intermorior

[intermorior]

“catching smoke,” he mused, accent smooth on hoarse syllables, scarred fingers furling loosely around the plain mug the barista had handed him—black coffee, uncomplicated, just bitter enough to take the edge off, “aye, know that feelin’ well ‘nough… s’like nailin’ jelly to a wall some days,”

a name gets called out from behind the counter, sharp against the din of the cafe. simon flinched—just barely—but his features remained steady, the only thing to quicken was the rhythm of his thumb against heated ceramic, “writing’s a bit funny like that, won’t come when y’call it, but right as rain it’ll show up when y’try to sleep later,” pauses, dark eyes roaming again before they return to meet her gaze, “reckon the tryin’ counts more than the catching, though,”

his mouth quirks up at one corner, the scar there pulling slightly, “‘less you have a deadline, that is,”

Melody’s fingers idly traced the rim of her coffee cup, the steady motion grounding her, though her mind was anything but still. The bell above the door had barely registered in her head, the jingle becoming just another background noise in a morning full of unspoken thoughts. His voice, low and rough around the edges, cut through the haze of her own frustration, and she met his gaze with a flicker of something close to recognition, a slight lift of her brow. "You could say that," she replied softly, the weight of the unspoken words between them hanging in the air as if they'd been waiting for this very moment. "One of those mornings where it feels like trying to catch smoke with your hands, you know?"

Her eyes moved down to the notebook, the pen now an afterthought, abandoned mid-sentence like so many other things in her life that hadn’t been finished. She exhaled quietly, her shoulders loosening ever so slightly as she looked back at Simon, not bothering to hide the ghost of a smile that tugged at the corners of her lips.

"Maybe I was just too ambitious with the idea of writing this morning. Some days, it’s like the words are a distant memory, and all you’re left with is the ache." She paused, studying him for a moment. "Guess that's where you come in, huh? Offering that 'break' I didn’t know I needed." Her voice was playful, but there was something softer underneath, a quiet kind of gratitude for the quiet understanding between them, however fleeting.

[intermorior]

his approach was slow, measured—not out of caution, knew the animal wasn’t likely to snap, but habit. movements deliberate, non-threatening, though his height made that near impossible, something soft at the edges of him, a ghost of a smile tugging the corner of his lips.

“reminds me of the dogs we had back in service,” he muttered, stops with that familiar hitch in his right knee, grimaces, “crafty bastards, they were. learned quick how to sweet-talk the mess tent staff,”

“your boy’s got that same look,” he nodded towards goose, voice low—like they were sharing some private joke—reaching out with a calloused hand to let the beast sniff, “too clever by half, yeah?” @abcwithmsz

for: open! location: choose your own adventure! in which: zana is so shook when her spoiled ass dog acts spoiled

"No, don't worry! He just looks scary!" Zana laughs as she picks up the pace to catch up with Goose who made a dead sprint for an unknowing participant in his begging parade. "He just wants your food, he's very good at begging." She lets out a breathy laugh, reclipping him to his leash and giving him the command to sit, which he dutifully does, all while looking at the person's food. "He's so rude, I'm so sorry if he scared you."

[intermorior]

the bell above the door gave a hollow jingle, the kind that clung to the back of the teeth long after the sound had faded, and simon ducked his head beneath the frame, shoulders rolling with the familiar ache that never quite left him—not with rest, not with time. the air inside was thick with the rich scent of coffee grounds and pastries gone ever-so-slightly stale through the morning, a welcome change from the antiseptic chill of the va clinic that still stuck to his skin like a second layer, both wanted and unwanted.

his eyes swept the room before his mind could remind him to stop—clocking exits, counting heads, measuring the distance from one table to the next like it mattered. like anyone here was a threat. old habits never died, simply lurked in the marrow waiting to be proven necessary again.

“ta for the offer,” he rumbled, easing his frame into the chair opposite her. something in the soft curve of her expression, the hint of quiet frustration hovering at the edges, pulled him in before he had the good sense to walk away, and his gaze flicked to her pen—abandoned?—rubbed at the scar along his jaw as if the words might settle there, just beneath the flesh.

“been one of those mornings where the words don’t come, yeah?” he murmured, voice low, roughened about the syllables, head tilting toward the notebook, something like understanding flickering behind his dark eyes. “sometimes the only way forward's a break.” @melodyxleee

Open starter: @aurorabaystarter location: driftwood coffee

The warmth of her chai latte sat untouched beside her, the steam still rising in delicate spirals. She’d been coming to this café for years, the smell of freshly ground coffee beans always drawing her in like a magnet. There was something about the atmosphere—calm but lively—that made it the perfect place to think, or not think at all. Her mind, as it often did, was scattered with a dozen different things, but here, she could let it all float.

Her pen hovered over the page for a moment before she sighed and let it fall, letting herself relax into the cozy corner. Maybe today wasn’t a day for writing. Maybe it was a day for simply being. She took a slow sip of her drink, the warmth comforting her as she glanced around the café, wondering who else was here today. "Hey, yeah that chair is free for the taking or you can join me for coffee." she said to the other with a simple smile.

[intermorior]

he has three paint chips splayed in one hand—all cool, calming tones, has rolls of green tape like bangles at his wrist, “aye, you have the right of it, ‘suppose,” simon gruffs, narrows his gaze, reaches for several more cards at random, bracing on his good leg, “though between you an’ me, suspect these paint companies make the colours just different enough to drive a man mad, tactical marketing-like." @ablaaze

open starter / @aurorabaystarter

" Don't leave with just one sample. You have to take home at least a medium-sized stack - even if they're all shades of the same color. " Blaze shakes his head, unable to keep his advice to himself on this topic. " It'll save you a few trips, I promise you that. "

[intermorior]

[cis man and he/him] Welcome to Aurora Bay, [SIMON MORAN]! I couldn’t help but notice you look an awful lot like [ANDREW LINCOLN] You must be the [FIFTY] year old [SOCIAL WORKER] Word is you’re [LEVEL-HEADED] but can also be a bit [RESTRAINED] and your favorite song is [TWO BLUE LIGHTS BY SONGS: OHIA] I also heard you’ll be staying in [OCEAN CREST APARTMENTS] I’m sure you’ll love it!

hi im tj allow me to introduce u to my fruit gummy simon :)

born in manchester, april eleventh, nineteen seventy-one. his father worked in the mills open to close and his mother was a house cleaner.

grew up on a rough council estate. always was the broad-shouldered beanpole so he learnt to fight early, had to defend himself.

freshly 18, joins the british army, entered the parachute regiment (paras). got tapped for SAS selection. passed his first go, one of 12 out of 300.

served 22 years. got to sgt. major. ied in helmand takes out his vehicle, kills three of his teammates and leaves him with shrapnel wounds, a tbi, partial hearing loss and a fucked up knee.

gets medically discharged (seethed)

whole life falls apart because who is he without a mission and a uniform. can't sleep. can't connect with the outside world. his depression era. dark things happened here.

va counselor yanks him out of the pit. makes him see that he can still serve through helping other people. gets his social work degree, starts working crisis intervention.

one of his teammates (rip) made him a deal during service that if he didn't make it out, simon could have his family home in aurora bay. simon was like yea ok mate we're still gettin' u out of here. to cut a long story short my guy did not make it and it took a long time for his will to get sorted out. now simon's here (living in a flat in ocean crest because the sparse remaining family are seething and malding about this random dilf getting the house. this has been going on for two years and shows no signs of being resolved soon LMFAO)

he works at the local va-cboc... the community outpatient clinic. hes also involved in nonprofit veteran outreach. specializes in PTSD support, particularly crisis management and suic/de prevention.

his knee is in bad shape. he has balance issues from his hearing loss. he has chronic pain. but fuck it we ball.

personality wise... stoic, observant, grounded, deeply empathetic beneath a hardened exterior. sarcastic wit, dark sense of humor. loyal, overprotective, pragmatic, emotionally reserved but intense when he connects. resentful of the military yet nostalgic. grounded in purpose—“helping others is the mission now.”

connection ideas?!?! do u guys remember plot bunnies. i do. miss that term so bad.

the coffee shop regular: they both frequent the same café, grumbling about the terrible coffee but drinking it anyway. maybe they bond over mutual sarcasm...?! waggles eyebrow.

fellow manchester FREAK: ow do, me old pal from the big manc

annoying neighbor: they’re either endearingly irritating or just… irritating. dw simon can be the annoying crotchety one also.

local mechanic: the only person simon trusts to work on his old pos car (i have not decided what car it is i know nothing about vehicles they are loud and they scare me) there’s mutual respect here because si knows they wont jerk him around

gym buddy (reluctantly): someone who keeps trying to rope simon into casual workouts, despite simon’s gruff refusals. over time, it just… becomes a routine.

farmer’s market vendor: sells him vegetables he doesn’t even like, but he keeps going back because he appreciates their no-nonsense attitude and respects the grind.

library regular: they both sit in the library at the same time every week.

post office friend: they bond over complaining about lost mail, long lines, and the eternal mystery of why the package simon ordered three weeks ago still isn’t here.

dog walker (he doesn’t own a dog): he keeps running into the same person walking their dog on his route, and now the dog is obsessed with him. please convince him to get a dog i think it would stop him from crying himself to sleep at night

the rando at the diner: they always end up seated near each other at the local diner. eventually, they start making snarky comments about the specials.

the waiter at said diner: hates his guts because he talks shit about the specials

um my fave tropes are angst. found family. low-stakes connections. high stakes connections. silly goofy plot points as much as serious ones. idk im here to vibe.