the vow™️ / @musicallyiinclined

Liam's gaze lifts, despite his friends' conversation, as the newest group makes their way through the doors. He can't help the way he scans the sea of unfamiliar faces. There aren't many people here that he recognizes after the last several years were erased by the accident, but Zander's face has lingered in the back of his mind since that day in the hospital.

Husband.

The word is still enough to elicit a scoff, but it has been a couple of days since Liam has seen him. Though he had done his best to fall back into his normal routine as the doctor suggested, there was only so much he could take at a time. A husband and a whole set of friends and family he didn't recognize had been too much all at once. He needed a break. And though he could see how the suggestion of time apart had affected Zander, Liam needed time to think--to sort out his life from that which was taken from him in the span of a few seconds.

Given that they were married (are married?), it makes sense that they have friends in common. Even without warning from Nathaniel, he knew Zander would be here today. That had been enough for him to consider making an excuse not to come, but now that he has had some time to think, to hear stories from others and see pictures that document his lost time, he can't help the bit of curiosity that has taken hold of his thoughts.

It's why, as he spots Zander trailing behind the group, he decides to stay put, offering his best attempt at a smile and a wave as he excuses himself from his friends.

CHEMISTRY

STARTER FOR @sonoftartessos

Dio turned the volume down when his manager was talking to him. But when the words were still not making sense, he pulled the headphones off to start listening.

He had to. He was listening attentively to Mr. Williamson as he continued talking about the grand show they were going to film. How it was going to rock the world of teenagers around the world because the contract was beefed up to have one new musical produced CD each season. This was a great opportunity for him! But Dio wasn't stupid: he knew that the producers of this show just saw the large following that Stormrider had gotten on social media and they wanted to capitalize on it.

He felt the fangs of guilt dragging down his back as he turned to his manager who was babbling and babbling about the show and the reels, and the posts and the integration. He felt truly guilty for selling out and quickly took a hold of the key that he carried around his neck all the time.

Yeah, he was selling out to the large corporation.

But he was doing it for a good cause.

León.

The trip to the office felt so long. And though it had been only twenty minutes, his feet felt cold and his palms were sweaty. It wasn't because he was afraid, it was more because after a few years, this was the first time he'd be meeting with León. Will his friend remember him? Will he hate him? Will he accept him back after how he left him out of his life to pursue his dream of having a large band? He was worried about what would León think of him.

A few minutes later, here he was, walking up the stairs along with his manager who introduced him to the whole cast. Here was the main producer. The musical producer. The show's directors and then the three other actors who were going to be on this table read. It mattered not how loud or how well the other were talking, because Dio's eyes were immediately cast upon León. Dio's smile grew wide and without a moment's notice, he jumped to León and ran to greet him, like he did years ago when they were friends. The social media director pulled her cellphone out already: this was going to be marketing gold, she was certain of it.

If the past Ryouga could see himself today, he would've laughed out loud in disbelief - or maybe he'd have been furious. Even now he finds it hard to believe what he's doing- seeking out the person he called his enemy for so long, who he hated to the rotten depths of his heart... and for what? A heart-to-heart?

It's not like he was prepared for it at all - not with the way he is now, uncertain and wavering, raw and desperate for a way out in a way he's never experienced before. But right now, Ryouga is even more thrown than he expected. Because the person standing before Ryouga isn't IV... but III.

Ryouga has never known what to make of him. He'd always been so focused on his older brother that III himself had escaped his attention. He gives off the kind of aura of a harmless kid, easy to dismiss out of hand, and yet... that's nothing more than a carefully crafted deception. Or maybe it's not crafted at all? The idea that his gentle demeanor really is genuine, but that it doesn't make him any less dangerous... it's quite the scary thought, really.

How would III react if he found out what Ryouga really is? It's been a mere day or so since Ryouga found out himself, even if he'd been suspecting it for longer than that. But the Barians, after all, are the enemy of III's family, the one's who'd used them and caused him so much pain - a pain that Ryouga is bitterly familiar with in a way that now feels all too horribly ironic. He doesn't know what to do. What is he supposed to say? Why is Ryouga- no, Nasch, leader and Emperor of the Barians, frozen in place here like nothing more than a child?

"...I wasn't expecting you here." He recovers quickly, his usual scowl settling over his features once again - but on the inside, he feels sick. "I guess IV's hiding away, then? ...What a coward, as always."

@tophatz ( starter for iii! )

~ cont. from here @apalestar

Taken aback by the aggressivity of the former teammate, Anika's eyes immediately turned ice cold. She held her breath back on purpose as he lifted her from the ground with such ease, unwilling to entertain him any further than he was already daring to. Her free hand found his wrist, which she held with all of her strength; repressed instincts were resurfacing all of a sudden, and for a moment she almost suspected the vampire could sense them crawling under her skin, threatening to rip it and lash out.

The next thing she knew, she was on the floor, quietly gasping for air. When she raised her gaze, creatures were surrounding her. She observed each and every one of them baring their teeth, still without a movement; then, with a silent chuckle to herself, she stood up, with her magical jewels shining and the weapons out. Fine. The world wants my worst.

...

She laid on the floor, covered in slash marks, bites, blood. Ragged breaths made everyone aware that, despite everything, she was still holding on. A simple mage held little possibility to survive close encounters like that one alone, but she wasn't just anyone, fine with going without a fight; and her ghouls did a marvelous job at buying her enough time, give her enough space, while the wolves acted just as usefully under new command. She was still alive, even if barely, but that was more than enough. And while she pushed her upper body up, her fingers tightened around the handle of her dagger. When she glanced at it, her eyes glowed with the same green of the blade, and it readily reflected the glint back, enriching it with the depths of such a beautiful red...

Maybe the last lychantrope believed she was losing herself in those last moments of calmness before the inevitable, but oh, he was so wrong. The warlock suddenly turned with the knife up, her beloved Stillmaker, so that the enemy could throw himself right at it with his pounce. She stared at it arching above her, spilling blood all over, the poison doing its horrible work. A sharp laugh broke the silence, then another of her raining blasts opened the wound in his abdomen more and sent him flying away one last time.

Stumbling, she got back on her feet, surrounded by the chaos and rising as its source - embracing it. With that same mad grin, she addressed Astarion on the throne, the head tilted and her curls falling messily around her visage, but not enough to mask the murderous shine in her irises.

"Silly me. To think I was willing to give up my potential in the name of those who fought by my side. To think that I considered you, out of everyone, among the ones who could use a stronger shoulder to rely on." She opened her shaking arms in a theatrical guise.

"Have your last chance at calling me an idiot without consequences, ascended. Dominating the world is a hard road ahead. You just made yourself one more enemy."

When & Where: "The Corn Maze" ...9:30pm!

☠️ @swstarters ( OPEN )

It was clear Benny had enough socializing for the night as he found himself connecting to being free exceptionally well. He sighed an incredible amount of relief the moment he stepped outside the manor, lighting a cigarette in celebration. While Benny wasn't a stranger to being around so many people, it was another to do it— and be in costume. There was something so mentally taxing about that. In any case, the groundskeeper was desperate for some space, even if it meant going into some creepy corn ma— wait, is that blood? He pauses momentarily, looking around after noting the overturned scarecrow. Arching a brow, Benny peeks at the blood trail leading him further into the maze, bending down. He notes the smell— hair gel and nothing like real blood. He inhales sharply, pressing his tongue to his cheek as he returns to his feet. Benny discerns whoever put this together definitely had the time, and to simply walk away and mind his business would defeat the purpose of this murder... mystery. He sighs again, grumbling as he makes his way in.

The bustling sound of the party lessening gives Benny chills. He even shivers, moving along cautiously as the breeze passes, distracting him. The uneasiness he feels barely draws for concern until he finally connects the trail of blood to a body— the figure of their Mayor slumped over a hay bale. The very sight of him drew a breath out of Benny, and he felt his temperature drop as he truly believed what he was seeing in front of him was real (even for just one second.) It wasn't only when the Mayor broke character by scratching his thigh whilst playing dead did he remember where he was. Benny exhaled, eyes fluttering as he found himself again, unsure how long he had been holding his breath. The sound of chatter a few ways behind brings him back to reality. He turns when he hears them nearing, the female screaming at the sight as soon as they arrived at the end of the trail. Benny winces, her date chuckling at her enthusiasm. "Sir Reginald is dead!" she screams, unable to forgo a smile as she says it. Benny grumbles, making his way past them and out of the corn maze.

The cotton pads and medical tape's placed back into the medicine cabinet, shut gently as not to make much noise. It's a habit—no longer with crewmates or roommates or hosts to bother—Vash has always lived with other people.

That loneliness is what wins against his better judgment not to send texts in the dead of night. There's no mistaking the Plant's heart is forever heavy with guilt, with shame, and with fear; but he was listening to them, that day on the Boardwalk.

[text]: Hi! And, sorry. I couldn't stand to live in Archimedes anymore. [text]: I won't be around there again. Sorry you've both had to put up with all these weeks of what I've done. I'm sure it must have been hard on you both… And I know I haven't been there for you. I promise, I miss you both so, so much. [text]: I'm in Burnt Umber. If you can believe it, Home's out there! Actually, I'm in there right now, typing this to you. It's more or less exactly the way things looked the last time you were over, although the crew's dwindled down to just plain old me. [text]: I was wondering… If you'd like to come live here? It's a lot more lush and lively than Noman's Land, but I don't think you'll have trouble finding where I'm at. I've attached the coordinates anyway, just in case! [text]: Just thought offering a safe place to stay would be the least I could do for you two. I've seen a lot of the coverage, heard things. I'm really, really sorry for all the trouble. [text]: Oh, sorry to text you so late, too! No new phone excuse here, just me being me.

Vash runs the faucet after setting his phone aside, leaving it face-up on the counter while he stares at it apprehensively. The thin stream of cold water running over his hands brings him some measure of calm, even if it always feels a bit like a guilty pleasure. Wasteful.

…These might be the most terrifying messages he's ever sent.

—

➠ ➠ ➠ ➠ ➠ ➠ @merynger @punishercross

— open starter.

status - open to all, but pls read my rules and mobile about (pinned post) first before interacting. don't like my starters. muse - vasti inaiê souza gonçalves, sculptor, potter and printmaker. bisexual, uses she/her pronouns. human, thirty. wanted opposites (in order of priority) - m/nb/f, 30+. mocs (muns/muses of color) preferred. wanted connections - literal strangers, an ex, fellow artist, someone they haven't seen since sixth grade, as long as they're a little richer than vasti is (and not related) go literally batsh*t plot - they're on their way to personally deliver one of their commissions but they haven't slept well in over 48 hours (they've slept enough to not get pulled over, they can drive) and really should have hired a truck or sent it through the post but hey they've done it before and the client is right across town (or city, cough) so it shouldn't be too bad right? they'll make it except you just kind of yk. rear-ended them at the stoplight and their sh*t's in the trunk bc it couldn't fit in the back seat and now you might have just f*cked sh*t up if that packing wrap isn't as good as it's marketed to be. potential meet cute with insurance problems and career threatening happenings basically, what could be better than that

— she hears it before she feels it, the way the body of the car lurches underneath her at the street corner. the rattling in the back is too loud for her to ignore, and she's already doing inventory on what she has with her. registration papers, house keys, studio keys, that flat tire kit she's never had to use in her life and hopes she won't have to now, the delivery— oh God, fuck, the delivery. in the trunk. surrounded by a shit ton of bubble wrap and cling film and whatever the fuck else she wrapped it in at 3am two days ago and placed it in its box, but last she checked no flat tire makes that kind of sound like the kind where there's a bit too much metal and you know in your gut you'll need to call your insurance company. both of them, in her case, if the vehicle in her rearview mirror is giving anything to go by. que se lixe isso, this is not a good day. her blood pressure was not made for this. neither was her neck, for that matter, but she doubts there was enough speed behind the impact to cause any whiplash worth worrying about. she unlocks her phone as she steps out, car door slamming closed behind her, insurance already on speed dial. as a precaution she takes a few photos of the other car's license plate, now neatly tucked (along with the front bumper) just barely under her chassis—she is not paying for this shit if she doesn't have to, especially if the driver in question has enough money to be driving a car like that right into her sedan and especially if they might have just jeopardized her commission. three months, hundreds of hours, possibly damaged in her trunk because it's the one day she didn't have her morning coffee and decided to put it there instead of the backseat, bubble wrap or no bubble wrap. yeah, she'll milk every last penny from that payout while she's at it. might as well be pissed for a reason. 'hey,' she says, coming up to the window as it rolls down, 'i'm sorry, this is going to sound so completely fucking obvious and i know this and you know this but i think you just rear-ended me? and there's something in my trunk that i really need to get out and check on before this day goes any further to shit than it already has so if you could please try and back the fuck up, it would be much appreciated. juro o túmulo da minha mãe.' her mother is alive, thank you very much, but it's not like they need to know that in english or portuguese. // @indiestarter

@imprvdente // starter call. 

The tour has been a bittersweet affair, to put it lightly. The rush, the celebration, and Katniss, on his arm, tucked against his side, threading her fingers with his, loving him… But the love isn’t real. He knows that now, and wishes he didn’t. The celebration is just as false in many of the Districts they visit; the quiet, drawn faces of the crowds, so full of hate for the two of them, remind him inescapably that their living meant so many other deaths. As if the nightmares, or the numb, unfeeling prosthetic where his leg used to be, would ever let him forget it. Putting on a smile for them seems such a violence… 

Returning to the Capitol for another interview as the Victory Tour winds down is similarly fraught. It is a relief to be back among faces that congratulate his living, not condemn it, but he can only be a spectacle here. These are not his equals. He may be first class among the Districts now, but he will always be worth less than any Capitol citizen. He stands in the no man’s land between the two now, he and Katniss both, and alone. But maybe not irrevocably. 

This interview is for the cameras, of course, and it’s Caesar that sits across from him, but with another — the victor that’s worked her way to the host’s seat: Fish. Perhaps another victor is the only one capable offering him an insight into his new position. Does she feel at home in the Capitol, truly? Or is the estrangement just easier to bear here than in her own Districts, where she is reviled? Could Peeta achieve the same? Does he want to? 

“Glad to be here with you,” he starts, welcoming the swell of applause as he takes his own seat and waves to the studio audience, “all of you. I feel a little outnumbered between the two of you. You know, the ride to the studio’s the longest I’ve been without Katniss in months. We’ll see how long I last.” His smile is conspiratorial, the banter, an invitation to his hosts — an agreement to put on a good show.

closed starter | @vonerde hears chiyo whine!

she loves wearing stockings, loves the feeling of them on her legs and the visual appeal of them, but man, she feels way too hot. if chiyo had to guess, she'd bet that it might be the alcohol causing her to feel as if she's melting despite the skirt she wears; regardless, these stockings need to come off and come off fast. she's ready to be in shorts again, to slip into bed and pass out.

her heels have to come off first, though, and they're proving to be a tad difficult. the first one was no problem, an absolute breeze as it should be. the second one? chiyo can't seem to get it off no matter how much she fiddles with the strap's buckle... which, admittedly, isn't very much fiddling before she's turning sad, puppy-like eyes to gaia. propping herself against the arm of the couch, she's too tired to feel any shame as she wiggles her outstretched leg in the divinity's direction.

" gaia, can ya get this offa me? please? i'm hot and the damn buckle's bein' stubborn. "

ooooo how about

[ FALL  ] :  sender somehow ends up accidentally on top of receiver, their faces are close to each other but at the last minute sender pulls away. 

with Aster and Aman hehe

This turn of events was enough to surprise him.

Aman had once again shown up unannounced at Aster's place to play their usual games. Aster would act aloof at his gestures and undeterred by any flirtatious advances, Aman would get to pet the baby sneasel that Muffin had father with Mulberry, and then he'd have to hurry along for his next mission.

However, Aster hadn't been paying him enough attention today. Instead, she seemed preoccupied with her phone. So Aman had decided to take advantage of their height differences and pluck the phone from her hands and dangle it just out of reach from her.

And now they had toppled to the floor after a strong push Aman wasn't expecting Aster to muster.

He winces a bit. His bad leg had tried to hold both their weights before he had fallen backwards. One of his hands braced itself on the floor while the other attempted to shield her head from tilting to the side and getting injured. So now, he was flat on his back with Aster's face in his chest, his head cradling the back of her head.

For once, Aman blushes a bit as they both sit up with Aster still sitting in his lap as he does so. His dark eyes watch, wide and surprised by their closeness. The hand that was behind her head slowly trails towards her face, gloved digits tracing her cheek and thumb almost touching her bottom lip.

Fuck...she's gorgeous.

He hasn't had the chance to truly take her all in like this but with the lightning that filter through the window, highlighting her tossled hair, Aman can't help but just stare. His mouth opens slightly, as if to say a snarky remark. No sound comes out. Instead, he finds himself inching closer because it would be really nice to kiss her-

Aster pulls away and Aman immediately drops his hand away from her face. The spell he's under is broken and he blinks, then chuckles.

"Managed to tear yourself away from me, huh?" The teasing comes easily.

liam + zander / @musicallyiinclined

Liam sits beside his suitcase, which is perched on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his hands as he takes in the view of the beach from the large glass door that leads to his balcony. One more thing to add to his list of positives.

In all honesty, it's been a real up-and-down kind of day.

Ups: after the season, and really the last year of his life, Liam isn't sure he ever wants to step foot in Toronto ever again, and this is, indeed, very far from the city that was supposed to be a second home. Plus, if the drive from the airport to the hotel is anything to base it on, Liam doesn't think he could have found a more scenic escape.

Downs: his sister, as well-meaning as she is, is already driving him crazy. Don't even get him started on their adjoining rooms or his brother-in-law who seems to think the whole situation warrants a laugh.

"I'll see you later! Heading downstairs to check it out," he had promised after knocking at the door that separated their rooms. Though he hadn't waited for a response, his phone buzzes as he approaches the doorway of the restaurant just downstairs.

[text from: Isabel] See you for dinner later! In about an hour?

One more thing to add to his list of negatives, but at least there's an empty spot at the bar, and the rest of the restaurant is mostly quiet as he takes a seat.

"Uh, yeah, just a water for now, thanks," he says to the bartender before turning his attention back to his phone.

[text: Isabel] see you then

With that, his phone is locked and placed face down on the bartop with a heavy sigh before remembering he's not alone at this side of the counter. The stranger who's closest to him gets an apologetic smile and a shake of his head. "Sorry. It's... sisters, you know?"

⋯⋯⋯ Addiction is never something easy to get rid of. Tweek knew that, he's always known that. Without m― . . . his parents' coffee, he found himself downing anything that would keep his energy up. Straight black coffee, at first. Then anything from Harbucks with a couple shots of espresso. Then back - to - back Red Bulls. Then he could hardly be seen without a Bang energy in his hand.

Eventually, even that didn't feel like enough.

Despite any withdrawal symptoms, Tweek refused to get help at first, simultaneously refusing to go back to Tweak Bro's coffee. He thought getting past that would be the hardest part. And, yeah, it was hard. Really fucking hard. Even the better days, during that time, paranoia lingered in the back of his mind, joints and muscles ached, exhaustion would come quick if he didn't have a caffeinated drink in his hand.

Long term? Now that coffee and energy drinks didn't work so well anymore? That sickeningly disturbing idea cropped up in his head. Go back. Order a coffee from your parents' shop. What's one cup gonna do? No, get someone else to order for you. A stranger. Give them the money, tell them to keep the change, even.

Fuck, he needed help, didn't he?

He paced Craig's his bedroom, staring at his cell phone, thumb hovering over the call button. He'd already talked to Laura and Thomas, after a long debate with himself, and it was decided: he'd admit himself to a rehab center up in Denver. He just. . . he wanted someone closer to him to drive him up. Craig's parents were great, but he felt like he needed someone else. For emotional support before checking in. So he could say a proper goodbye before they get there.

A twitch in his hand made his thumb press the call button. “Fuck―” Too late now. The line's already ringing. So he just stuck his phone up to his ear, teeth gnawing on the opposite hand's thumbnail. Hoping for an answer.

open to anyone !

@streetslost​​, discussed starter

This was... new. To her, at least.

Oh, Angel had known that places like this existed, of course. Soup kitchens and the like, places for those who lived rough from day to day to drop by and get a hot meal and a little kindness. She’d seen them from afar, many times, while travelling the country with the gang in Buster’s beat-up old van; but Buster had always sneered at them, as he had at any prospect of needing outside help to get by. They may have been homeless, he would insist, but they were the toughest of the tough; and anyone who dared admit to not being able to get by on their own strength alone would be out of the gang faster than they could blink. Angel had seen it happen to others more than once...

So, she had kept her own head down - not hard to do when she was a naturally short girl - and pretended that none of the bothered her, just so that she wouldn’t be kicked out next.

Of course... that was the past.

The gang was no longer in her life. Buster was no longer in her life... and what an incredible relief that was. Even a few weeks ago, Angel knew, the prospect of having lost yet another family - even as awful of one as the gang was - would have set her fear of abandonment flaring terribly; the only reason she had, in the end, been able to turn her back on them was because she’d found something better.

Someone who she genuinely cared for more than herself, and who cared for her in return; who had showed her, even without deliberately meaning to, what a family should be like. Someone who had, after everything had gone down, taken her by the hand and led her away from the gang and the junkyard that had been the last place they’d crashed in. Someone who’d taken her to his home--

And that had been the point at which Angel had pulled away. Even with all that had happened... she couldn’t, she dared not try for another family. She didn’t have it in her to take another heartbreak - and besides, his parents had four kids already, they wouldn’t want another - so while she had promised her new friend that she would keep in contact, and would seek him out if she really needed help... she had then slipped away into the early morning shadows, returning to the life she knew.

More or less. As just noted, she now was completely free to appreciate the help that places like this offered to those in her shoes; and even for all her pride as a career street girl, Angel wasn’t above taking advantage of the offer every now and then - especially on a cold day like today.

Even still, though, she felt a little out of place. She could at least manage on her own, and that made her better off, by her own passing assessment, than half the other people being helped here... but free food was free food, and not having to steal it was always a bonus. All the same, as waited in line to be served, Angel drew her jacket collar further up around her neck, not quite able to keep from casting a wary eye around, just in case she saw anyone who looked to be deciding that she didn’t belong here.

And it was in the process of doing this that her grey-blue gaze landed on a familiar face in the crowd, and Angel forced herself to do a double-take. It couldn’t be, could it? She thought for sure that the girl who went by Cat had vanished from the streets several months back...?

@gldnhour // the diner

"Ah. Perfect."

And it was, indeed. A buttercream blossom was one of the first things Emily learned how to do when she began to bake (and really bake, not just follow by-the-box directions) and she'd been proud of it ever since, jumping at any chance she could to pipe it on any dessert that Bambi let her. She'd just finished a batch of lemon and lavender cupcakes, something new for the upcoming spring menu, and tonight was her chance to show it off to the rest of the crew—see if it was good enough to sell at the restaurant someday. Taking extreme care, the blonde transferred each one onto a white cupcake stand, crafting a sort of dessert bouquet while the restaurant buzzed, sizzled, and dinged around her.

"Behind," came Beckett's voice from the direction he'd called out. Big red oven mitts covered his hands and a big smile was sprawled across his face as he headed toward the oven, Emily moving herself—and her delicately crafted cupcake stand—out of the man's way.

The smell of cornbread as Beckett opened the oven knocked the aroma of her lemon and lavender cupcakes out of the park. She smiled warmly, watching as he pulled a square pan out. "That taste as good as it smells?" she asked.

He glanced over at her, sending a wink. "Even better." He set the pan of cornbread on the counter beside the stove and opened up the big pot, the only one left. The thing about Beckett was that he was a bit of a turtle when it came to cooking; everything he made was low and slow. Well, at least, everything he cared about making. He opened the lid to check on his mom's recipe of chicken and sausage gumbo, which simmered to completion in the pot. The smell of paprika, garlic, andouille sausage, bay leaves... It filled the room and overpowered the cupcakes and everything else everyone was cooking in the best way. It was the main star of the night, after all. Bambi had entrusted him with this, and he needed to exceed expectations.

Beckett took the lid off the pot and turned off the heat. Like clockwork, Emily swerved behind him, pulling out enough bowls to feed everyone who'd be at the table. As she did that, Beckett cut up the cornbread into messy squares.

"Thanks, darlin'," he muttered to the blonde, who was like a sister to him at this point. In exchange for her quick work, he offered her a piece of cornbread. She took a bite.

"Holy crap."

"S'that good or what?" he asked, nervous.

"Beck, that's fantastic. Bambi's gonna freak."

Then, a pause before Emily added: "And so is Mickey."

A moment later, Lizzie emerged from the front of the house, somehow toting around a few liters of soda. She was clearly struggling, and Beckett came to her rescue, retrieving the drinks and setting them off to the side. "So fucking sorry," she spoke hurriedly, obviously flustered. "My fucking card wouldn't work at the fucking liquor store and I had to go to the goddamn ATM and—" Her words were stopped only by the feeling of Emily's hands on her shoulders.

"You're good. We're ready. Go get 'im."

Lizzie took a deep breath. Tonight was important. No, it was more than important, and everyone in the restaurant felt that, the gravity of that. She nodded, then turned to head to the back of the restaurant, making the same route she always did when it was the end of shift and she needed to toss the garbage.

She found him by the dumpster. In comparison to the sensory overload that was the diner, this side of the streets brought her ears respite. Even if there were rats and running gutters. Arms folded over her chest, feeling the breeze blow through her sweater, she approached him. There he was.

"Hey, Mickey," she said. "Family's up."

closed starter for @fakecmpire

reena finished work earlier than expected. with few cases, more than one vet seemed pointless. her colleague had graciously offered to stay. she was certain he was only doing it to avoid driving through the fog. as any sane person would. but, the fog didn’t scare her; it was a common phenomena in grimrose. and, there was nothing to fear about something tangible. unless you counted other people. and, well, of course, fear itself. no, if anything, the weather brought out her innate curiosity.

bundled in layers, she rushed home faster than her legs could carry her, carefully trying to avoid what she couldn’t see. the apartment was close. but, despite her haste, the journey seemed slower. no doubt from boredom warping her perception of time. reena checked up on the animals, who seemd to have settled down since the morning. storms always freaked them out. she bed them farewell with kisses, grabbing her rucksack and making a beeline for the door. there was no time to waste. the destination? her brother’s apartment. she wasn’t fond of it; she made that clear all the time. it was a force of habit at this point. how can one person have so much lying around? it baffled her. this time, she wanted to ask a favour. well, it was more of a quest. 

by the time she had reached his place, reena could no feel her fingers. or her toes, for that that matter - as if the cold had penetrated her very skin. this was the downside of living right by the sea. she knocked on his door with increasing impatience. when it opened, all she could repeat was, “hey, hey, hey,” as she attempted to get her breath back. her chest felt so tight she thought it’d might explode. the veterinarian was quite healthy, but the cold weather had been wreaking havoc with her body. even a simple walk was hell. she took a small step into the apartment as she regained compsure, taking notice of her surroundings. “god, when’s the last time you cleaned,” were not the words ‘god, it’s good to see you’ as she’d hoped to stay nor were they what her brother probably wanted to hear. too late to take them back now, though. “do you want me to tidy quickly?” 

OPEN STARTER !

┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ ☠ . *. ⋆ IT'S ALWAYS THE HEAT. paired with the crackling , the SLIGHT HISS of ash falling against brick , the deep airy ambience it gives off — it adds to the experience , but that searing heat , pulling at his skin to the point where it feels like flesh will begin to melt off bone at any second. that searing heat is what shuts them down.

mind flashes back to the hospital , one of the darker days of their life. the day their mom died , on the brink of the world itself falling apart , when they were only ten years old. the orange flames DANCING ACROSS THE WALLS , spreading across the ground with a briskness only matched by a rabbit being chased by wolves , everything bathed in an eerie warm light that matched the colors of the leaping flames. the infection-riddled woman hanging in arms attached to a body tired from running around , EVERY OUNCE OF STRENGTH engaged within the then-pre teen , every exit blocked by waves and waves of pure fire.

the worst part about it was that it was all his fault.

they could still see their mother's eyes , wide blues dancing with orange , her voice echoing in their mind telling them to put her down and to find a way out. but IT WAS NOT BOTH who made it out ; only him. he still remembered the way her voice was abruptly cut off , the burning ceiling crackling with flames slamming down onto her body , stealing her right out of his life without warning. a terrified ten-year-old who watched their mother die , frozen in fear and horror and grief , DESPITE EVERYTHING SHE HAD EVER SAID TO HIM.

and the child did not make it free without scars , mental and physical.

dark eyes popped open , pulling the young man out of his vision , acutely aware of the heat from the fireplace that still swam around his upper body lightly. IT WAS ALWAYS THE HEAT that was felt first during a fire ; therefore , it was what brought them back to that time. he was acutely aware of the concerned gaze burning into him , but his only response was a deep sigh. ❝ ... why are you staring? i'm fine. ❞