it here first ladies and gentleman.

Livanna Moore was quiet when it came to Veronica Crosby.

Her kryptonite.

The night of the rave had probably been the worst day ever. Arrested, whatever that was with Gen, kissing… Eh. She didn’t regret kissing Ronnie. She regretted a lot that night, but jeez— could that little psycho woman kiss. Besides her kissing skills, that girl’s lips were talented as hell because she already switched topics and Liv didn’t have time to process the last bit.

Ronnie wasn’t a fast talker, Liv was just being a little slow. Yeah, it was really wrong for Nickie to out Chas.

“Nickie isn’t all bad. She apologized for murdering Jasquisha, y’know.”

But she couldn’t help but be on her side of her relationship. Hunter was history she didn’t like to remember. She couldn’t believe Hunter was still with her— because he just wasn’t the type of guy to be…

Nice?

Maybe people change though.

Maybe he’s changed.

Speaking of Nickie… The blue eyed girl was merely a few lockers down from the pair as they walked.

“Plus, Hunter? Ronnie, he just isn’t… the boyfriend type. That’s not his style. Nickie should be the one ditching him, not the inevitable way around.”

º º code by ditto º º

 

[Winona]

Nathan Woods

Yeah, Nate's conversational skills were weak when he was high, and even weaker when he was sober. However, he wasn't one of those people that drove while high -- or, at least, he tried not to. His head just wasn't there when he was driving high, and he'd ended up rear-ending his fair share of vehicles due to the airheaded feeling.

Which meant that now, it just all felt... not awkward, because he never felt awkward around Evie. She had to be one of the only people that Nate always felt comfortable with -- which was strange to think. He was so used to being at least a little on edge around everyone that with Evie? And the feeling of not having to be on edge, or having to be reserved or keep his walls up? At first, it had been jolting, but now...

It was comfortable.

"You know, I don't think I ever smoked as much as I do now before I started hanging out with you. You're quite the influence," she teased. "Now, here I am, the accidental stoner with the expert stoner boyfriend. Who would've thought," Evie laughed a little, holding the joint out for him to take it.

He laughed back, although it was kind of an oh fuck, oh shit, does that make me a bad influence? type of uncomfortable laugh as he took the joint back. Nate's eyes studied the joint for a moment before, with a shrug, he took a hit from it. The more smoke that would enter his lungs, the higher he'd get, and the less he'd think about whether or not he was dragging Evie down with him. Not that he was going down, but--

Well.

No, he wasn't.

So what if he'd done shit with Liv on Halloween night? And so what if he'd dabbled in it a time or two since then when he'd been alone and bored? When he'd needed the creative fuel to help him work on his idea for the Arts Festival? That didn't mean that he was sliding backwards.

If fucking rehab had done anything for Nathan, it had been to teach him that he didn't need the drugs and shit. And that was just it -- Nate still knew that. He didn't need the drugs to fucking function anymore, because he'd learned how to function all on his own without that crutch.

"Yeah," was all he knew how to reply with a slight chuckle.

"Oh, have you decided what you are doing for the Arts Fest yet? I know you were bouncing between ideas but it's coming up pretty fast," she questioned. "Anything you do will be good but you already know that."

"Ah..." he reached up, scratching at the back of his head with a little frown. He took another hit from the joint and then held it out to Evie. He let the smoke fester in his lungs for a moment, and then he exhaled in a huff. "I ah... no, not really. I've got some ideas but haven't really settled on anything." Nate admitted as his fingers fumbled to find the window button thingy that Nate's roleplayer cannot remember the name of and he rolled his window down.

Nate wasn't about to hotbox in the middle of the school parking lot.

"What about you? Got your designs ready? Know what I'm wearing?"

What the fuck had Nate been on when he'd agreed to help with so many projects -- that was the real question.

mood
weed? check. girlfriend? check. mood? content.

location
parking lot

outfit
omg clothes

playing...
Ho Hey

by The Lumineers​

mentions
N/A

interactions
Evie

tags
jasmyn

º º code by ditto º º

 

[0k_mang0]

MOOD:
chilling with a muffin & writing

OUTFIT:
without the sunglasses
​

INFO

LOCATION:
school auditorium-theater

WITH:
no one

MENTION:
Ash, Johannes twins, Sinclaires, Chas​

ACTIVITY

boop

TAGS

cappie

Losing the school keys and his wallet and getting locked out of the school with Chanel were hardly event points to fuss over. And never mind that he waited nearly 2 hours in the school parking lot for Ash before learning she’d already left school and gotten another ride home. What really mattered to Cappie was what happened to his family. Both Gen’s and Ash’s lock-in situations were pretty disastrous, but Gen’s seemed more so.

He caught up with some things that he missed on Twitter. A nobody called Hunter Dank decided to act like a damn schmuck to Ash, who was drunk at the time, and bitched out whatever stupid problems he had with her on Twitter’s public feed. Very classy move—not. If this Dank guy goes after Ash like that again and actually harms Eli, you better believe Cappie will crush every bone in that punk’s body like a bowl of baby carrots.

Thank Gen Johannes for influencing some of Cappie’s violent protective instincts.

Speaking of Gen… Yeah, there’s no other way to describe the mess she was in.

Obviously, Cappie was chill about her and Landon’s affair. Although, thinking about when Landon had dated Chanel and his secret hook-ups with Gen, he would hate to have Landon turn out to be a scumbag that cheated on his then-girlfriend. Another mental note to ask him to make sense of his relationship timeline later.

Unfortunately, Landon’s sister wasn’t so chill about it. Long story short: Evie was still upset with both of them keeping their sex life a secret (which it was a harmless personal secret being atomically blown out of proportion, in Cap’s opinion), and Gen hadn’t been the same since then.

Ash seemed to be a little better after the lock-in somehow, and Cappie doubted that having late-night Oreo snacks with her was the only thing that helped her mood. He didn’t ponder too much on that thought—if Ash was fine, then he was fine. With Gen, instead of Oreos or another cheap snack brand, Cappie baked homemade cookies for her. The cookies were also for the whole household, but mainly for her if she wanted them. And being the best barista in the house, he’d also been making her favorite tea in the following week, and all the while he tried not being meddlesome. What else could he do? Offer solutions? He knew his own optimism couldn’t fix this shit, and he couldn’t remember the last time any of his friends went to him for solutions when dealing with teen drama.

He wasn’t used to seeing Gen this depressed, and he hated it. She was the badass model that kicked his bullies in the balls during their middle school days, and one of the biggest inspirations that helped his own confidence growing up. Despite her flaws, Cappie always admired Gen, his honorary big sister. It pains him to know that there was very little he could do to cheer her up, no matter how many cookies or drinks he made.

■ ■ ■​

Besides the aforementioned drama, Cappie’s own life had been uneventful since the lock-in. At least, he believed it was.

He owed his film coworker almost $200 for losing the vape pen gifts, which his coworker wanted back—Cappie forgot that he was only borrowing, not keeping them.

And then he came home a little late for dinner time on the weekends and a weekday or two from working a few extra errands at Carlos' garage and “hanging out with friends outside of school”. (He was actually hanging out in a gambling den with Carlos and played some card games for extra cash. He had a few decent wins.)

With his motorcycle out of commission, Cappie went carpooling with Eli in his car to and from school. However, there were a few times early on when his dancer bro forgot him and left without him. Cappie got two tardies for arriving late to his first morning class in the last week. So, he bought himself a BMX bike as a spare ride, in case Eli had to leave early or forgot him again.

And to spare Eli from his occasional backseat driver remarks.

On the second Monday after the lock-in, things were relatively normal for Cappie. And relatively boring. He wasn’t directly involved in any social drama, and his friends were getting busier with their own winter art festival projects.

So was Cappie. At lunchtime, he went to the school auditorium and sat in the front second row so he could put up his feet comfortably on the seat in front of him. Nobody was around to stop him. While nibbling a large blueberry muffin, he wrote in his Idea Notebook. He was still figuring out what to do for his Art Fest project—how to fight a big biker guy at a bar, with the Narrator’s voicing instructions heard by all of the characters for a semi-Fourth-Wall effect? That was one of the ideas in mind.

The general concept he wanted for the skit was to showcase what he’d learned from his advanced stage combat class and his time working with the stunt crew for an action movie a few months ago. He planned to do it with Landon, who had the imposing stature that Cappie needed for the skit, which Cappie was writing alone because his partner wasn’t much of a writer.

Well, he wasn’t sure if Landon would still be on board with his project. Landon was already involved in a short film for Art Fest, and there was that situation with his sister... He’s a professional actor, so he should have that professional focus and things would still be okay, right? Cappie thought so.

If he wasn’t up for it, Cappie still had a Plan B, which was simply changing the script’s story. And Plan C, which could also stand for Chanel Clairmont.

It happened on a whim—Cappie offered to partner with her for Art Fest after she mentioned pulling out of Chas’s film and not having anything else to do. He was just being nice, nothing more. Chanel was new to Hollywood Arts, and he thought she shouldn’t have her first winter arts festival be a dull experience. No ulterior motive whatsoever. Seriously.

code by valen t.

 

[gh0stwriter]

Lydia Fox

She could fix this.

She swerved to avoid hitting another student. Eh-would her parents care?

She swerved to avoid running over a dog.

Could they fault her for not wanting to run over a poor, defenseless puppy?

So what if this was the fourth planter she’d drove into. Or the fact that they’ve had to replace their mailbox three times since Lydia got her license. They’d believe that it wasn’t her fault, right?

She was screwed.

The planter was ruined, but that was...irrelevant. Her car, on the other hand, was going to need major work. Probably a call to the insurance and a stern talking to from both of her dads. This was the last thing she needed right now.

“Oh shitty titties”

She looked up.

Correction.

He was the last thing she needed right now.

“Not now, Lin.” She sighed as she reached out and felt the dent in her bumper and the fact that it didn’t feel stable and could fall off at any time. The paint was demolished. Much like her social life cause she’s going to be grounded for eternity after this.

She stood and backed up to assess the damage from further away. It didn’t make it any less noticeable. There was no hiding this. There was no getting out of trouble.

He laughed, and he reached out to feel of the damage. “Yo,” he greeted casually, and then he grinned back at her. “Scale of one to Leo DiCaprio on the Titanic, how fucking dead do you think you’re gonna be?” He cackled. "Karma's a bitch, but so are you, luhmao. Did you order this, Lyd? 'cuz you just got fucking seeeeeeerved."

She glared at her ex-whatever. Was he always this annoying? Or had their relationship clouded that fact. But right now, all she could think about was wishing that she’d run him over instead of the innocent planter.

“Oh, I’ll be fine, Lindsay.” She said as she walked slowly toward him. “Unlike you, my fathers care about me and will just be glad that I’m okay.” She sighed. “Must be hard to be a constant disappointment. Can’t even live up to Dicky Ricky’s expectations.” She made a wincing noise. “That’s just pathetic.” She laughed. “But is anyone really surprised?” She stopped right in front of him and glanced down. “Looks like the hand healed nicely. Get here early to do some more redecorating?” She smirked.

She was done taking his shit. She had done nothing wrong. Nothing to deserve this animosity and wasn’t about to let some second rate Disney channel wannabe get the best of her.

mood
pissed

location
the school parking lot

outfit
clothes duh

playing...
Kiss the Girl

by The Little Mermaid​

mentions
Evie, Dalton, Angel

interactions
Lin

tags

ohdittoh

º º code by ditto º º

 

[ohdittoh]

trevor callaghan​

Trevor Callaghan, ever the impressive specimen, boasted few strengths and a myriad of weaknesses.

One of his said weaknesses was spacial awareness. In spite of being almost perpetually tense and paranoid and his hypersensitivity to noises, he tried to keep his attention wholly on whatever task was at hand, which left little room for him to observe the things and people around him. Rarely— if ever— was this helpful, and it often led him to run into problems, sometimes literally. Countless times, he’d walked into a pole while reading, barreled into a shorter student when making his way down the hallway, or straight up rammed into a fecking wall because he was too preoccupied.

His lack of spacial awareness also led him to be entirely unaware of the people around him. He could go several days or weeks without so much as glancing around to familiarize himself with those who were seated at the same table as him, or— in this case— months without realizing who his locker was next to. Generally, it was a waste to associate with others, so he didn’t care much to inspect or pay any attention to the people in the same space as him.

However, it led to situations such as the one he was in now: speaking to someone who he never in a million years would have wished to hold a conversation with.

As the locker door closed halfway and the shuffler moved his head to look to the side, Trevor’s irritated gaze shifted to one of confusion.

Pallid skin. Dead eyes. An uncomfortably neutral resting face. Slouched posture. There were other corpses in the school— such as Adriane Holloway— but Trevor recognized this shell of a human being almost immediately: it was only the guy who had made his girlfriend cry and think that she was shit.

Callum Richards. The anemic corpse of a dancer.

What a wonderful fecking chance meeting this was.

Trevor’s gaze shifted back to a glare, his lip curling into a disgusted scowl.

"Could I not what?" Callum asked in a flat voice, shutting his locker room door. It clanged, and Trevor’s eye squinted at the noise. His head gave another throb. "Do you have a problem?"

“Problem?” Trevor asked, voice agitated.

Problem.

Do I have a problem?

What kind of question was that?

You’re being obnoxious.

You’re killing my head.

Also, you fecking—

"Were you hitting your locker door?" Callum spoke, voice entirely unfazed.

Trevor’s brows shifted down.

He forgot that other people existed sometimes.

“No, I wasn’t.” His answer was quick and curt. “Why the hell would I do that?”

He did do that.

He sighed dramatically, and he crossed his arms, turning to Callum.

Anger burned in his eyes, mostly leftover from the Lucky interaction. Callum’s presence, however, was stoking it hotter as Trevor recalled lock-in night.

Trevor was pissed.

Fine, he’d admit it now.

He wasn't going to try and smile. He wasn't going to try and cover it up. He was done with the fecking passive aggression.

He was done.

He was pissed.

Pissed at Ash for blowing him off.

For just doing it so casually, too.

For blowing him off for Lucky.

For fecking Lucky, of all fecking people.

Pissed at Lucky for being a fecking prick.

Being more than a fecking prick.

For making it his apparent life goal to make Trevor’s life hell any time that he got the chance.

For making it so that Trevor couldn't even walk with his girlfriend without being so fecking rudely interrupted and antagonized.

And pissed at Callum.

For making his girlfriend cry.

For making her drink herself in the floor of a science classroom.

For what?

For literally fecking nothing.

Who the actual fuck did that?

“You seem like the one with a problem here, not me,” he said. His upper lip curled in repulsion.

His head was throbbing, his chest was burning, and he couldn’t hold in his anger anymore.

He looked Callum over as if he were a monument made of horse shite. He may as well have been.

What level of fucked did you have to be to do what he’d done?

He looked back at his pale eyes. Trevor wasn’t convinced that they weren’t made of plastic or glass— they had about as much emotion as those types of eyes would. “Don’t think you and I’ve ever spoken directly before,” he commented. He tried to sound breezy, but the tension in his voice was obvious. “I’m Trevor. Callaghan.” He stood straight, working his jaw for a moment, letting himself simmer. “And you’re Callum Richards.”

He slammed his locker door, cringing at the sound as it made his head throbthrobthrob again. “I know you,” he said. When he opened his eyes, he set them back on Callum’s. They were right at eye-level, right at the same height, and Trevor’s teeth grit as he added: “You’re the pathetic bastard that Ash West cry at the lock-in."

There it was.

"Tell me." His brows knit, and he looked at Callum with an expression of offense and disgusted curiosity. "Did ya feel better about yourself after you did it? Is that why you did that? Or was it just for the hell of it?”

mood
oh, fuck it

location
the locker

outfit
something casual

playing...
i wanna slam my head against the wall

by glaive​

mentions
ash & lucky

interactions
callum

tags
hery

º º code by ditto º º

 

[gh0stwriter]

Landon Sinclaire

He patted his face dry with a paper towel and stared at himself in the mirror. He took a deep breath. Pussy. He wimped out. Couldn’t face her. And now what? They never speak again? Show up to family dinners once or twice a year and that’s it? He screwed up. He screwed up big time and he didn’t have the courage to keep trying.

Maybe Gen was right. Maybe Evie just needed time. Time to process. Time to be angry. Time to miss him. It’d only been two weeks, but it was the longest two weeks of his entire life. He heard the door behind him open and his eyes shot up to the figure.

Mike.

Landon thought of himself as a pretty lucky guy. He had good parents. A cool sister. He was hot. Talented. He had it all. But lately...lately, that luck seemed to be running out. And every fucking time he felt this way. Mike was there. The arrogant gargoyle that haunted his life. Did he do it on purpose? Or was it just some sick twists of fate?

He didn’t care.

He watched Mike pause and then make his way over to the sink next to him. His anxiety quickly turned to boiling rage. The effect Mikropeen Reid had on people. He wasn’t in the mood. His hands gripped the sides of the sink and his eyes shut briefly as he took a deep breath. Mike took a cheap shot last time. They never got to finish their fight and if the little gremlin wasn’t careful, Landon was going to make damn sure he finished it.

He felt Mike’s gaze and it infuriated him. Made him want to rip the sink off the wall and smash his smug face in. Not that Landon had looked to see what grotesque expression the other boy chose to wield. He knew. The minute he looked at Mike. Any chance of getting out of the bathroom without violence, would be over.


“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the fucking family disappointment of the hour.” Mike grinned. “Landick Sinclaire. Been a bit, huh? How’re the balls? Didn’t intend to leave them intact— sorry if I did. I could finish the job here. One swift kick’s all it’d take, and boom! Like that, all fixed and so are you, huh? Whaddoya say?”

Mike.

Michael.

Why was he poking? Did he have a deathwish? Was this his kink? Cause it sure felt like he enjoyed attempting to get a rise out of him. Not that it was working. He was fine. He eyed Mike. It was a mistake. He knew it the minute he did it, but it was too late now. He pushed off the sink and turned toward Mike. He stepped into Mike’s space. An amused smirk formed on his face as he looked down at the other boy.

“Looks like your lip healed up real nice. Still have the face that only a mother could love and even she can’t stick around for too long. I tried to make some improvements, but I guess they didn’t stick.” He said with a shrug. “Oh well, there is always next time.” He crossed his arms and leaned down slightly in Mike’s face.

“Itching to touch my dick again, Michael?” His grin grew wider. “I know it can be intimidating, especially when you have never quite measured up, but at least buy a guy dinner first.” He wasn’t going to back down.

mood
optimistic and terrified

location
school bathroom

outfit
clothes duh

playing...
just give me a reason

by pink​

mentions
Evie, Jace, Gen, Mike

interactions
you'll see

tags
ohdittoh

º º code by ditto º º

 

[ohdittoh]

dominicka abrams

With her eyes closed, Nickie could hear much more of what was going on around her, which was the opposite of her intentions. She folded her knees to her chest, hugging her arms around them and breathing out a sigh as the rumble of voices in the hallway became discernible as actual words.

At least she could catch up on the gossip this way, though. That was a pro, she guessed. It was one way to occupy her time, anyway.

“Did you hear that Brian Stephens and Bailey Nichols broke up?”

Nickie worked her lips.

I figured that was coming.

“Jackson put Icy Hot in the freshman’s jockstraps, hahaha!”

She breathed out a sigh through her nose.

Football boys.

“My mom just called me. My sister had her baby.”

She shifted, loosening her grip on her knees.

There was nothing interesting to listen in on.

“Nickie isn’t all bad. She apologized for murdering Jasquisha, y’know.”

Her ears pricked up at her name.

She slowly opened her eyes, looking straight ahead at the set of lockers across from her.

That voice. That voice was Liv’s. Obviously, it had to be— she was one of the few who knew about the whole Jasquisha escapade.

That damn unicorn.

“Plus, Hunter?”

Hunter?

What about him?

Nickie tensed up, expecting it to be something about his dead mom, a he still wets the bed joke, or something along those lines.

It was never anything positive.

Keep his name out of your whore mouth, Liv.

“Ronnie, he just isn’t…the boyfriend type.”

Nickie turned her head in the direction of the voices, pursing her lips and lowering her eyebrows in agitation.

Liv and Ronnie were approaching, and Liv was speaking casually.

She really needed to shut up. She didn’t know what she was talking about.

“That’s not his style. Nickie should be the one ditching him, not the inevitable way around.”

“What the…actual hell?” Nickie muttered, pushing off of the ground.

She’d told herself to interact with as few people as possible, but she wasn’t going to stand for this…fucking slander.

Especially not from fucking Livanna Moore and the obnoxious, redheaded, toddler leech.

She walked in front of the redhead and the lyric-stealer, crossing her arms and blocking their path. “Livanna, Veronica.” She gave a small, false smile, and then dropped it from her face. “Care to tell me why you’ve got mine and my boyfriend’s names in your mouths when you don’t know a single thing about either one of us? Like, what the actual fuck? Don't you have, like...better things to do than spread whatever false shit you're thinking about my relationship, Liv? I know, like, you're still hung up on Gen and you're all sad that whatever the hell that failed, but, like...seriously?” She raised an eyebrow. "There's no need to project. Hunter and I are fucking meant for each other." She eyed Ronnie. "Like, what the fuck? Can't you two, like, just not be jealous and shut your traps about us?"

mood
wt actual f

location
old blue (her suv)

outfit
casual

playing...
oh god

by mothica​

mentions
hunter & gen

interactions
liv & ronnie

tags
Soap hery

º º code by ditto º º

 

[ohdittoh]

LINDSAY MORGAN KAY

Lin’s grin spread wider as Lydia glared at him.

He could practically read her mind through her gaze— she was thinking ughhh he’s so annoying. That was the aim, luhmao. What kinda ship did she think he was running here?

He expected her to get all mad and huffy, and then he’d laugh and say deuces bitch, and that’d be the end of it. It’d be something really funny to start the day off, which he needed since he was stuck fucking practicing and shit.

Nothing like pissing bitches off to lighten the mood, luhmao.

“Oh, I’ll be fine, Lindsay,” she said, walking towards him slowly.

Blegh. Lindsay.

He frowned, poking his tongue out for a second in mild disgust before snickering.

He was fine hearing his name from pretty much anyone else, but there was something about the way that Lydia said it.

Made him feel gross.

Like his name didn’t belong in her mouth.

He leaned his head back slightly to look down his nose at her. His crooked grin grew a bit more taunting. “You suuuuuure?” he prodded with a cackle.

“Unlike you, my fathers care about me and will just be glad that I’m okay.”

Lin blinked, his grin fading slightly from his face.

Say what?

She sighed. “Must be hard to be a constant disappointment.”

He blinked a few more times, his brows knitting.

“Can’t even live up to Dicky Ricky’s expectations.” She hissed through her teeth as if in pain. “That’s just pathetic.”

“Pathetic?” Lin asked, cocking his head, his lips curling into a confused scowl.

What was she saying?

She laughed. “But is anyone really surprised?”

He blinked at her. Her words, which had taken him about, were finally registering.

A disappointment? Pathetic? Couldn’t live up to his dad’s expectations? What the fuck did she know?

His chest panged.

Damn. Okay. What the fuck.

Lin was literally just trying to have some fun. Ya know, luhmao, look at this bitch.

Instead, she felt the need to say her fucking unwanted opinion.

Wasn’t a shocker. It was what her job was or whatever.

But damn.

Okay.

Fuck her.

None of that shit was accurate, either— even if it was.

He muttered beneath his breath: “Bitch.” He raised a middle finger at his waist, though she probably wouldn’t catch it.

She stopped in front of him, glancing down at his hand, and he slowly pulled it to his chest, curling his hand into a ball. “What?” he asked.

“Looks like the hand healed nicely,” she said. “Get here early to do some more redecorating?” She smirked at him.

Lin glowered at her, blinking, his lips’ scowl moving from confused to hurt.

He just stared at her for a minute, simmering, his blue eyes growing more and more hateful by the second. “Hey, Lyd? Got a question for you.”

He took a step closer to her small frame, looking down at her, and he studied her face.

The air between them was tense for a second.

He hated her.

He hated her, he hated her.

His lips parted, a vindictive, disgusted grin spreading across his face.

And he laughed. “You always this much of a fucking bitch?” He stooped down slightly, putting his hands on his knees so that he was eye level with her. “Or are you just trying to impress me?”

He cackled, standing up straight and turning his back to her. He held up a peace sign, not turning to look back at her as he began to walk away. “Hope the answer to that question of mine turns out to be fuckin’ Leo DiCaprio, luhmao. Good luck getting skinned alive.” He paused, and he turned his head at look at her front bumper. He gave it a solid pat, grinning. “That’s gonna leave a fucking mark,” he laughed in delight, and he started off again, messing with the two straps across his chest: the one to his leather satchel at his side and the one to the guitar on his back.

His smile and laughter gradually faded the further he got through the parking lot and the closer he got to the building.

He shook his head, sighing deeply. He gripped the straps harder, gripped them so tight that his knuckles turned white.

Fucking damn.

Why’d she have to say shit like that?

What was the fucking point?

He fucking hated her.

So fucking much.

Luhmao.

mood
karma's a bitch and so are you lmao

location
the school

outfit
lookin normal for once

playing...
all i do is win

by dj khaled​

mentions
n/a

interactions
lydia

tags
gh0stwriter

º º code by ditto º º

 

[Winona]

Adriane Holloway

There were certain times in Adriane's life where her short patience was put to the test. Today just so happened to evidently be one of those days, and she was grateful that Saint was there to deal with the child, because if it had been her all alone with him? Oh, things would've been a completely different story.

Actually, she wouldn't be in this predicament if it weren't for Saint.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

God, the wrinkles that all of this frowning and glaring were going to cause. Ugh.

He asked for her lighter, and of course Adriane passed it to him. She leaned back on one hip, her arms crossing over her chest as she glared down at the child as he took a seat on the pavement and... then... what in the fuck was he doing? What was wrong with him? Had he not been paying attention when Adriane had first lit the blunt? Better yet, how did he think that this was an alright way to light it?

How...

How was he so stupid?

This time, Saint stepped forward to help him, and she was thankful for that -- or, well, she would've been, except this was Adriane. So she was less thankful and more just pissed that he hadn't stepped forward sooner. It may have come as a bit of a surprise (all sarcasm intended), but Adriane expected others to step forward and assist, or take over menial tasks such as helping with the teenager with the mental capacity of a toddler in front of them.

It wasn't her job to step out of her way and help others. It was others' jobs to step forward and help her, or help each other. That's just how it worked.

“I had confidence that you at least knew how to light something on fire.” He easily flicked on the flame, putting it to the end of the joint to light it. “You seem like the type to put your hand on a stove because you forget that it’s hot, though. I doubt that you can even feed yourself…so we probably should’ve expected as much from you.” He held the joint out to the boy. “Here. Put your lips to the not-lit end…breathe in. You’ve done it before. Don’t drop it this time…or you’ll just have to pick it up again and pay us more.”

Adriane's lips twitched up into a small smile as Saint spoke. Ha. Well, his slight insults directed in Avery's mindless direction at least helped to keep Adriane from losing her cool. There was just... something about bitching, about bullying, that really served to calm her nerves. Some people had a caffeine addiction, where they'd get twitchy and irritable if they were denied, but Adriane... she had a bullying addiction. She'd grow more irritable (if that was even possible), more twitchy, more restless if she spent too long biting her tongue.

Really, this entire interaction was just good for the soul.

"Of course," she added onto Saint's words, and she tried to keep her voice as perky as possible. Heck, there was even a slight smile on her face. "There's also a fee for us going so far out of our way to help you learn how to smoke. I'll be waiting for payment on that, too. And the lighter rental fee."

Her lips curled back slightly into a bigger smile.

Nothing quite like duping idiots to really calm one's nerves.

mood
die

location
outside

outfit
something hot, stylish, and probably barely school appropriate

playing...
Fuck You

by Lily Allen​

mentions
N/A

interactions
Saint, Avery

tags
ohdittoh @Xed

º º code by ditto º º

 

[ohdittoh]

MICHAEL K. REID​

Fate had a fucking weird sense of humor, didn’t it?

It was like God— or whoever the hell was in charge of running this shitshow called the universe— picked Michael out, said, “Eh, good enough,” and proceeded to fuck him straight in the ass with a lightning bolt.

First, the run-in with West. To be fair, that’d been enjoyable enough— kinda let him get some of his anger out or whatever— but on that same note, Jason “Whoops, Should've Wrapped It” West was annoying as hell. That by itself would have been fine, yeah.

But that wasn’t the only thing.

Instead, fate decided, Oh, yeah, you remember the fuckhead who you never wanted to see again? Here, take him.

Fuck you.

Landon’s eyes prodded at Mike, and Mike raised an eyebrow, his grin tending towards a smirk. “What, not gonna say anything?” he asked. “C’mon, rub your two brain cells together. I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”

Landon pushed off the sink and turned towards Mike, and Mike was reminded just how freakishly fucking tall the other boy was. He looked up at him, putting a hand to his neck and feigning pain.

Honestly, lifting his eyes to see Sid the Sloth on Meth’s eyesore of a mug was more effort than it was worth. Surprise, God was making another joke with Landon’s very existence.

Landon decided to step into Mike’s space. Of course he fucking did— when could he ever resist stepping the fuck away, huh? Mike tensed up, crossing his arms. A smirk played at Landon’s own lips.

The dickhead never had an original thought, did he? All he did was rehash and rehash. It was always the fucking same.

“Looks like your lip healed up real nice,” Landon said.

“Thanks. How thoughtful,” Mike responded casually.

“Still have the face that only a mother could love and even she can’t stick around for too long,” Landon continued unnecessarily. (Then again, nothing that Landon ever said was necessary, so there was no need for that adverb there.) “I tried to make some improvements, but I guess they didn’t stick.” He shrugged. “Oh well, there is always next time.”

Mike raised an eyebrow, trying to play amusement even as anger crawled into his vision. “Ha,” he said. “Yeah, sure. Next time, you’ll suddenly be able to handle me. I believe it.”

Landon crossed his arms, and then he leaned down to get in Mike’s face. “Itching to touch my dick again, Michael?”

Mike blinked, moving his chin back in surprise and immediate repulsion. His smirk faltered in his surprise.

Landon’s grin grew wider. “I know it can be intimidating, especially when you have never quite measured up, but at least buy a guy dinner first.”

Mike stared up at Landon for a second. “Intimidating?” he asked, and then he chuckled, grinning again and shaking his head. “Yeah, sure, you got it right.” He looked back into Landon’s eyes, his grin shifting into a cocky smirk. “When have you ever been wrong, huh? You know I’ve always wanted you, Landon— especially since I beat your ass that first time and you jetted off to film your mockbuster and play celebrity. How could you figure that me beating your ass was just me wanting to pound it, huh? Something in the way I told you to fuck off? Something about how I said for you to go eat shit and drown in a pool of your own jizz? Or is it the fact that I hate you so goddamn much that I'm repulsed at the very fucking thought of you, huh? Which is it?" He paused a moment to search Landon’s hazel eyes.

They looked more like shit brown, really.

God, Landon made him fucking sick. Even being this fucking close to him made him want to vomit.

Did he realize that? Could he feel how much he hated him?

“You and me, Landon. It’s just you and me.” He grinned, and he looked at their reflections in the mirror. “Alone in the boy’s bathroom. If this was a movie, you know what they’d ask next, right…?”

He turned to look at Landon again, chuckling and answering his own question: “Do they fuck, do they fight, do they make out, do they have a deep, heartfelt conversation and decide to put their differences aside, or does it just end here, all so fucking anticlimactic because one’s a jackass and the other one’s a fucking pussy who betrayed his sister, fucked his relationship with ‘Mama Plastic’ up, and is living with a bitch that you piss on in exchange for housing?” He glared at him for a moment, his smirk spreading wider. “You wanna fucking answer that for me, Landick? ‘cuz I say…”

Mike walked away, his feet taking him to the last sink on the row, and he looked at his reflection in the mirror. He placed his hands on either side of the sink, peering into his own, dark, taunting eyes as the next smug words left his mouth: “That I beat your ass again.” He looked over at Landon, smirking, and he pushed off of the sink. "And I think my answer's the fucking best, don't you?"

mood
salutations, fuckhead

location
the bathroom

outfit
something casual

playing...
drunk face

by machine gun kelly​

mentions
gen & evie

interactions
wow! two family disappointments! must be his lucky day!

tags
Winona gh0stwriter

º º code by ditto º º

 

[gh0stwriter]

Lucky DuBois

People might think that he had an ulterior motive.

People might think that his backhanded jabs and purposeful innuendos were calculated. Planned.

Those people would be right.

But to the people that think it was unwarranted or unprovoked? Well, they could all go fuck themselves.

Yeah, Lucky knew what he was doing. In the first few minutes of talking with Trevor, he had him all figured out. It wasn’t hard. When your only personality traits are weed and creepy death facts, you don’t require much analysis.

Trevor was a dick. He had come at him first. He had refused to just be normal and instead acted like a pompous know-it-all douchebag that was as easy to read as a ‘Where’s Waldo’ book.

Come to think of it…Trevor had definite Waldo vibe’s. Except his book would be ‘Where’s Waldo’s Victims’. But that was neither here nor there. The point is. Trevor earned every single one of Lucky’s comebacks. And he was lucky that, for whatever reason, Ash liked him and that meant he had to hold back.

“You…,” His eyes narrowed as Trevor stepped toward him. The one surprising thing he’d done the entire time. But Seanie had to know that it wasn’t a fair fight. He tensed. Readied himself. He wasn’t gonna throw the first punch, but he was definitely going to make sure the one he did throw…counted.

"Uhh, yeah," His attention went to the blonde now standing between him and Dahmer’s grandson. His mind bouncing from ‘how can she think I did something wrong’ to ‘why can’t I keep this one promise to her’. Conflicting emotions were a bitch.

He stayed quiet. Allowed Ash and Trevor to have their moment. Allowed Ash to placate Callaghack’s bruised ego before it got him into anymore trouble.

Prick.

“Bye.” Lucky’s attention was drawn back to Trevor. And the look in Trevor’s eyes gave him the impression that he didn’t care for him too much. He plastered a wide, fake smile. “Later, Trev. Let’s do this again sometime.”

“Ready?” His eyes drifted to Ash and he simply nodded. Sure, there was plenty of things he could have said that would have just been the cherry on top of the ‘I-pissed-Trevor-off-by-simply-existing’ sundae, but Ash seemed good. It was best not to push his luck.

He followed quickly behind her and caught up easily. He noticed the throwaway glance she sent toward Trevor. Interesting. He slipped his hands in his pockets as they headed down the hall.

"You know what makes hot chocolate, like, so much better?" She asked as she took a quick sip of the hot liquid before continuing. "Vodka."

He inhaled deeply. “Ash Johannes. It’s like 8am. What would Mr. and Mrs. West think?” He said with a small smirk as he glanced over in her direction.

“I might know where we could get our hands on some.” He said. “But it would be irresponsible and against the rules. So, I leave the decision in your capable hands.” He said motioning toward the music hall. “We keep going this way and we can rehearse like the good, upstanding citizens we are,” he motioned down another hall. “or we can rebel against the institution and get tipsy before 9am.” He chuckled.

“What’ll it be, Blair?”

mood
to rebel or not to rebellocation
somewhere in the school

outfit
clothes duh

playing...
Figure Me Out

by The Summer Set​

mentions
n-a

interactions
Ash and Trevortags
Winona ohdittoh

º º code by ditto º º