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sleepy and gay ? @memoryserved

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memoryserved:
Like a domino effect, their back hits the chair with a little oof, and the distance between them resumes. “I’ll leave a croissant in the press for him,” They pour the Fanta from its can before drinking, “Whenever he’s around.”
leon glances under the table to avoid collisions and kicks out one leg, stretching it. his knee clicks like a lock turns. he opens his mouth to ask what friend of the family means to a boy who ain’t got much family, but instead he shoves half a croissant section into his mouth and says, “ man, i could pass on happy if i got day-old pastry deliveries. happy and fat. ”
memoryserved:
And here they were, wondering would this be a first and last meeting. “Ask for Kennedy, and leave a tip.”
“ oh, you know i’m generous with those tips. ” he leans an elbow on the table, chin in hand. “ elliot gonna miss his pastries? ”
( ✉ → sms ) plea se eh elep me im drunk and i dotn know whe re i am ( from moss @ leon )
TEXT MESSAGE STARTERS // ACCEPTING
to: mossy.» yo. u want me to come find u?» if u do DONT move anywhere
memoryserved:
What a gentleman. Appreciated. “Coffee shop. Somehow calling it that makes me feel less pretentious than café.” Their last move before sitting is lamping two cans of Diet Fanta on the table (presumably a diet discount over any health benefits) and finally Kennedy collapses into the seat opposite Leon, one leg slung over the other, happily picking a pain au raisin from the box. “Siddhartha, if you’ve ever passed by? I didn’t bake these by the way, so feel free to say if they’re terrible.”
“ aight, viennoseries. ” he cracks the can open first and drinks from that at the same time as picking up a croissant. he tears it into its segments and lines them up on the plate, popping the smallest end in his mouth. leon shakes his head in a never been there kinda way. “ mm, not bad. i think i’ve had better. might change my mind if i have ‘em fresh. ” he leans back. sips. “ might have to drop by. ”

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memoryserved:
Without a word, they turn to Leon with two plates tucked underarm, two glasses pinched precariously in one hand, and mouthing ‘ducks?’. They set the table like waitstaff do – quick, efficient, and dangling glasses in a way to make you nervous – and snap open the box with a waft of laminated dough. It’s very crumbly inside. “I just uh, I just took whatever was going in the bin at work, so these aren’t the freshest, but still good.”
he shrugs, hands splayed, grins widely like you asked for it. “ economical, environmental, i’m with it. ” leon hasn’t been in elliot’s apartment before but he hasn’t met kennedy before either, so it’s no weirder than if they met on the bus or at a food stand, and he gets comfy on one of elliot’s chairs without much thought. he’ll wait for kennedy to go first or say he can cause he’s not an animal. “ so, work - bakery? café? ”
memoryserved:
It’s relatively impressive when people are willing to share that they’ve been in prison, especially when croissants are on the line. “How nightmareish. You talk about the weather while I set some plates out.”
anyone who knows elliot well enough to know where he lives probably knows he’s been on the inside, and that’s enough for leon to upfront about how they know each other. “ it’s been rainy lately, huh? lotta water. good weather for ... ducks. ”
TEXT MESSAGE STARTERS ! Send one of the prompts below to get a response from my muse.
drunk texts:
( ✉ → sms ) plea se eh elep me im drunk and i dotn know whe re i am
( ✉ → sms ) i fukcing miss yo u
( ✉ → sms ) i look so fuckigjn GOOD
( ✉ → sms ) i csnst stop throwiging up
( ✉ → sms ) fu ck you for hurting me
( ✉ → sms ) why dotn you ever call me anymore huh
( ✉ → sms ) stop being so fuckigjn borign and coekm to my party
( ✉ → sms ) i dropped my pzziza o nt eh floror im fuckgin pissed
( ✉ → sms ) i j sut left you a 3 mintue long voicemail singing. sorry
( ✉ → sms ) even when i’m durnk ic ant sotp thinking about oyu
hateful texts:
( ✉ → sms ) you’re pathetic
( ✉ → sms ) you make me miserable
( ✉ → sms ) fuck you. delete my number.
( ✉ → sms ) you never meant anything to me, anyway.
( ✉ → sms ) fuck your apologies, you can keep them.
( ✉ → sms ) congrats on always ruining everything
( ✉ → sms ) my life would be so much easier without you.
( ✉ → sms ) and next time you feel like calling me… don’t.
( ✉ → sms ) i don’t want anything to do with you anymore.
( ✉ → sms ) if your goal was to make me hate you, then congratulations. mission accomplished.
misc/random texts:
( ✉ → sms ) i think my neighbor is an alien.
( ✉ → sms ) help me think of a name for my new dog
( ✉ → sms ) sooooo… what was your first impression of me
( ✉ → sms ) should i get pizza or chicken wings for dinner?
( ✉ → sms ) no one’s ever made me feel the way you do.
( ✉ → sms ) i borrowed your weed. hope you don’t mind.
( ✉ → sms ) why do they say drugs are bad when they make you feel so good
( ✉ → sms ) today is the oldest you’ve ever been, but the youngest you’ll ever be again…
( ✉ → sms ) [ File Attached: 001329.jpg ] of all the drunk pictures i have of you, this one is my favorite.
( ✉ → sms ) i used your pics to catfish someone, and since they bought me a laptop… you have a date with them tomorrow.
thymocosm:
has it occurred to her that this – hanging out with dom – could become a problem? sure. she never thought she’d be the person with shit to keep to herself. not like this, anyway. but it could become a problem, if any of those would-be skeletons in her closet came to light. has to keep her eyes from flicking to the window. as if she’d know, see them, if any of vera’s boys were still watching her. ( elliot would lose his shit, probably, if he knew she was kicking it with a fed, but – well, it’s not really any of his business, is it? they’re not even dating anymore, really – shayla doesn’t quite know what they’re doing, but it isn’t that – so who she hangs out with or doesn’t is her problem. right? right. )
the huff of her out-breath’s halfway to laughter, tucking or nudging her thoughts back away where they came from. ( okay. so, that’s not completely a no, to kissing. good to know. )
‘ hey, don’t sell yourself short. ’ easy, easy, light, like it could just be a joke. maybe it’s just her, but dom looks like she’d be great at kissing. caffeine or not. one of the coffees is rescued from under dom’s arm, anyway, still-hot against shayla’s palm. ‘ so what’s the occasion – ? or you just got over-enthusiastic at the corner store? ’
her tongue presses against the point of one canine and dom grins hard. it’s so easy to flirt with shayla, easy to be around her, harder to tell if they’re both joking or not. but this whole thing isn’t predicated on whether or not they’re just playing or waiting for something more; it can’t be. dom’s flighty feet wouldn’t have stuck around if it was.
for a second, just a sec, it’s obvious she’s trying to think whether or not there is an occasion, but she’s got nothing. “ i just wanted to swing by, hang out, see you. ” it’s hard, yknow, for dom anyway, wanting to spend time with someone. actually going to the effort of getting out of bed and going to see shayla instead of just thinking about it and then going to work on her day off instead. “ — but i did go nuts at the corner store. so many places going out of business, i feel bad just giving them two bucks for coffee. like it’s a waste of their time. ”
memoryserved:
People always define each other by levels of ex-ness, and it disturbs them. They’ve never really thought of Elliot as ‘my ex’. For better or for worse, maybe. “Kennedy.” Kennedy with a concave croissant in a tupperware box. “Friend of the family. So Leon –”
“If we’re both talkers, and Elliot’s not home, who’s gonna listen to anything we say?”
it’s always impressive when someone doesn’t flinch or get weird when prison comes up. elliot’s got good taste. “ guess we gotta make actual conversation. walk down the two-way street. ”

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on the one hand i would like to write vera but on the other. no i fucking wouldnt
memoryserved:
“French pastries,” just so he knows what he’s getting into. Their voice carries out a little muffled through their bag while they ruffle through it: “I actually just, took the leftovers from work that’re going into the bin, so I’m not – sorry, uh, you’re, you are – ?”
“ — leon. friend of elliot’s from the inside. at least i did a lotta talkin and he listened, so i call that friendship. ”
memoryserved:
“Uh, uh-huh.” To something he said, to every statement. They prop a shoulder on the wall with either elbow cradled in the other hand. “Brought uh, from – you like Viennoiseries?”
“ — pastries? yeah i do. ” he mimics their posture without thinking about it, fingers pushes into his pockets. “ you got croissants? ”
Guys! This isn’t about what we’ll do tomorrow. This is about what we did. I mean, look at all these people. They’re free because of us. Because of what we did in this room. We are finally awake! We are finally alive.
in the sickly green hallway: “ i was lookin for elliot. ” beat. “ you too? he got a way of disappearing. ” // @memoryserved.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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“ excuse me. ” they’ll notice when the line pulls taut, but joanna has no intention to let things get this far. “ your dog’s leash is tangled in my pram. ” // @memoryserved.
— IT JUST CHANGES THE WAY WE ACCESS THOSE VULNERABILITIES. ( any character available on request. )