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POSTED ON Oct 17, 2019 20:51:45 GMT

[attr="class","knoxpost"]day 1. morning sunshine bright on his cheeks, laugh so deep his belly hurts. kicks slapping against pavement. shoelaces threaten to trip him. and he wheels, spins, crashes through a window into

day 2. glass splinters in his fingers, lopsided smile. he inhales and exhales and clouds are birthed from his lungs. rain falls; green and blue peacock hair smatters his forehead and he kisses someone with pretty eyes the color of shamrocks.

day 3 5. the in between is lost, but he's moving too fast to care. more lips, music pounding in his ears. twisting spirals grapple his hands, pull him higher, tell him, say, whisper, shriek keep climbing.

day ??. he keeps climbing.

and then he's out of money, out of time, and life comes to a painstaking, grinding, horrifying, disgusting halt. forty in his hand, eyes red and bloodshot (trying to stay open through the abuse), he sends out mass texts. phone bill isn't paid. they're all cancelled. he swears and muscle memory kicks in and he swears he recognizes where he is, but it feels like it's from another lifetime.

(it is.)

he stops at a(n un)familiar door, knocks, and slouches down to the ground.

ollie morales

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POSTED ON Oct 18, 2019 5:12:54 GMT

knox prescott likes this

[attr="class","olliepost"]this is what ollie comes home to:

a meteor-strike of a boy, shattered on the ground and reduced to a stoved-in paper cup; his hair, plastered against the glass door, behind which the lobby of the condominium is pristine, slick, marbled; a stretch of paper skin on his forearm, with veins like rivers to thread a needle through. it’s eleven in the morning, for fuck’s sake, and the sun, clear as fresh water, lights up the different ways knox prescott looks like a casualty. he looks like he’s been peeled off asphalt and tossed aside. he looks like he’s been forgotten.

ollie, weighed down by grocery bags, moves to the heap knox makes and toes him, hard, with the tip of his boot. “get up.”

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TAG WITH @knox

POSTED ON Oct 18, 2019 17:41:40 GMT

[attr="class","knoxpost"]more days pass. or is he just dazed? the sun is laughing at him through the clouds--a childish lover. he curses her, sneers up, isn't sure if he's babbling incoherently. he touches the four pokeballs on his belt, counts them 1, 2, 3, 4. 1, 2, 3, 4. 1, 2, 3, 4. imagine if the smuggler had his pokemon smuggled.

summer did that to him. he's left with 1, 2, 3, 4.

" i didn't take the ones that matter. don't cry, blue."

he opens his eyes. his mouth moves, but his words come out a few moments later. latency.

"alright, a'right." and then he's up, big beaming smile on his face because for once he's done something right. there's a familiar face and he was right and oh gods, is he going to be sick?

he swoons as he stands and the world rushes and he goes to reach for the boy for purchase, misses, grabs the railing of his front porch. but his dry-heaves amount to nothing. (he hasn't eaten in days.)

"hey th-there, beautiful," he says as he straightens, half-cocks a smile. "didja miss me?"

x x x
ollie morales

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POSTED ON Oct 20, 2019 20:23:35 GMT

[attr="class","olliepost"]ollie is still as knox picks himself up. watches dispassionately as he attempts to wring his stomach inside-out.

and then, when he has the audacity to speak, ollie takes in the scimitar of his smile. a familiar glint, the point on which he’s been bled before. he recalls a certain sense of camaraderie.

but that was then, and this is now. he doesn’t know what now is. he doesn’t care. he flicks his eyes down and back up knox’s disheveled body like a knife. he purses his lips. a reservation of judgment.

“what do you want?” he says.

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TAG WITH @knox

POSTED ON Oct 20, 2019 21:36:48 GMT

[attr="class","knoxpost"]has he slept with him before? he doesn't remember. (most of the time he doesn't.) but there have always been boys who look like the one before him. knox's type is fleeting, is begrudging, is loud, is muted, is anything and everything that breathes under the sun. so long as they've got a laugh that makes him swoon and pretty-boy eyes he can let himself fall in love with.

"the moon," he says and follows the witty remark with a hankering laugh.

he swipes at his nose. right side's blocked. he aches, for a moment.

then he sticks his hands out and grasps for ollie's bags. "why, am just here t'help you with your gross'ries."

x x x
ollie morales

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POSTED ON Oct 22, 2019 1:53:02 GMT

[attr="class","olliepost"]ollie snatches his hand away with a tsk. the groceries swing around and knock him on the hip.

“go home, knox,” he says. “there’s nothing for you here.”

there might have been, once. once they had stood, slender as swords, shoulder-to-shoulder, dripping with disdain underneath a dazzling chandelier. knox had smiled and whispered something into his ear.

abruptly, ollie turns on his heel and moves to the intercom. he jab-jab-jab-jabs the code in with a finger.

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TAG WITH @knox

POSTED ON Oct 22, 2019 17:24:39 GMT

[attr="class","knoxpost"]that ruffles his feathers. he's used to feeling unwelcome, uninvited, unwanted. but his reaction is only to burn brighter and so the supernova implodes and he rises up, chest filling, million dollar smile lighting up his features.

it's too wrong and too much, but he's too fucked up to care (or notice). ollie had stumbled back from his touch and his offer to help, but he's made the fatal mistake of unlocking the door to the condo complex.

and so as soon as the outer gate buzzes, knox reaches for the handle and swings it open wide.

red?

he shakes his head, knows he's just hearing voices. he gestures grandly. ollie has the option to stand here and refuse to show knox which of these lovely complexes is his own, but the other man surely knows at this point that the prescott can and will wait out the rest of the day and night before giving up and going home.

x x x
ollie morales

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POSTED ON Oct 23, 2019 19:09:00 GMT

[attr="class","olliepost"]ollie does know. he could punch himself at his error, but that would imply a necessity to confront the fact that he makes mistakes in front of people like knox prescott. he watches him waltz through the front door into the lobby, grand as a piano player in his drink, and his eyelids are heavy with a unique fatigue. he never stops.

(neither does he. but that’s that, and this is this.)

ollie follows him through. he brushes past him on his way toward the elevator. his heels click, resound in the empty lobby. as he crosses a floor-to-ceiling window, he strikes a hazy silhouette against the light of the morning.

or blue?

ollie reaches the elevators, lightning-strikes a button. his other hand strains against the weight of his groceries so he can drag a hand up the side of his face.

“do i need to pay for your cab fare? is that what this is going to take?” since you probably can’t pay for it yourself is what rings in the silence that follows.

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TAG WITH @knox

POSTED ON Oct 24, 2019 0:06:07 GMT

[attr="class","knoxpost"]he hadn't been there at the shouting match, at the demoting that followed. at the embarrassment, at the declaration of failure, the beginning of his misery. (but he's free now, isn't he? free to do what he wants.) (why, then, is he still so desperate to struggle in his father's shadow?)

the lights are bright inside and knox winces, but he follows ollie like a puppy. the doors start to close even though he's only a heel behind and he scowls at the man's attempt at leaving him, opens his mouth to make some sort of crude remark when he hears, again,

red? or...?

and he thinks of summer, of red, and she's there right beside his father, sneering as he leers down at him. and he thinks of that night, standing in front of a grainy bathroom mirror, blood dribbling down his nose, dabbing it with a paper towel, saying it's fine it's fine. just one more bump and i'm done for the night.

and of the red. lacerations on his arms and a desperate, final attempt to make the whole world right. (but he was wrong and it was wrong and living's a whole lot better than dying. that's what he found out. that's what he learned).

and all of this is on his face as he's staring at the grey linoleum of the elevator wall, as he's (un)-seeing his and ollie's reflections.

and then he comes to, cod-slacked jaw snapping shut. "oh, it's gonna take you more than that, oh." he snickers. "once 'pon a time, you'da been swooning to find me at your door."

x x x
ollie morales

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POSTED ON Nov 9, 2019 0:05:14 GMT

knox prescott likes this

[attr="class","olliepost"]ollie ignores that, flexing his jaw. he ignores everything else, too, as though he’s erected a wall between himself, rigid as a soldier, and his clumsy, drug-addled charge. the elevator lurches and he’s imbued, suddenly, with an impression: of a room, in an evening without sun; of cobwebs of veins; of gentian; of sick lips; of forget-me-nots, crushed in a palm —

the doors ding, and slide away. ollie blinks.

he steps over the threshold, walks to his door — his shoes thump steadily against the red?, velvet plush — a muscle works in his temple, irritation spiking, a blue? star blooming behind his left eye — and the key slots into the lock, mechanical teeth clicking, and he jangles the key wrestles the lock turns and flings the door open —

his loft is empty. ollie stands at the entrance, unsure.

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TAG WITH @knox

POSTED ON Nov 9, 2019 16:46:33 GMT

[attr="class","knoxpost"]it's the drugs, he thinks, that are showering him with grainy reminders of his misery. it's the drugs that are begging him to choose, with this finality, to let go of his sister, to embrace himself instead. but somehow he can't will the words from his mouth, can't make them work.

eden and ollie used to think him silly, the little nicknames they had for each other. red and blue red and blue red and blue. that they built these contrasts between themselves, that she built herself to succeed and so desperately tried to separate herself from him. leech, parasite, hopeless.

he blinks through it all and sees ollie's face and he juts his own lip out in a pout and pushes open the door. it's clean and immaculate and it's so much like him that suddenly it hurts.

and he says, "fuck, man. what are we doin'?"

and then he says, without prompting, "y'always wanted me to say no, stop her, stop her from hurting me and y'know what?" but then he stops, covers his mouth, eyes wide.

swallows bile, grimaces, shakes his head, cackles with a toothy smile as he looks back up at ollie. fun knox, carefree knox, million-dollar smile knox, says, "fuck it. i choose me. i choose blue."

x x x
ollie morales

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POSTED ON Nov 9, 2019 21:37:12 GMT

knox prescott likes this

[newclass=.missionBG]--missionColor:#6f5e7b[/newclass]

[nospaces]

[attr="class","missionBG"]

[attr="class","missionHead"]

a rampardos

attacks!

[attr="class","missionCut"]

[attr="class","missionCutIn"]

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[attr="class","missionIMG"]

[attr="class","missionText"]

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male - mold breaker[break]
endeavor / pursuit / take down / head smash / scary face

A CURIOUS LOOP FORMS IN THE AIR before it enlarges dramatically. a snicker accompanies the expansion as a RAMPARDOS is seemingly tossed out like it were nothing. as the loop closes, the snicker seems to echo as the rampardos, confused and now, terrified by the non sequitur of its destination, attacks the first thing it sees: you two.[break][break]

[attr="class","missionTag"]

knox prescott &[break] ollie morales[break]
you may attempt to capture this pokemon /[break]leave a note in your mod requests when turning your mission in.

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POSTED ON Nov 11, 2019 3:08:03 GMT

[attr="class","olliepost"]“fuck!” says ollie.

he just manages to yank knox by the collar to the side before the rampardos charges through the open door. the lethal weapon that is its head connects with the opposite wall in the hallway, cracked webbing like that in sun-dried mud spidering out from the point of impact. the entire floor shakes.

“get inside,” ollie hisses, dragging knox with him through the door and into his apartment, slamming the front door shut. there’s no way it will hold if the rampardos decides it desires entry. ollie throws knox behind him. then he snags a poké ball from his belt and throws it into the air. lovelace appears by his head, wings humming softly.

“bubble,” he says. “in front of the door.”

lovelace complies: lovely, rainbow-slicked bubbles stream from his mouth and hang in the space in front of the door like little planets.

tl;dr
- Lovelace used bubble

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