hope to die

beckham elon ardell, data analyst. until the problem is adequately defined, solutions cannot be identified.

[sussoria-deactivated20210605]

Would you mind inviting your friend who followed you here to join us, Ms. Wyatt? His name is Caleb, correct?

[bexardell]

maddie rockefeller​.

     Returning to Elisabeth Island had been an experience in on itself. Madeleine was granted the CEO chair in the Rockefeller group, something her brothers had for long thirsted after, for the lack of a better word. Power dynamics were something weird for someone like Maddie, she had spent one half of her life trying to fit in her family and the other half of her life trying to run away from it only to be immersed in it as soon as her father passed away. The reading of the will had some surprising information for everyone involved, just like her grandfather’s before him, she was starting to suspect that to be a man in that family one needed to have a card up their sleeve for when they died. She had some talks with her father afterwards, in life they had never been close and she suspected that in death it wouldn’t be exactly different, but she wanted to understand his choices, nevertheless, as did everyone around her, she was sure.

     Surely she wouldn’t find them on Sizzling Griddle’s breakfast special, in fact, food had been making her feel nauseous lately and her sex life, or lack thereof, discarded pregnancy and she was thankful, there was no way all those life changing news would work well with a pregnancy, she didn’t need to feel more stressed than she was feeling at that moment. The more she sat there looking at her plate, the more she wanted to push it away, so she took another sip of her coffee and grimaced, having completely forgotten to put some sugar there. Perhaps she was way too into her head to even notice there was someone beside her, but as soon as they spoke she lifted her eyebrows. “Hm?” She looked at the plate, her brain lagging a bit till it connected. “Oh—- you want to give me your food? No, thank you,” her face scrunched before the unavoidable Rockefeller trained smile tugged her lips. “Do you want mind? It’s supposed to be really good and it turns out food is not for me today.”

-

Maybe, just maybe, Bex should have asked about any other person if they wanted free food other than upper crust Barbie right here. There was little care in his body for the general debate about who deserved what in this world, but given the everything about her, he could be sure that she’d live another day without his charity, or anyone else’s for that matter.    “No. I don’t eat stuff from strangers I don’t know won’t put stuff in it,”, he replied promptly and without an ounce of irony in his voice, despite the apparently mirrored situation. It didn’t need to make sense to anybody else Bex had found out a rather long time ago: Explaining why he acted in some ways usually took longer than it did for him to argue that they should just not question everything in life. He was no goddamn ‘mirror, mirror’ with all the answers to their questions, anyway. “I’m not paranoid, there’s enough people here that I trust would do... that.”

[whitepeopletwitter]

[bexardell]

safia gonzalez​.

-

Safia had been attempting different ventures in order to keep herself occupied while she waited for the results of her first cosmetology exam. It was stressful to be this age and starting a new career but she didn’t want to dwell on it too much. Which was why she was now on a new venture. After knitting and painting by numbers had failed, she was now onto journalling. It felt like ten hours since she’d been sitting in front of her journal attempting to figure out activities to fill the journal with for the rest of her week. Studying, waxing —— nothing else. She imagined this was how retired individuals must have felt. With ample money at her disposal, Safia didn’t need to work for the first in her life and that left her for a loop. However, she could feel a sense of relief when she heard the male next to her speak out. At least she wasn’t to the point of not touching a perfectly good set of pancakes and handing them off to strangers. 

“I feel like I should be worried that you’re just handing out your untouched but cold pancakes.” The brunette said as she chewed her lower lip and peered up to meet the male’s gaze. “Are you okay? You kinda look worried.” Like shit had been the first set of words she was going to use but she’d decided against them because it could have been rude. @bexardell​

-

Well, fuck you, maybe you should feel a little less. It was a skill well acquired, that Bex no longer spoke his mind immediately after thoughts first formed in his head. It spared him a lot of heated words and half-drunken cocktails thrown his way, even if his psyche sometimes strained under the constant second-guessing. He stared at her for a prolonged moment or two, silent, but his face stuck somewhere between a frown and absolute blankness as the more mild-mannered words slowly formed behind it. “No, I’m fine,” he answered finally. Not that it was any of her business. Truthfully, Bex hadn’t observed the woman’s set-up or her for that matter, and decided to let a little regret settle for it now, after the fact. Cause if they were to seriously play the judgement game, he still saw himself less worthy of general, worrisome judgement. She had been journaling, for heaven’s sake, and that was about the worst thing from the perspective of someone that lived, breathed, was himself semi-organized yet somehow also absolute chaos. Unlike her though, he kept his thoughts to himself — be the person you’d want to see or whatever they said — as his eyes slowly trailed back, away from what laid in front of her and back to her’s respectively. “If you don’t want them, I’ll give them to the staff. I just don’t want them.”

[bexardell]

jack rowe​.

…

Looking down at the plate that had been pushed towards him, Jack realized that he didn’t particularly want the pancakes either. It felt too late to say that, though, so instead he focused his gaze on his coffee cup. Not on the pancakes, not on the guy, it felt like the safest choice of what he was being given. Definitely not back on his book - It wasn’t necessarily politeness out of choice, but more.. Politeness out of not wanting to look like a fucking idiot. 

He responded with a simple shrug. “I’m not really a regular.” At least, he didn’t really come here to eat food, but it felt like the easiest answer. “The coffee’s fine, I guess.”

-

“More than six a day and you’re on the better side of heath risks over benefits,” Bex commented, not on the particular habit the other apparently exhibited (though he realized after the fact that it might’ve seemed like it) but rather his own recent conviction to cut down on it. Not that less coffee would do wonders for his health, when it was likely the least of his risk factors. His eyes started to wander again, if not to release the other from awkwardness, then to find one of the sporadically walking-by waitresses to stay with his word to get, well, anything else. Then again, if his least harmful vice - sugar - wouldn’t hit the spot the first time, trying a second was about as useless as weighing the odds of a little methyltheobromine. The girl in the signature apron came and passed the men, yet Bex made no move to stop her in her tracks. “Not a regular, but she won’t even stop to ask you if you’re ‘really sure you don’t want anything else’ because she knows better.” This time his comment was direct and forward. He didn’t really care whether the other had lied or not; but it had taken him weeks, if not months to be left alone in his peace and quiet in here. How ironic that it was now him, who disturbed it for someone else. 

[bexardell]

jack rowe​.

Jack was on his - He wasn’t even sure how many cups of coffee it had been, but he had nowhere else to be. It was his day off, and he didn’t feel like being home, but also it was too early to start drinking, even he knew that. So he’d driven into Port Elisabeth and had been sitting here for the past half an hour, drinking endless cups off coffee, and reading. That was the nice thing about being outside of Fremont - For the most part, nobody noticed him. 

He had, on the other hand, noticed the guy who looked like he wanted to kill his plate of pancakes. Honestly, he didn’t even notice he’d been staring until the guy said something to him - Or at least he thought he’d been being subtle. “Uh..” For some reason his mind immediately went to poisoning, though he wasn’t sure why someone would poison their own pancakes. But it was still food, right? And it probably wasn’t actually poisoned. “Sure, I.. Guess. Don’t like pancakes? I mean, you don’t like pancakes?”

Speaking of his bad mood would cross the cardinal rule of sharing as little as possible about himself at every cost, at all times. “I do. I just don’t want these,” he answered in full compliance with the rules as he pushed the plate away from himself, cutlery neatly placed on top like he’d never touched it in the first place. Without them to avert his gaze from prolonged eye contact, which (he’d been told multiple times) made some people nervous, others just point-blank uncomfortable, the other guy was now fair game. He seemed young enough that his life only marginally touched Bex’s former in this cursed place. How he’d known that the guy was from here and not just passing the prettiest Island westwards? It was in the air. People from the outside had a vigor in life that Elisabethans didn’t. Their lives never stand still while our’s stagnate like mellow waters. Water. Water. Water. His mind repeated the word a few times, as if on loop before letting a heavily-tattooed hand reach out for a glass of it.       “Recommend something else instead?” Bex raised the question as if his childhood hadn’t been spent sitting right here, eating himself through the menu. But he was curious, as most times, about the minds of others. And what a distraction they posed, godsend really, to forget he even had a mind of his own.

[bexardell]

where: sizzling griddle, port elisabeth who: open to all  @elisabethstarters​

Anniversaries were dates that people celebrated, still,  Bex had yet to discover any such occasion that was truly worthy of celebration. His two-year-anniversary of moving back to Elisabeth Island approached steadily and the only thing he could think of was, beside smashing in his own head over it, how unworthy of an effort it would be to do anything other than vehemently ignore that reality. What else was there? Sit here and buy himself fucking breakfast pancakes over knowingly caving in and giving up? The thought was still a hell of a lot better than what some acquaintances (also vehemently not friends of Bex’) had sprung up on him a couple days earlier, which had sparked the spiral in his head in the first place. Bex should have been sitting here, eating those goddamn pancakes with no awareness of the passage of time and instead he stabbed at them like a serial killer in heat. 

   Maybe his resting grimace would have looked charming, if only Bex had been a pretty girl. Their unapproachable air was what drew in the male lead in the great majority of shitty pop culture movies the man had seen, so he’d always imagined reality to be adaptable from the silver screen. But paired with how he’d spend the last few minutes (in absolute silence at that), the sudden sound of his voice and diversion from the hard face was... off. “Want this? I’m getting something else.”

[ava-deb]

Forty Quinn + being a whole damn mood

[guddram-deactivated20180109]

god is real but you can only see him behind the 7/11 at 3:34 am after you down 6 and a half 5 hour energys

[jordan-parrish]

TIMOTHY GRANADEROS by andrew gleason

[cleopatras-deactivated20190512]

“I’ve never forgotten him. Dare I say I miss him? I do. I miss him. I still see him in my dreams. They are nightmares mostly, but nightmares tinged with love. Such is the strangeness of the human heart. I still cannot understand how he could abandon me so unceremoniously, without any sort of goodbye, without looking back even once. That pain is like an axe that chops at my heart.”

— Yann Martel, Life of Pi (via the-book-diaries)

[evyoptics]

[bellamyblako]

[scribblehooves]

Me, speaking incomprehensibly about my niche interests

[theoctoberoctopus-blog]

Visit Original Link

[misanthropicmessiah]

[tylerposey]

Timothy Granaderos photographed by Remy Tortosa for Creative Agency (2018)