#p:starter

[romeokenton]

open to: all 

location: outside the spa

Romeo had been a lot of things in his life, held more jobs than he could count, tried more career paths than was actually productive and still searched for something more. This work was familiar - he’d been a masseuse for years on and off, but that’s where the familiarity stopped. His first day on the job and it seemed the adjustment period was going to take a bit longer than normal, the whole living where he worked and always on the clock things were very new. But he liked new. 

The last client he had scheduled that day had left a few minutes before and he had already put his headphones back in, humming along to the music as he packed up and headed out. He almost didn’t notice them there, he wouldn’t have if the hallway had been wider or if he’d been paying even less attention to his surroundings. “Oh, uh, hello! Anything I can help you with?  Didn’t think there were any more appointments today.” 

[houndofhxll]

@risingpeaksreblogs​

Open Starter - Post Event

Forrest could remember vague bits and pieces from the fateful night of the festival - more than would leave him comfortably ignorant and less then he could put together with any coherence. It frustrated him to no end, made him restless and quick to anger and decidedly pissed at his hellhound companion who refused to give him any further details outside the vague and placating in order to spare him the burden. And yet, there he was, feeling decidedly burdened by the fragments of the night he just couldn’t piece back together. It reminded him of when he had first inherited Salvatore as a cohabitant of his body - back when he didn’t know of their presence and his life had spiraled into irreparable disarray. 

That was also...rather unpleasant. 

Tearing off another piece of bread from his lackluster sandwich for the pigeons, he tossed it to them unceremoniously, watching them squabble over it with vague disinterest. He was startled out of his thoughts when the pigeons scattered as someone approached, looking up to properly meet their gaze. “Are there no other benches to your standard?” 

[beaucaras]

@littleollieballard​ 

Tugging his coat on as he walked, Beau checked the time once again, cursing himself for allowing his mind to wander long enough to make him late for a meeting he’d set up. Studying a new artist with the same conviction and focus that he had given to those he admired his entire life, the man had been absorbed in it all to the point of forgetting lunch. It would’ve been acceptable normally, when he was the only person waiting on himself, but not when he had met someone he genuinely found interesting and didn’t want to disappoint. Walking briskly, he glanced down at the thin, black package in his hands. He was reminded of why he never did things like this, the anxiety and self-doubt surrounding not only his gift but his late arrival and the cold weather outside ate at the confidence with which he’d written his first note to Oliver. 

“I apologize for keeping you waiting. I, um, foolishly lost track of the time.” Beau once again cursed himself for picking a location outdoors to have the man wait for him instead of somewhere warm and comfortable, his appreciation for the romanticism of their initial meeting place seeming awkward and heavy-handed in hindsight. “I hope you haven’t been out here long.” 

[gabrieldxe]

Open Starter 

@risingpeaksreblogs

“Hey, is this yours?” Gabriel asked the nearest patron, plucking the pendant off the floor. Leaning the broom against the counter and holding it up so they could see it under the florescent lighting of Geeks and Freaks, the archangel cocked his head, trying to figure out exactly what it was supposed to be. It looked like a mix between a cat, a bird, and a star - though he was just kinda guessed haphazardly as the tiny piece of jewelry spun slowly on the chain by which he held it. “It was right under your table.”

[ofdivinechaxs]

Open Starter @trappedreblogs​ 

The cool breeze ruffling his still-damp hair made Liam shiver as he walked, his brown furrowed and his fingers gripping tightly at his gym bag. There was something unnerving about Beacon Hills at night, especially with a bunch of biblical horror shows running around trying to eat souls or whatever it was demons did. He was on edge, his claws digging into the vulnerable skin of his palms as he picked up his pace. 

Crash! The noise made him jump out of his skin, whipping his head around to try and find the source, which was apparently nonexistent. “Hello?” 

Everything was still. 

But he could hear a heartbeat, something that only served to further freak him the fuck out. “Who’s there?” Dropping his gym bag, gold bled into his irises, his wolf rising to the threat. 

[raynedays]

@trappedreblogs​  |  Open Starter

Getting to the bottom of whatever was happening in Beacon Hills seemed like an impossible task for just one man, which is why Kaleb didn’t plan on doing it alone. However, there was some prep work he needed to do before he tried to speak with the McCall pack, which meant the library first and then a club or bar where he could meet people who actually had personal experience with Beacon Hills and it’s residence. 

Once the library was checked off his to-do list, he headed to the bar where he’d interviewed the week before to start casual conversation and make connections. Social graces didn’t come naturally to him - living isolated in the woods as a pack of feral werewolves didn’t leave much time for pleasantries - but he’d had plenty of practice and he’d always been quick on the uptake. 

Undoing the first few buttons of his shirt when he walked in, he was hit in the face with the cacophony of scent that accompanied venues with so many people. It was hard to tell who was and wasn’t supernatural without getting closer and, in the end, he wasn’t sure it mattered (he’d heard rumors of human pack members); so he plastered a genuine smile on his face and sat down at the bar, unphased by the slightly sticky counter.

“Is it normally this busy?” He asked the person next to him, leaning forward, his elbows resting against the counter. 

[moore-mad]

Silence.

It had been silent for so long. Darkness became one with the silence and the cold. It turned into a void, endless and unbreakable. And then, somehow, it swirled deeper until there was absolutely nothing left.

But there was no light at the end of the tunnel. Instead there was a burst of color; the memory of a morphed reality, a glimpse of a life that could not longer be. There were glimpses; images flashing with vibrant intensity that bit by bit turned the emptiness into something almost real.

Three different places, five different faces and one city marked by orange gold; San Francisco.

Blue eyes snapped open, and he came back to life with an unbearable need to breathe.

He gasped instead while trying to wrap his mind around the edges of reality for whatever that meant.

The light was bright, so bright that he couldn't see. There was noise too; loud and blaring like a drill directly into his skull. His instinct drove him to push against the metal door in search for freedom. And on his second attempt the capsule finally gave and he fell ungracefully to the floor.

Overwhelmed senses didn't override the instincts tunned through a Military life and he assessed his surroundings before taking a moment to compose himself.

"Warning, life support system in critical state. Emergency measure program requires authorization. Warning, life support syst-"

Sprung to action by the blaring alarm, Sargent Moore moved through the vault with diligence. Capsule after capsule opened. Room after room was scouted to find survivors of a man made tragedy. They were victims of human greed, and whatever hope he tried to offer had been ripped away with another cruel twist of destiny.

No survivors but him and a duffel bag filled with as many supplies as he could find scattered through the vault; a couple of guns already loaded and holstered. And with a last glance behind to those he couldn't save, he made his way back to the surface.

Even in the middle of the desert, the devastation was clear. The sun almost burned trough his skin as he tried to remember how that very same world looked like as he went into the vault.

The first sign of movement from behind, and he turned with gun raised and pointing to the head. But his eyes found a ghost, or rather the shadow of a memory.

"You... you're one of them."

@lee-ak

[hxllxway]

Open Starters @trappedreblogs​

“Oh...sorry,” Nolan said quickly, when he’d finally snapped out of his thoughts enough to realize someone was standing behind him probably wanting to buy tortillas sometimes within the next hour. Stepping to the side, he picked at his cuticles, mentally scolding himself for not staying in the present while he was in public.