ᴳᴿᴼᵂ ᵁᴾ

𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑏𝑜𝑦𝑠 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑙𝑖𝑓𝑒.

[masleys]

⁎⁺ #𝙼𝙰𝚂𝙻𝙴𝚈𝚂 ⁺⁎     a deconstruction of the prototypical all-american boy next door : a study in loyalty turned lethal, rotting optimism, and the ghost left in the rubble of his expectations. a dependent muse affiliated with classcursehq.  as  written  by  august  —  xxiv.  she/her.  est. ★

   ⌞ 𝙿𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙴𝚂𝚃 ⌝     ⌞ 𝙿𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙻𝙸𝚂𝚃 ⌝     ⌞ 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚂 ⌝     ⌞ 𝙴𝙳𝙸𝚃𝚂 ⌝     ⌞ 𝚃𝙰𝚂𝙺𝚂 ⌝

✩ 𝙱𝙰𝚂𝙸𝙲 𝙸𝙽𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙼𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 . . .

+ 𝙵𝚄𝙻𝙻 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴 peter rhys masley + 𝙽𝙸𝙲𝙺𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴𝚂 his former teammates / colleagues from the army often refer to him simply as ' masley ' or ' mas ' + 𝙳.𝙾.𝙱. 03 / 02 / 1996 + 𝙰𝙶𝙴 twenty-eight + 𝙰𝚂𝚃𝚁𝙾𝙻𝙾𝙶𝚈 pisces sun / aries moon / aries rising + 𝙶𝙴𝙽𝙳𝙴𝚁 cis man + 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙽𝙾𝚄𝙽𝚂 he / him / his + 𝙵𝙰𝙲𝙴𝙲𝙻𝙰𝙸𝙼 george mackay + 𝙾𝙲𝙲𝚄𝙿𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 former paratrooper in the u.s. army, current little league soccer coach / student at lincoln community college + 𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙼𝙴𝚁 𝙶𝚁𝙾𝚄𝙿𝚂 soccer team ( captain ), track team + 𝙼𝙱𝚃𝙸 𝚃𝚈𝙿𝙴 enfp : the champion + 𝙴𝙽𝙽𝙴𝙰𝙶𝚁𝙰𝙼 6w7 : the confidant + 𝙰𝙻𝙸𝙶𝙽𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃 neutral good + 𝚃𝙴𝙼𝙿𝙴𝚁𝙰𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃 phlegmatic + 𝚃𝚁𝙾𝙿𝙴 the boy next door + 𝙿𝙾𝚂𝙸𝚃𝙸𝚅𝙴 valiant, loyal, genuine, strong-willed, reliable, pragmatic + 𝙽𝙴𝙶𝙰𝚃𝙸𝚅𝙴 impressionable, impulsive, clumsy, irascible, stubborn, insecure + 𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴𝚂 playing guitar, listening to music, comic books, video games + 𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴𝚂 tba

✩ 𝙱𝙸𝙾𝙶𝚁𝙰𝙿𝙷𝚈 . . .

tw : mentions of death, grief, ptsd, explosion

on the day peter masley was born, the skies opened up, drenching lincoln city with relentless rain for seventeen hours straight. floods ravaged the small town, its streets filled not with the usual yellow school buses or pickup trucks, but rather rainwater spilling onto the pavement and through basements. nearby creeks overflowed, the occasional roar of thunder tearing through the sky with what felt like god's fury. even the most well-off neighborhoods were met with widespread power outages — yet none of this halted the masley family, rushing themselves fervently to st. mary hospital to await the arrival of their new baby.

peter wasn't quite what they expected. those familiar with the masleys knew of their yearning for a daughter, a desire expressed through occasional purchases of pink dresses and hair bows in hopes of manifesting this dream. with his bright blue eyes and dimpled smile, peter is a proper surprise — but he's theirs, and they love him, despite their unfulfilled wishes. despite, despite, despite.

growing up in lincoln city's suburbia, peter was accustomed to the earthy hues of forest green trees and brown muddy tire tracks. he was forged from this — a childhood of bittersweet faith and mornings shrouded in that dreaded oregon fog and rain he could never seem to escape. at age seven, he was the youngest of three masley boys. he had to fight fiercely to keep up with his older brothers, though he never quite found himself in the lead of their races.

though he adored his brothers, the golden-hearted boy was often wracked with tears of sensitivity in response to his brothers' harshness. there was a constant gray cloud hanging over his head, peter often overwhelmed with feelings of inadequacy and fear of his inability to live up to the expectations set by his brothers. he had a knack for falling into a trap of convincing himself he was merely an albatross — useless, unwanted, a burden of emotions he could hardly allow himself to feel and release. still, he was nurtured with notions to always do the right thing, to remain steadfast in his loyalty toward others, and to remain gentle amidst hardship.

at seven, peter's sensitivity was put the test. a particularly brisk november morning was greeted with a call from the doctor's office, urging mrs. masley to be sent to an emergency room right away due to alarming test results. each masley boy coped differently with this news. at such a young age, peter was unable to grasp the complex emotions swirling around him — the sadness and guilty, the anxiety and grief. with his lack of understanding came frustration. he feared abandonment as his family became consumed by doctor's appointments and check-ups, leading the boy to act out as he yearned for attention amidst the chaos.

following his mother's death a year later, peter pressed on in spite of the onslaught of change, entering middle school with trepidation. each passing year of academia had peter slowing down, burnt out, growing less and less ambitious. while his grades were acceptable, he was no match for his brothers; however, what peter lacked in grades, he made up for in sports. the boy found a passion for soccer and track, allowing him to find some popularity in high school as he was able to put on an act of charm and clownery to entertain his peers. he dealt with negative emotions by seeking temporary fixes — reckless behavior, rule-breaking. he never quite faced his anger, preferring to channel it into his craft. though it wasn’t healthy, it helped him land a spot as captain of the soccer team — a shining star of an accomplishment in what otherwise felt like a letdown for his family.

as high school approached its end, peter faced uncertainty about his future. while he was never short of a fun time in high school, he lacked any realistic career goals and was unable to fathom the cost of a college education. he only hoped to escape lincoln city — to start anew without any confines or notions of what he was supposed to do next. thus entered the military. with seemingly nowhere else to turn, peter was lured by grandeur notions of adventure, travel, independence, good pay, and opportunity. he had a chance to make a name for himself, all while separating from the only place he'd ever known, a place of pain and loss and heartbreak.

while enlisted in the army, peter spent his time as a paratrooper and communications system operator. he spent most of his time abroad in countries like japan, south korea, italy, bangladesh, germany, and jordan. he was having the time of his life — but it was wearing him down, too. with a handful of combat deployments and a deteriorating physicality, peter knew he couldn't do this forever. the decision was made for him after a blast incident abroad leaves him traumatically injured. he was honorably discharged after eight years of service, condemned back to lincoln city with some new weights to carry.

while the practical decision, returning home was emotional for peter. he struggled with ptsd and significant physical injury, both altering his life. though it had only been eight years, everything was different for him upon his return. hoping to fall back into routine, peter enrolls in classes at lincoln city's local community college and begins coaching a little league soccer team with an old friend. still, the familiar surroundings triggered memories he sought to forget, leaving him feeling trapped in a cycle of nostalgia and longing for a fresh start.

✩ 𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙲𝙰𝙽𝙾𝙽𝚂 . . .

despite not coming from a wealthy family like most of the students who went to st. mary high school, peter had a good rapport with most of his peers thanks to his success as an athlete. it’s this that encouraged him to participate in the dare box game in hopes of entertaining his classmates and having a good time.

though peter was always considered to be a good kid, he also had a reputation as a bit of a risk-taker. he had a tendency to drink, party, and break the rules more often than his peers. he was the type of boy who would sneak through neighbors’ backyards and jump fences as a shortcut home, or climb through his girlfriend’s window to meet up after curfew. peter loved pushing boundaries, and his dares tempted the line between innocent mischief and reckless abandon. he never intended to cause harm, but rather wanted to get his classmates out of their comfort zones. in his mind, it was all about challenging friends to have a good time — he just rarely considered the possible consequences of this sort of fun.

peter was honorably discharged from the military due to traumatic joint injuries in his right knee leading to osteoarthritis. following his injury, peter now utilizes a walking stick the majority of the time to alleviate some of the pain he experiences while walking.

he is still able to coach little league soccer with the help of an old friend who acts as his co-instructor. peter's positive experience as a soccer instructor has made him interested in studying to become an elementary school teacher.

✩ 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝙽𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 . . .

TAKEN

AND I WON'T CONFESS THAT I WAITED, BUT I LET THE LAMP BURN. ( @maudestia ) next door neighbors since birth, with only two bedroom windows separating them, hestia and peter were destined to be best friends. when things became too much with his brothers, he sought an escape in playing pretend with the girl, and this continued through their entire adolescence — until their junior year of high school, when she all but drops contact with the boy. it's at eighteen years old, in the lonesome retreat of basic training, that peter realizes he's been in love with hestia practically his entire life. it wasn't clear to him until it was too late, and to this day, he lacks an understanding of why she pulled away from him all those years ago. it devastated him, and was an inspiring factor in his decision to leave lincoln for the army. now that he's back in town and living next door to her once again, peter's forced to confront burrowed feelings. he struggles between choosing to wait for her, or finally turning off the light in his bedroom window for good.

YOU WERE A WORK OF ART, THAT'S THE HARDEST PART. ( @zahra-burch ) peter and zahra were high school sweethearts — what started as scene partners in a one-off theater class turned into the most prominent romantic relationship of his existence, spanning his junior year all the way through basic training in the army. while he truly loved zahra and believed they had a future together, it was ultimately his fault the relationship crumbled due to his underlying, unaddressed feelings for hestia. they reach their boiling point during the fall of 2014 — peter is away at boot camp for ten weeks with no contact to the outer world, and the only letter he sends is addressed to hestia, one that's written after realizing he's had feelings for her his entire life. the undelivered letter ends up in zahra's hands, who dumps him on the spot and ghosts him upon his return. to this day, he has unresolved guilt and regret about the relationship and how he handled everything. thus far, the two have avoided each other at all costs, but he knows he'll have to face her eventually.

WE'RE HAVING AN ALL NIGHT REVIVAL. ( @surglace ) from near-daily morning jog bros to star-studded student athletes in different sports, peter and felix grew up on the same block and were best friends because of it. felix is the single person peter feels closest to, and he often confides in him and acts as his cornerstone. when they both left town after high school, they kept in touch, but never managed to find a friendship as close as what they had — nothing could fill the void of peter's right-hand man. now that they're back, they've reignited their friendship with ease, and peter even convinced felix to help him coach little league soccer on the side !

WANTED

( these descriptions are just starting points meant to be altered and fleshed out with more plotting ! please note that connections are not gender-specific unless otherwise stated. )

bad influences / good influences

fake friends who just try to save face with each other !

party pals

former teammates from soccer and track

friends with benefits / hook ups / ex hook ups

tinder matches

first love / first kiss / first time

unrequited crush ( could go either way . . . )

a summer love inspired by august

flings / ex flings

people who dislike him / people he dislikes

ex friends !!! enemies !!

family ~

anything inspired by these songs or this pinterest board

[maudestia]

tagging: @classcursestarters. location: outdoor, public bench.

       "did you ..."  pink ballerina tipped  fingernails tap against the plastic of her to-go cup of  strawberry-lavendar matcha,  stella's current hyperfixtation of the season,  doe eyes widening as she leans towards the other,  her southern drawl dropping into a  whisper  drifting in the wind.    "did you, by any chance, have an odd interaction with law enforcement recently?" 

[masleys]

" WHY ARE YOU WHISPERING ? no one's around, " peter teased, playfully nudging the blonde with the point of his elbow. he took a sip from his own latte — a venti iced peppermint black and white mocha with whipped cream and an extra shot of espresso — before meeting her gaze again. he could tell from her deepened stare that she was truly unnerved — afraid, even. peter could resonate with that feeling, if only for the lack of control and knowledge he had over the situation. he had his words, which he hoped sufficed, but law enforcement had one over all of them — secrets and evidence that could so quickly turn the entirety of lincoln city against each other. it could destroy the town. he let out a labored sigh. " to answer your question — yeah. kind of. i don't know what to make of it. "

[zahra-burch]

@masleys

the ester lee motel wasn't the nicest hotel in town. the rooms were outdated, the carpet as tired in its appearance as the gentleman that worked the front desk most nights. it didn't have a restaurant, or even a bar, but what it did have was an often unmonitored path to a small strip of private beach below.

zahra had spent too many hours there to count, from the very moment her family mother and her had arrived in lincoln city. there'd been picnics and sunburns, early morning walks and late night swims. when the rest of the world got to be too much, the brunette would slip under the crooked wooden fence and make her way to the beach below. for a while, she'd had company, peter a steady and comforting presence beside her. they'd practiced their scene there her sophomore year, snuck out after prom to spend more time together with the waves as their soundtrack.

for a while, she had peter...and then it was just an empty stretch of beach and her thoughts. truthfully, in the past several years she hadn't spent nearly as much time here as she used to, but with the new break in chris' disappearance, zahra was desperate for a distraction. so here she was, acrylic paint still stuck under her fingernails and splotched across her white sundress, the rainbow, crocheted cardigan she'd made last summer below her head to act as a makeshift pillow. staring up at the sky and its changing colors, she almost doesn't notice the footsteps approaching. shifting onto her elbows, she glances over her shoulder, although the woman's relaxed posture changes as she realizes who's interrupted her quiet moment. "peter," she says simply, the first thing she's said to him since he left for boot camp.

[masleys]

THE LAST TIME PETER STEPPED FOOT on the private beach under the nose of the ester lee motel was just after basic training. he'd been back in town for one weekend only before he was scheduled to be sent off on an airplane, all the way across the universe, to his first army duty station in okinawa, japan. he remembered venturing to this spot in hopes of running into zahra burch, his freshly-ex-girlfriend who refused to speak to him for reasons he could only surmise from the crumpled letter left atop his bed sheets, his father's silent look of disappointment dealt to him the only time he tried to ask. of course, peter didn't find her there. not that time at least. zahra wouldn't let him put their past to rest so easily. he couldn't blame her. now, since the moment he'd been called for the police interview, peter had that same sense of needing to run. to climb out of his bones, his skin, his muscles. he wished to flee and escape lincoln, the same way he did that weekend before japan. it's this sense that carried him back to the beach, zahra's beach. their spot. peter couldn't resist waltzing back into the flames of another regret he thought he left buried, if only to bring himself closer to who he was when he thought he was braver, to who he was when he carried less shame atop his shoulders. if only for a chance at some forgiveness — though he didn't let himself acknowledge this thought. it almost felt mean, instantly finding the woman there laying down in the sand with that same glow about her, that same innocent glance in her eyes he couldn't shake no matter how far he ran. how could he interrupt her, how could be impose ? he'd avoided that gaze for the past sixteen months, and here it was . . . here she was. " zahra, " peter's words escaped his lips in a whisper. he had to make a conscious effort to speak up again. " er, i'm sorry — d'you mind if i sit down ? "

[masleys]

with : @classcursehq ; police interview location : an interrogation room at the local station when : 0900

IT'S TIMES LIKE THIS that made peter feel like a soldier again. the moment he stepped into the room, he was alert, cautious . . . detached, even. every fraction of a movement he made, every breath of air he released, every single answer had to be calculated. if he showed even the slightest sense of discomfort, he'd be showing weakness — and he was trained better than that. he was a soldier. this was nothing. ( except, peter wasn't a soldier when christopher disappeared, and he wasn't a soldier when he swore to keep that night a secret, and he wasn't a soldier when he was just a dumb eighteen year old boy with nothing figured out, and in some ways, this moment took him back to that kid again — that kid who was more shy than he let on, more timid than his memory allowed him to be, that kid who didn't understand his place in the world and only wanted to have friends and be popular, just like christopher — maybe peter was once a soldier, but he was also once a kid, and even eight years of army training and drills and deployments and combat couldn't drown old habits completely, not like they all drowned chris — ) peter had to remind himself to breathe. just breathe.

𝚆𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝚆𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙽𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝙲𝙷𝚁𝙸𝚂𝚃𝙾𝙿𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙳𝙴𝚁'𝚂 𝙳𝙸𝚂𝙰𝙿𝙿𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴 ?

there's tension in the air — peter can feel it, and he's sure the officer across the other end of the table can, too. of course it had to be him who got called — it was only fitting. peter was one of the first to return to lincoln, one of the first to face the ghosts of their small town, and thus one of the first forced to confront the class of 2014's demons. his gaze was steady, eyes flickering over every detail of the room. it was a habit ingrained into the man through countless hours of surveillance in hostile, foreign territories — much like this one felt. " well, officer, " peter began, " i remember it was around the time of our graduation, so we were all celebrating. the gordon's threw a giant end-of-the-year party at their place. everyone was there. " his tone was measured, his posture straight. peter had been trained to lie straight from his throat and out through his teeth, courtesy of the u.s. military. " i spent most of the night with my girlfriend at the time, zahra burch, and my buddy, felix langdon. i was there all night — i think the party started around 8:00 p.m., and if memory serves me right, it was just after midnight when i left. " his response was delivered with the precision of a well-rehearsed drill during morning formation — yet there was a quiet intensity about petef, and beneath it all laid a boy bound down by fear. " that was a decade ago, sir, so forgive me if my memory is a little foggy on the details. "

𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽 𝚆𝙰𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙻𝙰𝚂𝚃 𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚂𝙰𝚆 𝙲𝙷𝚁𝙸𝚂𝚃𝙾𝙿𝙷𝙴𝚁 ?

" honestly, officer, it's hard to say, " he continued. peter held his anxieties at bay, willing himself to follow instruction with an unwavering obedience — but it all felt so off, and he couldn't quite shake that feeling. why would he, of all the people in lincoln, be chosen for an interview ? he'd been here for nearly two years. what evidence could they have possibly found, ten years later, that called for him personally to be interviewed ? no written dares could have survived that long, and surely his name wouldn't have been brought up in conjunction with christopher's. he took a breath. " i remember the party being packed, and i didn't have much of a one-on-one with him. we might've crossed paths while grabbing snacks or drinks, but nothing significant comes to mind. "

𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚆𝙰𝚂 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝚁𝙴𝙻𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙿 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷 𝙲𝙷𝚁𝙸𝚂𝚃𝙾𝙿𝙷𝙴𝚁 ?

despite the weight of suspicion hanging in the air and bringing him down to his gut, peter maintained a respectful, cool demeanor. " chris and i were both on the track team, so we knew each and other and were friendly — but we weren't close, " he started. " we went to a lot of the same parties and all, but i never personally hung out with him. classmates, teammates . . . but not much else. just had our own circles, i guess. " as the interrogation drew to a close, he felt a sense of relief tempered by the lingering unease. his past was rattling within him — he couldn't change things, and he couldn't face them, either. " i wish i had gotten the chance to know him better. " they were the first truly honest words peter had uttered since the interrogation began.

[masleys]

⁎⁺ ⛧   ask peter anything !   ⛧ ⁺⁎

[propertiesofjoy]

crime and punishment, fyodor dostoevsky

[masleys]

( @zahra-burch )

[tulleclipse]

        isn't it funny, how the  only airbnb in town is her old house ?  and isn't it sad,  that she has to ask her boss to book the place for her  -  because hestia would far rather be caught  dead  than open any contact with her parents.  she doesn't want to know where they are,  what they're doing  -  IF THEY EVEN STILL EXIST,  because she decided at the young age of 18 they didn't exist anymore.  not to her.  not where it really matters in her life.  it is like hestia tabanao is doomed to follow the ghosts of her past,  step in their footsteps,  bring back every single memory and feeling and thought that once crossed her teenaged brain  -  and while she tried so,  so hard to leave it all behind  -  only to be dragged back,  kicking and screaming.

       when she had  first  arrived at to her childhood house  -  hestia was once again  just a girl  filled with some sort of dread,  chills creeping down her spine,  her bones are pushing against the skin lining the only armor hestia had left.  her rusted earth gaze didn't bother to glance at the house next door,  as the key from her sophomore year at st mary's still turned the knob on her front door and she reached up to pull the spare out from the hanging flower plant right at the edge of their porch  -  and of course it's  bleeding hearts  hestia's fingers tips brush against as she grabs the cold metal and shoves it in her pocket.

       head had been ducked down,  girl didn't bother to look at the house next door before collapsing in her room and knocking out to prepare for what was to come.

         and now it was the day before everyone was to gather at  new horizon  for the speeches  -  hestia had opted out,  and now she's pacing around her childhood bedroom,  staring at three heavy outfits across her pink botanical bed sheets  ( why didn't her parents touch anything why wasn't it updated why was it still there why is it making her feel this way why )  and thank god she thinks to have a glass of wine in her hand before she had headed upstairs for the night.  besides,  it's better to stare before a flickering early 2000's pink ikea lamp as she tries to determine her outfit for the day,  than to think of what tomorrow would bring.  it's better to sip on tart red wine than to think of the  boy next door  who haunted her thoughts more than the lack of presence her father ever had.

       girl does not even realize her hand wrapped around the wine glass is  trembling,  the bloody liquid staining her champagne silk pajama tank and shorts   ( ... now these pajama sets are something her mother had instilled in her since she was 14, and hestia had yet to have the heart to stop wearing them, when she felt so pretty and so delicate and so worthy of affection in )  when the tinker against her window  jolts  her out of it.  tired choclate eyes blink,  muscle memory leading her head to turn towards the window and dash over,  wine glass shattering against the wooden floor as she opens the window,  body leaning against the edge of the window.

           "peter."  she hasn't said the name in a decade;  it's like  GOD HIMSELF  had decided she would never be able to replace him,  never be able to forget him.  it's not like the name peter is rare,  especially in the city of new york;  and yet,  hestia had never come across one.  not on tinder,  not in school,  not when reporting.  the prophecy perhaps demanded he'd be the  ONLY PETER  she'd ever come across for the rest of her life.  that when she said his name,  she would be reminded of everything she'd ever done to him and beg for forgiveness she did not deserve.  brows furrow to focus on the man in the darkness,  and even her denial cannot deny the  strawberry moonlit cast  blurring her vision.  she bites her bottom lip,  likely drawing blood as her ponytailed head whips behind her,  the feeling of cold wine climbing pooling against her heel.   "you're a tomorrow problem,"   she informs the inanimate spill,  leaning out the window again to whisper-yell at him.   "don't go anywhere."

         because if she grabs her pack of cigarettes and a lighter before bare feet pat against the creaking wood of her stairs,  if she talks to him when her heart feels muffled  -  maybe this interaction won't go anywhere.  maybe they can talk,  and she won't drown in her thoughts of guilt and  ( it's your fault he should hate you and if he does hate you you know he's right )  she'll be able to breathe.  it's doubtful,  but when hestia's 2 glasses of wine in,  she has a tendency to indulge in  wishful thinking.  does not bother to grab her favorite cardigan   ( peter gave it to her before she cut him off completely; it's the warmest piece of clothing she owns )  she feels the cold,  dewy,  overgrown grass of her backyard  -  the kitchen light casting over her path.

        arms are crossed as she approaches him,  manicured fingers flickering at the lighter for her nerves,  she swallows.   "hi."  if she's out of breath from running out here  ...  well,  hestia doubts he'll notice  ( she's kidding herself ).   "i didn't know you were still here."

[masleys]

THERE WAS SOMETHING IN THE WAY she said his name, the way her voice breached the calm silence of the night as she leaned outside her window, disturbing the melodic chirp of crickets and the hum of warm street lights, brick buildings settling around them. all of this . . . it was nearly enough to transport him back in time. just nearly, for though it was dark, he realized hestia wore a different face than the one painted in his memory. her hair was styled differently, her demeanor too. her fingertips flickered the lighter in a way that told him she'd picked this habit up ages ago — and yet it wasn't a habit he'd remembered her bearing, a stark reminder of just how much time had passed since they'd known each other. " hello, " peter greeted, feigning his best smile whilst simultaneously fighting the urge to wrap her into an embrace. he was meant to behave in a way that was cordial — he was merely conducting their postmortem, not pretending as if the past twelve years hadn't touched them so harshly, so abruptly. exhaling a weighted breath of air, peter wished he could punch himself in the jaw. perhaps it would shake himself out of this, perhaps it'd enforce his principles and ensure he wouldn't let nostalgia make a fool of himself in the way it always did. and yet, even then, even now . . . he wondered if hestia could still see right through him. god, he could use one of her cigarettes. " uh, yeah . . . i've been here since i got out of the army. " peter purposely didn't note that it'd been about a year and a half since then. for whatever reason, it left him feeling too bare — too embarrassed. " just seemed like the logical thing, to come back home, be with family and all. " never mind that he felt he had no prospects, no dreams left to keep him growing past lincoln city. he was rooted here, now. stuck and planted, 'til he inevitably died, or 'til somebody plucked him away. it dawned on him suddenly that he didn't know if she was aware he was ever enlisted. after all, they'd only made contact once in the time that he joined, and it was only one-sided — the letter he'd sent in the last few weeks of basic training, after making the grand realization that his feelings toward her were never simple enough to be regarded as platonic. to this day, he doesn't know if it was her who returned the letter, or if it was her parents. he's tried not to think too much about it. " you know, your parents have a lot of guests over these days, " peter attempted to make a joke, to lighten things between them and shake himself out of his nerves. he knew hestia's parents were as far gone as she was — that the home once his birthright was now merely a rental destination for nosy vacationers, onlookers who intruded his spaces, their town. " when did you get here ? " though he figured he knew the answer, he wanted to shift the conversation to her, needing to take the focus off of himself and his life.

[cherrycursed]

the  majority  of  the  time  ,  cherry  didn't  always  know  why  she  was  doing  anything  .  she  had  the  same  impulses  and  desires  as  most  people  but  there  was  always  something  that  seemed  to  hold  her  back  ;  a  feeling  that  she  deserved  unhappiness  ,  to  sit  with  her  misery  and  do  nothing  about  it  .  if  anything  ,  she  only  ever  made  things  for  herself  worse  .  maybe  seeing  peter  ,  who  seemed  to  be  one  of  the  last  slithers  of  good  that  lincoln  city  had  to  offer  ,  would  reignite  something  within  her  that  wanted  more  than  just  to  sit  and  rot  right  next  to  devils  lake  as  they  all  went  down  together  .   "  i  was  just  passing  by  ,  "  which  made  no  sense  really  but  she  wasn't  going  to  bring  up  the  fact  that  she  had  been  spurred  to  make  contact  by  the  grusome  reminder  of  seeing  hestia  .  (  gruesome  might  have  been  dramatic  )  .  the  reunion  was  all  sorts  of  ghosts  of  christmas  past  and  cherry  didn't  like  the  past  ...  she  ran  from  it  ,  hid  from  it  .  "  what  are  you  doing  anyways  ?  "  nosily  looking  past  him  to  see  what  was  going  on  inside  for  the  house  as  she  waited  for  an  invitation  but  barely  ,  abruptly  moving  forwards  into  his  hallway  as  she  turned  around  ,  "  got  a  scratcher  this  morning  and  of  course  i  didn't  win  shit  ...  the  universe  couldn't  even  give  me  $1  back  ...  "

[masleys]

" I WAS WATCHING LAST NIGHT'S MARINER'S GAME . . . " peter's voice trailed off as he watched his friend welcome herself in. truthfully, he didn't mind the interruption. her sudden presence made him realize he'd missed her, and besides — last he'd checked, it was the top of the eighth and seattle was getting crushed. he'd stupidly hoped they could still turn things around, but the odds were looking less likely by the minute. he didn't mind being distracted from inevitable disappointment. " you can watch the rest of it with me. just no spoilers, alright ? " peter's words flowed as if cherry had grown a sudden interest in major league baseball . . . what did he know anymore ? ditching his wooden case against the couch's side table, peter plopped his body back onto the couch in his rightful spot. turning the volume back on, he half paid attention to the television, half paid attention to cherry. " dunno why you even try with that shit, " he scoffed, amusement in his tone. " aren't you cursed or something ? " cherry carried herself as if that was the case — but he wasn't passing judgement. he knew the universe didn't have a tendency to put people like himself or cherry in its good graces ; though they were still alive, weren't they ? that had to count for something. " i'm joking, by the way, " peter clarified, and he turned himself to face her, smile fading into a slight look of concern as he suddenly gathering the sense that things weren't as peachy as they seemed. perhaps he was reading too much into it, but he couldn't help wanting to check in on her. " you doin' okay today ? "

[michaelgeary]

open / @classcursestarters

for  many  ,  it  was  an  uncomfortable  experience  .  on  the  other  hand  ,  michael  appeared  to  be  thriving  in  his  newfound  role  as  the  second  coming  of  religion  in  lincoln  city  .  for  the  first  time  ,  he  was  getting  along  with  his  father  (  who  may  have  still  doubted  this  new  leaf  too  )  and  seemed  to  be  a  very  respectable  member  of  society  .  it  had  only  been  two  weeks  but  he  left  nothing  but  good  omens  in  his  wake  ,  the  brightness  that  he  cast  almost  making  people  forget  the  darkness  of  what  else  was  going  on  .  michael  never  spoke  of  chris  ,  never  thought  of  him  …  tried  not  to  get  too  tangled  up  in  his  association  with  the  night  in  question  while  they  waited  for  police  to  ask  them  again  ,  what  had  happened  .  on  this  particular  day  ,  he  had  just  finished  his  reading  at  the  library  .  a  line  of  happy  children  and  parents  filtering  out  as  he  leans  against  the  wooden  table  that  was  set  up  beside  the  spot  he  had  been  occupying  .  he  was  nothing  but  full  of  lovely  ,  kind  deeds  for  the  ever  deserving  community  that  surrounded  cursed  devils  lake  .  "  i'm  sorry  to  say  that  you  already  missed  the  reading  … it  was  one  of  my  best  renditions  of  little  red  riding  hood  …  "  fingertips  walking  across  the  table  momentarily  as  he  settles  to  sit  ,  "  or  did  you  just  come  to  see  me  ?  "

[masleys]

WHERE MICHAEL GLITTERED IN ADVERSITY, peter retreated, his best hiding spot found in the shadows of places that used to feel familiar. he didn't know how to bounce back the way michael did. it'd been ten years of change — he'd faced heartbreak, loss, literal war. in the grand scheme of things, the problems he left behind in lincoln were nothing, and yet they ate away at him all the same. he'd successfully avoided the lot of it thus far, but even with that came a growing shame, a consuming guilt. nothing felt good these days — peter was a mere ghost in the rubble of his own destruction. maybe he just needed to borrow a piece of michael's energy. that's what brought him to the library today, paired with an urge to catch up with one of his most beloved friends from high school. peter missed the damn guy — his view of the world, his way of turning even the most mundane into something extraordinary. he made their small town of lincoln feel just like paris. peter needed that sort of pick-me-up, and if anyone was going to give that to him, it was michael. he lurked in the wings of the library, waiting for the space to clear out a bit before approaching the man with an amused grin painted on his lips. " you are unbelievable, " peter started, shaking his head with a light-hearted chuckle. he had a tendency to look at michael with an awe-inspired gaze — as if the man was something holy. he could ignore the irony in that thought. " 'course i'm here for you. " there was certainly nothing else that could get him out of the house to go to the library. " little late, from the looks of it, but something tells me i can live without the little red riding hood performance, " he joked. " you free after this ? "

[cherrycursed]

@masleys

she  was  hardly  flowers  and  rainbows  ,  something  about  her  that  was  always  weighted  in  considerable  darkness  ,  a  grief  that  never  wavered  .  cherry  was  predispositioned  to  see  the  worst  in  everything  but  she  had  never  seen  the  worst  in  peter  .  there  were  few  that  ever  made  it  through  her  surveying  without  coming  out  scathed  by  her  premature  paranoia  ,  opinions  of  what  bad  could  come  .  much  like  chris  ,  peter  had  always  appeared  as  someone  that  was  trustworthy  ,  naive  ,  not  really  in  touch  with  the  cruelty  of  the  world  around  them  .  (  of  course  ,  a  lifetime  had  passed  since  then  ,  ten  years  seeming  to  drag  yet  fly  )  .  her  morning  jog  more  useful  for  warding  off  the  demons  of  consecutive  hangovers  ,  the  only  detox  that  she  was  able  to  find  from  the  things  she  willingfully  inserted  into  her  body  in  an  attempt  to  block  out  reality  .  yet  ,  it  always  came  knocking  just  like  she  was  coming  to  knock  on  peter's  door  that  morning  .

[masleys]

IT WASN'T ABNORMAL to hear a knock at the door these days, the small town of lincoln no longer the quiet ghost town it'd been in the past sixteen months that peter'd been back. these streets, these trees . . . they were merely a skeleton of something he felt close to in his youth. as his old classmates returned, so did the town's spirit ; only this time it felt sinister, tainted. never as sweet as nostalgia painted it to be. at the sound of a knock on the door, peter's eyes darted to the small, patterned glass window at the center of the frame. he could hardly make out a crystallized cherry amin standing there — was it the glass obscuring her features, or was peter merely surprised to see her on his doorstep ? he couldn't remember the last time they spoke. while they'd both been in lincoln long before the cryptic message hailed their classmates back to town, it was rare they'd crossed paths. he had flashes of facebook posts, blurred recollection of her face from afar in a pub on the rare occasion he went out. but whatever the past, whatever her reasoning . . . it didn't matter. he could use the company. peter muted the television program he was watching ( a recorded re-run of last night's mariners game ! ) before standing up and heading in her direction. he leaned the weight of his body against his walking stick as he swung open the door, giving the woman a thin, dimpled smile. " hey, cherry, " he started, brows knotting together. " shit — what are ya' doing here ? "

[noelsovain]

location: unspecified participants: noel crawford & open ( @classcursestarters )

"fuck." noel evidently didn't care if anyone over heard him as he made zero attempt to lower his voice, if anything one could assume he had raised his voice when releasing the expletive. clearly, he was unhappy with the current predicament but then, so was everybody. and while he definitely didn't want to be stuck there - he did find some comfort in the fact that he wasn't alone. in fact, that comfort is what enabled him to allow a smile across his face as he turned to the nearest person. "how about we try to make the most of this situation?" he arched an eyebrow, "i'm sure there's plenty of mischief to be found."

[masleys]

WAS PETER KIDDING HIMSELF ? his sense of repose could probably be attributed to his disdain for conspiracies, his insistence that things were more often coincidental than not. or perhaps he simply believed what he wanted to — that everything was normal, and nothing could truly be wrong. ghosts and hauntings were only a thing in the movies, and floods and weather-related lockdowns were entirely plausible for a place like oregon. something like that. perhaps he was just naive. peter raised his eyebrows at noel's suggestion. ten years ago, he would've had the exact same thought. but a jaded, worn down peter could only look at the other like he was crazy. " i kinda just wanna go to sleep, wait this thing out, " he started, straightening his posture with a tired stretch. he let out a labored breath of air. " but that's boring, isn't it. what'd you have in mind ? "

[masleys]

with : @maudestia location : the masley household ; peter's bedroom ; the space separating peter & hestia's childhood windows when : 0032 on an early spring thursday

PERHAPS HE WAS CURSED. that's what this was, wasn't it ? cursed, doomed to spend each insomnia-ridden night staring at the window once home to his favorite ghost. his greatest loss, his greatest what-if, his greatest mystery. doomed to relive the years of his past and all the things he might have done wrong or could have done better, all the feelings he pushed down, further and further, until they had no place to go except into his consciousness. all because of some fucking window. there were days peter wanted to knock on the wooden pane of the house next door, just to see who would answer. there were days he wanted to smash a rock through her window, just to watch the glass shatter. there were days he wished for selective amnesia — just enough to fade her memory. none of it would be of any use. she'd moved on from lincoln city long ago. when he sat in his bedroom for too long, it was no longer hestia he saw walking out the front entryway. it was blurred faces, new features each week. some with long, blonde, flowing locks. others with short bobs, brunet mullets, and bristly mustaches. despite these distinctions, they were all the same shadowy figures, none of which he recognized. figures who nudged open the front door he helped paint, whose shoes padded on hardwood floors with baseboards scuffed up by his sneakers, whose hands edged along corridor walls stamped generously with his fingerprints. there was endless evidence of his existence within the tabanao household, and yet, no one within those walls knew it anymore. hestia was gone, her parents were gone. peter only had left the bones of something soulless. it's on an exceptionally sleepless night that this changes. a sudden flicker of light in the darkness across the glass pane of his window, a soft amber glow permeating pink curtains, the same one that used to make his heart race and his lips curl into a dimpled grin. it was the one area which remained untouched by strangers, as if preserved from when they were still kids, still apart of each other's lives. he didn't know if it was her — the curtains were still taut, only the slight movement of shadows visible from where he laid. he couldn't text her . . . they stopped doing that years ago. yet, there was never a finite end to their entanglement, so why shouldn't he be allowed the sweetness of curiosity ? with a heavy sigh, peter pushed back the patterned quilt resting atop him, legs swinging over the edge of his bed. his hand reached out instinctively for the familiar weight of the walking stick leaning against his bedside table. gripping it, peter rose to his feet, muscles protesting the sudden movement, yet his mind willed him to continue on to see if it was her. slipping on his rubber slides, the man made his way across his bedroom and down the stairs, a faint creak of wooden floorboards beneath him. stepping into the cool air, grass crunched and crinkled beneath his slides as he found the once-familiar spot — the one beneath hestia's window. he paused, taking a deep breath. endless nights of whispered secrets, shared dreams and glances through the glass of that window. it'd been ten years, and he still remembered everything. it wasn't a well-thought plan ( his rarely were ) but he had a million questions and not a single breath of an answer. he could only do what he knew, reaching down to the brick planters lined against his home. once filled with flowers before his mother's passing, now tiny pebbles varying in shape and shades of griege. he picked up a few, flicking his wrist to send one scattering against the window. then a second, then a third. the sound echoed in an otherwise silent night, so close to what peter recalled. and yet, it added another bullet point to the list of questions that would stay unanswered : how did an old habit grow to feel so foreign ?

[andiamofratello]

[aliciavikander]

You just always know what you think. I’m not like that.

Normal People (2020) 1.02

[nuooage]