— good as new.

“I’ll be with you in just a second!” Ainsley called over the general noise of the diner. It was good, ambient noise, the kind you’d find as a royalty-free track on YouTube to be played during a high school play to set the scene — silverware clinking against dishes and tabletops, food sizzling on the grill, Elvis washing over it all from the speakers mounted in the ceiling — but it did make it hard to concentrate sometimes. She finally finished clearing a spot at the counter and turned to face the newest customer, her generic waitress grin already on her face. “Oh, hey,” Ainsley said when she realized it was somebody she recognized, the fake grin turning into a real one. “Well, what can I get for you?”

“i do, actually — don’t eat any of it,” tiago said with a chuckle, glancing at the counter to see if anyone was overhearing him talking shit about the place. “only the coffee is good, everything else is either expired or just horrible, i get that they like keeping things cheap for students but there’s limits, right,” he said with a shrug. “if you’re hungry, i can show you a nice cafe not too far from here.”

Ainsley made a face as he continued. She’d never been good at keeping her face still to hide what she was thinking, and everything seemed supremely unappetizing now that it had been exposed. “That sounds better than this, I guess,” Ainsle replied, stepping away from the counter. “So is this just what you do for fun? Stand around in the cafeteria and warn unsuspecting people of the danger they might be putting themselves in?”

“I made you some banana bread,” Ainsley said as she walked into Dom’s room, having knocked to announce her presence before opening the door. “It’s just plain though, which is, like, the worst kind of banana bread. Usually I put walnuts in, but I couldn’t remember if anybody in your family was allergic to nuts — I made two loaves so you could take one home for your mom and Franklin, and then keep one for yourself — so I thought I’d be safe and substitute chocolate chips instead.” Her words were quick, babbling as she puttered about the room, a loaf of banana bread (wrapped neatly in tinfoil) in each hand. “But then April and I were baking cookies for one of her clubs and I didn’t have time to run to the store to get more, so now here we are.” She finally set the loaves down on Dom’s desk and took a seat on his bed. Ainsley’s now stationary position seemed to suck any remaining words out of her, and she kicked her shoes off so she could bring them to sit criss-cross on the bed. “I haven’t seen you around lately,” she stated, the underlying question of is everything okay going unsaid. Ainsley knew that if she actually asked, it would result in a fake response and walls quickly going up, so she watched him to find the answer in his actions instead.

( @radopens​ )

“Hey - hey!” Stumbling over her own feet - like her shoes had been two sizes too big, almost, Saige tapped the other on the shoulder - though it felt more like a pat than anything else, gripping onto them as she readjusted her balance, her frame wobbly even then, “Do you like - do you have your phone on you - like, is it working? Like - god, uh - like, alive? Sorry I just, like -” Drink in one hand and sloshing dangerously, she let go of their shoulder to dig for her phone - bringing it up with a sway, “ - Mine’s like - super totally dead, and like - I think I need like, an uber or something. Can I call one on yours? I’ll like - pay you back and everything, I just like - I just like, wanna go home, y’know? Party’s like - sort of like, lame and whatever - and I just like, kind of wanna go home.”

“Whoa, hey,” Ainsley replied. She swayed with Saige as the girl used her shoulder for balance, nearly losing her own in the process. “Yeah, I have my phone with me,” she continued, turning around to face her friend when the pressure on her shoulder was released. Her once-over of Saige immediately transferred a look of concern onto her features, and this time she was the one reaching out, her hand finding Saige’s elbow. Whether the gesture was supposed to give the girl comfort or help with balance again, Ainsley wasn’t quite sure. She pulled out her phone, tapping across the screen and swiping through the apps to try and find a rideshare service that wasn’t bogged down with requests. The only reason Lovell even had rideshares was because of the university, and the lack of drivers meant busy nights like this one left few available cars and jacked up prices. “Everything’s gonna take at least twenty minutes... I could call my sister and see if she can come pick us up, though. Or maybe we can head to my dad’s diner? It’s only five minutes up the road... I can get you free food.”

This was a first for Gunner, getting something stuck in a tree like something out of a cartoon. It was ironic, too, the fact that he was struggling to grab his umbrella again as rain started to come down, dampening the bark that his beaten up sneakers would’ve struggled to get a grip on even if it were dry. With a grunt, Gunner toppled to the ground once more - he’d climbed a lot of trees in his youth, but apparently it wasn’t his strong suit anymore. Frowning up at where his umbrella rested in a branch just above his reach, like it was taunting him, Gunner glanced at where someone was approaching while he was rubbing at his now bruising elbow, “I thought it’d be a good idea to bring my umbrella in case it started raining. Now I lost my umbrella and I’m soaked. I can’t help if I’m the shortest man alive, it’s - it’s genetics!” @radopens​

Ainsley came to a stop beside Gunner, following his line of sight to the umbrella dangling in the branches. She was sure they must’ve looked a very interesting pair, Gunner starting to resemble a drowned animal as his clothes were soaked with rain, and herself in what was essentially a slightly sturdier version of a poncho from a water ride at an amusement park (it had a pocket in the front that let it get folded up and took up less room than an umbrella in her backpack). “You think genetics screwed you over in the height department...” Even in her boots, which gave Ainsley at least an inch of extra height, she was still a full head shorter than Gunner. “How’d you get it in the tree, anyways? Were you trying to swipe at a squirrel or something?”

mili: do you have a disney plus account im going through something and i think watching ratatouille would really help me but its not on netflix anymore and when i looked for it it gave me stuart little instead and i clicked on it and started crying for that poor orphan little mouse forced to live in a house with people who are constantly on the verge of stepping on him

ainsley: stuart little is honestly a traumatizing film start to finish stuart wishes he was remy

ainsley: and ofc i have an account ?? ill send u the info

“don’t ask me how i know this, but i’m pretty sure that yoghurt you’re about to buy has expired,” tiago said to the girl right before him in line at the cafeteria, eyeing the yoghurt suspiciously. “also, the strawberries one is way better than blueberries. think they just make it strawberries but add like, blue colouring and charge you extra for it. you’re welcome.” @ainsleymorgan​

“Oh.” Ainsley lifted the cup of yogurt to eye level, turning it to examine for the expiration date. There it was, in dark ink, dated two days ago. She’d been known to eat things a few days past what was marked on the label, but it seemed a little counter intuitive to actually buy something that was already expired. “Thanks for the tip,” she said, placing the yogurt back on the counter. “I’ll take your word on the strawberry, but I don’t know if I trust any of this anymore. Got any other insights on the rest of the food?”

task 005 → a look into ainsley morgan’s wardrobe

abalone: what kind of situations compromise my muse emotionally

“I will literally do anything for my friends or family. If you hurt them, I’ll fight.”

diamond: a sex headcanon

“Oh my god.”

— Listen Ainsley doesn’t even know how to recognize when she has a crush, do you really think this virgin has done absolutely anything? The answer is 100% no

ruby: a happiness headcanon

“Baking makes me really happy! My favorite memories from when I was a kid was baking chocolate chip cookies with my dad. Super secret family recipe— we even use a different one at the diner so nobody can get the family one.”

— One of Ainsley’s millions of journals is dedicated to things that make her happy. It started as a gratitude thing, but quickly devolved into just something to look at when she’s feeling sad to cheer her up. The cookie recipe is on page twelve.

“All of these options sound really extreme like... I don’t want to kill anybody! But for the sake of the game I guess... Fuck Lana, maybe? She flirts a lot, but I don’t think she’s... serious. I think it’s just her personality. And then marry Kasey, because she’s one of my best friends and they say you should marry her best friend. But I wouldn’t kill Ren- she’s super smart and seems really cool. So I’d just, like... ignore her for a day, or something. That’s basically equivalent, right? But in reality I just want all of us to be friends, thank you.”

@renlcpezpietro @lanajvmeson @kaseywallaces

“Yes? Maybe? I think? I don’t know. Crushes aren’t exactly my forte, so...”

nebula stone: how good my muse’s memory is

“I don’t know? Like, average, maybe? My brother Ken basically has a photographic memory, and I’m not like... on that level.”

She rubbed her nose with the back of her hand, looking at Ainsley sheepishly as she realized that something was wrong as soon as she walked through the door. They’d been friends for a long time, almost as long as she’d known Jack and Dominic– her parents had arranged so many playdates that they’d become inseparable, despite being a year apart in age. They’d grown up together, Ainsely had said once, and it felt fitting, to have gone through all of life’s early trials with someone else. There wasn’t any use lying, because of these things and she puffed out her cheeks with a sigh. “I saw Marlowe again last night.”

He’d woken with a Saharan dryness in his mouth, his heart thundering at the back of his head. Ungluing one eyelid, still on the shadowy border between sleep and full consciousness— light slashed him across the eyes like a belt with a metal buckle, and Marlowe’s only defense had been to roll over, groaning, and throw up an arm to shield his face. Usually, his system was quick to recover, even after the wildest nights. He was equipped with a metabolism that was like an active furnace constantly burning off all the shit he shoveled into his body— but apparently, there was a limit to what it could do. He’d discovered that limit. 

Blindly groping for his phone on the nightstand, a text reminded him he was supposed to spend today with Syd and Len at the beach, which sounded good, in theory: stretched out and horizontal for hours, listening to the waves break themselves on the shore. The sweetness of a restorative mimosa souring on his tongue. The exhalation of the ocean in his ears, nature’s white noise machine. Maybe he could sleep the worst of this off. But Syd’s Advil reserves were low, having handed them out for the whole week like a painkiller Pez dispenser, and after losing rock-paper-scissors— twice, he’d insisted on a redo— now Marlowe found himself unwillingly at the drugstore, staring in mute incomprehension at the shelf of Advils, Tylenols and other ibuprofens from behind a pair of Len’s cat-eye Celine shades. Their lenses were darker than any of his cheap tinted aviators but still, the brightness got in; with every too-quick turn of his head, it bounced around his brain like reflections off a mirror. He’d dressed in a wrinkled silk shirt, barely held together by the bottom two buttons, and his usual abundance of jewelry, looking very much like a rockstar on day three or four of a bender— haggard, strung-out, but with the same raw-boned sex appeal as always, scratching carelessly at the back of his sunburned neck, jeans slung low on narrow hips. Hearing his name startled him awake. Not just his name, but his first name. The off-limits one. Turning his head slowly, Marlowe looked first at Ainsley, then over his shoulder. The aisle was empty apart from an older man stooped over a low shelf, tufts of white chest hair poking through his collar as he compared the SPF percentages of sunscreen. “Ainsley, I think you have me confused with someone else,” he replied slowly, turning back to her, though his drawl was without its usual smoothness. His voice sounded like it’d been coarsely grated. Her expression had the look of something stormy brewing behind the eyes, meaning that whatever was coming his way would come anyway— but feeling that it was in his best interest not to acknowledge this, Marlowe dropped his head to look down at the selection of painkillers again. He chucked his chin towards them in a feeble nod. “You get stuck with drug-run duty too? Which one of these is the strongest? Assuming that over-the-counter morphine is out of the question.”

There was a small amount of satisfaction in the fact that she’d managed to annoy him, and even more satisfaction in the knowledge that he’d been trying to hide his annoyance and she’d picked up on it anyways. Ainsley could see it in the way he moved, could hear it in the faint difference in how he spoke. She’d always been observant, and had learned to read people at a young age— it was practically a survival skill when you grew up with as many siblings as she did. One wrong move when somebody was having a bad day and the whole house would be divided in a silent war for at least a week. 

@ainsleymorgan 

She’d forgotten that she’d invited Ainsley over, and the knock on her cabin room door made her freeze. Kasey reached up, a ring clad hand brushing away the evidence of a fresh track of shiny tears, but there was little to be done about the puffiness of her eyes or the redness of her nose. The damage had been done, and the blonde walked over to open the door. “Hi,” she managed to say, as brightly as she usually would, her smile plastered on over her features as an easy, reliable veneer. “Are we going to go swimming? I can’t remember what were going to do today, so I was packing up everything just in case.” She often forgot about plans, instead preferring ones that took off mid-flight, break neck and unpredictable. “We could also get icecream. I heard there was this really good icecream place in town, if we leave now we can get there before the bonfire.”

The bonfire was already super fun, and a lot of people had made their way into the ocean to go skinny dipping, but Adam was holding off for a little - that was the kind of thing he needed to be a little more drunk for.  There were still some stragglers around the fire, including a quiet girl sitting alone, so he fished a can of beer out from one of the coolers, and an extra one, before walking over to her with a smile.  “Not your scene?” he asked, gesturing to their naked and near naked classmates in the ocean. *// @ainsleymorgan​

Ainsley had been determined to attend and enjoy every aspect of the week, even if most of it wasn’t her usual choice of activity. And it was fun, getting to let loose with all of her friends, but there were definitely lines she wasn’t up for crossing yet. Skinny dipping definitely fell into that category, her face flaming when the clothes starting coming off. It felt weird to head back to the cottage on her own, so she’d opted for staying near the fire instead, watching the flames dance around and pointedly ignoring what was going on in the ocean. “Yeah, not really,” she answered as a boy approached, scooting over to make room on the log she was perched on. “Besides, the water looks cold. The fire is much better. What about you? Planning on joining in?”

the sun had long since begun to set, but the light hadn’t quite gone. will clutched his drink in both hands, sipping it gingerly. it was herbal tea, some mixture of peppermint and chamomile, and it hadn’t fully cooled yet despite the shot of rum he’d poured. he was mostly sober, an accomplishment slash ordeal born of waking up hungover and wondering if, just this once, he might like to skip reliving the same experience the next day. but it was nice, sobriety or no sobriety, to sit there with ainsley. “how far do you think we could swim? if we were gonna make a break for it by sea and we were feeling really stupid.” @ainsleymorgan​

“Depends on how good of a swimmer you are,” Ainsley replied. “But like... probably at least halfway back to Connecticut. I believe in us.” She spoke confidently, even though she had no idea where they even were in relation to Connecticut - geography had never been her strong suit. Ainsley dug her feet into the sand, feeling the gritty texture between her toes, knowing she was going to be finding sand in all of her stuff for the next few months. “How’s your week been? Honestly, I’m kind of glad that it’s only a week long. I don’t know how people live like this all the time. I think I’d die.”