YOUNG GOD

New Year No Tears

abelsawyer:

“I’m rising with the west coast.” Abel chimed with amusement, his attention flighting from the outside world and instead to Aaron. He’d put the work in, and it showed, but Sawyer wasn’t going to tease and throw jokes, instead he offered him a short scoff of amusement and a shake of his head. “You don’t need to show those to me, you know. You should be flaunting them out on the lake. I’m sure Isabelle or Naomi would be swooning.” The Drake wasn’t swollen or flaunting muscle; but he didn’t need to.

Twisting to settle his back to the windowsill, Abel watched Aaron with a grin. One palm dusted through his mess of blonde, the other directing his cigarette to the window with a tap to let the ash float and disappear into the campus. “He’d be proud of you throwing around his phrases, you know. He’d be so happy to know his legacy lives on through you.” His pale-blues scanned the Ketlar’s room, searching for nothing in particular but taking in the barebones that he’d eased himself into. “We’ll provide, then. But what about the more interesting stuff? Think Vinny would be of use?”

It wasn’t a party at Easton if everyone’s vices weren’t tended to. The theatre was notorious for the little nooks and crannies that people would disappear into with their boys or girls of their choice; or their powder, needles, bottles. Anything. “New year and we’re falling back into the routine. Some things don’t change, do they?”

“Take a shot for me,” Aaron snorted, flicking the still lit end of his cigarette into the brightness of the campus quad below. He snorted at Abel’s words, tupping his head back to grin at the other male. It wasn’t the first time he’d said so, but he shook his head. “My heart belongs to a ghost, Sawyer. They can swoon over me all they’d like, just be around to catch them.”

It was strange to think that perhaps Abel was closer with his uncle than he was. The blonde shrugged in response, wondering if his own father felt embittered that he had taken so little from him. The Wright legacy had died with Ethan, it seemed. “Vinny doesn’t deal, but I’m sure she knows someone.”

Aaron brightened once more, moving for the bed to settle down comfortably. “I mean, I look better-- check these arms. Some things change.”

under pressure;

#para #para: mars #mars tate

mars-tate:

She took a lap around Ketlar when the marbles in her head started doing figure eights–it wasn’t a committed trek, but usually it took her about two cigarettes to weave there and back to Billings. She hoped that one day she’d catch Aaron on his way back in, sure texting him was easier. She caught wind that Ketlar’s king was back and then she started making the walks last three instead of two and even though it left a bad taste in her mouth, it gave her more time to look for the familiar golden head she sweetly referred to as hellfire on more than one occasion. Upon seeing the somewhat unfamiliar set of shoulders that were in fact Aaron Wright’s–Mars found her lips forming the single dumbest smile that they have ever quivered into. She almost wanted to slap it off her mouth with the quick flick of her wrist, but instead she moved. She wrapped her arms around Aaron like a monkey trying to swing around a tree, but once they connected it got all weird and melt-y like they were a couple of ice cubes doused in hot water. “Pluto,” she cooed in reply as she leaned her heels back to the ground. As far as meetings and the reoccurring types went, they always seemed to get it right. Like with one strange jolt rattling up from the earth’s core–suddenly there was someone just as intrigued, just as happy to see her as she was them. It was a strange, yet humanizing feeling that Mars was still caught off guard by. “You look like someone put you in a cup of water and kept you there till you beefed up.” She smirked at him, swallowing down her shaky feelings like an invisible pill. “Or was it steroids?”

If she was any other girl, he would have kissed her. You don’t press your lips to a shadow; you don’t comb your fingers through her fine hair, lest you make one wrong move and suddenly waft her particles away. Something about Mars made her feel fictional, he tightened his grip around her just to convince himself that he was in possession of someone that was in fact, solid.

Her words tugged him down from constellations, Aaron laughed. “Charlotte was always busy, everyone else was at school. I got a personal trainer instead of a real job.” The blonde wasn’t lazy, but he was certainly not very motivated, the world of work was something that was a required venture for anyone that didn’t have the same surname as he-- the rules didn’t apply.

“How did you know I was here?” He marvelled at her, not doubting for a moment that she had simply risen from bed and knew.

regifting;

#chat #chat: isabelle #isabelle rockefeller

isabellerockefeller-x:

“I’m half English, you know. Drink tea and smoke like a chimney. It’s the only way to go,” she said, exhaling towards the crack in the window. She leaned her head back against the pillow, long legs stretched out onto the floor below. “So. How was your New Years?”

“I think the same goes for New Yorkers,” Aaron noted thoughtfully, tapping the ash in the flower pot, avoiding the stem that craned hungrily for sun. “Except instead of tea,it’s Everclear.” He snorted-- it was an astute observation for someone French raised. “It was alright, watched the ball drop in Paris. Yours?”

New Year No Tears

abelsawyer:

“I didn’t just wake up.” Rebuked Abel. Truth was, he woke up a health half-one in the afternoon. It was hard to break a routine he’d picked up over the holidays. Nights spent drinking until the sun rose and sleeping until the sun set were all but habit. Something he needed to break. Lacrosse would start back up soon, and to lose his spot to somebody else would be the nail in his alcoholic coffin. There was work to do. Work Aaron could drag him back into, now he was back on campus. He always dragged Sawyer out of bed and to the gym in the mornings; batted away the bottles and shoved protein shakes in his hand instead.

It was a fair argument if ever there was one. As fun as bonfires were, they weren’t fun if you were the ones maintaining the fire. No. It was fun to skirt around and drink with the warmth and laugh and forget the night.”Alright, fuck the fire and fuck the tunnels.”

The theatre was real, that much was certain. It had been done before, and it’d no doubt be done again, but it was a classic. So much so that the caretakers had started trying to think of creative ways to keep the students out. Nothing had proven to be effective yet, but it was only a matter of time before they hit the nail on the head. “Fine. We’ll throw something in Dionysus. Let’s just hope no smart arse tries to open the trap doors this time.”

Abel slipped past Wright and lit the cigarette between his lips with the flick of a dull, old zippo. Worn, battered and more importantly; his father’s. Forearms settled on the windowsill, the brisk wind hitting him like a truck. It sucked what little colour was in his face out like he’d drained the nicotine from his cigarette as if it was his last breath. “Bring your own beer, or are we going to have to make a run into town?” Asked Abel to nobody in particular, eyes stuck to the fountain that glinted with the sun.

“Getting up an hour ago doesn’t count as rising with the sun,” Aaron interjected, stretching showily; every developed muscle in his arms swelling within his friend’s view. Working hard meant he was able to play harder, eating his body weight in fried food and choking down bacon was a competitive sport that he was certain he’d win all at. As soon as the lake began to thaw, it would be time for live practices; where every failure meant a dive into frozen water.

“I’m all about minimum input for maximum output.” A phrase that he’d heard quite often from his uncle, Aaron grinned as he said it, swallowing down the smoke of the cigarette and letting the rest drift out the window. He glanced back at Abel, snickering. “This time.”

The blonde liked the company, peering at the window once more. Snow fell softly onto the cobbled paths of Easton and his laugh fogged up against the glass. “Let’s provide, what are we-- impoverished?”

regifting;

isabellerockefeller-x:

Isabelle shut her wardrobe at his comment. She reached into the drawer of her nightstand, revealing a vape pen. Pressing it to her lips, she exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. “I still can’t make a ring,” she said, tossing it onto the table. “And yet,” she said, moving towards the coat rack and taking out a pack of cigarettes from one of the pockets. She moved for the window, taking her seat and cracking it open. “It’s still never enough.” She lifted the lighter from her window sill, lighting the cigarette between her teeth before tossing it over.

“I knew you had to have at least one notable vice,” Aaron said approvingly, leaving the bong behind for a cigarette-- he had to dole out his drugs wisely, there was only so much a body could take before it became useless. Drinks were usually out of grip, but nicotine-- it was always on the table. He lit up, sucking the smoke deep into his lungs, “Nothing is ever enough, princess. That’s life.”

regifting;

isabellerockefeller-x:

“That’s a lie. I keep you around, don’t I,” she teased, glancing back at Aaron. “You look different, Wright,” she said as she recognized the blacks from the blacks featuring some color. “Like you grew out your jaw,” she said, squinting at a shirt in examination. Isabelle rehung it and moved onto the next.

“Was I supposed to,” she asked, fauxed innocence in her voice.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” he commented approvingly, fussing towards the bathroom to get some water. Isabelle’s note made him snicker as he passed the mirror, pausing only to pout at his reflection. “Puberty and row practice, also a bit of a tan.” Aaron settled back on the bed, “I can’t believe you.”

“Did you know I got into vaping?”

fenmae-deactivated20170410

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poor little rich boy - regina spektor

gunass-deactivated20170204

daily required listening

#music

New Year No Tears

abelsawyer:

“I wouldn’t dare tarnish your reputation with your boys. God knows you wouldn’t do anything that kinky with a Drake.”

His attention drifted from the ceiling and instead up to the mirror on the wall—primarily the reflection as it spoke to him. “Three o’clock? Fuck.” Abel muttered, more in a short realisation than frustration. So much for a new year and a new Sawyer. One palm brushed through the mess of blonde on top of his head while he nursed from the bottle. Liquid courage to some, but to him it was fuel. It burned and kept him bright and saw him through the day with a grin and a joke rather than a dull tongue and a frown.

Abel twisted on the couch and sat up, gaze settled lazily upon Aaron, the Ketlar hobbled by the window, sucking on nicotine. “Cold? So what? We’ll have a bloody massive fire. Nobody will be cold. You got a better idea, then?” Rebuttled the Drake, his hands fumbling for his pockets to pull loose his own cigarettes. “What about the tunnels?” They were a rumour. A myth, or legend, spoke by their parents—By Adam and Oliver when they were liquored up and nostalgic. “No better way to start off the new year, right?”

“Did you just wake up? Carpe diem, my ass.” The past year had been committed to rowing, prepping his body for the sport that he despised. His old new year’s resolution had been to be happier, but it had transitioned into finding a way to beat out his uncle in fame for athleticism at Easton. The early mornings in the gym had become habit, now even when he didn’t head for exercise, he found himself rising with the sun. Cat naps were frequent, Aaron suckled down redbull like his counterparts did from their flasks, he was getting by.

He leaned out the window-- he’d taken out the screen a long time ago, finding a sort of romanticism in being able to curl his fingers around the stars late at night; it went with his constant work at finding his shadow; now he tapped ash down towards the pathway below. Abel’s words drifted by him backwards and he turned, retracting from the cold. “I’m not going to spend a party feeding a fucking forest fire,” Aaron insisted, mulling over the last query.

It was hard to determine what was tall tale and what was truth, their parents stories were unbelievable at best-- though one thing remained true; regardless of whether or not the tunnels existed beneath the old academy, fear pumped his heart extra fast. He wouldn’t be able to step foot below with any sort of tangible consciousness.

“What about the theatre? It’s big, it’s empty and it’s atmospheric.” He snickered, “Best of all, we know it’s fuckin’ real.”

#para #para: mars #mars tate

under pressure;

Like Peter Pan, Aaron sought out his shadow. For two nights since his arrival he had wandered the campus, the golden crown stitched in satin on the back of his jacket ganged up with the moon and lit up the paths that he walked; poking his nose into places that he didn’t belong. Cigarettes dwindled down to their filters and he went to bed unsatisfied, not hungry, but starving.

Third time’s the charm and he prowled, long and lean like a jungle cat surveying for prey, whispering her name as loud as he dared. The syllables echoed up to the stars where they cast them to the planets and around to their friends, but no one shared where he could find her. The clock had struck twelve and like Cinderella he was beginning to rustle towards Ketlar. Twice that night already he had whipped around, a phantom grip on his shoulder making him feel as though he was not alone-- the quad offered only the dirty slush of melt and the glare of January ice that stubbornly remained.

Only a few steps towards his dorm did he feel a weight launched on his back, like an overloaded Herschel and his lips split, revealing a wide smile. “I knew you were here.” Aaron spun, feeling her grip tighten around his neck, before leaning back to let her toes touch the ground once more. “Hello, God of War.”

themusicismymasterr

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Under Pressure - Queen & David Bowie (Hot Space, 1982)

#music

@alwayswright: suns out guns out #tbt

#aaroninsta

New Year No Tears

abelsawyer:

“Safe word? We’ve never played safe.” Chuckled Abel, slipping an arm around Aaron in greeting. It’d been weeks since they’d seen one another proper, and weeks were too long for kids who’d grown up together. They’d gone to the same schools, ate at the same table, picked fights for one another. If it weren’t for the blood in their veins, they may as well have been brothers. “Look at you, buddy. You’re glowing. You look like a whole different person.” Teased the Drake boy as he wandered into Aaron’s dorm.

Abel collapsed on the couch and offered up with a lazy arm the bottle of whiskey he’d shamelessly carried across the campus. “It’s five o’clock somewhere, Mister Wright.” He was shameless with his alcoholism. At this point, he was allowed to. Cigarettes, alcohol and a whole lot of good grades. It was what Easton was built on. “A party.” Chimed Sawyer, eyes idle and set to the minimalist, pale white ceiling of the dorm room. He was the head of Ketlar, Aaron could do what he wanted with the room, and it was plain. Minimalist to match the effort he’d have to put in. Abel couldn’t blame him, he’d have done the same too.

“What about the woods? We’ll burn away last year. Everyone can take something they want to forget this year and burn it.”

“Don’t say that too loud, the boys’ll think we’re up to something kinky.” Aaron glanced at the full length mirror that adorned a bare spot on his walls-- mirrors gave the illusion of more space-- casting green eyes up and down his own figure. He’d filled out, no longer was he the same lanky boy who skirted down the hallways with nothing better to offer than a jawline sharper than a chef’s knife and a quick sense of humour.

“It’s still three here,” he declined, recalling the pills he’d slipped onto his tongue a few hours before. Alcohol wasn’t his usual vice, getting rushed to emergency for mixing his “medication” with liquid courage was never something he deemed to be his style. Instead he tucked a cigarette between his lips, lighting up with one hand as the other pried the window open further-- he noted fondly how easy it was for the two of them to settle back into their usual interactions.

“It’s fucking cold out there,” he interjected, sucking thoughtfully at the smoke. “Who wants to party in a parka?”

#text #text: isaac #isaac cohen #isaac--cohen

Don't worry baby I'll treat you (w)right.

If Harlow says anything about me not liking your curves, she’s lying.

regifting;

isabellerockefeller-x:

Unpacking for Isabelle had involved guiding a group of men to replace her old wardrobe with a new one, one more suited for the upcoming cold. Of course, she learned by her sophomore year that if she wanted it organized, she would have to do it herself. It was midway through organizing her closet did Aaron Wright catch her attention. She had meant to catch up with the Wright’s over the break, but there had been so many people and so little time in between. Freshly tanned and with a new wardrobe however, she was ready to see her old friends again.

Izzy turned when her phone buzzed again, peaking at the message. “Come in,” she said out loud instead, gesturing towards the bong resting on her nightstand. “She’s ready for you.”

“Wow I missed Billings,” Aaron cooed from the doorway as a group of leggy freshmen sauntered by, glancing into Isabelle’s room after a long gaze from floor to hip. He appreciated the openness of the space, drifting towards the nightstand and curling his fingers around the prize that he’d awarded the blonde a while ago. “You have no appreciation for beautiful things,” the blonde scolded, pressing his lips to the polished glass.

“Ready? You didn’t even put water in. Heathen.”

regifting;

@isabellerockefeller-x

Being back on campus meant many things, but for a creature as social as Aaron, reestablishing his old relationships and visiting old friends championed at the top of the list. His outfit of choice was a bomber jacket shrugged over his usual monochrome ensemble-- too cold for the Connecticut chill that lay outside his door, but at a run towards Billings with precious cargo stowed away in the breast pocket, it was worth showing off the hand stitched embroidery on the back spelling out; King of Ketlar.

He reached the girl’s dorm with little difficulty given his long stride and let himself in, the girls within the halls not bothering to bat an eyelash at his intrusion. The blonde’s grin stretched wide and cocky as he navigated, stopping outside of Isabelle’s room. His lean figure filled the frame of the door and instead of balling his hand into a fist and rapping at the door, he typed out a quick message intended for it’s inhabitant.