jamiecostello

[jamiecostello]

anniecohens​:

karaoke nights at the brass monkey were tragically underrated as far as annie was concerned. there was no other place in town—at least that she was aware of—that could give you the hyper-specific combination that was a sophomore from the theatre department belting out cher’s believe while you inhaled a shitty tap beer far too quickly. it was electric in the way that only the least frilly and fancy things could be. there was a spontaneity that fueled everyone in the room that you just couldn’t capture when wearing an extravagant gown and sipping champagne out of a coupe. “yes!” annie shouted, flat palm banging against the table, as the sophomore girl carried the song into its first chorus. do you believe in life after love!? the blonde sang along with what sounded like the rest of the bar, sliding off her chair and coming to stand. her legs slipped out from under the table, little pleather skirt accentuating their length as she walked towards a familiar mop of dark curls. “jameson! jemima!” she shouted, reaching a hand out in his direction. “don’t say no! don’t even think about—actually, don’t even think, just move!” it was always a special effort to get a reaction out of jaime, but the fact had become more of a motivator than a deterrent. besides, there was always the chance that he’d been drinking and the alcohol was on their side. maybe it’d loosen him up. @jamiecostello

Jamie had tragically made the mistake of forgetting about karaoke night. He had settled in for a quiet night at the bar by himself, tucked away on a stool with a beer in front of him and no company. But then halfway through his drink the backing music track starter, and he almost groaned audibly. Trying to just finish his drink and get out, he motioned frantically to the bartender. “Hey, hey! Can I close out? Check? He yelped almost desperately as he saw Annie approaching him, but he would have no such luck. The man couldn’t hear him over the wails of the singer. Turning his attention towards the girl, he gave her a look that said, well, guess this is happening. “No, no, I don’t dance. I wasn’t allowed to as a child,” he protested lamely, resisting her tugging on his arm. “I prefer ABBA, by the way,” he informed her as an aside, eyes refusing to look anywhere but her face. If he did, he might actually be convinced to join her. “I’m gonna at least need a shot first. If you’re going to take me against my will.”

[jamiecostello]

lanajvmeson​:

“Fuck, I? Are you, like, announcing you’re gonna fuck me, Yoda style? So hot, but… Um, Jamie, this totally isn’t – this isn’t the time,” fluctuated with laughter – childish, bubbling springs of it, borderline infectious – as she studied his face, eyes panning all over, only focused on him. Not the sting in her arm. Not the fact that whatever threads she’d felt untangle from Danny as they zipped down the streets felt tangled again, now, knots swallowed and sitting uncomfortably in her stomach. Maybe it would always be this way, with something like that. Someone like him. Maybe he’d forever leak from her pores at the slightest reminder. “What’s Magellan? Is that, like, ice cream? Like Magnum?” she asked, no hint of a joke in her voice, genuinely curious. Hooked on his every word. Fully engrossed as she tried to keep up. Any thought of receiving an answer was wiped from her brain when he squatted, grin charging onto her face with all the tenacity of a bull let loose in a China shop, destroying ever delicate concentration. She gasped, instantly enamoured by the idea. “A noble steed! Donkey from Shrek, I love your work,” she gushed, already in the process of springing onto his back when the sirens began to wail. “Ew, can they keep it down? Like, my ears. We’re wahlkin’ here!” A horrifically butchered try at an accent from Queens, some disgruntled pedestrian cursing out a cab. You’d think, considering she’d grown up feasibly local, that she’d be better equipped to attempt it. Lana had always been terrible at accents, though – it was almost as if she didn’t try, sometimes, like she found her failures funnier, far more sensational if they were rough around the edges. Hissing softly when she looped her arms, accidentally poking at the worst of her scrape, Lana instinctively shut her eyes. Childish, in a way. If you couldn’t see a monster, it didn’t exist. She phased over the reaction with a hum, right against his ear, adjusting so she could grasp without pain. Secure, then. Thighs either side of him, clasped to support her weight. “Bella and Edward roleplay. Is this the part where you tell me to hold on tight, spider monkey?” Despite the laughter in her voice, tone light as spun sugar, a finger etched his shoulder so gently that it almost implied an apology – who was to know what for, Lana certainly didn’t. In fact, she was barely even aware of it, always straying into idle touches like subconscious habits, especially with Jamie. It was difficult, sometimes, to remember where the line was drawn. Exes probably weren’t supposed to behave that way, but Lana had never known anything different. Even with friends, with strangers – with people that weren’t supposed to come near her – physical intimacy was more normalised than a handshake. “Lemme know if you get tired. We can swap. I’m, like, super ripped, not to brag, or anything. I once bench pressed a Jeep in a Taco Bell parking lot. With a dog inside. My twelve pack’s way intense.”

“No, Magnum like a magnum condom for my giant horse cock,” he joked, a complete exaggeration. He let out a small groan, swaying slightly as Lana hopped onto his back, trying to right himself like he was a ship bobbing along of a turbulent sea. He could practically feel the alcohol sloshing around in his empty stomach. “Hey! Stop making fun of my culture,” he spat out jokingly to Lana’s terrible New York accent, the one that slipped out of him comically when he was inebriated. “What’s with the hissing? are you transforming into Nagini?” He asked her, starting to trudge off into the night, weaker than he thought in his inebriated state, his knees already starting to buckle. “I don’t know what a an Edward Cullen is. Was he in One Direction? The one with the hair?” Jamie asked her, seriously, trying to rack his mind for the reference. Feeling a shiver run down his spine at her tracing of his shoulder, Jamie’s feet transitioned from cobblestones to grass, looking up suddenly to realize he had lost his path, vineyards branches now swaying in front of his eyes. He had been distracted by her hands, something that happened to him often. He probably shouldn’t have given in to her as often as he did, slipping back into touches that were probably not how exes should have behaved with each other. His hands gripped onto her thighs, holding her up, head whipping around wildly, his knees sinking into the grass. “Yeah, uh, can we take a break? I just realized I have no clue where the fuck we are,” he admitted, letting go of her, flopping back onto the grass in defeat, a hand lingering on her thigh before he removed it, looking up at her. “Oh, sick! Can I see it? I’ve always wanted to see one. Feel like it’s the next best thing to a unicorn sighting. Will you give me your autograph?” He asked, rolling over onto his side. “You know, it’s actually kind of comfy here. Feels almost like a temperpedic mattress.”

[jamiecostello]

hcpcrs​:

The high was mellow, like a blanket of warmth that covered her head to toe, like the mummified queen of Egypt. She could feel the buzzing of her fingertips down to the soles of her feet but it all came slowly, wafting over her like a cool breeze off the harbor… though the sound of Jamie’s muttered cursing pulled her from her comfort, angled brows pinching in the middle and making her lashes flutter open as he raised up from his own coffin, a bit more wired from his high it seemed than she felt. She watched as he wagged his finger at himself, in shock and awe at his newly found trick making a light chuckle fall from her lips, “You know if you hold your hand like, an inch from your face you can actually see the blood pumping under your skin,” The blonde reached over to try and guide his movements, “Like, here just right in front of your face,” Harper’s voice was low, a playful glint under the surface as she giggled to herself hand on his wrist before groaning in agreement, “Pizza, pizza sounds so amazing, you’re paying.”

Jamie felt positively out of it, like he was floating out of his body and watching over himself like a ghost. But he was sharply jolted back into his skin as Harper held onto his hand, lazy grin falling onto his face at the touch. Normally he wanted everyone to keep a good six foot radius from him. But the high made him feel like the edges of his limbs blurred out into the air, and he wanted someone to touch them, bring them back into focus like a camera lens. “absolutely fucking sick. God, how did you know this? You’re a genius,” he exclaimed softly, staring at his own finger, before his eyes grew distracted and drifted back over to Harper. He needed to lie down. without warning, he flopped onto his back, curly head of hair in her lap as he pulled out his phone to look at a menu from a place nearby. He scrolled through it, blue light of his phone illuminating his face. “Do you have any idea what Quattro Stagioni means?” He asked, turning his head to face her. “Also does my face look weird?”

[jamiecostello]

rvsasamuels​:

Rosa had spent the better part of the night searching aimlessly for her friend throughout the smoking section of the bar Lana had managed to drag her to. She was aware that she stuck out like a sore thumb - Rosa didn’t fair well in situations like this back home, where she was comfortable. Being in a foreign country being chatted up by a local only made her more put out, brows knitted and lips pursed with distaste, and yet the man talking to her took no hint to her discomfort. Just when she thought the only way to escape the situation would be to speak up, potentially cause a scene, her gaze focused on the only face she’d recognized in far too long, “Jamie!” she squeaked, waving wildly to catch his attention and drag him closer, “Hi. Save me,” Rosa begged under her breath, hoping he’d be the only one within earshot that’d hear her, eyes widening to match the manic grin on her face to prove just how desperate she was, “This is Jamie, Jamie -,” Turning to the person she’d been talking to, Rosa realized she didn’t remember his name for the life of her, pause stretching out for far too long before she was finally continuing, “We have, uh… to go, right? Somewhere? We have to meet up with… those people, right, don’t we?” @jamiecostello​

Jamie had long abandoned the crowd he had arrived with, a group of drunken Kincaid students who promptly began spitting out orders in broken Italian to a harried bartender who rolled his eyes at their terrible accents. Now standing alone with a cigarette perched in his hand, his tongue still felt scorched from when he had inserted the cherry end in between his lips the first try. He hadn’t even needed to buy a drink yet, having drunk most of a bottle of wine back at the villa. Drawn out of his thoughts by the sight of flapping arms, he approached the girl, smile flashing across his face when he realized it was Rosa. Then his eyebrows raised in apprehension upon spotting her clearly unwelcome company. “Hi,” he drawled out, stalling for time, trying to drum up an excuse, his mind distracted by the faint line of sweat forming on the man’s upper lip. Briefly he thought about wiping it off. “Oh, yeah! Rosa’s late. She’s gonna miss her appointment at the clinic. STD testing. It would be the third round of chlamydia for this one. Fingers crossed, man!” He enthused, clapping Rosa across the back enthusiastically, slinging an arm protectively around her shoulder. A frown of disgust started to form on the other man’s face. “Yep, I keep telling her to use protection, but you can’t get this one to do anything,” he rambled out, already steering her away from the man, practically shouting the sentence over his shoulder. “Well, lovely meeting you! Wear a condom!” He shouted out, turning several heads, retreating away with his friend, containing the chuckle spilling out of his lips. “You good? He looked like he wanted to get down on one knee and propose. I hear weddings in Italy are lovely.”

[jamiecostello]

byebecca​:

she didn’t even know why she’d come to tuscany. the idea of an empty campus, where no soul would even be present to bother her should’ve been enough to remain in vermont. but truthfully, becca had always liked europe. it reminded her of a brief moment of happiness in her childhood, her parents letting her run off to explore the city. while it may have been considered bad parenting to many, becca fell in love with the beauty of the unknown, being in a place where no one knew who she was, where she had no obligations or responsibilities. it was freeing. she’d found herself leaning against a balcony, cigarette in hand at god knows what hour, enjoying the calmness that surrounded the villa at the time. as her eyes shifted away, she half expected the other costello to be the one she saw. “you look like shit. no offense.” becca’s voice broke the silence as her gaze shifted back to the dark sky, offering her cigarette to jamie without looking. @jamiecostello​

The time difference had Jamie waking and sleeping at odd hours that night. After waking, he tossed a few times before he resigned himself to the fact that he was awake. Grabbing the pack of cheap, Italian cigarettes he had purchased at the airport, Jamie tread barefoot through the house, searching for someplace to smoke. The balcony, he decided, opening its doors to find someone already perched outside. “Ha. Thanks,” he retorted, bringing his fingers up to touch his scraped up cheek, a souvenir from the moped accident. “Think my blood is permanently staining some cobblestones in town,” he informed er, wordlessly taking her cigarette, bringing it to his lips. “What are you doing out here?” He questioned, surprised to see someone else up at the same ungodly hour. “Waiting to get beamed up by the aliens? Bring me back a photo when you’re abducted. Maybe teach them how to throw up a peace sign,” he joked in a monotone voice, walking over towards a large fern, behind which he had stored a bottle of absinthe earlier in the night, abandoning it in his drunken state. “You know this stuff has never given me a single hallucination? I’m suing the ghost of F. Scott Fitzgerald for false advertising.”

[jamiecostello]

lanajvmeson​:

Lana began to rise as soon as he’d assured her, knees dusty from the street, hair even more tousled than it had been prior to hopping aboard. “I totally feel like that one catfish in the pond at Chernobyl,” she exhaled dramatically, gasping in a laugh when he knocked his head. “He’s tap dancing, your honour! It’s a jig, it’s a river dance!” bubbled up with regards to his stumbling feet, thoroughly amused as she imagined his heels clacking up a storm, legs so fast they’d rendered to a blur. So absorbed in the fantasy, it took his hand wrenching her arm to pull her out of it. A butterfly fished from a swimming pool, saved from drowning in her own imagination. “Sheesh, just, like, hollering down my ear. Drill sergeant roleplay. You’re like the guy in Princess Diaries who, like, announces whenever her royalty has to pee,” she laughed, easily following along. There was an itch to thread their fingers, for some reason, grasp to warm the crease of his lifeline – there always was, with Lana, real as a mosquito bite. She liked her hands better when they were someone else’s. “God, you’re – you’re honestly the fastest man alive. He’s superhuman! Part wildebeest, on his father’s side!” Not that she was struggling to keep up. Stamina wasn’t an issue, for Lana – it was implausible that it should be, excessive recreation considered. Admittedly, she could feel a dull sear beginning in the arm he’d clutched. Her smile still clung like a shelved doll, faint and unassuming, apparently incapable of not enjoying herself. “It’s whatever, it’s cool. It’s…” trailed off, eyes latching on the blood again and prompting the stutter of a slide in her brain, present memory overlapping with a past one. Parking garage. The slam of a car door. “Huh,” she stalled, voice gone lukewarm, breath of laughter escaping like the bow to tie her composure in tact. “Saucy... Who ordered the marinara?” It didn’t read phased. Especially not when she caught a drop with an index, reached to smudge it down his chin. “Simba. Gross, Jamie. Who told you you could rock a goatee? Shave it off, I’m serious. Shave it or I’m telling Billy Ray. He’ll sue. It’s copyright infri–,” was cut short by a raised voice from the street they’d left, cussing following suit. Something about “whose fucking bike is this?” Lana sprang to action like a wind-up toy, grabbing his hand so they could take off down the cobbles. All the while, a grin on her lips. In Lana’s brain, the crash was just the plummet of the rollercoaster. Something to make her stomach flip. She could dress any black hole up as a comet. “Do you even know the way back?” came after aimless sprinting, steps gone slow. “I’m literally – like, I won’t lie, I don’t know where I’m going. I feel like Katy Perry’s plastic bag.”

Jamie suddenly had the urge to rip off part of his shirt, tie it around her wound like they did in movies to create a makeshift bandage. It surprised him, the guilt churning in his stomach looking at Lana’s bleeding arm, knowing that he had been the cause of it. His first instinct had always been self-preservation. Even as a kid he had stayed silent as his best friend got in rouble for the classroom graffiti they had both been responsible for. But Lana stirred something in him, regret and apology flooding his eyes as she smudged his chin with blood. “Ew, what the fuck! Is this how you get cold sores? Cooties, Lana,” he huffed out, swatting her hand away, wiping at his chin. His ears perked up, straightening his back, trying to decipher the Italian voices around them, still heavily intoxicated. He managed to catch a few swears that he wouldn’t bother to translate for her, and an English voice cussing at their wrecked bike. Something about it made a grin spread on his face to match hers, like two conspiratorial children who had just broken his mother’s favorite vase. Taking off after her, he was slower to move, ache of the bruise forming on the back of his head distracting him. His steps slowed to a walk, head flying around in circles. “Fuck, I -” he answered to her question, trying to spot anything that looked familiar. He settled on an old drunk passed out on the sidewalk, a man Jamie had noticed on their way to the bar because of how much he looked like the boy’s uncle, mouth slung so far open in a snore that Jamie wanted to try to toss peanuts into it. “Oh! I know where we are. Fuck, I feel like Magellan. I’m changing my major to map making,” he exclaimed excitedly, trotting in front of Lana, crouching down into a position that suggested she should hop onto his back. “Get on! We don’t have much time!” He ordered, smile falling at the sound of a police siren. Probably for something more serious than a moped crash, but Jamie wouldn’t take any chances in case they were on their way to avenge the bike’s death.

[jamiecostello]

Lowering his sunglasses over his eyes to shield his gaze from the bright sun overhead, Jamie was already regretting his decision to let Miriam stage a photoshoot for him in Italy. Dragging his feet along a cobblestone street, thr sunglasses helped hide the red-rimmed eyes, a remnant of his hangover. “Can we fuckin’ like, uh... hurry this up? I need to get some water or I’ gonna yak all over this quaint, historical street,” he complained to the girl leaning against a stone wall, starting to slide down it to sit down. “How do I look down here? I’m going for “man who fell asleep in the street last night””, he joked, lifting a hand up to brush hair out of his face, exposing the grazed skin from his moped accident. @miriamkaufmann​

[jamiecostello]

lanajvmeson​:

“Tear the sound barrier open with your teeth like a werewolf. I have a total Jacob Black kink,” Lana encouraged, voice dissolving into a laugh that martially muffled against his shoulder when the moped rattled, balance precarious. Perhaps she should’ve been paying better attention to keeping her grip secure, but Lana was more concerned with slinking an arm back, extending it to dapple a hand in the breeze as they zipped down narrow streets. Everything was a blur save for her own limbs – whether from the speed or the sheer amount of rum she’d consumed, she couldn’t be sure. She imagined thin, blood red threads sprouting from her fingertips, unravelled from her veins, residuals of a far less pleasant evening in a white parking garage many months ago, now. Imagined them rippling with the breeze, untangled from Danny, free. She loved this feeling. Forgetting herself. She wasn’t Lana, any more, but a pair of hands trailing from a Tuscan moped, an easy grin sprawling like a cat lazing in a patch of sun. It almost made her feel like a kite that’d had it’s string cut, flying up and further away – then, jolt of the front wheel so severe that something in her neck twinged, eyes wide in delayed time, she actually was flying up. Leaving the seat entirely. For a split second she thought about the fairies she’d poured over in books as a child, pictured herself with sprouted, glittering wings, though a harsh crunch of gravel punched any coherent thought from her brain like a fist to the throat. A searing sting only registered down her forearm when she used it to shakily push against the cobbles, blinking around her in a daze of utter confusion. Her knee had a scrape, maybe. She wouldn’t notice until later. “What’s… the fuck?” she butchered, confusing the persistent hum of the moped’s engine with her own heartbeat. Bewildered laugh tensing her ribs, she slowly clambered to reach Jamie, moving to give his shoulder as delicate a jostle as possible. “Are you, um – are you… okay? Quick, how many… tits do I have?” she switched in for the average “how many fingers am I holding up?”, about to reach in an attempt to flash and diffuse the situation when something dripped onto his shirt. “Ew, Jamie, are you… bleeding? Are you… okay? Where’s that… Where are you, like, bleeding from, it’s… Oh, it’s…” trailed off with realisation, arm hiked a little so she could properly inspect her forearm. The gravel had sufficiently mottled the skin all the way from elbow to wrist, red dripping down in a way that almost made her eyes blur. “Oh… it’s… me.” Nonsensically, a laugh burst out. She could hardly register the pain, senses coddled in a thick layer of saran wrap. Then, like she’d forgotten entirely, back to her immediate concern.  Never her, always everyone else. She could be drowning in the ocean, arms flailing, and she’d still be more fixated on the glimpses of a sunburnt back she caught from the shore between chokes of saltwater. “Are you, like… alive?”

Jamie was no stranger to being roughed up. Schoolyard scraps, bike accidents, had all made him an expert in his own pain. Even now when he leaned down to touch his knee, he could still find a piece of small gravel stuck underneath the skin, a spot he rubbed often when he was anxious. Now, the protective blanketing of alcohol kept him from registering most of his wounds, minor surface injuries as worst. There wasn’t too much damage to be done on a moped that barely reach 10 miles an hour. The worst pain of it all was flashes of a similar accident. His hands also at the wheel. Closing his eyes, he saw flashing lights behind them, blue and red, before they flew open wildly to look at Lana from the hunched position he was in on the ground. “Two. Two perky tits,” he answered, still managing to make a joke as he groaned the sentence out. He stayed splayed out on the ground dramatically, like the dead body in the first five minutes of Law and Order, eyes flashing to her wound. “Fuck! It’s bleeding! Best to cut that one off, Lana. It’s a lot cause. 127 Hours it,��� he instructed her, finally scrambling to stand up, bonking his head on the handlebars of the moped in the process. “Fucking.... I’m fine, I’m fine, he assured her, stumbling once he got to his feet, dizzy, rubbing at the back of his aching head. “Jesus, um....” he exclaimed, looking at the banged up bike, it’s mottled carcass, grasping onto her arm, starting to drag her away. “We have to flee the scene of the crime!” He shouted, clutching her bleeding arm, his first thought self-preservation, abandoning the evidence of their drunken escapade. He was practically panting, laboring heavily, turning a corner away from the accident. Once they had retreated a few feet, he finally realized he had blood on his hands, looking at Lana’s wound. “Oh, shit! Um, fuck, you’re bleeding, like, a lot. Get her a tourniquet!”

[jamiecostello]

“Harp - fuck - Harper, you’ve gotta come watch this,” Jamie implored, rousing himself from the reclined position he had taken up on the villa’s chaise lounge in front of a static-y old tv. Their mission to smoke all of the weed he had found, pried from up underneath a floorboard, was going rough for him so far. “Like watch. Literally,” he sated, placing a finger in front of his eyes, dragging it back and forth like a physician doing an eye exam. “Literally, when I do this, my eyes follow my finger. Isn’t that wild?” He asked her incredulously, his eyes ringed with red. “Wait, I just had the best idea. We should go uh, like pick some grapes. From the vineyard. Doesn’t that sound good? Or let’s get pizza.” @hcpcrs​

[jamiecostello]

lanajvmeson​:

Lana wasn’t particularly sure when they split off from the others or when they left the bar, all she knew was that the air pressed against her collar bones like a hot rag fresh off the stove. Probably down to the amount she’d been dancing, the rum sloshing inside her until she was sure she ought to swallow a cork, some futile attempt to put a stop to it. It felt like it was of upmost importance, her clicking a strawberry clip into Jamie’s hair, perfectly erecting a brown tuft into a makeshift totem pole. “Hey, is that a clip in your hair, or are you just happy to see me?” she practically laughed against his mouth – warm, stuttering breaths of it – hardly even aware of how close she’d drawn. Close enough to spill her darkest secrets. Then, away. She was like the tide, sometimes. Impossibly close, lapping at your ankles. Too far for the sand to catch. No means of predicting which it’d be. She had no definite estimate on how long it took them to reach the parked moped, a rental they’d taken out just that afternoon, only the tactile comfort of a red paint job etched beneath her fingers, the contrasting warmth as they crept around his waist to cling close. Her hands looped there, an index even going so far as to subconsciously stroke whatever rib it found first, an archaeologist dusting the dirt to unearth something, some rare fossil of himself he’d rather keep buried, intent on turning it over with care. Lana couldn’t help it. She brimmed with it. Love was in her fingertips, even with strangers. Engine kicking into action, she leaned into his ear from her chin’s perch on his shoulder, either oblivious or careless to the way her dress flopped to bare far too much thigh. “I wanna go fast. Like, so fast – like, if I was a granny, my dentures would totally fly out and land in a poppy field. Maybe, like, concuss a passing farmer.” @jamiecostello​

Jamie was never one to say no to absinthe shots. Especially when they were so cheap. The sickly sweet taste made him suspect they weren’t all absinthe, but he quickly forgot it in between trips outside to smoke cigarettes. The one thing he found to be completely lacking back home was the absence of smoking areas outside bars. Soon, he found himself stumbling out with Lana, an arm wrapped around her shoulder for balance, cigarette still dangling out of his mouth until it unceremoniously dropped onto the ground. He tried to swat her hand away as she placed the clip in it, too inebriated to realize how close she had gotten until he could practically taste her. “Fuck off. We’re on a mission,” he informed her, trudging off into the cobblestone streets in search of the rental moped, his shoe lodging in a bump in the stones. He nearly tumbled over, not a good sign for their hopes of getting home. “Quit manhandling me!” He protested as he settled himself onto the bike, Lana’s hands wrapping around him affectionately. But his tone was more joking than a serious request. Fingers looping through the straps of a helmet he had careless draped across the handlebars, Jamie tossed it to the side, flinging it in the path of another bar-goer who promptly yelped and jumped out of the way. Jamie started practically shaking with laughter at the image. “Fuck! It’s like fuckin’ uh, Mario Kart. You got any more red shells?” He asked her, kicking the bike to life, engine purring, nestling himself into her embrace. “Fast? Oh, fuck yeah. I’m gonna break through the sound barrier,” Jamie told her, nodding his head, the moped whizzing off into the bumpy streets, narrowly swerving to avoid a pothole as he tried to remember the direction of the villa. For how intoxicated he was, he was doing an impressive job of avoiding obstacles, at first, letting out a long whoop into the night, voice pirouetting up into the air. Until they turned onto a darker street, one with less lamps to illuminate the way and until Jamie lost his grips on the handlebars. One second they were puttering along, the next, he felt a jolt through the front wheel, caught on a bush, and he was tumbling over the handles and into the ground, feeling the shock of gravel ripping at his skin as he skidded. “Fuck!”

[jamiecostello]

Drunk, and barefoot in the villa kitchen, Jamie was busy humming along to a classical opera tune blaring out of his phone, still adjusting to the time difference, his brain firing on all cylinders despite the 3 AM time. Italy seemed to have awoken something in him, the boy suddenly cheerier than he usually was, and definitely more intoxicated. In between pouring splashed of wine into the marinara he was making, he kept taking swigs, getting drunker and splashing more of the sauce onto the stove as he cooked. Looking up, he spotted Romy, red-lined yes lighting up. He was always cheerier when drunk. “Wait! Come over here and taste this. Whoa, um. That sounded so dirty. That wasn’t a proposition. although I’d be open for that later,” he joked, running a greasy hand through his curls, brushing them out of his face, cheeks rosy from the alcohol. “Tell me if it tastes too boozy.” A spoon extended from his hand, the other held out just beneath it to catch any falling liquid. @andrcmda​

[jamiecostello]

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[jamiecostello]

adaliddel​:

what the fuck!? until that moment, ada had been cluelessly sitting nearby, perched atop the arm of a large chair quite like an exotic bird—though the ivory slip she wore suggested she were more of a ghostly spirit. long dark tresses pooled over one shoulder, revealing her slender neck and a bit of the glimmering highlighter that’d managed to get on it, adding to the illusion. in one hand rested a twinkling wine glass, practically filled to the brim with a liquid that clearly wasn’t wine, or anything of the sort. unless one could source a bottle of umber brown wine from somewhere within the large victorian house. her chin had been placed in her opposite hand, legs crossed and draped over the side of the chair. she appeared to be engrossed in conversation with someone standing perhaps a foot in front her, nodding every so often and even tilting her head back to release a laugh like windchimes. she’d been engrossed, anyway, until the shout carried over the music and murmur of casual chatter. one glance in the sound’s direction revealed the most amusing sight—that of jamie on the nearest couch, fumbling to recover from what was surely a major fuck up. ada couldn’t suppress the chuckle that left her, a hand rising to cover her mouth. it was amusing in the way that watching a cat clumsily fall and immediately recover was. “well,” she began, sitting up and making eye-contact once he’d taken note of her presence—surely due to the small fit of laughter—and approached. “if you give her about a minute and then follow her, then apologize in the most genuine voice you can muster, i really think you might still have a shot.” a shrug lifted her svelte shoulders. “you’ve got the brunette, curly hair thing going on. you can nearly do no wrong. just catch her name from someone on the walk over.” ada lifted her free hand to harmlessly poke at his shoulder. “—as for coffee, i’ve got a little canister of italian ground espresso in the back of one of the cupboards if you’re feeling fancy.”

Jamie hadn’t yet decided how he felt about Ada. She had just kind of showed up in his room one day. And ever since then, they had fallen into a routine, Jamie pretending to be annoyed by her, Ada prodding at him. “Not sure it’s worth the effort. Think I’ll leave it be for now. But thanks for the advice,” he said, pointedly ignoring her laughter, pretending he had done nothing wrong. But beer still dripped down his hand, pooling by his shoe, the boy absentmindedly bringing his fingers to his lips and tasting it. Espresso. He had been raised on shitty bodega coffee that tasted burnt, like a rubber tire skid on his tongue. It was a comfort every time he went home, the way it scorched his tongue. “Ada, I hate to admit this to you, but I really don’t care. As long as it has caffeine in it,” he informed her, tilting his head to the side, before he started walking towards the kitchen. He fixed his clothing, white t-shirt slightly askew from his brief nap on the couch. When they entered, Jamie shielded his eyes at the sight of a couple making out, the girl perched on the countertop and the boy in between her legs. “Jesus!” He exclaimed, the girl quickly hopping off, embarrassed at having been caught. “Fucking animals,” he groaned out to Ada, his tone resembling a grumpy old man’s. 

[jamiecostello]

hcpcrs​:

The entire situation was comical. The way the girl babbled on about her iPhones cracked screen, complaining about the 40 dollar screen protector she bought at a discount store for just 10 bucks, clearly the girl didn’t have all the neurons firing in her brain to spot a scam even when it was slapping her in her face. Then of course there was Jamie, lashes fluttering as his eyes drooped, his head tilting with sleep, she was waiting for the snores to start flooding from his down turned lips when his hand fell and the contents of his drink spilled all across the girl’s lap, making Harper laugh at her expense, watching as she ran off with embarrassed and annoyed years in her eyes. “Good fucking job there,” The short blonde chirped at him as he walked over to where she was leaning against the end table, glancing towards the stairs the girl ran up, “I mean, maybe if you actually remembered her name, it was Gina, by the way.” Harper corrected with a tip of her cup, before downing the rest of the vodka cranberry that had been filling it seconds before, setting the empty cup on the table by them, “I don’t know about coffee but I can give you something a bit stronger if you’re feeling up to really waking up.”

“Gina? Like Jiy-na?” Jamie asked, intentionally mispronouncing her name for comedic effect. “Oh well. Probably for the best. I feel like she’d just keep talking while we were fucking. She’d do permanent damage to my eardrums,” he told her, rolling his eyes. Briefly, his eyes trailed after Gina, considering once more whether he should go apologize, weighing whether it was worth it. No, he decided, ears perking up as Harper spoke again. Smiling, he nodded his head, stepping closer to the girl. “Harper, do you even know me? Jesus. After all these years you should know the answer is yes. I’m insulted. I want a friendship divorce,” he joked, raising a hand to shake off the beer that trickled down it. “Something stronger’s code for coke, right?” He questioned, now doubting himself. “Wanna cut the bathroom line? Drugs are like a flame for moths at these things. Suddenly everyone wants some when they see them come out.”

[jamiecostello]

magdamaria​:

her dress was yellow but now it is blue. kincaid parties are magda’s favorite because she can run up to her room every other hour and switch into a new outfit. this is fun, because most people are too drunk to realize, or so high that they think she is someone else. and regardless, she just likes playing dress up. right now she’s dancing against some guy with an aggressively obnoxious name, like thad or chet, tendrils of her hair sticking with sweat to her collarbone. thad or chet (or chad?) is whispering something in her ear that she can’t hear over the bass thumping through the speakers. restless, and kind of bored with the way he keeps gripping her waist too tight, she pulls away. “listen, pumpkin, if you’re still feeling this grabby later, you know where my room is, alright? i’m gonna get some– dude, stop whispering i can’t even– bye, bye!” once she frees herself from mr. grabby hands, she heads to a less crowded area, only to run into her favorite neighbor, just in time to see him commit a small act of terror. “mr. jamie! i cooka da meatball!” magda’s put on a horrible italian accent, her hands in the air, gesticulating like a true italian would. both straps of her dress start to slide down her shoulders with the dramatic gestures, but she doesn’t really care. “well my little tortellini, first of all, her name is jane. second of all, that drink– what was that? jungle juice? rum and coke?– well whatever it was, it’s going to leave a stain. so i mean, congrats, you don’t even have to fuck her ‘cause you screwed yourself. double screwed. screwed squared!” as she speaks she grabs his forearm and leads him into the kitchen, only to let him go and hop onto the counter once they get there. it is sticky and kind of gross. “i dunno if we have coffee but while you’re looking you should definitely make me a grilled cheese.”

“I do naht -” Jamie started to protest, running an exasperated hand through his curly hair before he stopped himself. His Brooklyn accent tended to slip out more when he was drunk. Not exactly helping his point. “I don’t sound like that,” he complained in a monotone voice, looking her dead in the eye. His eyes briefly flitted to her shoulders as the straps fell down, clearing his throat and looking away, burying his face in the remnants of his solo cup. If the cup wasn’t there, she would have caught the hint of a smile at her new nickname for him. “It was Scotch and Soda. She’s gonna smell like my grandpa for the rest of the night,” he informed her, surprised as she dragged him along into the kitchen. “Wh - I’m being kidnapped! Stranger danger!” He called out, eyes flying around wildly for anyone to help him, although the rest of the partygoers ignored his please. “Please, ma’am, I don’t have any money. Just let me go back to my family,” he pleaded, although his voice was bored, face straight, as he started to look around the kitchen for coffee. “I don’t cook,” he deadpanned, an obvious lie. Magda had probably seen him cooking in the Kincaid kitchen before. Despite his denial, he was already opening the fridge, taking out a block of cheddar slices that didn’t belong to him. “You uh, see a pan anywhere? Jesus, it’s so hard to find good kitchen help these days. I’m demoting you from your sous chef status,” he informed her, reaching for a spatula by the stove.

[jamiecostello]

andrcmda​:

                      romy gave him a look when he snatched the phone from her hand , eyes rolling as he threw it back onto the table dramatically . “ cry wank huh ? that’s actually kind of sexy . love me a man that can emote , that’s so rare nowadays , ” she says around a mouthful of m&m’s , already having picked all the yellow ones from the bag , setting them in a small pile on the center of a napkin in front of her . “ but he’s so old and wrinkly , ” she pouts , widening her eyes in her best imitation of the sad face emoji . “ reminds me of a sphynx cat , always wanted one of those . it’ll be a nice reminder whenever i want to sleep with a man that that’s what testicles look like and the urge would be gone immediately . ” she tosses an m&m at him , scoffing . “ nudes are reserved for people that have me in their top five of people they’ve boned . no nudes for you , you’re mean and a liar .”

“Emoting’s overrated. You want him to cry during sex? Guess the tears could be lubrication,” he mused, now his mind actually drifting off to the idea, He shook his head, looking back down at his book. Absentmindedly, his hand reached out to pluck an m&m off the table, popping it in his mouth. He swatted at the air as she tossed the candy at him, forced to look up from his book, shooting her a peeved look. “That was... that was never meant to be seen! It’s a work in progress. It’s a science,” he protested, seriously, blustering his way through the statement, blush rising to his cheeks. His spreadsheet was sacred. “He’s had what, like, thirty nine years to find someone to suck his wrinkly balls? Don’t settle for less than you deserve. Plus he’s already getting it from the sock,” he countered, picking up an m&m and tossing it back at her. “fucking an old man is no way to move into the top five.”

[jamiecostello]

andrcmda​:

When she was bored, Romy liked to download Tinder and swipe through the options. At best, she got herself a hookup and a momentary distraction, and right now she was getting a laugh out of the man that had messaged her a minute ago, already doing his best to turn the conversation to something more saucy. “Isn’t this the worst photoshop you’ve ever seen?” She asks the person before her, showing them the man’s photo. He was older, maybe late thirties, and had photoshopped himself onto a boat quite badly. She could see the strange cropping around his hair and shoulders. “Should I send him a nude? Kinda feel bad for him.” @yatesstarters​

Head ducked into a book, Jamie smelled strongly of the black coffee he had spilled on his shit that day, aroma wafting off of him. Averting his eyes from the pages, he looked up at her phone, snatching it out of the girl’s hand to get a closer look. A scowl quickly formed on his face as he tossed it back onto the table. “No. I think you should put him down. Put him out of his misery. Obviously his life is very, very tragic if he’s photoshopping himself onto boats. Bet he like, cry wanks every night into a sock,” Jamie commented, his tone bored, not malicious. “Don’t give them name, Andromeda. Makes it harder to say goodbye to them,” he told her tragically, shaking his head like the man was a stray dog. “But if you want to send a nude to someone my inbox is always open. They’re safe with me,” he joked.