a new place to drown

        There was an unsettling truth behind Gabe’s words that almost uprooted her. The secrets that lurked in places like this weren’t nationwide conspiracies – she’d be lucky to find a dirtied up hook-a-duck lying melancholy in the mud – but Bridget liked to exist in the space where disbelief was suspended, or perhaps reality acknowledged ; a space where it was possible that unidentified life forms had taken root in Rochester, or that the dean of Lockwood had a zip-up human skin like the Slitheen. “Call me crazy all you like, kid,” Bridget started, pulling a roll-up from her jacket pocket and clenching it between her teeth as she scuffed her boot into the dust like the anti-hero of a Spaghetti Western. “But sooner or later Twitter’s gonna bite us all on the ass.” Her shoulders shrugged as she turned towards the derelict fun house, zippo sparked against her cig as she made her way through the overgrown thicket. “Leak our nudes, resurface those questionable Facebook statuses from the 2000′s. Transcribe the phone sex you had with your babysitter.” The drag she inhaled left a pregnant pause, eyes catching his through a window thick with asbestos. An exhale, the shattered glass stirring dust. “It’s all gonna come out Assassination Nation style, that fire’s just the start of it.” With that she turned on her heel, leaving the thought to hang on Gabe like a noose as she padded through narrow hallways, defaced and cluttered by neon dicks and graffiti declaring Layla Fritton a sket. There was something harrowing in the way skeletons hung from gibbets — the dust that settled on the bones an uneasy merger of real and synthetic, hands sinking into her rucksack to fish for her camera. “Hey, Gabe. You fancy a little Buzzfeed Unsolved style investigating? Maybe a touch of Louis Theroux?” The flicker of a screen into focus signalled the rolling of film. “Or you could act. Let’s make a budget Blair Witch Project and flog it on Putlocker.”

“Assassination Nation? That god-awful feminist-passing exploitation thing as if teenage girls really dressed like UNIF models and suburban places like Salem would actually get a security breach like that, yeah? Etcetera etcetera. Shit like that is why I cover up my webcam and I never use my phone, I guess,” he admitted. That was maybe a lie. I wasn’t that he wasn’t full of Black Mirror-induced paranoia about the technological world, or anything, it was moreso that he’d always been able to spend copious amounts of time online attempting to make something of himself — considering there was a whole world out there to aid with the creation of anything — but the thought of texting people back on time made his eyes roll into the back of his head. “That movie tried so hard to be a Black Mirror episode but it was so fucking tacky. It was so up its own ass, you know?” Sighing, he scuffed a Doc Marten on the gravel, frowning at the little bit of ice that broke. It was a sign of an even worse winter to come, and as prepared as he was after living through years and years of New York City winters, the dread that came with dropping temperatures obviously never ceased to falter. He walked closer to the boarded up clown, its eyes seeming more sad than sinister among the cloudiness. “So you’re Ryan and I’m Shane, I suppose?” he tilted his head at the scene. “Putlocker? Please, this can be our big break. Sundance and TIFF for documentary filmmaking. You know, before our accidental death. How… exactly do we explore this thing?”

“Aw,” Teddy mumbled, disappointed that his lack of subtlety was the inevitable reason for being caught, “kinda wanted to jump out and be all it’s the hash-slinging slasher! Give you an actual scare then.” Despite the cold weather, Teddy wore nothing but a pair of undone overalls with a loose fit white t-shirt underneath, cigarette dangling from his left hand, “Would you believe that I took a pill instead of an actual Advil? I knew putting them all in the same capsule was probably a bad idea, but. Anyway, I’m fuckin’ boiling now.” Grinning at Gabe’s faux comment, Teddy reached forward with his free hand and pooched Gabe’s cheeks together slightly, causing his lips to pucker similar to a fishes, “Don’t say such kind things, Gabe, I’m under the influence and highly susceptible to any and all charm.” Holding out his cigarette towards Gabe, Teddy made grabby hands at the joint the other was holding, a silent plead for a momentary trade. Generally, Teddy tried to be on his best behaviour around Gabe, unsure if the other even enjoyed Teddy’s company. But he was a little high, so he was allowed to get away with being a little handsy and childish, “Mind if I join your Spongebob marathon? You don’t have to, like, if you wanna be alone or whatever. I’m just kinda bored. I can annoy Jude or something, though, no pressure.”

He wrinkled his nose as Teddy released his face, a small grin forming. It was easy to feel at ease when Teddy was around, considering the grumpiness of moments prior were suddenly dissipating. He’d found himself in this state often lately, high but not the good kind, usually attached to a headache or dehydration or the desire to not get out of bed. Nodding in solidarity, he swapped the joint for the cigarette for a moment. As if nicotine was something to alleviate the pressure in his head. “Can’t help it. It’s in my boyish private school charm and my movie starlet hair,” he chuckled. “I wanna bother Jude. Though, I haven’t been able to find him all night. Man’s so elusive, you know? The man, the myth, the legend. Should we go inside? I would actually wholeheartedly watch Spongebob with you. Feel like its the bonding activity we needed.”

“I don’t know… Guess it’s like… Men would jack off for free, you know?” she explained, shrugging her shoulders. “You could always donate blood or something.” Smiling at Gabe’s description of his grandmother’s driving, she couldn’t help but take the comment as a compliment, sharp turn to the left further proving she didn’t have much concern for safety. “Bet she’s a great woman,” she offered in response. “People who drive slow are exhausting. Just no consideration for anyone else’s time, you know?” Astrid complained, a laugh escaping at how absurd her own words sounded once they’d left her lips. “Honestly, I don’t know fuck all that they have there, but it sounds real. I was poor as shit when I lived in California and frozen yoghurt places required you to like… sign a lease,” she joked, turning into the shopping mall parking lot in a way she was fairly certain was illegal, parking rather far from the entrance simply because she couldn’t be bothered to search for a spot closer. “Think we’ll get hypothermia before we get to the entrance? They’ll make a documentary about us, I bet.”

“True. Let’s donate our plasma to pay off our student debt,” he nodded, smiling. “Yeah, she’s great. I miss her.” He didn’t elaborate further. The woman had passed when Gabe was still young, and his family didn’t bother to visit Europe since. It felt like a utopia to him when he was younger, mostly because the structure of his family changed as he was always greeted with aunts and uncles and cousins. The stark coldness of New York, along with his father’s demeanor, dissipated entirely when he was abroad. “Jesus,” he stressed, nearly bugging his eyes out at Astrid. “Dude. There’s not even anyone near us. That turn was so-- nevermind. God. I say we’ll be like the Ice Age and have to fend off some Sabertooth tigers. They’ll have fossils of us in a couple hundred years. We’ll be in every biological anthropology doc in college classrooms.”

gabe’s description was surprisingly relatable, though levi had come to manage his current state much better while distracted by trying to keep a conversation, and the worst had probably passed. “i know what you mean, it might be a sign we should get out. these places aren’t made for anyone to stick around for too long, you can see it in the eyes of the people who work here, it does things to you,” he nodded, glancing around him at the mess he’d made tearing napkins apart and doing his best to pile up the remains of everything back on his plate. “we should like, hang out more, and maybe even do it on purpose sometime. feels like we only ever just run into each other by accident, for some reason.”

“Yeah. Never noticed that we only hang out by accident. Let’s make some dinner plans, Park. You, me, and a bottle of wine,” Gabe smirked. Rising from his seat a bit too fast, he tossed the balled up remnants of fries and napkins towards the trash, missing by just a few inches. “You’d think my height would make me a basketball player. Damn.” Disposing the trash, he turned to Levi with a cheshire grin. “Despite the depressing conversation, I’m feeling inspired suddenly. Let’s... hmm. I actually have no ideas. But I’m very determined to not lay on my ass all day.”

Clad in just a pair of lilac fishnets, rainbow striped socks and a large custom t-shirt she was wearing as a mini dress, box font across the front reading ‘JOHNNY DEPP LOOKS LIKE A SOGGY CIGAR’, Lana sat her cheek against the door frame as she studied Gabe. The way he’d rustle around in disorientated exhaustion in the mornings, sometimes, reminded her of a rabid raccoon let loose in an alley way, dumpsters ransacked top to bottom for an adequate breakfast. She wasn’t sure why, but she found that it was one of her favourite things to watch about him: just that, his early morning shuffle into action. His slow blinks and lazy limbs reminded her of all the times she’d wriggled into his bed and they’d talked until morning, or at least until one of them couldn’t keep their eyes open. “Bonjour, monsieur,” she greeted once he noticed her, immediately pushing off of her resting place and padding inside like she hadn’t been there any longer than the past two seconds. Approaching the closest counter and hoisting herself up, she swung out her legs in repetitive rhythm, at one point deviating just so she could extend a toe and prod him through her sock without purpose. “Looks kind of like a toad that got stuck inside a pottery oven. Just… obliterated. Turned into a lump of charcoal. No more ribbet-ing for you, sir!” came as she plucked the croissant from his hand and wiggled it in time with a horrifically butchered accent, regional origin a confusing estimate between Dallas and Baltimore. “Bonk,” she added after, knocking the croissant once against his head before she immediately drew her eyebrows together. “Oh… Sorry. That, like… Whoa.” Sitting the pastry down on the closest surface, she quickly dusted her hands off before reaching out to right her wrong, carefully picking any flakes of croissant from his curls. “Desgosteng! Looks like you just had a roll in the hay with Gingie from Shrek and his bakery buds. Totally can almost p–” stuttered short at the realisation that two girls eating toast in the far corner were murmuring and trading glances their way, thin lips of the one on the left reading ‘typical’ and ‘I swear, she’s fucking all of them’ to anyone paying attention. Instantly pulling her hands into her lap, Lana pretended to be fascinated by her nail varnish – really, it was just an excuse to dip her chin as her cheeks flushed pink. “Breakfast ass breakfast sounds like something, um… Something a strip club would have in a neon sign over an open buffet.”

“Bonjour, mon ami. Comment allez-vous ce beau matin? Croissant ou baguette?” Gabe replied fluently. “Oh, man. I’m a caricature of myself. Look at this useless Frenchman.” He frowned at the croissant. It did look like a burnt toad, a sad thing that had potential had the toaster oven only burnt the top, though at this point it didn’t look so promising. He chuckled as he read Lana’s t-shirt, her zany style always refreshing considering it always juxtaposed his plain dark colors. If the two of them were cartoons, she’d surely have the spirit of Marvel’s Starfire of Teen Titans, whereas his default sulky figure made him fit for a lame male version of Raven. “Hey!” he laughed, shaking his head as the croissant suddenly collided with his head. He leaned over Lana’s head, shaking out the crumbs into her lap with his hands running through his hair. “Aha! Now look who’s been in bed with Gingie.” Rolling his eyes at the sudden whispers, he settled his attention on a bowl of clementines in the corner as the girls stalked their way out of the kitchen. HIs slender hands felt too large at that moment, probably because he’d gotten closer in proximity to Lana and the tiny clementine was better fit for her hands. His were calloused, with speckled greenish black metallic nail polish still littering his nails left over from the last time Lana had decided to paint his nails, which honestly felt like ages ago. “Need a new paint job,” he murmured, wiggling his hands as he peeled the fruit. He gestured towards Lana as he peeled the first piece of clementine and offered it to her, something that felt innocent and reflexive. “Ass breakfast. Probably a title on PornHub, yeah. But I mean breakfast ass breakfast with eggs and shit, you know? Some fuckin’… pancakes. When’s the last time either of us sat down and had some pancakes and fruit and… orange juice. The American Dream, honestly. Hey, did you eat yet? Either way, um. Need someone to drag along with me. I think I’m cracking and finding a diner somewhere. Can’t take this college living anymore. You have to be willing to put on some pants, though, it’s fucking awful outside.

          there’s something haunting about it, the way the entrance sits in the open mouth of a clown, boarded up from tongue to teeth with chain-link fence, dog-eared with ‘do not enter’ signs, but wire cutters were made for a reason. three cuts, four, and the fence is springing open – admit two – the pliers dropped into her rucksack and slung on her back. “do you know why it got shut down?” bridget begins as though it isn’t rhetorical – she plans on telling him the answer. “they think it’s where one of those kids died. the little red-headed one, back in 1992. it was in all the papers. they found one of her toenails in the helter-skelter, though of course, that could have happened at any time.” it’s filming that brings her here – filming and sheer curiosity – with gabe trailing behind like a lost dog, there for the muse, the postmodern grot of it all, or perhaps because he’s got nothing better to do. “let’s go to the haunted house, first. I heard micah costa lost his virginity there.”  @gabeleitner​

“Okay, Stephen King,” Gabe nodded, adjusting his beanie to sit over his ears, though his curls weren’t quite letting it. He stared at the entrance. It looked somehow less scary than he’d imagined -- maybe it was because he had a vision of them at night, Good Time style where he was Robert Pattinson with a Sprite bottle of acid running around. Just without the bleached hair. “You literally speak in riddles. I’d love to play Dana Scully and challenge you but... no way in hell does this place just get shut down via the economy and everything gets boarded up like there was a nuclear incident that the government wants to hide. Or they could’ve obliterated it into a parking lot. I don’t really know what happens to abandoned places, quite frankly.” Taking out his phone, he snaps a picture, a kind of ugly memory he can look back at for Instagram. Or whatever. He was trying to get into the habit of what the modern age probably needed less of -- recording everything. It wasn’t really for the social media aspect, but for the sheer guilt that in times where people wanted to be sentimental, he’d realize that months of his life were lost because he did nothing to record them. No photos, videos, not even journal scribbles or writing or art in the past six months that indicated that he was something, anything other than a human being stuck in a time loop going to class every day. How mundane. It was the opposite of his younger self, where he kept everything from photographs to old Nat Geo’s, which littered his bedroom walls at that moment. He sighed. “Cool. I’d believe that.”

        ‘ just stop a minute. ’ not a request but a command, punctuated by the raise of ivy’s hand into the midday air. legs stretched out catlike from the bench. her eyes darted back only a moment to shut the book in her lap. capital, volume iii. not much of a read, it was dry enough to make her weep. when her eyes came to meet the passerby’s again it remained on their features, studying them. ‘ sit. tell me, what’d you dream of last night? i dreamed that my teeth fell out again. ’

Gabe sat down, looking at the girl quizzically and amused by her fairy godmother-like delivery.  He cleared his throat and looked at something in the distance for maximum contemplation before returning to her again. “Huh. I feel like I don’t have many dreams, ever. Maybe something’s happening in cosmic space that’s affecting me, though. I dreamt I broke my glasses and I was panicking. I don’t even need glasses. And I was attending my childhood middle school, and it was weirdly renovated like a shopping mall, and I had to go through the trauma of not having a ride home and missing the bus. Although that also makes no sense considering New York City is... New York City. Then I was small in a video game and navigated the world like I was Antman,” he rambled very quickly. Crossing his legs, a beat passed. “Are you going to psychoanalyze me now?”

@lanajvmeson

@teddylawrence

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stg lana keeps mcfuckin waking me up like im not here trying to conserve my energy for the moon... nosferatu is out fr blood

[ tagged: @lana_jameson ]

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her attention had drifted off to the dim lights of the street after his initial reply, still pondering her choices, when his question made her look up, slightly startled. “i — actually, i kind of am,” she said, giving him an apologetic smile as she reached for the coat. usually, she would’ve been more reluctant about it, but it was very cold and she couldn’t affort to get sick… ever. “thanks. really, thank you, i just, i can’t get used to it yet,” she shrugged, sighing out in relief as she got her arms in the cozy sleeves of his wool coat. “it’s not like LA is in a perpetual summer, but it’s not this bad,” she said, shaking her head at the cold, the weather, something. “is that hoodie warm enough, though, or like, is your new york blood more prepared for this? because i’m already feeling better and i can totally give it back if you get cold, i just needed… you know, to gather some extra warmth. it’s been gathered now.”

"Right. You from the West Coast? The temperature will drop to like 60 in California and everyone scrambles for their overpriced Patagonia fleeces. I’m poking fun but also, I wish that were me,” Gabe chuckled lightly, shaking his head as rubbed his eyebrow, cigarette in hand. “It’s whatever. My New York blood has gone through much worse. Like, my one shortlived job over a winter break freshman year as a pizza delivery man. Of course, New York City got about ten inches of snow and people wanted to be assholes and make an 18-year-old kid get to his ‘04 Honda Civic to deliver a pizza. In the dead of January. In the city.” He shuddered just thinking about it. For someone so used to the city, his demeanor towards it would’ve made you think he was a country boy. Sometimes he wished he was -- the woodsiness of upstate wasn’t even accommodated in Rochester, which was only a slightly more downsized city. “You can hold onto that. I feel like we should get inside a heated building, though, but that’s your call.”

“I’ve never really had anal sex in any way, so I can’t say it’s ever really come up. And my bowel movements are regular, not that you need to know,” he stated, chuckling only to be cut short by the near death experience. Hand on his chest in a way that appeared overdramatized, but it was a sincere effort to keep the organ inside, Benji shook his head at the bumper of the vehicle as it distanced itself further down the street. “The assholes never rest,” he replied, taking in the surroundings once he felt secure again. “Neither does Christmas, apparently.” Benji stared up at the menu for a moment, settling on the Jalapeno poppers he’d mentioned in the beginning. “I’m going straight appetizers. Pizza is for basics.”

“That makes two of us. Like that Nicki Minaj asexual meme. I’ve never fucked, I’ve never fucked.” He stifled a laugh as he made subtle eye contact with the bartender as he said this, who gave him something in between a scowl and a look of lust. The bar looked rather dreadful with all the dark colored, wooden interior in the day time. The classic setup was much more suited for nightlife. “But it’s a pizza shop! You’re not a real New Yorker, Benjamin,” Gabe pouted, flipping through the menu. “God, first week of classes and already skipping. You ever... feel like there’s nothing much to look forward to? Despite it being the new year and all? Whoa, that was dark. Sorry. I’ve been watching that Marie Kondo Netflix series about cleaning but it’s inadvertently making me feel even more useless.” He cleared his throat, toying with the napkin dispenser on their table. “This is probably the first time I’ve like, hung out with someone in a while. I guess. Unless you count being terrorized by Lana, but even that feels more occasional than before.”

“Don’t mention it. I live to boost the confidence of those around me,” she said with a gentle nod of her head, amused by the frustration Gabe felt for the radio selection. She usually kept her bluetooth connection, but her phone had died minutes before and they were left to what little Rochester selection AM and FM had. “Really? Fuck… That means I could have hatched a duckling every single time I detoxed,” she said, shivering slightly at the thought. “We could go to the mall for frozen yogurt. Love Froyo, makes me feel like I’m in 2008 Los Angeles.”

“Bummer. Speaking of hatching, I scrolled past something that said women can sell their eggs for $20,000? Why do men just get gift cards for donating sperm? It’s incredible, honestly,” Gabe mused, subconsciously clutching his chest as he watched the light go from yellow to red, just as Astrid sped through it. "You drive like my great grandmother. And not even in the slow derogatory way. I remember being terrified as a kid because she’d traveled the world in places where traffic laws weren’t really a thing and just... surviving many near death experiences. Shit’s like Akira.” Wrinkling his nose, the thought of frozen yogurt suddenly conjured the image of using shopping malls as escapes after school, hours of early onset capitalist overload at a young age, considering he’d grown up in the city. “Okay, fine. I could fuck with a Pinkberry smoothie or whatever. Is that still a thing or was that made up for Hollywood reality television?”

“Stop trying to limit me with boring stuff like science and logic, Gabe. You’re putting me in a box. You’re suffocating my creative vision,” Lana objected, slapping gently at one of his hands in spite of the fact that she was meant to be tugging it close to conduct a sensible reading. About to insist she give him another reading because he’d seemed to unsatisfied with her last, she gaped her mouth open and shut like a hungry goldfish once he started off on hers. “Whoa. Did your premonition zap you into a salamander? Boop!” she blurted out once she’d leaned in and poked a finger against his tongue just fast enough to catch it, dimples fiercely prominent with the arrival of her next grin. “Gotcha! Too slow. Feel kind of like I just pressed a forbidden button or something. Zoing. Chamber of secrets opened. Universe set to implode. Bleep blorp, game over.” Abandoning one topic and moving onto the next so fast it was enough to give enough whiplash, Lana bounced lightly in place to test the plump of the cushion she’d claimed as her own. “Speaking of tongues, isn’t it weird how you can never properly relax yours? Like, think about your tongue right now. There isn’t even any way to let it go limp. It’s always kind of tense, you know? Hate that. Such a bummer once you’re aware of it.”

His eyes shot open at the touch of her finger to his tongue, giving a grave attempt at playfully biting it, though she was too quick for him. He huffed, poking Lana on the forehead and pushing slightly like they were children. “Boop,” he repeated, in the same tone. “Where’s the, ah, off button for this thing? Hello?” He kept poking, eventually reaching her sides. Sticking his tongue out, a giggle escaped for the first time in what felt like months. “Not to make this NSFW, but have you seen that documentary about competitive tickling? It gets like... really dark. A conspiracy or something. I don’t really remember. Sorry, didn’t mean to drastically change the mood.” He slumped his long figure, legs extended out from the couch. “Think about tongue? That’s like, when I think about breathing and suddenly I have to remember. Then I breathe absurdly deeply and the people around me think I’m having an anxiety attack or something. I wonder what it’d be like to have a tongue ring. Would you just constantly be aware of the feeling of the piercing? Bizarre.”