Realistic or Modern 𝙓𝙊𝙓𝙊, 𝒂 𝒈𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒑 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍 𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒆𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚 — 𝙞𝙣 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧

kevin · Mar 4, 2025

XOXO

GOSSIP GIRL: THE GALA

♡coded by uxie♡

.
.

intro

party 4 u

charli xcx

welcome back.

T
he crisp autumn air settled over Manhattan as the golden morning sun bathed Westhaven University in a warm glow. The season’s first fallen leaves, a mix of deep oranges, burnt reds, and golden yellows, danced along the stone pathways, carried by a gentle breeze. The university’s grand, ivy-clad buildings loomed elegantly against the clear blue sky. The bell tower chimed ten times, cutting through the morning chatter and signaling the latecomers to hurry into the building for a speech held by the university's president. Students bustled across the courtyard, some moving with urgency, others lazily dragging their feet, clutching overpriced lattes from the campus café. The scent of roasted coffee beans mixed with the earthy aroma of autumn, created the distinct fragrance of a new school year. Professors, clad in tailored suits and cashmere scarves, engaged in hushed conversations, their eyes scanning over eager freshmen and returning students alike. Groups of friends reunited with air kisses and feigned surprise, their designer bags swinging from their arms as they exchanged stories of their summer escapades.

Black SUVs, limos and sleek European cars pulled up along the cobblestone driveway, dropping off students from the most prestigious families who wouldn't dare take the public transportation system with Claire Vanderbilt, Westhaven’s long reigning Queen Bee, being one of them. The sleek black Rolls-Royce that carried her to campus idled momentarily before a uniformed chauffeur stepped out to open the door, revealing her poised frame as she stepped onto the pavement in designer stilettos. The first day was never just about academics—it was about reestablishing social hierarchy, setting the tone for the semester, and, most importantly, making an entrance. And no entrance would be more defining than the highly anticipated Westhaven Welcome Gala, hosted by none other than Claire Vanderbilt herself.

Westhaven Welcome Gala — 7:00 PM

As night descends over Manhattan, the air grew cooler, crisp with the promise of autumn’s full arrival. The Westhaven Welcome Gala, an annual tradition, was set in the grand ballroom of the exclusive Vanderbilt Hotel, a dazzling landmark owned by Claire’s family. The venue, adorned with towering crystal chandeliers and intricate gold detailing, gleamed under the soft candlelit ambiance. Every surface, from the polished marble floors to the champagne-fluted balconies overlooking the city skyline, exuded an air of opulence befitting the Vanderbilt name. Guests arrived in chauffeur-driven town cars and sleek sports vehicles, stepping onto a velvet-lined entrance that stretched across the hotel’s grand exterior. Paparazzi weren’t technically allowed, but a few strategically placed photographers—handpicked by Claire’s team—captured the arrivals, ensuring only the most flattering angles were immortalized. The theme of the night, ‘High-Class Luxury,’ was interpreted through a sea of tailored suits, couture gowns, and vintage jewelry worth more than most people’s tuition. Diamonds glitter under the crystal lighting, silk and velvet trailed along the floors, and the faint scent of expensive cologne and floral perfumes lingered in the air.

A string quartet played an elegant melody as servers in crisp white gloves circulated with trays of champagne, caviar canapés, and truffle-infused hors d’oeuvres. Conversations buzzed in hushed yet animated tones—alliances being forged, rivalries being reignited, and rumors being whispered behind perfectly glossed lips. Claire Vanderbilt, in a show-stopping black and gold gown, stood at the center of it all, the orchestrator of the evening’s affairs. With a champagne flute in one hand and an air of effortless control, she greeted guests with the kind of practiced charm that concealed her more calculating intentions.

The night would unfold with whispered secrets, stolen glances, and veiled threats wrapped in the sweetness of compliments. Champagne would flow endlessly, and by the time the clock struck midnight, the power plays of the semester would be well underway. Gossip Girl is lurking in the shadows, ready to set off her first post of the year, because at Westhaven, the school year didn’t truly begin in the lecture halls—it began at the gala, where reputations were made, alliances were tested, and the game of social supremacy was set into motion once more.
cast

cast.

Aidan Noi

played by

Stardust Galaxy // The King Bee

Ajay Mishra

played by

honeycoves // The Newbie

Amore Agnelli

played by

-ferret- // The King Bee's Lapdog

Claire Vanderbilt

played by

kevin // The Queen Bee

Dexter Zhuang

played by

sox // The Lothario

Eleanor Cartwright

played by

minajesty // The Queen Bee's Lapdog

Eshe Kamau

played by

comfortable // The Heiress

Lee Misook

played by

Nifty // The Socialite

Marquis Stivali

played by

606 // The Troublemaker

Romy Presley

played by

honeycoves // The Golden Child

Xiomara Muerte

played by

sunshineysoul // The Charity Case

intro

cast

XOXO,

𝒂 𝒈𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒑 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍

𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒆𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚

time

10:00 AM

date

Monday, September 2nd 2024

location

Westhaven University

status

CLOSED

cs

ooc

♡coded by uxie♡

sunshineysoul · Mar 7, 2025

xiomara muerte

the charity case.

mood.

panicked, but only a little

location

her apartment

outfit

xio's most recent work of art

interactions

N/A

mentions

amore (ferret)

what i'm trying to say is not to forget, you see only the good selective memory. the way he makes me feel like i never seemed to act so stupid. he's a part of me now, so where he goes i follow. i can't remember to forget you, i keep forgetting i should let you go.

West Haven Welcome Gala

Returning to Manhattan to West Haven came with an unexpected but welcome familiar feeling. Beginning her second year, Xiomara Muerte had somewhat come around to enjoy her time at West Haven. Her first year was a massive learning curve, not only adjusting to her new way of life in the Northeast coast, but also proving that she had what it took to run with the “rich kids”. Xio’s high school years were filled with a similar set of circumstances, her being one of the poorer students that the wealthier students seemed to stomp over. And still, Xiomara never failed to come out on top; whether it was putting herself in better social standing by the end of a scandal, or simply burying whoever crossed her into the ground; Xiomara truly gave all of those “rich bitches” (as she often called them while in high school) the middle finger as she graduated as El Paso High School’s Valedictorian for the class of 2023.

But West Haven was a completely different ballgame. It wasn’t even a ball game, it was truly a game of chess; or maybe something that required more strategy and planning than chess. At West Haven, everyone was rich. And not just El Paso, Texas rich; which meant you got a brand new Jeep or Ford for your 16th birthday, custom cowboy boots every year, and more than enough of those chunk silver western rings to last a lifetime and then some. But Manhattan, New York rich? It was all old money, legacies passed down from the 1800s, the exact textbook definition of the silver spoon.

And the “best’ part? Nobody knew Xio didn’t belong within their ranks. Sure, on some kind of morally correct technicalities, she “belonged” at West Haven. She was a stellar student, with a drive to work hard like nobody’s business; specifically to start her own fashion line, West Haven seemed like the perfect place to make her dream happen.

Xio’s first year, she succeeded in flying under the radar, which is never too hard for a freshman at any school; just know your place and blend in, and Xiomara had done exactly that. She kept her head down, made nice with just about everyone, and never let anyone see that she actually used the on-campus dorm that was offered to her.

“I can’t believe they offer FREE housing at this school, and everyone’s too proud to use it,” She spoke out loud to her perfectly empty, but brand new, penthouse apartment. As soon as Xio caught on that nobody else actually slept in the on-campus dorms, she did everything in her power to avoid letting anyone “come over”, and made plans to save up and rent out a luxury apartment for the rest of her time at West Haven. However, her and her mother’s connections within the Cartel were more than enough to take care of her lodging at the wonderfully cheap rate of discounted drugs.

Xiomara hated how her mother and herself were still so deeply entrenched in the Cartel, even having earned word-play based nicknames from their family name, Muerte. But, her enraged feelings about keeping secrets from her father were constantly shoved down and bottled up; she knew how much the Cartel benefitted them, how much it helped her in her plan of starting a clothing line. So she did as she had always done, which is: use the circumstances to her advantage. Hence, her fantastic penthouse.

Located only about a ten minute walk away from campus, Xio flew through her first day of classes. Reuniting with old friends, teachers, learning now how to play this game of imposter and what it looked like for a second year. Now that she was known, she was earning a reputation, and she had to do her best to control that narrative however she could. It would be harder to just keep her head down and do nothing, which is why everything now revolved around the welcome ball.

Truth be told, the first step of her plan was simple enough, wear one of her own dresses. While most of the other West Haven students would no doubt be having their suits and gowns custom made from the most elite selection of designers, Xiomara figured the best way to appear somewhat boring or “old news” was to wear a dress she made herself. Xio had picked up quite a large portion of her own mother’s handiwork with needle and thread, and had been making her own clothes since she was in high school. Some days she gifted projects to friends, other times she sold spare pieces. It took her quite some time before she settled on her own style, priding herself in her needlework; both embroidered and beaded.

The specific dress she had in mind, she had just finished a few days before West Haven’s new school year. It was a deep red, almost crimson, in shade. Having sewn black tulle over the red silk, Xiomara was proud of the shifting shades throughout the dress as the tulle would shape her movements. Of course it was a more form-fitting dress, Xiomara never having been one to shy away from showing off every curve and slope of her body. However her favorite part of her recent masterpiece was the beadwork of it; she had worked meticulously to bead not only several flowers throughout the dress, but also countless small gems to add a glittering aspect to the gown.

Xio had spent much time simply staring at it as it hung up in her workspace, in awe of her own work. But today was the day she actually got to adorn her masterpiece and show West Haven the physical work that she was capable of.

Thankfully, Xio knew she would not be heading into the gala alone, that evening. Despite wanting to keep her head down all four years, Xiomara couldn’t help having made friends and acquaintances throughout her first year as West Haven. One such friendship had been proving to be the closest one she had made in several years. While many may believe the two to be an unlikely and unexpected pair, Amore Agnelli and Xiomara had found themselves to be fast friends. Meeting throughout their various school outings, Xiomara had come to enjoy Amore’s company more than most. Xio may struggle to admit it, but she truly considered Amore her closest and dearest friend at West Haven.

So she was all the more grateful when the two had made plans to arrive at the welcome gala together, both beginning their second year. As Xio stood in her apartment, staring at her array of accessories to pair with her stunning dress, she felt paralyzed by choice. Yes, Xio could design clothes, that was simple enough; make a singular gorgeous work of art. But putting together an actual ensemble? Xio lacked the skill and the eye required for upscale outfits.

“Shocker, the poor girl doesn’t know how to style a gala outfit,” Xio muttered to herself as she searched for her phone. After snapping a quick picture of her dress, she immediately began texted Amore;

To: A. Agnelli
“I’m floundering here, what’s the vision with this dress?”

Quickly hitting send, knowing Amore would be able to help, she figured the best thing she could do until his response was wait.

Of course that wasn’t what Xio would be doing. She would be pouring over social media, trying to find as many of her fellow gala attendees to see if they had posted any sneak peaks of their outfits; if anyone was trying to post tips for their adoring fans on how to style a red carpet look, or even if anyone had already begun heading to the gala.

“Shit, what time is it?” Xio’s attention was quickly brought to the time, realizing just how late it was by how the sun had begun to dip in the sky. Hopefully Amore would respond sooner rather than later.

it's hot and sweet...

i keep forgetting i should let you go.

♡coded by uxie♡

sox · Mar 8, 2025

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dexter zhuang

// the lothario

S

eldom spotted unaccompanied by a handful of dazzling dime pieces, undeniably infamous for painting the perfect picture of a shameless casanova terrorizing the streets of westhaven, a notoriously frivolous dexter zhuang could never pass up the opportunity to drink in a beautiful, novel view, sneaking into hazardous, restricted areas of interest and venturing past the straight and narrow to find out for himself just how deeply his beloved city had become saturated with the staining undertones of humanity.

for the young lothario steeped in adrenaline rushes and lingering touches believed beyond a shadow of a doubt that if those very colors could speak— could sing and scream and weep in defeat— they'd have uttered recollections of the most fundamental experiences over the years to have molded his core identity into the private, self-assured man of the present, painstakingly pieced together by each muted hue of the past...

— 2011.12.04.

pristine, infallible silver, frigid planes glinting in the flickering light overhead— the color of stainless steel smith and wesson handcuffs clasped around his inebriated father's dry, trembling wrists, the damning seal to his fate behind bars for the foreseeable future; of chrome bolts on the rickety front door granting them an ounce of safety at last, securing their long island home against the violent debtors seeking out that drunkard; of aluminum utensils scraping against dinner plates amidst sweet silence, a testament to the peace granted to them by the gambinos as one of their commission members who'd facilitated their escape relentlessly courted the newfound single mother on the sly.

"huiying, baby, do you see any honor in that family?"

jackie had drawled at the time, leisurely sipping on her cuban cigar beneath the starry midnight sky to a barely-teen melody who'd naively suggested becoming made members of the mob.

"loyalty? respect? maybe at one point they might've cared to embody the principles they were founded on, but all that's left now is selfishness and greed."

— 2016.05.21.

crackling, disorienting static, splotches of blinding lights peppering the abyssal void— the color of monochromatic television snow, ever-present white noise against the backdrop of thunder and freezing rain barraging their blockaded windows; of unfettered gunshots rattling his young eardrums down the street from the local convenience store, caught in the crossfire of a deadly exchange with one of their fellow associates on his way home from basketball practice; of searing pain compromising patches of his vision, a trauma-induced migraine banging against the walls of his skull after sobbing endlessly in the wake of that gruesome scene.

"the rules... ha, what rules? they break their own rules on a daily basis. money is more important to la cosa nostra than any code,"

she had seethed through gritted teeth as she tucked him into her tight embrace, massaging his head with her calloused thumbs until the ache gradually subsided.

"that's why we created our own rules to follow, lingyun— you, me, and your sisters. the four of us, always."

— 2021.07.18.

stark, velvety crimson, rich and decadent in its splendor and danger alike— the color of the soles beneath jackie's luxurious louboutin heels after successfully cinching another deal with the secret service, clacking along the cement floor of their private parking garage with her ostensibly obedient children in tow; of stray, innocuous dots of opaque, unnamed liquid speckled across his silk handkerchief, his gentle soul remaining the only one amongst his siblings privy to the tales of harrowing escapades they told; of the simmering embers of spite that motivated her to drill the same zero-tolerance mantra into her next of kin, a code guiding tenets through which she would protect them from their own hubris.

"recite them after me, all three of you,"

she had commanded arbitrarily in the midst of re-applying a wine-like shade of plumping gloss to her delicately lined lips.

"you too, meixia— we don't cheat. we don't run our mouths. we don't gamble..."

"we don't take lives. we don't handle explosives. we don't deal drugs."

"we don't hurt animals. we don't hurt children. we don't hurt family."

"we don't trust the law, or the benevolence of god, or the goodwill of the streets."

"we earn our pride. we mind our footprint. we settle our debts."

"we reject false personas and reflect authenticity, and in the end..."

— 2024.09.02.

"we'll have deserved every last drop."

dexter murmured the final affirmation under his breath like a blasphemous prayer as he arrived at the familiar westhaven campus for the first day of syllabus week in an armored mercedes-maybach, a time-tested ritual completed with the gentle press of his lips against the heirloom pendant that perpetually dangled around his neck.

cloudy, durable jade, a traditional reassurance of his intrinsic connection to the world and all those who resided within it— the color of stabilizing stone encased in an intricate gold setting that once belonged to his seamstress grandmother, the true origin and foundation of their overdue prosperity.

and prosperity it was, no one would dare contest. over the last decade and a half, the mastermind of ZJ fashion house had subtly swapped out her budding local clientele for affluent bigshots across every corner of the continent, from foreign ambassadors and paranoid politicians to dazzling superstars and incognito underbosses.

innovative, technological giants masquerading as a fashion line in the underbelly of manhattan's operational and social spheres, their influence was of the exclusive kind, as unspoken of in day-to-day circles as it was undeniable to acknowledge. those who held the privilege of staying on their pr list could consider themselves to be true insiders of the upper east side, for a genuine connection with the elusive jackie zhuang was worth far more than any brand deal or stock investment could ever hope to offer.

"so he lives, after all."

a chorus of conspiratorial giggles greeted dexter as he plopped down in the middle row of his statistical inference course, one of the core classes for his actuarial science degree that he'd admittedly been looking forward to as a lifelong math enthusiast. as soon as his designer bag hit the desk beside some of the familiar girls in his program, a lanky pair of thin, perfumed arms snaked around his neck from behind, draping across his torso as she tapped on the face of his rolex.

"i'd placed my bets on you not showing up 'til after lunch— shame."

"and here i thought you of all people would have faith in my punctuality,"

dexter drawled in amused disbelief with a click of his tongue.

"you wound me, celeste. i knew i should've taken your sister to that LV event instead after all."

celeste didn't hesitate to pinch the skin of his bicep between her razor-sharp acrylics, eliciting a sharp hiss from the zhuang boy.

"she's married now, lover-boy— oh, don't look too surprised. that's the kind of news you miss when you spend the whole summer prancing around the west coast, babes."

a pout tugged on her lower lip as she plopped down in his lap, fixing his tousled collar as an excuse to fuss over him.

"seriously, you should've taken me with you. you can't forget next time, okay?"

"not a chance, doll. i'll take you somewhere even better."

just like that, dexter fell back into the turbulent swing of campus life like he'd never departed at all, dapping up friendly faces and staunchly ignoring the insufferable ones as he diligently attended his lectures, and before long the time had arrived to begin preparations for the welcome gala hosted by none other than the illustrious claire vanderbilt herself.

dressed in a custom obsidian black suit with detailed gold accents embroidered across its tailored waist and along the borders of its open back— an unreleased ZJ design making its debut at tonight's event— paired with gleaming dress shoes, vintage leather gloves, and a myriad of expensive jewelry, the immaculately styled lothario parked outside of his date's front door and leaned against the side of his wine red '67 mustang with a hand-picked flower arrangement and a concealed holster to patiently await her arrival.

when his dear friend eshe finally graced his field of vision with her glamorous presence, the shimmering golden pleats of her dress hugging her curves with every step, dexter forced himself to snap out of his awe-struck stupor to courteously escort her to the car, scooping up her manicured hand to brush a polite kiss against her knuckles before opening the passenger door on her behalf.

"what a view... good evening, love,"

he greeted with a low whistle and an appreciative once-over of her exquisite fit.

"you always look like a goddess, but just... wow— who knew i'd be bringing the night's centerpiece as my partner?"

energy.

mood.
"as predicted— getting to see eshe glammed up like this makes the next few hours of elitism well worth it."

mindset
outfit.
→ black and gold, complementing his date's gown.
location.
eshe's front door, soon-to-be en route to the westhaven welcome gala.

setting
interactions.
→ eshe kamao.

mentions

mind

set.

sett

ing.

men

tions.

mob. //

kal banx, sir.

Stardust Galaxy · Mar 11, 2025

aidan noi

king bee

Being back in Westhaven only meant one thing to Aidan: a new game of chess had started, one where he knew he would come victorious no matter what, where he would move all the pieces to the right places orchestrating to perfection everything he had in mind, and just the thought of it made him feel eager to see how everyone bent to him and how he was admired in the eyes of an outsider.

If there was something that Aidan loved it was power and his status at Westhaven proved that sure the methods to get to where he was could have been a bit controversial for some people, who would have deemed him as ruthless but when the world was ruled under the to eat or to be eaten mentality, why would he have to play the companionship game, when he could rule on his own? Something he knew from a young age was his call and something that Westhaven was just proving to be right, even in a new year.

But not every beginning could start without the Welcome Gala, an event where the socialite reunited with the excuse to celebrate the new year, in reality, it was just meant to showcase the lifestyle of the families of the students of Westhaven, to enhance the differences between each other and to settle who was at the top of the food chain in this world.

And Aidan Noi couldn’t say no to an opportunity like this one, dressed up in the finest fabrics that would leave anyone speechless, knowing that the moment he stepped a foot into the gala he would be commanding everything just like he was supposed to do, all thanks and unfortunately to his demise to the Zhuang family, but weren’t you supposed to keep your friends close, but your enemies closer and Aidan could reassure that Dexter was none other than an entity that he despised and knew that the sentiment was mutual, but still they were obligated to be part of each other’s life until this day

Maybe that night was meant to be full of surprises. Only time will tell, but one thing was sure: Aidan would end up being the one looking forward to his presence that night, well, obviously next to the only Claire Vanderbilt.

mood:excited

outfit: here

location:gala

tags: open

coded by Stardust Galaxy

comfortable · Mar 12, 2025

ESHE KAMAU

.
incoming message!
Mood Happy to be with a friend Location Gala event
mentions
dexter zhuang & claire vanderbilt

outfit

𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒

Eshe’s heels clicked in perfect rhythm against the pavement, the cool afternoon air tousling her hair in every direction but the right one. She barely noticed, too focused on her phone in one hand and the iced coffee in the other. She had a mission.

Navigating the city came effortlessly—confident strides, an artful dodge between slow walkers, her bag tucked neatly beneath her arm. Even as she stood at the crosswalk, her eyes never lifted from the screen. She hadn't planned to attend the gala tonight. She had been so sure of it. So sure she had forgotten her promise.

She had almost forgotten she had let Mr. Casanova himself wear her down—until Dexter’s text popped up on her screen, reminding her of the promise she had made in a moment of weakness.If her father found out she skipped Claire’s event, he would no doubt launch into one of his infamous, drawn-out lectures about duty and the family name. But with every second that passed, she cared less. Maybe it was summer still lingering in her system.

But the Summer had been hers. A whirlwind of solo jet-setting, white sand beaches, and pornstar martinis. She had learned how to dodge the cameras in New York, had slipped through an entire season without a single headline to her name. The idea of returning to Morocco, of being paraded around as the perfect daughter, the perfect wife-in-training, made her stomach turn. Another gust of wind whispered past, and she smiled.

Finally.

She found him—the designer she knew wouldn’t dare refuse her request. It was last minute, yes, but she could be persuasive. With swift fingers, she fired off a text, took a slow sip of coffee, and lifted her head for the first time since leaving campus. The sun had threaded its way through the towering skyline, draping the city in golden warmth. She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and steeled herself.

𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐃𝐀𝐘

Eshe’s loft was alive with movement, filled to the brim with strangers. Music pulsed through the space, blending with the low hum of conversation. She sat still, eyes closed, as a makeup artist dusted something soft over her cheeks. Behind her, a hairstylist fussed over what Eshe assumed were non-existent imperfections. Across the room, the designer crouched on the floor, making last-minute adjustments to the gown that had consumed the last few hours of their lives.

Her body ached from holding still too long. She stretched, rolling her shoulders before striding toward the designer. Before she could speak, he beat her to it.

“It’s ready!”

He stood quickly, a light sheen of sweat on his brow, sewing needles still pinned haphazardly to his shirt. The moment the assistants slipped the gown over her frame, a shiver ran down her spine as cool metal met warm skin. She lifted her arms, allowing the designer to lace the corset, the structured chest piece molding seamlessly against her like an extension of her own body.

Fifteen minutes later, every strand of hair was in place, her skin glowed like molten gold, and the gown shimmered with every movement. The night had barely begun, and already she was transformed.

The autumn air met her as she stepped outside.

Her eyes found Dexter like a magnet as he leaned against his dark cherry Mustang with practiced ease, the streetlights casting sultry shadows over the sharp angles of his suit. Even Eros himself would envy the gilded flattery that poured out of his mouth, but Eshe? She was no mere mortal to fall at his feet.

Her eyes flickered to the car, a slow smirk curling her lips. “The Mustang looks exceptional tonight,” she mused, voice laced with mischief. Slipping into the space between him and the open car door, she let her fingers drift over the lapels of his jacket, savoring the buttery softness beneath her touch. Her praise, silent passed between them, a conversation spoken only through fingertips, the way he had taught her.

“As always, you clean up quite nicely.” Her gaze didn’t stray from his before she rolled her eyes at his inevitable flattery, her hand folded over his to slip the dark flower bouquet from his hands. The arrangement was bold—dusky blue and slate-gray blooms tangled with golden flowers, their warmth cutting through the cool tones. Before she could comment on the gift, rolled her eyes playfully smacking his chest before sliding into the car.

“Well then,” she purred, a wicked glint in her eye. “Let’s hurry up and get this ‘goddess’ and her most devoted acolyte a drink. We have a long night ahead of us.”

The city blurred past them, neon lights streaking together as the Mustang hummed through the streets. The air, crisp yet mild, drifted through the open windows. Eshe, lost in thought, stared out at the skyline, the soft rhythm of Dexter’s playlist melting into the background.
But as they neared the gala, the peace shattered.

The Vanderbilt Hotel loomed ahead, golden light spilling from its many windows, the entrance bustling with press, valet attendants, and guests dripping in wealth. A uniformed man pulled open her door, his polite smile met with nothing but her cool stare. Eshe stepped out, linking her arm through Dexter’s. “Straight into the lion’s den, darling?”

Together, they moved like a force of nature—his gilded suit details echoing the metallic sheen of her gown. It was almost as if they had coordinated for months. In reality, she had simply texted him five hours before the event: 'Wear gold.' And, as always, Dexter had understood the assignment.

The Vanderbilt had been transformed into what could only be described as a dragon’s hoard—every inch of the venue glowed, dripping in excess yet somehow managing to remain tasteful. Eshe let go of Dexter’s arm, letting her gaze sweep over the opulence before them.

A waiter passed, and she effortlessly plucked two flutes of champagne from his tray, handing one to Dex. “I feel like we should have a safe word,” she mused, taking a slow sip. “You know, just in case.” Her eyes flicked over the crowd—strangers, acquaintances, threats hidden beneath polished smiles.

She took another sip, then smirked. “How about: ‘My eyes hurt, I’m already getting a migraine, and I need something stronger than champagne’?” She met his gaze, amusement dancing in her expression. “Your choice, truthfully. But first—shall we pay our respects to our gracious host?”

/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

honeycoves · Wednesday at 3:13 AM

Ajay Mishra

filler

home (filler tab)
mood

Hella nervous

filler
outfit
click

filler
location

The Vanderbilt Hotel: Welcome Gala

filler
interactions

Open

filler
tags

@ user

filler
home (filler tab)

Mac Miller

Small Worlds

Westhaven Campus
Ajay's leg bounced nervously as he sat in the hall of the administration building, clutching a white envelope in his hands as tightly as he could. Advising on the first day wasn't exactly traditional for most institutions, unless there was a disaster with your schedule and you were desperate to get your hands on a permission number, but he had had a hell of a time trying to get in contact with the transfer student advising office over the summer. It was only a week ago that someone finally got back to him, saying they could schedule him an appointment for that morning— forcing him to question if he'd even be able to show up to the president's speech. He his best to calm his mind, allowing his eyes to wander around the hall. He was seated on a chair that felt overstuffed under his ass, as though he was one of the first people to ever sit on it. He was the only person present, except for a receptionist who had barely looked at him since he checked in with her, the sound of her nails clacking on her keyboard the only sound to fill the room. Despite being a waiting room, devoid of people, it was far from the shabbiness he expected from such a space. It was grand, beautiful, just like practically everything on the Upper East Side appeared to be.

"Ay-jay?" A woman opened her door, beckoning him. She must've been Ms. Cagle. He rose to his feet, extending his hand out to her for a handshake.

"U-uh, actually ma'am, it's Ajay,"

He corrected with a bashful smile as his free hand closed around hers. Something flashed across the woman's face and he was suddenly aware of how sweaty and cold his hands were. She directed him to an oversized, white pleather armchair that hurt his butt a little less than the chair out in the hall.

"So, Ajay, you said in your email you wanted to discuss something about your transfer credits?" She asked, peering at him from behind thick, square-rimmed glasses. She held a pencil with both hands, turning it slightly between her fingers.

"Um, yes ma'am,"

He answered, scooching forward to the edge of his seat.

"Y-you see, when my transfer application was accepted, I was told that only my general education credits would transfer. On my student portal, I noticed that my Intro to Circuits Lab is listed. A-and I don't mean to complain, miss, but I didn't exactly get a good grade in it a-and I was wondering if there was anything that could be done about it— if it can't be dropped from my transcript, m-maybe I could do a credit replacement where if I get a better grade it replaces it?"

"Ok, sweetheart, just give me one second." Ms. Cagle gave a slightly impatient huff, immediately turning to her computer to presumably pull up his student file. She swept her frizzy bangs out of her eyes, showing the 80s-ish teal and purple eyeshadow that caked her lids. He wondered for a moment if she was just an enthusiast of the era, or if she was older than she appeared. She fixed her dark eyes on him, her lips pressed together in a thin line. "I'm sorry, honey, but there's nothing I can do for you. Unless there are extenuating circumstances—"

"There are extenuating circumstances!"

Ajay interrupted, though he really hadn't meant to.

"S-sorry. There are extenuating circumstances. Here,"

He presented Cagle with the envelope he had been holding onto.

"It's a letter, from my therapist, Dr. Arbury. Her, uh, number is on the envelope. She said she'd be happy to talk about that semester with Westhaven for me..."

He sucked on his bottom lip, anxiously rubbing his palms on his jeans.

Cagle moved her glasses to the tip of her nose, holding the envelope away from herself as she carefully examined the sender line. Then, her arms quickly collapsed into a fold atop her desk. "Alright, darling, here's what I can do for you. I can submit this to the Dean of Students as an appeal to get your Circuits grade dropped from your transcripts here. I cannot promise you that it will get approved. We don't usually do that sort of thing, we have standards to uphold."

He nodded.

"Yes ma'am, I completely understand. Thank you."

Cagle turned back to her computer and began typing, pushing her glasses up on the bridge of her nose. "Okay, sugar. I'll get started on sending this to the Dean, and you should have a ticket in your email as soon as the appeal is opened. Alright?" She glanced at him. Ajay nodded again. "Okay, hon, now if there's nothing else I can do for you I've got another appointment waiting."

He nodded for a third time and stood up.

"Yes ma'am. I appreciate your help. Thank you."

He left her office to find the hallway just as devoid as it had been 10 minutes ago. She probably lied to get rid of him.

With the appointment taking less time than he had mentally accounted for, Ajay took the spare time to explore campus. He stopped at a cafe in the business building— normally he would have no business being there(haha)— for a triple blonde espresso, the sips going down smoothly and making him feel more like a human with each taste. As he wandered around, he silently thanked himself for having the forethought to bring his camera to campus with him. He wasn't necessarily going to need it— a freshman-ish engineering student had no use for a camera, especially not on the first day. But the buildings of campus... They were just so beautiful. It felt out of place in the urban landscape that was New York City, instead resembling something more quaint, only small compared to the skyscrapers and high-rises he was familiar with.

The ivy laden brick whispered of history, with dirt that couldn't be scrubbed from the walls without damaging the picturesque greenery that clung to it. Statues were dedicated to people he'd never heard of, sharing names with the buildings they stood outside of. A large bell tower with a copper bell stood erect in the center of campus with a large, antique clock face on all sides, like a watchful eye observing the happenings of Westhaven. Small blades of grass peaked out between the stone brick pavement, the last signs of the green summer that was coming to pass. He carefully slid his camera bag from his shoulder, pulling out the Nikon his mom had purchased for him second-hand shortly before he went to rehab.

He shot just about everything he could— buildings, people nature— filling his memory card with ease. His favorite one of the morning was a shot of the bell, the sunlight bouncing off of what he could only assume was a fresh coat of polish, the bell tilted, primed for a ring, just before the clapper had hit the sound bow. When the final ring of the bell had struck, signifying the last minutes before the president's speech, he pulled his lens away from his face and turned over his shoulder. He was just in time to watch a Rolls-Royce drive up and one of the only faces he'd ever recognize on this campus stepped out: Claire Vanderbilt. Her heels clicked likely on the pavement, her golden hair cascaded down her shoulders, her eyes catching the light so well he could tell they were blue even from where he stood.

He didn't know Claire Vanderbilt. They'd never met and he was certain he'd never be a blip on her radar. He was insignificant, even now with the chance to step into the high society that she seemed to rule with an iron fist. But he knew of her. As much as he was embarrassed to admit it, he had found some sort of solace in the gossip of the Upper East around the time he was in early high school. Reading the columns that speculated about the troubles of the rich from an unpurchased magazine at the corner store had given him precious minutes away from home, reminding him that even wealthy people had problems. Maybe not the same kind of problems he had, but problems nonetheless. And it meant he wasn't alone.

Claire's name had made itself present on several occasions, her picture plastered on entertainment zines. She always looked perfect, flawless. He always assumed they were highly edited, but seeing her across the courtyard refuted any such suspicion. If the gossip magazines hadn't already given him the impression of it, her perfection in this moment solidified her as an untouchable figure of mythic proportions. Ajay watched her as she walked away, knowing he'd never be like her. He'd never be one of them.

The Vanderbilt Hotel
The feeling that he was out of place didn't exactly remedy for Ajay when he pulled up to the Vanderbilt Hotel. He flipped up the visor on his helmet to ask the valet a question about parking, where he was informed most people used a driver service but he'd be happy to park his bike for him. All Ajay had to do was ask if the man had a motorcycle license for him to be pointed in the right direction. He sat atop his Kawasaki a few moments longer than he needed to, just staring up at the facade of the hotel. Large, white, full of windows. People own this. He thought to himself. They have more money than you could ever dream of. He had to remind himself, of course, that his mother had married into that kind of money. As much as he tried to deny Anderson at every offer of cash, it was hard to totally avoid. That kind of money paid for his new tuition at Westhaven. He was entitled to a sliver of that kind of money, even if he really didn't dream it up.

He pulled his helmet off and stashed it into a ratty canvas backpack, adjusting his glasses and re-fluffing his curls as he approached the main entrance. He threw a nervous glance over his shoulder, half expecting someone to stop him and bar him from entering. He had an invitation folded and creased in his pocket, just in case. Honestly, he had been surprised to receive one, conveniently forgetting about the absurd amount of luxurious parties the well-endowed liked to put on. It was a tradition to hold one, and it seemed to be an event where you showed everyone exactly how rich and perfect you are. To his relief, no one said anything or stopped him. Instead, the doors were opened for him and he made it in with no issue.

Every step he took, he felt an uncomfortable amount of eyes on him. They know I'm not one of them. He decided. Either the way he dressed was inappropriate, or signaled to them that he was a poor pee-on who had never been to an event of this stature before, or everyone really knew everyone and no one knew him. He feared it was likely the former after the coat-check girl raised an eyebrow at him and gave him a very judgmental once-over when he politely asked her if she could check his backpack for him. He carefully took in his surroundings, avoiding the gazes of any on-looker who seemed to be sizing him up. The only word that could be used to describe the ball room was opulent. The scene was painted with whites and golds, fancy banquet tables filling the marble floors as beautiful person after beautiful person milled about to the soft soundtrack of a string quartet, the clinking of champagne glasses, and soft conversation as people reunited with those they couldn't find in the school day.

While he had made it into the gala with little to no issue, he wasn't exactly sure of what to do with himself now that he was there. His mother had impressed upon him how important it was for him to get involved with this new side of his life. "Betu I need you to try." She insisted. "Dr. Arbury and I agree. This could be good for you. Make some friends, fit in. Have fun." But, standing here alone certainly wasn't fun. He felt fried, exhausted after going to class all day. He really hadn't done this much since before he went to inpatient. Now, the crowds, the people, they were all exhausting. He felt drained, and not courageous enough to strike up conversation with people he didn't know. Westhaven was supposed to be a fresh start. No one knew him and he was better off this way, because no one knew about his home life. About his rehab stint, about what happened with his father, about his job at Vice. He was just the newest bonus brat of the Haverfords. This all should've filled him with confidence. But it didn't. He was a fraud either way. He needed something to smooth his nerves.

Ajay barely freed a flute of champagne from a waiter's tray, clipping the base on the lip of the platter, nearly spilling it on himself. He carefully flicked the few droplets of alcohol that had jumped from his glass onto his hand before quickly raising the glass to his lips and taking a large drink. It probably made him look bad and ill-mannered, but the second the bubbles hit his tongue he felt some of the tension in his shoulders lift. He stuffed his free hand in his pants pocket, not wishing to look idle. He could do this. He could be a wallflower for awhile and then slip out.

He began musing about picking up some Thai takeout in about an hour and a half as he people-watched, when he caught sight of Claire Vanderbilt. Gorgeous in a beautiful black and gold dress, just as radiant as she had been that morning. The epitome of wealth. He took another large gulp, shocked when he pulled his glass away to reveal it was empty. 4 ounces really wasn't that much he supposed. For a moment, he began to panic. He wasn't exactly sure what you were supposed to do with your empty glasses. He had only ever seen people take them in the movies. The drinks magically would disappear whenever a conflict would arise, no one ever did anything with them. He glanced around, hoping to find an example of someone who knew what to do with it, but it seemed like he was the only person thus far who had managed to chug their champagne in only a few moments. He clutched the stem of the glass helplessly. He really wanted another, but couldn't risk looking like a total idiot, double fisting champagne in the most elite circle in New York.

He bit the inside of his cheek, looking to Claire once more. You'll never be one of them. He told himself. She is what you can never be.

♡coded by uxie♡

Nifty · Saturday at 2:33 AM

THE SOCIALITE.

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Lee Misook

이미숙

ㅎㅎ

MOOD

⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂)⸝♡

OUTFIT

Crystals & Feathers

LOCATION

The Vanderbilt Hotel

MENTIONS

Claire

INTERACTS

Ajay

TAGS

honeycoves

Dance The Night — Dua Lipa

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Lemon Romance

blooms but once, a fleeting dance of tart heartbreak and sweet passion. Yet, it is a mere prelude to the ambrosia of your essence—divine and eternal.

Prologue.

The crystals that adorned her dress shimmered with ethereal brilliance as if they were leisurely dipped in liquid diamonds. Each stray beam of light that landed upon them burst into a kaleidoscope of crystalline beauty. Misook wouldn’t be surprised if each stone was worth a small fortune, and in the world of the Upper East’s elite, a small fortune is not truly minuscule. The woman has her friend to thank for the stunning dress she received. The fashion brand they were trying desperately to launch needed a boost, a mere moment in the spotlight. And Misook, ever the loyal confidante, volunteered to step forward as their muse, donning the dress of their ambition and artistry. With the exquisite dress as proof of their work ethic and the service they could possibly provide in the future, she found herself without an ounce of regret. Wearing it was no mere favour—it was a statement and one she wore with pride.

When her final inspection was satisfactory, she found herself smiling at her reflection. Ebony whisps of hair tickled her eyelids, prompting her to gently brush them aside. She preferred to tuck them behind her ears. The whispers of an enjoyable and promising night entice her to fasten her pace. After all, it would be her final gala before she officially graduated.

Her onyx gaze then lay at the boy who silently stood in the corner of her bed with a reverential expression.

“Come here, love,” she affectionately beckoned as she kneeled to envelop her son with some motherly affection. “Kiss mami, goodbye.”

“Pretty,” he awed as his tiny hands clutched both her cheeks. A familiar warmth bloomed within her as his curious gaze brushed her features. He then eyed the precious stones on her shoulders with immense concentration as if he were searching for something, a word perhaps. “Like a princess!” he exclaimed suddenly as he fiddled with the little stones.

“Thank you, darling.” she warmly said as she playfully nuzzled her nose to his neck, successfully tickling the boy into a fit of giggles. “Now, be good to Uncle, and let me know if he lets you stay up again.”

A melodramatic ‘hey’ echoed from somewhere. With a kiss on the boy’s forehead, she bid her final goodbye. Sharp, sophisticated steps made their way to the entrance of her apartment.

The Upper East Side’s most esteemed socialite was soon greeted with an unexpected sight: a full-grown man garbed in a custom-made Pikachu onesie. She couldn’t completely rule out the possibility of her dear brother commissioning a complete ensemble—tailored for his tall stature and long limbs just to bring a touch of childish whimsy for his one and only nephew. Her keen eyes also noted the high-quality synthetic fur and its stark contrast to the factory-made ones. Yet, despite the outfit’s craftsmanship, he seemed overly eager to usher his sister out the door and unleash whatever acts of mischief he had in mind.

“There’s some leftover dakgangjeong in the fridge.” He nodded. “I keep his practice chopsticks separately; it should be in a plastic container in the silverware cupboard.” He nodded once more. “Call me if anything comes up.” He nodded again; he was about to close the door shut before a pair of manicured nails propelled forward, damaging his nose that stood too close to the door’s edge. “Oh! And-”

“I got it, Sis!” he exclaimed as he tilted his head back, already feeling the slow dribbling blood threatening to drip down. “Geez, you sure you’re not a gorilla in your past life?”

“You sure you’re not an idiot in your past life?” she snapped back as she reached into her purse to give him tissues as a sign of her genuine apology. “You know how worried I can be when it comes to Johan. Make sure he gets to bed by 8:30. And no staying up to play video games this time, got it?” her sharp eyes only solidified her threat.

She left with peace of mind once she detected that sweet sliver of unfeigned fear.

Oh, how she loved Vanderbilt’s exquisite taste in architecture. She found herself fawning over it, even taking a moment to pause and adequately bestow it with the proper admiration it deserves. Completely silencing the flashes of bright lights behind her as if she was ladled with routine.

Without a moment of hesitance, she stepped forward inside the venue with the imperial confidence that had been carved into the essence of her very being.

The exalted woman basked in the golden opulence of Manhattan, a city with a gluttonous need to be revered and accepted. There is a certain intoxicating sweetness to it that she has grown addicted to. The moment she stepped in, familiar faces swarmed her vision. Fellow classmates greeted her with gleeful smiles, and underclassmen shyly introduced themselves to her. And to each one, she met them all with genuine warmth, positive compassion, and graceful gentility. A soft caress of her friendly fingertips almost had them purring at her touch.

When asked if she had finally brought a date with her this time, Misook visibly tensed and cleverly quipped about her untouchable bachelorette persona. In truth, the socialite couldn’t find it in herself to allow such close proximity, fearing that a relationship could unveil her deepest secret. Aside from her son, there is another driving factor for her dating status and its lack thereof: herself. She has yet to find someone she can put her whole trust in. One that isn’t as fragile as winter’s first snow.

As she made her way around each familiar face, gliding along them with practised ease and prowling along the venue’s corners, her eyes caught the sight of Claire Vanderbilt, the orchestrator of this evening. Misook must find some time later to express her gratitude. Yes, in front of these many curious eyes.

Amid the sea of glittering jewels, perfectly tailored suits, and gaudy gowns, a set of brunette curls entered her line of sight. The man stood out in the crowd like a sore thumb. She watched as the crowd nearby gave him a mixed look of sympathy, curiosity, and disdain. Their expressions made Misook’s lips curl in displeasure. Despite high society’s splendour and gratuitous opulence, it has yet to be educated about the virtues of goodwill and authenticity. Yet, she couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride for the man who dared to stand out among the rest to bring a touch of eccentricity to an otherwise predictable party.

The longer she watched alone, the more her resolve hardened. Steeling her spine, she walked towards him without wasting another second. Her golden heels clicked with purpose. The closer she got, the more familiar the figure became, and her smile widened with every step.

“Hello, love," she warmly greeted as she lightly touched his elbow, gently nabbing his attention. “I didn’t quite catch your name last time. I’m Misook, by the way. A pleasure to meet your acquaintance, love,” she introduced as she offered her hand for him to shake. A flash of memory drifted past her mind, hands caressing a camera with diligent focus, a man poised with purpose and artistic intent.

“Got any riveting pictures for me to fawn over?” she lightly teased, her tone laced with genuine interest. Undeniably curious about what had the man’s attention so completely and if he had captured any interesting sights since then.

A waiter with a tray of champagne slowly approaches her direction. With a practised flick of her hands, she easily took the flute. Hiding her enthusiastic smile behind the glass, subtly masking her eagerness to make her first friend for this evening.

♡coded by uxie♡

606 · 2025-03-23T21:29:28-0400

but in all chaos there is calculation

Marquis Stivali

“Ho deciso che sarebbe meglio per la famiglia se tu andassi a New York.”
I decided it would be best for the family if you went to New York.

A large imposing man said, standing behind a beautifully carved desk staring out a window, placing behind to look at his son. Red hair gleamed in the light a little as he looked down at his feet. The large man was well dressed, hair neatly slicked back, cigar hanging from his mouth and crystal glass sat on the desk, empty but the stench of brandy filled the room. They were also dressed nicely but their shirt was untucked, their hair ruffled, dark circles under their eyes, and under their suit coat were bandages from another fight they were in.

“Lavorerai per tuo zio in un ristorante e frequenterai lì l'università. Stai lontano dai guai, altrimenti.”
You will work for your uncle in a restaurant and attend college there. Stay out of trouble otherwise.

He groaned a little and turned to leave, reaching the door before a hand slammed on the table and they froze, hand hovering above the doorknob as they looked behind them, not scared of their father but concerned at the very least. The two never saw eye to eye but there was maybe some respect between them.

“Sii grato. Non avrai mai le stesse possibilità di tuo fratello, quindi sii grato che ti sto dando quest'ultima.”
Be grateful. You will never have the same opportunities as your brother, so be grateful that I am giving you this one.

A word never left the red-heads mouth but gave a slight nod before quickly exiting, and swiftly moving throughout the large house, stopping as they reached the stairs, running a hand through their hair.

“FUCK!”

They slammed a fist against the wall and just their luck, a paint just happened to fall, Their eyes went wide and they attempted to reach out to catch it but luck wasn’t on their side as it crashed to the ground.

THUD

A fist collided with a face as a large burly male fell to the ground, coupled with groans of other men around the floor, a red-haired male stood victorious as he glared down at the man he just punched, blood dripping from his nose. Compared to them, they looked like a stick and had a pretty face and slowly bent down, wearing a well-tailored suit.

“Mio zio ha detto che ero qui per un incontro, sai. La prossima volta, se vuoi provare a fare affari, prova a vincere davvero la lotta, ok?” A thick Italian accent came through as gently patted the face of the man, before digging into the pockets until he found a pack of Marlboro and a light and frowned a little.
My uncle said I was here for a meeting, you know. Next time, if you want to try and do business, try and actually win the fight, okay?

“Solo questo? Peccato. Volevo qualcosa di meglio.” Pulling one out of the package, gently placed it between his lips and lit the end before dropping the two items onto the male.
Just this? Too bad. I wanted something better.

“Ciao ciao.” The red hair got up and dusted them off, used to being targeted. Many knew in theory, that he was the “heir” or at the very least the oldest son, but no one knew that it was unlikely that they were going be the next head. Just as they were about to leave, footsteps from the back as two men, loosely dressed night came rushing in, panic across their faces.

“Marquis! We got a call and-” One started and paused as they looked at the men lying on the ground, conscious barely and he turned to look to their partner then the two looked at Marquis,

“Yeah, l'ho capito,” he said and pulled the smoke out of their mouth, looked at them with an unconcerned face, and stepped over the men and past them.
Yeah, I got it.

“Well, at least one of us could take you to school, it starts today right?” Marquis waved them off and continued to leave from the back of the building.

“Nope, I got it, eh, tell uncle I took care of it, and to cut off ties right? Ciao!”

Marquis then was off into the early morning, making his way back to his Uncle’s apartment, one that Marquis lives in more specifically as his uncle tends to live in the townhouse or a house in Long Island most days if not busy with work. They walked in, waving to the bellman who was used to seeing a beaten up and bloodied Marquis, red being an often color among them. Making their way up to their apartment, they found themselves in the bathroom, staring into the mirror the blood now dried up, bruises forming around their face, and let out a heavy sigh, pulling out their phone to look at the time. 10:05. Already late and needed to clean up, Mars set their phone aside for the time and turned the shower on to get ready.

By the time Mars was walking onto campus, it was even past 11 am, having decided to take a walk there rather than getting a ride, and looked at everyone roaming around. Eyes would begin to land on the redhead, their troublemaker reputation already following them as they walked, people would begin to steer clear of them, whispers being spread and Mars dug his hands into their pocket, pulling out their earbuds and putting them in and looked at their phone as they made their way to the dance building.

Mars’ father, the boss, said he was going to school, going to America, however, he never said anything about what they had to choose to major in. Maybe that was the blessing in disguise as they, Mars, chose theater, just out of spite. After a few angry phone calls between Mars and his father, it is what it is. As long as he got decent grades, how could he fight it?

Thus spent the rest of the afternoon in an empty dance studio until about 5pm when Mars, slightly sweaty, a little sore, would have danced their little heart away, talking to the few other dancers who dared to try and get to know Marquis. He was not scary in reality, it was what they could do that scared people. Ontop of decent talent, many saw him as a threat. Mars started to make their way back to their dorm, now dressed in more tight fitting clothing, headphone back in as they stared at their message, one thought having taken over their mind.

Xiomara.

A relationship that had been formed and one that Marquis had started to enjoy. Though they cannot admit to having good reason to start the relationship in the beginning, it didn’t take very long for the red-head to quickly begin to have conflict feelings about her, and her ex of course, Dexter. His good friend, their ride or die. Mars was set on not being like Dex (with no offense) or his own mother (with offense) and during the walk home, decided to pluck up the courage and decided tonight, tonight at the Gala to make this official and sent a text to Xio.

Hey, bella, at the Gala I would love to talk about us. See you then! ♡

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outfit
location

Back to his apartment
tags
sox sunshineysoul

coded by reveriee.

Realistic or Modern 𝙓𝙊𝙓𝙊, 𝒂 𝒈𝒐𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒑 𝒈𝒊𝒓𝒍 𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒆𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚 — 𝙞𝙣 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧

kevin

Elder Member

sunshineysoul

queen of bright-moon

sox

فلسطین زندہ باد

Stardust Galaxy

QT π

comfortable

𝙘𝙤𝙨𝙢𝙞𝙘

honeycoves

she/her

Nifty

ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ

606

Lazyartist

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