li0nh3arted

[li0nh3arted]

"Bad luck, that," Ruairi said, more to himself than not as he weighed his options for a moment. He'd never had an issue rolling with the punches, so to speak, as he'd gotten older and offering the other man company— even if it felt a bit silly to try in the first place— seemed a relatively harmless endeavor on the face of things. "Well, I reckon I'll be here a while if you want someone to chat shit with while you're here?" He raised an eyebrow, shaking his head with a low laugh.

"I'm Ruairi, by the way. Not that I think it makes offering sound any less weird but at least if you know my name I'm just a smidgen less of a stranger," he said, his voice rising towards a question at the tail end. He held his hand out to shake just the same, an easy smile on his face. It wasn't the strangest way he'd ever tried to make friends with someone but he was fairly certain he could add it to whatever internal list on the subject he might've had.

It should've happened sooner than it did, that Landon ran into someone who already had a ticket to the show. It definitely left him feeling more stupid than even the people walking past and giving him a wide berth because they probably didn't want what he was peddling. He couldn't blame them, but there was a certain degree of indignity to what he was doing. It made the slow slide into actual embarrassment with the other's questions.

"No, I don't hate the idea of attending. I was supposed to be here with my brother and he can't make it at the last minute." He rocked his head back and forth. "I guess that means I'm looking for company."

[li0nh3arted]

Ruairi always had a tendency to drop everything when his brother needed him— it had always been that way; even when they’d been small and Ruairi trailed after Calahan like he’d singlehandedly hung the stars with his own hands. He loved his brother deeply and though adulthood had given them both their fair share of responsibilities that meant they couldn’t reliably wile away afternoons with each other without a care in the world, his urge to make time for the elder Macarthy whenever Cal could spare it was one he imagined he’d never quite rid himself of. He’d replied to his brother’s text almost immediately: 

‘Sounds grand. See you in a few. 👍’

He smiled crookedly as his brother greeted him— raising a hand to the other man’s shoulder and squeezing it affectionately. He’d have given him a hug but he had a tendency to let Calahan make that move for the both of them so his brother would remain comfortable; that had always been easy, he’d always been careful to meet the needs of the people around him. “Do we?” Ruairi asked, his head canting to one side. “Where should we start, then? You have big news or somethin’?”

「  ✷  」  STATUS  ﹕  closed  .  「  ✷  」  LOCATION  ﹕  morning glory  .  「  ✷  」  WITH  ﹕  ruairi  &  calahan  (  @li0nh3arted )

calahan  had  always  been  gloomy.  like  a  raincloud  was  permanently  over  his  head,  tethered  to  his  scalp,  dragging  around  his  own  personal  downpour.  but  recently,  that  had  all  changed  —  and  he  needed  to  tell  somebody.  there  was  nobody  better  to  use  as  a  sounding  board  than  a  brother.  wasn’t  that  what  siblings  were  for?  it  was  rare  that  calahan  had  an  evening  away  from  the  bar,  even  rarer  that  he  was  the  one  to  make  the  first  move,  but  that  afternoon  he  texted  ruairi  one  simple  word  : ‘  coffee  ?  ☕  ’ the  bar  owner  pocketed  his  phone  and  made  his  way  to  morning  glory.  he  chose  a  seat  by  the  window,  watching  the  february  weather,  studying  every  face  until  he  spotted  one  he  recognised.  the  one  he  had  grown  up  beside,  the  one  that  had  overtaken  him  in  finding  love,  in  starting  a  family,  in  finding  success  …  “ror  …  ”  smiles  were  so  rare  that  it  tugged  on  the  corners  of  cal’s  lips  and  made  him  look  almost  like  a  puppet.  “we  have  a  lot  to  catch  up  on.”

[li0nh3arted]

Truthfully, Lina isn’t certain what she’d been expecting him to say in the first place— it isn’t as if she’s met a great many people since moving to the States who even understand that she’s speaking something other than a Slavic language of some sort. She certainly isn’t expecting him to recognize it as Polish and she strains her ears to catch his own accent in a way that might make it a bit easier to understand where he might be from and finds that she can’t quite discern it as effectively as she wants to. She blinks up at him slowly before she offers him a small smile and nods. “I— yes, I’m Polish. I was born there but my accent’s a bit… all over the place now. We moved to England when I was little,” Lina explains. Not that he’d asked to begin with but her curiosity and the urge to continue their conversation that it inspires seems to have taken hold of her in a way she wasn’t planning for. “Do you actually speak it as well? Or just recognize it?” She feels her cheeks warm as she waits for his answer— hopes he couldn’t understand her when she was being blatantly rude, by all accounts.

Her shoulders slump the slightest bit as he agrees to let her keep the photos— she doubts she will now but it’s kind of him to give her permission; even if it makes her stomach churn guiltily as she relaxes. She feels the urge to reassure him again and brushes it away; he’s already said it’s alright and beating a dead horse doesn’t exactly seem like a foolproof plan that wouldn’t end in her simply annoying him further than she already has. “It seems a bit rude not to ask— I know that’s not everyone’s frame of mind but it’s always been mine,” Lina explains with a shrug. “And it’s nice to meet you, Romulus. All things considered it isn’t the worst way I’ve ever met someone so I suppose I’ll count that as a win.” She says the last bit more to herself than not and churns his name over in her mind a few times as if to adjust to the sound of it. “It does sound a bit like you might be used to being in front of a camera— I’d probably be annoyed having my photo taken in that situation, as well. I’ve always been more comfortable behind the viewfinder.”

the  foreign  language  that  spills  out  of  the  other's  mouth  piques  romy's  interest,  visibly  straightening  as  his  mind  whirls  through  the  different  languages  he's  grown  up  hearing  when  his  mother  traipsing  all  over  europe  in  the  name  of  high  fashion.  definitely  not  dutch,  romanian,  or  russian.  he'd  recognize  if  they  were.  it  makes  him  wonder  how  his  own  accent  sounds  to  foreign  ears  from  the  conglomeration  of  countries  making  up  his  childhood.  it  takes  another  moment  for  romy  to  place  the  language  —  polish.  he's  passed  through  warsaw  enough  to  recognize  the  cadence.  it's  successful  in  momentarily  pausing  his  mild  irritation  at  being  photographed.  "you  are  polish."  his  question  comes  out  more  like  a  statement  than  intended.  for  as  much  as  america  is  a  hodgepodge  of  different  cultures,  romy  hasn't  yet  come  across  a  non-british  european  until  now. even  so,  it's  evident  that  his  displeasure  of  being  photographed  has  been  a  tone  carried  by  whoever  else  she  has  managed  to  catch  in  her  line  of  fire.  a  sense  of  sympathy  starts  to  bubble  up  inside  him  and  for  as  much  as  he  tells  himself  that  his  own  feelings  are  valid,  the  whole  situation  hardly  seems  intentional.  the  arts  should  be  something  celebrated  regardless.  romy  bites  down  on  his  tongue  following  her  frustrations  before  breathing  out  a  sigh.  "i  believe  you,"  romy  starts,  tone  low  rumbling  and  he  squints  off  in  the  distance  briefly  before  returning  to  look  at  her  with  a  clear  of  his  throat.  "it's  my  own  issue;  i'll  get  over  it.  don't  stop  your  photography  on  my  account."  perhaps  ...  his  delivery  could  use  some  work.  whatever.  "you're  asking  which  is  a  lot  more  than  most  do.  so  there's  that,"  romy  offers,  nodding  at  her  introduction  before  adding,  "you  can  keep  the  photo,  lina.  better  it  have  a  use  than  waste  your  film  if  that  camera  is  as  old  as  i  think  it  is."  he  pauses.  "i'm  romulus."

[li0nh3arted]

“Awesome,” Lina sighed, the relief in her voice about as palpable as anything. For every person who’d been relaxed about having their photo taken there had been at least four or five who seemed to think she was the second coming of the bloody devil for as upset as they’d gotten and it was frankly a bit fucking exhausting. She wasn’t planning on using them for anything weird or selling them to a magazine for a quick buck or anything like that; she wasn’t even positive they wouldn’t end up in the bin once she’d confirmed whether she liked the settings she’d made note of in her phone before she’d started shooting anyhow. 

“Thank you, by the way, for being um, cool about it, I guess?” She said, a bit haltingly as she tried to wrangle her thoughts away from her general grumpiness at the amount of confrontational interactions she’d had throughout her day. “It’s been quite a day for me just trying to test this thing out and I’ve almost thrown in the towel about seven times, at this point.” She’d been too stubborn to commit to it, of course, but that was a consideration for another day or perhaps for the safety of her apartment. “I’m Lina, by the way. Good to meet you, my oh so benevolent photography subject,” she said playfully, an easy smile on her lips.

My little arctic fox was often a nickname Kate's mother had had for her. The cold winters had never bitten her rosy cheeks the way they seemed to do for others. Maybe it was the seemingly endless march of if you think this is cold, you should be thankful we never took you to Russia in the winter.

At which point, Kate would have rather braved a Russian winter than listen to the endless parade of those words.

She'd focused on The Bean and the memories that came from said sculpture. The good times flickered through her mind, but she was torn from it when the sound of someone calling her attention finally pierced her concentration.

"Hm?" she commented, her head tilting to the side. "Oh! Yeah, that's no problem."

[li0nh3arted]

“It isn’t all that difficult to do, love,” Lina said softly, a fondness in her expression that she imagined may as well have been possible to see from space. When she was a little girl— when she was as sick as she’d ever been, when she had a hard time even speaking to other children her age because what was the point, really? How could she commit to inserting herself into someone’s life when she could be gone in the blink of an eye? It struck her now as a deeply pessimistic view for a child to have and it was one she still carried in some part of her, though it was quieter now; easier to manage now that she had several people in her life she’d chosen to let in and found that it was as easy as breathing to love them in her own way. Billy was certainly one of those people and she’d never imagined being anything but gentle with him— it was the only way she knew how to be when she loved someone, she often thought. If they could be patient with her then she would love them to the end. 

She hummed softly, glancing down at Powder as the Siamese nudged her hand in gentle demand for scratches under her chin that Lina gave in a heartbeat with a fond smile on her face. When she glanced back up at Billy she offered him a lazy shrug. “To be honest I’m still mulling that over. The last few I’ve gotten have been strictly Japanese models but I’ve got my eye on this old Canon— it went into circulation in 1976— and it’s a beauty,” she paused for a moment to laugh, a sheepish expression on her face. “God, I’m a bloody nerd about this, aren’t I?” A rhetorical question, by all accounts— the space on her bedroom wall that she’d installed shelving in simply to display her cameras was a testament to that fact. 

“Some newer cameras are sort of a hybrid situation, you might try those? They’ll shoot digitally and it’s really easy to upload photos to a computer or they’ll use film as well if you want to go that route.” She tilted her head to one side after a moment and smiled warmly. “You’re welcome to take some from me, as well. I always have loads of it and I’d be happy to give you a few rolls so you can keep working with it. There’s no pressure, obviously, but it’s a thought.”

it wasn't often that billy found himself in a space that was completely free of expectation. somehow, he'd made more hookups than friends in the city, and often found himself struggling to attach himself deeper to people. it was why he was so alone, he thought. but people like lina made him feel better about being who he was; she made him feel seen. she'd invited him into her home and he'd always taken great care to respect her space and her feelings because that kind of person was invaluable, he thought.

he was smiling when she took the picture, just a gentle affectionate smile that he wore whilst looking at his friend and powder. he forced himself to look at the picture when she showed it to him, not liking to see photos of himself, and he tried not to react to the circles under his eyes. "and you, lina, are simply too kind to me." and it's not said as a joke, but in a much more serious introspection that doesn't fit the current mood in the room. so he moves on quickly from it, not wanting to bring down the mood. "which model are you thinking? for the camera."

he leans back into the couch that he's sitting on, back resting against the arm, and fiddles with his own polaroid camera. "as much as i love physical media, i think that i'm going to have to invest in digital soon.." but there was something about the motions of replacing film and negatives processing that he really liked. however... "the film alone is eating a whole in my pocket."

[li0nh3arted]

Everett’s found that in the last two years, he’s gotten pretty adept at crossing lines. To be fair, he’s hardly ever paying enough attention to realize whether or not there’s a line to be crossed, and by the time he’s done it, it’s a little too late to turn back and undo it. This, now, feels like one of those times. The girl in front of him is clearly distressed — or some combination thereof, most likely — and though it’d be so simple for Everett to fix it by simply backing off, taking his request back, leaving the whole issue alone. Hindsight’s always clearest: she doesn’t seem to be the least bit interested in keeping a photograph of him. And if she was, it’d most likely be with the sole intention of burning it during a cursing ritual, or something of the sort. Maybe hang it up to throw darts at it. Evangeline would probably insist it’s what Everett deserves, for not knowing how to open his mouth without being a ‘fucking dick’ half the time.

By the time any of this is settling into him, however, she’s already squeezing the canister between her fingers until the cap pops off and the film spills out, ruined beyond repair. Everett watches, his expression unreadable, as she drags the rest of the film into the light, her movements sharp and deliberate. There’s a part of him that wants to stop her, to tell her she doesn’t have to go this far, but the words stick in his throat like stray glass shards, making it impossible to get any of them out. He exhales sharply through his nose, his gaze dragging from the ruined film to her face. He can see the frustration in her eyes, the way her hands tremble slightly as she holds the camera. For a moment, he feels something akin to guilt — a faint, unwelcome twinge that he quickly shoves aside. He’s not in the habit of apologizing, and he’s not about to start now. 

Still, the sight of her destroying her own work, even if it was unintentional — it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. “Good,” he says finally, his tone flat, though there’s a flicker of something in his voice that might almost pass for regret. “Glad we’re on the same page.” He takes a step back, his hands still buried in his coat pockets, his posture stiff. “Next time, maybe keep your camera pointed at something that won’t bite your head off for it.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, already turning to leave. But as he walks away, he can’t shake the image of her hands, the way they’d clenched around the camera, the way she’d ruined her own work just to appease him. It’s not a feeling he’s used to, and it sits uncomfortably in his chest, like a stone he can’t quite dislodge. He tells himself it doesn’t matter, that she’ll get over it, that he’s done worse to people who deserved it less. 

But the thought lingers, stubborn and unrelenting, as he disappears into the crowd once again.

✦ ・⸺ END OF THREAD.

[li0nh3arted]

Lina felt her nose wrinkle as she tried to bite back the laugh that threatened to escape her at the sight of the sheepish expression on Alec’s face. She wasn’t going to tease him half to death for not having a specific plan when he went to chat her up― she hardly had a plan for most social interactions she found herself in on any given day and she doubted that would change any time soon; if ever it did, really. Instead, she offered him what she hoped was an encouraging smile and took a sip of her drink to drown the rest of her laughter. It gave her a moment to compose herself, at the very least and she hummed softly against the rim of the glass before she set it down again, her fingers tapping idly against the side as she thought. 

“Lina,” she said in turn. “It’s lovely to meet you, Alec. Your lack of a master plan aside, of course,” she finished playfully, finally allowing a soft laugh to roll through her though there was nothing but genuine amusement in it. “What sorts of trouble do you like to get into, then? I’m quite curious, honestly. And it might give us some ideas for where the night could take us, no? If you’re feeling up to it.”

He liked her accent, he decided. Her voice was throaty and a little deeper than he would have expected it, but it reminded him of velvet somehow. He imagined it crooning against a microphone, the image in his head enough to lead him away from the conversation he was currently having.

He blinked back into existence in time to catch her lopsided smile, which he mirrored back at her. It turned a little sheepish as his eyes fell to the floor and then flicked up to meet hers again. "You know, I didn't really think that far." If Shambles were here, she'd probably make some joke about how he never really thought at all. "But the night is young, there's plenty of trouble to get into. It all starts with just a sip." He took a sip of his drink then as if to prove the point, to match her swallow for swallow as he watched her over the rim. He settled it back down on the bar top. "I'm Alec, by the way."

[li0nh3arted]

int. literaria ― early afternoon. ( closed starter for @silkear3d )

Charlie had stumbled into a genuine love for art of all kinds when he was just a boy― afternoons spent plucking away at an old piano his parents had kept in the front room, curled up under the bench of the same instrument with any book he could bring home from school, doodling on every available scrap of notebook paper after the memorable afternoon he’d been scolded within an inch of his life for drawing on the walls in (thankfully) washable marker. Art of all sorts had always had the ability to capture his attention and it was a road he’d only become more and more willing to wander down as he’d gotten older and things had begun to feel much more manageable if he allowed himself some time to escape. 

Literaria had become a haunt for precisely that reason― stepping into the shop for the first time when he’d been twenty-three, three weeks sober, bone tired and in need of the escape he’d craved to find in a healthier way, Charlie had made a home for himself in the shop. Insofar as that was actually possible, of course. He found himself stopping by every other week or so, sometimes longer― it all depended on how voraciously he was devouring all of the books he was trying to collect and that afternoon was no different. He’d blown through the fantasy section on his shelf like a madman and he hoped Jasper was working― they always seemed to have such thoughtful suggestions. 

He smiled warmly as he approached the counter and raised a hand in a cheerful wave. “Hey, Jas. I have― well, I don’t wanna say it’s a challenge because I dunno if it will be for you but I’ve managed to finish all of the fantasy novels on my shelf and I’m sort of craving a few new ones. You’ve always got the best recommendations and there are always gems here, so,” he looked at them with a raised eyebrow. “Would you mind helping me out?”

[li0nh3arted]

int. griffin museum ― early afternoon. ( closed starter for @ofresoluxe )

In the years since he’d moved to Chicago Charlie had found it remarkably easy to keep in touch with his family― he’d thought New York might’ve felt like it was a world away when he wasn’t actively living there but that had never been the case. His sisters visited him whenever they all had time― sometimes alone and sometimes with their families in tow and this particular visit happened to be the latter. His sister Cat had brought his nephews to visit and when James, the elder of the two boys, had gently asked if they could visit the science museum Charlie hadn’t been able to say no. 

He was having fun, really― more than he’d expected to when it came to being around enormous crowds of people for most of the day; he’d taken to bouncing from exhibit to exhibit with James and trying not to lose sight of the boy along the way. He’d been mostly successful in that particular endeavor and was debating poking his nephew to sort out whether he might want a break when James turned to look at him and gestured excitedly towards an exhibit, only to collide with a woman he hadn’t seen in his path. Charlie winced and hurried towards them as he caught wind of James apologizing profusely and offered the woman a sheepish smile. 

“Are you alright? I’m sorry he’s just― he’s very excited and that might’ve crossed the wires with actually paying attention,” Charlie said, resting a hand on James’ shoulder and squeezing it gently to assure the boy he wasn’t angry with him. “Nothing lost in the crash, was there?”

[li0nh3arted]

ext. willow peak theater guild ― late evening / early morning. ( closed starter for @pastghcsts )

Charlie feels, on occasion, quite lucky that there isn’t a curfew in place in Willow Peak. Granted, whenever he’s known there to be one it’s always for kids or teenagers who are more liable to get into trouble than not without one; still, he feels lucky just the same considering how often his two AM walks seem to happen. His insomnia is more or less as bad as it’s ever been these days and for as much as he tries to do everything in his power to make sleeping a bit easier, it seems not to be in the cards. He invariably wanders the length and breadth of the suburb with no real destination in mind and jumps out of his skin whenever he runs into people on his walk― folks trooping home after a party or leaving for work in some far flung corner of Chicago or simply equally likely to wander when they were restless. 

He sees a familiar face as he notices he’s wound up in the vicinity of the theater and wonders what the closest diner that would be open at this hour might be as he approaches Everett and sincerely considers not saying anything at all. It doesn’t take much to notice that the man isn’t the biggest fan of people and Charlie’s never been thrilled by the idea of inserting himself into situations where he’s clearly not going to be wanted but Everett’s mostly pleasant whenever they speak― maybe it’s the late hour or maybe it’s the fact that when it’s just the two of them and the dark and the stars, things aren’t really all that dire.

He manages a tired smile as he finally pauses near the other man and raises a hand in a wave. “Hey, man― how’s it goin’?” It’s a little lame and a little less than he’d intended to say but he isn’t quite sure how to start the conversation and he doesn’t really want to get on Everett’s bad side before they’ve even had a proper conversation. “I’m starting to think running into you when I can’t sleep is gettin’ a little far afield of coincidence,” Charlie continues, something teasing in his tone that he hopes will be more endearing than annoying. Though he really doesn’t know how he’d endear himself to the older man even on a good day.

[li0nh3arted]

Some weeks Charlie’s half-convinced he spends more time at the behavioral health center than he does his own home― his parents are proud of him; they tell him every time he calls, as if he hasn’t been sober for three years now, as if the ups and downs of his twenties have finally leveled out into something that feels like peace some days. It isn’t easy and he struggles more than he actively tells them but he isn’t upset about it― can’t be, really, when he craves the pride like it’s another drug he’s chasing and doesn’t know how to explain that to anyone who isn’t Stuart― his therapist. If he isn’t at the center for AA then he’s there for NA; if it isn’t either of those then it’s therapy, if it isn’t that then it’s supporting a kid his baby sister’s age he seems to have inadvertently adopted from his support group for other people trying to manage the sticky intersection between addiction and bipolar disorder. 

All in all, Charlie’s memorized the layout by now― could probably navigate the place in his sleep if he had half a mind to try. It’s familiarity is comforting in some way and as he leans against the wall tapping away a text to one of his sisters and listening half-heartedly to some of the ambient noise around him, he genuinely startles at the sound of his name and the way his heart lurches like he’s caught wind of a ghost at the sound of it. For a long while after losing Levi he’d imagined the man in strangers― thought he heard his laughter on the wind and ached knowing that wasn’t the case; he feels a remarkably similar ache in his chest as his eyes rise to meet Damian’s and he suddenly isn’t sure what to do with his body as the other man speaks. His fingers feel like lead and his body almost won’t move in the moment before he shoves his phone into his pocket and tries to speak, swallows hard past the lump in his throat and gives in to the impulse thrumming beneath his skin. 

It’s not a surprise that he can’t ignore it, not really― not when his impulse control has, historically, not been particularly good but he thinks that this might be an impulse it couldn’t hurt to give in to. He moves before he can give himself any time to think better of it and wraps his arms around Damian in a hug that might be a bit too comfortable for whatever they are now but he’s missed him and he isn’t afraid to admit that or to offer his forgiveness for anything Damian might offer up by way of explanation for why they haven’t spoken in a year. He knows he isn’t going to push and he knows he probably should, at least a little, so they can work on being friends again but right now this is new and he’s tired of pretending that he doesn’t care that one of his best friends had simply dropped out of his life like taking a breath. 

“It’s good to see you,” Charlie says softly, always too earnest for his own good. He huffs out a soft laugh and shakes his head, “I had therapy today so I guess I lucked out, huh? I don’t have to suffer through crappy donuts for at least one day.” He isn’t sure what else to say but he follows his urges again and raises an eyebrow, curious but willing to let it go if Damian brushes him off again. “Are you busy for the rest of the day? Do you wanna go get a drink?” He pauses at the phrasing and rolls his eyes at himself. “Coffee. Do you want to go get coffee? I know you don’t drink it so it’s like, do you wanna go get ‘insert your drink of choice here’ and talk a bit?” He makes air quotes as he asks the question and tilts his head curiously, already bracing himself for rejection in a way that might make him frown if not for the painfully hopeful expression he can picture on his face.

✦ ・ EXT. WILLOW WELLNESS CENTER — EARLY EVENING. ( closed starter for @li0nh3arted )

Starting over is — weird. Damian feels like he’s won a participation trophy every time he shows up and gets praised for it. He’s here almost as much as he’s at practice — you’d think they’d start looking a little less pleasantly surprised every time they see him walk through the door. And, yes, he knows that’s a little unfair — he gets it, he’s someone who’d been seven, eight years sober for as long as they’d known him and suddenly he wasn’t and it was probably gossip-of-the-day for many, many days, but he got his six-month chip today. His second six-month chip, that is. He thinks he should get a little normalcy for that, as a reward.

The meeting’s been over for about an hour now, but he’d been cornered outside by Bertha, who’s been talking his ear off about the perils of meditation and why she stopped doing it (according to her, it left her open to body snatching and/or swapping, which Damian supposes is a valid concern, if he’s to follow Bertha’s logic) so he hasn’t had a chance to dip and go home quite yet. It’s partly his own fault — he shouldn’t be asking so many follow-up questions, probably, but he can’t help it, it’s like they pour out of him without his permission, all politeness and no self-preservation. Tell me more about how the soul swapping would work, Bertha. And you said you read this on the ‘no sleep’ subreddit? No, that’s not judgement in my tone, just surprise!

It’s only when he spots Charlie that he thinks of an easy way out — reaches out to squeeze Bertha’s arm apologetically and tells her he’ll catch her next meeting, but he’s just seen an old friend he needs to say hello to urgently. He’s probably here for the meeting after Damian’s — maybe, maybe not. He can’t immediately tell that’s why he’s here, but he can’t imagine he’s at the behavioral wellness center for something else. Then again, what does he know? He’d all but cut him out of his life for a year — and so many things can change in a year.

The familiar churning of guilt plagues at his stomach as he approaches his friend, suddenly regretting his decision. Maybe listening to Bertha for another half hour would’ve been preferable to having to once again smile brightly at Charlie and pretend nothing’s weird and nothing’s changed when they both know two things for sure: things are weird, and things have changed.

Also, it’s Damian’s fault.

He’s skipped over Charlie’s name twice now, in his ‘making amends’ list. He’s not sure how to approach that conversation. Sorry I pushed you away and ignored you for about a year. My boyfriend at the time convinced me you hated me and I was better off without you. Why did I believe him? Oh, I don’t know. I kind of think I haven’t stopped believing him, if I’m being totally honest.

“Charlie,” he calls out instead, finding no other way out now that he’s quite literally gone out of his way to stand in front of him. Plasters that easy smile on his face again, waves at him like it’s one year ago and things are fine. “Hey. You here for a meeting?” He glances behind him toward the entrance — Bertha’s now cornered some other poor soul, somehow, which at the very least bodes well for him. Turning back to face Charlie again, he’s suddenly hyper aware of the six-month chip in between his fingers — squeezes it so tightly he thinks he somehow might bend it, though he knows it’s impossible. Suddenly he’s less proud and more embarrassed about it. “Just got out of one myself,” he pockets the chip quickly, hoping Charlie didn’t catch sight of it. “Bad donuts, though. Maybe you’ll have better luck.”

[li0nh3arted]

ELLA PURNELL Biting Sophie Nélisse behind the scenes on Yellowjackets S03E03

[li0nh3arted]

Lina snorted― the sound was harsh and unexpected and given in response to both Estelle's comment about Kohl's and the notion that a fair number of the models she worked with on a regular basis might've been unpleasant to be around, to say the least. "It's sort of hit or miss on that front, honestly. I mean, for as many of them that're so obnoxious they sort of make me want to give myself an icepick lobotomy or something― a lot of them are also quite lovely," she paused and shook her head with a chuckle.

"I guess that's just how the world works, isn't it? It's not really unique to modeling but some of them are... real pricks, I suppose, to put it a bit more nicely. You sort of just plaster on a smile and try to get them going and out as soon as humanly possible. At least, that's been my solution."

It might've been a poor one, in the end, but Lina had never been one to create confrontation unnecessarily; she could stand up for herself when needed but she was fairly convinced that even if she had a row with any of the models she worked with her complaints would simply go in one ear and out the other, as it were. "It's either that or they're convinced I'm going to like, sell their photos on the internet and I can't quite seem to explain enough that I really don't have the time to invest in that. Like, these are film photos― I have to digitize them and do a whole thing just to make that even remotely viable," she explained with a roll of her eyes. "It's a bit disheartening but photography's also my favorite thing so I've sort of taken it on the chin."

Though she prided herself on her poker face, Estelle could feel her mask fall slightly at the mention of the Hallmark families. She has often tried to pretend that she never cared for that type of family unit; the mom, the dad, the boy, girl and baby. The matching pyjamas, and bay windows and a dog with some fuck-ass name like Rover. She can recognize that she can’t stand them out of spite and jealousy, because she didn’t have that fucking life growing up, and yet she’s turned out fine. Better than fine, if she were going to be bold about it.

“Probably used to being photographed for a Kohl’s catalogue so I’m sure they don’t mind.” And maybe it comes out more bitter than she means, but she resets her smile. It’s not Lina’s fault that Estelle’s parents were junkies who had no business bringing a baby into the world, now, was it? Nothing she could have done to help Estie become part of a Hallmark family.

“Fashion photography can be freeing though, right? I guess there’s a lot of dependents, but they always seem to be wild. Though I heard models are bitchy as fuck.” Estelle unfortunately had an encounter with a couple who had just been granted a gig from their social media influence back at The Bank — hardly Kate Moss — but they had credit cards that didn’t decline and tagged the bar on Instagram, so she just grinned and bore it for the sake of business promotion. “People need to get a fucking grip. Maybe I don’t watch enough True Crime but you hardly seem the psycho stalker type, and having a camera that’s older than like half of the shit in my wine cellar should be enough to tip off how serious you are about the hobby.”

[li0nh3arted]

Sleep was not something Charlie had ever had a particularly functional relationship with― his insomnia was ever-present, draped over him like a shroud he was always just a bit too tired to try and shrug off. It meant that his perpetual solution to that was simply to get as much caffeine into his body as humanly possible; it wasn't a perfect solution, it had certainly caused him heart palpitations when he was younger but it was a sacrifice he was willing to make. And considering he'd stumbled home from the gallery at an ungodly hour of the morning, crashed for an hour and a half and popped back up to go about his day― coffee was certainly his first and most important order of business. Charlie blinked owlishly at the barista as she spoke― an amused but genuine smile tugging at the edges of his mouth as he skimmed the menu a moment before he looked back at Vale curiously. "Is that what you'd recommend? I'm pretty open to trying anything, to be honest― I really just need the caffeine," he explained, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish expression. "Would it be weird to just ask you to surprise me?"

「  ✷  」  STATUS  ﹕  open  .  「  ✷  」  LOCATION  ﹕  morning glory  .  「  ✷  」  WITH  ﹕  3/5 cap  (  @willowpeakstarters )

it  was  a  few  hours  into  her  shift  and  already  vale’s  apron  was  covered  in  chocolate  smears,  whipped  cream  and  the  crumbs  of  cinnamon  rolls.  she  wondered  why  being  a  barista  wasn't  considered  an  emergency  service,  grinding  beans  and  pouring  countless  hot  drinks  for  willow  peak's  most  important  inhabitants.  the  doctors  with  veins  like  maps  in  the  whites  of  their  eyes,  the  businessmen  that  grunted  in  her  direction  in  lieu  of  thanks.  either  way,  she  loved  it  —  being  able  to  speak  to  strangers  and  make  connections,  talking  of  the  weather  and  the  news  and  new  tea  blends  that  their  customers  just needed to  try.  enthusiasm  was  like  an  ebbing  heartbeat  ;  constantly  thrumming  in  the  background  of  her  every movement.  when  she  saw  the  next  face  in  the  queue,  vale  propped  herself  up  on  her  palms  and  leaned  halfway  over  the  counter,  a  warm  beam  of  a  smile  on  her  lips.  “what  can  i  get  you  today?”  she  asked,  “we  have  a  blonde  roast  that’s  to  die  for.”

[li0nh3arted]

↪ not-so-brief introduction.

BASICS

full name: charles patrick colin faulkner. nickname(s): charlie, little bear. age: thirty-two. date of birth: 31 july 1992. zodiac sign: leo. place of birth: manhattan, new york city, new york.  ethnicity: caucasian. nationality: american. gender: demiboy ( non-binary ). sexual orientation: pansexual. romantic orientation: panromantic. religion: he was raised catholic— he had a confirmation and all but in his adulthood he’s never practiced all that much; the most he does is go to confession on occasion or mass when his parents visit. occupation: curator at neon canvas.  language(s) spoken: english, some very rough university level french. accent: charlie has more of a new york accent than anything else but his inflections on certain words sound a little bizarre if only because his parents both have very pronounced scottish accents and they taught him how to talk.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

face claim: william moseley. hair color: blond. eye color: blue. height: 5′10″. weight: 170 lbs. build: fit. tattoos: he has sleeve tattoos on each arm - though each arm has an individual theme ( here ) ( here ) & the initials ‘LB’ on the inside of his left ring finger in honor of his late fiancé.  piercings: he has his nose pierced on the right side ( he usually wears a silver hoop there ).  distinguishing characteristics: the moments when he’s genuinely outgoing, his penchant for flirting with every pretty person he meets even if he’s not thinking about it, the fact that he’ll rattle off swears in any foreign language he knows when he’s having a bad day and doesn’t do much to contain it.  

PERSONALITY

label: the tortured artist. positive traits: capable, clever, compassionate, considerate, creative, curious, daring, dedicated, earnest, empathetic, generous, independent, loyal, observant, passionate, protective, reliable, selfless, warm.  negative traits: competitive, irreverent, sarcastic, self-conscious. aloof, anxious, crude, haughty, hedonistic, impulsive, timid.  goals/desires: to make art he’ll be remembered for long after he’s gone, to find a way to be happy again, to find love again ( even if that’s something he rarely admits to himself ). fears: autophobia ( fear of being alone ). hobbies: going for walks, people watching for art references, sketching, playing with his cat, taking naps in the sun, playing video games, reading, listening to music, playing piano, painting, learning new things, teaching himself how to use photoshop, practicing new art styles, listening to podcasts, pestering his sisters, tracking down interesting documentaries to watch, collecting old records and piano sheet music, doing anything that involves working with his hands.  quirks: when he’s having a crisis he'll almost always talk himself through it out loud even if it occasionally makes people look at him like he's a little odd, he remembers people’s names and faces after meeting them even if he only interacted with them for a few seconds, he has a working knowledge of current popular children’s shows because of his nieces and nephews, he gives the contacts in his phone their names in scots.  likes: whiskey ( he doesn’t drink anymore but it was his favorite when he did ), cute girls, cute boys, sci-fi films, historical dramas, most foreign films, bob ross, trivia shows, horror movies, compliments from cute folks, his sisters, being an uncle, the anonymity of living in big cities, getting new tattoos, making friends, making someone laugh, jazz, classical piano pieces, his cat, indiana jones movies.    dislikes: people who treat him with kid gloves because of his life experiences, relapsing, people who don’t take him seriously, blueberries, most sports, bigots, having to deal with loud noises and crowds for an excessive period of time, feeling like he's hurt someone, making mistakes of any kind, being referred to as 'crazy' because of his mental health diagnosis. 

FAMILY

father: colin faulkner. mother: moira faulkner ( née darrow ). sibling(s): tallulah, aileen, catriona & ainsley. pet(s): he has a six month old blue maine coon named indy.  financial status: upper middle class.

BIOGRAPHY

( TW: mentions of death, drug & alcohol abuse, rehab )

In a small, cozy neighborhood in Edinburgh– Colin Faulkner and Moira Darrow met, for the first time either of them could remember, on a rainy afternoon when they were five years old. Their parents had been friends since long before either of the children had even been a thought in anyone’s mind and it seemed only natural that Colin and Moira would follow in the footsteps of their parents where friendship was concerned. Though it had been expected it seemed to take no time at all for them to become the best of friends and throughout their childhoods and well into their teenage years they were joined at the hip. It was no real surprise to anyone when they began to date or when they got engaged and it was no surprise but an incredible delight to their families when they got married shortly after they both moved to London to attend university– each of them hell bent on becoming physicians. From the moment they enrolled at university their lives seemed to progress at a breakneck pace— they finished university with top marks, Moira had their eldest daughter nine months after their graduation and still managed to juggle being a mother and attending medical school.

When their third son was born the ever-growing Faulkner family packed up their belongings in London and moved to New York where Colin had been offered a promising position and Moira’s very own offer seemed poised to follow shortly thereafter. It was during their first summer in the United States that their son— Charles— was born and the delight his birth brought to both his parents and his sisters could not be measured in any way. He was a perpetually rambunctious child - curious almost to a fault and quick to learn things he hadn’t known sometimes only hours previous. He began walking and talking far more quickly than any of his sisters had and even as a child his parents were aware that he would go on to do incredible things— even if his route towards some of those things might cause no shortage of headaches for those around him. For his part Charlie– as he much preferred to be called– delighted in getting into everything he possibly could for the sake of what his mother often called his ‘little adventures’.

Charlie’s little adventures were often conducted with his best friends at his side— Levi Blum and Katie Marsden— children who lived in his neighborhood who Charlie met shortly after they moved to New York and got to know given the fact that they were the same age and attended the same school. It was no surprise to anyone at all that they did nearly everything together and when they were fourteen and Charlie quietly admitted to his parents that he was almost certain he was in love with Levi– well, his parents– who had been able to see the adoration in their son’s eyes long before he seemed to understand it himself– weren’t surprised and wholeheartedly supported Charlie being happy above all other things. With his parents’ support bolstering his courage it took Charlie only a week or two following his coming out to make whatever feelings he could articulate known to his best friend. He considered it the happiest day of his life when they began to date– a day that was only eclipsed by Levi accepting his proposal when they were eighteen and planning to move to California for college.

As far as Charlie was concerned his life was absolutely perfect— he was attending art school as he’d always wanted, he was living with his fiancé with their best friend only a few blocks away because none of them had been able to attend college without one another. It remained perfect until the end of their junior year at UCLA when Charlie received a call from a local hospital that gave him the worst news he’d ever imagined receiving in his life: Levi had been involved in a violent mugging when he was walking home from a lecture and by the time he had arrived at the hospital it had been too late to save him. Charlie was crushed— devastated seemed a better word for it. He only managed to continue his course work for another two weeks before he dropped out of school entirely– turning to drinking in a quantity he’d never embraced prior and drugs in a way he’d never even thought of in his life. Ultimately it was Katie who pulled him out of it– Katie who encouraged him to get help: to check himself into rehab, to attend therapy and a variety of other things that– a year and a half later made Charlie feel almost himself again.

It was at that moment that he made the executive decision to leave California behind. Returning to New York was out of the question if only because it held as many memories of Levi as their apartment had and he couldn’t bear to suffocate under the weight of them when he was still trying to hold himself together. Instead, he made the decision to move to Chicago— it was close enough that he could visit his family in New York if he chose to but far enough away that he could have some distance from the ache the city he’d grown up in would always cause him now that it was so full of ghosts he could feel them haunting the halls in his mind. Moving to Willow Peak wasn’t a perfect solution immediately— Charlie still struggled with his sobriety, struggled to make friends and not feel as if he was simply allowing himself to waste away rather than; he found his footing there slowly, relapsed a time or two and finally settled into feeling the best he had since Levi’s passing. Some days he still isn’t certain he’s settled exactly where he needs to be but he’s chosen to treat every day as one he’ll never take for granted and, even with that ache in his chest, sometimes that feels like it might just be enough.

[li0nh3arted]

tagging system.

( visage. ♔ )

( musings & quotes. ♔ )

( aesthetics. ♔ )

( likes & interests. ♔ )

( fashion. ♔ )

( music. ♔ )

( headcanons & lore. ♔ )

( development. ♔ )

( interactions. ♔ )

( texts. ♔ )

( calls. ♔ )

( social media. ♔ )

[li0nh3arted]

“It’s a real skill of mine— almost CV worthy, I’d argue,” Lina chirped, her nose scrunching as she fought the laugh that seemed to hover somewhere in her chest. She’d never shied away from throwing out compliments when she felt people deserved them ( as she so often did where her friends were concerned ); whether that was a result of her general tendency towards cheer and a desire to make people smile or the fact that she’d had a handful of friends as a child and seemed to have internalized the idea that she had to have some direct benefit to her friends or they’d leave her in the end. She nudged that thought away as soon as it crept up, not quite willing to mull over something that she’d tried to work through for years by that point and seemed to have been relatively successful at more often than she wasn’t. “I find it extremely hard to believe that people don’t give you loads of compliments all the time but I’ll behave myself, I promise. I’d hate to get you too overwhelmed,” she said with a certain degree of sheepishness in her expression. 

She bit back another laugh as Amara shivered, raising an eyebrow with amusement writ plain on her features in response to the gesture. “I’d definitely hate to lose one of my best friends to the cold so if it’s warmth you need then we’ll figure something out, love,” Lina said. “Even if you’d make a lovely work of art,” she quipped teasingly. Lina fiddled with the bag slung over her shoulder and tucked her camera inside quickly before she glanced at Amara curiously, head tilted slightly to one side. “Do you have a taste for anything? I’m pretty much happy to go anywhere— I’ve not got any allergies or anything so the sky’s the limit! That and I’m a bit shit at making decisions when I’ve got loads of options so I’d need help narrowing something down anyhow.”

Amara rolled her eyes good-naturedly, her cheeks already pinking slightly at the barrage of compliments. “Way to make me change five colors in one go,” she said, her voice teasing but also soft. She gave a small, bashful laugh, clearly not used to the attention, though she couldn’t help but appreciate the genuine kindness behind it. “But seriously, I’m not exactly the best at handling this kind of... praise? I’ll just be over here, trying to hide my face like every other time, but thank you. You’re too sweet.” She grinned, almost like she was embarrassed by the genuine affection in her words.

When Lina mentioned the cold, Amara gave a dramatic shiver, as if on cue. "I’m so with you. I’ve been trying to pretend like I’m handling it, but my hands feel like ice cubes. Maybe I should start wearing gloves indoors." She tilted her head, imagining how ridiculous that would look. “I don’t know what I was thinking when I left the house without a thicker jacket. I mean, it’s practically a survival kit outside right now. If I don’t get something warm soon, I might just turn into an icicle and that’s not how I want to spend my afternoon.” She paused, giving the brunette a mock serious look. In her defense, she didn't plan to spend this long outdoors. “But yes, please, let’s warm up with food— and I’m taking you up on that offer. No way I’m turning down a meal, especially when it means not freezing to death.”