❛ 𝐂𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐄 𝐈 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐃𝐎 ❜ he’s already had that part mapped out as step one of the breakfast itinerary considering how as of late he hasn’t been able to function so well without a cup or two to start the day . he’s made way to the kitchen decorated with celeste’s artwork , vibrant drawings of absolute nonsense that he wouldn’t have any other way and begins to settle into the routine . ❛ also , you know , there is a guest room , i don’t know why you always insist on passing out on the couch — at this point , you may as well move in ❜
“ you know , it would make things easier. “ she states , knowing full well with the amount of times she has spent the night, that taking over the spare room would only make sense but things weren’t all that easy. especially considering the weight of her last name, and her job associated with it. while their friendship had never crossed that syndicate line just yet. “ but you’re not the only one who has sleepover guests every one in a while. “ she chuckles, moving to grab ingredients to start breakfast she knew she would be cooking. she already knew her way around the other’s kitchen.
it’s not dire , no —- but he stands stiff as a board facing a tall mirror before him . within the grasp of his palms are two ties , one … a vibrant red and another a deep grey . both complimentary in their designer choice and he’s fond of the two equally , however , meetings were always troublesome , how often he too would judge another for the way they dressed , and while that may not be the final nail in any coffin , taemin has found it important to always dress impeccable . in this case , a solid suit jacket and a gently patterned shirt underneath paired with black dress slacks . looking at her from his reflection in the mirror , he speaks again , ❛ the red or grey ? or just toss the whole thing altogether ? ❜ @sacrvligious· ( shayne )
her own wardrobe was juvenile compared to his, often wearing colours that would be used in finger paintings or nurseries. seeing him dressed to the nines so often, she considered sometimes switching it up but her white knuckle grip on everything tie-dye and plaid just won’t loosen. so, naturally, she opts for the brighter option, the more colouring and she points toward the blood red tie. “that one,” shayne tells him with a nod. “you look good! i mean like, you’re always dressed up so you always look great, tae.” she tells him with a chuckle, bringing the sickly sweet hot chocolate to her lips as she leans back in her spot. “special occasion or . . . “
it’s early , too early for some , but lennox’s sleep schedule is erratic at best . celeste still sound asleep upstairs he moves quietly down the steps to the living room , the waking shayne tousled as he flicks on the light not realizing that she had stuck around . it goes this way , the amount of times she’s spent the night and he appreciates it , but there is a natural stubborn vice gripping the bounty hunter that rarely fades , it’s what made staying sober such a process for him . ❛ but i mean , since you’re here — you hungry ? ❜ @sacrvligious· ( shayne )
it wasn’t the first time, nor would it be the last, surely, that she woke up on his couch. the light illuminating the room suddenly has her inhaling sharply and her eyes blink open. she looks around until she spots him then she relaxes back against the arm of the sofa. “ ---- s’ fine. “ she murmurs, voice still fatigue drowned. she clears her throat and sits up, reaching to check her phone then pull her sweatshirt back over her torso. she had peeled it off in place of the blanket she used ( the one she always used ), and stuck with the tshirt for the night. hands slip into the sling pocket and she walks toward him. “ yes, always. “ she chuckles. “ and i could really go for some coffee. “
he remembered it like it was yesterday. the way the two of them used to dance around each other, a respective moth to the flame. the same late night deliveries turned into the swapping of stories, smith picking a new road map etched in rafe’s skin, before he’d humor him with how it got there. the memory of the way there was still a light scar on his collar bone, his favorite place to leave the sweetest kisses, a stinging reminder of their downfall. he caught himself just before he actually winced at it, fingers picking at the hemp bracelet around his wrist for a moment before throat cleared. “it’s you and me.” he offers, correcting the saying before letting the words actually sink beneath his skin, all the times he’d said them before and they’d meant something different, something more worthwhile. forever, they’d meant forever. he stood from the hammock, like it was to blame for all the memories of them, including the one that had them too wrapped up in each other to realize they’d landed on top of each other on the hard ground beneath, before laughing. “forty.” reaching for his wallet, stepping closer, letting the light catch his black eye, before he handed over two crisp twenties. “i hate to infringe on whatever plans you might have, but, think you could push it back in favor of a blunt for old times sake?”
it’s you and me. it rings around his mind, bouncing off the walls and pinging in the corners like a ping pong ball. “ you wish. “ is he talking to himself or to smith. both? regardless, the words slip out with little to no hesitation; it’s mechanical. the sarcasm and witty retorts are a coping and defense mechanism, perhaps the healthiest of his vices really --- which says something about him. he clears his throat, choosing to do away with the intrusive thoughts ( memories ) that now threaten to cloud his min at the mere mention of you and me. “ forty, forty. “ he repeats with a nod, taking the cash which would pay for about half of what he hands over to his ex. head tilts in curiosity, “ what’s with the shiner? “ he asks. is it his place to ask anymore? he jokingly casts a glance toward his wrist, where a watch would be, then shrugs. “ i guess i could swing it. “ smith, per habit, is his last stop. he always had been, realizing that at the end of the night, he wanted to go home to smith and not leave again.
Her response made the corners of his mouth stretch out. “All venom and pouty lips today, mm?” Nico figured he could have pressed her on the root of her obvious disdain. A friend would, not that he would label himself as such. He doubted she would shock him by going as far for him, but he did relish the idea that the word stranger was far from their wheelhouse. On some level, though, he sympathized, remembering well the days when his own parents dragged him to events more suited for kids in pressed collars, which was why he didn’t leave the conversation where it landed. “As bad as it sounds, it’s almost like you don’t realize you make it harder on yourself. Go with him, schmooze for a while, then cut loose. He can only keep his attention on you so long, and there’s bound to be a corner where his vision doesn’t reach.” Nico shrugged. “Instead of wasting all of that energy on crying about it, impress me and flourish despite him.”
there was little to no part of her that had any intention nor desire to be around the crowd of suits who kissed her father’s boots. or, in a pitiful attempt to get close to him or her mother, would go through her. it was rather pathetic the attempts made in the past, really. she looks to nico and huffs a bit. “ impress you? what makes you think i want to impress you? “ she inquires, amusement brightening her expression just slightly. “ i will flourish, i’ve been flourishing despite him. and without him. “ it’s a touchy subject, but she doesn’t dwell on it for much longer. “ only reason i go to this thing tonight is to get my own contacts, my own roster to build. not for him. i need to get some of those boomers in my pocket, and out of his. “ even if they were all her father’s age, and had been in his hands for quite some time. she could use her womanly charm and sophistication for something every once in a while.
It was laughable, now, to imagine giving up. Before him, Connor Reed, there had been nothing to live for. Not really. Calla ran headlong into the world, and the world promptly chewed her up and spit her back out. So she ran. She ran as far as her legs would take her. At the time she thought she was running away from the mundane, but there in the early morning light with him, she knew the truth. Her heart had only been searching for him. It was only more evident by the way his frustrated laugh warmed her to her very core, and when the boys joined in, all shrugs and ‘i don’t know’ hands, she was certain this was where she was always meant to be. “We’re hungry,” Cohen said, followed by an emphatic nod from his brother. Calla rubbed a sympathetic hand down Connor’s back as she sat up, bare legs swinging over the side of the bed, t shirt falling down her thighs, and brows raising as she sighed. “Hungry, huh? Well, why don’t you let us get dressed, and we will meet you two garbage disposals in the kitchen.” She reached out with both hands and cupped the boys’ cheeks before patting them and nodding toward the door. “Go on, we’re right behind you.” Donning looks of mild disbelief, the boys made a slow trek to the door, and Calla watched them with a calm smile until the door closed. Only then did she turn again to Connor, moving to all fours and crawling until she could just barely kiss his lips. As she pulled away, she was grinning ear to ear. “I don’t suppose you could squeeze me in at nap time, huh?”
there was no indication his life would ever turn out like this. there was no path he could have followed, rather instead there were pins in a map of what to avoid and what not to do. there were shining examples of how exactly to avoid the life he hated, but just like he hated being told what to do, he so often stepped into restricted areas. he found a thick silence in the darkness, and connor reed was nothing if not fond of silence. but, with manicured nails, calla scott began to peel away at that darkness, then her laugh slipped into the silence followed by the first cries of both their sons and the silence was shattered. the life he had envisioned for himself was dissolved and replaced by the one he never let himself dream about. even when they interrupted moments like these. head cants toward his wife, leaning into the brush of her fingers. he watches the two children disappear, then she is the focus of all his attention. per usual. the kiss is just too close for him to let it rest at that, and a hand curls in the fabric of the borrowed shirt to pull her back, and kiss her again. “it’s amusing that you still believe they’ll nap.” he mentions, voice still rather husky with fatigue. the assassin moves from their bed, pulling on a pair of jogging pants on. “you don’t put on some pants, and they’re gonna starve out there.” he tells her with the ghost of a smirk coming to his lips. reluctantly, he leaves the room and starts toward the kitchen where his boys are waiting. “pancakes?”
𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐓 , 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐘 . he laughs , though it’s quite mirthless , lacks the tone that feels necessary to it’s holdings before his head shakes gently . there’s always something so … intriguing about the temperament of others and while he longs not to dwell too deeply into that , he still often catches himself drawing an odd conclusion to the ideals within themselves . this is his own legacy , and each member within this pit of a town seems to have one , hers is wrapped tight in the grip of dirty politics , his ? well , ask anyone , he owns his legacy now and he’d never expected to grasp so soon in his life , but it’s one he took with open arms and a steady fist . ❛ i was hoping that we would be able to have a discussion about how you and that wonderful family name of yours could help get a little problem off my back ❜
the family name; an anchor tied to her feet and holding her down, yet it’s the key to every gate in the city should she choose a certain direction. while it shackled her to her father, to her family, she less often indulged in the privileges it brought. not unless it had a selfish motive behind it --- siobhan wanted nothing more than to be able to stand tall at the top of an empire built by siobhan, and not by a carter. a slow now and she casts her gaze away from the other. “ can’t you be a big boy all on your own? “ she questions, amusement curling around her words and her lips curving upward. “ what problem is it? “
“---- i know, i know i’m like forever late but,” starts the younger as he comes barging through the front door. a brown paper bag is in his hands with enough jambalaya to feed a small army. he may have went over board when he realized he had been running behind. “i brought dinner?” he offers with a childish, feigning innocent grin coming to his lips. “that totally makes up for it, right?”
a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, doe like eyes are round as he spins around toward the other. consequences, while always considered ( at least lightly ), were never something he had dealt much with in the past ---- considering how often the earth shifted beneath his feet. now, he is caught in the headlights and he can’t shake the stupid look off his face. clearing his throat, a sheepish smile touches his lips. “ . . . what are the chances we don’t tell lorenzo ‘bout this? “
brows lift in a challenging manner, attentive gaze focused keenly on the other man’s face. many of those that kaan sent away didn’t typically see him in a favorable manner. he could hardly count the number of times someone had taken a swing at him, or vowed to repay him for what he’d done. it was all just comical in his books, really. which meant he was curious, to see which of these individuals brooks would take after. so it was all too amusing the response that he got, despite the lack of it in the other’s features. oh, but it’s even more so when he lifts a hand, directs kaan towards the entrance of where he shouldn’t be. but what is life without a little risk, a little danger. the difference between himself and the rest of them, though? he knows all too well how to get out of trouble. stepping towards the door, he hesitates before brooks, eyeing him before he’s leaning in closer. “don’t worry, i’ll make it up to you,” he starts, before he’s leaning ever closer, drawing in to where only the other can hear him. “if you promise to be good.” and just as the words are out, kaan is leaning away, stepping further into the establishment with a chuckle on his lips.
there were many avenues brooks could have taken upon his release; he could have slipped back into his old ways like an old sweat shirt, disregarded any rehabilitation he may have earned in the seven years and found himself a boomerang behind bars. he could have become a model citizen, the poster face for a new man, prison does work! imagine that. somehow, he found a spot in the middle with his hand still in the matthieu pot but keeping his nose clean all the while. he wouldn’t stray from the matthieu family, nor the lifestyle that came along with them --- it’s his home, it’s were he is safe, despite what the feds might say or think. with the other leaning in as close as he was, one would expect the criminal to put more space between them. yet, brooks stands in his place still, head turning only slightly to watch him. he remains still for a few moments as the words seep further into his mind, then his face crinkles in some confusion. brooks follows the other in, but slips back to behind the bar rather than the other side amongst the customers. he clears his throat, and rolls his shoulders back, the words and proximity still slithering along his spine.
relief came from the strangest places, and this conversation was one of them. the sharing of horror stories from the service industry seemed like it was the perfect excuse, an even better distraction. the temptation to laugh was swallowed whole, before head turned, leaning into the squint that found features crinkled. “sorry, wait…” confusion, clear as day. “they said what, now?” she was reasonably sure that she had heard wrong, because if she didn’t, they just may have won this little come uppance of shared misery.
“you can’t make this shit up.” a saying she never truly understood considering some of the best stories were just that; stories. yet, here she is, saying it back to the other woman as she leans back in her seat. knees pulled up against her chest, her regular comfort position, and she gives a small chuckle. “the dude was saying how the bar let him buy drinks with his chip.” the story, she remembers it being told like it was yesterday, truly broke her heart and angered her to no end. “who even does that?”
[ DIEGO TINOCO, TWENTY TWO, CIS MALE, HE/HIM ] Have you seen NOLAN MACIAS down in St. Landry again? I heard they’re one of the COMMUNICATION, for the WILLIAMS now. They’ve been so IMPATIENT & JUVENILE lately, it’s no wonder. I’ll sure miss when they were STAUNCH & DRIVEN. I wonder if they’re going to stop listening to THIS CITY by SAM FISCHER now, or if A SKATEBOARD THAT IS NEARLY FALLING APART, SMOKING A JOINT AT SUNSET, MULTI-COLOURED & FLAVOURED ROLLING PAPERS will still announce ‘em.
basics
full name: nolan helo macias
nickname(s): boston
age: twenty two
date of birth: august twenty second
place of birth: boston, ma
gender: cis male
sexual orientation: homosexual
romantic orientation: homoromantic
religion: n / a
occupation: communications
language(s) spoken: spanish & english
physical
face claim: diego tinoco
hair color: black
eye color: brown
height: 5’9”
weight: 157lbs
build: built / toned.
tattoos: none.
piercings: none.
distinguishing characteristics: he is usually bouncing?
quirks: tugging at hoodie sleeves, bouncing, pacing, zoning out/looking around.
family
father: unknown lorenzo kane & levi knox.
mother: unknown.
sibling(s): none / unknown.
significant other: n / a
TRIGGER WARNINGS , mentions of sexual harassment & death
meet my lil baby who has had a rather rough go… but he’s still chipper and bouncy in life, give me ur attitude pls and thank.
nolan was born in boston, given up for adoption at a very young age. young enough that he doesn’t remember his parents or know why he was given up but he didn’t want to dwell on it too much. he tried to imagine that his parents had good reasons/intentions.
he was bounced around between thirteen different foster homes, some of which he had no idea why they didn’t want him. one home he was kicked out of because he was “too hyper” (ironically this family had taken his weed away when they caught him with it, so his energy and hyperactivity rose and then…), another was because he was caught smoking weed and kicked out, then there were two of the most prominent times he left a home. one with mr & mrs murray, and another time with the taylor family.
starting with mr & mrs Murray, who were an older couple, around their early 50s/late 40s. they were amazing to him, damn ge loved them so much. it had been Mrs murrays idea to foster a child, and nolan came bouncing out with his bright eyes and smile and they fell in love. he was around ten years old. he stayed with them for about ten months, made a home of their house and a family with them. they would have kept him, but sadly, mrs Murray suffered a fatal heart attack. mr Murray claimed that nolan reminded him too much of his late wife, and wouldn’t be able to care for him on his own, so nolan was put back in the system.
then comes the taylor family, and this one isnt so heartfelt. tw sexual assault when nolan was fostered by the Taylor’s, he was not their first foster child. they were about to adopt their first, a girl a year or two older than nolan, named layla. to nolan, this meant a sister. to layla, she saw someone her parents might prefer and therefore was a threat to her adoption. nolan was 14 at this point, and layla being around 15/16. layla knew the rules of the foster system in and out, knew that you dont mess around with you foster siblings. so, she used that. she moved onto nolan, flirting and touching (just like his arm and more hugs than usual), but then she pulled him in for a kiss right as she knew her parents would see. since she was their first (and pretty much favourite by default), they sided with her that nolan instigated it and he was put out of the house.
after that, he stuck to mostly group homes. one of which was out of MA, and where he got his nickname boston. upon moving in, there was already a kid named nolan so they started calling him boston instead. he made good friends in this home, and he liked it there a lot, so he kept the nickname. its endearing to him.
eventually, boston aged out of the system. when that happened, he tried to make it on his own. he had some government help obviously, but it wasn’t enough for him to live properly. he had received a postcard from a friend from a previous group home who had been moved out to st landry through different families, so, boston decided to head there.
he brought with him only a black backpack with photos of mr & mrs murray and some of his friends, some clothing he had and a couple twenty dollar bills and his skateboard.
when he settled in st landry, he got a hold of Mr Murray to tell him he was okay. he still keeps in touch with him every so often.
he is a gaybey though he doesn’t really realize it yet, considering he knows nothing really lasts in his life, he hasn’t focused or been particularly interested in romantic relationships. he prefers to just stick to the momentary friendships and families he has then. so, this also means my lil boy is a virgin as well.
despite the crappy hands that have been dealt to him, Boston is a pretty happy go lucky guy. he smokes weed, has since he was a preteen and his hyperactivity got him into a fight with another kid. he uses it to chill out, not really for getting high you know?? while he can seem naive, he isn’t because he clearly has been through some shit and would love to see the good in people but knows it isn’t always that simple. pls be nice to him, he needs soft and nice things in his life.
There were very few people Dante opened up to about his family with. Emphasis on very. In fact, he could count on one hand the amount of people he even mentioned them to. Could even list them off the top of his head. The man beside him, Connor Reed, was one of them. “That when, Emilio panicked. Asked the girl if she wanted to her his velociraptor impression and before the poor could get a word out, he just started screeching like a fucking dinosaur.” &— @sacrvligious·
the thing about connor himself being fairly quiet is that, for the most part, his sons had picked up that quality. he can’t help but chuckle a bit at the other’s story. he nods slowly because, even though his kids were less talkative than most, they definitely still had their moments. he could empathize. “well, did she like it?” he asks simply with a shrug of his shoulders as he leaned back.
upon rafe’s words, ángel deliberately lets his gaze sweep over the form of his friend. there’s a dramatic to it, as if he’s truly considering the clothes that are being worn. there’s a purse of his lips, a wrinkle of his nose, and finally, a shrug of his shoulders. “i suppose that outfit will have to do,” he teases easily, confidently. there’s no real plan in mind, except the very strong need to get completely out of it. “drugs, alcohol, whatever the fuck will help me forget the last asshole i had to deal with.” even if said asshole paid for the very lifestyle that he was allowed to live, but that was semantics andángel had no time for them.
drugs, alcohol, whatever the fuck were some of his favourite vices really. gaze averts to his outfit, despite knowing exactly what he is wearing and rather liking the chosen garments, and he scoffs. “watch it, pretty boy, i’m all about my clothes.” he points to him and laughs. “what, too vanilla or too rough? what a waste either way, honestly. let’s just spend his money.” he grins, as if he were part of it all. he bumps hips against the other’s and looks around, “ what are you in the mood for, hm? the black rabbit, haze? “
