quinn cackles as soon as mira hands him the pint of beer ( zero alcohol, of course ), about to take a sip when mira motions to the stage. “ cheers to emotional damage, ” and he clinks their drinks, taking a pull. “ you know all my songs. i better keep this one for myself. ” every karaoke song he’s sung, once and repeatedly, mira knows. the one he has in mind tonight, he’s slightly hopeful mira hasn’t guessed yet. “ you know me too well, goose — too well, ” quinn cheers when she leaves their table, turning from his seat so he has the best view of the stage. he’s still figuring out why karaoke here in the states functions like this; he prefers the ones he’s seen in manila and tokyo — no stages, simply a song and lyrics to sing to and follow. and belt out with your friends or family, of course. “ mira, let’s go. let’s hear it, ” quinn cheers, raising his pint before taking another pull.
Mira flashed Quinn a wicked little wink the second the opening guitar riff of “9 to 5” kicked in, her voice sliding into Dolly’s signature twang smooth and strong as she gripped the mic. She started off playful, hips swaying in time with the beat, dark waves bouncing as she sang the first verse straight to the crowd with that signature half-smirk. By the chorus she was fully in it — dancing across the small stage, pointing at random people in the audience, getting them clapping along. When she hit “but the boss won’t seem to let me,” she hopped off the stage without missing a note, strutted right over to Quinn, and leaned in close. She threw a playful arm around his shoulders and she grinned wide at him, nodding like he was the culprit, which made half the bar erupt in laughter and catcalls of “ohh boss!” She laughed into the mic but kept the energy rolling, twirling one of the passing waitresses on her way back to the stage like they were in some old-school musical. From there she clapped her hands above her head, encouraging the whole tavern to sing the chorus with her, her voice carrying clear and confident through the room.
The final notes faded out to loud cheering and whistles. Mira took a dramatic little bow, cheeks flushed and eyes bright, then bounced back over to the table with a light, breathless laugh. She picked up her pint, took a quick sip, and grinned at Quinn just as the they called his name next. “Break a leg, hockey angel.”
˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✉︎ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ closed: @savsvane
⤷ ゛ ˎˊ˗ heights community center
⤷ ゛ ˎˊ˗ outfit inspo
If there was one thing Alejandro Rivera knew with absolute certainty, it was that flowers were not supposed to be this difficult. Basketball plays? Sure. Defensive rotations? Easy enough. Learning choreography for a drag number in six-inch heels? Surprisingly manageable. But somehow a handful of daisies and eucalyptus had managed to humble him in under twenty minutes. If he could manage to actually make it, maybe he’d give the arrangement away afterward. A stranger, a cashier having a rough day, someone sitting alone at a coffee shop. Unfortunately, the world probably preferred flowers that stayed inside the arrangement. Alex watched in mild horror as yet another stem slipped loose and tumbled onto the table, followed shortly by two more as the entire thing seemed to unravel in his hands like it was protesting its own existence. After a beat, he looked over toward the person seated beside him, one brow lifting in surrender and amusement. “Okay,” he said, holding up the increasingly tragic bouquet for inspection. “What am I doing wrong?”
✨closed starter: open ( @palmviewstarters )
✨location: palmview water tower
the soft jingles of nova’s bracelets hitting against the cool metal fill the space where the hums of distant traffic didn’t quite reach. she wondered how long the water tower was as she climbed a few more steps off the ground, destination to the top. she wasn’t too high yet, just far enough off the ground for the world to feel a little smaller and more distant, when movement below caught her eye. pausing, she hooked one hand firmly on the step above her head, planted her sneaker securely on the step beneath, and with an effortless half-twirl of her body, swung backward like a circus acrobat mid-performance, her dark wavy hair whipping lightly as she rotated to face the approaching figure. a playful grin tugged at her lips, greeting them with a warm smile, eyes sparkling with mischief beneath the fading sunset. “you’re not going to bust me, are you?”
Alex had been halfway home from practice, duffle bag slung across his frame, one hand hooked beneath the strap as his mind replayed drills and missed opportunities on an endless loop. Footwork on the perimeter could’ve been cleaner. Release on that corner three had felt half a second slow. Nothing major, but enough to file away for next practice. The soft jingle of bracelets cut through the noise in his head before he even registered where it was coming from, pulling his attention toward the water tower and the figure suspended from it like she belonged there more than the bolts and steel did. He slowed as he approached, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as she swung around with the kind of confidence he usually saw with circus performers and people who had never once held a fear of heights. “Do I look like a cop to you?”
[ … ] ❀ you’re not from around here , are you? i figured because you totally just missed { ALEJANDRO "ALEX" RIVERA } walking by. don’t tell me you don’t know who { HE/HIM } is/are ? they kind of look like { TAYLOR ZAKHAR PEREZ } and i could be wrong but i think that they might be { 34 } years old right now. they’ve been living in palmview for the last { THREE MONTHS BACK }. and i don’t know if anyone has ever told them this before but they kind of remind me of { MORPH } from { TREASURE PLANET }. if you stick around the town long enough you might catch them in action working at { NBA/UNDERGROUND CLUBS } as a { PROFESSIONAL BASKETBALL PLAYER FOR THE MIAMI HEAT/DRAG QUEEN }. you see this town isn’t really that big of a place, some folks like to call them the { THE PERFORMER } of palmview! they took a liking to the name too after a while, go figure. oh crap, they must have heard me yapping. they’re coming this way. i got to warn you though, rumor has it they can pretty { OVERLY COMPETITIVE } at times. i wouldn’t take it too seriously though, from the times i’ve spoken to them they seemed pretty { EXTREMLY KINDHEARTED } to me. we see each other all the time since they live in that { 1 BEDROOM } residence beside me over in { PELICAN STREET/CONDO 346 }. i better leave you to it. it was nice meeting you!
You were born in Palmview, Florida to a Cuban-American father and a Mexican-American mother. His mother was a costume designer who worked freelance for local theaters and his father was a retired minor league baseball player turned mechanic. As the middle child in a loud, tight-knit family of six, you grew up surrounded by vibrant culture, music, and performance. Your mother’s sewing machine was a constant soundtrack in your small house. Bolts of sequined fabric, feathers, and rhinestones were scattered everywhere. You would “help” by handing her pins while secretly watching telenovelas and old Hollywood musicals, completely mesmerized by the glamour.
Sports were your family’s true religion. Your dad pushed you into baseball first, but when you shot up in height and showed natural agility on the court, basketball quickly became your calling. You were always tall for your age, quick on your feet, with a surprising grace that coaches called “ballet on the hardwood.” By high school, you had become a standout point guard and shooting guard with flashy handles, clutch shooting, and that effortless charisma that made you a local fan favorite. Scouts loved you, but you carried a quiet duality: the golden-boy athlete by day, and the kid who would sneak into your mom’s workshop at night to experiment with makeup, lip-sync battles in the mirror, and designing wild outfits from fabric scraps.
"With the right training your son could flourish on the court."
"It would be a shame if you didn't at least push him to take the chance. Opportunities like this don't come often."
You earned a full ride to a strong D1 program where you excelled on the court while majoring in Communications with a minor in Theater, a subtle nod to your hidden side. Drafted in the late first round by the Miami Heat, you’re now a solid role player in your mid-20s: a reliable perimeter defender and sharpshooter off the bench. You’re known league-wide for your work ethic, team-first attitude, and that disarming smile in post-game interviews. You do beach workouts when you’re back home, low-key nights out, family barbecues, and charity work with local youth basketball programs. Nobody suspects a thing. They have no reason to.
"Such a bright young man."
"He needs to slow down before he burns himself, but he's a mad man."
It started in college after a tough loss, when a friend dragged you to a small underground show in Miami’s queer scene. One queen pulled you onstage for a dare, and the crowd lost it over your height and natural stage presence. Something unlocked in you that night. Your mother, who had long suspected, became your secret confidante and first seamstress. She created custom gowns that hug your athletic frame and weave in basketball motifs. Sequined nets as fringe, crystal jersey numbers. You keep your two worlds carefully separated, trusting only a small circle of three queens who know your real identity and help with bookings under strict NDAs. You perform at discreet high-end venues, pop-ups, and private parties.
Never anywhere mainstream where you could be recognized.
DID SHE REALLY NOT know how loud she'd actually been? clearly not, as her roommate comes barreling into her room -- causing allie's cheek to flush a gentle shade of pink. of course she adores her roommate, her quickness when it comes to assisting her, even if there's no tiny foe to maim. when she had first left her ex in her dust for one final time -- she had never expected that she'd feel so safe living with someone again, but she knew things were different the second she'd met mira. and my my, was she happy to be proven right. what had blossomed was a friendship she hadn’t realized she truly needed until time continued to pass. " what? no, no darlin' -- there's no spider! " allie's face unfurls from confusion into laughter as she quickly sits up before putting her phone down. how much time does she have to get ready now? even if it's nix of all people -- someone who she feels incredibly comfortable around... how fucking rusty is she when it comes to dating culture? " mira... i have a date.... in an hour! "
Mira slowly lowered the shoe to her side, the rush of adrenaline still buzzing under her skin as she stood in the doorway, chest rising and falling a little quicker than normal. She narrowed her dark eyes at Allie, scanning her flushed face and the phone now resting on the bed, the pieces clicking together. A beat of silence hung between them while Mira processed the information, her protective instincts flaring up hot and immediate even as genuine happiness warmed her expression. She was truly glad for her — Allie deserved something good after everything she’d been through — but that didn’t stop the guarded suspicion from settling in her chest. No one was getting close to her roommate without at least a little vetting. “What’s their name?” she asked, tilting her head as her chocolate waves fell messily over one shoulder. She stepped further into the room and let herself fall comfortably on allie's bed. “You’re letting me help you get ready, right?”
open starter: @palmviewstarters
who: anyone!
location: wherever you want!
"wait, did you just say you've never seen 'when death becomes her'?" nat couldn't believe her ears, it was a classic. honestly, she couldn't blame the other. not everyone was as crazy about movies as she was, sometimes she had to remind herself. "honestly, it's a classic! i own a dvd copy, i'll so let you borrow it. it's a must watch!" she mused, trying to hide just how much she truly loved this movie and the message behind it. truthfully, she was hoping her ears were deciving her.
Mira leaned back against the couch with that signature half-smirk, one dark brow arched high as she watched Nat’s dramatic reaction, her chocolate waves tumbling over one shoulder. She sucked lazily on a cherry sucker, the red candy clicking softly against her teeth, before pulling it from her lips with a faint pop. She let the other girl ramble for a second, lips twitching with amusement, before letting out a low, throaty chuckle. “Relax, Nat, I’ve seen it. More than once, actually. Meryl and Goldie tearing each other apart never gets old,” she drawled, popping the sucker back into her mouth for a moment. “But if you’re that pressed about it…let’s make it an indoor spa movie day. Face masks, cheap wine, blankets, the whole thing. We can roast the ridiculous parts together and you can break down the movie for me.” She shot her a playful wink, the guarded edge she typically carried softening just a little with the invitation. “Sound like a plan?”
She popped another kernel of popcorn into her mouth one at a time, slow and lazy, letting the salty butter melt on her tongue while she mouthed along with the Galaxy Quest dialogue she knew by heart. Then came the squeal — high-pitched, sharp, and coming from Allie’s room. Mira didn’t even hesitate. Spider. Had to be. Without a second thought she bolted upright, the bowl tipping over and sending popcorn flying everywhere like buttery shrapnel across her comforter and the floor. She snatched one of her worn sneakers off the rug and charged out of her room, dark waves wild, heart already hammering on pure instinct. She burst through Allie’s doorway, shoe raised like a weapon, eyes scanning the walls and floor frantically. “Where is it?! Where’s the spider?!”
“Your offering to the gods of nostalgia,” she informed him solemnly, dark eyes glinting under the tavern’s warm lights. “They only accept payment in cheap beer and emotional damage. Here’s the cheap beer,” a beat, nodding toward the stage, “and there’s the emotional damage.” Mira’s lips spread into a Cheshire-like smirk, playful and mischievous all at once. “So,” she sat down, lifting her pint, “a cheers to emotional damage and cheap beers.” She tilted her glass in Quinn’s direction before taking a sip, lowering it to reveal a red-stained lip print left behind on the rim. “You know, it’s not very gentleman-like to keep secrets from a lady.” It was obvious she was fishing for the song he’d chosen, she’d never been great with surprises, but she already knew the curly-haired man wasn’t going to cave. Still, the teasing felt good, easy even, like slipping into her favorite denim jacket. Then the dj's voice crackled over the speakers, announcing her name, and she pushed up from the table in one smooth motion. Turning to look at him, her chocolate waves bouncing with the movement, she walked backwards a few steps, teasingly calling out, “Get ready to eat your heart out, Quinn McKenna,” with a playful wink before she turned back around to make her way toward the stage.
[ … ] ❀ you’re not from around here , are you? i figured because you totally just missed { MIRA PETROVA} walking by. don’t tell me you don’t know who { SHE/HER } is/are ? they kind of look like { MIKA ABDALLA } and i could be wrong but i think that they might be { 28 } years old right now. they’ve been living in palmview for the last { ONE YEAR }. and i don’t know if anyone has ever told them this before but they kind of remind me of { BETTY RIZZO} from { GREASE }. if you stick around the town long enough you might catch them in action working at { SUNSET SHACK } as a { MANAGER }. you see this town isn’t really that big of a place, some folks like to call them the { THE HARLOT } of palmview! they took a liking to the name too after a while, go figure. oh crap, they must have heard me yapping. they’re coming this way. i got to warn you though, rumor has it they can pretty { GUARDED } at times. i wouldn’t take it too seriously though, from the times i’ve spoken to them they seemed pretty { ADVENTUROUS } to me. we see each other all the time since they live in that { 3 BEDROOM }residence beside me over in { MANGO BAY LOFTS}. i better leave you to it. it was nice meeting you!
death mention tw
You step out of the Sunset Shack as the late-afternoon sun paints your skin in gold. The keys to the place swing from your finger like a quiet claim of territory. At twenty-eight, you’ve mastered the half-smirk that says you’ve already sized up the room and decided most of it isn’t worth your energy. Your dark hair catches the breeze, wavy curls sept up in the salty sea air, and that faded denim jacket feels like the armor you’ve worn since high school.
“I heard she is the reason Mr. Henderson and Mrs. Henderson got a divorce.”
“After school tutoring? More like bending over for that extra credit.”
Palmview still whispers about you. They call you the Harlot when they think you can’t hear. You let the name roll off these days—thick skin isn’t a choice, it’s survival. It started back when you were sixteen at some stupid house party. Your so-called friends thought it would be hilarious to shove you and a boy you barely knew into a closet for seven minutes in heaven. You told him no. You meant it. But the second the door closed he kissed you anyway, eager and sloppy. When it flew open again, everyone saw what they wanted to see: you with flushed cheeks and messy hair. By Monday the rumor had twisted into something uglier. You were easy. You were fast. You were that girl. The nickname stuck like cheap perfume.
“She’s such a harlot, just like her mother.”
“Every boy on the football teams know what’s under her clothes.”
“Oh, look, Mrs. Harlot’s mother is at it again!”
Your mom didn’t help the reputation. Elena Petrova was the kind of beautiful that turned heads and broke marriages without even trying. She cycled through boyfriends—always stunning, always landing on men who looked good until they didn’t. She meant well. She loved loud and messy. But the gossip followed her like a shadow, and it followed you too. You learned early how to keep your chin up and your heart locked down tight.
You moved back to Palmview a year ago looking for something quieter. The salt air, the slower rhythm, the chance to manage the Sunset Shack and actually build a life instead of outrunning rumors. It hasn’t been perfect. Your mom followed a few months later, already tangled up with a local mechanic guy who had complications written all over him. The whispers started again like they’d never stopped. Boys still shoot their shot thinking you’re an easy win. Girls still give you that side-eye in the coffee shop. You’ve stopped correcting them. Let them talk.
Every morning you walk the three blocks from your corner 3-bedroom at Mango Bay Lofts—the one with the ridiculous pastel walls you keep meaning to repaint. You like the space that’s yours, the balcony where you sit some nights with cheap red wine, barefoot, legs up on the railing, watching the bay lights flicker.
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