Stephanie had been in a rush. She knew, realistically, she could leave Parker with Matias as long as she needed, or that she even could’ve brought him along to run errands that morning, and yet. And yet, Matias taught at eleven-thirty on Tuesdays and she’d thought she’d be faster without wrangling the stroller on top of everything else. Normally, that’d involve taking the stairs, but the door had been open, and waiting, and so she dashed in – only to find midway to her floor that it was, in fact, not going to be faster. And that despite her (admittedly somewhat frantic) pressing of buttons, the car didn’t move, the doors didn’t open, and even the emergency help button didn’t produce a visible result. It was, as the other occupant of the elevator announced, no use. So Steph could let herself succumb to panic, or … she turned, abandoning the panel to check her phone. No service. Shit. “You have reception?” she asked, looking up finally to actually look at the other person. The other person who had slid to the floor and who looked like he was either enormously bored, or– “You okay?”
Suddenly, the average-sized elevator felt very small. Sawyer let his eyes slide closed, trying not to imagine the stagnant walls moving in on him. There were only a couple of times that his claustrophobia reared its head, and it’d been so long since he’d had an attack that he thought, hoped, assumed even, that he’d grown out of it. Sawyer didn’t open his eyes to answer, but he did hold up his phone, showing that not only did it not have bars, but taunted him by displaying the words “No service,” where they should have been. “I’m fine,” he answered, the scripted words of someone that was obviously not. “Hope you’re not late for an appointment,” he joked. “I knew I should have brought that Cliff Bar.” Sarcasm, he figured, was the best way to ignore the growing panic in his chest, as was his typical defense mechanism.
0 0 1 . ––––– ⌜ STARTER FOR @sommerstessa⌟
Sawyer throws something, but misses and hits Tessa instead.
This was it, the part of the book (usually around 3/4 of the way through) where Sawyer was utterly lost to the world. He was doomed to remain where he was until it was finished, until he had consumed it whole. He would have liked to blame that, the utter distraction and overall loss of brain cells, on why he’d thought that he could just throw his empty cup into the trash without even looking. He listened for the sound of the plastic hitting the trash after it left his fingers, but instead heard a thawk of an entirely different origin. He looked up, eyes wide with horror. Thank God he’d finished it. “I....” he threw his book aside and jumped up from his seat, rushing over to the girl, the innocent victim who’d just been whacked by a flying cup. “I am so so sorry. I don’t even...I...” He trailed off, not able to explain the way that his brain had left his body when he’d decided that throwing his cup into the trash like LeBron James would be a good idea. “I am so sorry.”
0 0 2 . ––––– ⌜ STARTER FOR @alison-harper⌟
Sawyer can't move their arms and needs Alison to help them do something.
Sawyer was straining against the weight in his arms, biting back a groan as the coarse wood bit into his dry hands. The process of flipping his bookstore by himself was taking twice as long as he expected, and twice as much money. Not to mention the storm setting him back and also sending a branch through his window and damaging the new hardwood floors that he’d painstakingly put in himself a week before. He paused at the door to his shop, playing out the various scenarios of attempting to open the door with his hands so full of plywood. He turned around, seeking out a friendly face walking past him on the street. “Ma’am? I’m sorry, can you do me a huge favor?” He stepped aside and gestured sheepishly to the door. “Can you pull that open for me please? It’s an actual miracle that I haven’t dropped all of this on my foot as it is,” he admitted.
0 0 1 . ––––– ⌜ STARTER FOR @arlofischer⌟
Sawyer and Arlo at a wild party.
Sawyer doesn't want to be there.
If there was one place Sawyer belonged, really, truly, was born to be, it was the corner of a couch at a party with the cat. Even better with a drink in his hand and a steady buzz going. But what really made him feel right at home was the fact that Adam was the one that dragged him out in the first place and was now nowhere to be found, so not only was he uncomfortable and out of place but also completely alone. Sawyer looked over at the girl sitting next to him, trying to gauge if she felt similarly. He decided to extend an olive branch. Or, a cat. He picked the cat up off of his lap and held him tentatively out to the girl. “Want a turn?”
0 0 2 . ––––– ⌜ STARTER FOR @stephlenox⌟
SAWYER AND STEPHANIE GET STUCK IN AN ELEVATOR.
Sawyer knew better than to take the elevator instead of two flights of stairs. But here he was, posted up against the railing of wailing elevator, thinking about how God finally got him back for being a lazy piece of shit. This other girl, he decided, was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and was only an innocent victim of his own punishment. “There’s no use,” he decided, slumping down to the floor. He hoped it’d been cleaned recently. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and began jabbing at things, hoping to incite some sort of signal. “We’re just going to have to wait for the fire department, however long that takes.” The storm, he thought, his stomach falling. They would all be busy doing clean up. Would anyone be there to answer the emergency call? He leaned his head back against the side and closed his eyes, trying not to visibly panic.
“I beg to differ. When you let me drag you out, you’re a ton of fun – why else do you think I’m always begging you to get drinks with me?” he asked, glancing over at his friend as he flipped through the channels. “Besides, what kind of friend would I be if I just let you sit here all by your lonesome like some sad, eighty-year-old man whose arthritis is so bad he can’t even stand on two feet? That’s going to be you one day, you know, if you don’t get out there more.” Brows furrowed at the mention of Jeopardy, Adam let out a scoff. “Of course they were idiots. What else did you expect?” The male finally settled on the History Channel, where a program about early 20th Century American agriculture was playing. “Riveting,” Adam commented sarcastically, placing down the remote and taking a bite of his egg roll, “but it’ll do.” He looked over at Sawyer. “You know, you’re on your way to gaining about fifty pounds if you keep the incessant Chinese take-out thing up. Not even the gym will be able to save you.”
Mouth full of noodles, Sawyer stared unamused at the other man. “I know I can be fun,” he corrected himself. “But it’s exhausting. And I always wake up hungover and a couple hundred dollars poorer. And that is not fun.” Sawyer held the takeout container of lo mein towards Adam, reaching for the sesame chicken with his free hand. He was hypocritical, putting on a channel that would have bored any 80-year-old man to tears whilst telling Sawyer he was turning into one, but he decided to let it pass. Mostly he wanted to avoid Adam’s second favorite channel, Animal Planet. “Did you just come here to critique my life? I’d go out on a Tinder date if I wanted to feel bad about my choices.” The last words were muffled as he shoved two pieces of chicken into his mouth. “This is delicious,” he admitted around the bite, holding the food out for Adam to try.
Micah wasn’t a coffee kind of girl. Unless you mixed in Bailey’s, she really wasn’t interested. If she did somehow find herself in a café, she usually went for whatever sugary concoction sounded the most appealing to her on that day. That or her go-to Matcha Latte. Today, she went for the latter. After sitting down at an already occupied table with her book and her cup, however, she quickly realized the liquid in her cup was very much not green. She stared at her own cup, her reaction not quite as dramatic as the one the stranger next to her had just a few seconds later. She couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight of his now green lips. “Not a fan of matcha? It’s full of antioxidants and vitamins, you know.”
Sawyer felt personally victimized by the creation of matcha, specifically matcha lattes. Whoever ground up green tea leaves and created the phenomena was right next to whoever created avocado toast on his shit list. Luckily, he knew the particular victim of the drink he’d just accidentally stolen. He wiped the back of his hand unceremoniously across his lips as he pulled the chair out at her table, and sat both himself and the cup down in front of her. “That is disgusting. Who’s making you drink this? Blink twice if you need help.”
If there was anything Katie Lynn realized with moving back into town, it was keeping busy and keeping a routine was the only way she was going to stay sane. Especially after her unplanned night with Jacob. Her head had been a mess of thoughts and her heart was an even bigger mess of feelings, so Katie Lynn had been doing what she did best; running. She’d woken up early and taken to the streets of downtown, her ‘quick run’ turning into almost 10 miles, and once she was finally done she’d realized she was starving. So she stopped at the first place she knew had food on the way back to her apartment, deciding that a large black and tan along with a blueberry scone was the perfect way to start her day.
She’d already ordered and was waiting by the counter when she heard the name ‘Allie’ being called. Eyes scanned the room as her gaze lifted from scrolling her Instagram feed, Katie Lynn’s gaze stopped when she realized someone who was absolutely not Allie reaching for the freshly made macchiato. “Oh, hey-” She began, unable to get the stranger’s attention in time to warn him as he picked up the cup and took a drink from it. “No, sorry. Not mine… I think it’s-” She was cut off by a high school aged red head swooping in and snatching the cup from the man’s hand in a gust of overdramatics. “Hers, I guess.” She finished with a soft chuckle. “I didn’t think you looked like an Allie.” She mused lightly, warm smile on her features. “You were somewhere else there for a minute, weren’t you?”
Sawyer’s jaw was on the ground, and before he had a chance to apologize or even offer to buy the girl a new beverage, she was gone in a burst of angst found only in high schoolers. He frowned, turning back to look at the girl in front of him with a sigh on his lips. “Guess so. I couldn’t even tell you what I was thinking about,” he admitted sheepishly. He turned back to the counter, picking up his actual drink and taking a tentative sip. “I feel bad. I would have bought her a new one,” he defended, relaxing slightly when the bitter coffee touched his tongue. “You didn’t also order a pour-over, did you? My luck your name is also Sawyer,” he laughed, partially joking but mostly not because if that were the case, he wouldn’t even be surprised.
✘ Where in Wilmington does your character live?
Downtown.
✘ How big is it?
Very small. Three rooms, technically. The bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen/living room is one open space.
✘ How much is the rent if It’s a rental?
Around $700 a month, but he’s managed to convince the landlord to lower it temporarily.
✘ Does your character enjoy living there?
He does! He’s tried to make it as homey as he can considering he wants to stick around Wilmington for awhile. That said, he’s still got a half-packed suitcase shoved in his closet.
✘ Do they have a nice layout outside? Backyard, front yard, garden or patio?
It’s a small apartment so the outside layout is the street. He does have a succulent sitting on his fire escape though.
✘ Is this your character’s forever home?
Not necessarily, but he doesn’t have plans to start a family so he will keep his space small.
✘ What are their relationships with their neighbors if they have any?
There’s a nosy little old lady who lives next door that he claims he can’t stand, but he brings her mail up to her every day.
✘ How long has your character lived there?
As long as he’s lived in Wilmington, close to a year.
✘ Does your character have any roommates?
No. He’s definitely not one to share his space.
✘ Does your character have a favorite spot?
Besides his couch, he likes sitting on his fire escape with a good book and a fresh cup of coffee.
✘ What is your character’s home close to? Any landmarks or public locations?
He picked his location thoughtfully, it’s just a couple of blocks over from Bespoke Coffee.
✘ Does your character host gatherings often? Parties, barbecues, etc?
Never. Sawyer is extremely introverted. If someone wants to come over they usually have to just.. show up.
✘ Is this your character’s childhood home?
It’s not! It is the place he’s been settled in the longest since childhood, though.
✘ Furthermore… what are some memories from the place your character is currently at?
When he built his bookshelf by watching several tutorials on YouTube. It took him several days but it gave him the motivation and confidence to open his own store.
✘ And lastly, do they genuinely like living there?
He does! He likes the space he’s created, and he likes the location.
where: sawyer’s place
who: @sawyerfoster & adam roswell
“You know, you really are the worst,” Adam complained, taking a seat next to his friend on the couch before snatching up the egg roll that was hesitantly offered to him. Sawyer had promised to meet him at Vixen that night, a promise that he’d realized was complete horse shit about an hour into his booze-filled night. He should have known better, having known the male as well as he did, but one of Adam’s downfalls was that he was a true optimist — or, well, maybe he just wanted to get wasted regardless. “I don’t understand why I still keep you around when you continue to hurt me time and time again. Really, it’s ridiculous how boring you’ve become with age.” Adam joked wryly, grabbing the remote from the coffee table before beginning to flip through the channels, settling back more comfortably into the couch with his lips pursed. “What’re we watching?”
In Sawyer’s defense, he assumed that Adam would know that he was lying. After all, how many times had Sawyer actually gone out to meet the other man? On his own, without being half pushed out his front door? He preferred this. Shitty egg rolls with shitter TV. Having Adam there, he thought, was an additional preference, but he quickly dismissed it. Sawyer stared at Adam as he changed the channel and then had the nerve, the nerve, to ask what they were watching. “First, I’ve always been this boring. I promise. Second, I was watching Jeopardy. But I’m not anymore. Clearly.” Sawyer grabbed the lo mein from the table and tucked himself back up into the corner. “They were all idiots anyway,” he admitted.
Lennox’s lips parted in a mixture of surprise and affront as they watched the man grab their drink, take a sip, and then act like he had tasted something so horrible. “Yeah, it is,” they said, taking it back. “I don’t know what superior hipster brew you ordered instead, but it’s really kind of rude to not only steal someone’s drink, but then take a sip and act like it’s gross. What are you, seven?”
Sawyer’s jaw went slack, dropping to the floor in surprise. He shouldn’t have been, of course. They were absolutely right. “No, I.. It just shocked me, that’s all,” he tried to explain, though he was afraid that his efforts were futile. “Can I buy you a new one?” He pulled out his wallet and began to rifle through it. “What was your order? I’ll buy you two.”
This wasn’t an everyday occurrence. In fact, Mila was convinced until this moment that things like this only happened in movies or tv shows. Little meet-cutes that people could fawn over because it was without a doubt a way for witty person A to strike up conversation with charming person B and thus be the beginning of a montage of dates and/or romantic encounters. “Mm, well — I think it’s yours now.” Mila smiled at the male, she wasn’t upset, but now that the stranger had wrapped his lips around the lid and drank from her cup he owned it. “Does your name sound familiar to Mila?” Curiosity wrapped itself around each word, though she figured that was likely the reason he’d grabbed hers. “Or are you just a klepto of vanilla lattes?”
“Neither,” he admitted with a guilty smile and accompanying shrug. “Just a truly awful listener. He pulled out his wallet and dug in it, searching for cash. “Can’t be more than five dollars, right?” He held out 6 dollar bills to her, just in case. “My name is Sawyer, by the way. And I am very sorry for inadvertently stealing your latte.”
dededos
blakekathryn
stormborns
pixelskylines
turnnoffyourmind
annaxmalina
germansingergirl