✗┋i'll float on but i'll never grow old — ❞

oh we could take a w a l k downtown; NO, let's search for higher ground. we’ll count the stars and c l o u d s and howl at the moon. written by aj ! ( 18+, est, she/her ) semi-private, semi-selective, multimuse oc indie blog.

[folieadeuxism]

👻 SNAPCHAT  ⌲ OPEN

open to: m/f/nb  suggested connections: exes, best friend, ex-friend, enemy, step-sibling, stranger, etc.

BROOKS: sooo, this will be coming off later tonight, baby~ stop by my place around 10PM? BROOKS: ooooH DAMN !!! BROOKS: wrong snapchat account !!! BROOKS: pls ignore that last snap, jfc  😬

[viscervl]

HARLAN: ...bruh HARLAN: why do i feel like that wasn’t even an accident this fakeass cringe emoji as if u aren’t always popping off ab how hot u are HARLAN: congrats on the sex ig

[viscervl]

folieadeuxism‌:

“What kind of stupid question is that? Would you be happy if that pleb threatened your position?” Dante countered, narrowing his eyes at the other boy. Saint being ridiculous was nothing new, but lately, something just felt off, like a distance was starting to form between the two of them, but he was too anxious about bringing it up. It was probably all in his mind, of maybe Cassidy had been gossiping about him, of maybe… maybe he was seeing someone, which would be the absolute worst case scenario. The thought alone made him feel nauseous, for reasons he didn’t quite understand. He brought the glass of ice water to his lips as his eyes studied the other, who clearly couldn’t hide his disinterest, even with that stupid smirk plastered on his face.

“Anyway,” he started, passing the vaping pen back to Saint, “I can’t hang out for too long, since I have “other plans” tonight, so…” A complete lie, but he didn’t want Saint to get the idea that spending time together was a priority to him, especially since that didn’t seem to be the case vice-versa. However, as annoyed as he was with the other boy, he didn’t want to waste this moment of being alone with him, so he closed the lid of Saint’s laptop and lifted it off his lap, placing it on his nightstand. He swung his leg over his hips, straddling the other boy. If Saint was really seeing someone else, then that could be easily fixed by reminding him what he was missing out on, right? Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to his neck, trailing kisses upward to his jaw, before lightly breathing into his ear, “ — So, I was thinking we could save the small talk for another time, yea?”

deflection. saint should have expected that one, but he just shrugged. “ i meant in the grand scheme of things. are you happy? ” he didn’t see how dante could be. after all, he had a point—whether cassidy actually did have plots to ‘ overthrow dante ’ or no, the paranoia and anxiety were real, and that was saint’s whole point. what good was it to be the king when you spent your days concerned about being overthrown? “ i suppose what i’m really asking is if you still believe this is all worth it. ” the question had plagued him for ages now. saint had never cared much about the status of their clique, but his ability to understand why anyone else would seemed to drift farther and farther away from him with each passing day.

“ plans? ” hardly a surprise. saint couldn’t even begin to guess the myriad ways dante filled his hours—what conversations transpired behind closed doors, who all he saw on any given day. he took a hit from the vape and then set it aside, eyes suddenly alit in a way they hardly ever were anymore as dante climbed into his lap. despite his best efforts... saint still shivered. “ you wouldn’t be planning to fuck me before you run off to meet with that girlfriend of yours, would you? ” he dipped his head to bite down on the juncture of dante’s neck and shoulder, letting his teeth drag over his skin—not hard enough to leave a mark, but certainly enough to ease. “ because something tells me she wouldn’t like that very much. ”

[folieadeuxism]

{ closed starter for @viscervl }

“I just don’t trust her,” Dante huffed out of frustration, before taking a deep drag from Saint’s vaping pen. It was immediately followed by a loud cough, since smoking wasn’t something he did on the reg, but today it was okay, because he was in a mood, and they were in the privacy of Saint’s bedroom. “Any chance she gets to get rid of me, she’ll take. I know you’re ‘friends’ with her, or whatever, but Cassidy Kilmer is a snake, and she shouldn’t be a Windsor.” His face scrunched up in disgust when he said the blonde’s name. Though he would never admit it, it was hard for him not to be jealous of their friendship, even though Dante was about 99% positive that Saint would choose his side, if it came down to it. That one percent, though… “Are you even listening to me, Saint?” he asked, quirking a dark brow. “What’s wrong?”

[viscervl]

wordlessly, saint passed a glass of ice water to dante as soon as the coughing began—an old habit to keep around from his days of smoking, which was much harsher on his throat and his dry mouth, but it helped to keep around when there were novices like dante who’d cough themselves into a frenzy. ( and if dante was going to have a voice that was wrecked and raspy the next day because of saint, he’d rather it be for different reasons. )

was he listening? of course he was. but he was also examining the STUZO catalogue in his inbox with a wintourian precision, highlighting pieces he liked, rearranging outfits, making notes of the ones he didn’t, all with that furrowed brow of his. he’d been told on more than one occasion that he had an unusually stern face. saint always laughed it off, with that dry, humorless laugh of his, and said it was his thinking face—although he supposed that it made sense your ‘ thinking face ’ would be unusually stern when what you were thinking was an internal debate over whether you’d started to hate your friends more than you liked them.

“ i’m listening, ” he said, lifting his gaze from his laptop and watching him. “ cassidy kilmer. snake. plotting to get rid of you. ” he said that second bit with a sort of wry sarcasm, dimpling under his half-smirk. “ tell me something, dante. are you happy? ”

[viscervl]

ft. adam turner

princess. his lip curled in annoyance before he covered it up with his hand, wiping the expression off his face and pinching the bridge of his nose. “there are other greasy mold-infested places where you could work, and make better money while you’re at it.” this was around the point in the conversation where he’d normally drop it, because there was no sense in beating the same dead horse every week. but what had been originally a nuisance had grown more frustrating until it was a real goddamn problem. he squinted at himself in the mirror, straightened his suit jacket, brushed some lint off the lapel. “then you wouldn’t come back smelling like you’ve rolled in motor oil,” he said, distracted as he inspected the angle of his beard, though his eyes did flick up to wyatt’s reflection in the mirror. 

“ i dunno, princess, why don’t you tell me why you decided to take up shop in a town so fuckin’ small that if i stand in the middle and turn around in a circle, i can see the whole thing? then maybe there’d be a different shop for me to work in. i’m a man of limited skills. ” really, he had many practical skills that he could probably turn into jobs in this shithole town full of people with no fucking practical skills—don’t get him started on the witches or, god forbid, the vampires—but he liked working in the shop, liked getting his hands dirty, liked the gentle purr of a car when it started after a repair, good as new. his lips twitched upward into something that almost resembled a smirk. almost. “ just think, i was starting to get the impression you liked the smell of motor oil. ”

[heavengcte]

open to: females, males, non-binary possible connections: best friend, frenemies, ex-girlfriend or boyfriend, etc ( please specify! )

“Are you kidding me? No, of course I don’t have a prom date,” Brooks chuckled, shaking his head. “How am I supposed to dance and flirt with everyone else’s dates if I’m stuck with a lame-ass prom date?” It was such a silly question to him that he couldn’t help but laugh, until he noticed the change of expression on the other’s face. “Wait.. you weren’t.. you weren’t planning on asking me just now, right?”

[viscervl]

“ ew, brooks. ” bryden lara—queen of the judgmental stinkeye. “ going stag to prom is patheticsville. also, asking a boy to be your date? totally patheticsville. you think i don’t have a date to prom? i’ve had a date to prom since february. i’m going with brian taggart. you know, lacross team captain, totally mcgorgeous brian taggart? this is about you, and how i can’t have somebody at my prom table if he doesn’t have a date. think of the photos. photos. don’t ruin this for me. it’s going in the yearbook. ”

[viscervl]

ft. adam turner

the scoff slipped out before he could stop it and he yanked the sleeve of his white dress shirt out from under the suit jacket. “that’s not what this is about.” he wasn’t threatened by matteo, not in the slightest, but there were rules and a clear line needed to be set about respecting what was—tch. “why you want to work in a greasy mold-infested hole in the wall like that anyway is beyond me.” petty? maybe a little. 

he gave a grunt of acknowledgment—or more like disbelief. mhm. sometimes it was just easier to communicate in sounds and monosyllables; all that extra shit overcomplicated everything. he shrugged, but make no mistake; he wasn’t buying whatever adam was selling for a second—it was clear in the arch of his eyebrow “ think of it this way, princess, guys like me work in greasy mold-infested hole in the walls so you don’t have to. ”

[bwbblcgum]

@viscervl ~ wyatt monohan

“there are other places to work.” his displeasure was (or so he thought) carefully masked in indifference, but his movements were edging on a little too snappy. 

[viscervl]

sure, adam sounded indifferent. ‘course. but wyatt, despite common belief, was not a fucking idiot, and when somebody casually mentioned something to you all the goddamn time, they weren’t indifferent about it. he hummed in acknowledgment, a low rumble in his chest, and then, “ sure, and there are other places you can piss on if you’re getting territorial. ”

[viscervl]

ft. mason hoyden

“don’t want to talk about it.” mason was always very careful with his words. did he want to talk about it? no, god, he really fucking did not. but would he?…probably. did he need to?…probably. he sat on one of the chairs outside, one that he had claimed back when ryan had first gotten the place—unspoken, but absolutely his spot. he had his claim all over the house. his spot on the couch, his preferred stool on the island. after their parents died, everything felt…upheaved. and he never told ryan, because he rarely said anything out loud, but the steady comfort this house had eventually provided had helped them all. “do you remember when we were sure mom and dad were going to get a divorce because of that message from jim anderson on the answering machine and when i looked him up he was a divorce attorney? so we had that middle-of-the-night-under-cover-of-darkness family meeting with the four of us out on the porch to talk about it but then jake started crying and mom woke up and had to prove to us that jim wasn’t her divorce attorney he was just an old friend of dad’s who had reached out?” 

yikes. that was quite a long speech for mason. he wasn’t sure what triggered the memory. being out on the porch like this, the alcohol, his general mood. either way, it brought a brief smile to his face before it disappeared, like a light with a bulb that needed to be replaced, wavering and then flickering off. he took another sip of the drink, muscle in his cheek ticking lightly at the burn. he tapped the homemade bar and scoffed lightly. “no jail time…” he stared down into his glass. “i got dumped.” dumped. god he hated that word. so unsophisticated. but what else could he use? nonetheless, it needed an amendment. “i got myself dumped.”

if the cognac had anything to do about it, mason probably would talk, but ryan had long since learned how to gently ease onto the gas so the car didn’t jerk forward and how to just lean on the brakes so they didn’t lurch into a stop; delicate conversations weren’t much different. “yes, god, i can’t believe i’d forgotten about that,” he said, grin already spreading, the ghost of quiet laughter behind his words. “have i ever told you that sometimes all your cautionary digging leads to more trouble than it’s worth? because it does. i can’t count how many times we must’ve jumped to some wild conclusion over the disastrous results of your google searches.”  

but he let himself revel in the memory—there’d been nothing to revel about at the time, of course, what with the four of them picking apart what they thought might be the hidden signs of their parents’ failing marriage, who they would end up living with, if maybe someone had had an affair. but there’d been hundreds, maybe thousands of other midnight meetings like that one, talking about college or life or girls ( or boys ) or, even earlier, waiting for jake to pass out on the deck chairs while pretending to wait for santa so that they could help mom and dad set up the christmas gifts. all that came to a full stop, however, when mason uttered the word dumped. dumped. “wait, what?” that only had one meaning, right? ryan hadn’t fallen so out of touch with the kids that ‘ i got dumped ’ suddenly meant something else, right? “you got dumped? i didn’t even know there was a potential dumper in the picture, dude, or a pre-dumping. who—” he shook his head quickly. not the point. no point in asking if mason was okay, either; that answer was fairly obvious. “what happened?”

[viscervl]

ft. mason hoyden

“—wouldn’t call it a habit,” he said, frowning down at the pieces in his hand. he’d had the urge to break a glass earlier, when he was drunkenly enabling dramatic visions of launching a cup into the wall in a stunning display of fury, like tom cruise or ben affleck. but this cup he’d broken on accident, and it wasn’t nearly as satisfying. not to mention it wasn’t his and now he owed ryan a new cup. “i’ll replace it.”

and then he was silent for a bit, because he hadn’t planned on waking ryan up, and he hadn’t planned on having to talk about any of this, but here he was. he unrolled and ripped a few paper towels from the rack to wipe up the liquor, knowing it would need a good mopping, lest his kitchen be eternally sticky. “rough night. rough week. particularly rough past couple of hours,” he said, and his face pinched briefly. his hand swiped over his eyes, dragged over his lips. this would not happen to ryan. ryan would never be in his kitchen at this hour, shattering cups and crying into cognac over a break up. not anymore. shouldn’t they both be past this stage? he felt like he should be past this stage. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.” but since you’re here. he couldn’t ask him to stick around for a bit, because it felt like too much, but he pulled two glasses from the cabinet. “do you want some?” indirect. the only way he knew how to ask for anything.  

“ good to know. i’d be pretty miffed if all this time you were doing this without so much as an invitation. and you know how i hate to use the word miffed. ” the tease was warm and light, but the subtext remained: ryan wanted to know when mason dropped by unannounced, regardless of the hour; wanted mason to know, even more importantly, that ryan would always be around to talk, no matter how cryptic he needed to be ( or felt he needed to be, ryan could never be sure ) about the details of his life. of all of them, mason had always been the hardest to keep up with by several orders of magnitude, and ryan didn’t want to sound like an old grandma or anything but damn, he worried. “ eh, it’s just a glass. i’m not even going to remember it’s gone. ” he opened the drawer cabinet that housed his trashcan, one of those weird little symbols of his new life as a suburban domestic, and dumped the shards. no harm, no foul. 

ah, yes. there it was. ryan couldn’t help his wry half-grin, his airy snort; with mason, unforthcoming was an understatement. “ it’s cool, i was half-awake anyway. pour me one, and we can talk about it. or not talk about it, your call. ” he took a glass ( and the bottle, because who knew if they’d be looking for a refill later ) and with his elbow nudged open the sliding glass door to his back porch—the designated spot for any meaningful late-night conversation since he was a teenager. ( and not only because he sometimes smoked cigarettes when he drank, and ryan had had more than his fair share of deep talks about life out here, or on his parents’ back porch, accompanied by an entire bottle of bourbon and chain smoking nearly an entire pack—something about staring out over the lake, he’d noticed, made people more honest. ) “ so, rough couple of hours, ” he said, settling into a seat at the bar he and his friends had built together, “ any jail time involved? ”

[bwbblcgum]

@viscervl ~ ryan hoyden

he would have skipped the glass, but this was not his bottle of cognac. and he could have gone home, back to his own apartment, but it was hard to push his key in the lock when he knew there were things on the other side that would remind him of what he’d just royally fucked up. the plates on the small table with the muffin he hadn’t finished, the extra make up she kept at his place spread all over the bathroom counter, the book she was halfway through that was still on his nightstand. tomorrow, he’d deal with all of those things. but tonight his emotional capacity had been far exceeded and he sought recovery at the bottom of this bottle, in his brother’s house, where nothing reminded him of her and everything reminded him of family. 

he hadn’t meant to wake anyone up. really, he planned on being gone before either ryan or his fiance woke up. Far be it from him to let his self-inflicted disaster interrupt their sleep. but just a little tipsy, he’d dropped the cup he was using and it crashed to the floor, shattering in twinkling glass as an amber pool of cognac spread on the tiled floor. shit. where did ryan keep his broom again? he bent down to pick up the larger shards, housing them in the palm of his hand. at least it wasn’t one of dad’s old scotch glasses.

[viscervl]

all things considered, ryan shouldn’t have been so comfortable with the thought ( never mind the evidence ) of someone more or less breaking into his house. but he’d always had an open door policy with his friends, and certainly more so with his brothers, and, well. their parents’ murder had happened in the middle of the day, anyway. so the sound of shattering glass didn’t send him bolting down the stairs in a panic, didn’t leave him in a cold sweat; no, he only sighed deeply and took a few mental bets on which of his brothers had broken something this time. ninety-nine percent, especially if it happened in the middle of the night? his money was on ty, but for some reason, today he’d convinced himself it was jake’s fault. lord knows what that kid got himself into these days.

maybe he’d leave it for tomorrow. he could deal with it tomorrow, right?

ugh, no. he’d definitely forget. or someone would injure themselves. probably jake, trying to clean up his damn mess. with a groan, he pulled himself out of bed, rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and padded downstairs, only to find mason in his kitchen, cradling glass shards and looking... lost. well. there went those twenty bucks, to whoever. “ shit, man. ” he nabbed the dustpan from the closet of assorted cleaning supplies and squat down on his haunches, sweeping up the glass shards with the small brush attached. “ rough night, or are you always in the habit of drinking alone in my kitchen at oh dark thirty? ”

[viscervl]

ft. franny harper

“What the hell? Of course I’m not, and I honestly can’t believe you still remember that, weirdo. Oh, and fyi, I wasn’t crying back then either. That was just you,” Franny corrected him, her green eyes following the red cup as he raised it to his mouth. The one in her hand was still empty, since she didn’t have a chance to refill it, and going back to the kitchen wasn’t an option for her either. Standing on her toes, she manage to reach the cup and snagged it from his hand. “Thanks, Chewbacca,” she grinned, though her smile was quick to falter when she noticed it was half empty already. “Rum and coke? Talking about an inspired choice.” Franny rolled her eyes at him before she gulped the mixed drink down in one go. Her face scrunched up slightly as the alcohol burned in her throat, but she tried her hardest to not let it show how inexperienced she was drinking booze. Besides, the more she drank, the easier it would be to erase the thing she just witnessed from her memories. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay? I mean, you’re here all by yourself, without the rest of the edgelord gang in sight. Don’t tell me even they got tired of you and ditched you.” Harlan and Franny weren’t friends, but it wasn’t fair to be mean to him, and she knew it, however, she needed to get her frustrations out somehow, and the alcohol coursing through her veins made it even more difficult than usual to filter her words. “ —Or did you finally realize yourself that you’ve always been the third wheel? Hm, better late than never, I guess.” Running her fingers through her brown hair, she glanced down at the two empty cups, though her vision was so blurry that it looked like she was holding at least four. “Where did you find the rum?” she asked, her words slightly slurring. “We should get some more of that. Vodka makes me nauseous.”

“ everybody cries at that scene in lilo and stitch, my dude. it’s a deadass fact. and i was just talking generally, you know, because everybody cries at that scene, so the fact that you recall a specific incident? toootally means you were crying. it’s good. shows you’re not as heartless as you want people to think you are and everything. ” he even threw in a wink! ugh, that harlan. he was so fuckin’ smooth, even if it was only because he had functionally no body hair. chewbacca indeed. “ are you hating on rum and cokes in my presence? fran. franny. francine. ” yes, he was fully aware that was not her name. did he care? no. if harry had to deal with getting called harold thirty times a day, franny could handle one francine. “ rum and coke is a classic for a reason. you don’t fuck with a good thing. sorry if your thighs can’t handle the sugar intake or whatever, but—hey. hey. ” for a second he considered stealing back his drink, but she’d obviously killed it. great. “ you owe me a whole fresh rum and coke now, or else i’mma tell everybody i totally just caught you crying. which i did. don’t think you can slip that one past me just because you sidestepped it to harass me about how i have no friends. by the way, i resent being called an edgelord. there’s nothing edgy about me. i’m not even a butter knife. i’m like... a spoon. and i have no shame in admitting that ‘cause at least one of us gotta be self-aware, or else our mutual density would just turn this whole party into a collapsed star and we’d full-on super massive blackhole this bitch. you want rum? rum’s in there, ” with a nod he gestured toward the kitchen door behind her. “ but if you’re nauseous you probably shouldn’t drink anymore. probably. i don’t know, do i look like a fuckin’ doctor? ”

[museinspo]

pls give me “we’re exes who ended on kind of shitty terms but are trying to ‘stay friends’ anyway, and we occasionally sabotage each other’s dates, get drunk and fuck, scream and fight until four in the morning and still refuse to acknowledge maybe we’re not quite as over each other as we like to think we are.”

[tumkink]

im a sucker with a plot where muse a is in a band with his buddies and they’re making it pretty big right? they just bought a house for just the band, they have a new album coming out, just got back from tour, they have it all. except muse b. muse b is the long time best friend of the whole band that, while they were on tour and following their dreams, was going through school and working a job and doing regular young adult things. they keep in touch though because really muse b might as well be part of the band, knowing the rest of the members before it was really even created. and now, muse b has taken time off to come visit them! muse a can’t wait because they have literally always had the biggest heart eyes for muse b but they never really have found the right time to act on it. pls give me this with angst and long distance friendships and nervousness and love and arguing and pls!!!

[heavengcte]

{ closed starter for @viscervl }

Francesca was positive that her friend’s pool party was going to be drag when the girl announced she had invited everyone in their Senior class, including Franny’s ex-boyfriend and his new cheerleader girlfriend. Though it wasn’t like she still, or ever, had feelings for him, the fact that he was the one who dumped her the day before Valentine’s Day admittedly did bruise her ego. Usually the brunette was the one breaking hearts, not the other way around. Though she managed to avoid the pair for most of the night, and distract herself with a mixture of vodka and orange juice, she unfortunately did end up catching them making-out in the kitchen, which stung her more than she cared to admit. The girl immediately closed the door behind her again, but when she turned she nearly bumped into her dorky neighbor, Harlan. “What are you looking at, Hairy?” she sneered, narrowing her green eyes at the boy, until she felt a tear rolling down her cheek, which really caught her off guard and made her face turn faintly pink. “Nothing to say, mhm? That’s a first,” she quickly continued as she brushed the tear away with her fingers, hoping he didn’t see. 

[viscervl]

harlan avery-west haunting your local high school party! i know, shocker. it’s not that he was, like, a complete social pariah—he did get invited to parties and he did go to them, just not, uh. often. and definitely never actually made an impression, too busy hanging around with his grand total of three friends, stealing food, sipping drinks that had gone lukewarm, making comments on the décor and/or giving new dialogue to conversations between more attractive and more interesting people. for now? a fresh rum and coke, because harry needed to get drunk like, stat, like asap, his high had already started to wane and he was nothing without a healthy dose of social lubricant. “ ah. hairy. like harry, but, you know, hair. ha ha. good one, fran, never heard that one before, truly inspired, ” he deadpanned, taking a sip from his ( iconic ) red solo cup, until she brushed away a tear, which only made it all the more obvious that there was a tear. yikes. crying girls triggered his fight or flight reaction hard, only, you know. when you’re six one but have approximately no muscle mass, trying to defend a girl’s honor usually just ends with you flat on your ass and the girl rolling her eyes at you about the patriarchy. “ yo, uh, are you crying? i mean, obviously not, because franny harper hasn’t cried since, like, i don’t know, that scene in the rain in lilo and stitch when she was like, six years old, but for real—are you okay? ”

[belamyblaks]

[youluvkai]

[rbcages]

maybe it’s because the first time I kissed you we were at a sleepover and we were surrounded by friends and I tasted the entire universe in the way your lips pressed against mine and you pulled away and said ‘that felt weird’. maybe it’s because you haven’t changed the way you look at me since then but I can’t stop my eyes from drowning in the oceans behind yours and you know that I’ve never been a strong swimmer. maybe it’s because I stopped going to Sunday church so I wouldn’t bump into you singing hymns to a religion you don’t really believe in, I’ve never been good at lying to myself like you were. maybe it’s because we were 7 when you taught me how to tie my shoelaces into a butterfly knot but you never taught me how to untie the knots my stomach forms whenever your hand grazes mine. maybe it’s because I go through my days with my body dragging behind yours like my heart somehow chained itself to your touch and you pull and tug at my heartstrings whenever you smile my direction. maybe it’s because we’ve been best friends for 6 years and I can never kiss you again because you would never feel half of what I felt at the contact of your lips.

Confession: “I kissed my best friend at a sleepover, time passed and I fell for her, but I can’t bring myself to kiss her again.” // by rb (via rbcages)