𝒘𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒔.

          barbara palvin & she/her, cis woman.  ‷ watch out , phoebe harvey has crash-landed into roswell !! they look twenty five years old and celebrate their birthday on december 2nd. they are from los angeles, reside in aurora apartments and are currently working as a late night host at rocket radio and a cashier at feel good records. one thing you should know about them is her dad probably produced your fave records and she’s only a lil embarrassed by it. ‷

*  hi,  hi   !  yes,  it’s  ( a  )  -  me  again,  with  phoebe  who  is  always  ready  to  party.  <3

vic: i can tell u what i'm not wearing

vic: flip flops

vic: because i almost sliced my foot open trying to get the ck from my car

vic: and it wasn't even IN THERE

vic: i'm fine tho

vic: guess ur alive

vic: unless i'm texting ur ghost

vic: all good? no scratches on the money maker?

phoebe: okay this is a LOT to take in

phoebe: is your foot okay? can u still send feet pics for income?

phoebe: unfortunately for u, i continue to live

phoebe: stick on pluto though, very fun, we're all about two seconds from being electrocuted so maybe i should write you into my will

phoebe: i'm alright tho, just have a very pissed uber who is getting the tip of a lifetime

archie: bro that's why i have a whole folder in my gallery that is just dope memes for times of crisis like this

archie: oh? she's funny too? wow. literally fawning. no but srs i enjoyed that, you can stay. and it is my wanking arm sadly, what u gonna do about it.

archie: a true comedian would never pass up the opportunity to say a long, hard couple of weeks!!! go back to clown school

archie: yea she is tough. she's also not my girl. pony got hit pretty bad tho

archie: fuck if i know but she's gonna be so mad when she finds out i can't do our gig in denver city next month. do u kno any drummers with 2 functioning arms??

phoebe: honestly feel like that should be a branch of government? like who is HANDLING the dope memes during times of danger!!!

phoebe: wow, imagine if i wasn't funny? if i wasn't hilarious? you'd just kill me like that? split me in half and drop an anvil on my head? mmm idk, think you can go that long w/o tickling the pickle? will you surive?

phoebe: SORRY DIDN'T REALIZE I WAS TALKING TO THE VALE-DICK-TORIAN OF CLOWN SCHOOL

phoebe: god ur a bad liar

phoebe: yeah, like almost literally every other drummer ever... actually wait NO be like the dude from def leppard, one arm and still a kick ass drummer. or i'll fill in for u

phoebe: in such daunting times, there's clearly only one question i can ask u right now...

phoebe: what are you wearing? ;)

archie: yea boiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii

archie: i honestly wouldn't expect anything less

archie: it took me so long to type that with one hand but i needed tht many is for emphasis

archie: right?? you're shaken, i'm stirred

archie: ummmm..... well i was born with glass bones and paper skin, every morning i break my legs, and every afternoon i break my arms, and at night i lie awake in agony until my heart attacks put me to sleep but honestly its no biggie

archie: have you seen vic since the storm?

phoebe: insert my longest YEAH BOYYYYY ever video here, i'd send it but service is pure SHIT right now

phoebe: emotionally, spiritually, mentally sending memes to your soul

phoebe: i'm nothing but a lowly chocolate salesman at your door, playing the world's smallest violin ): also? hope it wasn't your wanking arm that got broken, sounds like it's gotta be a tough couple of weeks for u

phoebe: not yet, i'm gonna call her in a bit, but ur girl is tough, i'm sure she's probably yellin at the sky for interfering with karaoke night

archie: bitch!! you'll never guess what

archie: i'm in the ER!! broke my fuckin arm didn't i

archie: hurricane katrina???? more like hurricane tortilla!

archie: no but forreal tho are u ok?? this shit is crazy

phoebe: omg does this mean i get to sign your cast?

phoebe: gotta start working on my penis drawing abilities ngl

phoebe: i'm good, i'm good, just like shaken up. hell of a storm like damn we're not in kansas anymore

A feline grin as she goes for top shelf instead, pouring one fairly shallow shot that she slides to Becky ( blue hair today ) in a silent exchange—’take this and keep an eye on everyone while I slack off a minute.’ She takes more time with theirs, carefully wetting and salting the rims, painstakingly selecting the juiciest looking lime wedges, and pouring two shots full to the top. It’s a nice way to keep her hands busy while Phoebe pokes around, a bloodhound hooked on a scent. Glazed eyes pan up to hers, dark with thinly veiled irritation as her tongue swipes across her teeth. “What’s with the film noir dialogue? Gonna start narrating too? Pondering life’s deepest questions aloud in a hazy room, detective style?” She nudges the drink toward her, one of her rings clinking against the glass, made louder by the lapse in music. She feels herself exhale when an iconic Steely Dan opening riff breaks the silence, a familiar song in a familiar playlist. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you sound”—she pinches two fingers close together, lips pursing out for her best baby voice— “a lil jealous.” She wants to roll her eyes, but it’d feel like a small battle lost against Phoebe’s unwavering stare. Instead she quirks a brow. “’If the inevitable happens’ is quite the oxymoron, Pheebs. Stop getting so far ahead of yourself. Nothing’s even going on. Here,” her shot glass hovers in the air expectantly, “cheers, bitch.” 

                phoebe  would’ve  taken  offense  to  victoria’s  remark  had  an  actual  film  noir  line  not  just  literally  perched  itself  on  her  liquored  tongue  ——   with  cheeky  warmth,  the  brunette  edges  forward  to  offer,  “  well,  what’s  that  classic  one  ?  of  all  the  gin  joints  in  all  the  towns  in  all  the  world,  she  walks  into  mine  . . .  ”  she  can  only  parrot  bogart’s  delivery  for  a  prolonged  beat  before  tipsy  laughter  shakes  through  her.  “  i  always  thought  that  was  such  a  stupid  fuckin’  mouthful.  ”  and  she  always  hated  casablanca,  no  matter  how  many  times  those  forty - something  dudes  she’d  hung  around  to  piss  off  gilroy  harvey  had  tried  to  convince  her  otherwise.  “  of  course  i’m  jealous.  i’ve  yet  to  meet  anybody  in  roswell  who  can  do  that  thing  i  like  with  their  tongue  quite  like  you,  ”  the  sentiment  comes  framed  through  a  pout,  though  in  all  honesty,  phoebe’s  more  curious  towards  the  situation  than  anything  else  ;  their  crowd  in  los  angeles  was  filthy,  prone  to  viciousness,  and  she’s  witnessed  more  than  enough  assholes  sink  their  teeth  into  victoria.  all  the  complications  that  comes  with  sex  aside,  she  does  sincerely  care  deeply  about  the  girl.  they’re  not  the  ones  who  expel  sentimental  platitudes  with  ease,  but  phoebe  softens  slightly  when  she  considers  what  they’ve  endured  together  ——  and  follows  suit  with  downing  the  shot  immediately,  because  like  fucking  hell  does  she  want  to  linger  on  the  person  she  was  back  in  those  big  cities.  she’d  have  to  acknowledge  that  it’s  not  too  far  removed  from  the  person  she  is  now,   and  self  reflection  is  not  the  best  chaser  for  tequila.  “  i  mean,  we  both  know  that’s  bullshit,  but  that’s  your  business,  baby,  ”  she  simpers  after  the  burn  subsides,  pleasantly  buzzed  and  curling  her  fingertips  around  vic’s  slim  wrist,  “  i  just  hope  that  whoever  is  doing  whatever  with  you  doesn’t  mind  if  you  spend  the  night  at  my  place  tonight.  ”  her  free  hand  dips  into  her  back  pocket  to  slip  out  a  crinkled  up  hundred  that’s  soon  slotted  on  the  oak  between  them,  though  it’s  the  little  powdered  baggie  that  falls  out  with  it  that  has  phoebe  slipping  a  giggled  oops!  as  she  swiftly  retrieves  it.  “  how  many  more  shots  does  that  get  us,  you  think  ?  ”

where: wild pony @ the bar with: @roswellstarters​

“m’coming down with something,” with a celery stick mack points to his bloody mary, as if to say obviously. as if it’s strictly medicinal. “and you’re…,” he gestures the celery conversationally before taking a chomp, “what, loitering? get the novelty margarita, with the bacon or something. get some protein in.” gruff, passive. but his head cants in mild humor. “who says you can’t have a four course meal at the bar?”

          “  loitering  and  being  adorable,  absolutely,  ”  phoebe  happily  fills  in  mack’s  blanks  with  the  bravery  of  someone  who,  yes,  had  been  enjoying  her  second  margarita  of  the  night.  “  you  know,  you  really  need  to  get  braver  with  the  menu.  and  by  that,  i  mean  you  should  just  let  me  have  an  entire  margarita  pitcher  with  a  straw.  two  straws,  if  we’re  taking  your  ailment  into  consideration.  ”  bright  blues  follow  his  highly  expressive  celery,  lips  pulling  into  a  faint  smirk  as  she  rests  chin  atop  the  palm  of  her  hand,  “  mack,  i  know  i’m  your  favorite  customer  in  the  entire  world,  and  you  can’t  bear  to  lose  me  . . .  ”  already  playing  fast  and  loose  with  the  facts,  but  she  breezes  on,  “  . . .  but  i’m  supposed  to  be  meeting  someone  here  soon,  and  this  is  someone  i’d  very  much  like  in  my  bed  later,  so  if  you  could  be  the  champ  i  know  you  are  and  talk  me  up  while  i  conveniently  dash  to  the  bathroom,  that’d  be  great.  ”  not  that  getting  laid  is  a  challenge  in  the  slightest  around  here,  but  she  keeps  her  gaze  trained  on  his  profile  with  latent  hope  nonetheless.  “  i’d  owe  you  big  time.  ”

⧽   ──   OPEN STARTER   ﹕ @roswellstarters​

📍 taka’s home, 32nd birthday part (event) .

god , remind sparrow why they came again . they weren’t much of a dancer ( unless it was nirvana , of course ) and they were more of an isolated drinker , somebody who would steal a bottle of vodka beneath their jacket folds and enjoy it on the hill overlooking tripp’s trailer park . they had expected there to be at least more candy , at the home of roswell’s willy wonka himself . “ do you think if i pay the DJ to play some actual good music they’d fold ?? how much do you think i’ll have to slip ‘em to play some linkin park , “ 

        it’s refreshing  — watching phoebe do her thing with the practiced ease of someone with twice as much experience.  he supposes that kind of confidence comes with being a bigshot music producer’s daughter. you pick up the tricks of the trade, like that lilt of her voice as she croons into the microphone like some effervescent hair-twirling, bubblegum-blowing dream girl to her listeners back at home. he’d be laughing if it wasn’t so effective. “you’re such a fuckin’ tease, pheebs,” archie remarks when she flops down beside him on the couch, her fingers sliding the joint into his mouth. he eyes her ( heavily lidded and half - out of it )  as he takes a drag, no hands, just the butt end clamped between his lips, a dull scratch catching in his chest as he holds the smoke and exhales.   “woah. public phone sex,” perking up, he plucks the spliff out of his mouth to slide it into hers. colour him impressed. “did you come?” perhaps it’s too on the nose to ask that, but he can’t help himself. “y’know… i don’t think i’ve had phone sex since like, the ninth grade.” he rolls onto his side then, tucking his head into the crook of her neck, her hair falling over his face and rendering him some long-haired hippie rocker her dad would have undoubtedly snorted lines with. 

        “uhhh… weirdest thing i’ve ever done here… like in the studio? i mean, i don’t really have that much power… being an intern is basically like being a glorified potwash. sometimes sparrow lets me organise the records if i’m good. that’s about it.” so far, his stint at rocket fm had been pretty uneventful. sparrow was less than welcoming, which was perhaps inevitable considering the childish crush he’d been harbouring on them ever since he started. not that it was even worth mentioning. they’d made it pretty clear they found his interest laughable. “i actually used to prank call the station a lot when work was dragging and i needed to kill time. i used to do different accents and shit and i’d make up backstories, it was like improv.” he snags the zoot off her for another toke, almost choking on a lock of her hair which had made it into his mouth. “yeah, this one time, i rang in between marvin gaye and childish gambino, and the host was like… super horny, and we ended up just having phone sex on the radio. it was live and everything. pure filth.”  eyeing her, he clings to every ounce of her expression. it’s the only thing tethering him to the couch  — and the earth  — right now, before he cracks into a peal of laughter. “nah i’m kidding. that wasn’t me who rang in. though i kinda wish it had been.” he’s only half-joking. tucking his head back into the crook of her neck, archie allows himself to trail lazy patterns against her arm. he’s stoned enough that he feels like he could seep into the sofa, become part of the fabric, and a selfish part of him wants to never have to move again, to just lie here in this blissed out limbo until he’s found half-eaten by feral cats. “i guess the weirdest thing is probably the time i had to take care of this mexican post-punk singers pet ferret because the radio frequency was like, freaking him out. rodents have super sensitive hearing. and clearly he wasn’t a fan of the avant garde scene.”

       did  you  come  ?  shamelessness  is  a  virtue  that  arouses  absolute  delight  in  phoebe,  freckled  cheeks  dimpling  with  impish  glee  as  she  considers  the  question.  “  did  i  come  live  and  on - air  on  a  random  wednesday  night  ?  ”  it’s  tempting  to  conjure  up  an  alternate  version  of  events,  some  salacious  and  sordid  tale  that  would  make  penthouse  readers  blush  . . .  but  she’s  far  too  stoned,  partially  worried  some  erratic  detail  about  a  possessed  cow’s  interruption  might  slip  its  way  into  the  narrative.  “  unfortunately,  no,  i  didn’t  come  during  the  whole  ordeal  —  ”  the  concept  sounds  appealing,  provoking  a  chuckled,  “  though  it  totally  gives  me  something  to  add  to  the  bucket  list  now.  ”   the  sight  of  him  now  donning  long  chestnut  waves  spurs  lazy  giggles,  before  her  eyes  drift  back  to  the  ceiling,  quietly  amused  by  the  various  objects  lodged  into  the  popcorn  material  by  the  station’s  usual  motley  crew  ——  pencils,  paper  planes,  secret  notes.  “  i  definitely  finished  the  job  later,  though.  i  mean,  come  on,  the  guy  knew  what  he  was  doing.  wonder  if  i  should  put  up  some  missed  connections  ad  about  my  midnight  mystery  phone  sex  :  you  called  in  on  your  way  to  santa  fe,  we  both  loved  blonde  on  blonde,  i’m  pretty  sure  you’re  hung.  find  me,  space  cowboy.  ”  archie’s  own  anecdote  earns  a  quirked  brow  that  mirrors  the  upward  pull  of  her  lips,  if  not  briefly  distracted  by  reclaiming  the  tendrils  that  got  lost  on  his  tongue,  “  well,  you  can’t  just  say  that  and  not  show  me.  c’mon,  let’s  hear  one  of  your  call  in  characters.  at  least  give  me  a  good  accent.  ”

a  quiet  calm  blankets  phoebe,  and  she  imagines  that  sheer  proximity  alone  might  extend  as  a  sliver  of  serenity  to  archie  —  one  hand  has  slender  digits  drumming  on  the  arm  of  the  couch,  the  other  curls  at  the  back  of  his  neck,  tanned  skin  juxtaposed  against  bubblegum  pink  peach  fuzz.  “  nah,  i  don’t  think  you  could  handle  me,  ”  she  chides  playfully,  though  she’s  mindful  to  tack  on,  “  i’m  surprised  you  can  even  handle  vic.  ”   the  idle  hand  once  perched  at  the  base  of  his  neck  lightly  pinches  his  skin,  a  wordless  gesture  to  imply  the  futile  nature  of  any  counter  or  denial  —  anybody  with  a  pair  of  eyes  could  catch  onto  that,  and  for  what  it’s  worth,  phoebe  finds  it  to  be  incredibly  sweet.  “  don’t  tell  me  that,  now  i’m  going  to  get  emotional  over  rats  having  to  deal  with  heavy  metal  and  getting  little  ratty  headaches  over  it,  ”  she’s  just  high  enough  that  her  voice  does  crack  at  the  thought,  a  slight  hitch  in  her  otherwise  airy  laughter.  a  familiar  bass  line  rips  through  the  room,  soon  shadowed  by  marc  bolan’s  eccentric  croon,  and  it’s  a  cardinal  sin  for  phoebe  to  ever  sit  out  a  good  t.  rex  moment.  “  fuck,  i  love  this  song,  ”  she  murmurs  against  his  temple,  and  perhaps  it’s  a  necessity  for  phoebe  to  break  the  contact  and  pull  herself  from  the  cushions,  singing  along  to  the  favored  tune.  she  stumbles  trying  to  stand  straight  on  her  feet,  though  she  still  extends  a  hand  to  archie,  “  do  you  know  how  to  waltz,  macmillan  ?  ”

open: anyone location: at the oceanarium, looking at the gay penguins.

        the oceanarium hits different when you’re stoned. it’s like being inside of a fuck-off massive snow globe. she should be bored of it by now. anyone who’d lived in roswell for more than five minutes had seen all there was to see — had heard the monotone drawl of facts about ocean pollution rattled off by a gum-popping, acne-riddled teenager — but somehow it’s charm still captured bridget, a kind of nostalgia associated with the serenity of it after countless school trips spent fogging up the fish tanks. either that, or she’d made her last zoot too strong, face pressed against the glass, the blue-green tinge washing over her skin as barnaby and his boyfriend marcus waddle past her knees. the board above their heads labels marcus as the ‘naughty penguin of the month’ for stealing margaret, (a predominantly blind emperor penguin)’s fish, but maybe the staff at the oceanarium didn’t have the full story. maybe, in some aquatic rendition of les mis, marcus like the valiant, gay, flippered jean valjean he was had stolen the fish for barnaby, out of love. “i love the way they love,” bridget utters, the comment so faraway and dreamy she can scarcely tell if it’s been spoken or just thought.  “not to be all wattpad, but like this is so romantic.”  turning her attention to her companion, she fixed them with a doe-eyed grin, affecting the girlish drawl of the token dumb-blonde in the movie. “…are we about to kiss right now?”

           “  ——  sure,  ”   the  remark  barely  slips  out  before  phoebe’s  lips  collide  with  bridget’s  in  an  airy,  giggling  kiss  that  comes  coupled  with  a  light  squeeze  to  bridget’s  small  hand  ;  affection  is  phoebe’s  preferred  currency  in  life,  and  her  beloved  best  friend  is  more  often  than  not  on  the  receiving  end  of  the  girl’s  boundless  expression.  “  seriously,  bridge,  if  you  just  wanted  to  get  felt  up  next  to  the  penguins,  all  you  have  to  do  is  ask,  ”  she  enthuses,  finally  releasing  her  hold  to  step  forward  and  absorb  the  scenery,  various  shades  of  aquamarine  spilling  over  her  countenance  as  wild  eyes  follow  the  sealife  all  around  them.  “  you’d  be  my  barnaby,  right  ?  i  think  we’re  just  as  cute  as  the  penguins,  ”  she  insists  around  a  growing  smile,  cheeks  dimpled  in  hazy  warmth  ——  she’s  stoned,  yes,  but  she’s  feeling  light  as  a  feather  and  prone  to  tiptoe  through  the  clouds.  “   i  feel  like  i’d  be  a  jellyfish.  no  thoughts,  head  empty,  just  floating  around  and  stinging  anyone  who  gets  too  close.  ”  actually,  that  hit  a  little  closer  to  home  than  anticipated.  smile  dissolves  as  she  looks  back  over  her  shoulder,  “  what  kind  of  fish  would  you  be  ?  ”

It isn’t that she doesn’t love seeing Phoebe. Or… maybe that’s exactly it. Her presence at the Pony, languishing against the bar and brushing elbows with the regulars is a tease. Pupils blown, body loose and willowy, every time her cherry-stained lips stretch wider, Victoria’s mouth tightens. Her fingers twitch toward her purse, stashed under the bar with a reward for later already premixed in a baggie that’s been calling her all night. Screaming at her, really. And Phoebe has the nerve to sit here, nose still running, flaunting all her coked up glory. Victoria reaches for another fry instead, chewing until it turns to sand on her tongue. “Time After Time? C’mon, that’s such a downer. Even for the late crowd,” she insists, grabbing another fry from her stash to toss at the brunette before lining up two shot glasses. “That’s like, dare I say it, a fuckin’ Carol song.” Carol, the most depressive drunk on this side of the Santa Fe, known for bawling her eyes out at random, a tragic backstory with notable continuity errors, and excessive spilling—despite Bridget’s protests, it was single-use plastics only for Debbie Downer. “You’ve never had an issue with sorority girls before.” Victoria quirks a brow and automatically goes for the Jose Cuervo but hesitates, glancing back over her shoulder and giving her denim-painted ass a shake for Phoebe’s benefit. “You payin’?” she purrs, walking her fingers slowly up the shelf toward the Patrón. 

         if  phoebe’s  being  honest  with  herself  ——  which,  no,  isn’t  a  common  occurrence  ——  she’d  admit  that  it’s  still  a  bit  unnerving  to  be  around  victoria  while  she’s  on  the  job  ;  they’d  been  playmates  in  los  angeles,  in  just  about  every  sense  of  the  word,  and  while  phoebe’s  taken  up  gigs  for  the  absolute  pleasure  of  it  all,  she’s  aware  that  there’s  a  stark  contrast  in  how  they  tackle  their  incomes.  if  she  had  her  way,  after  all,  vic  would  simply  be  available  at  any  moment,  on  any  whim,  without  an  ounce  of  responsibility  or  obligation  elsewhere  . . .  but  then  again,  that’s  how  phoebe  prefers  everyone  in  her  life  to  be.  “  always,  ”  she  smirks,  pink  tongue  shamelessly  poking  through  her  teeth  as  she  awaits  the  liquor.  “  have  you  been  hiding  from  me,  vic  ?  feels  like  i’ve  barely  seen  you  lately.  ”  the  tension  of  their  company  has  always  fascinated  phoebe,  so  accustomed  to  languid  connections  and  fleeting  gestures  ;  she’s  sure  it’s  caught  somewhere  between  sexual,  resentful,  and  genuine  affection,  with  a  damning  kiss  of  toxicity  for  good  measure.  more  than  that,  she’s  also  aware  that  someone  else  has  been  capturing  her  friend’s  attention,  details  she’s  eager  to  sink  her  teeth  into.  “  or  is  it  true  that  you’ve  been  playing  with  someone  else  ?  ”   phoebe’s  tongue  feels  wicked  tonight,  knowing  she’ll  need  to  lock  lips  with  someone  soon  enough  to  quell  the  thirst.  pink  lips  fall  into  a  pout,  but  oceanic  gaze  never  wavers  from  vic,  “  your  business,  whatever,  just  promise  me  you  guys  won’t  get  boring  if  the  inevitable  happens.  monogamy  tends  to  do  that.  ”