* FLARED / STAR !

❝ — ‘cause we could stay at home and watch the sunset. but i can't help from asking, “ are you bored yet? ” and if you're feeling lonely you should tell me . . . before this ends up as another memory. PENNED BY MADS

[francowho]

[flaredstar]

     starter for @untethcred based on the prompt : rayar bought a gift for sawyer, but lost it on the way home . . . flushed hands shoved in the pockets of her coat, sawyer keeps her gaze locked on the pavement below : slick ice concealed by fresh snow, a grave slippage hazard. she wasn’t about to fall on her ass and break something before soccer season had even started, there was no way. thus ; focus was given to the ground, although the attention of her other senses remained on the boy beside her. “ hey, you know what they say . . . it’s the thought that counts. ” she’s sure the saying didn’t originate from their current scenario : a present lost and a pair forced to scour the winter landscape for it. still . . . fitting. “ and if we can’t find it, at least you’ve given me the gift of FROST-BITE. ” an intentional bump of her shoulder against his, and a smile finds its way back onto cold features. “ what was it, anyway ? ” 

[flaredstar]

     starter for @scgacious based on the prompt : ed is carmen's hired body guard . . . he’d always been protective, perhaps to a fault. and after the death of his wife, even more so. there were people out there with objectives less than pleasant and grudges directed towards the older, and with a profession entered : those considered his loved ones were to be found in the crossfire. before ranks climbed, he’d done the physical labour himself. high school boys threatened, cat-calling men assaulted . . . of course, there were exceptions as the one which had landed three boys six feet under. but this was not one of them. one of his men had been given the mundane task of following carmen’s –– friend –– around town. only for a couple of weeks. under the radar. until it wasn’t. until a man was confronted with his daughter’s accusations and the frustrations that came with them. “ mija, ” surprise found both in aging features and tone. “ s’an old man not allowed to look after his little girl ? ”

[flaredstar]

     starter for @untethcred based on the prompt : mj and rayar get caught up in a storm and must stay sheltered together until it passes . . . she hated snow : with a passion fiery enough to burn every inch off the connecticut landscape, and rid her of the issue in its entirety. unfortunately, that’s not how anything worked. much to the blonde’s dismay. bundled up on the pearce’s couch, all she can do is watch as the snowfall increases, coating their front yard in a thick sheet of white hell. “ this is so stupid, ” she announces, adjusting her position : legs drawn up against her chest, then back on the carpet below. her restlessness was unlikely to ease without the outlet . . . she needed the skatepark, which was currently consumed by snow & ice, or the arcade, which she could not get to. yeah, she was going to lose her mind. “ i got places to be, y’know ? don’t got time to be stuck here with you all day. ” 

[flaredstar]

vincent whitman / hemingwayed‌.

girl equals firecracker, he’s always regarded her as a ticking time bomb and he might just be here in time for the final explosion. thick brows rise up alongside her strategy explained, he has no doubt she can pull it off, but it somehow still urges . . surprise. maybe vince is not the only bad influence after all and their dynamic’s a fire to gasoline situation. ‘ fuck. ‘ the word’s all he gets out, half amused, half curious to watch the tragedy unfold. he’d have to be here to pick up the pieces shattered. and now he’s just a little more than glad he doesn’t hook up with girls anymore. ‘ the mailman’s child? that’s . . vile, but damn, also genius. think he’ll believe it? i mean, didn’t you . . ‘ he’s really in no mood to explain the birds and the bees to his younger friend, but quietly implies that protection is important. ‘ you sure it’ll work? i mean, i can always ask around for money. if that won’t work, i can ask around a second time. roughly. ‘ then he’d wound more than a man’s wallet.

     he was older, smarter, too : to a degree she wasn’t prepared to admit, and part of the blonde had expected a LECTURING. most people frowned upon the antics come up by minoo pearce, sometimes vince was a part of that crowd. often, actually. and yet . . . “ yeah, it’ll work. ” there’s a lack of confidence in her voice, though she musters up every drop of it which she can find. not much. hormones made her jittery and the situation itself caused for some major nerves. she was a wreck, really. soon enough, though, it’d be over – like it never happened ! minoo just wasn’t sure she could hold out until then. “ he’s a guy . . . no way he’ll pick raising a kid over paying for it. ” truth be told : she didn’t know him all that well, and all that could be assumed was on the basis of gender. men were assholes, it’d work. “ thanks, but i’d rather not have you locked up while i’m this . . . well, like this. ”

[flaredstar]

quentin tineo / hemingwayed‌.

@flaredstar !

The touch of grey winter melancholy still lingers upon broad shoulders ; The boy’s not usually a drinker to forget, but desperate time call for equally desperate measures. His hair sticks out in an uneven way, truthfully speaking, he’s skipped today’s morning shower — And perhaps the day before that. A sigh flows from Quentin’s lips, a rumbly tone growing into the groan you’d expect to echo from a man who’s in heavy pain or suffering from the aches caused by a highly developed intoxication. For him, both categories might apply, with harshness ripping at every page of the book that’s his life, an utterly tragic story leading up to what he thought of as the climax, but now he’s back to ripping out whole chapters. And he’s drunk, oh well, what a funny little feeling for a freshly twenty-one year old: Quite the buzz, yes, he’s going to take a walk home through the park later and maybe he’ll even bring a bottle for home. Eyes dart from his drink, a half-empty bourbon of what he presumes to be okay quality (not that he’d ever recognise the difference after two drinks) and they settle on a figure he’s convinced looks like he’s going to bust him every second. ‘ I’m twenty-one, alright. Just having a shitty day in peace. ‘, the bronze-haired boy slurs his words, cheeks flushed and palms gaining sweat. ‘ Dude, you look like one of those radical guys who pay young girls to sit on their lap. They all . . suck, anyway. ‘, Quentin adds, two fingers brought up to ask for the next drink.

     he’s not a drunk : but daily, he finds himself with a scotch in hand. the habit is growing more prominent, the frequency causing for a concern that he can’t afford to offer. ed’s getting ready to depart for the night, head back to an empty house . . . of course, not entirely empty. strays and rescues still reside within it’s four walls but since a daughter had made her exit, emptiness was the single noun he’d use as a descriptor. he orders one more, though, before he’s to get in his truck and drive down the icy roads of sheffield. a bad decision, really, but he’s made plentiful in his life and there was no point to stopping. he’s spoken to, though, despite having retired for the night : despite having said his goodbyes . . . someone talks and his attention drifts. there’s a chuckle to his assumption, and another to the denouncing of an entire gender. bad break-up, he supposed. stood up, maybe. none of his business, yet he responds. “ who; the girls ? ” pause, a drink received and brought to his lips. “ what she do to ya, huh. screw your brother, or sum’ ? ” 

[flaredstar]

liza scalley / hemingwayed‌.

@flaredstar !

Familiar faces of Sheffield go hand in hand with the smalltown haze, an opportunity only enhancing the eidetic space of the girl’s brain. Once you witness, you rarely forget and she sees it as neither a blessing nor a course because it’s hard to differentiate one from another. Button nose has adapted the colour of flushed cheeks by now, quite the typical accessory en vogue for Liza Scalley during winter season, she does brave the cold ; but it is questionable how effectively. Fingers are stuffed into warm, grey mittens, making it seemingly harder than it already is to hold onto the cup of coffee, strong enough to take out a full-grown horse. But just her style of taste. Shy eyes have spotted the figure from metres away, he’s changed — at least his hair has and she wonders whether if approached, the boy still spits rudeness on demand. Half a wave is drawn up, a poor attempt at saying hello but the frail blindly adds to the awkwardness by pointing the index of her free hand to her wrist. ‘ It-It’s all good now. Perfectly healed, my Mom wasn’t sure it e-ever would at first, but . . ‘, a pause, that should have been the end of her monologue. A part of her raises the question whether she’s still internally hurt about the L-O-S-E-R. ‘ Hi, Julian Apolskis. I – uh, I’ve seen you at the hospital. On Thursdays, usually. ‘

     between chemo and weed, and generally : being the way that he is, a memory has gone to shit. it takes him a moment . . . and another, to achieve some form of recollection. and once he does, several seconds had passed. crap. “ keeping it weird, huh. ” several years had passed, too long ago for the boy to remember much at all. especially of the odd girl he’d chastised and berated in middle school. but there’s a vague remembrance of her oddity and it’s all needed in order to recall past words . . . and actions. yeah, he’d always been a dick, alright. “ what, you, like, stalking me now or something ? ” bold accusation to make, but the mention of a hospital brings up all the wrong kinds of emotions. and not in despite of regular visits, rather because of. CANCER-FREE . . . two years, give or take. and still, he was on constant watch for that phone-call; that face full of pity to resurface on his physician’s face; his mother crying in the kitchen while his sister desperately attempts to console her. fuck that.  

[flaredstar]

pauline kisch / hemingwayed‌.

@flaredstar !

she’s seated on the edge of the raven haired girl’s bed, much softer than the one she owns herself, definitely a price class or four higher, as well. lips are widened into a shallow grin, though the blonde prides herself in admitting that today, there’s more to it than the average mask she displays to not get suspicion out of scarlett atkins. one way or another, pauline’s sure her so called friend would’ve caught on, anyway. friend, the term still feels odd, yet . . completely right. in a way, she’s grown into it. lips find clear crystal one more time, sure, she’s had alcohol before, but everything she does with scout feels quite as fancy. there’s a spark of an idea that spreads the longer she looks at the other girl — maybe she’ll get turned down in an instant, but conversations have been going in the same direction as of lately and she simply wants to shake it up. ‘ so. . ‘ pauline starts, a girly giggle announcing that she hesitates, yet her confidence is set. ‘ truth OR dare? ‘ rosy lips question and propose at the same time. she misses parties, high school, it’s bound to get interesting.

     scarlett atkins was a sheffield high graduate, and currently : a yale student, and the game presented to her was nothing but juvenile. it causes for a perk of her brow, attention shifting from glamour magazine to her less than friend. “ you’re serious ? not an 8th grade sleepover, kisch. ” it appears a shot-down of the activity requested, but it’s not. her reading material, if one could even consider it such, is set aside and she props a petite stature further up against the headboard. “ truth. ” what a complete and utter tell of her DULLNESS : one she’d taken years to work out of her system, one that her reputation was void of. she’d made sure of it. yet, the truth remains, scout – beneath designer & cruel commentary – was a bore. a snooze-fest, if you will. she was a prude and she was a stick in the mud. with high school theatrics aside, the fact began to shine through. she’d never been fun ; yet, somehow, meanness and the money to back it up had created a facade of someone capable of LETTING LOOSE. she was not.  

[flaredstar]

george aguirre / insideglitch‌.

eyes roll, and she bites back a laugh. he looks a bit ridiculous, powdered sugar dusting the sides of his mouth where he missed wiping it off. “ was, ” she sighs,  pulling a chocolate-frosted one from the box. “ you’re lucky i’m such a kind soul and was going to share with you anyways. ” she should’ve guessed he would’ve gone right for the snacks without bothering to check who they actually belonged to. “ i’m feeling very forgiving today. ” shoulders shrug, and she takes her own bite from the donut.

     it’s a little ridiculous, to imagine a scenario unlike this one : where he’d been scolded for actions made, rather than instantly forgiven. it causes for a tug of his lips, and another bite. “ thank god . . . i was expecting to get cussed the fuck out ! ” he begins. “ should count myself lucky, huh. caught you on a good day & all. ” sarcasm laced words leaves the older, and a hand is placed on top of his chest for the next act. “ shaking in my boots before that, y’know. trembling . . . just awaiting that aquirre wrath. ” one more bite, smugness showing through. 

[flaredstar]

kitty apolskis / lastpoets‌.

@flaredstar / kitty & julian. 

though she’d moved out YEARS ago, most of kitty’s weekends were still spent at the family residence. part fondness for spending time with her mother ( and making sure she isn’t forgotten ) and part fondness for annoying her brother — this particular spot on the couch was a saturday-sunday oasis. eating doritos straight out of the bag and eyes GLUED to the screen where some sort of aquatic documentary is playing, she doesn’t even turn to see who it is when she hears the front door slam. “ you REEK of pot, ” she tells him, spewing crumbs onto her lap, finally turning as the television switches from relaxing narration to a commercial break. “ and B.O., but mom might be used to that by now. ”

     shoes just being kicked off, and he’s already being faced with his sister’s obligated annoyance. typical. and if he wasn’t high as a freakin’ kite, he would’ve had more of a bone to pick about it. but, instead, with a sigh, he flops down next to her. feet kicked up on the table and a bag of doritos snatched out of her grasp. “ yeah, and you got dorito dust all over your face. ” he shoots back, grabbing a handful of cheesy goodness. god, he was hungry. he was planning on calling for a family-sized pizza, but perhaps this was a step-up. free, too. attention drifts towards the television set, nose wrinkling. “ when i’m THIRTY . . . if i’m still living at home, watching fuckin’ dolphin documentaries all day – shoot me. ”

[flaredstar]

teddy larsen / lastpoets‌.

he’s silent for a moment, cool aluminum creating dots of liquid on already clammy hands. he wondered if they would listen to julian — he seemed to much cooler, so much more in charge of EVERYTHING. the band, his own behaviors. he, at least in the eyes of the younger, was the epitome of post adolescent bliss: skateboard, band in his basement, beer and blunts and an aura of not giving a shit. it wasn’t that teddy ENVIED him. or, well, maybe it was. “ oh, ” he echoes, and nervous hands move to pop the top on the can. he never smoked with them, never drank with them. he always just left when music was over and amps were unplugged and they went another friday night without a show. “ is this — uh, music, i mean — som-something you want to … to do? ” pause. “ like, after … th-this. ” he gestures, but it’s fruitless, they BOTH know what he means. penis of the diversion, a dumb garage band without any real direction other than covering rock bands they always argued over. 

     truth be told, passionate as he was about music, he hadn’t thought about it. sure, there were dreams of filled stadiums and sold-out shows. but they weren’t realistic and julian wasn’t dumb enough to consider them such. now dreams in the realistic realm, there were few. and none that he could even think of at the moment. “ nah, ” he mumbles, a shrug. but – “ i mean, yeah . . . ” did he ? he’s sitting in a basement with half a beer, maxed out after practice, and he’s enduring the hot-chair regarding a future he’d never planned – who would know anything under the circumstances. “ fuck if i know . . . what’s with the twenty questions ? ” part of him knows he’s being unfair, and unnecessarily harsh on the younger – as always – but, really . . . REALLY. “ whatever, this is, like – it for me, alright. after this, after that – this is after ! after cancer, after graduating . . . we’re supposed to be breaking through right fuckin’ now, man. ” 

[flaredstar]

blake fraser / tearburned‌.

     the plan was juvenile to say the least and definitely below her, but call it a spur of the moment decision. what did she have to lose ? her reputation was already on thin ice and with all things taken into consideration, no one even had to know it was her. “ i say we scope the place out first –– test the waters before we dive right in. you gotta be strategic with it, y’know ? ” there was a momentary pause following his question, both brows raised in disbelief. did she really look that young ? “ i’m eighteen –– if i’m old enough to smoke and get enlisted, i think i’m okay to draw some dicks. ”

     eighteen. it was certainly old enough to attend a party such as this one, although a couple years below his personal preference of company. oh, well . . . call it the magic of unsupervised ragers. “ yeah, but not to drink. ” he points out, the clear objective of showing up at the residence, surely. “ cops show up and you’re FUCKED . . . ” the word’s dragged out, emphasis on the hypothetical trouble she could possibly wind up in. yet again, the place was pretty dead by now. whoever called the cops on a party already six feet under definitely had a rod of a stick up their ass. “ not that this place’s gonna attract any pigs. ” shrug. “ lucky gal. ” marker twirling between lanky fingers, and the first door in a lengthy hallway is approached. “ alright, let’s get dickin’. ” knob turned, and the pair is greeted with total darkness. 

[flaredstar]

gleb petrov / ourdarkdivide‌.

          gleb was getting a headache. talking to people always gave him a headache. he let her enjoy her little rant, maybe it would make her feel better, but he was trying not to laugh as she spoke. the more she spoke, the more gleb had to fight his laughter. “ first of all, my mom’s in prison and my father is… well i don’t fucking know where, dead probably. second, i’m gay, so… there goes half of your little dramatic rant. “ he shook his head and wished that he hadn’t even left his house – or at least that he’d brought his dog with him. gleb couldn’t help it he let out a laugh. “ and i’m only eleven years older than you. “ he was done with this conversation, as amusing it was. gleb had only ever kissed one girl and it was the most awkward thing he’d ever done in his life. 

     he laughs, and she falls silent : lips parted, as words that dare to form simply don’t. “ gay . . . ” she repeats. it hadn’t been predicted. and it seems he’s actively working against her expectations now. perhaps he has some of his own : an inkling that a blonde would change strategies and gather up some ammunition of the homophobic kind . . . but she doesn’t. even if she hadn’t been dumbfounded to the point of complete silence, she had vince. and the catholic upbringing she’d endured forced her into a direction of wholehearted acceptance . . . if only to piss off her father. she ought to tell him to GET LOST, SUCK A DICK, but that was below her quality of insults, thus : instead – “ don’t you have have, like, bigger fish to fry than vandalism then . . . like, i dunno, assassinate reagan or some shit. ”

[thestoryandyou]

[flaredstar]

gleb petrov / ourdarkdivide‌.

          did he not give off a feeling of leave me the fuck alone? all he’d wanted was some time out of his own mind and relax for a second before his life went to shit again. “ yes, you. trouble. “ he didn’t want to call the cops on her, but he would if he felt like it was necessary. he hated the police, and couldn’t exactly tell anyone why he did. too much backstory that no one needed to know. and he especially wasn’t telling someone ten years younger than him that had defaced the side of a building. “ you can shiv me, it wouldn’t fucking matter. “ gleb rolled his eyes. did he really not have anything better to do than talk to some kid? was his life this fucking pathetic? supposedly, the answer was yes. “ you fucking drug me into this. “ 

      expectations were placed on the older walking away . . . it was what most adults did when confronted with the sardonic nature of minoo pearce. but he doesn’t, and it’s made me clear he’s got a bone himself to pick with the blonde. “ you give me way too much cred ! i mean . . . look at you, ” she starts, gesturing towards a significantly larger stature. “ could A KID like me really make you do something you didn’t wanna ? ” mj is aware that what she’s doing isn’t much of a genuine observation of the man, rather painting an image herself : one that he’s bound to react to, and to reject. it was all fun & games, until it wasn’t. “ starting to think you’re ENOYING this, gramps – cornering girls half your age some shifty alley . . . you’re probably a whole ass creep, aren’t you. ” provocation : it was one of the few things she had mastered, and with a personality that demanded anarchy and confrontation – it was a trait often put to use. never for the good of anything, though. not much of an anarchist when you look at it that way. “ living in your mom’s basement, wearing her clothes . . . jacking it to the girls in your old yearbook – you’re, like, one little snap away from picking a girl off the street and making a bowl for your keys outta her skull. ” it’s a statement that is bound to wind up in a more volatile altercation, and if her not-so-perceptive-self had managed to hit ANYTHING on the nail – she was bound to wind up dead in a ditch. precisely the future her father had predicted for her. if only he could see her now. “ s’that why you’re here, huh, hoping i’ll give you a bj behind a dumpster . . . bash my head in if i won’t ? ”

[flaredstar]

luka núñez / lastpoets‌.

fingers drum nervously against his leg, an old HABIT of younger years that he’d never quite kicked. starting as fear ( of his father, or of general gang activity ) and moving into anxious energy ( his first jobs, interactions with higher ups after one too many rash decisions ) — and now a symbol of excitement, amongst the times that luka is CONVINCED he’s come up with a genius idea. a way to push more product, some get rich quick scheme, a way to keep on the down low when the law was breathing down their neck — but now, he actually had something. not just a DESIRE to, moving entirely off the seat of his pants, off the cuff ideas and improvised remarks. this is serious business. “ this chick comes in ‘ere the other day, ” eyes watch ed carefully — even now, he’s ready for automatic refusal. “ telling me she wants me to put her pops six feet under. real piece of shit, too, from what i know. and the little lady’s a piece of work, i know she ain’t going to take no for an answer … ” he can’t help it: a smirk, half smile and half created out of devious nature, spreads across tanned cheeks. “ you wanna know who this girl is, man? ”

     it wasn’t that he lacked the patience, of that he had plentiful, but eduardo preferred cutting to the chase ; a point made within a moment’s notice. saves a lot of time, could do many conversations good. this one included. “ sounds like folks are startin’ ‘ta think we take walk-ins . . . ” it’s a bold statement to make, considering : silhouette’s had never flown under the radar, and with half of the department in his pocket ( and wallet ), it should be of a surprise more don’t take advantage of the vipers’ self-made laws. studying the grin plastered onto the others’ face, intrigue is difficult to keep at bay. hits were not a service handed out by the group on the daily, rather : reason and profit were to be cornerstones in each case presented . . . and then consideration. drug-trade’s where the money was, not in solving marital disputes. “ yeah, fuck it . . . who’s the mystery chick ? ”

[flaredstar]

jamie duarte / hemingwayed‌.

he usually sleeps so peacefully, thoughts running off into crazy directions finally coming to a halt once he’s sprawled out in bed. he thinks of himself as a good sleeper, an excellent sleeper even ; no matter if he’s alone, at a friend’s, or sharing his bed. a trance of sleep still lingering in the older’s eyes keeps him attached to his side of the bed, a low grumble coming from jamie before he turns around the lanky torso of his to face his girlfriend. another one. fingers ruffle through messy hair, might you think of it as unkempt in an awake state, you haven’t seen jamie duarte before putting it back into place in the morning. his grumble turns into unintelligble whispers of comfort, words hushed against his pillow before reality finally catches up with him. he coughs, the result of years of smoking and sleeping in, then warm tones fall onto the frail girl next to him. and she looks so heartbreakingly vulnerable. if possible, he’d make a wish to share the terrors, a couple of dreams — YEAH, he could stomach that and he’d deserve it much more than her. his position mimics hers, fingers reaching out to brush over ivory skin of the right side of kevin’s face. ‘ hey, hey, no more saying sorry for that, okay? it’s fine, i can take it. ‘ he assures her, voice sleepy yet confident. ‘ maybe it’s school. are you stressed? we could always try . . going away for the weekend. heard that helps some people. how do you feel about driving up to the big apple? you and me, the bright lights . . tubular. ‘

     insisting on time spent apart could certainly be considered counterintuitive. in the case of her best self-interest at least. she slept better with him, and although still not good – BETTER. it was easier to drift off by his side, and once the horrors of her mind forced a girl awake, having him still be there eased, at least, forty-five percent of her anxieties. give or take. she’s not alone in the bed . . . which is where the problem lies, as well. “ you know . . . that the point of that was to give you some time away – from me, right ? a road-trip sort of defeats the whole purpose. ” closeness distracts, and momentarily : a train of thought is lost. “ not that it’s a no . . . it’s not ! it’s a – you’re sweet. ” he was, and it remained a pressing issue : saying no was a difficulty, and pushing a concept such as this one was an impossibility. she was determined, though, even behind flushed cheeks and warm smiles. “ but i am serious, jamie . . . sleep’s important. ”