[pleadsfifth]

the worst person you know is doing mindful meditation

stats / musings

rodeo hoe: @bloodrodeo

rules:

he's a bit evil so obligatory muse is not mun n vice-versa

low-activity, not a rule i'm just saying it

have fun 🔪

minors dni i am 25+

[vitalitey]

open to: any gender. plot & connection: your muse's car either broke down or they got left by their date/family member. knox notices them sitting alone on the street and out of the secret kindness of his heart, pulled over to help. could be a stranger, an ex, old friend, anything really.

knox had been minding his own business, heading back into town with one hand resting on the steering wheel, when a figure sitting on the side of the road caught his attention. he drove past it at first, figuring it wasn't any of his business, but the image lingered in the back of his mind long enough for him to mutter a fucking hell under his breath and turn the truck around. gravel crunched beneath his tires as he pulled alongside the stranded vehicle, eyes flicking from the street to the other nearby. knox sat there for a second, weighing his choices before he rolls down the passenger window. "ya'all good?"

[pleadsfifth]

"Yeah, I'm fine thanks." Comes out as an immediate response, in order to shut down the stranger's knight in shining armour, Good Samaritan schtick that he doesn't have the tolerance for on a normal day, let alone now — when his beloved pocket-burning, gas guzzling Maserati won't start. When he doesn't hear the sound rev of an engine that would indicate the car speeding off, he looks up — prepared to give the stranger a get lost stare, before he realizes that the face is anything but. "What, are you stalking me?" Eetu asks, being an ass 'cos he can. Because they're not together anymore.

[skippingframes]

nari laughed before she could stop herself, the sound escaping sharp and surprised at the image he painted. "see? that's EXACTLY what worries me." her head tilted as she listened, though the more he talked, the more a picture began forming. not just of his preferences, but of the gaps between them; the places where people usually got themselves into trouble. "weekday dinners are yours, weekends are mine, lunches are prepped ahead, no microwave. easy." she made a note in the margin of her notebook, already thinking through cold noodle dishes, grain salads that improved after a day in the fridge, poached fish, marinated vegetables, things that could survive a schedule that sounded increasingly chaotic. then she glanced back up at him. "the espresso is less concerning than the FORGETTING." there was no judgment in it, only observation. she'd worked for enough obsessive people to recognize the type. the ones who treated hunger as an interruption until suddenly they were dizzy, irritable, and wondering why they felt awful. "the goal isn't just feeding you. it's making eating require so little effort that you stop giving yourself opportunities to skip it." her pen tapped once against the paper. "though if you're the kind of person who gets absorbed in work and ignores every reminder on their phone, i should probably know that now. it'll save us both time." a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "because i have a feeling you're either incredibly easy to feed or an absolute nightmare. i'm still figuring out which."

[pleadsfifth]

A polished chuckle. "I'm not a flight risk." Said with the assurance of a lawyer, which, if anyone's to know anything about lawyers at all — is a surface-level consolation. But for the most part, true: apart from when it's not, but Nari won't be privy to anything unbecoming if he can help it. Satisfied, he nods. He appreciates the no frills approach to planning, as much as he always has something to say, he trusts her implicitly. Otherwise, she wouldn't be here. Though there is something about this whole experience that makes him feel, cared for. The same way hookers do when he has the dough. His eyes narrow, mildly disgusted that this thought would even surface. Anyways. "Honestly, I do believe I have this sort of - reverence toward food that compels me to want to treat it with the dignity of, at the very least, taking the time to eat it without interruption of my work or anything else. Obviously, finding that time is difficult. Hence, forgetting." An intentional forgetting perhaps. Her tone is even-keeled, without judgment, but he feels magnified under inquiry. Though his skin looks good today, for once. "And if I am a nightmare? What then? How far do you go before you decide that it's not worth your time?" He rallies back at her. Eetu doesn't expect that he will be a nightmare, he'll certainly try not to be but he's curious.

[anthrcpophagi]

She shouldn’t be here, not really. She doesn’t even go to this college. She doesn’t go to college anywhere. But no one here knows that, and no one is sober enough to question her presence. And no one ostracizes her for sticking to the walls, for sipping at her drink instead of downing it all in one go. They’re all too drunk to notice and too drunk to care, but it means a lot to Maren. Even for a single night, fitting in and blending together with her peers meant the world.

But she needed to keep her wits about her. She told herself she wasn’t going to drink. Not after what happened last time. But that was nearly a whole year ago now. She’s been good since then. Kinda. She’s only eaten four people since then—four living people, at least. Two of them had been dead already when she’d found them, and she merely decided to make the best of a shitty situation. The couple had apparently veered off the road in the middle of the night, hydroplaned into a tree at high speeds. The front hood had crunched up like an accordion, the windshield so shattered that it popped the airbags. There were evn little shards of glass embedded in their skin, and Maren had to spit some out in between bites. But they were already dead, so it wasn’t like she was killing anyone. They would rot if she left them there. It made sense, then, to eat them before they went to waste. After all, she'd been raised not to waste food.

But other than those six bodies, Maren had been good. She’s controlled herself. For the most part. So, why shouldn’t she let loose for a single night? She was still young, and could still pass for a college student. So, why couldn’t she celebrate her own accomplishments with a drink or two?

She felt small beads of sweat form on her temples, the baby hairs framing her face tickled with the perspiration. “You never know when it’ll be your last birthday.” Her words sound more grim than she intended and Maren hopes a weak smile will help. Lawyers could be philosophical. Maybe she’d fit in easier than she’d hoped.

“Death penalty debate?” Maren swallows hard, hoping the stranger doesn’t hear her heart rate quickening. She had a few thoughts of her own about the death penalty, but none that she’d ever dare speak aloud. Especially not with a crowd like this, in front of educated and inebriated rich people. And especially not when she deserved to be on death row herself.

“My Mama would hate it here.” She mutters, cradling the glass in her hand as she scans the sea of faces around them. The thought brings more excitement to mind than shame, a refreshing twist from the heavy weight of guilt she carried with her everywhere. A lot of the things Maren has done, a lot of the places she's been and people's she's met would evoke hatred from her mama.

[pleadsfifth]

Eetu wants to snap his fingers in front of her face, sever the daydream she finds herself in, get up on a table and beg for attention then sulk all the way home when he doesn't get it, belly fat from the beer and gait uneven. No, that's not true. He's in good spirits — surrounded by people he calls his friends. They would pick him up from the airport if he ever asked. He never would. And he supposes he's doing the same thing, thinking about other things entirely, and he has to force himself to be present in the moment. Ground the soles of his dress shoes (The Row, round-toed, deep brown) into the tacky liquor stained floor.

He thinks about her, while looking at her — which is closer to what he should be doing in this scenario, but not quite there. What is she doing here? It's funny what youth can do, and tits probably, but he's not looking. Because she is younger than them, and definitely not a part of the graduating class. "Whose girlfriend are you?" Comes out of him, and he'll blame it on the coke, because usually he can relied upon for a little more tact. Though he can't unsay it, so he'll pretend like it's intentional.

His brows raise, slightly curious. Eetu thinks about death all the time. It's hard not to with the field he's in. There's a spectacle to it that he thinks is underrated, and a theatre that takes place in the courtroom, that, if the victim is deceased, is no longer privy too. But they try to put on a good show in honour of them. "Fair enough. Might as well make it count. I'm not much for birthdays." His parents call him if he's not home, and then he goes on a bender. It's fun.

Her voice ticks up talking about the death penalty, the mention of it has an inherent question mark at the end. He's about to launch into a long-winded diatribe on the core failings of the death penalty, but his mouth quirks up at the last moment — realizing. And it'll make up for his rude question earlier on. "You can't do that. Bait lawyers like that. I nearly made you the victim of a conversation you wouldn't be able to get out of." In actuality, his views on it aren't anything radical. No government should decide who lives and who dies, and at the very least, it's hypocritical to kill someone for killing someone.

Eetu scoffs. Rudely, though the rudeness isn't a concentrated missile directed at her. He's just has a tendency for rudeness. "Your mama get fucked over by lawyers or something? Or is she just an eat-the-rich type?"

[skippingframes]

nari’s mouth twitched at that; small, but GENUINE. thank god. macros. she’d spent enough time cooking for actors and athletes to know exactly the type of chef he meant — men who treated food like PUNISHMENT with garnish. “that sounds miserable,” she says lightly, leaning back against the counter as she studies him a little more carefully now. there was something intense about him she recognized immediately; not just someone rich looking for convenience, but someone who ACTUALLY cared. that was rarer than people thought. most employers wanted obedience dressed up as luxury. eetu, at least, sounded curious. “food should make your life EASIER, not smaller.” her fingers tapped once against the notebook before she flipped it open properly this time, pages full of ingredient pairings, wine stains, and scribbled thoughts at odd hours. “you’re probably busy, stressed, probably forget to eat until it becomes a problem; so i’d build around that FIRST. things you can manage in pieces. broths, smaller plates, dinners that don’t sit heavy if you’re working late.” a pause; then, a little drier, “and if you tell me you survive on espresso and spite, i’m legally ALLOWED to judge you.”

[pleadsfifth]

"It was. I wanted to blow my brains out in front of him." He states plainly. Eetu thinks the man would have noted the reduced body fat before noticing the bits of brain splattered over his shirt. Nodding, understanding. A breath to recalibrate, momentarily sent off-kilter by the mere thought of the previous dreadful conversation. Easier, he likes the sound of that. Eetu wants to make his life as frictionless as possible, so he can achieve everything he sets out to do. Wants to glide like a sharpened blade on fresh ice. "I enjoy cooking myself dinners on the weekdays, though I rarely ever eat at the same time. Lunches would need to be prepped, cold foods primarily as I don't like to re-heat things in the microwave." Less about the radiation, more about the germs. He'd rather not, if possible. "And you'd need to have availability on the weekends." Eetu lays out. His diet is far from well-rounded. Something something coke's an appetite suppressant. "Just espresso. Spite's bad for the nervous system. You're right though. I do admit I have the nasty habit of forgetting to eat."

[classsymemes]

starter call 2.0   feel free to combine prompts !

for  a  happy  starter .

for  a  melancholy  starter .

for  an  excited  starter .

for  an  angry  starter .

for  a  soft  starter .

for  a  silly  starter .

for  an  angsty  starter .

for  a  violent  starter .

for  a  romantic  starter .

for  a  sexual  starter .

for  a  comforting  starter .

for  a  threatening  starter .

for  an  argumentative  starter .

for  an  action / adventure  starter .

for  a  flirtatious  starter .

for  a  loving  starter .

for  a  hostile  starter .

for  an  envious  starter .

for  a  fearful  starter .

for  an  injured / sick  starter .

for  an  urgent  starter .

for  a  celebratory  starter .

for  a  reunion  starter .

for  a  lazy  starter .

for  a  protective  starter .

for  a  domestic  starter .

for  an  intimate  starter .

for  a  weather - based  starter .

for  a  surprised  starter .

for  a  malicious  starter .

for  an  illegal  starter .

for  a  concerned  starter .

for  a  tense  starter .

for  a  sentimental  starter .

for  a  hopeful  starter .

for  a  hopeless  starter .

for  a  guilty  starter .

for  an  embarrassed  starter .

for  an  anxious  starter .

for  a  desperate  starter .

for  a  disappointed  starter .

for  an  aggressive  starter .

for  a  cautious  starter .

for  an  impulsive  starter .

for  a  resentful  starter .

for  a  suspicious  starter .

for  a  conflicted  starter .

for  a  provoked  starter .

for  an  awkward  starter .

for  a  dishonest  starter .

for  a  fatigued  starter .

for  a  grateful  starter .

for  a  flustered  starter .

for  a  vulnerable  starter .

for  a  manipulative  starter .

for  a  professional  starter .

for  a  mischievous  starter .

for  a  relieved  starter .

for  a  cooperative  starter .

for  an  uncooperative  starter .

for  a  moody  starter .

for  an  impatient  starter .

for  a  competitive  starter .

for  an  encouraging  starter .

for  a  sensual  starter .

for  an  interrupted  starter .

for  a  clumsy  starter .

for  a  tearful  starter .

for  an  affectionate  starter .

for  a  cozy  starter .

[gatorprompts]

✧ — ⋆   𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 .

some  ideas  for  first  meeting  prompts  that  may  help  break  the  ice  between  characters .  feel  free  to  amend  contexts  &  roles  where  required !  violent  &  alcohol  related  prompts  present . 

[ BAR ]  :   for  your  muse  to  join  mine  at  a  bar  [ DINER ]  :  for  your  muse  to  join  mine  at  a  diner / restaurant   [ SAVE ] :  for  your  muse  to  step  in  to  save  my  muse  in  a  fight  [ FAKE ] :  for  your  muse  to  pretend  to  know  my  muse  in  public  to  save  them  from  a  difficult  encounter [ RUN ] :  for  your  muse  to  grab  my  muse’s  hand  and  tell  them  to  run  [ STEAL ]  :  for  your  muse  to  try  to  steal  from  my  muse  ( pickpocketing ,  in  their  home  etc  –  feel  free  to  specify  context ! ) [ STUDY ] :  for  your  muse  to  join  mine  to  study / read   [ PICNIC ] :  for  your  muse  to  join  mine  on  a  picnic  [ FIRST  DATE ] :  for  your  muse  to  meet  mine  for  a  first  date   [ BREAK  IN ] :  for  our  muses  to  break  in  somewhere  together  [ ATTACK ] :  for  your  muse  to  try  to  attack  mine  ( specify  context ! ) [ DANCE ] :  for  your  muse  to  invite  mine  to  dance  [ PAY ] :  for  your  muse  to  pay  for  my  muse’s  item(s)  ( specify  context ! ) [ TAXI ] :  for  our  muses  to  share  a  taxi  ride  somewhere [ CAR ] :  for  your  muse  to  jump  in  my  muse’s  car  and  tell  them  to  drive [ LOCKED  OUT ] :  for  your  muse  to  be  locked  out  of  their  apartment  &  to  ask  for  help  from  mine  [ DIY ] :  for  your  muse  to  ask  mine  for  help  with  diy  in  their  home  [ DARE ] :  for  your  muse  to  approach  mine  on  a  dare [ PATCH ] :  for  your  muse  to  help  mine  with  an  injury [ COMFORT ] :  for  your  muse  to  comfort  mine  [ SWIM ] :  for  your  muse  to  throw  mine  into  the  sea /  a  river /  pool  ( specify ! ) [ RESTRAINED ] :  for  our  muses  to  be  tied  up  together  [ CRY ]  :  for  your  muse  to  find  mine  crying   [ KIDNAP ] :  for  your  muse  to  kidnap  mine [ DRUNK ] :  for  your  muse  to  look  after  mine  while  drunk  [ ZOMBIE ] :  for  our  muses  to  be  caught  in  a  zombie  attack  together  [ TRAPPED ] :  for  our  muses  to  be  trapped  somewhere  together  ( stuck  in  a  storm ?  kidnapped  together ?  dodgy  lock  on  a  door ? )  [ WARN ] :  for  your  muse  to  warn  mine  of  incoming  danger [ COFFEE SHOP ] :  for  your  muse  to  join  mine  at  a  coffee  shop  /  café [ WORK ] :  for  your  muse  to  help  train  mine  on  the  first  day  of  their  job  [ ROOMMATES ] :   for  your  muse  to  be  my  muse’s  roommate  ( feel  free  to  specify  whether  in  a  college  or  a  regular  setting ! ) [ BOOKSHOP ] :  for  our  muses  to  meet  in  a  bookshop  [ EVENT ] :  for  our  muses  to  meet  at  a  charity  event   [ FUNDRAISING ] :  for  our  muses  to  team  up  to  raise  money  for  charity  ( feel  free  to  specify  potential  ideas ! ) [ COMPETITORS ] :  for  our  muses  to  be  rivals  in  a  competition  [ KARAOKE ] :  for  our  muses  to  sing  karaoke  together  [ MUTUAL  FRIEND ] :  for  our  muses  to  meet  through  a  mutual  friend [ STOOD  UP ] :  for  your  muse  to  join  mine  on  a  date  after  noticing  that  they  have  been  stood  up [ MISSION ] :  for  our  muses  to  meet  on  a  mission  [ UNDERCOVER ] :  for  your  muse  to  approach  mine  while  undercover [ MUSUEM ] :  for  our  muses  to  meet  at  a  museum  [ ABANDONED ] :  for  our  muses  to  meet  in  an  abandoned  building  [ STARGAZING ] :  for  our  muses  to  meet  while  stargazing  [ ROOFTOP ] :  for  your  muse  to  find  mine  on  a  rooftop 

[saintmelangell]

secretary (2002)

[skippingframes]

myles laughs once under his breath, low and humorless, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek where it still tastes faintly METALLIC. “yeah. enough that the prep cooks had to drag me off him before i put his face through the fucking pass.” the words come easy, but there’s a pulse of anger still sitting ugly beneath his ribs; hot, alive, and REFUSING to settle. he tips his head back slightly while eetu works at the cut near his eyebrow, eyes narrowing toward the ceiling. “guy came into my kitchen already drunk off his ass, started screaming because his steak wasn’t cooked right. fine. happens.” a shrug pulls through him, careless DESPITE the blood staining the collar of his white tee. “then he grabbed one of my line cooks by the arm. kid’s nineteen.” that’s where his voice changes a little; flatter now, dangerous in a quieter way. “i told him to let go. he didn’t. so i bounced his head off the expo counter.” another crooked grin flickers across his mouth then, bruised and mean around the edges. “honestly? he got off EASY. you know how many hot pans are within arm’s reach back there?”

[pleadsfifth]

"Hot." He comments, not uncharacteristically. Always a little perverse with it, beyond the point of filtering it out having known Myles a little too long to keep up the pretences. Mostly, he likes him for his skill, and he likes to think that one doesn't exist without another, a perfect reduction doesn't come without the heat in curled fists, an open wound. Likes it. Likes watching him. He's meticulous with his care, makes extensive use of the first-aid kit. Is standing as Myles is sat on the barstool, like he's working on a sculpture, cotton swab dipped in rubbing alcohol swiping gently around the edges of the cut with careful precision. Blood doesn't bother him, although it more offends him to see the stained collar. He likes things in their right place. Blood on the body, not on the poly-cotton blend. "I do hate when good alcohol is wasted on undeserving people." Just because they're rich enough. There's a certain merit in having class. Eetu tilts Myles's chin back down, as he plucks the suture tape from the kit. Eetu's not quiet where Myles is. "Some people need to be taught a lesson." He says everything with so much assurance. Though Eetu doesn't get into fights, it doesn't make him a pacifist. He's just a coward. "You're so kind. You should kill them next time." He comments, like it's a normal thing to say. Then realizes it's not. "I'm only joking of course. Don't do that. Someone will bring a gun to a knife fight and I'd miss you dearly."

[tapedwrists]

gabe's mouth fell open a little. "wow," he said, after a beat. "you really know how to make a guy feel special." he turned his gaze fully toward eetu, eyebrows raised high in manufactured disbelief. "not we value you as a person, period. no. we value you are a person because your emotional stability improves your point production." he tapped two fingers against his own chest. "i feel so seen. so cherished. is this how you talk to all the players, or am i just special?" there was a little more life to him now, even if the exhaustion still clung stubbornly under his eyes. the corner of his mouth pulled upward, unable to hide how much he was enjoying the conversation. at the mention of his agent, gabe gave a quiet, derisive snort. "my agent would tell me to stop talking to you without him present," he said. "something about me being a liability when left unsupervised with anyone who knows the salary cap better than i do. which, honestly, is everyone in front office." his knee was still moving when eetu mentioned the captaincy, though it slowed for half a second. gabe made a faint sound at the back of his throat and looked away, attention settling somewhere on the scuffed concrete across from him. "yeah," he said. "they don't tell you that part up front." gabe hadn't wanted the c, truthfully. but it had been easy to accept, easy to do what was expected of him. before they'd stitched it to his jersey, it had felt like an honor, like maybe he could be the kind of person worth following. it felt different on nights like this. heavier. "everyone tells you what it means when you win. that you're setting the tone or you're the heart of the team or whatever," he continued, quieter now. "no one really tells you that, when you lose, you start thinking it means something about you too." the words were left there between them. gabe immediately reached for his hoodie strings, winding it around two fingers and then unwinding it again. he cleared his throat. it's not, though. a fluke. i think you know that. gabe stared at the string in his hands. "yeah," he said, eventually. "probably." he wasn't sure he did know it. not tonight. but there was something weirdly calming about how eetu hadn't tried to build some inspiring speech around it. gabe swallowed and glanced up again. "anyway, i'm sure you don't get paid to listen to the players' problems." then, eetu asked about the bus. gabe's expression changed just slightly -- guilty enough to be incriminating before he even opened his mouth. "technically," he started. "i was going to go back on the bus." he lifted a shoulder in a small shrug. "and then i told everyone i need to shower and do some media thing and not to wait for me." his mouth flattened. "which was a lie. but in my defense, sitting alone in the hotel staring at the mini bar felt really bleak in the moment." he looked down the empty hallway, as if some teammate might materialize there and tell him the bus hadn't left and save him from admitting that he had been actively avoiding going back at all. "so. no. i currently do not have a ride. unless we're counting the uber i haven't called yet." the offer seemed to land a second late. gabe turned his head slowly, looking at eetu with open suspicion that didn't disguise the faint, unexpected warmth beneath it. "you're offering me a ride? voluntarily?" he asked, squinting. "i feel like this is how guys get tricked into waiving their no-movement clause." his knee finally stilled, not because he noticed it, but because he shifted forward to plant both feet on the ground. he rested his forearms over his thighs and exhaled through his nose, rubbing his hands together once. "sure, i'll take the ride," he said. "i think that's probably enough not spiraling on the floor for one night."

[pleadsfifth]

He's amused by Gabe's theatrical expression — offers in returns a wry smile, curled up at corners, just big enough to see the sharp points of his canines. "Mm, you can think of it in the reverse if that helps. We also care that you put points on the board because it helps a player's emotional stability." It doesn't sound any better. In fact, Eetu is being entirely inappropriate, and these views more so reperesent his beliefs than the franchise's — but his beliefs, he's sure, is what the franchise believes in private.

Gabe is special. Gabe is emotional. Something that's simmered with age but never quite smothered itself in adulthood. He's glad for it.

"Sounds like him. Tell him I say hi when you next to talk to him. He'll have a heart attack." Because why would Eetu, general counsel, be talking to Gabe if he didn't need something. Yet, here he is.

Eetu purses his lips, a little wary of the path the conversation was leading. Not that he doesn't have opinions, strong ones, but he values his work, his job and to a certain extent, considers Gabe a client he wants to protect from his own opinions that might be better shared with front office over a bottle of win in the privacy in his own high-rise apartment.

Gabe was young when he got the C, and if he calculates it right, more of his career has been played with it then without. Of course, he shoulders it well, with the necessary amount of respect, and blame, that's inevitable with it. At the time, Eetu had only thought of what it meant when it would came time to extend, how much more money that would cost. Now, older, he can only thing with some sort of, protective fondness, of how Linderoth, and by extension the franchise, had entrusted the future of the team to him.

"I don't mind." He settles on, which is lame but sincere. Eetu doesn't know what it's like, that sense of pressure, the effect it has on a sense of self. He just doesn't know. All he knows is that he isn't worried about Gabe, not in any alarming way — which maybe just makes him a biased fan as well. He wonders what he does to keep his mind off the losses. Admittedly, as all players are subject to, he can be lunch room gossip fodder if their nights out make it onto Twitter, but he's never tapped in unless someone's telling him about it.

"Why would that be bleak?" He counters. "Of course you'd only go for an electrolyte drink to fuel a healthy recovery, and a protein bar — chocolate fudge if you're feeling particularly down." He suggests, like he would never possibly think of having a drink. Frankly, Eetu can't wait to get into the mini fridge, never quite abiding by his self-imposed one-drink rule on work trips. But it's been a long day.

"Have a little faith, Gabe! We're entirely off the record." Pleased by his acceptance, he nods. "Grab your stuff and we'll get going then."

[silverliines]

after he had cheated on her, tore her heart to shreds, left for college like nothing happened  –––  rowena had settled on the understanding that she hadn’t known him. not truly. the guy at school, around his friends and the other jock bros, around their families… that was who he was. not the fake, softer version she witnessed in private. considering how disconcerted she often felt around the former… no, there hadn’t been a future in the cards for them. not when the grown man standing before her resembles the terrifying version of him so thoroughly.

the statement nearly draws rowena to a halt. so simple, it could almost be believed. almost. small hand rubs up over her bare arm ; grateful she can blame the goosebumps on the chill outside. “ why? ” she can’t help the brief, incredulous laughter that accompanies the word. eyebrows draw together, if only for a moment  –––  the first hint of emotion she allowed on her face. “ then what was it like, eetu? because we both know damn well that woman was exactly your type. ” it was the only explanation that had ever made sense to her ; even now. that or he just enjoyed a twisted satisfaction in humiliating her so thoroughly right before high school ended. like everyone need to be reminded of her sorry existence one last time before she could run away from that town  –––  from him, from everything  –––  once and for all.

“ now  –––  you want to talk about it now? it’s–– ” rowena scoffs, looking away. “ it’s been ten years. what use is there in talking about it? ” eyes narrow, briefly flicking back up toward his face. rowena takes a few steps back, head shaking slowly as she does. feels her phone vibrate in her hand  –––  likely her sister attempting to call her back after being rudely cut off a moment ago. yet she finds it hard to look away from eetu ; like he’s some horror from the past she isn’t sure is real. “ look : whatever misplaced sense of guilt you’ve somehow conjured in the last ten years about it… don’t worry about it, alright? go back in and shoot your shot, or whatever. ” lips twitch upward in sad amusement. “ if being attached to me didn’t stop you before, i doubt whoever that guy was can stand in your way now. ”

[pleadsfifth]

He liked the person he was with her — it was most likely the best version of himself. For once, he doesn’t have an answer, prepped and scripted. All he does is look at her with a softness that he hardly even knows is reserved for her. No one else gets to be looked at that way, because he doesn’t have a soft spot for anyone else. Maybe it goes to show how immature he still is, when he’s processing the immensity of his actions in real-time, but there’s something well-meaning in it, in being here. It’s not out of spite. He doesn’t want to re-open a wound. She has no reason to believe any of this. 

“I suppose, I didn’t know how to break up with you.” Because he hadn’t wanted to. But there was an unwavering compulsion that made him feel as though he needed to. That long-distance wouldn’t have worked, that it would have distracted him. “I just knew that it had to bad.” He parses out, words slow and drawn out like molasses. Sweet from his tongue, only not sweet at all. “I didn’t think, and I still don’t think it’s possible to hate you. But, you know, it was easier to make you hate me.” 

That seems like a correct approximation of the situation. Despite the sharp bite of the breeze, his cheeks are red. Humiliated about it. Embarrassed that he thought that way ever. He still looks at her as she looks away, wants to console her the way he used to about mundane things: exam stress and really sad book endings. Do things lose meaning after 10 years, he wonders. She makes it seem that way. What he did more than 10 years ago matters to him still. 

He thinks of the woman waiting inside with a probably husband. Rowena’s former best friend, the woman he’d slept with. He doesn’t think what she’s saying is untrue. That if he wanted, he could waltz back in there, steal her away, prey on her probably-husband’s insecurities, go for a drink, take her home. There’s something rotten inside of him. “Can we go to Diane’s?” He asks, the diner they always went to after school to do their homework when he didn’t have practice. “Do you still like milkshakes?” He tries, then after a beat. “Please?” 

[tapedwrists]

gabe blinked at him. then, despite himself, a startled laugh punched its way out of his chest -- sharp and genuine enough that it echoed faintly down the empty hallway. "holy shit," he said, turning his head to look at eetu properly. "you are stone cold." there was something almost offended in the way he said it, but his mouth had pulled into a grin before he could really sell it. his knee kept bouncing; it apparently hadn't got the memo that he was pretending he was fine now. "not even a moment of hesitation. no, 'don't say things like that'. no, 'the org values you as a both an athlete and a person'. just straight to the cap benefits." he pressed a hand dramatically to his chest. "i'm gonna remember that during contract negotiations, you know. emotional damages. hostile workplace." a beat. "i don't know. you're the lawyer, tell me which one will get me the most money." the joke hung there for a second, then gabe glanced down at his fingers in his lap where there were idly worrying the hem of his hoodie. "thirty-seven," he repeated, letting out a quiet whistle. "jesus. don't that out loud. i'm still recovering from people calling me a veteran." he tipped his head back against the wall again, eyes drifting towards the ceiling. "i think three billion might be fair. i'm very charming. great locker room presence. and i come with free public relations crises." another small smile, although it didn't last quite as long this time. "neutral mindset," he echoed, like he was testing out the phrase on his tongue. "sounds fake. healthy, probably. but fake." he swallowed once and rubbed the heel of his palm against his knee as though that might finally force it still. "i'm great at the not getting complacent part," he said after a moment had passed. "elite at that, actually. top of the league in telling myself that every good play i've ever made was a fluke." he attempted a smile after that, because it was too honest without one. because he didn't really know why he'd said it at all, except that the other hadn't looked at him like he was something fragile. like one bad game had turned him into something everyone needed to tiptoe around. gabe glanced at him sideways again. "so what do the contract guys with the neutral mindsets do when the player in question is being extremely normal on the floor of an arena hallway?" he asked. "do you guys have, like, a protocol? a clause? or do you just stand there in your murder suit and insult him until he develops emotional resilience or whatever?"

[pleadsfifth]

In characteristic fashion, his mouth only twitches with half a smile at the observation. It’s not untrue and he has an acute ability to take near anything as a compliment. And it’s something he’s often thought about himself, the cognitive disconnect practiced with ease. Work is work. Eetu glances at his bouncing leg again and tries to brainstorm a way to suggest mindfulness, maybe even meditation — without sounding like he’s preaching. It's impossible. 

“Of course we value you as a person. The more stable you are, the better athlete you are.” He double-downs. He is joking, for the most part. Though there’s hardly any tells to his expression, except maybe the half-there smile that hasn’t left, practically since the conversation’s started. 

“Ah, that’s a question for your agent. Don’t tell me you’re running low on funds, Cap.” Shakes his head admonishingly. Can make that joke because he knows that it isn’t true. He’s met players that he’s certain won’t have anything left when they retire. But Gabe’s golden, textbook solid acquisition. Nothing to worry about, even when he’s definitely not spiralling on hallway floor.

“Kind of the consequence of getting the C. Ages you a bit.” Not physically. Evidently. He wonders what his hair care routine is. Wow. Eetu’s only a few years older than him, but he’s always felt old. In fact he’s felt middle-aged since he was a young adult. He can’t wait to be fifty.

He listens, neutrally, as it goes. Nods slowly, like he understands, even though he doesn’t. Not because he hasn’t played since he was a teenager, but because he never pegged Gabe for that sort of person. “It’s not, though. A fluke. I think you know that.” Eetu states. Though he leaves it at that. It’s more something for a sports psychologist than a lawyer who’s only reason for watching post-game interviews of a potential target is to ensure their responses are PR appropriate.

There is no protocol, no clause. “To support you, I suppose.” It’s not in the job description, but there is a familial element to any franchise. He does feel, in some part, protective of the franchise, which is to say, the players on the team. “You’re not going back to the hotel on the team bus?” He asks, because he assumes it’s already left by now. “I’m more than happy to give you a ride if you need. Or if you’d like to continue to not spiral on the floor here, that’s fine too.” 

[narrativefinale]

"that's a rude question, man. don't you know basic manners?" Blair frowns deeply at him, but he doesn't even actually sound or look offended. "don't ask people about politics, religion, or, um... scars on their face. what the fuck!"

He sighs, puts a hand on his hip. "i'm so civil right now. you're the one acting like an asshole who's never interacted with another human being before, damn! you're worse than the cats!"

[pleadsfifth]

He knows about politeness — reserved for people he doesn't want to burn bridges with. Considering that he's just had cat food thrown at him, Blair does not fall into the category of people he's wary of offending. "Then what am I meant to ask people about?" Lawyers actually love being asked about politics and religion, especially in Florida, so he's not really sure he's following.

He considers this. Sometimes he feels as though he's not of this world. But that could just be because he reads too many fantasy books and takes too much coke. Gotta get off the sauce. "Now you're being rude." He points out.

[tapedwrists]

gabe stared at him for a second after the introduction, like he was trying to place him somewhere outside the context of spreadsheets and signatures and whatever conversations agents had behind closed doors. then his face shifted with recognition. "oh," he said. "shit, yeah, i know who you are." automatically, he sat up a little straighter, dragging a hand through his still-damp hair. there was something deeply mortifying about a front office guy catching him sitting on the floor outside of the locker room looking like he was one missed shot away from a full-blown existential crisis. "that probably would be less embarrassing if you said you were, like, a serial killer or something." he paused. "actually, scratch that too. that's worse." he huffed out a laugh at himself and let his head thunk lightly back against the wall again. his knee bounced restlessly where it was pulled up against his chest. "contracts guy, huh?" he raised an eyebrow. "so you're one of the people who gets to decide if i ruin the salary cap for the next decade." gabe always found it easier to joke than to sit too long in the silence. easier than the game still playing behind his eyes in ugly little clips. he glanced over again. properly this time. the other didn't really look uncomfortable, which gabe appreciated. most people either got weirdly intense around him after losses or treated him so gently that it made him want to scream. "you don't seem too devastated," gabe observed. "which is either very reassuring or super concerning." his mouth twitched gently. "everyone else keeps looking at me like they're expecting me to walk directly into the hudson river."

[pleadsfifth]

Eetu stifles a laugh as Gabe's posture plucks up like a puppet on a string. There's no need, really, but he won't say anything because it's amusing to watch. He hardly has conversations with players that don't revolve around signing bonuses and definitely not on the back of a bad game. "Less embarrassing maybe, but you might be a bit more dead if I were." Not a far reach though, lawyers have that soulless look about them and there's a rigidness to his suit today (worsted wool) that doesn't do any favours.

A small laugh does end up leaving him anyways. Eetu has a compulsion to crouch down and stop Gabe's knee from moving, so he grips onto his briefcase a little harder. He's reminding himself of a teacher that berated him for fidgeting, who had suggested to his parents to dope him up on ADHD meds.

He nods slow. "Mm-hmm. One of them. Of course the buck stops at the GM, but, you know, we've all got the same goal." Winning. Though the contract lasts only as it long as it states for Gabe — for the team, the contract is a brick in steeling the future of the franchise, long after he's retired. Eetu quirks a brow. "The next decade. What, you'll be 37, 38?" Shakes his head, hard to imagine the time pass. He remembers him being drafted.

"That makes it sound like I don't care." He does, as a fan too, though the purity of that was inevitably muddied by his role. "Neutral mindset." He informs. It's pretty cliche, especially in the sports world, and he's disappointed in himself that he doesn't subscribe to something less basic. "You know, don't spiral from the losses, don't get complacent from the wins. Unless you're bringing the Cup home. Then you can go fucking nuts."

His eyes narrow, mouth tipped up into a wry smile. "It would free up cap space."

[tapedwrists]

open starter !

open to: anyone muse: gabe anderson, pro hockey player, bisexual, mid to late 20s. plot: gabe has just lost a game and y/m finds him. maybe your muse is a teammate or a rival player or someone who works with the team -- open to any connections and whatever you come up with!

gabe should have gone home. home, or whatever hotel the team was calling home for the night, was always the wisest choice for him after a loss. he knew this. he had been told by several people tonight alone that he should go home, all using that careful voice they used when they were trying not to say 'you look like shit, anderson'. coach had told him to get some sleep. one of the trainers had recited some crap about the ice still being there tomorrow, as if that eased the sting of tonight's loss at all. even one of the equipment guys had clapped him on the back and given him a look that was maybe supposed to be sympathetic but had mainly made gabe feel more than a little embarrassed. which was unfair, honestly. sitting outside the locker room in an empty arena still half-dressed in his compression gear, with damp hair, a hoodie shoved over his shoulders, and a blank look was not embarrassing. maybe a little. the garden was different when it was empty. like all of the energy had been sucked out of it. it was quiet in a way it never was during games. so quiet that all gabe could hear was himself think, turning the game over and over in his mind. the bad penalty he took in the second that cost them a goal. the turnover at the blue line. the chance he missed late in the third. hockey was funny like that. sometimes that was all it took. a few seconds of a game that he wished desperately he could have back, that made him feel as though he had personally let down every single fan in that arena tonight. he tipped his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. "before you say anything," he said, because he could hear footsteps and because his first instinct was always to be the loudest in the room, to talk before anyone noticed anything was wrong. "i'm not spiraling." silence. then, he cracked open one eye. "actually, wait. that sounded too specific. scratch that."

[pleadsfifth]

There's no reason for Eetu to be here, in his opinion. He can count the number of times he's travelled for an away game. But GM's here, on the back of the draft lottery, to watch a potential pick on the opposing team — and Eetu still hadn't put together why he was here, when all rookies get an entry-level contract, until the man had started talking trade packages. It had felt like silly season had came early. The players looked like ants to him from the executive suite. They probably look like frowns in suits to the players.

It's been a while since he's watched a game and it takes some time not see their names on their jerseys and not think: restricted free agent this summer, salary dump, injury prone. The loss puts a damper in the spirits of everyone in the suite. But they back Gabe. They paid him because they backed him. Or they back him because they paid for him. Either way, it's all the same. Eetu's not worried.

He sees him leaned up against the wall. Eetu can't recall if he's actually met him before, maybe briefly at a charity gala or something like that. Not during contract negotiations when he'd extended, though he'd had multiple conversations with his agent. Eetu had drafted the contract, sent it over and that was his job done.

"You're not spiralling." He agrees, a smile tweaked at the corner of his mouth. Eetu is a big proponent of saying things into existence. But he doesn't know what else to say. They're staying the same hotel. It's odd, feeling like he knows him, when he doesn't really. It's probably worse for Gabe, having people feel like they know him, when they don't really. "Eetu. I work front office. The guy making sure all the contracts are sound."

[somebrokenfate]

open: to anyone with a penis Plot: ‘what are we’ but in the weirdest way possible (i promise this isn’t inherently sexual, she’s just strange. This would be in the early stages of a relationship, or even a fwb type thing, and she's testing the waters."

“Penis’ are fascinating,” Toothbrush hanging from her mouth, Chloe leans against the bathroom countertop, watching the other as she scrubs her teeth. “Like not even sexually,” she spits into the sink, “I just have so many questions and curiosities and every time I try to ask them, it just always gets turned sexual. And then I oblige because sex is great, right, but then my question is never answered.” She shakes her head in disappointment.

“I’ve seen yours enough that we’re on a first-name basis. He’s a pretty cool guy; I like him a lot. I also think you’re pretty neat, and I guess what I’m asking is do you think I’m cool enough to let me hold it while you pee?”

[pleadsfifth]

Eetu bites his tongue to keep from commenting on the way she's talking with her mouth full, trying to have decent morning after etiquette and be kind, even though that's not really in his nature. He doesn't mind her conversation starter. In fact, he much prefers to the droll and commonplace What are your plans for today? He considers this as he waits for the sink, his own sink and chivalry isn't dead because he let her go first, which really speaks to how non-offensive her company is. "It's a sexual organ, so I don't think you can really blame men for wanting to fuck when you keep talking about their dick." Eetu's built different though, on the foundation that there's probably something wrong with him.

The personifying of his dick makes him cringe, but she gives good head so he can't really complain. Plus, he does like her. Even if it's not all that evident. The request, because that's what it is, even though it's phrased as a question, doesn't phase him as much as it maybe should have. "You want to hold it while I piss? I mean, sure." He's done weirder before.

[disapprove]

open. to males. remi my sweet boy just wanted to surprise y/m but apparently they don't like surprises (can be crime related or w/e, go wild)

"Are you mad? You look like you're mad." Remi hasn't always been the best in reading people. He just wanted to surprise the other by showing up unannounced. He had never done that before but he watched a TikTok about ways to impress your crush and it said that you had to show up unexpectedly. So Remi did that. With a bottle of liquor. But apparently he shouldn't have because now he found himself in this situation. "I can - I can go. You were just not answering to my texts, I wanted to see you."

[pleadsfifth]

His eyes narrow at Remi, silently assessing the situation as he takes a mediating breath. Not mad, just disappointed — he thinks, because he knew, as soon as he opened the door and acknowledged it was Remi, that he would let him in. Timing-wise, it isn't catastrophic, he was just about to start his nighttime routine. Remi showing up shifts everything later, and he begins cross-examination of the victim tomorrow, an important day. Eetu sighs, like he's annoyed, because he is, sort of, but opens the door wider. "My phone was on Do Not Disturb. And yet..." He murmurs, before turning on his heel, expectant that Remi will follow. "Did you? Well, Remi gets what Remi wants, I suppose." Eetu wanted to see him too.