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Realistic or Modern 𝕃𝕀𝕄𝔼𝕃𝕀𝔾ℍ𝕋

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king.





Declan Sinclaire-Woods


































better now
















location

woods household










interactions

Nate






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Tap. Tap. Tap.

He wasn’t quite sure when the nervous tick started. The tap, tap, tap of his fingers whenever he was left alone with his thoughts or in an awkward situation – which had been too frequent for his liking as of late.

He’d initially thought it was a symptom of withdrawal. But then it happened after he detoxed. Then it happened in therapy. And now that he was home, six months later, surprise! It was still happening.

Ding. Ding.

Declan’s eyes glanced down at his phone with a heavy sigh. That would be the seventh text message from his mother inquiring when the hell they planned on arriving. “Dad. We gotta go.” He shouted, knowing the sound would reach his father’s ears. They’d avoided this night as long as they could. He took one last drag of his cigarette, holding the smoke in slightly longer than necessary as he released a large cloud that wafted into the night and did its best to battle the smell of weed emanating from his father’s room.

At least his dad was trying to hide it. It failed. Miserably, but he got an ‘A’ for effort and at this point, it was all he could ask for. As he stepped in from the balcony, he took a look around his room. The walls were plastered with movie posters (mostly of his uncle’s films) and memorabilia from his work on The Night Stars Fell.

It all felt like ancient history. Like it was a life that belonged to someone else, because everything was different. He was different.

He grabbed his coat off his bed and put on to complete the ensemble. He took a moment to check himself out in the mirror. His mother had handcrafted the perfect outfit for the occasion. Her words. But, it was his duty as a dutiful son to make his mother happy. ”Declan, we gotta go,”

“I’m right here, dad, chill.” He descended the stairs to meet his father in the foyer. His dad looked just about as happy to be attending this charity ball as he did. The first official revelation that child-star Declan Sinclaire-Woods was home from rehab. The first time he’d have to face his ex. And the first time he would have to face the ones who put him in rehab in the first place.

You get it.









 
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Mason Rivera


There weren't a lot of people that Mason hated but--

Alright, well, that was a lie. Mason hated a lot of people, but there were some that pissed him off more than any others. And Edgar fucking Cohen just so happened to be king of that very list, so when he'd shown up, claiming to be fucking sober, and Tabitha had let him into their fucking home, he'd been fuming.

Was a third divorce an overreaction? He didn't think so, because then he could keep his kids away from the fucking drug addict that was sitting at the table with them every morning. Which to him, felt like the best decision. He hadn't kicked his own brother to the curb several times over the years just to have Edgar waltz in and ruin his kids.

(This was ignoring the part that he'd played in their issues, of course.)

Speaking of, they were currently getting ready to go to some stupid charity gala thing for this school that Tabitha was going to work at, and was insisting that Theo go to. And Nor was insisting that Dani go. And of course, that meant he had to offer the same opportunity to Ari, even when he was disappointed as she followed right in her mother's footsteps.

Hopefully that wouldn't come with the whole dropping out due to pregnancy scandal, too.

He'd asked her a thousand times over if she was sure she wanted to go, and if she was sure she wanted to go into fashion (because why the fuck would his daughter want to do that?), and she'd reassured him every time that yes, she did, and yes, she did want to do that. Which to him raised a thousand warning bells. It was...

Uncharacteristic of Ari, unless he'd somehow stopped understanding his daughter?

The same fears didn't really hold for Theo or Dani. Literature and art were good, respectable enough departments and hobbies for them to pursue. Skills that he could get behind and support, even if watching plays was something that made him want to tear his eyes out.

“I told you you’d look handsome in the suit. I have a great eye.”

He glared at his wife out of the corner of his eye.

Tabitha reached out and touched his arm- even if they were more often than not a mess, they did look incredibly good together.

“Come on, everyone’s waiting.” She said, as she reached out and took his arm. “Oh, and…Edgar’s called shotgun. Please don’t make it a whole thing.”

"The fuck you mean shotgun? We're not fucking six -- that's not how this works."

----------------​

Turns out when your wife can't tell her brother no, that was exactly how it worked out. So Mason was crushed in the backseat, with Ari seated in the middle, and Theo by the other window. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he was sunk down in the seat, very reminiscent of a petulant child.

See, he should've been driving or, at the very least, in the passenger seat. This was fucking dumb. But he'd been pushed back, and all he could think about was how far he'd fallen. Teenage Mason never would've settled for this, but now he was a washed up old dad with a shit ton of kids that he'd--

Well, actually, he loved the kids. He'd always wanted kids, although in his fantasies, it had all been with the same woman. And later in life. And with only one marriage under his belt.

Once they got to the stupid gala, he'd pulled his kids over. "Be smart, don't do anything Dani would do," he said, before shooing them away with a hand to go and hangout with their friends.

It was weird -- seeing his kids looking basically like adults, off to hangout on their own, without them having to hold his hand or stay near him anymore.

And then, Mason moved to Tabitha, his arm moving around her shoulders as he glared at Edgar.

"Are you staying with us?" he asked, the distaste dripping off his words.




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All of MC

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gingersnaps gingersnaps


º º code by ditto º º
 






Kieran West



Kieran fucking hated parties.

The sentiment repeated itself over and over again in his head as he tried to make his facial expressions as neutral and non-bitchy as possible. He was probably failing, and looking as charming and welcoming as a loaded gun, but he was trying.

Kieran West- neé Murphy- was an antisocial creature by nature. There were about 7 people in the whole world that he was able to stomach being around for more than a couple of hours (three of which being his children, the other one being his husband, and everyone else being on thin fucking ice), so being locked in a room full of his peers for an entire awful, dreadful, harrowing night was Kieran’s own personal hell.

Plus he fucking hated wearing ties. But he did like it whenever Jace fixed his.

Jace was really the one and only reason he was even attending to begin with. Usually, Kieran managed to steer clear of the social events, but this particular one was undodgeable, seeing as his spouse was technically the one throwing it. It would’ve been a bit more than a dick move to skip out on it- and while Kieran was generally known for being a dick, he never was one to his family, so he smothered the feeling and decided to suffer through the night for them.

And looking at his family now, all sharply dressed standing next to each other, there was a warm feeling of pride that was enough to wash out anything else. Kieran held Clara up in his arms, watching fondly as Jace fixed Rocco’s tie, and Daley looked, as he often did, eerily like a younger version of Kieran- bored and endlessly annoyed at everything.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Kieran’s voice had a heavy hint of sarcasm, but nothing sharp or venomous behind his words. “I’ve been training Clara to start crying whenever someone talks to me for more than 5 minutes. This little brat is my ticket out of any boring interactions tonight.”

Clara smiled brightly, the 5-year-old being more than glad to aid in her father’s antisocial ways. She was always a happy kid, but she always seemed a thousand times happier when her father called her “brat”, “gremlin” or “maggot”. Kieran dropped a kiss on top of her head, before setting the young girl down and putting an arm around Jace’s shoulders.

“Go on, then, find your friends, get busy. Don’t do anything fucking stupid.” Kieran directed this comment at both of his teenaged sons, but really it was at Daley- Rocco and his juice box didn’t worry him, he was the sensible one of the two (a.k.a, the one who thankfully didn’t take after Kieran). “Or if you do, don’t get caught.”




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mentions mentions mentions

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Rocco, Jace <3, Clara, Daley.

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gh0stwriter gh0stwriter hery hery gingersnaps gingersnaps


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Tabitha Cohen



Tabitha would never admit it out loud anywhere Mason could hear it, but she was well aware that she allowed her brother to get away with too much.

He was leaning back on the passenger seat, messing mindlessly with the radio (which Theo usually had a dictatorial hold over) and tapping his fingers on the armrest in an irregular, anxious rhythm. Tabitha would’ve said something about Edgar constantly flipping between stations and not allowing a single song to play in its’ entirety, but she was too busy laughing and gossiping with him to care that much. They were like teenage mean girls, giggling at everything the other said.

“Man, I can’t wait to see that bitch Allison Gansey. It’s been ages.” Edgar spoke, with a grin that was almost identical to Tabitha’s. “I hope her facelift looks as screwed up in real life as it does on Instagram, I really do.”

“Shut up, I need to focus on the road.” Tabitha said, but she was already laughing. “...It’s actually a lot worse.”

She caught Mason’s eye on the rearview mirror, looking like he was trying to explode the Mustang with his mind. The best she could offer was a half-apologetic smile- and she kept the comment about how cute he looked squished back there to herself.

Tabitha also pretended not to notice Theo dramatically rolling his eyes and groaning whenever Edgar opened his mouth. Tonight, she just wanted a peaceful, nice time with her lovely little trainwreck of a family.
“Kill me.” Theo mumbled, not so quietly, as Edgar switched radio stations again.

~
In her heart, Tabitha knew the gala was tacky. A glorified PTA meeting, where all the rich parents would brag about how much money they’d donated to re-open the school. She used to hate coming to these when she was a student (though she’d always loved the dress-up), and her return as an adult didn't do much to soften her heart.

Still, the place looked very nice. Tabitha made a mental note to congratulate JJ and Evie later.

Mason wrapped his arm around her as the kids dispersed into the party, and Tabitha happily leaned into the touch, amusing herself as she watched the nasty exchange between her husband and her brother.

“Are you staying with us?” Mason asked, full of venom, and Edgar responded by laughing.

“Nah, I’m probably going to stand on a corner and hide from Evelyn.” Edgar shrugged “Sorry, Mason, I know you just can’t get enough of my company. You’ll have to settle for the uglier Cohen.”

“Fuck off already.” Tabitha replied, with a fond smile across her face. Edgar was one of the only people who got away with insulting Tabitha to her face with no consequences. “Get out of my sight before I rat you out to Evie. Go have fun.”

Edgar walked away, going the opposite direction from the bar- but not before shooting Mason a wink, which was sure to piss him off even further.


Tabitha placed a hand over her husband’s, squeezing it.

“It’s his last night with us, love.” She reassured him, “Ed’s going back to his apartment in the morning. I know you hate it, but you just have to suffer through one more night with him.”

Tabitha was nearly as tall as Mason in her high-heels, so it was easy to just lean in and drop a kiss on his cheek.

“Please? For me? I really like having him around again, Mason.” Tabitha’s expression was softer than usual as she pleaded with him- sincerity, something she was still getting used to, even at her big age. “C’mon, walk with me. We’ll go around the room and I’ll tell you which teachers absolutely fucking suck.”




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Theo, Edgar, Mason.

tags Winona Winona


º º code by ditto º º
 






Nathan Woods


He rubbed at his eye. "Oh..." he mumbled in response to Declan, which was followed by a slight nod. "Right." He'd forgotten that Declan had originally called him down there, the details lost somewhere in the haze of his thoughts.

A faint smile crossed Nate's face. "You look nice," he said, "red's your color."

It would make sense, of course. Red had always been Evie's color, and his by default. Maybe it was some kind of genetic thing -- him falling for a Marino's fake friendship, who ultimately stabbed him in the back had been a genetic thing (obviously), after all.

"Come on," he said, "your mom will kill us if we're late."

Not that it really mattered much anymore.

-----------​

The drive over had been slow, as it always was in New York City traffic. Perhaps one of the only things that Nathan truly missed about Kansas -- the lack of traffic, the ease of getting around, how a block took you ten seconds vs. ten minutes to pass.

Entering with his son, he felt like an idiot. All eyes, which had been on them following his divorce with Evelyn, were now turned onto them for a different reason. Declan's all too public rehab stint -- which Nate had spent far too long mulling over whether or not he had had something to do with pushing his son towards that edge.

Divorce was hard on a kid, or so he presumed. His parents, his siblings, they were all still on their first marriages, so it wasn't like he had a ton of people to turn towards.

Celebrity status was hard on a kid, and Nate didn't need to turn to anyone else to know that was a fact.

"We don't have to stay long," he mumbled to Declan, as they started in. His gaze was traveling around, daring anyone to stare in their direction for too long. "Whenever you're ready, just let me know and we'll go."

Nate, personally, wanted to leave now.

"And we'll..." he trailed off, as something caught his eye. Nate glanced in Declan's direction. "Ah... find me when you're ready to go." He said absently, before he started away from his son.

His gaze was focused, and his steps quickened with each beat as he wove his way past chairs and between patrons of this hellish gala, until he came to a stop by the horde of treasures set to be auctioned off to the highest bidder to raise money for a school that should've stayed closed. And when Nate got close enough, he froze.

Nathan Woods was in swirling cursive in the corner, marking the painting as a worthless Nathan Woods original.

He'd already known it was. He recognized the carefully stained sunset, and the way it was reflected into the water using, well, his watercolors. The trees had been painted with precision.

Watercolor landscapes. That had always been his thing.

Only a handful of people actually owned his paintings, and the majority of them were in Kansas.

It was easy to narrow down who'd brought this here, but some part of him didn't want to believe it.

"Hey," he yelled, peeking around to see who was running this thing, because he needed to hear it from someone else. "Hey, hey, who donated this shit?"




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N/A

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Declan

tags gh0stwriter gh0stwriter


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Lucky DuBois



He hated galas.

Okay, so he may have had to google what a gala was, but he was right to hate them. Pretentious. Snobby. Insufferable. It was being put on by his brother-in-law, so he expected nothing less, but was it absolutely imperative that they go? He’d almost had Ash convinced.

Family movie night. Pizza. The whole nine.

The operative word was almost.

”Jace worked so hard. Evie, Amy, and She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named blah, blah, blah…’ He had tuned out after he’d realized fighting it was no use. They were going and that was final. Would they be on time? That was the question.

He was the first one ready. Lucky was always the first one ready. Mostly, because he remained firm in his refusal to “dress up”. Sure, it pissed Ash off when he wore a t-shirt under his jacket to their wedding, but now, seventeen years later, it was commonplace.

He was sure she found it endearing. But he digressed. Tonight was a necessary evil. Despite their kids being the polar opposite of he and Ash, they did inherit their talents for the arts. The school was their best shot and having successful careers.

Lucky understood Ash’s hesitation. High school wasn’t exactly a walk in the park for either of them, but again, their kids were not anything like them. Responsible. Sensible. Trauma less. It was a conflicting feeling as a father because he was dead sure if he’d met these kids in high school, he’d walk the other way.

But this was his family. Jonah was analyzing his outfit in the mirror..second guessing every detail. Lukas was erratically changing outfits determined to find just the right look, and Tessa was ready, but being dramatic about not having a kitten. Like a dog wasn’t good enough? She got that trait from her mother. And then there was Ash. His dutiful wife.

He placed his phone in his jacket pocket with a sigh. Traded his music career for a record label. Too bad he forgot how much he hated working with others before he signed the dotted line and now, their livelihood depended on his success. He glanced over at Ash as her fingers played with the collar of his jacket. A renewed calm that only she was able to provide him.

“Have we been on time to anything since these kids were born?” He smirked playfully as he slid his arm around her waist, but her smile caused him to hesitate. She wants something. His head dropped. “Baaaabe…” The conversation was cut short as soon as the DuBois stampede made their way down the Brooklyn brownstone.

He took a deep breath and leaned into Ash. “Can we at least let me put up a fight for a bit longer before a kitten shows up, please?” It was a losing battle. Ash couldn’t say no to the kids and he had a hard time saying no to her. “And you’ll owe me, Blair” He winked as he kissed her cheek.

“Tessa! Let’s move!”





mood
can we get out of this?

location
DuBois Home

outfit
clothes duh





playing...
Figure Me Out

by The Summer Set​




mentions
several

interactions
The DuBois Clan

tags
Winona Winona


º º code by ditto º º
 






Romeo Marino


The suit he was wearing felt a little too tight, like the collar of it was choking him out, and normally, Romeo would've handled it all in stride. Except they'd arrived so early to this gala to make sure that everything was pristine, which meant that he'd been suffocating in said fancy attire for far longer than he was used to. But he didn't complain, instead biting his tongue and just tugging at it as the minutes ticked by as he trailed after his dad, and did his best to assist.

They were Marinos, after all, which meant that everything had to be picture perfect.

Romeo glanced in his dad's direction when he asked about friends, and Romeo just kind of shrugged in response. He glanced around at the guests that were coming in, his gaze latching briefly onto Declan Sinclaire-Woods (a mouthful of a name). His old friend, now turned enemy, debuting for the first time since his unfortunate rehab stint.

Wow, wonder how that happened.

(It was Romeo's fault.)

"I dunno," he said with a shrug as he looked away from Declan. At the table in front of them, the place settings were slightly off, so Romeo found himself going to fix them and moved them back into place. "Scarlett's probably coming, but I dunno if she's really a friend. She's just kind of a nuisance I hang with sometimes."

The rest of his so-called "friends" were really more like work acquaintances, if you could consider school a work environment.

This take was also downplaying his relationship with Scarlett, but there wasn't really a way to put into words what their friendship was. Just friendship, mind you.

"Maybe I'll just hang with Rowan," he continued -- 'cause hanging out with your girlfriend at one of these made sense, right? "What're you gonna be doing?"




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Chas

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hery hery


º º code by ditto º º
 




































  • how she's feeling...



    like one curious cat

















Viva



Kinsey












Viva was well aware that her mother was no longer as comfortable in the spotlight as she once was. It showed in the way she squirmed in her seat in the back of the car as the sound and sight of camera flashes grew closer. Where she once used to dominate the silver screen or B-List classic with her charms, winks, smiles, blown kisses, and undoubtedly marketable persona, first as the sweet ‘Girl Next Door’ in her youth and then later as the ‘Good Girl Gone Bad’ as she approached adolescence. She was a major favorite, but then again, that was Lucy Kinson, who although shared a body, life, and origin of being a nickname for Lucille, was a far different person from Celie Kinson.

As they exited the car and began to enter the school’s building, while a scattered few others stopped for photos. Viva was tugged along by her mother, who gave a simple smile and wave before trying to retreat into the perceived safety of getting behind the closed doors. While Celie was once at home in the middle of the public eye, cameras had never really been her favorite, especially once she became a mother. Suddenly all too aware of the prying eyes that had been on her since she was a baby herself would end up following her own baby girl too. The thought made her feel a little woozy.

That was why photos of Viva’s face were practically as rare a commodity as precious jewels, or really good gossip. Blankets, hats, a shoulder, all were examples of items that Viva had had placed in front of her face as a child to shield herself from the snapping and shouting of paparazzi across the country. Though of course that only began once Celie had managed to get her back into her own watch. The time that Viva had spent in her father’s custody resulted in a decent amount of opportunities for a good shot, a benefit for the hungry media as well as Pierce Crusoe’s own desire to rebrand his former shoddy image into one that seemed like fatherhood material, and of course bookable, very bookable. For more than a decade, those images of her as a toddler, or the shots of her hiding away behind a magazine or hoodie, were the only visual references people had for Viva’s appearance. Not until she was thirteen did her mother allow her to brace the public with her visage unrestrained, and it would be three more years before she was cleared to install a social media app onto her phone, a private account however.

Viva understood the reasoning, she had heard about how certain people treated certain kids. She had known about her mother’s trauma and heartbreak. She wasn’t frustrated by Celie’s actions, there was no resentment over Celie’s desire to protect her. It was the stifling of her own self exploration that irked her, even then though her anger wasn’t directed to Celie, it was the public. Fame was notoriously a double edged sword, but at times it felt like even the handle had sharp edges. To be a normal, stupid, curious teenager was sometimes all that Viva wanted, to explore her options and see what was out there for her. That was supposed to be what her time at this school would be about, wasn’t it?

It had taken a bit of effort to allow her mom to agree upon her enrollment. After a lifetime of hiding her daughter from the industry, the idea of sticking her right in the middle of a launchpad to teach her all about it felt more than scary, but Viva was as persistent as her mother was at her age. The promise of an understanding school board and safe environment eased her nerves somewhat, though as the two of them entered the primary room for the gala truthfully, she still wasn’t one hundred percent sold. Though the tuition’s check had been written and they had shown up here. That was probably more than half the battle.

“I’m gonna go mingle.”
Viva said, telling and not asking.

Celie offered a nod in reply
“Good idea, go meet the kids in your grade. I’m gonna do a lap too.”
She said, gesturing over her shoulder and highly considering hitting the snack table for a little pick-me-up before actually following through.

Viva tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear as she moved through the crowd. So far, no sign of familiar faces like Brinley, Ember, Casey and Iris, or even Chanel and her brood, but there were plenty of other people and things to examine. Like the strange array of goods that made up the auction table. If old shoes and stunning landscapes had something in common. She had no idea what it was, but was eager to find out.











































♡coded b
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drama kid.





ember clairmont.



































Watch
















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the event hall






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casey, brinley, chanel
















“Are you kidding?” Ember snapped. “Those shoes cost more than you’re worth.” She shifted in place, jaw clenched as she angled her body away from Brinley in favor of facing the window, pale eyes searching for the school’s silhouette on the darkening skyline.

Ember didn’t even wait for the limo to come to a complete stop before she pushed her way out of the backseat. She couldn’t stand another minute trapped in an enclosed space with her enraged sister’s shrill complaints echoing right in her ear. The quiet that followed her slammed door was a temporary relief before the buzz of the crowd outside the Event Hall settled in to take its place. With a huff, Ember spun on her heel and began to stomp her way toward the entrance, her mother’s attempts to stop her drowning in the noise. She was an unmovable force, hell-bent on getting inside—getting away—until she slammed into someone, and her boiling anger dulled to a simmer just long enough for her brow to crease, stumbling over an apology, but she’d hardly gotten the sentence out when the person turned around, and Ember suddenly found herself wrapped in a familiar embrace.

“Where are you off to so fast, Em?”

Ember’s shoulders relaxed under Chanel’s touch.

“Don’t think you’re getting out of family pictures that easily.”

The girl exhaled bitterly, pulling back with a forced smile. “Should’ve known.”

If she was in the company of anyone else, Ember would’ve had more to say, some biting comment about how there were enough of those plaguing Google already, but she respected Aunt Nellie—liked her, even—more than nearly all the others in her life. She was one of the only people that seemed willing to truly see Ember. Casey and Iris were too busy playing the overprotective parents—or perhaps, they were simply too clueless—to notice where Ember’s passions lied enough to do something about it. They had the resources to help, but they just…chose not to. Chanel was like a shining beacon of hope with her occasional interventions on Ember’s behalf—she may have only been fifteen, but she’d be stupid to throw away what little of a budding acting career she had at the expense of mouthing off to what felt like the sole person in her corner.

“Nellie!” Iris breezed past Ember for her own turn in Chanel’s embrace, effectively domineering the conversation. “How are you?” The woman turned her head away from Ember to hide her next words, “Thanks for stopping her war path. I don’t know what’s gotten into her tonight.”

Before Chanel was Aunt Nellie, she’d been a safe space of sorts for Iris, too. Any trip down a Miles to Go or Deep Waters fan account rabbit hole was proof of that—the behind-the-scenes pictures of Iris and Nellie grinning ear-to-ear, Casey becoming more and more frequent in the later candid shots. Ember was an outsider looking in at times, intruding on a friendship that’d been built long before she was born.

Ember frowned, falling begrudgingly into step with Brinley as they broke away from their parents, gradually steering themselves toward the designated photo-op area. Honestly, she wasn’t sure why the oldest Clairmonts were always so insistent on group portraits; there were too many of them now—not to mention another one on the way and two honorary family members, as if they needed any more—to fit comfortably into frame. Thanksgivings were a special kind of torture—there was no elbow room left at the kiddie table—though tonight was sure to give the holiday a run for its money.

Adjusting the top of her dress, pink tulle rustling with the movement, Ember turned toward Brinley. “Can you be on the left this time? I have a bruise on my ankle, and my skirt’s not long enough to cover it.”

She doubted the answer would be ‘yes,’ but it was worth a shot.










 
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your favorite action hero





Barry "Cappie" Caplan
































It's All Right
















location

limo --> event hall!






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interactions

chanel, obie, cassie
















If you’d told him twenty years ago that he would be married to his all-time favorite childhood celebrity crush and have babies with her, he’d laugh and ask how you found his fanfics.

(jk he’s never written fanfics like that. only daydreamed about them, in very vivid details…)

Now here he was, sitting in a nice limo right next to her, the undeniably talented Chanel Clairmont, his gorgeous wife in an elegant black dress matching his three-piece suit. The matching wedding bands on their ring fingers reminded him every day that it wasn't another silly daydream. The two other passengers were, in fact, their beautiful babies—well, now teenagers. But they would always be babies to their parents no matter what, of course.

Cappie had just finished showing his son Oberon how to fold a handkerchief in the “angled peaks” for Oberon’s pocket square, explaining that it can be both practical and stylish.

Tuning out Chanel’s phone call was hard. Cappie liked hearing his wife’s voice, but he didn’t want to be on the other end of that receiver. He pursed his lips together to restrain himself from making witty yet awkward remarks, casually gazing down at his phone, sending text messages to his mom, and commenting on friends’ Instagram posts. Poor Martin. Trying to argue with Chanel was never a good idea, unless you were her husband. (That’s only a good idea about 50 - 60% of the time.) She can be very determined to get what she wants—one of the many things he loves about her.

He was grateful when her tone changed again, directed at one of their kids. Against his better judgment, Cappie had impulsively opened a notification from a Buzzfeed-esque post questioning where and why he’d disappeared for three months recently, using a paparazzi photo of him being broody-looking at a beach in his “current dad bod” that was actually taken a year ago, around the same time when his two standalone action movies (Tuck & Roll and Ruck Up) were declared so-so box office bombs. He blamed poor marketing strategy.

He looked up from his phone, hoping his displeased furrowed brows hadn’t been visible long enough to take notice, and went into Dad Mode.

“Nice try, princess, but legally you’re still in the state of New York, not Luxembourg.”
Cappie took the bottle from Chanel and passed it to the front, telling the driver to keep it safe, then gave Cassie a small soda can as a replacement. The last thing he needed was his teenage daughter arriving at a charity gala drunk on limo champagne. TMZ would have a field day if they heard a Clairmont irresponsibly allow their child to drink anything stronger than Pepsi or Capri-Sun.

From his experience, arriving just a little tipsy at special events, no matter how functional one may appear to some, wasn’t always a good idea. Especially when a lot of photographers with high-res cameras were around.

Cappie settled back comfortably in his seat, smoothing out his blazer and red necktie. He glanced at his wife, smiling gently and affectionately at her when their eyes met. When she reached for his hand, he squeezed hers in return. Whatever was troubling him moments ago immediately vanished from existence.

Confused fans wondered how a sophisticated gem like Chanel could marry a then-nobody who called himself Cappie outside of work. A goofy nerd whose projects often involved exploding cars, dramatic foot chases, or punching faces, whose film accolades weren’t as numerous or prestigious as hers. The cynics still gossiped about whether or not his love for her was authentic...

And he ignored them as best as he could. All those yentas knew bupkis about their private lives. They were too used to hearing about tragic short-lived Hollywood marriages.

"I hadn’t expected them to reopen it. Much less throw a gala in its honor.”

“Probably a show of good faith. Or something like that,”
Cappie mused aloud.
“It’s good donating to a good cause, you know? And we get to see all our friends, and maybe new teachers there—who are most likely some of our friends, but still.”
He also suspected the other reason for the charity gala was simply publicity. At least it was giving the school some kind of positive attention, as opposed to the reason that closed it in the first place years ago.

Perhaps it was due to nostalgia—he was putting a lot of faith into the new board members or whoever was in charge of this decision.

“I think it’s great it’s reopening. It’s familiar, and a lot of your friends and cousins are enrolling there too. Very conveniently all of your cousins from your mom’s side… You’re gonna love it, I swear,”
Cappie added optimistically.
“Me and your mom had a pretty good time.”


He’d avoided thinking about that place since graduation. In retrospect, high school Cappie was more “cringe”, as kids today would say, than cool. Like early-day-YouTube-cringe. It was almost a miracle that he’d managed to kickstart a career.

High school wasn’t all so bad. He met the love of his life there out of the purest luck. Seriously, he had no idea. All it took was one little dumb joke about her being a bottle blonde (she wasn’t one and he apologized for that btw), and him sending a DM (totally platonically) offering to clean her family’s home pool. Plus a bunch of other excuses to talk to her.

There was no pool. Chanel and her family used to live in a beach house.










 



solo artist.





daley west


































cry
















location

woods household










interactions

Kie, Jace, Rocky






tags














Daley wanted to be anywhere else, but here.

It took some convincing. His dad—the cool one…had made him promise to be on his best behavior and to at least pretend to have a good time. He’d been convinced that the pep talk was more about his dad psyching himself up for this event and less about him, but he reluctantly agreed as long as he was able to remove his tie the minute he was out of Jace’s eyesight.

Daley West had always been in the spotlight. His father’s success put him on the obvious path to continue that legacy. But Daley didn’t love music because he wanted to be in the spotlight. He loved music because it was an outlet for all his teenage emotions. Like not wanting to be here.

His other dad was the reason they were here. The school had been his father’s obsession for the last year. Every meeting. Every discussion. It was all about reopening the school and he and Rocco being part of the inaugural class. His dream. Definitely not his. If it were up to Daley, he’d just play music for himself. Like Kieran and his Uncle.

It wouldn’t be about proving something to the world, like Jace. But this, for better or for worse, was his family. And Jace seemed legitimately proud that this had all come together seemingly without a hitch. As the less fun father attempted to get sentimental, he couldn’t help but roll his eyes. A quick look from Kieran caused him to wipe the look of disdain off his face. A fake smile plastered in its place.

Why was Kieran able to obviously hate this and he had to play the part of the dutiful son? Clara’s hand found his as his dad set her down and he smiled down at his younger sister. Kneeling down, he fixed a piece of hair that was out of place. “Alright you little terror, remember what I taught you.” The girl giggled and nodded. “Best little sister ever.”

Okay, maybe he and Kieran were more alike than he’d care to admit. But he was pretty sure that Kieran didn’t use candy as motivation, which meant that Clara was really his saving grace…not Kieran’s. A perfectly timed tantrum would for sure cause this evening to have an early ending…once he was done socializing, of course.

He glanced over at Rocco, the younger brother he never asked for. He was every parent’s wet dream which was definitely the reason they didn’t get along too well. He avoided eye contact to avoid the inevitable unspoken question of whether they could hang out this evening, but Daley had other plans. Which his dad’s words of warning, which he knew were directed solely at him, gave him the green light. “Aye aye, captain. Catch you guys later.” And he was off. A quick glance at his phone to clock the time. An hour and a half tops. Then he’d call in the Calvary.









 
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It was supposed to be a happy occasion. A celebratory dinner for the opening of their new school. It certainly didn't feel like one. The stupid suit was so stuffy and tight which was getting on nerves. His mom insisted he dress well and said he looked dashing so he'd put up with it, but then they had gotten into the limo and...

Obie glared at Cassie across the limo, lounging in his seat, her legs propped up on their mom's leg as if she was exactly where she was supposed to be. Even when Cappie had been explaining to him how to fold a silly pocket square, he just couldn't ignore her stupid smirk that seemed to be directed at him. He shifted in his seat, trying to find a comfortable position but all he got was more agitation. That was *his* seat. Not Cassie's. He always sat there so why was she sitting there today?

Oberon kicked his leg at the air in frustration when Chanel told him to stop fussing.

"But she's in my seat!" He protested, crossing his arms in frustration as Chanel went back to scolding whoever was on the phone and then Cassie for trying to grab the champagne. He stuck his tongue out at his sister as she got shut down. Served her right. She deserved worse than a scolding for taking his seat but seeing her in trouble lifted his mood a wee bit. Still, it wasn't nearly enough to rid him of his crankiness and he already dreaded being told to plaster on a smile and look happy for the cameras that would no doubt greet them when they pulled out. He hated it, but he hated the stupid articles they printed even more. Even when all seemed well, they would also find something to say. Try as his parents had, it was hard to keep him from seeing all the things that were printed about them when their names were almost constantly on the front pages of trashy tabloids.

"You always say that," Obie muttered under his breath as Chanel finally hung up, bitterly recalling all the apologies, the sad smiles and promises to make it up to him. He knew it wasn't his mom's fault. She was busy. That was just how it was in Hollywood. Especially when you came from a family as famous as the Clairmonts. It didn't make it hurt less. Didn't erase the loneliness he felt when he looked out into the crowd and saw the empty seat next to his dad. Nor did it lessen the rage he couldn't control over the foul rumours that would follow. The ugly whispers and suspicious gazes. He hated them all.

Obie's clenched fist tightened at Chanel's question about changing departments. He tried to hide it under more squirming and frustrated kicks in his seat, both of which were equally real. There had been very little said on the younger Clairmont's part when their enrolment into NYA was first brought up. He didn't really want to go, but he didn't care to stay where he was. If anything he wanted to leave, anything to get him away from his old dance studio and classmates after that incident. It would be easier to keep it all secret now that he was changing schools. Most importantly, he would never have to see any of their faces or hear any of their mocking voices against. If he was being honest, he didn't want to dance anymore. Not after what had happened, but nobody needed to know that, especially not his parents. So Obie looked out the window, a pout still firmly planted on his face as he watched the streets of New York roll past the tinted windows.

"It's fine."

The words weren't a complete lie. After all it wasn't like he wanted to join any of the other departments they offered. Maybe stunts, but after he snuck out and broke an arm playing around on his dad's bmx course as a kid, he doubted they would endorse such a choice. And, he would never admit this, especially not with Cassie always in earshot, but breaking his arm had really hurt even though the cast had been really cool, and he didn't fancy the idea of taking up a career that could put him through more pain like that. No he wasn't a wuss who was afraid of pain, he was just being.... smart about his decisions.
 






Jace West


As the boys wandered off, Jace's smile slowly faded as he glanced back at his husband. "How long do you think until Daley does... something?" he let out a soft sigh, smiling as Clara made her way back over to him.

Jace crouched down in front of her, his smile broadening. "C'mon, do you wanna go get a juice box?" he asked before straightening up, his hand taking Clara's with his body slightly slouched over to meet the five-year-old's outstretched hand.

Clara, Jace promised himself, would never do anything wrong.

Then again, that's what he'd promised himself about the boys, and sure, it had held true for Rocco, but Daley... he worried Jace more than he cared to admit. Perhaps because Daley reminded him a little too much of some people that had been... well, people that Jace simply hadn't gotten along with. This was, of course, ignoring the many similarities between his husband and his son.

With Clara in hand, Jace started towards the nearby table. "Do you think he'll be okay?" Jace asked absently as he grabbed a juice box, popping the straw in, and passing it down to Clara with the experience of a man that had spent the last seventeen years of his life with kids. "Daley, of course," he continued rambling. "Rocco, too, I guess, but at least he's got a good head on his shoulders. Daley is a little too...." he trailed off, sucking in a deep breath through his teeth.

Too much.

"Do you wanna see if Ziggy's here?" he asked Clara, as he smiled down at their daughter.

Yeah, she'd never be a problem.




mood
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location
location location location

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playing...
song title
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mentions
mentions mentions mentions

interactions
Rocco, Kieran <3, Daley

tags
gh0stwriter gh0stwriter hery hery gingersnaps gingersnaps


º º code by ditto º º
 






Mason Rivera


He wanted to punch him, but those days were far behind Mason. He was a mature adult now, one with a wife and three kids. And as much as he might fantasize about slamming his fist into Edgar's smug asshole-ish face again... and again... and one more time just for the hell of it, they were just those. Fantasies.

(The idea did bring the faintest of smiles to his face, though.)

“It’s his last night with us, love.” Tabitha said, and Mason's smile faded, “Ed’s going back to his apartment in the morning. I know you hate it, but you just have to suffer through one more night with him.”

Suffer was right.

Mason was going to gripe about the situation, but Tabitha kissed him on the cheek, and the boiling anger in his chest was brought to a low simmer once more.

One more night wasn't going to kill him.

(Probably.)

“Please? For me? I really like having him around again, Mason.” She begged, and he exhaled slowly. “C’mon, walk with me. We’ll go around the room and I’ll tell you which teachers absolutely fucking suck.”

Mason didn't really get it -- how was Tabitha able to forgive Edgar after the shit that had happened? Sure, he was claiming to be clean now, but that's what addicts always said. They were "clean," until they slid right back into their old habits. And the only ones hurt were those that held their hand and tried to pull them up.

It was why he, personally, had no contact with Drake. He knew that he still talked with Adriane, he'd somehow managed to talk with the kids, and Mason disapproved of all of it but... all he could do was watch, and hope for the best.

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled. "It's fine... he's not... that annoying to have around..." Mason lied through gritted teeth, flinching as he did so. "Go ahead. Start telling me the gossip about teachers I don't know."




mood
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playing...
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mentions
mentions mentions mentions

interactions
All of MC

tags
gingersnaps gingersnaps


º º code by ditto º º
 






Zeph Ellis


His high school days: it was the worst of times, it was the best of times. It was... he made a lot of kind of questionable decisions. His mother had died. He'd fallen in with Lin. He'd found himself in constant arguments with his dad and his younger sisters. But eventually, somehow, everything had settled out -- somehow.

And in the end, it had all led him back to Stella. And he'd had a decent enough career -- a few songs, a lot of dancing, many, many music videos and the like under his belt, he'd even gotten into choreography, and then of course, let's be honest, Zeph had probably been on Dancing with the Stars. Dancing was literally his thing, guys.

It had all led him back here, though. With his lovely wife, and their son, Bailey, and his new up-and-coming job: a dance teacher at this school.

To say his life was perfect would-- well, it would actually be the exact truth. It was perfect. Or at least, as perfect as it could've been.

"You look so handsome B. Are you excited for tonight?" Stella asked Bailey, and Zeph glanced at his son, waiting for an answer.

"Yeah, I guess," Bailey shrugged casually. This was, of course, going to be his new school as well.

"C'mon, bud, you'll have fun," Zeph insisted, before reaching out and punching Bailey lightly in the shoulder. His son just gave another shrug, and Zeph sighed.

Bailey was, of course, following in his mother's footsteps. Not that it had been a surprise, since he'd already had a few acting credits under his belt.

Stella took Zeph's hand before giving him a quick kiss on the cheek, and he smiled, "You look dashing too, my love."

He chuckled. "Nothing compared to you," he said. "You look gorgeous."

The little moment was, of course, ruined by Bailey fake gagging next to them.

Zeph laughed, shaking his head, before he gave a tilt of his head. "C'mon -- let's get outta here. Can't be late to the gala." That would probably look bad to his employers, which had been his... previous classmates. Very weird situation all around.




mood
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playing...
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mentions mentions mentions

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interactions interactions interactions

tags
Kitsune2202 Kitsune2202


º º code by ditto º º
 






Theo Cohen-Rivera




Theo did great at parties. He just did. He was one of those people who flourished in these kinds of social events, like a spotlight followed him wherever he went. It’d been that way since he was little, and Tabitha took him to her fancy publisher’s dinners to show him off to her peers- Theo was always the star of the event.

Tonight, he fully intended to do great again- even if he found himself in a foul mood. The reason for it was sitting in the passenger’s seat, loudly and obnoxiously laughing with Theo’s mom. Theo had been more than fine with not having contact with either of his estranged uncles- they were ghosts, haunting the horror stories his parents told him to scare him away from drugs and alcohol and partying. And out of nowhere, uncle Edgar jumps out of the ether, moves into the guest room and starts hogging all the attention for himself.

Theo preferred it when he was a hypothetical meth-head in a cautionary tale.

He crossed his arms in the backseat, sighed loudly and pouted, but nobody seemed to be paying him any mind- even his father, who’d been gracelessly sat between his children, was more focused on his own sulking to notice Theo’s. It was bullshit, the night was supposed to be about him. Well, and his half-sisters. And his mother. But really, it was about him.

“Kill me.” He mumbled, dramatically, as the radio switched to another song.

~
His mother dropped a kiss on top of his head as they finally arrived at the gala, smiling as she urged him to go off and find his friends. Theo pulled away before she tried either hugging him or pinching his cheeks, offering his parents a half-smile before hurrying along.

Theo waltzed around, being greeted by both his peers and a few professors who’d taken note of him - and of his famous and wealthy mother, who now happened to be their newest colleague.

People treated him differently because of who she was, they always had. Everyone is nicer to you when your family is filthy rich and on the cover of Vogue. It used to bother him a lot when he was younger, but now Theo mostly found it amusing. Sometimes, whenever he found somebody particularly committed to ass-kissing, he made it into a game- he’d the weirdest, wildest shit he could think of, and see how long it takes for him to get called out for it. It was always a disappointingly long time.

Stopping by the punch bowl, Theo filled his cup and scanned the room- maybe Cel and Grayson, and he could get a kick out of that ticking time-bomb. Or maybe Lyrica’s arrived, and he’d be more than happy pushing her buttons for the rest of the night…




mood
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mentions mentions mentions

interactions
Tabitha, Ari, Edgar, Mason.

tags Winona Winona


º º code by ditto º º
 
MOOD: mood

OUTFIT: clothes

LOCATION: location
basics
MENTIONS:
N/A
INT:
jace, kieran, daley
tags
TL;DR no
tl;dr
Rocco West
Sell your dreams on day to day, is that why you stay away?
For the few minutes the family had been together, Rocco had known peace. They looked picture-perfect as a unit and, contrary to Hollywood standards, it wasn't just for show. Rocco, the dutiful middle child, could hardly keep his mind off of how his parents were probably thinking the same thing. He, Daley, and Clara had done them a favor not putting up a fight in attending the gala, but to Rocco, resistance hadn't even come to mind.

Written on Rocco's face was the intention to chain himself to his brother's side for the duration of the event, never having much of an idea of what to do. He could also see Daley seeing that and, in a cruel, intentional maneuver, Rocco was deserted on the pretense of "Catch you guys later."

Yeah, right.

He bent his lanky form down to give Clara a squeeze on the shoulder, pulling his juice box back as the girl made a reach for it. Besides Rocco's juice, she was more interested in their dads. Cursing dad had his arm all around stressed dad and, well, it seemed Rocco was the only one without much of a plan for the night.

"Bye, dads, bye Clara," he said quietly, taking his leave to wander about the opulent ballroom. He felt out of place in his suit, the stiff fabric making him wish he could disappear into the walls. He scanned the room for any sign of Daley but knew his brother would have blended into the crowd effortlessly by then.

As he made his way to the refreshment table, Rocco grabbed another juice box and sipped it slowly, trying to look occupied. To soothe the boredom and anxiety, Rocco kept his lips on its straw. Sweet, red nectar stained the edge of his lip, transforming him into a taller version of an old photo of himself that his dads liked to laugh about.

Murmurs of polite conversation and occasional bursts of laughter filled the air, but Rocco felt isolated, like he was watching everything from behind a glass wall. From his vantage point, he could see his parents mingling with... well, pretty much just each other. Clara was as good an excuse as any to be preoccupied with activities not of the social variety.

He thought about how different each of them was. Daley, the social butterfly; Clara, the adorable center of attention; and Rocco, the one who was always on the outside looking in. He looked around the room again, wondering how long he could linger by the refreshments before it was just weird. To his left, an older man was having a fit over the punch bowl, muttering bilingual swears. Maybe that was his cue to walk somewhere else. So, he did.

"I usually just stick with my brother, but he ditched me," he repeated under his breath a few times, head held high as he scoped out anyone to spend the evening with. He couldn't go back to his dads and Clara—in some really weird way, this was their date night.

Hmm. Maybe he could just take his juice box to the swing set outside and wait out the rest of the event. The door was right there, the now-evening breeze beckoning Rocco outward. He turned back, squinting to get the status on his dads.

Is loitering on playgrounds the kind of thing teenagers get in trouble for?

No... right?
code by valen t.
 
Luciana Navarro
fashion designer
Luci knew the night wouldn’t go smoothly, things never went smoothly when both Damien and Carmen were moody which was 99% of the time, and for someone who always wanted to be in control those two were the cause of her demise every single time, there were times when she wondered what kind of nefarious things did she commit on her past lives to have the one she had at that moment.

Perhaps she should have insisted more on calling a driver instead of having Damien drive he was always a ticking bomb and adding driving to that didn’t help either, yeah, she definitely should have called a driver when he stomped over the break maybe then the profanities that came out of his mouth could have been avoided. Luci pinched the bridge of her nose, took a deep breath, and let it out, and then another one; this could still be fixed. She could fix it, otherwise, the feeling of failure would cloud her mind and, well, it was already there. She just wasn’t telling anyone about it.

It didn’t take long for Carmen to leave their side as soon as they arrived; it was quite obvious that their daughter didn’t want anything to do with them, and for a moment Luci thought that perhaps even for that night it was better to keep those two separated, yeah she was definitely in the trenches.
“We have been already through this, you can’t go screaming fuck you’s to everyone every time you lose your marbles, I know Carmen it’s not being reasonable, but you don’t solve things by screaming at each other it just makes you and her angrier and who has to half fixed everything because none of you would listen, you guessed right it’s me, so even if Carmen it’s gone and probably going to cause some ruckus, let’s have a peaceful night even if it’s just the both of us”

mood:in need of patience
outfit: here
location: gala
interactions: Winona Winona
SZA - Saturn

coded by Stardust Galaxy
 



king.





Declan Sinclaire-Woods


































better now
















location

nya gala










interactions

Nate & Theo


















Your mom will kill us if we’re late.

That threat didn’t hold the weight that it used to. Then again, nothing was the way it was supposed to be. He was safe. Maternal instinct kept his mother from killing him. And if she didn’t smother him with a pillow when he got shipped off to rehab, then he was fairly certain being late to some bullshit gala wouldn’t rise to the occasion.

-----------

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The drive was slow. New York City traffic. You got used to it after a while. But the longer he spent in the car, the more his nerves started to get the best of him.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

They’d always been in the spotlight. His mother’s success. His uncle’s success. It left little privacy for the other members of the Sinclaire-Woods family, but there was some. His decision to follow his uncle’s footsteps put an end to all that. Acting came as natural to him as breathing. And he was good.

That choice plummeted his semi-private life into the open. It gave an all clear to scrutinize any and every thing that occurred in his young life. It was worth it…at first. The work. The experiences. The attention. His Uncle Landon had given him tips on how to ditch the paparazzi. Things were good. Until they weren’t.

Nothing really could have prepared him for this. As he and his father entered the gala, all eyes were on them. More specifically, they were on him. Sure, he looked amazing, but that wasn’t why they were staring.

His bad boy reputation started well before the drugs. As the villainous heartthrob, Declan started his career as the troublemaker everyone wished they could tame. He embraced it. His agency encouraged it. With the problems at home, it wasn’t that difficult to act out.

And like every other story about a child star gone wild, it ended with a six-month stint in rehab. Thanks to his friends. He averted his gaze the best he could. The thick, anxious feeling crushed down like a weight on his chest. ”We don’t have to stay long.” His father’s voice brought him back to reality. ”Whenever you’re ready, just let me know and we’ll go.” He nodded appreciatively. He still never got the full story. Just that Nate knew what he was going through. And as annoyingly cliche as it sounded, it helped knowing he wasn’t alone.

“I’ll be..” Declan’s voice trailed off as Nate became distracted. Confused, he opened his mouth to speak. ”Ah…find me when you’re ready to go.” And he was gone. Declan was alone. And the stares his father attempted to thwart were back in full force. “Fuck this.” He huffed under his breath as he headed toward the back of the party. Dodging and weaving through the crowd. Avoiding the stares. A panic attack on the verge of surfacing as he looked for an available exit.

As he moved to avoid another party goer, he bumped into another figure. “Shit. Sor…” His words, yet again, trailed off, but for different reasons. A stoic look on his face as he eyed the other boy in front of him. A boy he had history with. A boy he had once called a friend. A boy he really, really wanted to hit.

“Hey Cohen,” A small smirk formed on his lips. “Thought this thing was for people with talent.” He chuckled as he grabbed a cup and filled it with punch. “Let me guess, you’re mommy’s plus one.”









 
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OUTFIT: clothes

LOCATION: location
basics
MENTIONS:
Winona Winona
INT:
Romeo
tags
TL;DR no
tl;dr
Chas Marino
Rich kid, asshole, paint me as a villain.

Chas nodded, not entirely enthused by the idea of Romeo's so-called friends. He tried to maintain his focus on the task at hand, keeping a sharp eye on whether his son was on task as well.

"Rowan, huh? Good choice. Stick with people who add value to your life," Chas said, his voice taking on a lecturing tone. He glanced around, his eyes darting from one cluster of guests to another. He noted the arrival of several prominent investors, his anxious demeanor always on the forefront.

"Well, Romeo, if you hang with Scarlett, try not to slip up when she sprays you with a million questions." Chas already knew the resistance he'd get from the statement, but he knew what he was talking about. "Her mother has always been the best of the best journalists, and trust me, she'll get you."

Chas stopped the organizing he was doing and sent a grin to his son. "Apple never falls far from the tree."

Years into it being just Chas and Romeo had relaxed much of the language barriers that existed between father and son. Besides, Chas Marino was no ordinary father. He had a need to talk shit and, well, that's hard to do with most of one's former friends and family effectively cut off.

"I'll be working the room, making sure everyone is comfortable and impressed," Chas replied, the weight of his responsibilities pressing down on him, his chest tightening under the suit. Tonight, he would be greeting each guest as if they were the most important person in the room. He would exchange pleasantries with those he detested, laugh at jokes that just weren't funny, and make promises with no intention of keeping them, all for the sake of the gala's success.

He caught sight of Chanel Clairmont, his kindred spirit in the fact that her aura was large enough to capture half the room's attention. To Chas' embarrassment, she had distracted him long enough for a silence to set in between him and his son. "Quit tugging at your collar, you're going to stretch it out," Chas quickly scolded with a frown, knowing all too well how much he sounded like his mother. Well, she was right about some things.

"Remember, appearances matter tonight. Make sure you look like you belong here." He gestured across the room at a pair of men, whose sons seemed to have disappeared into the crowd in the past few minutes. "Look at Jace, huh?" Chas murmured to Romeo. "Never thought he'd make it on the board. Or marry someone. Shows what a bit of determination can do."
code by valen t.
 






Tabitha Cohen



“Aw, love,” Tabitha’s smile softened, a fond expression forming at the obvious attempt to make her feel better. “You are such a shit liar.”



She did not easily or often say “I love you” out loud- but Tabitha found her own ways of showing it. A soft, lingering touch, a genuine smile…sometimes her thank-yous meant even more than that.

Here, Tabitha placed a hand over her husband's face and caressed his cheek with her thumb, before taking his arm and leading Mason around the room.


Mason hated every second of it, and she knew. He had good reason. Tabitha didn't blame him for feeling strongly about Edgar's presence- his own strained relationship with Drake had some painful similarities to hers, so how could she? Still, he was able to put up with it for her, and she appreciated the effort more than he knew.

“...That’s Jamie Salleck. We went to Yale together after NYA. He was the one with the adult braces.” Tabitha hummed, accepting a glass of Champagne offered to her by a passing waiter. “He used to tell everybody he slept with me, so I took all his information and signed him up for Scientology. I think he actually joined. Poor guy.”


Despite her words, Tabitha chuckled at the memory. Obviously she didn’t feel that bad.





“None of our kids are in his class, of course. He can’t tell his ass from his elbow, he’s for the dumb ones.” She sipped on the bubbly, smiling at Mason. “I made sure the three of them got only the best stuff.”

Two of them were not hers at all, of course, but calling them ‘ours’ was for practicality’s sake. She’d known Mason’s two girls essentially since they’d been born…and it’s not like Ari’s mother was rushing to claim her anyway.


She really tried not to think about that, or she’d just get angry all over again. Tabitha wondered if Adrianne really would show up, or if it was another tactic to get attention. Whatever it was, as long as she stayed far the fuck away from Ari and didn't bother her, Adrianne could drop dead in the middle of the party for all Tabitha cared.




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mood mood mood

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Mason.

tags Winona Winona


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broadway wannabe.





Angela Crosby.
































There she goes
















location

gala






outfit







interactions

nathan, ronnie

















You ever wonder how little your problems compare to everyone else's? Angela often wondered what it was like not to have first-world problems. That’s not to say she was the cliché “social-justice warrior” who fought for every issue in the world – or pretended to be bothered by climate change. Which… was bothersome because it shouldn’t snow during April, but never mind that — there were plenty of children who weren’t fortunate enough to sit comfortably in a limo, she knew she was lucky.

But when was the last time somebody fortunate made something of themselves? Sure, there were a few occurrences, but nobody cares about those stories, those celebrities, because everything was handed to them on a silver platter. In Angela’s eyes, you weren’t anybody if you didn’t work for it.

A star had to be set alight in order to burn.

Veronica Crosby was a multi-millionaire, a pillar in the community of Broadway, film, and a number of charities that made her look like the gullible saint her mother was.

Angela wasn't about to be piggybacking off her success. She had the very dreams of every sixteen-year-old girl — becoming a lead actress on a three-year Broadway show and ending world hunger. Only one of those was possible, she’d forever feel sorry for the starving children, but self-preservation was at the forefront of her mind. She almost accepted nothing from Veronica — at least she tried not to.

She was considered a nobody compared to her mother; to be frank, she was considered nobody compared to anyone at this point. Angela’s interest in the arts had Ronnie set her up auditions at an early age, landing commercial roles and cameos — it was only when she’d gotten older Angela had stopped relying on her mother to do so.

She wanted to become something herself, not at the hand of someone else. Veronica Crosby’s daughter had the same weight of Angelina Jolie’s, the occasional internet article or two comparing their physical likeness. Otherwise? She was the kid in the bandaid commercial with a catchy tune.

Her gaze averted from the many photos that were taken. Every snap of the camera and flash had her blink the spots away, the tables in her vision replaced by dark circles. “Because they have children in litters,” Angie muttered under her breath, a hesitant grin at her mother’s offer of champagne. What was once a freshly manicured set of nails had soon become teal chipped reminders of anxiety that’d built up overnight before the gala.

A school for performing arts, her school. It wasn’t the social aspect that ate at her the longer she thought about it; it was every dwindling second of the future that was awaiting her success.

The sip of rose-colored champagne had her face contort into disgust that was quickly masked the second a suit made eye contact with her, swallowing the drink whole.

Following her mother’s orders, the empty glass of champagne was placed on an unsuspecting waiter’s tray as she began to set the bid sheets for their respective and privileged millionaires. “Please,” a half-laugh escaped her.

“What are we gonna do with Landon Sinclaire’s shoes? Are they trying to pull a Judy Garland?” Angela clicked the ball pen three times to accommodate her wit further. “Could three clicks get me back home?”

Once her mother asked her to help with the auction, Angela couldn’t say no. Of course, she was going to attend anyway — the Crosbys needed to save face, and it was a great opportunity to check out the school before it actually opened. Maybe she’d get the chance to get a first look at the auditorium once the auction was said and done…

She wasn’t the only Crosby distracted; the wandering gaze her mother had since the minute they walked in had Angela convinced of the reason immediately, and a frown inched its way onto her red-painted lips. “I doubt he’s here, Mom.” It didn’t matter if he said he was going to be or not. That man had his many ways of disappointing the people in his life. Especially her mother. If Angela would bid on anything, it’d be against Michael Reid in any form. There were some people who simply deserved to lose.

Sorry, Dad.

Thankfully, before they could get too into the riveting conversation that was her father, somebody’s voice raised and caught their attention.

"Hey, hey, who donated this shit?"

The person in question was none other than Nathan Woods. Did she know him personally? Not well. What she knew about him was what her mother told her, which was the never-ending high school memories Veronica loved to share with her daughters. That, and he was her father’s roommate.

What grown men live with each other in their thirties? … besides the obvious, love is love! However, their predicament was just sad.

Angela shared a glance with her mother at the man’s sudden and seemingly worried intrusion. “I can… I can check, hold on.” A clipboard sat conveniently near the many items she’d consider junk — outside of the replica Twilight apple they’d used for the book covers.

  1. Landon Sinclaire’s loafers worn in Happy Ever After: Donor name: Landon Sinclaire. Value: $2,500
Angela shook her head as her gaze continued down the list. Signed guitar, a replica of an Oscar, inflatable Titanic, the further down the list she went, somehow the worse it got.

“Oh, here we go— custom artwork…” Angela looked up at the painting he was near and back towards the donor name. “It doesn’t say?” The redhead handed the clipboard to her mother as if she’d made an error.

“Is it supposed to be blank?”










 
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Brinley Clairmont


Brinley had spent far too long getting ready. She'd spend several minutes applying makeup, and then wiping it away, just to apply it once again. But there was something, every time, that wasn't quite right, so she continued to try and perfect her makeup until it was time to go.

Her sister was -- of course -- being a brat, and of course, her dad just tried to brush it off, which just made Brin roll her eyes. And once they'd gotten to the actual thing, it took no time at all before Ember was trying to run off, only for their aunt to grab her and bring her back. Before long, the family was moving together for family photos.

“Can you be on the left this time? I have a bruise on my ankle, and my skirt’s not long enough to cover it.” Ember asked, and Brin dramatically rolled her eyes in response.

"Whatever," Brin said, which was the closest that her sister would ever get to a yes.

She shuffled into position, posing next to her dad with a fake smile plastered on her face as they took photo... after photo... after photo, until Brin's cheeks started to hurt with this fake smile. Finally, they were released, and the smile on Brin's face fell away immediately as she broke away from their parents.

Brin started to walk off, not really bothering with goodbyes (they'd undoubtedly see each other again later during this godawful event). She glanced at Ember, who'd for some reason clearly started following after her.

(Really, they'd just started moving in the same direction.)

She wanted to say something to her sister, but she didn't really have anything to say.

And then, Brinley's gaze caught on Viva -- aka her best friend (suck it, Carmen). A genuine smile crossed her face. "Oh thank god," she said -- more to herself, although it could've been taken as also being spoken to Ember. She waved a hand in Viva's direction, waiting until she caught her friend's attention, and then her hesitant smile just grew.

"And I thought I'd be stuck with you the whole time," she mumbled to Ember.




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lvcid lvcid thatonegirl28 thatonegirl28


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Atlas Reddinger





Atlas was all smiles as he watched his little girl appear from her room, all dolled up and ready to go despite the reluctance she had expressed about going for tonight's gala. "You look gorgeous princess." He beamed, proud of how good she made her outfit look. Sure, he didn't have much of an eye for fashion, his own suit had been picked out by Agnes because the snake and cotton patterned shirt he had chosen received a swift and firm rejection, but even a blind man could see how pretty Agnes looked, and without any assistance too. Now imagine her with a proper stylist and professional makeup artist. She would make quite the blushing bride someday. And he was getting ahead of himself again, something that would no doubt earn him an earful if she could hear his thoughts.

"Now we just need to see if there's a fitting Prince Charming to sweep you off your feet at the gala. I might even have to fend them off with a stick with how lovely you look." He teased, knowing full well that would ruffle her feathers a little. Atlas wasn't one of those dad's constantly looking to ship off his little girl so he could wash his hands off her or anything, even if some of his friends and acquaintances believed that to be the case with how keen he was to see her in a relationship. No, he was just curious and nosy, and highly invested in what was happening in his daughter's life. He couldn't help it. She was his little pride and joy and had been from the very moment he first learned of her existence. His shortcomings had contributed to her mother Daphne walking out on them when she was young and compared to those she would be calling her classmates, he didn't earn anywhere near as much. His savings were like a drop in the ocean next to them and the same could be said of their cozy and slightly overcrowded home, but she had blossomed all the same into a wonderful young girl and he couldn't wait to show off his little treasure to the other parents at the gala.

"Let's go Agnes, we don't want to be too late and miss all the action." Atlas ushered her out the door to the family car, an old but respectable BMW he had bought when Agnes was a little girl because well, he had been banned by his sisters and Daphne at the time, from ferrying her around on his motorbike. He hadn't been able to contribute anything to it, but Atlas was curious about the auction, the highlight of the gala. It would be fun to see what people had put up and the going price, especially as someone who was part of yet also somewhat on the periphery of the glamorous world of Hollywood. Not that it bothered him, if anything he enjoyed the level of freedom it allowed him to maintain. God knows if he had been half as famous as some of his friends or their other halves, he would have been eaten alive under the scrutiny of the public with child endangerment no doubt somewhere near the top of the list of crimes they would crucify him for. In his defense, Agnes had grown up perfectly fine and all children benefitted from falling down and learning how to pick themselves up after. He couldn't coddle her forever and as much as he was a father, he was also a young man with his own life. It was part of the reason why he didn't judge Daphne for her decision to leave them all those years ago.

Atlas pushed the thoughts that followed out of his mind as they drove down the road to the gala, bobbing his head and singing along, half out of tune, to the songs blasting on the radio.

***********************
The gala was as fancy and perfectly put together as one might imagine. Like most parties he had the pleasure of attending. Atlas only had his mind on one thing though. Where were the drinks. It was the most important question at any event and one he soon found the answer to, grinning as he spotted the fancy champagne flutes, some filled with wine, some with juice. Wasn't brandy but he would be helping himself to a glass shortly and checking with one of the servers to see if they had any in stock.

"Do you see any of your friends around Agnes?" He asked as he surveyed the youngsters in the room, some of whom he recognised and could put a name or two to. "Why don't we say hi together before I get out of your hair and let you kids enjoy the night?"

"Better yet," he started slowly, a cheeky smile playing on his lips, "if you see a boy that strikes your fancy I can stick around a little longer and be your wingman. I've picked up plenty of skills from my time at the bar."





mood
primed and ready to be his daughter's wingman

location
Charity Gala

outfit
classic all black suit





playing...
blank

by blank​




mentions
na

interactions
Agnes

tags
sailormewn sailormewn


º º code by ditto º º
 
MOOD: mood

OUTFIT: clothes

LOCATION: location
basics
MENTIONS:
Soap Soap Winona Winona

INT:
Angie, Nate
tags
TL;DR no
tl;dr
Veronica Crosby
In the crowd, the music's loud, but I'll find you!
Ronnie cocked a brow at the sight of what was, in fact, a pair of shoes Landon Sinclaire had worn once. Whoever would come to own those shoes would be either a film freak or another special brand of freak Ronnie, if anyone, could understand. "Oh, sweetheart, we can only hope for a 'Judy Garland' now. If three clicks could take us home, I'd have clicked my heels ages ago."

With that, the often-smiling actress drew a sigh. Though she did not acknowledge her daughter's words, she knew Angie was seldom wrong. Michael Reid had a history of letting people down, a fact that was painfully clear to both of them. Still, a part of her held onto her hope, foolish though it might be. She couldn't shake the memories of their rocky past together, and she had always been one to give people too many chances.

As they set up the auction, Ronnie couldn't help but notice how grown-up Angela seemed. She had always been eager to act like an adult, often stepping in to help without being asked, and it had only intensified as she got older. Ronnie relied on her daughter's resilience and sharp mind more than she cared to admit.

"Thanks for being here with me, Angie," she said softly, brimming with affection. "I couldn’t do this without..."

Nate's approach was the interruption that the girls' more solemn conversation needed, rousing Angela's quick wit to check the donation records. Despite Nate's unceremonious lack of a greeting, Ronnie was sure to kick her usual giggly politeness into gear. "Well, hey there, you!" she chirped through her movie star smile, biting her tongue just in time to avoid the question of whether the mercurial father of her children was still living with him.

Her eyes widened as Angela placed the clipboard in her hands. "Blank?" She glanced at the painting Nathan was so worked up about. It was a stunning piece, one of the watercolor landscapes Nathan Woods had once made his trademark. "Let me take a look," she murmured, scanning the list again, her brows furrowing after a few moments. "I'm sorry Nate, but I'm afraid your artwork was donated anonymously. Whoever they are, I wish I could thank them for handing off such a gorgeous piece. Like, seriously!"

She exchanged a glance with Angela, who was still looking puzzled. "Angela, honey, should we check with the organizers? Maybe there's been a mix-up."

Ronnie handed the clipboard to Nate for his own observation, holding up an impenetrably chipper grin. She hadn't seen the artist in years, and the occasion of their reunion had stirred an anxiety in Ronnie she had thought lost to high school. He was still the brooding, slightly unpredictable artist she had once watched from afar.

Ronnie felt a pang of sympathy. Nathan had always been a bit of a tortured soul, and it seemed like life hadn’t gotten any easier for him. "We'll get to the bottom of this," she assured him with pity, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "Why do you think someone would donate your painting without your knowledge?" she asked, genuinely curious.
code by valen t.
 
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