HONEYWATER

Lol this was the OG message that was sent to me this morning out of the blue for pointing out ableism on the dash. I’ll probably print it out and frame it.

LMFAO it’s not mistreating the admins to ask one of them to not be transphobic. Which is all I did. I pointed out transphobic behaviours that were making me & others uncomfortable, asked them to change it, Brynn agreed, and it was done with. I have nothing to do with the anons. Have y’all ever seen me hesitate for even a second to say what I think? DFGSRDGD why would I send anons and expose myself at the same time? But yeah okay go off

I didn’t ruin the RP. Brynn and I had a lovely conversation about my issues and we settled it in the end and like it was all about people being aware and changing their behaviors to accommodate for the diversity they were asking for instead of making people uncomfortable. Not my fault there was transphobia and ableism and other issues that people were resistant to correcting. Also, I haven’t sent any anons. In case you haven’t noticed, I have no problem saying what I think publicly and y'all are welcome to do the same lmfao

“let me see!” she pulled over closer to their friend, peering over basil’s shoulder like she was peaking at test answers. “if you let me see yours, i’ll show you mine?” behati was forever grateful to have basil as a friend. when she packed her sketch book and pencils, behati knew that she could ask them to join her at anytime. art was her safe place. she could be anywhere and with anyone, but if she was drawing? she would be okay. 

“i’d literally rather die than let another bug touch me.” this is the same girl who couldn’t keep from screaming when a bee landed on the lip of her cup. she’s a little dramatic, sure, but she just really fucking hates bugs.

         the other’s soft touch to her arm brings one of those dimpled smiles back to her face - head tilting slightly, hair still stuck to her shoulders from her jump off the rocks. ‘ you’re sweet, ’ rosie doesn’t quite accept nor reject the comment, just kinda dodges it in the way she’s grown ADEPT at over the year she’s been out of tiny bridgewater, alabama. she feels kinda bad, now, doesn’t mean to weigh them down ( no pun intended ) with negativity when they’re clearly in their happy place. ‘ …. - sorry. ’ she wont bring it up AGAIN, it was meant to be a lighthearted quip but basil has a way of seeing straight through that & picking up on the underlying INSECURITY. it never fails to throw rosie just slightly off her game. now, to be HONEST, pot isn’t a smell rosie’s super familiar with. it wasn’t that popular in her hometown ( seems like people either shot guns or shot up, really ), and contrary to what every D.A.R.E. representative told her when she was growing up, people don’t tend to just randomly offer drugs. two and two don’t really get put together in her head cause of this, but she’s not about to say no to a cookie. ‘ they’re really good, then ? ’ is what she gathers, reaching over to pluck one from the tupperware, soft hum of an apology escaping when droplets of water drop onto the other’s bare skin.

‘ gladly. ’ what? it’s indira. you can’t expect her to hear the words ‘fuck me’ and not say something obscene in response. the bright light from their own flashlight makes her squint and step back to adjust - and then, in a moment of utter brilliance, she decides to fuck with basil. ‘ shit. - don’t look now, but there’s something on your shoulder - shit, hold still. ’ she pretends to move closer, grabbing basil’s flashlight and then pretending to startle back another few steps. ‘ FUCK. that’s a scorpion - dude, i’m sorry, i’m not equipped to handle that at all. ’

          dahlia watches them from where she stands. her feet are cold, fairly exposed to the chill of the night in her plastic slides, her thighs equally as cold. the blanket helps though, or at least, she thinks it does. she believes it does. her smile only falters slightly when she sees the blank expression on their face. she worries that she’s said something wrong for a second— that she’s crossed some sort of line she had forgotten or some unspoken rule. worried that the buzz of the hits she had taken had fogged her memory of something imporant. she’s relieved, rather when she’s them start to move towards her. she’s reassured then that if she did do anything, it’s at least not too bad. it soothes her own worry, a spark of anxiety that simmers. she lets out a soft breath into the night. her arms wrap happily around them, pulling them equally into the embrace. they’re warm, she thinks, giggling into the crook of their neck, muffled by their chestnut hair. her second thought was about how their hair smelled nice— and really, the rest of them did too.

          “ that’s okay— i get you, ” she starts, mustering the most sincere and honest voice she could manage. she was high, yes, but she was still serious about being there for basil. she would be the last one to turn away someone in need, especially some she valued so much. “ don’t be sorry ! i promise it’s okay, really. i don’t mind at all. if you didn’t text me, i was probably gonna end up watching like, i don’t know— conspiracy videos or something on youtube until i passed out. you’re much better company, ” she explains, “ i promise. again. ” she’s been told she has a tendency to talk too much when she’s high. maybe it’s true. she’s thought about it before, considered it as the substance fills her lungs. she’s eased again by the fact that she’s earnest, at the very less— even if she will tell you an unnecessary amount of information about some scientific concept (that she saw bill nye talk about) from time to time, between hits and smoke.

          she pulls away only slightly so she can better see their face. it’s dark outside, but with the help of the moon and the stars above, she make out their face fairly easily (they look nice, too). she still has to squint though. it’s okay. she relaxes, letting her forehead rest on their shoulder again comfortably. “ we don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. i understand that too. we can just stay like this. or lay down. or whatever— whatever you need, i’m here. i’ll even let you paint all over me if you want, ” she tells them, bordering on a mumble into the fabric of the hoodie they’re wearing.

Warm. That’s how Dahlia feels, even as cold as she may be right now, and Basil is like a neglected flower soaking in the sun for the first time in weeks. It’s a bit dramatic, they know, but no one ever told them they aren’t allowed to be a bit dramatic (well, not in so many words; Basil imagines they have to make that stipulation when they’ve been told they aren’t allowed to do so many things in their life), especially considering outwardly they’re the complete opposite. Right now, they’re resonating with that kinda deeply, and they’re trying to work out in their head what it is they’re meant to do next while it’s not weird yet to still be hugging her. Of course, she says that they can stay like this, but Basil figures it’ll get pretty awkward pretty fucking quickly past the ten minute mark. Best to sort their head out now and not wait ‘till later, right? They try not to let themself linger for too long on how nice it is, on the perfect fit of their height difference and the way Dahllia seems impossibly small even though they know that she isn’t. It’s not something new, which doesn’t make it any less of a marvel.

Curls of smoke infiltrate his hyperfocus on the night sky but they aren’t an entirely unwelcome visual addition as they slowly evaporate up towards the stars. His head cants to one side, watching the wisps twirl and twist as though in some sort of dance. He feels Basil squish into his side, the weight of them solid and holding him back from floating away on the smoky tendrils. Ari’s hands move on autopilot, accepting the offered bowl to free up Basil’s hands. There’s a flicker of a smile passing his lips before he takes his hit, not because of the smoke entering his lungs but because of the tug of Basil’s fingers on the flannel draped on his body. They’re both more tactile when they’re high, a fact they easily learned the first time they’d smoked together. He draws his legs in so that their ankles can hook together and he tilts his head to rest on top of theirs as he exhales. Ari watches his own contribution to the night sky disintegrate into the distantly twinkling celestial bodies and he makes a small hum of a sound. “Think you’re gonna last four days?” he asks in a light tease as he passes the bowl off. There’s concerned laced into his tone and he knows Basil will read it correctly – he understands their stresses and anxieties. If he could help, he would.