𝗦𝗘𝗟𝗙-𝗔𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗘 ;

juliet likes to think that she’s on some friendship level with most of the people who come in regularly. at the very least, there are people who wave at her when they walk in and seem to enjoy chatting when it’s slow enough to allow for it. most of them being around her age. elvie being one of them. “we have a black licorice flavor?” she tilted her head to skim the menu in front of him. maybe it’s some kind of starbucks secret menu thing she’s out of the loop on. “i’ll see what i can do for ya’.” a grin appears on her face, scribbling it down on her notepad with hopes that someone in the kitchen knows what he’s talking about. he looks surprised at her offer, and it makes her giggle. “you don’t have to look so surprised,” she teased and straightened her back to run his order back. “i’m gonna run this to the kitchen  — i wanna hear more about that milkshake record when i come back though.”

the place was completely booked, not a table in sight yet here arthur sat at an empty one. leg was bouncing anxiously, his limbs were so long that everyone in the restaurant could probably see. eyes dart to his watch once more, one that looked like it belonged to a grandfather, letting out a finally deflated sigh. “uh, hi. excuse me…” he said politely, his british accent was thick as he offered the other a nervous smile, “it appears…well, that i’ve been stood up…would you um…care to join me?” arthur offered with a nervous chuckle, blush appeared on his cheeks, “please. i could use the company before i spend the entire night wallowing in self pity.”

@irvingstarters

purse hoisted onto her shoulder and brand new moncler lebris coat shrugged on over her simple purple slip dress, alissa was actually heading out when the lone diner stopped her. she paused and turned towards his table with arms folded and a brow arching, surprised and expectant. “ ... hi,” she returned his greeting. unexpectedly, alissa wound up feeling some sympathy for the stranger. she’s been stood up before, not that she was about to share that with him. or anyone. “might cause a scene if the date who i just finished having dinner with on the other side of the restaurant catches us.” she wasn’t on a date. she was just leaving a dinner party put together by some of her fellow rec center volunteers to celebrate the end of the summer camp programs — but, the stranger didn’t need to know that, she had decided.

       she’s about to agree with alissa, even suggest that they swap stories sometime, but the next words out of the other’s mouth have her recoiling a bit. she tries to not react too visually, but it’s clear that alissa’s digging for some kind of information from her. hell, the woman probably knows exactly who she is and is just waiting for darcy to admit it. this feels like a trap, but luckily darcy is all too skilled in the art of the white lie. and besides, the lie she’s about to tell has some truth to it. she’s just choosing to leave out some of the more crucial details. “ i wouldn’t know,  ”  her first lie.  “  it was a gift.  ”  not a lie.  “  i had this eccentric aunt who liked to put all her money into tangible things, which ended up being a lot of jewelry. she gave it to me. said she wanted me to inherit it someday anyway, so …  ”  not fully a lie. it was a gift, but it was one from her mother for her sixteenth birthday. no matter how many times she’s tried to part with it, for it’s a relic of her old life, she can’t seem to take the damn thing off her wrist. 

alissa begins to suspect that she’s being lied to the moment that the barista opens her mouth — but, the only proof she has is a feeling, backed by nothing but all of her extensive experience in both lying and being lied to. ( like, she coaches teenagers. there’s also her dad, and an unfortunate slew of shitty exes, but ... she can’t unpack any of those experiences while a line could begin forming behind her at any moment. ) she hummed, nodding along as though understanding and accepting the explanation she was being offered. she's more curious now that she thinks she’s possibly being lied to. “sounds like she was trying to be really selfish and really selfless at the same time,” she decided, “like, your aunt spent all of her money on jewelry that she then gave to you instead of, like, i don’t know, giving you all of her actual money so that you don’t have to sling coffee all day.”

the skates are effortless now, almost as natural as walking ( she thanks the heely’s she wore nonstop in first and second grade ) after a couple of years at cutie pie’s. in one smooth motion, juliet glides from one table to another, scooping her tip off the end of an empty table on her way to the occupied booth across the room. “what can i get for ya’, hun?” she occasionally tries on the persona of a sixty year old waitress at a diner frequented by truckers  — with no real idea how well it works. the formal smile she wears with customers drops, switching to her normal and more casual one before continuing. “i get off in fifteen minutes if you want to hang out later.”   /   @irvingstarters​

Despite evidence pointing to the contrary, Abel had grown up with the delusion that he was skillfully subtle in everything he did. He also grew up with a certain privilege that made learning laundry at the embarrassing age of 25 lead to disastrous situations. He’d gotten the hang of it by now, living on his own for a while - Sud Me Senseless was practically his best friend. Still, the combination was lethal enough that it had Abel sat on top of one of the washing machines, in what he thought was a very casual manner. Though, it was obvious something was wrong, with the way the machine sputtered and demanded to cough out the bubbles it had been overflowing with moments before - clear by the way his now damp shirt clung to his chest and hair stuck at the front, anxious hands tugging when the washing machine first began to malfunction, “’Sup?” he asked the person walking past - Abel never said ‘sup, “Think you could, uh, pass my phone?” Pointing with his foot, where his phone lay on the tiled floor a few feet away from them, before flashing what he hoped was a charming, albeit somewhat self-deprecating smile at the request. @irvingstarters​

keys in one hand and a fresh cup of coffee from kahlo’s in her other hand, alissa was walking back to her car when she spotted abel’s familiar face through a window. she isn’t sure of how long she stood outside suds me senseless for, watching him struggle with one of the ... laundry machines. whatever they’re called. but, alissa eventually decided that she couldn’t just watch anymore and marched into the laundromat. “sweetie, you look pitiful.” she placed her coffee cup and keys on top a different laundry machine from the one that abel was seated on ... that also appeared to be overflowing, streams of bubbles fighting to spill from its mouth. she turned her head as thrust out a foot and instantly spotted his phone, but her lip curled in disgust. “ew, no. i’m not touching this floor.” her attention returned to abel, and alissa contemplated asking him what exactly had happened. “so, what’s with your new ‘ calvin klein cologne ad ’ aesthetic ?” she asked instead, glancing at the wet shirt that appeared to be adhering to every crevice of his torso. she probably wouldn’t understand if he explained it anyway.  

Propped onto the kitchen counter while a house party bustled around them, Lara poked at Lane’s side with her foot to grab his attention, “Remember these things?” The second Lara had noticed the cootie catcher she’d beelined for the kitchen, reading through all the results before testing it out on anyone. It was obvious it was made for someone who had a crush, name dropping a Jason at least twice, but Lara wanted to bother Lane with it anyway, “Okay,” Setting down her cider so that she could handle the cootie catcher properly, “give me your favourite number.” @selfawarc​

lane grumbled in complaint as lara’s foot dug into his side, but he still set his drink down on the counter beside her and leaned over to see what she had found. “oh yeah,” he answered, cracking a grin upon recognizing the item in her hand. “in the first grade one of these things predicted that i was gonna be a bartender. who the fuck knew what a bartender was in the first grade ?” he snorted as though it was ridiculous, but, really, lane himself knew the difference between ‘ neat ’ ‘ straight up ’ and ‘ on the rocks ’ by the time he entered preschool ( even once told his teacher that he takes his apple juice neat, like his granddad takes his juice ). "three billion and seven.” he instinctively offered the most outlandish number that he could of. “better start flappin’ that paper if you wanna finish this game before the party’s over.”

Chucking a look over her shoulder when the bedroom door of the party creaked, Lana cracked a rambunctious grin at the realisation it was only Lane. “Whoa – I, like, totally thought I’d been caught red handed, tits out and everything.” Her tits definitely weren’t out, which implied Lana thought this was some kind of casual, everyday phrase. Whipping her head back, she hummed from her position knelt on the carpet, deliberating a second before applying another sticker to the propped electric guitar. She had a sheet laying out besides her bare knee, holographic and glinting whenever it shifted, boasting about twelve cartoon dicks in scattered formation – the rest, she’d already stuck over the body, a cluster around the input jack. “I’m doing, like, a vigilante justice kinda thing. I may as well have a cape that’s, like, billowing out behind me, my hands on my hips, lycra and buns of steel – total superhero stance.” Lana neglected to mention the owner of said guitar had pretty much called her a whore after she’d emerged with dishevelled hair from a bathroom down the hall. Wasn’t a particularly jazzy detail, in her opinion. No fun in that. “He slipped out for some smokes, word on the street. Totally rasping for them. Prime time to strike, and – there,” she added another, angling her head as if appraising a meticulously painted work of art hanging in a gallery. “Huh. I’m kinda, like, a visionary, I think. Mona Lisa, who? I don’t know her. Like, I really don’t. You like?” Before he could even answer, she turned back to look at him. Her eyes roamed him head to toe, shamelessly bold as always, then slid back to meet his. Dimples became prominent, face warm as an August sunset. “How come you’re hiding out in here, anyways? Or, hey, wait – lemme guess. Looking for me. Serving me papers. No offence but I’m, like, super quick on my feet, Lane, and I have a mean streak. I’m, like, Shawn-Mendes-wearing-a-leather-jacket levels of dangerous. Seriously, don’t try it. You’ll never take me alive.” @selfawarc​

at first he only cracked the door, but when he didn’t hear any complaints from inside the room, lane nudged it open a little wider and poked his head in. “oh.” his brows rose when he spotted lana, plopped down on the floor and grinning at him. he glanced around the room and realized that it probably wasn’t the bathroom. he had tried asking for directions a couple minutes earlier and was bizarrely told to fuck off by the douche who’s throwing the party, and who had spent much of the evening happily chattering away to anyone who would listen about his brand new guitar. “oh, i’m not gonna stop you.” he didn’t need her explanation, although he guesses that something must have happened to inspire lana’s ... vigilante art piece. lane snorted in amusement as he watched lana apply another shimmery sticker to the guitar. “that dude’s gonna flip,” he commented, although he didn’t sound very concerned or sympathetic. it isn’t like he gives a fuck. he would’ve left the dude’s lame party already, but he hadn’t shown up alone. “oh, uh ... ” lane glanced behind him, noted that the hallway was deserted and took a step inside the room. “ ... i’m on a date.” he had finally allowed lara to set him up, which ... well, at least he has an actual reason to say no the next time she offers. he’s no expert in blind dates, and he could still tell that it was going extraordinarily horrible. “she said that she had to go to the bathroom, but that was like an hour ago so i’m ... probably not on a date anymore, am i ?” heat rushed to his cheeks as lane squeezed his eyes shut, head falling back against the door. “shit.” the realization might’ve been slightly less humiliating if there wasn’t a witness, but, only slightly, he’s pretty sure. he kicked himself off of the door and nodded at lana. “well, you wanna be here when that guy gets back or d’you want a ride ? i guess i’m leaving.” which was fine with him. it just would’ve been nice if he had figured out sooner that he had been ditched, maybe.

Ziggy let out a laugh at Lane’s rebuttal, the pair of them probably coming across awfully childish to any pedestrian idling by, kids shoving at each other and crunching gravel under soles on the playground. “Fuck you tryna do, feel up ma organs? You tryna give me a fuckin’ exam, forreal? Hannibal lookin’ ass. Pokin’ all over ma bones, ‘n’ shit, grippin’ at my nips?” he interrogated loudly, as if he hadn’t been the one to elbow Lane in the first place. Ziggy, much like Lane, didn’t know the time, so he ran with his guess. “Yea’, ‘xactly, man – 8 AM, so why you tryna confiscate my fuckin’ nipples? Sun barely risen. Pluckin’ them off ma tits like that. Fucked up, yo.” Lane’s hands had been nowhere near his nipples. It really wasn’t clear where he’d got that whole spiel from. Kissing at the backs of his teeth, Ziggy wafted a hand up in dismissal, the same way you’d dispel a bad smell or a niggling fly. “Nah, man, you fuckin’ wish I was dreamin’ ‘bout you, obsessed as hell, actin’ like some kinda Mariah Carey song.” He only knew of said song due to the Eminem beef. Still, he puffed his chest out a little, apparently validated by his own supposed cultural expertise. Kicking up his skateboard, he snatched it close to hold in the hook of one arm. “Yea’, right on that, callin’ me a mop ‘n’ shit – gotta be, y’know, everyone’s always jus’ so fuckin’ wet all the time, ‘round me, need’a be prepared. Shit’s a fuckin’ curse, forreal. Slippin’ n slidin’, breakin’ necks – am brave as hell, straight up survivor.” Apparently intent on being a pest some more, Ziggy’s eyes zipped over to the tote bag Lane was grappling. Stepping closer, he pinged at the hem, peeked inside without permission – even, for some god forsaken reason, leaned down and gave the contents a sniff. “Fuck you got rustlin’ in there? Some kale? Esme at the bottom, shrunk down, munchin’ for survival? Keepin’ her captive, you sick fuck? Esme?!” he hollered into the bag suddenly, attracting a bewildered glance from someone passing by, blindly jabbing red buttons on Lane’s control system just for sport. “Yo, Esme?! ‘Bout’a free you from this shit real fast!” 

lane did a lot of things as an idiot teenager that he now regrets. he never should have dropped out of school, or dealt drugs to people he barely knew, or pushed away the person who probably cared about him more than anyone else as his life got worse. he regrets punching ziggy, too — but, only because it upset his then - girlfriend, and definitely ruined what was supposed to be a fun evening of hanging out together for their shared friend group. ( it still baffles him that they have a lot of the same friends, and totally skeeves him out that lara seems to actually have a thing for the guy. ) honestly, it seems like whenever he’s about to reach a level of maturity that would allow him to accept that yeah, maybe ziggy was a dick for making some crude pass at esme, but lane might not have handled it in the most productive way, ziggy goes and does something that makes lane regret nothing but the fact that he didn’t swing way harder. “hannibal was bald. there’s a way better chance that you wind up lookin’ like the dude with all that shit you put on your — there are no organs in your shoulder, dipshit.” lane scoffed and shoved him again. “who’s — ” he didn’t care. he knew that he didn’t care before he even opened his mouth. lane isn’t always so easy to piss off ... or, likes to think that he isn’t, at least. it’s common fucking sense that esme would be a sore subject for him. ziggy’s not doing anything all that fucking clever, he tries to remind himself. “get off !” lane grumbled, the glass bottles inside of his canvas bag clattering around noisily again as he attempted to wrench it away from ziggy’s prying eyes and skinny fingers. “it’s groceries. what the fuck do you think it is ?” he bristled instantly at esme’s name. “d’you ever watch your mouth ?"

alexis: the kind i’d rather forget than ever think about again

alexis: like they’re all giving me different answers as to how they got my number like the location of the bathroom. theyre so vague its driving me nuts

alissa: oh, join the club. 🙄

alissa: wait, so all of these random numbers are texting you and telling you that your number is on all of these different bathroom walls all over town?

@selfawarc​​

       a return to irving came with a feeling of smallness airi had thought she was rid of. going away for college had meant a fresh start, a destiny molded by her own hands, untouched by her mother and the stagnancy that came with years-long judgement. and, she did thrive — a total 180 from her old self, but it was still the same self and that’s where the problem lay. an escape to a local bar wasn’t much of an escape when you still couldn’t find a way to breathe. it didn’t help that it was packed and that the threat of small-talk loomed. she was one whiskey in ( a remnant of what had been stolen off of her father’s shelves as a child ), as her current unasked-for-companion — a man in his thirties, who spit each time he clicked his tongue, which he did often — continued to goad. not drunk enough to leave yet, knitted brows scoured for an escape, and it was due to dire circumstance that the sight of a blond head and a familiar, but unwelcome, face became her lifeboat. lane morrison had never been a friend. “ la - james, ” nickname turned into full name, stemmed from shame, as she pushed past the other man, lips pulled into what she hoped was a smile evoking nonchalance, warmth even. “ how are you ? it’s been so long. too long. let me buy you a drink. ” and, before he could protest, she called over two shots, her earlier annoyance had — luckily — already broken off, making her desperate attempt successful at least.

↳ 𝗜𝗡𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗠: @stairlane2heaven uploaded a photo

see ya at the big beach clean up this weekend 😉