#001.

[crimson-moonie]

i love them

[s-moran]

Nevermind, the cigarette wasn't enough. I need to be euthanized.

[dullpearl]

i should be able to go back in time every time i read a bad book so i can spend it enjoying a good one

[gnn4r-a]

ghost - 001.

gunnar was a sucker for romantic movies. ever since he could comprehend media, he found himself naturally gravitating towards cheesy romcoms, even dramatic romance movies were some of his favorite, he loved to make himself cry on purpose. he'd always envisioned his future lover to be a whirlwind, one that swept him off his feet and made him feel all sorts of butterflies he couldn't describe, but he knew that they felt good. he wanted cheesy romance, pet names, cringey theme park t-shirts, everything and more. he'd even go as far to say he dreamed about tit until he could physically manifest it into something real.

gunnar was always outgoing, he never kept a relationship for more than a couple of months because, well as corny as it sounds, even when he was younger he was dating to marry. none of the guys he'd get into relationships gave him those butterflies he so desperately craved, they only ever wanted one thing, and he stupidly enough gave it to them each and every single time.

it wasn't until he landed his job alongside his sister in the world of pro wrestling did he think his prayers and dreams were finally being answered. gunnar kept to himself for the most part before he finally got himself involved in taking photos ringside, and as shocking as this may sound, he'd never been one to make a scene backstage until his confidence grew in his craft. when he first laid eyes on those beautiful curls, he'd become instantly smitten, dani got texts every single time they were on the road. "did you ask him if i could photograph him next time?" "does he even know i exist?" it only started off as small glances across the room backstage in each others directions, then it grew into more. they'd smile at each other, exchange quiet hello's, then the texts to dani lessened and lessened, he'd grown confident enough to talk to him backstage.

it was everything gg hoped for, the texting and facetiming until three in the morning, the uncontrollable smile he'd sported every time they'd walk past each other. he was finally on the right track to that whirlwind romance he wanted, and nobody could tell him shit, not even his best friend. he knew what he wanted, and he wanted that nepo baby wrestler, and goddamn was he going to get him come hell or high water...

but that's when things shifted.

texts, facetimes, even backstage interactions started to get sparse. gunnar would try so hard to put himself out there to be noticed, talked to, hell even a glance in his direction would suffice, but for some reason it all came to a halt. it hurt worse than a breakup, the two of them had never put a label on anything anyway, they'd had probably a billion conversations regarding that manner, but in that head of gunnar's he'd always be the hopeless romantic who'd hoped they'd be more. it almost got hard to come to work, but when jack stopped showing up for reasons unknown, it got easier. it took him forever to stop asking around though, nobody could ever give him a solid answer it seemed. the more he tried to seek answers, the more he hurt himself in the process remembering. the stinging in his heart had finally started to go away at some point though. he started to put himself out there more, and being backstage without a worry of his eyes landing on the other pairs beautiful ones got muche easier. though, there was always the question of if he wasn't good enough lingering in the back of his mind.

[chaosscales]

@chaosinternalized || While he might have only just learned about his other persona's existence, the lack of his presence was concerning, if not hurtful. Perhaps willingly staying at Harrow's side when he had woken up after the whole incident with Ammit's Ushabti was a deterrent for Marc, but it shouldn't be enough to keep him away permanently... right?

After all, Khonshu was gone, and Steven was far from qualified as far as getting them out and safely went.

And Harrow had upheld his word- don't instigate and he'd be kind.

Was that why Marc was missing? Because he knew he wouldn't keep his cool around these people?

"Um, Harrow, I'm sorry to bother you, but I just- My mum. I call her every day, and it's been a bit. I was wondering if you'd let me reach out just to touch base. I've, um, I've also got a little fish in my flat. Do you think I could get him? Or, at least, see if someone can look after him? No one really knows he's there. His name's Gus-"

If it seemed like he was beginning to ramble, it was only because he was. He was nervous and alone in enemy territory, but Harrow seemed to be kind enough.

Maybe he wouldn't be so cruel as to deny him these simple things.

The water in the sink ran red, and Harrow shut his eyes against it. In his head Ammit was hissing, scolding him for going too far in his last deployment, and in his heart he knew she was right. There was always a less violent way to accomplish anything, and he'd only been uninspired.

But it had been a rush, and that he couldn't deny. Since becoming Ammit's Avatar, Harrow no longer felt tired, hungry, pained, and so penance was hard to come by. And without that constant reminder, it became near impossible to resist the urge to give in to baser instinct.

Ammit healed every wound Harrow inflicted on himself before he could feel the sting of punishment, blessed be.

I'm sorry, he thought. I'm sorry, I can't help it, I don't deserve to serve you, I can't stop, I'm so sorry...

By the time Steven's voice reached his ears, the water going down the sink drain had already turned clear.

"...what?" Eyes shutting, Harrow steeled himself, then turned the faucet off. Without meeting Steven's gaze, he kept his head bowed, recalling with some frustration that Steven was part of his duties, too (even if his stomach twisted in jealousy at the memory of Ammit calling him good, and pure, and worth preserving).

"I'm sorry, Steven." Sorry. All you have to say is sorry. "I was a bit distracted... what was that, about your mother?"

She's fucking dead, is what she is.

Harrow's head lifted, seeking Steven's gaze in the mirror with a slight smile. "Please. I'd like to hear your requests in full."

[songbirdlucy]

w. @dexthelloyd at. low bird pub - Los Angeles

Lucille trabalhava como atendente no pub, fora o único lugar que lhe oferecera um emprego minimamente descente quando ela se mudou para Los Angeles, apesar da bolsa que tinha para a faculdade, ainda precisava dar um jeito de conseguir se manter e pagar o aluguel, e ela não se importava, mesmo que vez ou outra ouvisse no fundo de sua mente a voz dos pais dizendo que a vida dela deveria ser diferente. Não importava, agora mais do que nunca ela se sentia livre de verdade, como se estivesse finalmente encontrando a si mesma, e graças ao seu charme, tinha conseguido convencer o dono a deixar que sua banda tocasse nas noites de quinta feira, que era quando os universitários enchiam o bar. E bem, qualquer oportunidade de se apresentar era ótimo, terminava de ajeitar as coisas no bar enquanto a banda organizava as coisas no pequeno palco improvisado, ela tinha o setlist todo pensado para aquela noite, estava se sentindo levemente ansiosa, mas sabia que era só começar a cantar que tudo desapareceria. Joe os apresentou, e ela subiu no palco sorridente como sempre, e foram necessários apenas os primeiros acordes para que tudo entrasse nos eixos e ela só começasse a cantar.

[obligatorial]

@whatthefuckdidido, semi-plotted starter.

Leave a man starving for long enough and the fight was bound to drain out of him. Gavin didn't need much beyond physical exhaustion, and as he leaned against the doorway to his basement, he admired the sight of the man laid out on the mattress.

He was spoiled, really. Gavin left pillows and blankets and a pitcher of water he made sure to refill (and if there was a bit of crushed pills and other medication in there to make him sick and weak, that was for his own damn good). There was heating down here, which was perfect considering the winter weather, and the chain was long enough for him to piss on his own in the working toilet. If Gavin were meaner he would be holding the man's dick for him to control even that-- but as earlier stated, his new housemate was spoiled, and autonomy was a privilege.

Gavin was quiet as he came up, walking towards the mattress with a plate in hand. The sandwich on it was made with as much care as everything else: meat, cheese, tomatoes, lettuce. He'd even removed the crusts in an act of goodwill (spoiling, always spoiling his poor baby). It was a week since he first encountered the man, and a week since the guy so kindly let him sit beside him on a bus. That meant it'd been six days since he first took him to live here.

"Sweetheart," Gavin murmured, reaching a hand out and curving it gently on his shoulder, "I brought you breakfast.

"It's been a couple days, huh? You must be starving."

And while soup would be kinder on an empty stomach, there were always thresholds to these things. There was only so much spoiling a person could take before they turned out rotten.