neil loses track, too. of time little perceived, of spaces taken, of what’s in between – casts passive blame on their recent bouts of insomnia, strangely accompanied by their recent bouts of oversleeping. the former would lead him out here ; a bicycle laid carelessly on the ground, its wheel still spinning behind him, his elbow perched at an exposed knee poking through a rip in someone's jeans lightly soaked now with a blank gaze pointed forth. the cherry on his cigarette glows in the dark with each exhale off a wistful pout ; an orange pulse in the distance that seemed to have beckoned her now.. hello. “i’m thinkin’ about it. is it nice and warm?” at night? he couldn’t. knows he shouldn’t; too many holes to dodge in the bigger hole that is lake obie. recalls nights when he slipped away with someone freckled and beautiful to dip into the waters when no one’s watching a summer or two ago, when they weren't supposed to. maybe he wants to now. entranced by the way her air weaves through black water; even darker somehow but glimmering, pretty. sea snakes come to mind. “uh huh,” answered after a scoff, the cherry glows again when his cheek tint a slight and it confuses him. shakes his head a little to show off, dulled fish hook bumps against the start of his jaw. “what else is there to do but fish.” a whole lot when he does all but fish these past few weeks, but neil thinks less of that now and instead tilts his head slightly, peering behind her when her tail catches his eye in the dark. “do you fish?” – dumb. sarcastic. unsure why his answers are questions, too, but he’s deliciously weary – the thrill of it. sirens were always fun to flirt with.

𝐷𝐸𝐿𝐼𝐸𝑅𝑉𝑌 𝐹𝑂𝑅 . . . neil strangelove ( @crystalballers , closed ) .

no  matter  how  many  nights  she  spent  in  quigley  house  ,  home  would  always  be  the  warm  embrace  of  the  water  .  oceans  ,  lakes  ,  hell  …  a  pool  could  do  the  job  .  today  home  called  rather  painfully  :  scales  forming  ,  plucked  one  by  one  with  a  wince  and  a  crystalized  tear  .  she'd  lost  track  of  how  long  she'd  spent  at  lake  obie  .  in  the  right  lighting  the  purple  sequined  tail  could  reflect  her  black  tar  heart  .  slicked  back  tresses  break  the  surface  …  doe  eyes  landing  on  pier  .  predatory  aura  is  swapped  for  an  inviting  expression  when  it  becomes  clear  she  has  company  .  arms  resting  ontop  of  the  end  of  the  pier  .  "  coming  for  a  swim  ?  "  she  can  barely  stifle  the  giggle  that  plays  at  wet  lips  .  nails  tap  along  soggy  wood  ,  thinking  ,  thinking  ,  thinking  .  "  cute  …  fish  hook  ,  "  eyes  twinkle  despite  the  dulled  tone  of  the  make  -  shift  earring  .  "  do  you  fish  ?  "  words come off more like goading than a genuine question .          

her head pulses as surround sounds do, brows crease in concern when she finds her geordi quinn, panicked and perilous, stood centerstage of all the chaos – does she know any of these people? no, but she knows the fucking asshole who does. eh, doubt they’d even show up, stu had said a little after she’d thought it funny to tell a horde of folk she knew from college where to go if they wanted to have a good time ‘round these parts. parties usually blow dicks where you guys live now anyway (they don’t!) — old people all up and down the shit. (are not!) who wants pearl on their ass five minutes into a party? not I and not anyone else, that’s for certain. fritos okay? stu insisted and no, they aren’t, waltzing through the aisles and grazing through a selection of chips for the bowls awaiting at home. clearly many didn’t mind it. olive grimaced all the way home and then some as she recalls it all with the additional full body cringe of fucking hell, olive. just tell him to turn them around at the fucking door, when olive lost her supposed cool and any deep-seated, insecurity-fed concerns she’d had about looking cool to her friends' friends, who apparently knew less about her and her brother than she thought they had. “I got it, I got it,” the joint being a peace offering from the aforementioned culprit, and a mumbled my bad. “no, but stu does. it’s.. it’s a whole thing. look, can we go out the balcony for a second?” a non-request with pleading eyes, her clammy hand already circles and tugs at geordi’s wrist towards what seems to be the only source of fresh air accessible right now, and that she needs badly. it truly is barely a thing, let alone a whole thing, when it’s recalled through eternal winces as she huffs, scowls and shoves through people idling on their short path across the room. a non-event by the time they get to the balcony but olive would take it personally and worse if geordi’s involved. has to remind herself that she’s amongst friends; hers and theirs and all is in good fun, she’s not fucking with you, she’s just an idiot. that’s just what friends do. they ruin your carefully thought-out plans, and push your buttons – literally, ones on her secondhand ‘hagcore’ jacket, stu called it and rip, the traitor, giggled. someone’s nana’s dyed suede catching unnecessary strays on a lovely chewsday eve. wishes always with a yearnful sigh that robin didn't have to stay at the hospital a good chunk of these days – you’re meant to laugh it up later as a passing memory shared boisterously in the presence of others at likely the next bonfire, long after all mayhem and any resulting sentiments or tension are far from a near present to make full memory of, but olive would. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry, I tried calling you right away but they were already there. I tried to get down here as quick as I could. I didn’t know stu would do that.” all explodes in a deep exhale after she’d shooed off the people already stood at the balcony. she'd mind it less if geordi was there when it happened, otherwise being at the scene of the crime, even if ambushed, and knowing ahead of him makes her feel awfully complicit.

incoming post for: @crystalballers

A house-warming party wasn’t something Geordi particularly wanted. It wasn’t even something he’d requested, he’d been living on his own for the better part of a few years, just because he situated from one apartment to another didn’t always warrant some huge celebration. His opinion was biased considering he was one more person in his space away from a full blown breakdown. Teeth gritting at the sound of his doorbell, he prepared to tell them they had the wrong address (especially hard to do when they were arriving for ‘his’ party), but the breath Geordi hadn’t even realized he’d been holding blew out in relief at the sight of Olive on the other side of the door, “Oh, thank fuck. Did you bring it?” It being a joint, one that Geordi was far too inexperienced to roll, and not the only one at the party. However, sharing with anyone else involved talking to anyone else, and the idea was about to make Geordi implode, “I don’t know any of these people. Do you know any of these people?” He asked, gesticulating around them wildly. He’d done a few shots, just to calm the nerves, but alcohol had always turned Geordi from the straight-laced person in control he preferred to someone from Coyote Ugly. His own words.

open starter. ㅤㅤ‹ㅤㅤ@devostarters

int.ㅤㅤ‹ㅤㅤthe fishbowl. at any time.

“out of commission.” nile sounds out from the last machine on the middle row. a rather monotone statement and a staple of everyday nile; casually overdressed in their cropped college sweater with a fishnet top clinging at their skin right under it, sleeves rolled up high as they cleared out socks and thongs off dryers and grimacing at the itchy n' cheap choices made fabricwise. “maintenance. we’re still plucking out frankie’s scales out of it,” legally can’t help how one corner of their lips twitches faintly at the distant memory – dubbed nitemare at karoke nite by the untalented, freakish losers in attendance and some of those keeping the bowl intact, alanis and the other fuckhead specifically and nile only wishes it was either of the two's knees knocking around in that machine instead. ‘it's not funny,’ they said sternly, their arms crossed and usually stoical features fixed with a scowl for emphasis the very next morning of the incident. ‘we'll never get that machine cleaned.’ ; has to admit it's kind of funny now, in retrospect. would've been hi-larious at the spot many moons ago, even ; that tail sent awhirl, banging at the sides and shimmering scales, like fuckin' corn, shucking off of the howling siren's hips but alas and infuriated, nile had to make deft intervention then and made sure the idiot frank's battered tail hadn’t sustained prolonged damage that couldn't be healed with saltwater and much patience. no more fucking alcohol on the premises. “you can still use it, if you want. good luck if you find yourself a scale to keep, huh?” – or getting cut with one as some gaggle of tourists have decided or were most likely told was fact. eugh, nile sighs before adding, “careful, though.”

open starter. ㅤㅤ‹ㅤㅤ@devostarters

int.ㅤㅤ‹ㅤㅤcomet videos. like, 5pm.

            frizzy ass head of hair bobs around the decked out aisles left and right of comet’s – fizzes a little, too, and warmly so but that’s almost a given this time of day – an accursed waltz of a world of linus' own; in too good a' mood when he's absentmindedly muttering through vhs labels he's carding through in search of today's dinner movie, festively humming to some tune stuck in his head and made worse on the ride over as he takes slow n' spinny turns rounding those corners and nearly tripping over the faux pumpkins and mini cauldrons lettering the floor as decoration choices the staff barely bothered with this year ; the orange, purple and greens of all hallow’s eve’s almost all too tacky but the cool skeleton flipping the bird that stood cross and prompt by the entrance, tucked between the ‘fuck-a-retcon’ and ‘what is a canon timeline anymore?’ displays almost makes up for it, (‘fucking hell, who has it out for peepaw and his cunty little flashbacks?’, muttered to absolutely no one, sighting the dvd collections of saw, showing in a theatre near him and ohhhh...) it takes linus longer than it should when he realizes there's a third presence in this here establishment besides himself and the bored cashier. doesn't recall if it's a sound that brought them into his little musical of a brain but they're there now and he's titillatingly aware. unfortunate bangs round the corner before him, bambi eyes not yet making direct contact (you're welcome) but anticipating; dilated already, is a baddie afoot? voicebox modulates the deepest voice it could, just in case, when he inquires in a borderline sinful purr  —  “who goes there?”

open starter. @devostarters

int. specterscope cinemas, projection booth, almost 12:30am.

not a single, suspicious soul – that isn’t van caddel’s – is supposed to be in that there hotbox, looming over the seats where people should soon file out of a viewing of saw x, but here they all sat: two more people than the firmly-decided-on-three of neil, neil’s bjork  – or bjork’s neil, depending on who showed up with who that day. matters not as they count as one, disturbing unit – the trusty projector’s van and a rotating number of their friends or their friends. only ever possible thanks to mr. lovers thee projectionist and his recent proclivity for taking a few days off the month. neil perched over the painted wooden desk, trying his darndest to nail a trick of the hand with a set of cards recently purchased from o&o to entertain and be entertained with when the door cracks open, ushering in not just an unwelcomed source of light but a presence that would usually warrant brief, stoney panic and a chorus of groans if those weren’t expected tonight  – so long as it it wasn’t lovers, all should go well –  “you’re early.” still engrossed by his failing shuffling hand, neil assumes it’s for the, quoted, ‘not-really-a-party-but-maybe-a-pregame-if-verve’s-the-move kind of hang’ after the last showing of the night but in case that isn’t what they seek nor have they been spared the offhand invite, there’s an addition when his stare finally redirects itself at them. mild frustration begone, in comes a greeting grin and that eternal knack for tugging at one's ponytail, figuratively this once. “still got fifteen more minutes until movie’s over. pussying out already or what?” (said chuckyphobic crybaby)

The Doom Generation (1995) // dir. Gregg Araki

Elio Perlman

“ha, good one,” waterlogged-somewhere and unaware, neil shakes his head in his scoff. a snort, really. distracting almost. it was a good one - his curls, ever-unfurling, bounce and glimmer under sunlight as they make their way closer to baz in trepid steps; unusual, subtle, and cloaked in languid confidence as when his off-white sneaks drag along aged wood. the humor was welcome, even if unusual. townsfolk tended to still cast him in looks of pity he looked past in return, pathetic pats on the back that he shrugs away from with a stiff grin and the condolences, fucking hell, the condolences –  almost greeted with them at every turn; they began to read like rehearsed sympathy at a point made even worse when they don’t know what he knows. what he heard. whatever  — but those by the sea at least seemed to adjust quicker, perhaps due to the understood nature of what could happen, what has happened time and time over even before his father, and what will happen. all is unpredictable out in the sea and having a leg up over most means so little. “ what’s catch lookin’ like today? ” neil wonders loudly, yearns for it almost as they peer out into the waters. the waves are calm today. he hadn’t checked on their way out that morning but his mother did. it was a subtle exchange, ‘looks good,’ she said it as mere observation over her shoulder, looks safe, she meant. neil had little faith over their intuition but knew to see about matters of their own now and he would. eventually. he stalls and seeks ease in a trusted face oft waved at out in the sea. someone close to one lost.

baz, ft. open | @devostarters

the waves are calm today, knocking his boat against the dock with a quiet tap-tap-tap. baz sits, legs dangling over the edge of the wooden surface and skimming the top of the water as he gazes out over the ocean's blue-green-grey surface. hands absentmindedly work a ball of twine into something serviceable as both a cat's cradle and a fishing net, as ears strain for the faint hum from far away. like the buzzing of wasps, or the shitty crt tv perched on the cd cabinet in his dilapidated weatherboard home. a promise — we will come home, when our feet tire of wandering, they say, though if they are anything like their grandfather that will not be for some time.

in the here-and-now, footsteps on the dock are nothing unusual, though their wearer is not whom he would expect. he turns, nonchalant, hands ever-moving, calls out with a laugh ( for what reason, he shall not say, the sea's ever-loyal secret-keeper ) , “ going for a swim ? ”

“ starlight in the tunnel. ” — tags (5/5)

“ struck me dumb like radium. ” — tags (⅘)

“ you look forsaken as fuck right now. ” — tags (⅗)

“ MOM, LEAVE ME ALONE, I WANNA BE FAMOUSSS... I WANNA BE FAMOUS. 🔥🔥🔥 MY-MY THERAPIST SAID I GOT ADHD ❗❗💔 I DON'T EVEN REALLY KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS.💔💔💔 I'M ALL DRUGGED UP. 😫💊😫💊😫💊I'M ALL—I'M ALL DRUGGED UP (OH!) I JUST WANNA BE A ROCKSTAR. (WHAT) I WANNA BE A ROCKSTAR! 🎸⚡🎸 LET ME YOUR ROCKSTAR TONIGHTTTTT. 💃🎸💃🎸 SHE WON'T LICK MY PEEEPEEE-[GUNSHOT] ” — tags (⅖)

“ you’re so strange, boy …” — tags (⅕)

                 #   crystalballer(s)   :       /ˈkrɪstəl ˈbɔlərz/    noun.  wants  to  show  you  how  it  ends  /  wants  to  show  you  everything              ⎯⎯⎯⎯        multimuse  wholly  dependent  and  all  about  the  #devoverse ,  featuring  an  original  cast  of  characters  such  as  linus  gedde ,  neil  strangelove ,  olive  frances  massacre ,  nile  taylor  duncan ,  heavenly  spur  lovers     &    other   similarly   inclined   silly   jumpscares.         brought  and  narrated  to  you  by  sidney.    

(rolling) credits under readmore.

song featured: cigarettes out the window + dangerously yours - tv girl (slowed & reverb)

gif packs used: pending.