pcranoid​:

“ Maybe  you  ought  to  work  on  sticking  around,   hm? “   She  teases  gently  before  collapsing  into  the  plush  cushions  on  sofa,   hand  swiping  wine  glass  from  side  table  before  getting  comfortable.   There’s  a  vague  gesture  to  the  bottle  on  the  counter  behind  her  in  kitchen.   “ Help  yourself  to  wine.   There’s  also  vodka  and  tequila  around  somewhere  if  you  need  something  a  little  stronger. “

Brow  quirks  at  his  particularly  cheeky  comment,   head  shaking  as  she  laughs.   “ You  and  I  both  know  nothing  beats  the  buzz  of  New  York  City.   Even  our  darling  friendship. “   Deep  down  she  knows  that  it  isn’t  true,   she’d  trade  anything  in  a  heartbeat  for  Micah.   He’d  been  the  only  person  she  was  able  to  fully  trust,   holding  him  in  much  higher  regard  than  her  family  or  work  related  friends.   Hues  dance  across  the  well  decorated  room  that  was  currently  bathing  in  soft  golden  hues  from  fireplace  and  a  few  mood  lights  here  and  there,   a  fondness  for  new  home  already  beginning  to  rear  it’s  head.   Even  though  it  was  a  far  cry  from  her  place  back  in  New  York.   “ You  know  if  you  need  a  designer  with  exquisite  taste  I’m  just  a  phone  call  away. “   Brows  waggle  in  his  direction  as  she  takes  a  sip  of  wine.   “ Now,   now,   Deja  Vu  has  served  me  well  in  all  it’s  small  town  glory.   But  I  wouldn’t  be  opposed  to  making  the  best  of  things  for  old  times  sake.   Just  as  long  as  that  idiot  Theodore  isn’t  trailing  behind  us. “

⭒⁎

It was always funny how often they had gravitated towards each other. There were so many faces that lurked in the background of his upbringing — the same families, the same names — generations raising the next to carry on businesses and legacies. Micah always had a talent for charming others in the dull conversations, aiming to be a welcomed distraction to adults to allow his peers to escape the watchful eyes of their parents. Choreographed steps around the ballroom had crafted their own waltz of slipping off the dancefloor, a smooth escape from the pretentious pageantry of it all. 

Micah could count on one hand the select few people whose company he genuinely liked keeping. Joselyn was towards the very top - she always had been. Though they were closer in age to each other’s siblings, Micah considered her just as close as his family, if not closer. That sentiment only deepened in the aftermath of the accident – no one else had seen him so utterly broken, and he hoped no one would ever again. 

He floats into the kitchen, letting his fingers curl into a grip around the slim neck of the glassware’s stem. Oceanic hues flicker over the selection, ultimately landing upon the wine. He’s grateful for moments such as these – a chance to leave his burdens outside the door and to just get away from all of the bullshit. He’s tried to offer that same courtesy. 

“No. Nothing quite beats the city – except maybe us being in the city.” A perch beside the brunette is settled into. “If I stay, I’m getting a dog, a beach house, and a date,” he offers lightly. “Not necessarily in that order.” The wine swirls around the vessel before he turns to appraise Joselyn. He nudges her lightly, eyebrows quirking up accordingly. “Why am I nicer to your fiancés than you are??” He drops to one knee solemnly. “It should’ve been me.” Micah uprights himself, dropping lazily back into the seat. “How have things been – truly??”

kashmalouf​:

Closed starter for @abeyances Setting: Agnes Market, just before closing 

Kashir was familiar with exhausting days and high pressure situations, but somehow a half-day long shift at Agnes Market left him more exhausted than he had ever been in recent memory. He had moved to Islesbury to try and maintain some sense of anonymity, and he had given up more than he got in exchange. Now, he found himself bearing the brunt of multiple “Hey, aren’t you that guy from-”s and “It’s funny that your name Kashir sounds like what you’re doing–working as a cashier”s. And for what? A  job he was overqualified for and a one bedroom house that had been smaller than his entire apartment in the city?

Given he’d at least been cast on a reality TV show for home cooks, he felt his snobbish approach to food was at least somewhat warranted, but tonight he was too exhausted to really care. It wasn’t exactly the work itself that wore him out, but the weight of why he was there. That, and the fact that what he felt would just be mindless, distracting work did little but remind him of what he was missing out on. Even the idea of going home and boiling water for pasta sounded like more than he could cope with. Gone were the days of making his own pasta from scratch, customizing ice cream flavors from raw ingredients, meticulously flavoring and wrapping handmade dumplings  and then teaching families and community members how to do so on their own in his workshop after he’d mastered each technique himself. He tossed a pre-made sandwich that would likely taste like cardboard into his shopping basket and wondered if he would ever feel like himself again.

He avoided making contact with the other man in the frozen foods aisle. It surprised him that anyone was even in the store that late. He glanced at his phone and realized he should have locked the door eight minutes prior, but he didn’t care about the job enough to ask the man to leave. Instead, he trailed behind at a safe distance looking at the display he’d just spent however many hours of his life restocking with items like frozen corn dogs and cool whip and uncrustables. Ready to leave, there was only so much time to wait and hover around the ice cream section. 

The other fellow in the market seemed to sense Kash’s impatience behind him–not that he could leave the store until the customer had been rung up–and went to move out of his way. Kash stepped forward to grab his own selection from the freezer not realizing the man beside him was reaching for a carton as well. The same carton. Kash withdrew his hand as if the skin-to-skin contact had shocked him and mumbled, “Take it, it’s yours.” He might not have been so generous were he not still wearing his Agnes Market apron and required to check the man out. He stared back at the other flavors left in the cooler. There had been a shipping delay on Ben and Jerry’s, which explained why only the worst flavors were left behind: Cherry Garcia, non-dairy Coconut Seven Layer Bar, and two flavors meant for dogs that he was vehemently opposed to shelving near human food. His expression soured at the prospects of frozen treats leftover for him to choose from. 

Every traffic light in the city seemed to be conspiring against him tonight. Micah crawled to a stop at yet another as his fingers drummed absentmindedly against the steering wheel. He flipped through the radio as a frown flickered across his face, coming to rest as a furrow in his brow. Cerulean hues glared back at him from the rearview mirror, though Micah quickly concedes the gaze when it lands upon the darkening hues below his eyes. They were almost like a bruise that hadn’t entirely faded yet. It was funny - flinging himself from place to place, seldom in one place for even a week - to the rigorous schedule he had maintained, it was only recently that such a tiredness settled deep into his bones.

He is thankful as the traffic light finally gives him mercy, giving green lit permission to progress. One might expect him to be a reckless driver, taking his chances with outrunning a red light, taking speed limits as mere suggestions. No -- he was far too alert, far too concentrated on being a good driver. He had made a career of being in control, wrestling with the adrenaline and crafting strategies on and off the track as he held the steering wheel with a touch he had once reserved for his lover. 

Micah pulled into the desolate expanse of blacktop as he noted the emptiness. A glimpse at his watch brought for a small hiss as he cut off the engine, extracting himself from the vehicle with hurried, fluid ease. It utters a small ‘chirp’ as he locks it, crossing the parking lot with quick strides. Relief escapes in a deep breath when the door gives way with a tentative push. Five minutes to spare. He hooks a shopping basket over his arm, letting it reside in the crook of his elbow as Micah maps out the most efficient path in his head. Coffee. Micah is quick to pluck it from the shelves as he runs down his list, forfeiting anything that didn’t reside along the path towards the eggs. He inspects a carton and nestles it gingerly into the basket. Two minutes. 

He swung himself around the corner, into one of the frozen aisles. Micah’s gaze is first drawn in by a cheesecake, though pre-made ones pale in comparison to the ones he had left behind in New York. He was a decent baker, though motivation had been the hardest ingredient to source. Micah sighed, settling the cake back upon the shelf as he drifted down the aisle. A Strawberry Cheesecake ice cream would suffice… until it wouldn’t. He was faced with rows of chilled emptiness - stretching the length of the usually colorful, stocked display. This halts him in his steps. He scanned the few cartons, dissatisfaction pulling across his features as he analyzed. Movement in his peripheral vision had him sidestep, reaching for his selection as he made space for the other person. Their hands connected and Micah quickly retracted his, surrendering it to the other. “No, please take it. I insist.” He glanced down at his wrist as he offered an apologetic grimace. Cheesecake it was. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize I took that long. I hate to be ‘that guy.’”

the weight on my finger, the faint slip of silver, the feeling you're never far gone.

mateodelavega​:

“That’s good… here’s give me a second.” He put his things down, before hurrying to the register counter, where he kept a notepad and a pencil for his random bursts of fragrance inspiration. He bustled back, full mom-walk in effect, and began drawing a graph, one with enough shorthand and notation that made it unreadable to everyone else, but made sense to Mateo and Mateo alone. “I fear overloading the scent with complexity,” he admitted, looking down at his scribbles, then up at Bex. “It needs focus. It’s as my professor used to say- if you put all the colors in a pot, you’ll just get brown… I do need to see the space,” he decided out loud. “When are you available for a tour?”

⭒⁎

Bex knew the creative process all too well. She was used to scrawling upon whatever surface she had available, be it a napkin when she attempted to stave off writer’s block in a restaurant, or an old & wrinkled receipt she fished out from the bottom of her purse. She tried to carry a notebook, but it always ended up extracted and left in her office as she tried to decipher her own scribbles. “I can’t even keep track, but it’s nice to know we’ve got options.” The balance was not overloading it with too many options. Her own head spun with the different scents they had volleyed back and forth, and Bex absentmindedly raised a small, glass container of coffee beans to her nose. She inhaled, but nodded as Mateo spoke. “My schedule is wide open. Even if it’s not, I can rearrange it to accommodate. What’s a good time for you??”

ofrovers​:

this is why daniel appreciated having another at the helm - the confiscations had slipped his mind. it was a matter for security, passed to him in a message, but as days went by, he had other business to attend to, so it slips from his list of priorities. he nods, “they are in my office.” daniel wants to say thank you, but it remains stagnant, held back by his gritted teeth, because he should have thought of it first.

“i trusted that you would be able to handle this, unless i am offending you by assuming so?” daniel folds his arms. he was at push and pull; he wanted to give in, and let micah take some reins, but he defaulted. daniel is domineering by nature - it is a flaw, and one he feared may drive micah away, as it has his other staff. 

a breath, verging on a huff, escapes micah’s nose. he is not being flippant, and detests slipping into passivity, and a deep breath keeps a jaw from clenching. he chooses to move forward, giving an affirmative nod to no one but the ether. “i think there was a partial license plate taken down, that information should all be together.” he hoped it was a simple case to close. “keep me posted on it, yeah?” it was his own cue to depart into the building. “give me an hour or so. i’ve got a phone call to make after, and then i’ll be up to see what other information we might need to acquire.” it was a call he had put off making — and a conversation with his business partner he had put off having.

theodore-iii​:

{ - }

Apparently, Theodore had the right idea. Stripping his own arrival of all its pomp and circumstance had skirted by any sort of bumbling confusion, or a messy string of questions he’d have to answer all at once. One at a time, he could handle, particularly from somebody he knew… relatively well. Maybe better than he was supposed to, and certainly enough to notice his pain. Pain that hadn’t subsided since the last time he’d seen Micah, not really; it had simply clicked into place, settled deeper beneath his skin, from what Theodore could see.

His hands stayed clasped around his cup, while his fingertips drummed against it. He’d always been a fidgeter. “Me? About…” Theodore clicked his tongue as he thought, “two weeks, give or take. Reynolds Tech is sweeping the North East, and… apparently, so are you.” There was a flicker of recognition behind his stare, and a wry chuckle followed it. They’d all come running to Islebury for various reasons, although Theodore’s felt like the weakest. Probably because it wasn’t of his own design.

Micah, however… well, Theodore didn’t even know what to think, because there was no real way of knowing the full truth. Not without directly asking, and he wasn’t cruel enough to do that. He wasn’t about to bring up the person Micah probably wouldn’t have been there without losing. “I have to say, I’m as surprised as you are. I remembered you’d moved, of course, but… here, of all places,” he shook his head in disbelief. “Even if I’d recalled the name, I would have been sure I’d misheard it. What are the odds?”

⭒⁎

Softness is called upon as Micah let his eyes flicker fully over the figure in front of him. He did his best to let his shoulders drop from a tense state, though they only trudged downwards a fraction of what he wished. He tried to settle into a nonchalant composure  —  an easiness that he tried to conjure from the depths and mask the vexed surface with feigned placidity. Micah knew it was a lost cause, a laughable attempt, even. He wasn’t certain of what Theodore had seen, as if how deep Micah’s brows had been furrowed was an indication for how deep in his own thoughts he was. 

Micah relents, doing his best to banish the rigidity and controlled countenance. They were much closer companions to Theodore, anyway. Micah offers something else entirely, something with a spark of the genuineness that he prided himself on. It’s a charming smile, albeit a tired one, but he hopes it staves off the coming questions he wished would remain unasked. Instead, he narrows his focus to craft questions of his own. One at a time. 

“It’s the longest I’ve stayed in one place since those Ivy League days.” The admonition is presented with mild disdain. That period of time is often recalled as ‘the glory days’ yet he had eschewed that notion altogether. They had led to weekends in New York, and his eventual residence away from tracks and travel. He gave a discerning look in recognition of Theodore’s stare, though he chose not to remark upon it. If the Big City felt claustrophobic, it would be interesting to have them all converge upon Islebury. “I certainly wouldn’t have picked this out — for any of us,” though he had decided to stay. “Yet here we all are.” His best attempt at hiding amusement is shielded by raising the mug to take a drink once more. “How is the expansion going??”

mischicvous​:

@abeyances​ ( BEX ) 

Honestly, Noah felt incredibly stupid for what had gone down. The voice in the back of his head was saying how he should have known it was coming, because he always ends up with his heart broken. After the talk with Adriana the night before, Noah had gone home, and wallowed in self-pity. However, his cat hadn’t shown him nearly enough sympathy or attention, so he decided to take it over to Bex’ house.

“Bex?” He let the door fall closed behind him as he walked into her home with a pizza box. “I brought food! You better be home, the cat wont give me attention so I’m counting on you.” He called out, hoping his friend hadn’t gone on one of her semi-disappearances. He could really use her company tonight, even if it meant just sitting on the sofa in silence while watching a movie, or reading a book each.

⭒⁎

“Alpine won’t give you attention, so you’ve come to see your other cat??” The emphasis was given with little thought, her tone light as her voice filtered from upstairs. It was a fair, albeit amusing, assessment. Bex was a social creature, though largely on her own terms, and the promise of food was key to luring her out. 

“You can just say that you missed me,” she taunts as she emerges from the depths of her house. Though it had only been a handful of days since Bex had wasted several of Noah’s hours at his shop, she was always happy to make time for a friend. She learned quickly that those words were far from a helpful thing to say as she traversed down the stairs, letting her gaze fall over his expression. She shrunk back at her own prior dialogue. “What’s up??”

jeongminjaes​:

— setting: minjae’s apartment, friday evening — availability: closed | micah bucanan ( @abeyances​ )

                    Droplets of water marked the dark grey henley shirt Minjae was wearing as they exited their room to open the door for Micah. Towel still in hand, they reprimanded themself for taking too long in the shower, thus not leaving enough time for them to finish getting ready. Knowing Micah, it wasn’t like their friend would mind, but they could definitely hear their father’s voice in their head.

“Come on in. I had a meeting that ran a little longer than I was expecting.” Again, not that Micah would care, but Minjae still felt like justifying themself. “There’s beer in the fridge. Make yourself at home. How is it going, by the way?” He asked already going down the hall to his room to finish drying himself off. Soon enough, they were back to the living area and to Micah. “Are you ready to get your ass kicked on Mario Kart?”

⭒⁎

The cardboard slit in the six pack’s holder hung limply from curled fingers as the other hand gave a firm, polite knock upon the door in front of him. Micah let it dangle absentmindedly, though a smile brightened his features as the door creaked open upon its hinges. 

“No worries, no explanation needed,” Micah offered in lieu of greeting. He was just content with the company, though he was sure that he was the only one enthused about having Minjae, Joselyn, and Theodore in such close proximity. “It’s... going,” Micah settled on the word, nestling the beer in the fridge before extracting two chilled ones. ‘I’m officially released from my racing contract’ were the words that longed to follow, though he bit them back. Word would be out soon enough. 

The rumble of a video game controller wasn’t quite the same as the rumble of an engine, yet it would have to suffice. Micah plopped down upon the couch and extended the second bottle towards Minjae. “I’m not, because I’m not going to lose. I hope we can still be friends after this crushing defeat.”

seneca-rolfe​:

Closed started for @abeyances

It was unusual not to have a run in with Micah during a shift. Even when she came in to rehearse, ever since she’d fallen in front of him, Micah popping his head in to say hi to (and probably check that her spinal cord was intact) Seneca at one point or another felt like a given. A small part of her wondered if something was wrong, but she ignored that instinct. Micah had things together, way more than her, so she doubted anything could be wrong even if he had been a little lower energy lately. Instead, there was an air of self-satisfaction that she was the one who thought to say hello first.

The blonde rounded the corner to the corridor where Micah’s office was situated, an area she generally avoided because she found office spaces to be stuffy and boring, and rapped her knuckles against the man’s office door dramatically before swinging it open. “Your favorite employee reporting for a time-wasting visit,” she announced with a self-assuredness that she was in fact his favorite employee despite the fact she was likely the one who caused the most trouble. She sunk into a chair across from him and sat in it sideways so her back rested against one arm rest while she slung a leg over the other. 

Something was off with his expression, with the air in the room, but she only barely took this in as she unlocked her phone and started flicking through different apps. “Oh, don’t look so sad, I’m here to save you from your boredom. I know what’ll cheer you up! Let’s go into ole Dan’s office and mismatch all the caps on his fancy fountain pens,” she suggested. She had no idea if Dan used fountain pens, but it sounded like the sort of thing he’d be into. “I’ll take the fall if we get caught.” 

There was a push and pull he had stumbled into, a rhythm that Micah had found that served him well. It had happened organically -- trial and error as he analyzed and settled into the operations of Deja Vu. He was happy to play middle man, to play a buffer between employees should any of them feel the need. If Daniel wanted -- or needed -- to focus on the tedious details that came with the back of house, Micah would accept the duties belonging to the front end. He would shoulder that burden readily, with the warmth and charm he prided himself on offering. 

Today was an outlier to his usual pattern. Rather than making his rounds, checking in with each member of staff, Micah had asked for mercy. Micah had given Daniel the request, sparing the more grisly details that his business partner would not care to be burdened with. The depth of his grief, the level of his incapacitation, the tightness of the knots his stomach was already tied up in. He had asked for a sparse handful of days off, and the agreement had been reached. Micah had shielded himself in his own office, giving little more than nods of acknowledgement to his staff as he made the trek upstairs. 

He was tying up loose ends, or so he anticipated, but his face was illuminated by the light of an empty computer screen. Fingers rake through short curls, though his attention is brought back to reality when motion enters his peripheral. He blinks back to lucidity, noting the form to be none other than Seneca. He offers his best smile, hoping Seneca doesn’t note its weakness. “Favorite? I think you’ll have to fight Dan’s dog for that title.” Micah slumps in his own chair, willing his shoulders to droop with the release of tension. Not quite yet. “Best I can do is letting you swap two pens. Anything more would be immediately obvious.”

pcranoid​:

Pulling  away  from  embrace  she  takes  him  all  in,   refreshing  her  memory  of  her  beloved  friend.   God  how  she’d  missed  his  company,   she  considered  him  more  like  family  than  her  biological  relatives.   “ I  missed  you  too. “   Lips  pulling  into  a  smile  before  girlish  laughter  emits,   both  sharing  some  sort  of  shared  distaste  for  their  own  fathers.   There  was  nothing  like  bonding  over  destructive  family  dynamics  with  cocktails.

“ Oh  really?   That  didn’t  take  her  long. “   She  muses  softly,   stepping  aside  to  gesture  him  into  her  current  residence.   Of  course  beautifully  decorated  by  her  keen  eye  for  design,   and  well,   designer  things.   Joselyn  was  born  for  the  extravagant,   sparing  no  expense  when  it  came  to  her  home.   “ Ah,   you’re  not  wrong.   I  was  wildly  entertaining  to  the  New  York  public.   Hence  the  countless  articles. “   Russet  hues  rolling  at  the  recall  of  her  image  splashed  across  tabloids  and  blogs.   There  was  no  denying  Joselyn  was  an  enigma.   “ I  wouldn’t  go  that  far  Micah,   it’s  not  as  if  I  fit  into  the  Islebury  ‘scene’.   Whatever  that  may  be. “

“It’s the longest I’ve been in one place in …,” he paused to calculate — though a grimace flickered over his features at the dawning realization, “in over a decade. God.” His teeth sank into his lower lip. Micah had opted to defer helming the family business once he graduated from the Ivy League life, trading it instead for something with a faster pace. He had opted into finding himself on a plane every week of his life, flitting about from track to track, and friendly connection to friendly connection. The favorite was obviously Joselyn. 

“What, you wouldn’t trade all of New York City for me? That hurts,” Micah dramatized, holding a hand to his chest to feign agony. “It’s okay, I wouldn’t, either.” The admonition is light as he crosses the threshold into Joselyn’s home. Curious hues danced over the pristine decor. “You’ve always had a talent — I like what you’ve done.” Perhaps he needed her touch at his own dwelling, left largely unmarred in fear of growing attached. He hadn’t meant for nearly a year to lapse, though a place to settle and process hadn’t been unkind. Micah lets a puff and a sigh escape as a hand rakes through his short curls. “The scene is Deja Vu, and that’s about it.” He was grateful for the distraction, the business partnership he had found himself in, but standing in Joselyn’s company was sobering. He had been struggling under the weight of things, held under water by none other than his own hand, but perhaps he was finally coming up for air. “All you have to do is say the word, and we’ll make the most of things. Just like old times.”

sylvan-scenes​:

Closed starter for @abeyances

This was the second time she had been in his shop in the course of roughly a week. Diego didn’t notice her at first, too consumed in sorting a shipment of the most frivolous and useless items in the shop–stickers for water bottles. He had hated the idea, but apparently it was a trend. At this point, half an hour into his organization, his head hurt from furrowing his brow and trying to create a pleasing looking display in the little plastic stand he had gotten. The customer was welcome reprieve.

Diego dropped the stack of stickers back into the box they had shipped in, consigning them to be something he’d have to worry about later, and approached the woman. She wasn’t dressed similar to his usual demographic–travelers who usually came in clad in their Patagonias and Birkenstocks–so her presence twice in such a short turnaround confused him. Maybe she was getting her feet wet, the idea of which set red flags off in his head. He’d dealt with more than his fair share of novice hikers taking on backpacking trips when they weren’t in proper condition for so much as a day hike.

“Can I help you find something?” he asked as he approached her from the side. She had bought a book of essays on Zion National Park if he recalled correctly. The majority of the books she stood in front of now centered around Grand Canyon National Park. “Are you planning a trip?” Diego probed.

Bex had needed to get out - out of the house, and out of her own head. She’s delayed progress on a new endeavor long enough. There was only so much scrolling through the web, wading through endless information before she decided she needed something more tangible. She had printed out photos, made haphazards notes beneath them all, and littered them around her office. It was nearly akin to either plotting or solving a crime scene -- creative chaos only to be deciphered by the mastermind. 

She had ventured back into a shop, letting herself peruse whatever caught her eye. A dogeared, highlighted book was fished out of her bag as she flicked through the pages to compare against another potential victim. For an author, there was an expected sanctity with books and novels, but a creased spine showed that something was worth being read again. A few sticky notes peeked out from the pages she wanted to refer back to. This was all in an attempt to settle on a setting for her next work. Bex would curate the characters to fit, let it guide the potential plot -- she just needed something to get the creative process flowing. 

It took a second to process that the question posed had been aimed at her. “Hmm?” Bex lifted her head, pulled back to reality as she sought the voice that asked it. She offers a smile, slightly tinged with timidness, as she considers how to answer the questions. “I’m just browsing, for now.” In a sense, Bex was planning a trip. Just not necessarily for her. “Something like that.” Her gaze flickers back to the section before returning to the person beside her. “If you had to pick one park, what is your absolute favorite?”

gatheringswans​:

closed for: @abeyances​; bash’s family home, day before the halloween fair

“that’s gonna be one ugly-ass pumpkin,” bash says as he attempts to stab the knife through the giant vegetable; he’s grateful that malcolm’s just left the room, that it’s just him and dosia, because at least now he doesn’t have to watch his language. “this pumpkin is too thick and this knife is too dull. think it’s a sign, that halloween and me just don’t go together,” he chuckles. most of his friends would probably curse him out for it but halloween is probably his least favorite holiday. even valentine’s day scores higher. and that’s all because bash scares way too easy. everything halloween-esque gives him the creeps. malcolm’s been begging bash to take him to the haunted house at the fair tomorrow night but that’s definitely not happening. heart-attack is not on his to-do list. “you planning to take the kids to the fair? and, more importantly, any costumes involved?”

“thin it out from the inside - it’s easier to scrape out the flesh than hacking through the rind.” that sounded far more gruesome and grisly than what it truly was. she had seen far worse, dealt with far worse, in her old profession. dosia’s hands were slick with the  guts and innards as she retracted them out of her gourd, wrinkling her nose in slight distaste. “there’s no such thing as an ugly pumpkin. it’s just intentionally rugged and distressed. added spook factor or some shit,” dosia offers lightly. “we can switch if it’s proving to be more trouble than it’s worth.” she didn’t carry a particular fondness for the holiday, but it was the only thing from the christmas season starting in august. the end of the year could fade out in a blur -- strained family niceties included. “oh, you know it. it’s all they’ve been talking about all week. once they learned their godfather was going as the winter soldier, it was game over. you’ll see black panther #1 and #2, and me chasing after.” an exasperated sigh, though laced with utter fondness, escapes from dosia. “what about you and the fam??”

ofrovers​:

where: near the food stalls, in view of all of the amusement rides. who: open to anyone.

he hoped a costume would grant him anonymity, but he was naive to assume so. he grimaces beneath the shadow of his mask, and his hand lifts in tentative greeting. they neared, and daniel fears that it would be obvious to them that he didn’t have the faintest idea of what to do. he is out of sorts, alone, and feeling immensely uncomfortable. his words, and his lips, were tight. he reverts to the businessman. “yes, hello. is your evening going well?”

micah loved a good gathering when it was stripped of all pretense and farce of perfection. he had been dragged to far too many in his youth and in different facets in adulthood - it was much of the same at ivy league parties and came with the territory of corporate sponsorships. micah had developed a penchant of carving out smaller circles in all, familiar faces to gravitate towards when facades felt stifling. halloween had always been a particular favorite, all cares of responsibility of who you were could be shelved for the evening. he eyes a looming figure and his steps carry him over towards it, and will carry him away should daniel not want to mix business and pleasure. though it appears no pleasure was being derived. micah offers a warm smile as a greeting of his own. “hey, zach! great costume. i wonder how daniel is enjoying himself?”

⭒⁎  prince charming.

Tasked with a vague royal theme, this is not exactly false advertising for Micah Buchanan. 

⭒⁎  Carrie White !!

Paying homage to a classic, Islebury’s own horror and mystery author, Bex Navarro, steps out as Stephen King’s Carrie. The first half of the evening is spent claiming she is not dressed as Olivia Rodrigo, but a bucket of blood is waiting to solidify the homage once the younger goblins and ghouls are whisked away to bed to await the Great Pumpkin.

mischicvous​:

Never had Bo wanted the earth to swallow him whole more in his life. Or, preferably, swallow the person standing in front of him whole. That would have been the best option, actually. Bo took a step back from the car. It was pretty obvious that he needed help, and quite possibly a ride back to town. It went against every fibre in his entire body, but he stepped aside to let Micah have a look at the car. He knew he had probably put off visiting a mechanic a little longer than what’s recommended for any car or car owner. He let out a soft sigh and then gestured for Micah to take a look, taking another small step back as his arms crossed over his chest. “Careful.” He said half-heartedly, seeing the steam coming from the hood of the car.

⭒⁎

Micah didn’t understand the clipped, cool neutrality between himself and Bo, but he was not one to impose and impart his presence on those that did not want it. They had met at Nathaniel’s behest, though the acquaintance had never stretched past polite conversation at races or tense acknowledgement graveside. There was no solace to be found in the mutual loss, though perhaps the mere presence of each other twisted the knife in a still-healing wound. Micah had halted his steps with an offer to arrange an additional form of help ready to slip from his tongue. He stepped closer only when given the go ahead. “Did this just start? What did the temperature gage say?” As he neared, the wisps of heat rolling off the engine answered part of that question. “Thanks,” he acknowledged. It still needed a moment to cool. Micah took a step away, in the other direction, as he idled. He knelt, craning his neck to get a glimpse under the vehicle. Micah resurfaced, offering an observation as the world’s worst olive branch, “fluids aren’t dripping and pooling under the car, at least? Those can be some extensive repairs.”

the doctor put her hands over my liver

she told me my resentment's getting smaller

“garden song” - phoebe bridgers