#someflareoutwithlove

[pushspacetocontinue]

Until the Day I Die (closed for someflareoutwithlove)

@someflareoutwithlove

Despite being a bit shaken up from this morning's incident, getting to work and starting his shift had gone on with otherwise little fanfare. That had been blasted all over social media and a news crew had gone to report it, but he was otherwise okay.

Russell was manning the shop part of Hidden Gems today, and he had just updated the list of new releases for the coming couple of months and shelved some physical copies that had just arrived. But then there was a familiar jingle as the door opened. Russell looked up and was about to give his usual polite 'morning' and modest wave when the word died instantly.

"D-Damien..." Russell could hardly believe it. He would recognise his friend anywhere. What was he doing? Was Gracie with him? He was a bit worried about that, "Is, is that really you?"

[unburiedhatchet]

@someflareoutwithlove said “You know, you have a really bad habit of saying things that are like pouring oil onto a fire.” [Testing Jimmy]

Michael rolled his eyes, a regular occurrence when Jimmy was around. "Yeah, and you have a real bad habit of pissing me off when you're already on thin ice." Selling his yacht, drugging him, letting his sister go to some whack job's television show audition. Michael had half a mind to send his son to a boot camp just to teach him a lesson, but he'd find a way to fuck that up to. "What are you even doing here, Jimmy? Does your mom know you're here?"

[chaosfindsaway]

@someflareoutwithlove liked for a starter from Trevor!

Trevor was already in a sour mood. Mikey abandoned him in the desert all because he didn't like the sound of his plan and now he had to hitchhike. One of his least favorite things to do ever. To make it worse, the stranger who finally stopped to pick him up seemed to want to have a conversation.

"Look, just hurry the fuck up and get me to the airfield, kid," he spat, his words seeping with annoyance, "I got shit to do, people to sniff, drugs to fuck. If I wanted to have a conversation or talk about some bullshit feelings on the way, I'd call a fucking therapist."

[icangiveyouanything]

@someflareoutwithlove continued from here

As soon as Damien got himself out of the water, he dropped down. The rocks were hard, and uneven. But at least he was out of the water now. Every once of energy was gone. He was safe. The adrenaline was gone. He wasn't fighting for his life, now all he could do was lay there, trying his best to catch his breath again as the wrath of the setting sun shined onto him.

Shade managed to catch sight of a suspiciously human-shaped form lying on the ground (thankfully, given where he'd been heading). As if that wasn't concerning enough though, further inspection revealed that it was a very familiar form as well.

"Damien? Is that you? Do tell me you're alive.." He sensed a pulse so that seemed like a 'yes' but this didn't look like leisurely relaxing in the sun.

[rebelliousfamily]

@someflareoutwithlove gets angsty robin

Robin had finally come out to her parents. She had thought that it would all go well. That they’d still love her. What had actually happened, was that they’d turned against her. They’d called her a few choice names. All of the names she had been afraid of her peers calling her. They’d told her to leave. That she couldn’t stay in the house if this is what she was choosing.

She had thrown her things into a few bags and left the house. She didn’t have anywhere to go. She couldn’t drive. She didn’t even have a way to contact Steve. She just wanted to do something.

She’d ended up just walking, and sighing as she stopped by a bench. She sat down and ran a hand through her hair as she broke down into sobs.

[dontcallmeeight]

@someflareoutwithlove

Kali stepped out of the bar she and the gang had been laying low in, rubbing her temple with two fingers as the night air took some of the edge off the headache she felt building up behind her eyes. Axel and Dottie were both three sheets to the wind, Mick was getting more and more tense with every hour, and even Funshine was having trouble keeping everything calm.

She shook her head, pulling a cigarette from her pocket and bringing it to her lips before trying and failing to light it with her zippo.

Swearing softly, she turned to the nearest person and held out her cig. “You have a light?”

[blooddrinkingbartender]

Stranger Men (closed for someflareoutwithlove)

1992

Another dull shift at the grocery store. So dull. And there were no meals that were appealing enough, even if his stomach was trying to tell him to stop being so picky and drink from someone already.

But he abstained. However, his next idea was to go into a bar. If only because maybe some alcohol-flavoured blood would be a bit more appealing. Subconsciously, he knew why he was in such a funk, but he was trying not to let it reach his conscious mind. 

He made his way to a nearby bar, and without even hesitating, sat himself down at a stall.

“Hey, good sir,” he said to who he could only assume was the current bartender, managing a pleasant grin, “If you serve them, could I have a Peach Bellini please?”

[mudskip-muses]

@someflareoutwithlove

Shuffling slowly about his shop, the mechanic was clearly out of sorts, his usual bright and boisterous appearance sullied by the black eye and cut cheek, it looking suspiciously like the type of damage a broken bottle may inflict. He doesn't seem to be moving with much of a purpose, simply going through his things at random as a sort of distraction, eyes hazed over and hands moving of their own accord to sort out his tools. 

His door is unlocked, as it usually is, the reason for such a habit going far back into his childhood, stemming from the same source as his new injuries. He doesn’t hear it open, but he does hear the other’s footsteps, his brain jumping into high alert with the soles of the progenies shoes sound far too similar to his father’s own steps. 

The small box of scrap he had been holding slips from his hold, its contents crashing to the ground as his hands start to shake. He wastes no time dropping to the floor, frantically picking up the pieces and throwing them back into the box with a fear induced pace. He cuts his palm on a practically sharp bit of metal, but he doesn’t seem to notice, nor does he even seem to realize where he is, mind still stuck back at his father’s house. “I-I’m sorry! I’ll clean it up, I promise!” He yells, voice shaking as he tried to hold back a fresh flow of tears. “I’m sorry!” He repeats, sharp teeth digging into his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood as he holds back a sob. He knows better than to cry, crying always made things worse.