#goldenrodboy

[xuanos]

ツ

Send “ツ” for an EXCITED text.

[ to gold ] I made a whopping 4$ at the game corner. Im after you casino king

[ to gold ] dont act like you didnt just see me??! lets grab some food after your game?

[scrubs-and-cigs]

Old Habits || Gold & Petrel

Cities always smelled like shit. They were densely packed, filled with the stink of people and pokemon alike, flooded with smog, car exhaust, the smell of grease thick and heavy hanging in the air. It was nothing like the crisp, clear smell of the wild, of the country, and Goldenrod was no different. Maybe this was why Petrel was so drawn into its depths; as his boots hit the pavement with a heavy thunk, he reached into the pocket of his blazer to withdraw a pack of cigarettes, lifted one to his lips, and lit it with little issue, taking a deep drag before breathing his own contribution to Goldenrod’s stink swirling into the air. Vice. That’s what cities always smelled like to him.

And as luck would have it, vice was the very reason he was in town, in the first place. Or, well, at least was close enough to it. It was what he was going to blow his money on while he waited for his next gig, at any rate, and there was nowhere better to do it than the Goldenrod Game Corner. Cards, roulette, maybe some slots if he was feeling particularly ballsy, it would just be something to do while he got wasted and relaxed for the next few days.

It was about as busy as he would expect during a weeknight, and though it was maybe  a little on the early side, there still seemed to be enough games going for him to have his pick; Petrel stopped briefly to buy some coins and wandered over to whichever table was nearest, plopping himself down and waiting patiently to be dealt in. He wasn’t sure when the kid caught his eye; he seemed... a little out of place, compared to the rest of the people in here. Well, besides the obvious of course. Petrel was, admittedly, rather good with faces; it came with the territory when one of your special skills was flawless mimicry.

“Isn’t it a little late?” Petrel suddenly said, unable to just ignore the coincidence and let it pass without incident, “I thought it was bedtime for little shits like you. Does your mommy know you’re wasting your life here?”

[obscuralune]

(promo me)

you don't understand how much I'm screaming right now

this is my soul-writer right here

please follow them while my inner-silver cries at the amount of delicious angst and chemistry we have 

7u7

[typicalems-blog]

For that picture we pinned on the wall before we left, the mahogany table and my Beartic Rug—

I had fun, did you? You had some, me too. I met girls like you; were they good? No just new All the pictures I have — you look great, I look bad It's okay, things just c h a n g e

Some things in life were just parallels. 

We see scenes that seem to have been experienced before – people who don't look familiar, but feel familiar. A place, a smell; perhaps even a touch. It was in the way your footsteps sounded outside the door at 3am hovering and contemplating on whether whatever was on your mind was important enough to wake them up for – you, sniveling and trying your best to hold back tears as a goddamned twenty-year old man while he lay awake evening his breath (pretending to be asleep and nonchalant), wondering if you'd open the door. 

We're not children anymore— that's what you tell yourself while his grey hues study the lighted shadows on the ceiling of your shared apartment instead of paying attention to the lingering shadow of your frame outside his room— thinking;

You can keep me up all night.

And at times things would move faster than we had anticipated. Man in its eternally fallible state would return to dust and decay, and thoughts of you eventually become memories and memoirs that don't outlast the eve of our existence. Some people and religions believe in a second chance – reincarnation; what-have-you. 

Rest in peace, old friend. The Champion I could never be; For showing true strength and camaraderie 

Can I speak with you? Can we meet real soon? Are you down here too? Did you save me your shoes? —

Before long, a new cycle begins; a child born to a mother – forgotten, cherished, adored, abandoned. We give in to the lottery of our fates, while he held on to the chance of a (redo). I wasn't a good-enough friend; I wasn't there enough. For every time I had shut you out instead of letting you in, I got a little less of you; a compromised version of you, entirely. 

Dear Diary — I was sure I saw you that day. Brown hair, messy hair. The same wam eyes. Only one person I ever knew (even if I searched the whole world through) would feel like that. Like home. I know it's you—

We look good as two, said we would, guess you knew You still meet with you there – Buy you clothes change my hair All the pictures you see Maybe keep one with me It's okay, we just change

[typicalems-blog]

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