oflvcas

[oflvcas]

livcae‌:

it’s not that lívia’s been avoiding her ex for the past year. no, she’s literally been running from him and it wasn’t a one time thing. every time it happened, both were aware that they were in the same space, but liv ran away. when she shouldn’t have. she really shouldn’t have. after all, he screwed up, not her. lívia did nothing wrong. still, she was the one to freak out every fucking time they saw each other. but right now? there was no place to run to. she was aware of his presence since the moment he approached the bar because of that stupid smell that only he had. “filho da puta…[1]” she muttered under her breath, as she heard her name come out of luke’s mouth. she felt a shiver run through her entire body as she took a deep breath and tried to calm down. “never better.” the words came out dry. she even attemped a smile, but wasn’t successful. still, she was incapable of looking at him. “go somewhere else. if it bothers you. or arrive earlier. it’s empty. i’ll do that.” the last part came out as a whisper. god, she couldn’t even talk properly.

his eyebrows lift at the arid tone he’s greeted with, simultaneously feeling wildly awkward and also a little amused by the whole thing in a cosmically ironic sort of way. lucas has never been terribly good at tactfully dealing with encounters such as this one, and somehow he’s never managed to get better at them considering they’re not all that uncommon. still, there’s something intrinsically satisfying to him about the unavoidable chaos of the world. “not really that many other places to go,” he tries to joke, but it falls almost as flat as her attempt at a smile. “anyway, it’s cool, i was just, you know, doing my complaining thing. pretty good at that.” another bad joke, and this time he grimaces outwardly before pressing on, “so guess what? i got commissioned to do artwork for this really trippy graphic novel coming out in december and they liked those concept pieces i did last year, the ones you made me finish? pretty nuts, right? those would’ve been in a landfill by now if you hadn’t saved ‘em.”

[oflvcas]

savabb‌:

SAVANNAH BREATHED A SIGH OF RELIEF as she saw the familiar face emerge from the glare of the headlights and immediately handed started grabbing a couple chickens and handing them off to lucas, clucking getting louder and signs of people waking up from the noise like porchlights starting to come on, becoming all the more evident. however, lucas had become a close friend of hers since she had moved out here from detroit and she trusted that he wouldn’t fuck anything up. “ don’t worry about it right now. i’m just happy you or the other couple people that have walked by didn’t ask about the drugs. we’re gonna just pretend like those aren’t there. just help me get the chickens in my house, got it ? ”

bemused as he is by being handed chickens and told to act like he doesn’t see the drugs in the truck, luke doesn’t demand any answers--he’ll get them eventually. probably. then again, sometimes with savannah it’s better just not to know. “yes, ma’am,” he returns easily, taking two and holding them as far out from his chest as he can to avoid the frenetically flapping wings. with a bit of a struggle he deposits them in her trailer. “did you obtain these chickens within the bounds of the law?” he asks as he returns for more, casting a suspicious look at the man driving the truck. “because it’s totally cool if you didn’t, i’m just getting the feeling this is a truck full of illegal poultry.”

[oflvcas]

i wish dwarves were real just because the folk metal they would produce would be completely unfathomable

[oflvcas]

ofmickcy‌:

tripping him out? yes, it’s tripping him out to be around lucas again. he feels like a gangly freshman whose attention can’t help but be drawn across the cafeteria to the magnetic aura of the tall, handsome senior boy; he feels the same fluttering in his stomach that had crept up his throat the first time they kissed. he’s reliving a thousand memories all at once while trying to retain his outward cool – of course it’s tripping him out. but it’s not like he can tell luke any of that. the only showing that his ex’s words were having any impact on him that slips out is the hitch of his breath at the dropped sentence. mickey knows what luke had been about to say or, at least, he has an idea. that’s one particular memory he’d quite like to forget. “you don’t have to tell me how long it’s been,” mickey sighs, unable to keep holding luke’s gaze so brazenly. there’s a shyer, softer side of mickey that luke’s always been able to bring out of him and he’s not lost his touch ( not that mick needs to be thinking about any touch of luke’s ). “i know exactly how long i’ve been alone, thanks. and to answer your question. yes, i wanted to talk about it the very next day when i was waking up in my bed at my mom’s instead if in ours. i wanted to talk about it later that week, later that month, every day for the rest of that godawful year. you made it very clear you didn’t want to talk to me. you told me to leave so i left.” mickey shrugs best he can with his hands still burdened with coffee carriers and the much-too-expensive drinks within them. “anything i wanted to say i don’t need to say now. i’m doing well; i’m over it. that chapter of my life is well and truly closed.” he knows that’s a lie and he wonders if that shows on his face. luke had a way of reading him. “don’t you feel the same way?”

as soon as mickey drops his gaze with that timid look on his face, luke feels ( a little absurdly ) guilty for even having come over here. the absurd part, of course, being that he wasn’t not going to approach his ex he hasn’t seen in five years; his ex who, the last time luke had seen him, had been storming out of their shared apartment after a final fight which had gotten severely out of hand. he’s about to say something else, to perhaps tell mickey they don’t have to talk about it, but mickey’s next sentence stops him cold: it isn’t just how long it’s been, but how long i’ve been alone. meaning...what, exactly? the implication is clear but seems impossible. luke’s throat feels suddenly tight but he lets mickey continue, not asking for further clarification, not even sure mickey realizes what he’s just insinuated. he wants to speak again when he’s accused of having told mickey to leave, something he knows in his heart, at least, isn’t true--and if it is, if that’s how it had come out of his mouth and sounded to mickey, it certainly isn’t what he’d wanted. but he doesn’t say that, not even when mickey asks him a direct question that gives him a chance to tell the truth. about what had happened back then and about the fact that, no, that chapter of his life feels anything but closed. “yeah,” he says instead with a little nod and a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “yeah, no, definitely. over and done with. no need to dig up the past.” lucas clears his throat and glances over at the line he’d abandoned, which stretches all the way back to the doors. “but, uh...it’d be cool to catch up, right? i mean, i didn’t know you were living around here. could i help you carry those to your car or something?”

[oflvcas]

he doesn’t actually know how many hours they’ve been driving--definitely more than two, but probably less than four. he does know they’ve gotten through four joints and a whole lot of weed, but time is funny when he’s as baked as he is now. but nic just keeps rolling and lucas has never been one to turn down an aggressive, hours-long smoke session. most of the windows are fogged up and there’s a handprint on his where he’d pressed his palm to it ten minutes ago when they’d gotten stuck at a long light. he takes the joint from her now and puts it to his lips, squinting past the heavy smoke. when she asks her question, it makes his choking laughter is made ten times more painful. “where do you come up with this shit, you fucking sicko?” he puts the roach out between his fingers and drops it onto the floor near nic’s feet. “i’m not paying for my worst enemy to go on a vacation, i’ll tell you that fucking much, so i guess i’m gonna look them in the eye and drink a pint of their piss. i mean, imagine how powerful, though. if someone looked me in the eye while they drank my pee i’d be scared, alright? that would be something that would intimidate me.” eyes half on the road, he reaches past her knees and opens the glove compartment to grab his pack of cigarettes, one of which he sticks between his lips to replace the joint. “help me find the lighter and while you do, answer me this: would you rather look eighty years older from the neck up or the neck down?”

      ——  (  closed starter for @oflvcas  )

       “ i have one. ”  the smoke in her lungs billowed out from between her lips with each syllable, holding out the joint for lucas to take, and nicole’s posture straightened in the passenger seat of his car in preparation. the duo had been cruising around latibule, sharing a couple of joints and shooting the shit, so to speak; a conventional occurrence whenever they decided to hang out. currently, they were in the midst of a ‘would you rather’ spell, and the giddiness developed from the weed they were smoking and ridiculous choices was almost uncontrollable, in her case. lips pursed together out of sheer anticipation to his reaction, but the effort to subdue any sort of laughter was useless as a giggle was emanated from the blonde, a quiet snort of her nose to follow before nicole was waving her hand in the air.  “ alright, shut up. listen. would you rather drink a pint of your enemy’s pee while they look you directly in the eyes, or… pay five thousand dollars out of your own money for said enemy to go on a luxurious vacation? ”

[oflvcas]

closed starter // @svrvivcl

it’s unusual that lucas gets eli down past even two lives before dying himself when they play super smash bros, but for a miracle he’d managed it this afternoon. in fact, they’re both at one life, and instead of risking defeat when he has such a rare opportunity to win, lucas reaches over and knocks the controller out of elijah’s hand, yelling in triumph as wario rams kirby off the side with his motorcycle and the latter disappears. “whoa, big loss there, buddy,” he throws his own controller down and puts a hand to his chest in a show of mock sympathy. “big loss, you gonna be okay? that was brutal. i’m gonna have to call it quits, ‘cause i just...i don’t wanna have to embarrass you anymore, man.”

[oflvcas]

lucas hadn’t been able to stay asleep more than an hour at a time for the duration for the night and while he does know why, he has no desire at all to think about it. he gives up trying to get anymore rest well before sunrise and, looking for a distraction, knows there’s at least a fifty percent chance savannah will be awake as well, likely doing something sketchy but entertaining. he’s proved right when he comes to her trailer and sees a truck--which he’s pretty sure is emitting clucking noises--with savannah next to it. “relax, it’s me,” he calls back to her, stepping into the light cast by the truck’s headlamps. “what the fuck are you up to now? are those chickens?”

“ FOR FUCK’S SAKE, RAMONE, HOW MUCH shit do you got here ? ” savannah asked the driver as the truck pulled up behind her trailer, hoping that she would beat the early morning sunrise and have the chickens and ketamine inside of her home before it was light and anyone could question her latest scheme. as soon as ramone stepped out from the front and opened the back door, clucking started to ensue, distracting savannah from the fact that someone had been walking past and was stopped in front of them in the alleyway. “ there’s nothin’ to see, get outta here ! ”

[oflvcas]

ofmickcy‌:

the way luke’s not taking the hint makes the whole scene feel like something out of a bad romance movie. now’s the part where they talk out five (not four) years of sadness and grudges until they’re teary-eyed and embracing to the unknowing support of the coffee shop patrons. mickey will shamefully admit to swearing off relationships after lucas and with a sad little smile, luke will confess to the same. they’d go on about ruining the concept of love for each other; having something so good that nothing else could possible compare. only mickey’s life isn’t a movie and he had meant his rejection. no, he didn’t want to talk. not now, not a few days from now when he’d no doubt be reliving this moment and wondering what he could’ve done differently. “i don’t have to talk to you,” mickey reminds them both with a sniff, turning up his nose with an almost pretentious air about the gesture, “and even if i did, i have nothing to say.” he shuffles to the counter, eyeing the cardboard coffee carriers with a disproportionate level of attentiveness. they weren’t that interesting but they kept blue eyes from wandering to where they wanted to fixate so desperately on luke’s tall, lean form looming so, so close. “i’m working,” mickey provides, dainty fingers on each hand curling around the handle of his charges. “i’m not about to be paid for talking to my ex.” still, when he turns, it’s naturally in luke’s direction and try as he might, he can’t keep his gaze from flickering upwards. “say your piece so i can go, then.”

no, mickey doesn’t have to talk to him. there are no rules obligating him to a conversation, no etiquette or decorum either of them are meant to adhere to. but there’s also no precedent to dictate what they should be doing, and luke feels like he’s floundering. it’s both frustrating and disheartening to be met with such a flat and unyielding denial, yet he recognizes there isn’t much he can do about it if mickey is this determined to have nothing to do with him. behind him, the line he’s now lost his place in is moving forward, but luke isn’t thinking about coffee anymore. he’s not thinking about anything but his first boyfriend, and his first relationship at all that had lasted more than a few months. mickey, with his dark curls and bright eyes and his fingernails that were always painted; mickey who used to crawl onto luke’s lap at night when he was too tired to care about looking tough; mickey, who doesn’t have dark curls anymore, and whom lucas no longer knows anything about. that isn’t quite true, though, and he takes comfort in the fact that there are inevitably things about mickey that haven’t changed at all. things that, even if they never spoke again, luke would always know about him. “my piece?” he echoes when mickey finally turns to him, and he feels a little out of breath being surveyed by those familiar blue eyes for the first time in five years. “i don’t--mickey, look, i’m not gonna force you to talk to me, but i...” he shrugs in lieu of words--floundering, he thinks again. “jesus, i mean, you’re working? so, what, you live around here? this isn’t...this isn’t tripping you out a little bit too? i haven’t seen you since--” since you walked out on me, he doesn’t say. “it’s been a really long time, mick. a really long time.” his voice quiets, a subconscious reflection of his uncertainty about his next words: “you’ve never looked back and wanted to talk about it?”

[oflvcas]

closed starter // @livcae

it’s impossible not to run into liv around town and most often when he does, it’s at teddy’s or trinity--they’re at the former when he spots her now, and unless he feels like waiting until she goes somewhere else to get his drink, being seen is inevitable. he doesn’t so much mind anymore; it’s liv who doesn’t usually like seeing him. he doesn’t necessarily blame her, either, but if he can avoid being yelled at in portuguese--in public--he will. weighing his options and deciding it’s worth the risk, he goes up to the bar and tries to flag down the bartender, but he’s dealing with at least five other people nearby. with no other choice, he finally turns to face liv and feigns surprise at seeing her. “oh, hey, liv,” he tries a mostly-genuine smile to accompany the greeting, “sorry, i didn’t even see you there. this place is crawling tonight, huh? can’t even get a fucking drink.” he grimaces a little internally, disgusted by his own reversion to small talk. “so, you, uh...you good? work alright and everything?”

[oflvcas]

justfricnds‌:

‘‘I love Céline like any other gay,’‘ he commented with a soft chuckle; ‘‘but my favorite is probably tiny dancer by elton john… i guess it ruins that whole consensus you had with yourself.’‘ scrunching up his nose, river looked up at the other male with a playful smirk gently curving the side of his lips. he was fully smiling, but he was inside. ‘‘–but i’m not even sure it’s considered a love song, i think it’s pretty romantic though,’‘

“not a consensus with myself, dude, it’s just how it is. and elton himself would agree with me.” he’s not actually sure he’s heard the song in question more than a few times in his life, but he’d definitely gotten choked up about it, so it isn’t a lie, necessarily. he just has a tendency to argue, and unless he’s reeling from a breakup, luke has never been one to care much for love songs, anyway. “but hey, if it’s a love song to you, man, then it counts. everyone but you can go to hell for disagreeing with me.”

[oflvcas]

thebenevolents‌:

WITH   A   HUFF   SHE   COLLAPSES   onto   the   couch   beside   Lucas,   kicking   her   feet   up   so   that   they   can   settle   upon   his   lap,   CAREFUL   not   to   mess   with   his   controller,   two   beers   in   hand   as   she   offered   him   his.   “Surprisingly…bigoted,   misogynist   red   necks   don’t   get   me   wet.”   Sophie   responded   with   a   hum,   shrugging   her   shoulders   before   bringing   the   bottle   it   pink   lips,   tilting   it   back   and   ingesting   its   welcomed   contents.   “Guys   like   THAT   deserve   a   fucking   ass   kicking.   I   should   have   kicked   him   in   the   nuts   but   I   taught   him   a   good   enough   lesson.”   A   smirk   preys   onto   her   lips,   blue   orbs   catching   his   gaze   before   she   crawled   toward   him   and   decided   upon   straddling   his   waist,   “They   could   be   closeted?”   She   pointed   out   with   a   brow   raise,   reaching   forward   to   whisk   the   joint   from   his   lips,   placing   it   between   her   own   as   her   gaze   never   falters,   cheeks   hollowing.   With   an   inhale   in,   she   plucks   it   back   out   and   places   it   back   firmly   where   she   had   just   snaked   it   from,   back   at   his   lips   where   it   belonged.   “Oh   yeah?   I   mean   I   sort   of   WOULD   like   to   see   you   fighting   for   my   honor.   Sounds   pretty   sexy.   Not   that   I   NEED   you   fighting   for   my   honor   or   anything.   Besides…we   wouldn’t   want   you   hurting   that   pretty   face   of   yours.”

he accepts the beer gratefully, readjusting himself on the couch as sophie climbs onto his lap. “the bigoted, misogynistic red necks aren’t closeted, dear, they’re just assholes,” he says mournfully, affecting a deep frown with a jutted lower lip. “you should have kicked his ass, but i’m sure whatever psychological torture you put him through was equally as satisfying, if not more so. and there’s nothing hotter than a woman just absolutely destroying a man.” he lets her place the joint between his lips, pulls in a harsh lungful of smoke, and plucks it back out again with thumb and forefinger. “my pretty face looks good with a couple black eyes. adds to the just-crawled-out-my-grave aesthetic i like to shoot for. it’s ideal when people can’t tell if i’m five minutes from death or if i’ve been dead for five minutes already.” he gives her an overbright smile and then leans in to kiss her cheek, tossing the remainder of the joint over her shoulder back onto the table. “so was the rest of your day as exciting as having jed clampett himself call dibs on you? because i spent my afternoon arguing with the world’s biggest moron who wants a helicopter on his back, in flames, and expects me to work around the garden of zits he’s growing back there. now i know that’s appealing, so if you’re suddenly thinking about leaving me for him let me warn you ahead of time he looks a lot like gimli from lord of the rings.”

[oflvcas]

ofmickcy‌:

mickey was half prepared for someone to have an issue with his massive order. it’s practically a daily occurrence and he doesn’t blame them, necessarily. it really isn’t mick’s fault he has to order for an entire floor of office workers as their resident intern-slash-coffee-gofer. however, there’s absolutely nothing that could have prepared him for the voice that does the complaining. mechanically, he turns towards it, knowing very well who he was going to see. lucas. he isn’t supposed to be here. he isn’t supposed to be within 100 miles of here. the selfish thoughts spring forward with abandon and his face falls into a glower. this is mickey’s space now and it’s absolutely and completely unfair for his singular ex boyfriend to be here. “no,” he quips in a curt voice, whipping back around to face the coffee counter. lucas hasn’t asked a yes or no question nor is mickey’s monosyllabic utterance in direct response to anything the other has said. he’s shutting down this conversation before it can even start, the hairs on the back of hi neck bristling like it’s a horror movie. there’s no way he’s quipped for this conversation; even if he downed every one of the eight coffees being concocted on his tab, he just wouldn’t have the energy. “i don’t know you – you must have me mistaken for someone else. have a nice day.” it’s all hummed out in a breezy voice of practiced indifference. mickey doesn’t hope luke’s day is nice at all.

of every response luke might have expected from his ex, flat denial wasn’t on the list. he’s completely thrown by it, in fact, and for a few seconds can’t even think of anything to say, watching mickey--he knows it’s mickey--with a slight frown. even now, lucas can recall with perfect clarity the last time he’d seen him storming out of their rhode island apartment with wet cheeks and puffy eyes and dark brown hair still damp from a shower. he can even remember what mickey had been wearing, perhaps because he’d replayed it in his mind times without number. he knows mickey’s lying; the question, then, is why. it had been lucas to make the first move when they’d broken up, but he hadn’t been the one to leave. in his guiltiest moments, he clings to that: he hadn’t left. mickey had. “really, mick?” it feels strange to say the name, even stranger to be using it to address mickey himself, standing right there. the blond makes him ethereal and lucas wonders suddenly how long he’s had it that way. “it’s been, what, four years--” he knows for a fact it’s been a little more than five, “--and you’re still not gonna talk to me? even when we run into each other in the middle of fucking nowhere? come on.” with what would have been excellent comedic timing had the situation been anything close to comical, mickey’s name is called and lucas glances over to see eight cups fit into two holders. he’s morbidly curious, but doesn’t ask. “can you just look at me at least, please? can we talk for one goddamn second?”

[oflvcas]

stopping on his way to his townhouse further down the street, lucas turns with a creased brow to the person who’d spoken from the stairs of an apartment building he’s passing. “my favorite love song?” he echoes, hand at his chest, as if there’s anyone else around to whom they could have been referring. “if anyone’s favorite love song isn’t the one from titanic, they can go straight to hell as far as i’m concerned. it’s celine dion or nothing. are you taking a poll? because you can quit now and assume that’s the consensus.”

‘‘can i bother you for a bit? i feel like i might regret that question; but what is your favorite love song of all time? don’t try to play it cool and go for a classic one, unless it’s your ultimate favorite… I want to know the real answer, as cheesy at it may be…’‘ river was trying to rub the ink off the palm of his hand as he questioned the person who walked past him. he was sitting on the stairs in front of the apartment building where he was living, a small note pad on his lap and a pen who spilled more ink and actual words on paper. 

[oflvcas]

lucas’s hour-long lunches aren’t exactly rigid--the only case where he’d need to be back on time would have been an appointment, but he doesn’t have one for another few hours. so it isn’t as though he’s in any particular hurry to get back, but when the barista starts in on a fourth cup for the blond guy in front of him, lucas lets out an audible groan of frustration. “christ, dude,” he starts, stepping up toward the counter and looking sideways with his eyebrow raised, “how many of those do you n--” but he stops short, so suddenly someone might have slapped a hand over his mouth. he’s never seen the hair before, but he knows the face--even if he hadn’t seen it for another twenty years, lucas would have known that face. his stomach drops and for a moment, all he does is stare, half convinced it’s a stranger who looks like mickey but certainly isn’t mickey. it is, though; he knows by the look on the blond’s face, by the fullness of his lower lip, the bright blue of his eyes. it’s like seeing a ghost. a flurry of emotion tries to swell up inside him and lucas forces it back down, but a small, weak smile still makes its way onto his face. “hi, mouse,” he says softly, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets. “i gotta tell you, out of all the people i thought i might run into here today, you weren’t one of ‘em.”

&. @oflvcas // closed ;

despite the regularity of his coffee trips, it never fails to startle ( and disgust ) mickey how pricey eight fancy lattes could be. it really puts his sad little paycheck into perspective when he’s handing over the company card to cover a nearly fifty dollar order twice a day – morning and noon. leaning on half tiptoe to see over the glass barrier, mickey clears his throat a little to grab the cute barista girl’s attention. “extra foam on that one,” he chirps in once she looks, hoping he comes across as helpful and not annoying. he doesn’t particularly care if the drinks are done to perfection but he knows his higher ups will throw a fit and send him back otherwise. sadly, the drink he’s watching being prepared is only the second out of eight. mickey’s going to be here a while and he huffs out a breath that displaces a few rogue white curls.

[oflvcas]

     it’s not that he isn’t listening so much as it is resident evil having completely absorbed his attention--he’s been stuck on this part of the game for for the last half hour. luke is bent forward on the couch, utterly engrossed in his onscreen knife fight until he dies ( again ) and flings the controller aside, only then allowing sophie’s words to process. “so he wasn’t your type, i guess?” he quips, tongue in cheek, as he reaches for a dead joint on the coffee table. in truth, had he been there with her, lucas thinks he likely would have wound up in a screaming match with whoever had said it. but he also likes pushing sophie’s buttons. “you gotta understand, soph, guys like that are a specific kinda guy.” he places the joint between his lips, lights it, and continues around the smoke, “they’re straight, first of all. so that’s embarrassing. secondly, they’ve maybe had one girlfriend in their life? if they’re lucky? saying shit like that, it’s called overcompensating.” he drops his free hand around her shoulders and gives the opposite one a squeeze. “but if you really want, i’ll find him and fight him for your honor. he’ll kick my ass, probably, but i’ll do it.”

“GOD.   I   walked   into   the   bar   and   some   guy   literally   pointed   at   me   and   shouted   at   the   top   of   his   lungs   ‘DIBS!’   before   turning   to   his   friends.   Sometimes   I   really   fucking   HATE   people.”

[oflvcas]

my wife, holding my newborn son: he’s the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen….

me, thinking about super monkey ball speedruns: he’s……. okay i guess 

[oflvcas]

You Suck At Love - Simple Plan

guess what, another game over.

i got burned, but you’re the real loser.

i don’t know why i wasted my time with you.

you’re bad news, a history repeater.

you can’t trust a serial cheater.

you’re good at hooking up, but you SUCK at love.