Discover Top Posts Tagged with #saintlcss

location. ⁺ car graveyard.

rylee's fingers brushed over the worn steering wheel, her chest heavy with the weight of memories pressed into the fabric of the car seats. how many times had these wheels carried her daughters to dance classes, soccer games, school pick-ups and drop-offs ? countless trips to work, family dinners, nights with friends—each ride filled with laughter, conversations, and the quiet intimacy of life lived together. now the car sat idle, rusting among a sea of other abandoned vehicles, its purpose long expired. going nowhere.

a soft sigh escaped her lips as she absently fiddled with the dashboard buttons. her heart ached for the chaos she once took for granted—her daughters bickering over what music to play, only for them all to end up singing along together no matter the choice. those small moments of joy, mundane yet precious, had slipped through her fingers like grains of sand. her hand dropped to the glove compartment. with a gentle pop, it opened, revealing a stack of photos. fingers thumbed through them, her gaze lingering on sunlit smiles and frozen snapshots of a life that felt impossibly distant. she couldn't linger on the captured memories, but she'd take them to later sink into. reaching into the center console, she unearthed a collection of forgotten treasures: butterfly and star-shaped hair clips, faded receipts from places they’d never visit again, a crumpled pack of gum. what once seemed disposable now felt imbued with meaning. rylee scooped the contents into a tote bag, unwilling to leave behind even these small remnants of her past.

she'd only returned here once since arriving in arcadia—to escape, to cry out the emotions she'd kept hidden from her daughters...and moments ago, she'd done the same, letting tears fall until there was nothing left but the resolve to go home with a hopeful, warm smile for their sake. with a steadying breath, rylee opened the driver’s door and slid out. the heavy thump of the door closing echoed in the stillness. “sssshit !” she gasped, heart jolting as she spotted another venturer nearby. the woman had always startled easily. wide-eyed. “sorry,” rylee muttered, brows knitting in embarrassment. she placed a hand over her racing heart, forcing a sheepish smile.

@saintlcss . // closed starter.

#( r. carnegie // interactions. )#( r. carnegie // closed starter. )#( r. carnegie // rylee x jude. )#saintlcss

location. ⁺ - train station.

margot’s fingers worked with practiced ease, deftly swiping a bottle from the bar’s stash during her aimless morning walk. vodka? she wasn’t entirely sure—if that's what they wanted to believe it was. the town was a shell of its former self, and as she meandered through its battered snowy streets, she couldn’t help but catalog the wreckage in her mind. each scar in the landscape whispered of all the ways it begged to be healed, but the enormity of the task was suffocating. arcadia never allowed rest. its calm was always a prelude to chaos.

wandering feet eventually led her to a destination as ironic as her lack of direction: the train station. a relic of purpose lost, it loomed as a cruel monument to futility. no trains came. none left. it was as if the structure existed solely to mock those trapped within the town’s grasp. “rude,” she muttered, the word escaping her lips in a puff of mist against the frosty air. bundled in layers, margot draped herself across a bench, her body sinking into its frigid embrace. the winter chill crept into her toes, numbing them entirely. she wiggled them, more out of curiosity than concern, marveling at the void of sensation. it wasn’t unpleasant, this absence of feeling—if anything, it was strangely comforting.

the stolen bottle rested on her stomach, its glass beginning to fog in the bitter cold. for a while, it sat undisturbed, a silent companion. then, with idle fascination, she shook it, watching the liquor thrash against its transparent prison. the chaotic motion within the bottle mirrored something deep inside her, a restless, unrelenting turbulence that never settled.

that’s what living in arcadia felt like.

@saintlcss . // closed starter

#random & vague - youre welcome :))#( m. st. pierre // interactions. )#( m. st. pierre // closed starter. )#( m. st. pierre // margot x jude. )#saintlcss

EXT. SPILLING OVER AN ALGAE-EMBOSSED FENCE, A MARE FEEDS UPON ANOTHER’S UNKNOWN, OPEN PALM. AT THE HIGHEST REACH OF NOON. A DOG AND ITS SHADOW, DE-LEASHED, ALMOST FIND MERCY FROM DAYLIGHT BROOKS. THIS IS A DYAD UNMADE, ON THE VERGE OF SOMETHING TERRIBLE. CLOSED STARTER FOR FRANCES ‘JUDE’ CARROW.

Faith wanes into a listless manhunt, out here. Too neat for a bloodied catch, yet not poised enough to perch upon your forefinger, like a beckoned chittering warbler. Route-less migration. Circling smaller and smaller around the retracted sun. It metastasises into something subtitled. A colourless filter, burnished with bamboo resolve like a frameless glass-pane, that may imbue your sight with a new static. Or sticky breath. There may be a cheerful spectre, burdened with memory, lamenting these lost plains. Tenderised into a living thing. It would call a name you remember but cannot speak. A bespoke haunt. You only know that it’s different. Stealthily distinct. Easy to ignore from behind the border, fortunately, as you pet this horse on the bridge of its nose. And elect to ignore — transiently, of course, as you begin the seamless etch of yourself, solid, upon this clearing — the silhouette beginning to darken his shadow. The quarter-slurred length of her in his eye-line’s perimeter. Incomplete. Wanted and then forgone for another better fate. Nameless dog. Yearning to hear a name, just once, or maybe again: to know it belongs to more than the ephemeral moon. His skin cools. The horse feels for more, apple-throated. ‘ Well, don’t you clean up nicely. ’ This could be intended for either @saintlcss or her horse. That matters little. Neither his nor her face could be denied, anymore, so his gaze darts shortly over the mare’s breadth. The horse reaches for too much: a thumb and the fat meat of it on his palm. A reproachful clucked tongue, prolonged to a series of them, like the click of a scope attaching to a gun. His stare persists, affixed. ‘ We don’t have to talk. I prefer the quiet. ’

#PROSE.#saintlcss #this is all i can give (as a starter bottom)#hannibal vc hello frances hiiiiii franceeeesssss #jude‚ 01.

location. ⁺ the ranch.

mud scraped from the bottom of her boot as she rested one foot up on the wooden fence. the animals on the other side were left unharmed by the night, and reyna couldn't help but ease into their energy. untouched, unlike the torment that ran through the woman's veins. she came here often, to the ranch, seeking whatever amount of solace she could inhale.

the rain was missing. reyna took a calm breath, hands resting on the rail trying to will the rain to drip out of the clouds. there was a yearning for the way the earth smelled after a fresh rain. maybe it was a cleansing she sought after. some things were too out of reach in arcadia.

there was a momentary glance having picked up jude's waking presence. disrupting her own silence, " morning. " a small nod, and the woman was sliding her body away from the fence to squat beside her backpack. " brought you something. " sometimes when reyna spoke, she was still somehow quiet at times. - her hands pulled out a thermos, brown and silver with some rubbed off brand. she popped the top off before filling it with coffee. instant. probably stale. reyna knew it was shit in any coffee enthusiast eyes, but it was a treasure in a place that didn't have much. " now...don't leave it around just to get cold. actually drink it so you can function. " a weak attempt at humor. reyna tried.

closed starter. // @saintlcss

#( r. hendrix // interactions. )#( r. hendrix // reyna x jude. )#( r. hendrix // closed starter. )#saintlcss