𝐃𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐋𝐄. @skoolbully - Tumblr Blog

VIHILUM / bait fishop.

Parties had a way of making her feel pretty out of place amongst her peers. Kate wasn’t shy by any means in a group setting, but she fluttered from conversation to conversation, hardly sticking around long enough to pitch in a different topic - when she did contribute, she was met with discouraging weird stares that didn’t relent until she retreated from their circle. It felt like a bad video game, and she kept losing points.

Maybe she didn’t have anything in common with anyone here.

It was hard to branch out when her inner circle was other lonely superheroes eager for a stake in the real world. It wasn’t all it was cracked out to be, but at least the playlist was a vibe - specifically when jimbo hijacked the set and that was when she really felt the tension crack amongst all the partygoers. When the music was good, it was easier for the conversation to be about nothing in particular.

She’d given up on idle chatter, posted up by the pool, head wavering side to side when she saw Jimbo making a beeline for the pool - she knew she was too late in offering a warning the second she laid eyes on him. He was propelling at the most impossible speed, that she hoped he wouldn’t concuss himself on the way in - luckily he didn’t, his landing splashing her in a mist of chlorine. He re-emerged, and she couldn’t help the fit of laughter that overtook her.

“Always know your exits,” it was advice she took herself

She knew this stunt - it was the oldest trick in the book. His hand reached for hers, and while she knew it was in her best interests to let him flounder on his way out, Kate never turned down someone when they asked for help.

“Pull me in,” her hand clasped around his, “and I won’t hesitate drown you.”

NO HORSEPLAY, reads a sun-faded sign along the perimeter. but this isn’t no play, officer poolside; this is serious business. ( you either drown or live long enough to see yourself become the life-guard. ) ‘ duh-ly noted. ‘ jimbo adopts a look of naïveté, knowing full well that what he’s saying is at once precocious and endearingly idiotic. he has a gift for being charming in the way that only boys raised in circuses can be, blinking at everything like the world is a dazzling and confounding stage. it helps build trust; most people can’t help but be wooed by clowns. it’s got a little to do with their whimsy and a lot to do their shameless deviance. kate strikes him as the type of girl who can’t walk by a wasp on the sidewalk without picking it up on a leaf, setting it down on the grass, and apologizing for the inconvenience. she understands the subtext of that shark-toothed smile of his and helps him anyway, not because she’s charmed, but because she understands the risk and chooses to be kind despite it. ( oh well, too bad! rookie move. you’ll learn today. )

‘ anyway ––– ‘ he hoists himself up with his elbow, fighting against the weight of the water just to get a second grip on her forearm. the look about his face becomes something dangerous, every tooth and freckle and reflection in his eyes a warning. ( GAME OVER, BISHOP. ) jimbo pulls her closer ––– too close, until their noses almost touch, and whispers his next words for her ears only. ‘ ––– always know whose hand you’re holding. ‘ it’s the oldest story in the book: a wink, a tug, and an anticipatory flinch at the splash to come. ( not since the holy motherfucking bible has anyone witnessed a betrayal of this magnitude. )

#( sorry to whatever kate had in her pockets )#( this was necessary etc etc )#VERSE [ 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍. ]#vihilum

@avtomatmashina @skoolbully ok simpsons fandom, we've heard enough out of u

you talk a lot of shit for someone who’s one ‘o’ away from having tomato in their url

#( literally hi and hello? )#( mp3 skull play shut up by ariana grande )#tbd #( ive had it )#( taking the first flight out of this website )#ooc tbt #avtomatmashina

@sharpietattoos, CONTINUED.

the most underrated weapons in the world are those ketchup bottles you get at old-timey diners ––– not the fake ones that use nostalgia to sell twelve dollar milkshakes, but the crusty, weathered ones that’ve never seen a new coat of paint in their lives. glass ketchup bottles are inconspicuous in your hand and create high drama when they’re smashed against someone’s head. the most overrated weapons in the world, on the other hand, are love, emotions, responsibility, and other such explicatives. ( talk about high drama! ) he does adore shauna, in his own way; whenever they’re together and things are good, they drink and start to laugh / whenever they’re together and things are bad, they drink and start to weep. in his experience, loving her is easier than being loved by her. except he’s not particularly great at either one, and sometimes it’s easier just to hate her. not earnestly, but in the same way you hate your cat for using its claws during play, or the way you hate the doorframe for existing when you hit your hip against it. ( the act of thinking you hate something, when in reality you’re just pretending to. )

their relationship is a rollercoaster. it’s a high-speed police chase. it’s a shakespearean tragedy ( if shakespearean tragedies were written by teenagers with an irreparably skewed perception of life. ) basically, romeo and juliet don’t got shit on them. her response takes him aback, stoking the rage that he keeps in the pit of his stomach. as hard as she tries to avoid his gaze, he stares back at her with twice as much determination. ' what the fuck are you talking about. ' jimbo clenches her answer between his teeth, tastes it on his tongue, and spits it back out in the form of rhetorical denial. ( wouldn’t get it? fuck you, shauna chalmers. i invented the capital-g Genre of not giving a shit. ) he watches her stick the cigarette between her teeth and feels nothing; he hears her sniff back her tears and feels too much. her dismissal confuses him, and his confusion frustrates him. the result is anger, which tends to happen when someone messes with his fundamental understanding and then acts like the truth is self-evident. he forces himself to exhale, and in so doing expels some of his vitriol in the general direction of the universe.

' you’re not supposed to give a damn about, like, concepts. politics. fuckin' ––– crosswalks and stop signs and speed-limits in school zones. ' the incredulity in his words is hard to miss. so is the defeat that’s creeping in along the undertones. it’s exhausting business, trying to love someone who hates themselves almost as much as they hate life. jimbo presses his heel against a pebble with all of his might, willing it to break through the ground and into the earth’s core or through his shoe and into his foot. neither happens. he kicks it away, the rubber of his converse scraping bitterly against the pavement. ' you’re supposed to give a damn about people, shauna. at least the real ones. ' who can say where the defensiveness comes from ––– especially from someone who prides himself in not caring about anybody’s opinion. maybe he thinks if he can keep shauna away from indifference, he can keep her away from the knowledge that everybody else seems to have acquired over the course of his life: he isn’t a spectacular or lovable person, really, and because of this he’s not actually worth giving a damn about, either. jimbo hawks and spits on the ground. ' anyway, you’re lying. look at you, crying ‘n shit. if you didn’t care ––– you want a light? ' he pauses his muttering to fish a lighter from his pocket. the safety label’s peeling at its edges; he frowns at it for a long time after he’s done speaking. ' ––– you wouldn’t be acting dumb about it. '

#sharpietattoos #VERSE [ 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗. ]#( opposite energy of 'your tone is very pointed right now' )

@childactress: ' did you just spill your drink on me? '

he’s never ashamed of himself, really ––– which either makes him an artist or a criminal, depending on the day. jimbo stoops over to hear her better, accosting her with a curtain of dark hair as gravity pulls him down. he pats her on the shoulder with an unintentionally heavy hand, blinking into the empty bottom of his cup. ‘ did you just spill your you on my me? ‘ apologies are merely ornamental; people say them just to say them ––– but not him. instead, he fixes her with the type of big, goofy smile that you only see on cartoon characters who’ve just been struck in the head with a frying pan. ‘ hey man, you’re welcome. suck that shit out of your shirt and you’ve got yourself a free drink. ‘

#childactress #( the era of mara jj )#( it is finally upon us )#( :prayge: )#VERSE [ 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍. ]

@vihilum: ' guess you should have made sure there was an exit from the pool before you jumped into it, huh? ' ( kate! )

people always compare floating to feeling weightless, but, fully clothed and soaked to the bone, he must weigh a thousand pounds. most of it’s concentrated in his hair, which spreads around him like black ink poured into blue water. all the same, he looks more or less content. when you have nothing to show for your life, you find value in innocuous things and turn them into lessons: 1) if you’re going to have a hot dog, cut it into strips and eat it off a fork; 2) when possible, drink pepsi out of the most exquisite mug you can find; and 3) there's absolutely no point in attending a pool party if you’re not going to jump into the fucking pool. so what if there’s no steps / so what if there’s no ladder / so what if he’s too many shots in and too many layers clothed to pull himself out ––– hold up. OH NO.

‘ how was i supposed to know these people got their shit pool straight outta the sims? ‘ jimbo pushes a stray mess of wet curls away from his face so that he can see her better. a grimace ––– partly because of what she’s said, partly because of his reality, and partly because the chlorine makes his nose burn. he fights the urge to sneeze. with one arm resting on the concrete paving, he holds himself against the side of the pool; with the other, he extends a hand out to kate. a wide grin, all white teeth, purple braces, and bad intentions. the underwater lights cast wild shadows across his face. ‘ help me out, won’t ya? ‘

#vihilum #( TAKE THE HAND KATE )#( pinky prommy nothing will happen to you<3 )#VERSE [ 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍. ]#( fr thank you for this. kiss kiss fall in love )

DHUFEAINNEWEDD / ishtar.

☀ @skoolbully· { WITH. jimbo.

Sie wiedererlangt das Notizbuch, weil sie zeichnen in dem Heftrand vor will. Sie denkt während eines Augenblick bevor sie beginnen zeichnen einen Lindwurm tut nach. Ishtar aufblickt nicht, wenn sie sagt: « Hopp oder Top lecken den Boden aus? »

er reagiert kaum, als sie das notizbuch von unter ihm hervorzieht. eine kurze pause, dann malt er einfach auf dem tisch weiter. ‘ leck deine mutter. oh, warte –– kannst du garnicht. ’ ein gemeines lächeln als er in die richtung ishtar‘s guckt. die bleistiftmine bricht ab, und sein gesicht verdunkelt sich. ‘ und? was soll das eigentlich werden? sieht sheiße aus. ’

#( girlfriends practicing german together )#( name one thing more iconic )#VERSE [ 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍. ]#dhufeainnewedd #german /

@robobe / piggy bank.

“hello, peasant!” a cheerful greeting, magnanimously uttered from smiling mouth: henry cheng, not king of aglionby, but surely king of his own domain, loiters alone for once by the school gates. a fortunate fellow loiterer has caught his attention: “what are you doing so far away from the local school? oh.” a look dawns on his face, as though he’s just figured something out. “do you need money?”·

he’s already going for his black leather wallet, ringed fingers flipping through credit cards and hundred-dollar bills. “don’t worry, buddy. it’s going to be okay. i’m henry.” holds out a pair of hundreds like he’s holding a treat to a dog; the condescension is natural and unintentional. “what’s your name, stranger?”

@delinqent, plotted

‘ huh? ‘ the question in his voice is dangerous. jimbo knows him from some class or another, and he certainly knows people like him. he’s ready to bristle, lip curled and primed to hurl a string of insults. one bill followed by another, however, and the animosity dies on his tongue. ( buy my silence! ) ‘ thanks, man. my name’s hugh … jurection. ‘ the stare he lends henry is a hard one, as if challenging him to call his bluff.

‘ parents didn’t want me no more, so they sold me to the state. then the state didn’t want me no more, so they left me on a street corner and told me to free willy. ‘ somewhere along the way he loses his own plot ––– but hey, he’s not a total fraud. one of these things is a truth wrapped in a lie. jimbo buries his hands and the money in his pockets, letting his shoulders fall under the burden of fabricated hardship. ( all teenagers think they’re phenomenal actors. ) ‘ another hundred, and i’ll be able to buy a drink to go along with my sandwich. ‘

#robobe #( plot of all time )#VERSE [ 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚌𝚢𝚌𝚕𝚎. ]

HOPELASS / howard? more like howie mandel.

❝ she’s still my best friend, though. — and she has it … pretty rough at home, she just doesn’t let anyone see it. ❞ maddy would absolutely fucking come for her if she knew that she was spilling her personal shit to some guy. cassie’s about as loyal as any wounded animal can be, constantly seeking shelter in the form of a firm pair of arms. there’s just something about jimbo ( or maybe something about her she’s letting bleed onto him, ) that makes her feel like she can tell him almost anything. still, it’s much easier to sell secrets that don’t belong to you. ❝ don’t like, ever tell her or anyone else i told you that though, okay? she would totally kill me. ❞ perhaps they can add this clause to their pinky promise. she considers asking, but takes advantage of the pebble skittering at her feet and looks down to temporarily hide the way her smile has faded into a look more thoughtful. it takes half a second for her to remind herself he is no HUNTER — at least not yet. if he’s laying out traps, he’s doing so carefully, but cassie decides to take her chances and meet his eyes once again ( wishing she’d never averted hers in the first place ).

see, she doesn’t know if she wants him to see the sadness or not. it’s pretty common knowledge already that she’s damaged goods, but she doesn’t think anyone can tell how deep the rot goes just from the ever-changing bruises on her neck. if jimbo’s like every other guy she’s ever met ( even if the signs point to no, the chance is always high ), the odds of him staying will be significantly higher if she focuses on being pretty — and she really wants him to stay. as if she’s never been bitten before, cassie fails to step away when he enters the bubble of space she’s sure he would’ve been given entry to soon enough. ❝ whoah, careful … you good? as good as you can be? ❞ that one touch, ACCIDENTAL, is all it takes to cloud her eyes over, to stop her in her tracks. cassie raises a soft hand to blanket his, holding him against her arm long after she’s sure he’s regained his balance. she speaks through laughter, her smile slowly returning, only quieter this time so it can creep up on her. his question, though rhetorical, remains suspended between them in the little distance left. there are quite a few people she knows personally that wouldn’t hesitate to call him a loser. in fact, they’d probably call him worse. cassie, however, doesn’t really subscribe to that high school hierarchy stuff. she’s never made any move to limit the amount of people she can surround herself with. she raises her brows, amused, and speaks pointedly. ❝ i don’t think you’re a loser. or a serial killer, or a cop. … maybe you’re a little clumsy, but that’s not a deal breaker for me. ❞

‘ everybody’s life sucks, c. but i guess ... if i looked into anybody else’s home, i wouldn’t trade my shit for their shit. so tu secret es mi secret. i’ll be the tomb, you’ll be the fancy coffin, and maddy'll be the mystical mummy. ‘ the affliction of the shameless is this: they speak nonsense, and they speak it with conviction. any time a fantastic phrase or idea pops! into his head, he simply has to say it. all the ugly, insecure things that fly around in there tend to die a lonely death, afraid to come out. he makes a zipping motion across his mouth with his free hand, locking her secret behind quirked lips. jimbo imagines her as saturn / imagines her as having the intense gravitational force of a planet with a thousand moons. ( when he lost his balance, he didn’t even fall; he just went into orbit around her, and she caught him and held him there. ) you good? she asks. he thinks he answers, hearing his own words play out in his mind. good? best. fucking phe-nom-en-al. but all that comes out is a crude laugh ––– the ugly sort, hitched and wild and resonating from the throat, the way children laugh before they’re taught to do it with the polite restraint of adults.

he looks at her hand on his and feels serene: a body freshly drowned, content to float in the warmth of her presence and count the stars that glitter at the tips of her fingers. for a second, he loses himself in the mirage he’s conjured up from inside the haze; when he comes back down to earth, he realizes what she’s said. i don’t think you’re a loser. the smile about him becomes something inscrutable. he should say thank you. instead, he grabs her hand and holds it up as if to study it. ‘ what is your deal, howard? ‘ he has a gentle way of speaking, when it suits him. something in his voice becomes reminiscent of smoke, masking the usual stilted words and drawling inflections. ( pay no attention to the man behind the curtain / the red flags painted green. ) he always believes in the importance of the moment, and right now that moment is spelled C-A-S ––– well, he doesn’t know how it’s spelled. but he knows he likes the way it feels. jimbo lowers her hand, letting his fingers slip away from hers and picking at an imaginary loose thread on his shirt. as they talk, he finds himself imitating the pace of her step and tilting his head at the same angle as hers. ‘ you’re a thinker. i can tell, ‘cause you’re the only person i’ve talked to all night who isn’t lame as hell. oh hey, speaking of ... ‘ they weren’t, actually, ‘speaking of.’ ‘ ... you ever seen deal or no deal? you’d look good with a tiny briefcase. ‘

#( hey kitty heyyyyy )#( just us doing our thing )#( gifting you this ancient draft )#hopelass #( this looks so long. sorry that he physically cannot stop talking about nothing and everything )#VERSE [ 𝚎𝚞𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚊. ]

skoolbully nation, we ride at dawn

#( to my haters and detractors )#( you were right )#( delinqent never stood a chance )#ooc tbt #( i'm back etc etc )

WEBSPIN / nellie minnelli.

@delinqent : the subject of today’s lesson is crime. *

THE SUBJECT OF TODAY’S LESSON : aw, crud. scribbled notes on a dog - eared pad at the back of a crowded classroom [ … ] a paper airplane, an open window, a summer breeze. there it goes, drifting aimless / ignored over the town of springfield, usa. FROM RADIATION TO DESTITUTION ——— from water clogged with more waste than water to the squalor he’s learned to call home, this place might be his whole world. somewhere off in the distance tyres squeal on tarmac, but the only burning rubber he knows is the ad infinitum smouldering of a built - up bonfire [ … ] SPRINGFELD’S PRIDE AND JOY, permanent and ugly as the town itself. ‘ take ‘er away, teach! ’ ( there’s a textbook with curling corners and smudged - ink notes in the margins buried at the bottom of his rucksack ; there’s defiance carved in the wood of his desk [ … ] yeah, he’d have all the answers if he cared / he’d make varsity, if he cared )

tonight’s class is a captive audience, a gang trailing along their leaders in the sunset - stained after - school dusk. their laugher echoes through worn - down streets and walls marked with calling cards and fading memories of fading youth ; el barto, reads a faint sign - off from long ago. around them, peeling paint and cracks in the pavement : eh, might as well turn to a life of crime and destruction. IT’S ALL GONNA END UP DESTROYED ANYWAY ! nelson’s arms spread wide, a gesture and a challenge ——— one that’s all - too familiar to him and jimbo by now. ‘ show us what ya got! ’

there are certain parts of the world where certain things come from. oranges come from florida; olive garden comes from italy. it’s the same thing with people: lots of politicians come from washington. and, for reasons that aren’t always entirely obvious unless you live there, burnouts burn-out in springfield. something to do with growing up between a nuclear plant painted white and a social services building painted [ NOTHING, because it went out of business years ago. ] fact is, any flower planted in radioactive soil comes out looking crooked –– don’t matter how pretty the pot is. and their pot ain’t even all that nice; it’s chipped on the side, the shape of it beaten into submission by the sculpting hands of intergenerational trauma. but at least they’re in it together –– wilted seeds in a wilted town. ( THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO JIMBO J. )

he doesn’t see nelson come to life in the peculiar way that only flightless birds can, clipped wings spread wide / mimicking what can never be: ESCAPE. he’s too busy having a staring contest with a dying sun. it doesn’t blink; he grimaces. ( THE COYOTE-BOYS OF SPRINGFIELD. they don’t need to see each other to recognize both bark and bite. ) jimbo crouches down, searching for something on the ground. ❛ if crime school were a thing, we’d all get flyin As. ❜ ‘pass with flying colours’ warps itself around his tongue and comes out wrong, a declaration of war between sense and nonsense. ( baumbala bunga rallalalaio. and fuck your logic. ) he picks up a chunk of asphalt, separated from the road by poor driving and even worse upkeep. it’s hot and jagged and stains his fingers with dust; as he straightens himself, stray pebbles cling desperately to his skin. ❛ we’re doing it right now. extra-cool-rricular activities, man. ❜ with his free hand, he rummages around the inside of his pocket. out comes a firecracker, looking like an innocuously folded note [ DO YOU LIKE ME? CHECK BOOM OR BLAMO. ] backpacks are for nerds and soldiers, nelson. take note! if you can’t stash it on your person, then it ain’t worth keeping. he’s got everything a guy could need, except for … ❛ heyuh. got a light? ❜

#webspin #( nelson's inner monologue: i could be more than this. if i cared )#( jj's inner monologue: shit fuck i'll eat this rock right now i swear–– )#main verse tbt #( sorry i love them )

HOPELASS / pick a penny.

❛ i trust them more than anyone we just left behind ! they're young and honest , ❜ which means they definitely must have meant what they said about her perfectly curled hair and glossed - up lips. cassie skates gracefully across more than one frozen - over pond ; the metaphorical rink being cynicism, which she threatens to break into every day. only her family ever gets to see her UGLY side, the one that falls through the ice, the one that shakes a freshly - manicured fist at the sky and cries herself to sleep because things just aren't fair. that girl isn't delicate enough to show to the rest of the world. she refues to misstep in front of jimbo ( even if she is at ease, ) because she doesn't know yet if he'd be the type to pull her out of the water. cassie craves a warm blanket, a cup of cocoa, a heart as blue and tender as her own. ❛ i’ll make it worth your while, though — as long as whatever you order at nino's doesn't absolutely suck. ❜ the vicious cycle creeps up on her again like the blister on her heel that refuses to go away. her skates are too tight. they dig into her ankles, they cut off her circulation, they encourage her to march on forward blindly. cassie knows the truth as well as a blister : he's been nice enough to her that she'd gladly give him one of those not - so - carefully guarded pieces of her. it's not that jimbo has given her any indication that that's what he plans on asking for. that's just how the dance goes, the routine she knows like the back of her loveable hand.

❛ god, seriously — ❜ she can only say these things because maddy's out of earshot. ❛ like, i don't usually get involved with her shit with nate, but … i really don't know why maddy likes him so much. he just makes her upset half the time. ❜ the judgement passes easily since nate jacobs hasn't given her a second glance past her nudes ( the ones she knows he's seen by the way he acts when they're on opposite ends of the same room. ). he's always been off - limits and she's never wanted that to CHANGE. all of his friends are cuter than him, anyways. jimbo's pretty cute, too, she's just now realizing in the distant porch lights and washout of moonlight. tongue situates itself between pearly whites, a laugh escaping her lips as he carries on. ❛ why'd you go to one of his parties if you hate him so much ? i thought you'd be able to get booze and stuff anywhere. ❜

❛ shit, howard. you can’t just ask someone why they’re a masochist. ❜ in fact, anybody can say anything at all! mostly, he just doesn’t let them. takes the coins people try to shove into the slot and flips them at unsuspecting passerby’s. but cassie’s polite –– or at least she’s careful, laying her pennies in a row / watching / seeing who’ll take one. jimbo took one as soon as she flashed that first smile ( but he doesn’t pocket it; he holds it gently in his palm. ) he pauses, sends a pebble skittering toward her feet, and then falls back into line with her. ❛ why’re you friends with someone who let you walk home with some rando freak? i could literally be a serial killer –– or worse, a cop. ❜ he stares at her in the way that he does: intently / unashamedly, not really caring whether the favour is returned or not. her hair kinda glitters in the moonlight, like the fancy wrapping paper that people get out during christmas –– the one that smells like cloves.

❛ actually ... i’ll tell you why: ‘cause people settle for what they think they deserve, and most people think they deserve dog shit and expired chip dip. ❜ the thing about sobriety is that all thoughts come like frozen microwave meals: you heat them up just enough to think them. white pills pressed against the tongue are like ingredients in a home recipe: they let people have these big, grandiose thoughts –– usually about nothing. ❛ that’s why maddy thinks she deserves nate and you think you deserve maddy, even though both of you can do better. it’s all mind games –– you feel me? you’re playin’ yourself. ❜ and him? well, it ain’t that deep. that every party has to deal with his uninvited presence now is because nobody had bothered to come when he was crying in his crib back then. all abandoned kids grow up to be the world’s problem. jimbo laughs –– easy, thoughtless –– as if the desolation of his own words doesn’t strike him. ( and it doesn’t, really. at what point does a terrible life, once lived, just become ... life? ) he means only to lean in, the grin on his face primed to spill a secret, but misjudges the distance and knocks into her instead. shit. shit! a beat missed, one hand catching her by the arm in an effort to atone for his lapse in depth perception. ❛ also, like, drinking alone is for losers. do i look like a loser to you? ––––don’t answer that. ❜

#( i will simply go Absent forever. i will simply Not Write )#( but then you come online one (1) time )#( and it's like )#( i know what i need to do.... )#hopelass #VERSE [ 𝚎𝚞𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚊. ]

@dreamhued!

❛ look at that girl –– reading a book, ❜ he condescends, peering through an enormous pair of sunglasses that might make someone question his sanity. ( THIS JUST IN: it’s more acceptable to commit war crimes than it is to wear sunglasses inside. ) he’d seen them perched on top of a rack tucked away in the corner of a convenience store / decided that they’d get more use out of being stashed in his coat pocket. ( ‘ theft is okay if you use what you steal ’ is the only thing he’s taken away from the horrific tale that is life. ) he runs his thumb along the top of a bobby-pin he’d nabbed off of abel, smiling in a wicked way that pushes the zebra-print sunglasses further up the bridge of a freckled nose. ❛ man, i wish i was that book. i’d let her pick me up. flip through the pages. draw hearts and shit in the margins. ❜

AND THEN THE UNIVERSE, ENTIRELY FED UP WITH WITNESSING THE ANTICS OF RECYCLED YOUTH, GROANS AND INTERVENES. the girl looks up / he suddenly remembers the real reason he never goes to the library. ( IT’S JUST SO GODDAMN QUIET, and he’s so goddamn loud. ) ❛ ohhh my fucking god. she heard that. ❜ no no, it’s not shame. don’t be fooled by the way being caught wipes the shit-eating grin away like a clorox rag pressed to the mouth. there’s no shame in wanting to avoid consequences; avoidance is a survival strategy. ( his fight or flight instinct lives in his gut –– a small animal that bristles and barks whenever he’s about to get caught out. ) the girl’s eyes rise to look at their table / following in the footsteps of a choreographed routine, the upturned corners of his lips lower. he sticks the bobby-pin in his hair, tossing it into a mess of stray curls like a dart thrown blindly at a board, and drops his hands into his lap. jimbo slides further into his seat, letting his head lull sharply to the side –– falling onto abel’s shoulder the way a puppet crumples to the ground when its strings are cut loose. the sunglasses, knocked off kilter, sit crooked: an ugly slash of WASP fashion / an ugly suburban wound bleeding black and white zebra stripes. ❛ quick. close your eyes and pretend you’re asleep. ❜

#VERSE [ 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗. ]#dreamhued #( when they have to run out of the library )#( what then )#( is the friendship worth the embarrassment abel )#( IS IT )

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when the song said i want to rock and roll all night and party every day i really smiled wide becuase that sounds so awesome

#( this is so pure )#( i will not lie )#musings tbt #mobile tbt

@liabilita / burrito borracho.

joint is pressed between chapped lips as she ties curls into a bun, skateboard sat underneath her. smoke curls around her face, nose scrunching in thought. noah isn’t one to preach, nor give big speeches - but sometimes, she thinks people need it. a sigh breathes out smoke, passing the joint over to corky. ‘ honestly, i couldn’t fuckin’ tell ya. but ‘s not always bad, yanno. i do good shit for you all the time, and you - ‘ sharp laughter cuts herself off, teasing gaze tossing a wink his way. ‘ -- YOU’RE A ROTTEN APPLE, sure, but you’re not bad. not t’ me, anyway. ‘ a shrug. she flicks a lighter absentmindedly, rolling herself back and forth on the board she’s sat on. ‘ sometimes, TAKIN’ CHANCES IS ALL YOU CAN DO. shit, i take chances on people every day. disappointing? sure. but . . . sometimes an asshole throws me a twenty and i get a burrito, so it’s worth it. life’s like that. ‘ she rubs at her nose, glancing up to corky with a smile that’s softer than she intends. ‘ don’t let the man get ya down, corks. ‘

❛ man, i’m bad as fuck. the baddest. ❜ it’s the talent of every wayward hypocrite to say things he doesn’t mean with conviction. adults lose the ability to pretend; they look into dirtied mirrors and believe in what they see, even if what they see is a reflection of crows eyes and broken dreams. kids look into mud puddles and see the yukon gold rush. ❛ you do good shit coz you’re actually soft as hell underneath all ... this. ❜ he tucks the joint between his lips and gestures vaguely towards her. ❛ but not me. i’m like an apple from those professor seuss books. got the worm in it, smilin’. goofy. ❜ as if to emphasize his point, he flashes his teeth in a wicked grin. in reality, it’s just a gut reaction to being called rotten, like she’s jabbed a finger into his side / like she’s tapping playfully on a cracked rib. ( there’s a sort of manic satisfaction that comes with being truly acknowledged. )

the gleeful expression disappears as he closes his lips around the blunt and inhales. a second of contemplation and then another, dark eyes squinting passively against the sun. when he exhales, adding another cloud to the sky, the smile doesn’t return. jimbo shrugs, kicking a stray pebble with the toe of his sneaker and watching it skitter away beneath noah’s skateboard. ❛ nah. we already at rock bottom. ❜ he doesn’t speak with pride or with sadness; IT'S ALL THE EVEN TONES AND BLAND INFLECTIONS OF RESIGNATION. deft fingers pluck the joint from his mouth, but instead of passing it back he simply looks at it –– thoughtfully, if not morosely. ❛ ––life ain’t all burritos. ‘s not even worth takin’ chances half the time, like ... it’s just easier not to. ❜

#liabilita #( noah: trying to be relatable and supportive )#( jj: i see your point and choose to miss it xx )#VERSE [ 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗. ]#( love her love her love her )#drugs /

FUCKINGVICTUS / freak shit.

she can’t help but give the other a beaming smile whenever he respects the chipmunk’s pronouns. she knew he wasn’t all that bad, you know. sure, a bully by nature but there was something always underneath that. dawn usually could see the layers of a person quite easily. hence why she did make people feel so uncomfortable. it wasn’t necessarily her fault—…though, she could tone it down a little bit. certainly could keep her comments to herself. then again, she didn’t necessarily like lying—…or pretending to be something she wasn’t. “she likes you. luckily. she can be feisty.”

“then what’s stopping you?” eyebrows raise slightly. before he decides to answer her question, she speaks once more. “is it the fact you fear that people wont take you seriously? or perhaps that the bully becomes the bullied? it’s okay. i get it,” a simple shrug of her shoulders. she didn’t mind the other’s company, but it seemed the other wasn’t too fond of her. she was used to that, sadly. “i’m just being myself. you just perceive me as weird.”

❛ oh yeah? you get it? ❜ the jeering overtones of his voice are loud / deliberate –– an indignant response all dressed up in clown paint. she’s not entirely wrong, though, and maybe that’s what sets his teeth on edge. ❛ jokes on you, ‘cause no one takes me seriously anyway. ❜ he says it like it’s a good thing / like he’s stickin’ it to her, when in reality he’s just proving her right. ( yeah! accepting dismal circumstances and using old bruises as armour: that’ll show her. ) a defiant raising of the chin, dark eyes fixated on the chipmunk that he likes decidedly more than professor x. still, for all that bravado ... he doesn’t actually dare answer her question, does he?

❛ or maybe people think you’re weird ‘cause you are weird, ❜ comes the begrudging response. he drops the skateboard back onto the pavement, placing one foot flat in the middle and rolling it idly back and forth. when he finally meets her eyes again, it’s with the overbold audacity of any honest to goodness hypocrite. ❛ what’s so wrong with being weird, huh? ❜

#fuckingvictus #( oh how the turn tables )#VERSE [ 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍. ]#( HI I MISSED YOU )#( I MISSED THEM )#( i am.... so sorry )#( i think i wrote this weeks ago and just forgot because my brain is smooth )

GODBANES / coalition to free britney and kesha.

“ yeah, fuck you, dude. ya look like a joke. ” middle finger thrown in the air like a wave would be thrown by a boy whose edges aren’t sharp as war blades and whose words weren’t shaped to hurt. the grin on his face is wide, reaching the mismatched gaze of a demigod living in a constant state of blissful ignorance. he does not know who andre the giant is, doesn’t know many of the references thrown at him by western europeans and americans, but it makes him laugh anyway because he recognises the insult supposed to be there. he laughs because insults barely reach him anymore; they would have when he’d been ten years old, still a child who trembled at the sound of a raised voice, a child who’d take everything personally and internalise it.

“ ‘m a seven at least, bitch. you’re the 6. ” the other middle finger joins in, two wishes for jimbo: fuck you &fuck you, but harder. there’s amusement plastered on his face though, a boyish and careless look in his eyes where there is anger and sadness when he doesn’t smoke and drink. he lights another joint to feed his happiness. “ what ‘bout— kesha, huh? ten for me. tiktok was a good fuckin’ song. ” he admits, matter of factly, and drags from the joint greedily then exhaling the smoke in jimbo’s face. sharing is caring and all that.

❛ oh, so you think you look BETTER than me? ❜ and he’s laughing again, now in one of those ways that people do when they’ve been wounded and the blood’s just pouring on out of them –– loud and empty like jingle bells strung too tight. he shakes his head, plucking aimlessly at the cap sitting loose and unscrewed on top of the bottle. the grin holds down its place, but with an edge that speaks to danger. ( if donovan pressed a finger to one of his incisors, he’d prick himself on it. ) ❛ a fucking six –– i called you six a half, man. you're rude as fuck. ❜

AND WHEN KESHA SAID 'TALKIN’ 'BOUT EVERYBODY GETTIN' CRUNK' –– she was having a premonition about this very scene. ( where the heck is my writer’s credit, miss sebert? ) jimbo blinks against the onslaught of smoke, lungs grateful even despite the acrimonious look he besets on donovan. the whole thing gives him the feeling of being accosted by a herd of cotton candy buffalo, except it tastes like shit. ( tastes like double shit when it’s coming from donovan’s filthy fucking lungs. ) he wrinkles his nose, shaking out a mess of dark curls. ❛ i feel bad for kesha. they treat her like trash –– got her all locked up in some whack contract with a piece of shit producer. tik tok slapped, but listening to it makes me feel ... dirty? i dunno, man. i’d be kesha’s friend. ❜ he raises his own hands in retaliation –– two middle fingers held sideways, because some people aren’t even worth the trouble. ( hate, like love, has to be earned. ) crooked ill-wishes / fuck you spelled out in messy swatches of spray paint. ❛ you couldn’t be her friend, though. no way she’d let a six and a half near her ... ❜

#godbanes #( i don't like them )#( i don't )#( this is so silly so dumb )#( but when they take down all of hollywood? WHAT THEN )#VERSE [ 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍. ]

revamping this blog on 4/20 was a pro-gamer move

#( business majors hate me )#ooc tbt #( no i dont have tags )#( that would be giving my organizational skills too much credit )

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