dylsson

[dylsson]

ecllas‌:

“So. Plot twist. He stood me up. Like, just completely didn’t show.” Ella dropped her purse on the table in Broadripple’s dining hall. It was the only one she’d brought to the Academy with her, the only one nice enough to be deemed worthy of going out. But instead of a promised Friday night escape to one of the local restaurants just out of town, Ella was left waiting at the gates for a ride that never showed up. If she was being honest with herself, the first of many red flags had arisen when Brent kept trying to slide their texts into the realm of sexts. And optimism was always an excuse she fell back on when she knew she wanted something unrealistic. “Just so you know, the guys from Somerville High are lame. I swear, this guy didn’t even know Sappho was an actual person.” She definitely wasn’t bitter about it. She totally didn’t care. Even though she’d wasted an hour trying to recreate a make-up tutorial and slaving over an outfit that looked effortlessly cute. An hour that she could have spent on something meaningful. Like practicing lines or reviewing Griffin’s latest edits for Broadripple Uncensored.

Instead, she’d spent her open afternoon rifling through drawers, switching out her earrings, and trying on nearly every article of clothing in her wardrobe. Gwen would have a mouthful to say about the pile mounted on Ella’s bed when she got back to the room, but Ella considered that an issue to suss out later.

She looked over the food on her classmate’s plate. Ella frowned. “Okay, that tuna casserole looks expired.” Ella cracked a smile. “Does it taste as sad as it looks?” 

As usual, Dylan was currently being hyper subjected to another episode of Ella Dawson the TV Show where the seton went off about something or another, and Dylan pretended to listen while simultaneously swiping left and right through an app on his phone. He’d only just gotten it back about an hour and a half ago, after being obnoxious in class that afternoon in order to have one of the nuns swipe it off him and tell him to come collect it after school. Despite being late to mostly everything else in his life, Dylan was right there on the dot, simply unable to be disconnected from the device for more than a few hours as most Zoomers were these days. So now that he had it back, he had messages to check, Snapchats to reply to, emails to ignore, and Instagrams to stalk... etcetera. He was a busy guy, what of it?

He only looked up when Ella moved more into his frame of view, her hair swinging in his direction, wafting him in the face with shampoo and teenage girl perfume. Christ, she’d really gone out for this guy, huh... he thought to himself as he suddenly noticed she was wearing makeup too. Or more than what they were allowed to wear on an average school day, anyway. She looked good. But then again, Dylan would probably stick his dick in a pile of dung if somebody dared him to.

“Are you as desperate as you sound?” He shot back over a mouthful in deference of his food, granted, a few days old and in a plastic container. But whatever, dinner wasn’t for another hour and he was starved. “What’s the guy's name anyway, I can fuck him up if you want?” A casual offer. As if messing up some random’s face was as easy as calling in any regular favor.

[dylsson]

micahshaw‌:

One beautiful thing about high school parties was that when everyone passed a certain level of intoxication, they became a lot kinder. Take what happened to him for example: Micah had been sitting on one of the benches, Glad gallon trash bag in hand, when a red-eyed senior slapped his shoulder and passed his joint onto him. He didn’t know who the guy was or what he’d done to warrant such a gift, exactly, but if this was the universe’s way of telling him to chill the fuck out? Micah wasn’t going to question the hand that fed him. 

He sat out back of the pool house with his knees pulled to his chest, the faint echo of music and chaotic murmur all but white noise to the quiet night. It was fucking freezing and his nose was starting to run. He didn’t care. The joint kept him warm enough on the inside to withstand a Massachusetts winter. Sort of.

Micah flinched when the door swung open, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand and shifting around to make room. Sober Micah dreaded company. High Micah somewhat tolerated it. He’d seen the movie Pay It Forward, and like, he didn’t want to end up like dead Haley Joel Osment, so he played it nice and offered up the spliff between his fingers as a conversation starter.

“You want a go?”

Dylan Thompson had exited the womb about as foul as they came, and no amount of drinks could dull that, only amplify it, unfortunately. Or that’s what his friends said sometimes anyway, though he was pretty sure if you asked him, he couldn’t remember being a terror that young. Either way, though, it didn’t matter. Catholic Boarding school had meant to be some kind of sure punishment for him a few years back, a regimented system from his grandparents to... what? Break him into submission? They’d probably hoped. But the joke was on them because putting Dylan into a place like Broadripple was like trapping a hungry lion in a cage of antelope. He spent most of his time chasing and terrorizing them because what the fuck else was he supposed to do in a gay ass place like this?

Drunk, and clearly out for some entertainment, he watched a girl stumble into a door and then quickly apologize to whoever was behind it. Curiosity spiked and Dylan wondered if maybe she’d caught somebody with their pants around their ankles or something. His hand went into his pocket to touch his phone, shoulders leaning in to take up some of the doorway as she backed out and slinked away, but to Dylan’s dismay, it was just the new kid Mitch or whatever. Sebastian’s twiggy little roommate.

“Sup freak,” He greeted the junior, though there was nothing jovial or friendly about the pet name. He’d fully let Micah know plenty of times now that Dylan thought he was the equivalent of dirt. “Party too hardcore for you?”

[dylsson]

sry-chrlie‌:

For Charlie North, parties were like blood transfusions: necessary to continue living. He had spent enough time cooped up in the ancient, haunted halls of that school, lost in thoughts he didn’t care to have. Bored. Reeling. He was a boy that operated at lightspeed, forced to live in slow motion. Thus, the pool party that Saturday was of vital importance. If he didn’t capitalize on every single chance to get royally fucked up, he’d wither and die.

One fat line of blow later (after Officer Hyun had left, of course; Charlie had never met a snitch with such a chiseled jaw), he was ready and raring to go. He was 165 lbs of chaos on the poolside, in swim trunks that were Broadripple red. He bounced from partygoer to partygoer, intent upon making an impression on every single person that bothered to show up. Let nobody speak ill of a BBC party ever again. Charlie North was there to make sure they had a night they’d never forget. 

In fact, ever the polite host, he’d brought along candy to share. He gleefully held a pill in one palm and a gummy bear in the other. With his fists closed, he approached someone who’d made the horrific mistake of standing alone.

“Hey! Havin’ fun so far?” he asked them, eyeing their red solo cup. Without giving them a chance to respond, he pushed his fists into the space in front of them. “Wanna play a game?”

When it came to the catastrophically unorganized hierarchy of the Boy’s Club, Dylan was more like a stocky pitbull at the ankles of Corleone than anything close to a leader. He wasn’t like the Norths and the Sergeants of the gang, he wasn’t a dictator or crowd-pleaser. If anything, he was a dare champion and royal pain in the ass, a right dickhead of the highest caliber, sure. He liked his independence and he loved his boys, but at the end of the day, the thing he loved most was causing strife.

So, after harassing a couple of juniors and snapping at their bikinis, it wasn’t a surprise that he’d been told to fuck off and go fuck himself. At which point, he’d said “Gladly, you frigid fucks” and searched himself a drink instead. Perched against one of the lower bleachers of the tiny pool stadium, Dylan whipped out his phone to check his Snapchat for messages he’d been waiting on. Nothing interesting came up though, not until Charlie materialized out of nowhere as usual with an entourage of mischief to follow.

“Unless the game involves me deep dicking one of the nun club sluts, I dunno. Cause like, what’s in it for me?” He slurred at Charlie, tipping beer over his knee in the process and clearly not even noticing. “You having fun?”

[dylsson]

loreleilyons‌:

Lorelei was a hard worker. There was absolutely zero doubt about that. But sometimes… she was allowed to be a little off her game. Like presently. At that exact moment she was probably supposed to be paying a little more attention as she volunteered in the library, but instead she was, for the time being, glued to her lit up phone.

When the man who was three hours behind and with a strict military schedule wanted to get in contact, unless Lore was in a class or extracurricular she always made sure to respond. That afternoon was just a slight bend of that personal rule, really… and a slightly larger bend of what she was sure was an actual rule. Lore could tell that her father was lonely, however,  and thus she kept the conversation going as she wandered through the stacks, glancing up every now and again to pretend that she was off on some very specific book search for a student in need.

It wasn’t until she very narrowly avoided running into one of the stacks that she realized she should probably call it quits. If only her keen observation skills had been working just a half-second sooner.

Instead, Lore was just left to brush things off, looking past the nearby student who she knew had probably seen what had just happened as she put her backup excuse fully into play.

“Oh. There it is!” she exclaimed in a whisper, selecting the first book that she came across and hoping to God that this wasn’t the start of some school rumor that she was an absolute klutz.

Turning to face the person who had, she was pretty sure but not completely positive, observed her error, Lorelei continued to try and brush things off casually, potentially only making them more awkward as she spoke up again. “Let me know if you, uh… need any help finding anything.”

Dylan didn’t spend much time in the library, his balls were too big to need a brain. Or that’s what his friends said anyway, even though he actually held an okay GPA when he applied himself. Annoyingly, he was the kind of student that could talk all the way through class right up until the teacher picked on him for an answer, and somehow, God willed him wits to weasel out a not totally wrong answer. Still, that didn’t explain why he was in the library. He was just waiting to meet someone. A certain someone that needed her phone back, but had yet to turn up.

He’d given up on trying to take a sneaky dick pick, thumb retreating from his waistband and settling for a grotesque low-angle selfie instead that gave him five and a half chins. But when he glanced up after doing that, he caught sight of the blonde rubbing up against the tower of text on the corner of an aisle. They wobbled, he snickered. For once he actually wasn’t going to engage, but then she spoke to him because staring at girls was pretty easy for Dylan to do, and so he had to say something.

“That how you find all the stuff you need?” He taunted easily, wondering if she’d bump into him like that and look just as pink in the face.

[dylsson]

Noah Centineo in Can’t Take It Back (2017)

[dylsson]

ecllas‌:

“I want to break in and not get caught,” Ella said. She watched him stuff chips into his mouth, crumbs flaking off and dusting the outside of his button-up shirt. She made a point of reaching over him to stuff her hand into the bag of chips and take some for herself, although she ate them one piece at a time, with far more grace than Dylan seemed concerned with displaying. She wanted something fun. Now that winter had encased the Academy, everything had slowed down. The world was quieter, a blanket of snow compressing all signs of life like a too-heavy weighted blanket. Ella rolled her eyes at the insult. She knew Dylan was kind of a dick. Sometimes it annoyed her, but if she were being honest, sometimes she liked that he was an ass. He was brutally honest, brash. He embodied a breed of not-giving-a-fuck she hadn’t reached. He was wild, and for once, there was someone actually capable of pressing her boundaries instead of the other way around. 

But she didn’t like the idea of him completely pushing her around, even if he probably did it more than she liked to recognize. In retaliation for his comment, she snatched up the bag of chips from him, holding them just out of his reach before pushing her hand inside. “Well, for one I’d have the best cinnamon roll recipe that you can’t just Google because it will never be the same. I’ve tried.” Of course, Ella had never considered the fact that she could just be a terrible cook. She ate some chips, arching a brow at him. Even if he’d mercilessly shot down her own ideas, if there was one thing Dylan was ( usually ) reliable for, it was a thrill. “Okay, well, what do you suggest? What’s something that would be stimulating for you?” 

When Ella snatched up his chips and held them hostage Dylan thrust himself towards her but fell back in a lazy attempt to get them back. If he really wanted them, he could get them. Pin her little body into the couch and lean his hips into her, anchoring limbs into the cushions. Instead, he just threw her fake dirties and roughly brushed crumbs off his chest. “Obsessed.” He called her offhandedly and somewhat under his breath, even though he’d meant for her to hear it.

“Apart from watching you use an electric toothbrush to get off?” He posed suggestively as if there was any slight possibility on this plane of existence or the next that he ever might even get that lucky. Still, after a moment he sat up and turned a little more towards her. “You really wanna know?” Dylan asked, not sure she’d be so interested in his sick sense of entertainment if she really knew how numb he actually was. 

Scooting closer, he leaned in. “I find,” He lowered his voice and trained eyes on a pack of girls behind them sat by the window, all sharing phone screens and laughing. “The best way to not wanna blow your fucking brains out is to get out of your comfort zone.” He told her quietly before his arm reached down and slowly pulled the packet of chips out of her hand and back into his care. “So what do you say? Wanna get uncomfortable?”

[dylsson]

sebastian-sergeant‌:

“Here he comes, the prodigal son, fresh out of his cage- shit you got a little mark on your neck, bro, how tight was the leash?” Sebastian joked as he pushed the remains of his plate over to Dylan’s side of the table, allowing him the remnants of his dinner. All the good stuff had been scoffed unless Dylan had suddenly become inclined to licking out empty pudding tubs for microscopic chocolate residue but there was still a few potatoes left and a half a scoop of mac n cheese that would have made Sebastian so gassy he risked farting himself and Micah to death before lights out.

He made a scrunchy face, scandalized by the thought of any of the Sisters putting their crusty old pray holes anywhere near Dylan Thompson’s genitals. Lucky he’d had some time to digest before Dylan’s arrival, or he may just have thrown up straight onto the dinner table between them. “You’re sick, D.T.,” he assured him, “Okay- listen,” duh, Dylan was already listening but Sebastian had to make it sound like some kind of operative mission as he leaned on the table on his elbows, “So one of the pledges, he’s got it in his head that he’s gonna do some kind of like- big brain overhaul of the BBC- I told him to cut that shit out but I’ll give it to him, this one might pan out. Somehow- and don’t ask me how, I don’t know how miracles work- but somehow, he got Shitzgerald to give us the keys to the pool for a pool party- like he’s in on it. Damian knows it’s a party, he knows what’s going down, and he’s on board- I’m not saying you can’t keep rubbing your ballsack on his locker handle or farting in his backpack but just be kinda chill with him to his face at least until the party is over, we don’t want him to pussy out at the last minute and shove his keys back up his vagina for the rest of the year,”

At the rations, Dylan didn’t even pick up a fork until he figured out it was more useful than pushing shit around on the plate to no avail. Fishing for one, he started shoveling, both his and Seb’s leftovers despite the fact they were cold. He’d put worse in his mouth, unfortunately, there was a boy’s joke that even cyanide wouldn’t have done the trick at this point. Try as anyone might.

If it hadn’t been for the food, Dylan might have said something but instead, he just listened as shoulders bumped their sides, some yelling about something went on at the other end of the table, and Sebastian concluded a fucking rollercoaster of a story he’d somehow missed out on between now and lunch that day. Dylan’s eyebrows did things and his forehead wrinkled, all the while munching, clearly trying to keep up and on track. An already complicated task for him, but especially when there was a sudden shotgun party plan on the table.

“Is this for real?” Was about all Dylan could come out with because it was Damian. Like, the same Damian that he was pretty sure might cry if you pissed on his new shoes or something. Dylan hadn’t seen The Big Fight, he’d heard about it, but he’d also had his hands so far up someone’s skirt at the time it was like he’d been fishing for a root canal. Sad he’d missed it, but it was partially why he didn’t feel threatened at all by the guy. “He’s not playing the guy to get him in shit or something?”

[dylsson]

@sebastian-sergeant​

Day three of after school detention for shoving a sophomore into a vending machine last week and Dylan was done. Normally, out of spite, he could hold out longer but he was itching with boredom at this point. Everything had been pretty quiet lately on all ends, nobody had enough stock to push, no ragers were happening to need a supply for said stock anyway, a pause on hazing just because Cunty McPhee, one of the real ancient nuns had gotten a whiff of some bullshit none of them were going on own up to so the advice was just to lay low, don’t act up, be cool for a while... But the problem for Dylan was that he was about as chill as an anthill on fire, and at this point, he was yearning for the opportunity to act up.

Late to dinner, he scooted in real close with a handful of leftovers among the busy crowd that was mostly a table of chaotic teenage boys. Glancing around the dining hall, Dylan caught a glimpse of Drea laughing so hard she spilled her friend’s drink which made one of them squeal like a fucking banshee. After that, his eyes combed Ella, talking exuberantly with her hands with a bunch of girls Dylan didn’t care to remember the names of. He spied Ezra and his freak show testicle one and two, and then... Ice Queeny Prescott and her new table decor, freakshow Fitzgerald. Which reminded him.

“Bruh, I’m starving, give me your potatoes.” It wasn’t a question, nor a demand, more just a random statement to focus on something important. “Also what the fuck was that text about? Pool party or something, what’s that, what’s happening? Couldn’t read it, Keough was too busy sucking my dick after hours. Think she’s really starting to like me.”

[dylsson]

ohcndrea‌:

once he took the phone from her hands, her arms crossed comfortably across her chest awaiting the news of whether or not dylan could help her. she expected he could. he was a dickhead, but if there was a way to avoid getting caught doing something, being somewhere you shouldn’t, he probably knew it. she scoffed a laugh at mention of her dad. though she was incredibly lucky, with the way her dad had been acting since summer she couldn’t agree more. “ no shit, ” maybe if she wasn’t so pissed at him she would have made a joke about how she had to get it from somewhere. then the her choice of phone was questioned, and she just rolled her eyes in playful manner. “ yeah, okay– when anyone else manages to make a halfway cute phone, maybe i’ll consider switching over. ” she chuckled, arms unfolding again and falling to her sides. it was a lie though, it would have to be an extremely cute phone for her to quit being an apple bitch through and through. 

as he launched into an explanation of what would have to happen to her phone for her to get away with tricking her father. for a moment she wondered if it was worth it, maybe it would be easier to just talk to her dad. either about trusting her or make up some story about not trusting big bad corporations with location tracking capabilities. but seeing as the key part of that solution was talking to her father, she quickly decided whatever dylan was saying she needed to do to her phone was totally worth it. fuck warranties, who needed them? not this guy. she was concerned about the here and now and the here and now was her being invited to parties and not wanting to leave her phone in her dorm. “ okay, as long as it doesn’t blow up my phone, doesn’t leak my shit to freaks like ezra bergmann and connor roberts, and keeps my dad off my ass it’s sounding pretty fucking good right now. ” she listed off her top three priorities on her fingers. she probably should have been a little more concerned with the functionality of her phone post jailbreak but she wasn’t. dylan said it would work, she believed him. she didn’t care enough to question it. “ so, ” she said after a beat, tone changed a little as she stood up a little straighter and took a tiny step closer to him. eyes on her phone between them for a moment before they flicked up. “ what do i owe you for something like that? ” she asked, looking up at him. she wasn’t stupid enough to think she’d get it totally free, but surely sucking someone’s dick semi regularly included her in a friends only discount. 

Dylan gently bobbed her phone in his hand, not high enough to risk dropping it, but enough to show that he was done and waiting for her to make up her mind. Jailbreaking wasn’t a big deal, a load of people did it these days, though the easier option was literally just buying an Android but he had a feeling buying a new phone wasn’t on the cards. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be here.

He grinned when she blatantly named freaks of the grade that Dylan also agreed, did not need access to anyone’s anything as far as he was concerned. “Yo, if it does, I’ve got ways to fix that too.” He snapped a finger at her, conveniently leaving out the part where he’d just tried to drown Ezra a few weeks ago because hey, who needed to know that part? When Drea asked what it would cost, this was Dylan’s favorite part. Not because he knew what he wanted from her, but because it was fun and exciting to leave a bargain open-ended, have the other person sweat it a little.

“Oh, you know...” He said conveniently, given that this was how it always tended to go between the two of them. Open-ended, ambiguous, frustratingly unfair perhaps. “When I need something, I’ll call.”

[dylsson]

˗ˏˋ ’.like or reblog.’ˎˊ˗

[dylsson]

ecllas‌:

Ella sat on the couch beside Dylan, knees tucked to her side. “I never got off the ‘bakery bullshit.’” She replied without hesitation. If living with a little brother, and her father for that matter, had prepared her for anything, it was returning a volley of barbed comments. But if anyone had the gumption, the perfect breed of insensitivity to make her falter, it would probably be Dylan. He either lacked restraint or forethought, or both. It was simultaneously one of the things she enjoyed about him and one of the things that annoyed her. In this case, it made her pause.

She should have known Dylan wouldn’t give two shits about the Kettle’s cinnamon rolls, even if they were totally and undeniably amazing. But something about his cavalier tone, his ability to be dismissive of just about anything, felt like a challenge. It was like the barn party were he’d instigated the escalation of her dares or the day he’d convinced her to skip out on the class trip to the zoo to bum around Nighmore with him. It was like the push and pull of the tide, a never-ending battle for an imagined stretch of golden sand. Not that Ella had ever put so much thought into it. In fact, she was utterly unaware of how and why Dylan could so easily corral her, regardless of her own whims. Only that she often set out with one goal and wound up on a separate path entirely. 

“I kinda want to break in.” It didn’t require a prelude. Not with Dylan. She was certain it wasn’t the craziest thing he had heard or even done. Definitely wouldn’t be the last. “The cinnamon rolls at the Kettle were good as hell, and I’m kinda banking on the possibility that the owners left like… a stash of recipes behind or something.” It sounded kinda dumb now that she said it out loud. In her head, it had at least seemed possible. She sought out a buffer. “Plus,” she dropped her hand on the couch cushion to emphasize her point. “I’m bored as hell. There’s like, nothing to do here.”

If Dylan had ever had a clue about anything that made up the World of Women, he might have learned to pay a little more attention and be a little more kind. Unfortunately for those who found themselves wound up in his orbit, it wasn’t often the case that he was sensitive or accommodating, at least, not in any conventional way. If he had been hard-wired normal, he might have even wondered why some of them even stuck around but instead, Dylan just latched on to people and suckled the reactive entertainment of their pressure points until they had nothing left to give. But Ella was stubborn, and they hadn’t seemed to have hit that point yet, so Dylan continued to show up, all up until the point she would decide to tell him to go away. His method was simple, the madness was just what drove people crazy.

“You kinda wanna break-in, or you kinda wanna get caught?” He smirked, shoving crisps into his mouth and watching the TV but this time paying full or at least most of his attention to Ella and her apparent plan to become a spur of the moment criminal. Full offense, but he didn’t believe it. Not from her. He’d known psycho bitches in his life and Ella wasn’t the kind who got a kick out of being cuffed and taken home to daddy, so despite how thick Dylan might have come across to some, he knew when a girl just wanted something exciting to happen to her. “Yeah, it’s like you got here yesterday.” He insulted her. It wasn’t new news that Broadripple was basically like a Zoo of misery. Cage enough creatures together that shouldn’t co-exist and eventually something was going to happen. “So what? What’s your plan, you break into Little Miss Muffin’s bakery for a fucking recipe you could literally just Google and then what?” He prodded. “If that’s your wild idea of being stimulated for an hour, I’ll literally lend you my electric toothbrush or something and save you the trip.”

[dylsson]

dorothyweber‌:

her interest was piqued even though she knew it shouldn’t be. the vulgar words would have put her off entirely about six months ago but dorothy had been in a different mindset since. her conscious reminded her ‘curiosity killed the cat, dorothy.’ she considered it for a moment and decided she’d try to work the conversation back to it.

“oh no, definitely didn’t. i wasn’t even up late.” dorothy shifted in her seat to face him more head-on, laughing in a way she hoped came off as nonchalant and not judgemental. “do you really never feel off or weird about something you can’t place? that can’t just be me.”

dorothy tapped her pen once again on her open notebook. she was starting to think maybe it was just her who would be nervous about literally nothing. although, she didn’t really know that much, or anything, about dylan’s psyche. she stopped, distracted by the curious thought once again. so much for trying to work it in normally.

“so what’s that like, then? rolling.”

Dylan was busy mid-fidgeting with his stuff when she claimed she hadn’t even gone to sleep that late, his gaze snapping to her suddenly and expression slack as he eyed her for no particular reason except that boys were about as subtle as bricks being tossed through windows. He blinked, tongue poked the inside of his cheek, and then he grinned and swiveled too when she started to engage. Like, by choice. Score.

“What, like pedos and stuff? I mean I know a crack head when I see one,” He thumbed off at nothing as if the gesture backed up his statement with evidence.  Clearly, Dylan was not sentimental and his ability to process people’s sensitive emotions were kind of on the lacking end of things. It was a big reason why girls didn’t really flock to him, specifically, but more just the BBC in general. Gotta kiss a few toads and all that.

“Ahh...” Loaded question, he thought. “Really depends what kinda trip you’re on, what shit you’re into or what shit you’ve already got going on. You know, same ride, different experience and all that.” He didn’t know much about the girl, but he very well could have been talking to Little Miss Squeaky Clean, so. “I mean hey if you’re ever...” His voice dwindled with suggestion, “...and you know, you wanna try...” It wasn’t exactly policy to go around school flaunting and flexing about what he or any of his friends could get his hands on, but Dylan figured she wasn’t brain dead. If she knew anything about anyone at this school, she’d get the hint. “I know guys.”

[dylsson]

ecllas‌:

Ella had never been the best chef. In fact, her perception of a sufficient meal was a tortilla swathed with peanut butter or kraft mac and cheese. Which was why if she wasn’t getting her meals in the dining hall, her favorite place to go had been the Copper Kettle. Their quiche was freaking legendary and Ella had raved about their Mediterranean sandwich on more than one occasion. But the true prize, in Ella’s eyes, had always been their home-made cinnamon rolls. Breadwinner’s Bakery generally had a monopoly on the Best Baked Goods In Nighmore, but in Ella’s opinion, nothing could beat the Kettle’s cinnamon rolls.

So when the Kettle inexplicably shut down, in the wake of Izzy and Maggie’s disappearance no less, Ella was left to try and fend for herself. If she baked the cinnamon rolls herself, then she could totally season it until they tasted like the Kettle’s. A feeble act of desperation perhaps, but as Ella scrolled through recipes on her phone, her thoughts shifted from replication to reality. Even if the Kettle remained abandoned, maybe some things had been left behind. 

“Okay so, just hear me out,” Ella began. A wry smile ghosted against the corner of her mouth. “I know the Kettle is closed, but like, we could still probably get in right?” It wasn’t that she intended to do anything bad. The owners didn’t seem to be coming back any time soon and she didn’t intend to steal the recipe for redistribution, just to tide her over until a reasonable replacement showed up ( if that was even possible ).

A fleeting thought darted across her mind, that the Kettle’s inexplicable closing aligned so neatly with the disappearance of Izzy and Maggie…too neatly. There was a high probability that it was just her over-active imagination - the mind of a writer perpetually seeking her next story. But the possibility only stoked the flames of her curiosity further.

The best thing about the common room in the girl’s wing was by far not the fact that it was often full of girls, but because it was about the only place in the entire school it seemed that the WiFi didn’t teeter along the edge of freaking archaic. If you were lucky, the TV was free and the outlets were aplenty, but today wasn’t really one of those days ( probably because snow could suck a fat one ) so Ella couldn’t exactly blame Dylan for passively ignoring half of whatever she’d been talking about for the last hour. Already a loser in the art of multi-focusing, his eyes occasionally darted from a Netflix Original, to laptop downloads, to incoming Snapchats, to whatever the fuck Ella was doing and back again, only absorbing about 3% of each every time his attention dwindled. Finally, though, she said something fucking dumb and he looked over at her.

“You still hung up on that bakery bullshit?” He asked callously, not aware that she was actually talking about a cafe, a popular one at that, or even realizing that it was still closed or why. He didn’t like spending much time in Nighmore, mostly because his grandparents lived like forty minutes from the main square and the place was boring as batshit so why would he ever go? If he wanted a good time, he’d be going elsewhere, that’s for sure. Like Boston, probably. The big city. Or whatever was around it that served more entertainment than ghost town roads and creepy, incestuous townfolk. 

“You can get into anything if you know what its made up of. Why,” He rolled his head back in Ella’s direction lazily, “You lookin’ to start 2020 with a mugshot?”

[dylsson]

dorothyweber‌:

dorothy tapped her foot rapidly on the tiled floor, pen in her hand mocking her foot’s tempo on the table in front of her. she was thinking. she was so anxious lately with everything going on around her. she told herself, ‘there’s no reason for this, you know there’s no reason for this.’ and yet her brain couldn’t be convinced. the tapping continued.

she looked to the person next to her. she stopped her fidgeting immediately. a small smile joined her previously nervous features and dorothy pushed her hair out of her eyes. her gaze drifted back to the notebook in front of her, fingers lazily dragging the pen to doodle in the margins. 

“sorry, i forget other people can hear me when i do that.” she started, looking back again. “i just woke up with the weirdest feeling today, you ever feel like that?”

Navigating a bad school day with ADHD sometimes felt like Dylan was a Cola bottle that someone had shoved Mentos into, shaken up then jammed a lid on top to stop whatever fuckery was going on inside from busting out. Sure, he was supposed to be doing his work and sure, he’d get in a fucktonne more trouble than he did last week for not doing it a second time around but the problem with fearless stupidity was that consequence was just a word, it didn’t mean anything to him, he wasn’t afraid of it. He wasn’t afraid of anything. So instead of doing literally any of what he was supposed to be doing, Dylan was texting his friends about some risque Snapchat he’d gotten last weekend and was currently mid-fantasy when he realized he was looking at Dorothy and Dorothy was looking back at him.

Nice girls were like catnip to Dylan. They riled him up with their nervous smiles and tiny fucking egos. The smart ones of the school knew best to just stay away from him, the rest were unfortunate.

Snorting obnoxiously when she spoke, Dylan brushed it off, “Nah.” The word came out boyishly and in somewhat of a dismissive grunt, “Not unless I rolled hard the night before and like, shit myself or something.” Disgusting behavior, his grandmother’s voice said inside his head somewhere. Dylan ignored it. “You don’t look like you did that though.”

[dylsson]

ohcndrea‌:

drea put up with dylan a lot more than she should, arguably she put up with him a lot more than anyone else did. and in some ways he put up with her too. the scales weren’t even by any respect, but drea liked to pretend they were just because he did her the odd favour every now and then. and recently, more and more she found herself seeking out a reason to spend time with him. maybe it was to avoid her friends and the honesty she’d promised them, maybe it was to avoid schoolwork and the pressure put on her by her parents, maybe it was for that simple serotonin boost she got from a shithead like dylan thompson thinking she was cool. or maybe it was all of the above. it didn’t matter to her, she wasn’t thinking about it. as far as she was concerned she just accidentally kept hanging around him, like she had been for years now.  

a quick quirk of her brows in silent greeting when she met dylan’s eyes from a short distance away. lips pressed together, attempting to hide a stupid smirk as she weaved through tables towards him. tote bag of her school work over her shoulder and her problem, her phone, sitting safely in her blazer pocket. she only paused briefly while he stood and gathered his own things before following after him as he walked, narrowly dodging another student that had simply stood up at the wrong time.

“ okay, so, ” she announced once door was closed behind them, spinning to face him and ditching her bag on the floor. she knew these sorts of things were supposed to be short, business, whatever, but she still made herself comfortable. “ my dad has gone, like, full psycho lately, i think he’s tracking me on fucking find my friends, ” she started to explain pulling her phone from her pocket as she took a seat on a desk. context didn’t really matter, she could just say what she wanted. but she liked the sound of her own voice, and, weirdly, felt the need to add detail after so long of keeping the situation between her and her family bottled up. “ he called me the other day after i turned it off for a bit– ” so her friends didn’t know she was in the boys dorm but that was what she was considering unnecessary detail to this story. “ and had, like, a fit about it. and i don’t wanna just leave my phone in my dorm all the time because that’s fuckin’ stupid, ” her brows furrowed as she spoke, clearly irritated at the mere idea of being without her phone. having finished her tiny little backstory she stopped to take a breath before launching into her actual question “ so, ” she pointed her phone at him, half for him to take it but half just for emphasis. “ do you know if there’s a way i can make find my friends, like, not actually track me? and can you do it for me? ” she paused for a split moment, stupid playful grin spreading on her features as she added “ please. ” 

Once in the safety of a private study room, Dylan twisted with ease and pulled himself onto the table to sit like some dirtbag who thought manners were for losers apparently. He watched Drea begin her rant, eyes glazing a little because he was more focused on the fact that her shirt was a little untucked from her skirt and it reminded him of times he’d drunkenly pulled her crop up just as a sick joke to make her cheeks flush in the Barn. Slowly, and with a tongue licking his lips for no reason but to wet them, he tuned back in just as she went on about her Find My Friends app, his face doing a little thing it did whenever people brought yet another Apple problem to his table.

Taking her phone when it was offered, Dylan twisted it over as if he didn’t already know the solution. The annoying thing was just that it wasn’t super easy.

“So first of all, just for the record, your dad’s a dick. Like we’ll establish that’s the actual problem here, and the second is that you’ve got an iPhone,” He explained, scooting off the table again now to leave his bag behind and stand in front of Drea. “Third thing though is that I can definitely fix it, but we’re gonna have to jailbreak this sucker which... you know, means no warranty, no free fixes from mom and dad, no sucking the cock of big guy Jobs to get what you want anymore. But we do that — we get you Cydia  — we hit up BigBiss repo and we can spoof you. Or your location, basically. Whenever you want.” He said, dangling the shiny, charming option in front of Drea without super highlighting the negatives.

[dylsson]

He wasn’t a good kid, not by any means. In fact, Dylan Thompson had been out for himself since the day he’d learned to crawl and unfortunately for those closely in orbit around him, they knew just how abrasive and unpredictable he could be. Like a pipe-bomb with no set timer, he was full of an offensive sense of humor, toxic behavior and unfortunately for the desperate kids of Broadripple, resources. Don’t get him wrong, there were sure things he just couldn’t do... like copy ID cards for easy access to the dorms or rooms you weren’t supposed to be in, at least not without some a hefty Arduino tech and a basic RFID writer, all of which were easy enough to get off the Internet but still strictly contraband regardless. Ever since he’d been almost caught doing that, he’d eased up on the big game and focussed more on the easy stuff -- cracked phone screens, spare charging cables, general hacking into an ex’s Facebook account. Or, if he wasn’t exploiting his own skills in that department, he was helping friends push and BBC pull. It was a complicated system of who helped who when no names got floated around, but Dylan was right in the thick of it, which either usually made him popular to some while strictly off-limits to others, depending on whether you could stand to be around him for long enough to find out.

With the track field blanketed in snow, and Baseball just as shut-down for the season, Dylan had a lot of extra time on his hands. Besides, Christmas was coming up and that meant people generally wanted goodies for the holidays. Catching sight of his somebody approaching, he was pretty quick to assume it was an appointment, maybe too hasty in fact. Grabbing up his shit, he gestured away from the crowded area of the study hall. People usually knew the drill. Back rooms, two minutes, any longer and it’d cost them. “Let’s bounce,” He told them, unaware of any bystanders who might have wanted to get in his way, and frankly just thinking about the potential payout.

[dylsson]

DYLAN THOMPSON ( NOAH CINTINEO ) is an EIGHTEEN year old SENIOR student at Broadripple Academy. HE is originally from CANARYVILLE, CHICAGO but moved to Broadripple TWO YEARS ago. HE is CUNNING and FEARLESS but can also be VIOLENT and RUDE.  

QUICK STATS

Name: Dylan Maxwell Thompson  Nicknames: Dyl. School house: Keough. Age: Eighteen. Birthday: April 16th 2001.  Zodiac: Aries. Gender: Male. Language(s): English / Italian. Birth Place: Canaryville, Chicago. Religion: NA. Aspiration: TBD. Health Disablities: ADHD. Distinguishing Marks: Freckles, that weird scar on his chin i guess lol. Drug Use: Hell ye boi. Alcohol Use: Hell ye boi. x2 Do They Smoke: Hell ye boi. x3

TRAITS

✔ Entertaining, Adventurous, Resilient

✖ Sporadic, Inattentive, Greedy

ABOUT/PERSONALITY

Has definitely told people different stories about himself / his upbringing / his life before BA he’s just like a walking contradiction, he doesn’t really want anyone to know that he was adopted by old idiots and gagged with a silver spoon bc its really embarrassing for ur grandparents to care about u for some reason. ( imagine gilmore grandparents tbh )

Has an older sister who is probably Really Nice and is known to be such a good kid and its sort of like wow where did genetics go wrong u kno???

Dylan is competitive as hell & pretty rough on the playing field he will tackle u and make it look like an accident, bonus points for a broken nose probably.

He’s such a floozy and puts no value in anything personal he tends to make people feel special and then they quickly realize he was just fucking around as usual and they got played which is super arthur clench fist.

Professional ghoster. Shit at texting.

Definitely has almost been kicked out of school before for starting fights so thats fun and fresh, who wants to get BULLIED??

WANTED CONNECTIONS

FRIENDS !!

EXES !!

FLIRTY SHIT !!

PEOPLE HE CAN BULLY !!

idk i will come up with more later 

OOC INFORMATION

kellie // 24 // she/her 

LINKS

His pinterest!

His character tag on my blog!

His aesthetics!

His socials!