/ *𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥'𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐮𝐭 !

too many days to get lost. many, many people i've known got lost.

[openhandcd]

townic​:

STARTER FOR @openhandcd​

     “if you had to pick the best christmas song out there, which one would it be ?” the young blonde asked the other, feet up on the couch of the lounge area of the main lodge. “i think my pick would be maybe merry christmas darling by the carpenters. oh, or wait, river by joni mitchell ! yours ?” ali asked with a smile — she loved that about the holidays, even the music adapted to the season.

"oh, that’s cute!” emerges from underneath two blankets where they may or may not had been snorting something, hair in an oddly flattering mess, held back by a blue headband. their pupils are dilated, the smile on their face believably genuine. “i love joni mitchell. she’s, like, my soulmate.” a sincere confession made from sofa number three, where he’s now sprawling out, wrapping himself up in the covers. “no, i’m lying to you.” conclusion made after a split second of second-guessing. “that’s actually clara. and then joan jett, but joni mitchell is a close third.” after a bit wiggling around like a feral little snake, they finally assume a somewhat comfortable position, curled up into a ball, hugging a pillow. “mine’s gotta be last christmas. by wham? you know, i haven’t actually shared this with anyone but, since march, george michael has appeared in my dreams a total of twenty-eight times. i’d hate to sound crazy, but i think we might have a deep, telepathic connection.” 

[openhandcd]

ofkingsnqueens​:

“a date? tate has a date?” of course it was not funny, but he was just high enough (as usual) to find his very own words amusing, and he was sure that just to humor river, tate would laugh along with him. “how do you pretend that i work on your shift when you won’t even spill the full cup of tea on your date?” because he was rather jealous. for no stupid reason other than the winter making him want to do couple things. it made no sense to him either, so he didn’t push it further. he was just lonely and cold. “what is that supposed to mean? old and moist? i mean, i am moist, but old? nope.” his pert shampoo and wella curl cream would be pissed if it were in the same room as the two of them. river blushed, because well- he was not sure what little innocent smile he was talking about, but he was surely thinking about… the other half of his sentence, and how empty the back room was in that very moment. his hand moved down the collar of his shirt and held it too tightly. “why are you like this? who made you like this?” he whined, feeling a half hardie under his tight pants. “tate- no… tate, come back here! tate, don’t make me follow you!” as if he was not already doing it.

"shhh-” despite the initial chuckle, a dramatic finger is raised, creating the illusion that it’s supposed to be a secret when.. it really isn’t. “maybe.” chooses to leave it at that, the same finger now gently tapping the other on the lips. “ugh,” proceeds to whine some more when asked for further details. “you can’t just expect me to share those things. i’m a very private person, river.” delivers in a tone serious enough that if the man didn’t know any better, he might’ve been fooled. “and you’d probably so look down on me if i told you he has a wife.” it’s almost alarming how casual they make it sound - as if it’s been rehearsed. as if it’s a joke. as if homewrecking is nothing but a secondhand hobby. is it? when it comes to tate thatcher, one can never be sure. “moist?” brows knit together, nose scrunching up. “ew, no. i meant timeless, poetic, old-fashioned.” duh, of course, common misconception. a brief pause before they’re bringing on the important questions. “why would you be moist? where? why, like, is it ‘cause you sweat a lot? that’s not sexy. it’s disgusting. and probably quite unhealthy.” there’s a hint of concern squeezed somewhere in there, but for the most part, they’re just joking around. you know, like normal coworkers do before exchanging friendship blowies in the staff room. nothing but lighthearted fun until he’s leaving without a word, smiling to himself, perhaps a little too amused by the other’s reaction, all while holding onto hope that river will come along. which he does, luckily. otherwise it would’ve been awkward. once they’re behind that wall, away from the public’s eye, tate turns around to face the man, wasting no time before getting into his personal space. “why, hello there, stranger...” teases, foreheads almost touching, fingers fondling with his belt, unbuckling it. “i take it as you’ve made up your mind?” big, bright eyes gaze up at him, benign smile tugging at the corners of their mouth before they’re leaning in for a soft kiss. to seal the deal. 

[openhandcd]

everythingholy​:

HE had half a mind to lean into the startled feeling that shocked itself into his body when the mysterious stranger behind the curtain first made his presence known. ike could play the defense, but his high was slowly but surely waning and this was one of the nights where he didn’t have the energy to put on a show. not anymore than he already has. the joint offered to him was exactly what he needed, and he expressed that with a sigh of relief. one hand was fishing through his pockets for a lighter and the other accepting the joint, offering a tired smile as thanks in a way that proved he wasn’t used to the word. once lit, he let the smoke burn his throat and lungs. he held it until he felt his brain get further away from him, exhaling with his face pointed towards the ceiling. stealing another quick hit before passing it back, he turned his head lazily in the other’s direction. “i hope i look a little less miserable.” and, in all honesty, he felt less miserable. the weed was helping him push every stray thought into his peripheral. ike still couldn’t understand why this stranger was being so kind to him. it was the sort of kindness he always assumed predicated a list of terms and conditions. from a young age, he was taught that nothing in his life would ever come gratis. regardless, he laughed softly at the mention of his terrible taste in men. it wasn’t a statement he could entirely disprove. he kept his mouth shut and hoped the silence would give him the answer he wanted.

IKE was so caught up in the conversation and the haze from the mary jane that he forgot about the stain on his shirt, which was brought back to his attention when he felt that quick touch right over the unsightly spot. he wanted to shoot his hand up and swipe it away but the surprise kept him steady. the second touch was even more telling, but he could help but feel confused and out of place. rarely was he ever on the receiving end of these advantages. always the gentleman, always making the first move, seldom letting himself be vulnerable enough to be doted on. he thought for a moment and took the towel, trying not to think about how different it felt. ike kept his brain off as turned the faucet on. “i’ll tell you my worst date story when you tell me why you were here sitting alone in a shower at a house party. how long have you been in here? do you even know what time it is?” he tried to establish some sense of dominance in the conversation again but maybe, if someone were to listen in close enough, they’d hear a sliver of real concern in his voice. he’d deny it until he croaked.

tate mirrors the smile with one of their own – faint, yet sincere enough to appear welcoming, like a security blanket for the stranger, a way of saying ‘hey, we can hang out. i’m not dangerous right now’. the motive behind giving up the joint is open to interpretation. whether it’s from the sheer kindness of their heart or because they seem to have lost their matches remains unclear, a loose end to keep the crowds guessing. closes his eyes, melting further into the bathtub like an unsalted butter on a lukewarm pan, hands placed over the chest as if trying to feel out the range of his heartbeat. there’s a click of a lighter, faint sound of paper burning before a familiar scent fills the room. eyes open again, gaze returning to the other, corners of the mouth curling up as a  breathy chuckle escapes at the comment. “you'll get there.” assures wholeheartedly, fingers wrapping around the joint, waving it around like a little wand. “trust me, when this shit hits...” the cheeky grin keeps growing. “you’re gonna feel reincarnated.” a big promise. for a moment, it almost looks like he’s about to elaborate, lips parted, eyes locked with the stranger’s but then- then, well.. it kind of escapes him, so the mystery is pushed into a ditch, ultimately left unsolved. for now. 

based on the man’s initial reaction to a fake fortune teller in a tub, tate would never had guessed they’d get to a point where the other’s willing to cooperate enough to dampen that towel for him, but there they are. and thank god, because that pesky stain was starting to bother him more than it should. lets out an amused breath at the other’s attempt at turning the conversation around, fishing for explanations tate isn’t quite sure they can provide. to be honest, tonight’s been bit of a blur. exhales a cloud of smoke, passing the joint back to the brunet, instead reaching for the rag. tradesies. “i don’t know, babes.” teases, already in the process of pressing a wet cloth to the unflattering spot on the man’s shirt, touch gentle, careful, almost as if they’re afraid of damaging the fabric. “you’re asking for a lot and, like, to be honest with you, i’m simply not sure if i’m ready to take this relationship to the next level. i like keeping things one-sided. hope you understand.” there’s a moment of silence, gaze meeting the other’s before he’s bursting into laughter, gently squeezing the stranger’s arm like he’s inviting him in on the joke. then, a semi-thoughtful pause. “how precise do you need this to be? because i can’t do details. like, i know it’s been a while. an hour? maybe six. i came here shortly after the bulky man with knuckle busters tried to knock me out with a chair. though... that might’ve been yesterday?” brows furrow. time, what a funny concept. “come on, give me a hint! no-” a finger aggressively points in the other’s direction, a sudden change of heart. “let me guess. i wanna guess. did you know i used to be a mentalist in high school?” how could he when tate just made it up, seconds ago? “look at me." practically forces eye contact, corners of the mouth twitching up into a semi-smile. a moment of silence. “okay, i’m gonna be realistic here and say it’s...” studies his expression. “seven twenty? no, seven forty-six!” impatiently awaits the verdict. "did i get it? was i close?” giddy fingers reach back for the joint as something clicks in his brain. a new thought washes over. “oh, that’s right- i know what i was supposed to tell you!” there’s sudden excitement in his voice. “you know how i said this shit’s strong? yeah, that’s because it might not be.. just weed.” explains, bit too casual for what’s being revealed. “maybe. i can’t remember if it was this joint.. or the other one.” what happened to the other one? they never elaborate. “one of them for sure. anyway, it's all gonna be fine. probably.” they’re back to wiping the man’s shirt. “just don’t freak out if you suddenly feel woozy or, like, start seeing nietzsche and stuff.. alright?”  

[openhandcd]

everythingholy​:

“WHO the fuck would name their dog ethel? out of all human names to give your dog, they choose that one? that feels like a crime against humanity.” herbert said in disbelief, brows furrowed and mouth agape, before thinking a bit more about what shirin said for more than just a few seconds. “oh, wait, you meant ethel was a human woman that had a sausage dog. alright, alright, we’re back on the same page.” the tidbit about the dog eating her husband was, somehow, less shocking than the idea of someone naming their dog ethel (which herbert still believes would be a crime against humanity. a crime so good, he just might have to commit it one day). “i’m starting to like the idea of this. count us down and we’ll see who can get the tastiest combos. we just might be a pair of real life geniuses, shirin. this is so genius.” herbert was already thinking up his craziest ideas. from sweet and sour chinese-southern fusion to maple syrup smothered falafel and waffle fries, he was certain he’d be giving the great chefs of yesteryear a run for their money. “ok, ok, ok, for the countdown—are we going ‘three, two, one’ or ‘three, two, one, go’? this is important. i want things to be even stevens here.”

did she misspeak? is she stupid? was the weed laced with battery acid all along? shirin blinks slowly, silently going through every single possibility. “no, herbie-” she’s ready to clarify, jump in there with her metaphorical correction pen when the mysterious forces in the man’s brain decide to safely put him back on earth. “yes, there we go. well job.” casually pats him on the shoulder. “welcome back, my dude.” though he did have a point. who the fuck would name their dog ethel? surely not the woman with an adopted lizard son called timothy. “okay, shit, give me a second.” it’s game-mode on as she pulls up a sleeve to take a proper look at her watch. “it’s half past four. we meet here again at approximately...” squints, math turning out to not be her strongest suit while under influence. “quarter to five? quarter to five.” now that’s established, she can let herself get properly excited for what lies ahead. “dude, we’re the textbook definition of brainiacs. literally, albert einstein who? if you listen closely, you can hear him crying in the corner. poor little guy. anyway, let’s stay practical. that means try to swipe a fork if you see one, i’ll do the same.” and just like that, it becomes organized crime. “it’s gotta be on go, right? i feel like it’s in the rules somewhere.” ah yes, the unspoken rules of the universe, by shirin rostami: now available at bookstores near you. “what fucking maniac goes on three? way to throw off your team and completely ruin the morale.” scoffs as if it’s an issue she encounters frequently before turning back to look at him. “okay, are we set?” assumes battle stance, meaningfully looking off into the distance. “three, two, one...” raises a finger. “go.” and then, it’s full on sprint. 

[openhandcd]

hallowghoul​:

“don’t let it get to your head, tate.” clara murmurs though there’s a subtle sign of a smirk on her lips as she lowers her gaze. the ache in her bones is receptive to the delivery of wine and its enough to allow her to perk up a bit as she adjusts her posture, though she’s certain the damage had already been done in regard to her spine. she moves to grab the glass, pausing before she takes a sip. “how tragic.” she hums before taking a swig, allowing her tastebuds to encapsulate the flavor. it wasn’t napa valley but it would do. “you’re a fuckin’ dick.” she gasps at his agreeable answer to her age and she has half the mind to reach across to smack him but she knows her strength is minimal. “if you think i’m going round two on that thing you’re actually hilarious.. i’m convinced you found some way to write yourself off as my beneficiary.. and you’re planning to collect.. honey if you need money all you have to do is ask..” she teases before taking another sip.

"too late. you’ve simply overnourished my ego. thanks to you i’ve become shallow as a puddle and downright stone-hearted.” informs matter-of-factly, crossing their legs before leaning back in the chair, warm cup comfortably rested in hand. lips curl up into a smirk at the comment, a description accurate enough they couldn’t possibly allow themselves to be offended. still, a dramatic hand is placed over the heart, brows furrowing in feigned disbelief. “me? pumpkin!” skillfully plays the victim. “you’re gonna have to stop asking questions you don’t want answers to. it’s not good for your emotional health, and you know i can’t stand seeing you sad.” teases, briefly contemplating throwing in a comment about depressed grandma, but eventually deciding against it. as his favorite grandma, she doesn’t deserve it. “how dare you pin such atrocities to my innocuous persona? i don’t kill people for money, clara, i manipulate.” as if that makes it any better. whether they’re joking or not.. that’s for another time. “if it’s gonna make you feel any better, i can be your human shield.” because he just won’t let it go. god, he really loves sliding down that hill over and over while drunk on chardonnay, doesn’t he? “i’ll fucking martyr for you.” 

[openhandcd]

urdamage​:

✧ closed starter ; shirin @openhandcd​​​ ✧ location ; just outside the lodge

               while most of friends - and most people , he assumed - planned their adventures up to the mountain range for the winter event , that wasn’t stevie’s experience today . instead he simply woke up , got himself ready , and he took the bus up to the lodge all by himself . he wasn’t worried about what would happen once there , wasn’t afraid to find himself alone ; he knew plenty of his friends would be involving themselves in winter celebrations and festivities , and he knew he wasn’t wrong in believing that as soon as he spotted shirin just outside of the lodge . “ hey ! ” he greeted them , walking through the snow on the path up to the lodge that was considerably melted due to the foot traffic . “ what’re you up to today ? ” he asked her , hoping to have found the friend he would spend at least the morning with .

she had woken up early that morning, surprisingly well rested after not too many hours of sleep. deciding to use the day as an opportunity to do something slightly productive, she hitched a ride with a friend of a friend, no particular plans in mind when she asked them to drop her off at the lodge. after scouting the area, she’s sat on a bench outside the place, sipping on lukewarm orange tea as she mentally shuffles through a list of activities, considering her next move until a familiar face emerges from the crowd. “hello there, my silly little earthworm.” says with nothing but love, smile creeping across the features. “i was actually torn between an incredibly ambitious 11 am ice skating session full of blood, sweat and crushed dreams and.. painting some baubles. what are we thinking? ” 

[openhandcd]

emillios​:

“ hey , you wanna do something fun ? ” emilio asks to the poor bystander , quirking one of his brows . he doesn’t even let them answer before he’s continuing . “ so i met this rich out of state couple and they’re hosting a karaoke event in their ski cabin . the winner gets two hundred dollars . there’s drinks , food … typical rich people with too much money on their hands . anyways , i’m determined to win . the only problem is you can’t enter by yourself so i’d need someone else … you in ? ” god , please say yes . “ come on , please ? i even bought feather boas , look ! ” he reaches into his leather satchel and pulls out one of the two he had , wrapping the rainbow colored one on his neck like the fabulous gay he is . “ okay , you don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to , but it would be rad if you were on board with this . ” he’s talking about the feather boas and them being karaoke partners , obviously . @shrikestart​

“uhh, not necessarily?” right off the bat, adam knows it’s not gonna be a good idea. nothing personal, no offense to the other, but it seems pretty clear the two of them aren’t exactly on the same wavelength when it comes to the concept of fun. the first sentences only confirm the theory, brows furrowing in displease at the mention of rich people, only for the whole proposition to go even more downhill with the introduction of a karaoke contest. as expected, absolutely none of that sounds enjoyable. he doesn’t even try to hide it, the expression across features a clear indicator he couldn’t be any less intrigued. “man, i don’t-” begins, but despite the protests, the other remains awfully persistent, whipping out a feather boa that in no way comes close to changing adam’s mind. “jesus, fuck.” can’t help but cringe at the thought of himself wearing anything other than a frown accessorized with a worn out baseball cap. “yeah, uhh, thanks for the opportunity and all, but i’m gonna go with no. good luck, though.”

[openhandcd]

hallowghoul​:

“’bout time you show up…” clara trails her words as she slouches further into her chair, a low groan escaping her lips as her bones ache from the bit of snow tubing she’d done with tate. it almost appeared that she’d hit a tree on some escapade down the slopes but the story was far more tragic and it included a small ramp crafted by her friend and a genius idea to hit it at full speed in a drunken state. “i think i tore something in my knee, god and my back? am i old.. tate?”

@openhandcd​​

"aww... were you starting to miss me?” tate coos, gracefully placing two cups on the table before letting themself plop into the chair across from her. “sorry, the line was insane. like, all the way to colorado springs. apparently everybody in this town wants mulled wine.” unnecessarily mocking. “it’s alarming. a little pathetic. like a bunch of sheep, following what’s hot to fill the gaping voids in their insignificant lives.” takes a sip of the beverage. “not us, though. we’re perfect.” flashes a smile, somewhere between sincere and conceited, pearly whites on full display. a chuckle escapes at the statement, arm extending across the table, hand reaching for hers as he looks her in the eye. “you’re fucking ancient.” assures, as if it’s exactly what she’s been longing to hear. “but you better not be flaking out on me tonight. we’re going.” again. “round two, babes.” 

[openhandcd]

𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫 + text posts . 

[openhandcd]

𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐦 𝐛𝐚𝐮𝐞𝐫 + text posts . 

[openhandcd]

everandevermcre​:

   payson is on the edge of their seat trying to figure out whether or not they would be able to make it to work in time if they left now. boy oh boy did they ask the wrong person. they should have realized it sooner, but the familiar face was enough comfort for payson to confide in asking. they are left biting a bullet not to snap at the pothead response they find endearing in lower - stress moments. ‘  hey adam,  ’ they coo like when speaking with a child, ‘  what time is it?  ’

normally, adam would probably be offended by someone talking to him like a dumb fucking baby. in this scenario, however, it turns out he is a dumb fucking baby, so.. that stings a little. but there’s not a lot he can do now. it’s between defending his honor (of which he’s got not a lot left) or taking it on the chin and moving on. he chooses the latter. “oh, shit.” a humorless scoff. “guess i’m j’st fuckin’ braindead, eh?” awfully casual before gaze drops to the watch around his wrist. “uhh- it’s quarter to five.” finally some useful information. “why?” 

[misselesava]

just call my name and i’ll be there.

[openhandcd]

haydenisms​:

it could be the drugs they both took earlier , or the fact that they’re both incredibly close in a damn bathtub at a party where hayden doesn’t even fully remember who the host is , or … it could even genuinely be tate’s dashingly good looks , but hayden finds himself throwing his head back the slightest bit , and laughing at what the other has to say , a display of pearly whites in view as he cocks a thick , dark brow at his words . “ do i ? ” he pauses , and here comes the douchebag answer . “ funny . i was hoping for the opposite . ” hayden can’t help but be mean to people he finds attractive . really , if he’s not slightly mean towards you , it means he feels no attraction whatsoever . the same can’t be said for tate , as the second he spots the eyeliner , and the moment he feels the drug induced squeeze against his leg , he knows there’s some type of buzzing feeling that runs past his body , but he can’t tell if it’s the drugs , or if it’s tate , so he goes against all odds and places his hand against his thigh . however , he starts brushing his hand against it instead of giving it a squeeze the way the other had to his leg . “ you had a piece of lint there . ” he didn’t , he just wanted an excuse to feel something , and tease him . another chuckle leaves his lips as he shakes his head , honestly amused with mostly everything that he had to say , but again , that might just be the drugs . “ are you sure about that ? ” he doesn’t let him answer before he continues . “ i was thinking more like borderline sociopath with a dash of narcissism , but whatever floats your boat . ” maybe tate has some unresolved issues , but it’s not like he doesn’t either . shit , hayden feels the need to be slightly mean to people he finds attractive  –  that’s enough issues right there as it is . “ glowing ? ” he questions , running a hand past his dark hair . “ i think it’s just my natural tan . being half indian has done wonders for my skin tone , but common t bag , if you wanted to say i’m attractive , you don’t have to sugarcoat it ! now i know you really are full of shit . ” and there he goes again , teasing with a hint of being a dick , but hayden swears , it’s all fun and games . “ were you ? ” he asks , referring to the comment of him being a scorpio in the past life . “ or are you just using that as an excuse for me to want to fuck you ? ” another pause , followed by a shit eating smirk . “ you’re so transparent , mon chéri . ” this time , he playfully squeezes his cheek , starting with the french again . maybe one day , he’ll bitch at tate in french only . time will tell , really . 

“ right ? ” he agrees , going along with his little charade and taking the joint back from him . “ he’s a show off too . blowing perfect o’s with smoke …. who the fuck does that shit ? ” he’s teasing again , unable to hide the smirk that follows with his words as he takes a few hits then hands it back , making perfect o’s with the smoke himself . “ oh , i wasn’t planning on it . i could never do that with someone who’s wearing a floral shirt . ” that’s a lie , as he loves floral shirts , just not on himself . if anything , he thinks it looks really nice on tate , but the charade must go on . he’s quiet for a while , finding his lips curving up into a smile . “ you wanna do something fun ? ” randomly , he pulls out a full gram of coke from the pocket of his shirt , waving it around and giving him a mischievous smirk . “ you wanna get high ? ”

"oh,” sucking their teeth in feigned disapproval, tate tilts their head to the side, brows knitting together as an open palm falls flat over the left side of the chest, carefully painted nails on display. “ouch. hayden.. are you trying to insult me?” not that he seems to mind. on the contrary, the mild symptoms of malice appear to please him. whether it’s a joke or not, he soaks it up like a greedy sponge, turning it into fuel to keep himself going through the winter. one quick peek, that’s all he allows himself to go for when the other’s touch miraculously finds itself on his thigh. mixed signals? he’ll take it. if anything, tate can appreciate a good game of cat and mouse. gaze returns back to hayden’s perfectly shaped face, the semi-cocky smirk they’d been sporting transforming into something milder, more sincere. but they don’t say a word, instead letting their index and middle finger gently ghost over the back of the man’s hand. nose crinkles at the excuse. maybe he did have a piece of lint there. yeah. maybe it was huge and hideous and totally ruining the aesthetic, and that's why the man decided to touch him. that could be the reason, though, a large part of tate wishes it isn't. a smaller one hopes for a time hayden can touch with him without reasons. but.. it’s probably just the drugs. any and all feelings of loneliness are suppressed when another cackle bursts out of his throat, bouncing off the walls. “brutal.” claps their hands together, sudden excitement overtaking his form at the sound of the diagnosis. first and foremost, he’s impressed by the nerve one’s gotta have to basically call someone crazy and vain, to their face. “that’s right, baby, tear into me. tell me what you really think. give it to me raw and ugly, make me feel like dirt!” he’s really living it, playing a part for the audience of introverted specters. the smile across features borders on hysterical, brows raising as he leans forward. “you can’t hurt me, i have stockholm syndrome.” a confession so laid-back one wouldn’t even bat an eye. then, he just laughs, easy and lighthearted, legs casually wrapping around the other’s waist as upper part of the body sinks back into the tub. “sugarcoat it?” a scoff. “what am i, your fifth grade teacher?” teases, giving his friend a playful kick to the side. “no, i think you’re very attractive. i just don’t want to overfeed your ego before our first kiss. can’t risk you losing interest.” almost sounds like an actual concern. can’t help but chuckle, the response to the question coming in form of an oh-so-mysterious shrug. “maybe.” cocks a brow. “maybe i don’t need excuses.” perhaps he’s got it all. perhaps hayden wants to fuck him regardless of the zodiac sign. a little bit of delusion never killed anyone. nose scrunches up when the man pinches their cheek but they don’t try to swat him away. hell, he could rip off half of their flesh if he wanted. as long as he’d keep speaking french with that freakishly hot accent, tate would let him. 

“no way.” a soft, hand adjusting the bandana, gaze never leaving the other. takes a second to appreciate the smoke circles, how flawless they are, how they swirl around in the back of his mind, pulling into a subconscious state of trance. “an opprobrious scoundrel and nothing more.” speaks softly, like they’re giving timid compliments. “off with his head.” digits gracefully wrap around the joint before he’s mindlessly ashing it onto the mat. the remark about a certain item of clothing leads to only one conclusion: he’s gotta get rid of the problem. placing the joint between lips, nimble fingers make quick work of rest of the buttons before he’s shrugging the thing off of his shoulders and hurling it across the bathroom. “oh, me neither.” casually turns back to the other, as if nothing ever happened. “what a nightmare. could you imagine? floral shirts.. puh-lease.” mocks. “hate them. absolutely horrendous.” leans back, elbows on either side of the tub, blunt in hand, but he forgets all about it when the man reveals a bag of white powder. mirrors the mischievous smirk with one of their own. “depends.” head tilts to the side. “are you gonna let me lick it off your fingers? 

[hanuteds]

[ivars]

[openhandcd]

everythingholy​:

IKE takes the few house parties and clubbing events he can find in shrike and uses them like therapy. he got way too high to care about whatever dogshit they were playing through the speakers, drank until he felt like he could dance, and screwed until he forgot his name. all in a day’s work, really. it was one of the few things he could trust would unwind him after a particularly difficult day in a town that was, for all intents and purposes, a nightmare. when these things didn’t work well for him? saying it frustrated him would be a lot more than an understatement. on this particular occasion, some clumsy ape brain spilled a rancid smelling alcohol on his burberry button-up and nearly got him into an argument with a massive man he absolutely could not take in a fight. he locked himself in the nearest bathroom, scowling as he tried to scrub the stain off of his shirt. as soon as he realized whatever diy treatment he had been trying to give was making the situation worse, turning the faucet off and listening to the far away music instead of the running water. ike pondered going home—or, at least, he tried—before his train of thought was interrupted in a bathroom he thought was empty. he jumped, shocked to all hell, reacting with a high pitched (and incredibly embarrassing) yelp. “what the fuck?” he shouted. for a second, he thought it was all in his head. maybe his powder was cut with something heinous. yet, the voice continued, and ike knew where it was coming from.

THE person from the shower revealed their identity, pulling the curtain like the bathroom version of the wizard of oz. he sighed, tossing his head back in exasperation. “are you kidding me? i could’ve had a heart and died. right here. and it would be your fault, too.” he thought about leaving right there, leaving the stranger to the next unfortunate visitor, but he really didn’t want to go out there with the eyesore of a stain he had on his shirt. and if that ape brain and his goon found him back out there? he was looking at a black eye. at best. he groaned, accepting his fate, locking the door and sitting on the edge of the bathtub. ike didn’t look too happy about it, either. he only needed to kill some time. “i don’t know shit about zodiac signs. my ex was a pisces, that’s the only one i know. he was the fucking worst. what does that tell you?”

lips part, the small scoff they let out laced with a delicate hint of mockery. there’s no ‘i’m sorry for startling you’, ‘sorry for putting you in a weird position’ tonight. he’s untouchable, blissful, sunbathing on cloud nine with the dangerous conviction that the whole world belongs to him. "oh, don’t be so dramatic, love.” says the one who skips through life as if it’s his personal theater. “i’ve heard of cpr. you’re in good hands.” and to solidify the claim, they offer the other a smile so large it causes the joint to fall from between lips (despite the protection of extra sticky cherry lip balm) and land on his chest. “here.” picking it up with two fingers, they hold it out in the man’s direction, a silent peace offering to scare off any evil spirits between them. "to breaking the bad streak.” an assumption made purely based on how displeased the other’s appeared since stepping into the bathroom. from that and the stain on what seems like an otherwise high quality shirt, fuzzy-headed tate figures the visitor hasn’t had the best of nights. not that they can make it any better with their upbeat commentary. “hopefully it can make you look less miserable.” comes out genuine  — so kind one would think twice before smashing his face in. 

head lolls to the side, half-amused smirk plastered across lips when instead of fleeing the scene, the guest makes the mistake of accepting the invitation, guaranteeing the next few minutes will be nothing short of interesting. so naturally, tate listens, eyes focused on the other, watching him thoroughly, mesmerized, as if trying to dig into his soul. then, a heartfelt chuckle, but is he laughing with him? or at him? the stranger can decide. “that... you have a terrible taste in men?” teases, certain lightheartedness thrown into the mix, hand gracefully moving into the man’s personal bubble, fingers brushing over the stained material of his shirt. brows furrow slightly before he’s reaching for the towel that hangs behind his head and, without an explanation, passing it over to the man. “would you be an angel and get this wet for me? thank you, baby. i can’t feel my legs.” explains with a delirious smile, running a hand down the other’s arm in a way that could easily be considered unnecessarily intimate. “while you’re at it, you can tell me your worst date story.” 

[openhandcd]

ofkingsnqueens​:

river kept on whining, and suddenly it was one whining conversation of a kind. whoever saw them would be immediately annoyed by the idea of them, and yet river found himself slipping into one very comfortable version of himself he usually kept hidden. “what is so important that you must disturb my day off?” he acted highly, as if he was one that reserved a little bit more respect. “yes, you said that this morning, but here, feel free to have another whiff-” he said, rubbing his head to his face as if he were some sort of cat. HIS CAT. he had promised felix to spend friday with him. river pouted, kicking with his legs a couple times. “why are you like this? why do you go and make me feel all slutty? no- no- no. convince me better.” he played hard to get, turning himself away from tate.

pitiful and highly unappealing. i mean, what else would one call two grown men, clinging onto each other while whining like feral fucking babies? if anything, tate’s thriving, the title of an annoying crybaby manchild permanently engraved into their resume. “okay, don’t tell anyone, but...” a manicured finger trails down the other’s back. “i might have a little date...” clicks his tongue, leaving it at that, figuring a further elaboration might collide with the whole mysterious vibe he’s aiming for. closes their eyes when a wave of dark locks slaps them across the face, nose scrunching up slightly as he lets out a chuckle, followed by a small gasp. “you smell so much like the edwardian era it’s making me seriously agitated.” what does it mean? he couldn’t possibly explain, but it comes out in a flirty tone, so that’s gotta count for something. letting go of the other, tate now wiggles their way in front of him, gentle hands reaching out, cupping his face. “oh, honey.” coos, head tilting sideways. “you are slutty.” words of true validation, presented with the sincerest of smiles before a soft kiss is pressed to the top of river’s head. “but it’s what i like about you. along with your generosity and that cute little face you make when you pretend you don’t want to ram your dick down my throat.” a moment of eye-contact before he’s ruining it all with one cackle and a toothy grin. “the offer’s on the table, babes.” and it’s a final one. “i’ll let you think about it.” blows him an air kiss, turning around and heading towards the back. cocky bitch.