~

[glint on broken glass]

~

 

[mogy]

What is life if not a cocktail of pain and work?​

​

Beckett Moore

The pale skin of Seattle-born stands out in a small place such as Lincolnville. Messy charcoal hair and just a little bit of height don't help either, but people can judge all they want because Beckett couldn't care less. His physique wouldn't have been hurt by a few extra pounds, but that wasn't surprising if you took into account the last few years. At 15, he'd mourned his mother's death; at 16, he ran away from home; and just on the cusp of 17, he found a person to take him in and finally give him some sense of a normal life. Now, two months later, he's just discovering the joy that is having friends and people who genuinely care for him. Oh, and country music isn't actually that bad (but you didn't hear him say that).

Snippet

Leaned forward, one hand on the wheel, the other putting out a cigarette in the half-full ashtray, what met the deputy's eyes was a young man that couldn't have been older than 18. Maybe 20, but that was already pushing it. Dark hair, a bit red in the face, from the heat assuredly, and pearly whites revealed by a smile that almost appeared genuine—almost. After all, nobody liked to be stopped by the police, even in Lincolnville.

"G'day officer," Clenching the wheel, annoyance radiating into the air quicker than the country tune playing on the radio, the young man continued, his voice soft, charming—diplomatic reasons, undoubtedly. "Just...a bit late for work. I mean, you know how it is, boss man. I fell asleep. Shit happens, even to the best of us."

"No, but, seriously..." Smile dropped, a sigh taken. "I can't lose this job, I need it, I just... I'm sorry for speeding, I promise it won't happen again." A loose button-up danced in the useless AC air, wrinkly, even more evident as the young man let go of the wheel, now pleading with the deputy. "You know me, Hunter, I'm not a bad kid. Just let me go this one time. When have I ever lied to you?"

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[erzulie]

No one sees what you see, even if they see it too​

​

Malachiah Lovell

Malachiah Lovell. A hardworking young man to the general public, a champion born and raised within the little old town of Lincolnville. He has been told that he’s one of the good ones. Malachiah has learned to shrink himself, so that others will find him digestible. They like that he is humble, a quiet young man who doesn’t cause trouble for his family or the town. Conversations while sitting on the porch with his pops have readied him. He’s all too aware of the eyes watching his every move, waiting for him to slip up. Malachiah is aware that he must be careful if he wants to survive.

It’s an amazing thing to see how he can switch up when riding. He has no greater passion than for the sport, his love for what he does is easy to see. Malachiah, despite his height, tends to disappear into the crowd. Quiet and docile, he is rather boring to others. Someone that people would look over if not for his status. He prefers it that way, he likes to be left alone.

His childhood was nothing to brag about. He was born and raised on his family’s land, delivered by an aunt. Though he had no siblings Malachiah had plenty of cousins to spend his days with, they played within the fields around their home. Malachiah learned how to take care of the family ranch, for he would inherit it one day. His days were filled with sleepovers and family cookouts, learning how to live off the land with the help of his grandmother, times were simpler then and there are days when he wishes that he can go back.

Snippet

With a soft exhale he let his head hit the headrest. How many times has he told himself to never get caught up in a situation like this? How many times had his pops warned him to keep away from the law without anyone around to see what was going down? He could only curse himself, watching as the deputy drew nearer. By the time the white and black exterior of the police car had come to his attention, it had been too late. He had been caught red-handed.

“Good afternoon, Deputy McCarthy.” His body was tense, he had straightened up before the deputy had reached his window. As if facing some sort of predator, he dared not to make any sudden moments. There was no one around to watch their exchange. Should something go on, it was the deputy’s word against his own. The young man swallowed. His face was clear and his body seemingly relaxed, there was no indication of the apprehension that he was feeling.

“Ain’t no fire, sir. But somethin’ happenin’ at home that I don’t wanna miss.” The excuse sounded flimsy to his own ears. He gripped the steering wheel and dared to glance at the man looming over his window.

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[RIPSaidCone]

Action is the foundational key to all success.​

​

Hayden Durelle

Daughter of Sean and Madeline; Hayden Durelle might be the closest thing Lincolnville has to a homegrown celebrity. Academically incompetent; her core strengths had always laid firm in the physical realm; and primarily in relation to soccer within even that. Blessed with the adorable reputation of a little star athlete among the adults of the town's parent-teacher association as a kid, it'd often find itself doing its fair share of work to balance out her more mischievous qualities whenever they arose, notably her inclination towards trespassing and petty vandalism.

Bolstered by an ambitious drive that few her age possessed, and lacking local opportunities, often hard-pressed by her unsupportive parents, it would be a steady supply of neighbor-provided odd jobs that'd financially support her path to greater success. It was then difficult, though ultimately still possible for some, to fault the young woman for taking the first opportunity to leave; having been approached by a semi-professional university soccer club on a sports scholarship following her performance in local and regional cups, and more importantly, no longer being able to stomach the claustrophobic nature of her home, of suppressing who she really was.

Several years, a handful of transfers, trips across the Atlantic, and a significant amount of personal exploration later; the now twenty five year old Hayden has finally made the decision to bite the bullet with a return to Lincolnville. To some extent at the request of her parents-- for what reason remains unknown-- the visit is also as much the result of a compromising ACL injury that has taken her out of her sport for the duration of the season, and though she won't admit it in their presence, this visit has a good possibility of being her last.

Snippet

Shit. Ice blue eyes decorated with a furrowed set of dirty blonde brows had caught glimpse of the vehicle in pursuit. The real-time image only slightly distorted by the unique perspective of the rear-view mirror. Pulling to the side of the barren rural road, the hum of the silver four door rental came to an abbreviated halt, and the driver waited for her uninvited guest to appear by her driver side window. Somewhat agitated.

In her head, Hayden expected the stop to go without incident, but her person had immediately moved to counteract such a prediction, catching herself looking up to the officer with verifiable discontent drawn across her expression, and mouth soon opening to convey, "Just do whatever it is you're gonna do.." A coating of deliberate exasperation, it was preceded with a sigh that was likely familiar to the deputy, and it was plain as day in the manner that she spoke. As dumb as it was to antagonize law enforcement, it was difficult to refrain given where she was.

She ran a healthily-tanned set of fingers through strands of her near bleach blonde hair before giving a falsefully inquisitive look to both directions of the road, her eyes then turning downward to the crown-marked watch on her wrist. "And I wasn't even going that fast anyway." She nonchalantly, albeit defensively stated, arm now resting on the top of her door. Gaze wandering to the sky for a momentary distraction. This place had her in a mood already.

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[idiot]

You may as well play the part people give you.​

​

Tiffany Miller

Artificial candy and sickly-sweet perfume waft from the scrappy and bubbly waitress. Brassy blonde, choppy hair frame her strong jawline. Faded pink strands brushed against her pale, slender shoulders that are sparsely sprinkled in freckles. A master of self-sabotage and a glutton for any attention, Tiffany's wardrobe consists of - often stolen - revealing and tacky clothing that boasts conflicting patterns and vibrant hues. This may explain the salacious rumours that spread like wildfire around town. Thankfully, the twenty-year-old has tough skin, unmatched confidence and carries herself in a breezy manner.

Perpetually trapped in Lincolnville with her drug-abusing mother in a cramped trailer on the edge of town. Tiffany continues to fill her sticker-clad jar with balled up cash in hopes of finally leaving this wretched town. The only one who seems to be in her corner is an aging deputy. Yet, his goal to steer the shoplifter on the right path isn't completely altruistic, using her to fill the hole that his dead daughter left.

Snippet

The refurbished 1971 Ford Mustang Mach 1 purred against the burning tarmac, heeled foot taut against the accelerator. Shit, shit...Barney is going to kill me! Clumped mascara clung to her sweeping eyelashes, hair pulled back in a dishevelled ponytail. One hand on the wheel, the other shakily applied lip-gloss. Ghostly blue eyes focused on the rear-view mirror as blue and red lights danced behind her. Ignoring the impulsive thoughts, Tiffany swerved onto the gravelly path, parking the car.

Harrison had the day off, so it wasn't his patrol car, Tiffany surmised. Time to talk your way out of this. Instinctively, fingers unbuttoned the already plunging neckline on the too-small waitress uniform. Red, lacy bra on display, she rolled down the window for her all-too-familiar guest. It was none other than, "Deputy McCarthy!" Words laced in a sickeningly sweet tone. In response to his question, her pouty lips formed a lazy smile, "well there will be one if I don't get to the diner. Barney would burn down the place if it wasn't for us girls."

"Now, I know, I know..." Tiffany began, "I was obviously speeding but how about I treat you to one of Barney's apple strudels next time you come in?" Her eyes slowly sized him up, "...unless there is something else you want, Deputy?"

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[_em_]

cross my heart and hope to die.​

​

lilly vaughn

Lilly’s long dark hair, similarly dark eyes and quiet personality make her easy to overlook, but as soon as her apron comes on and her hair goes up she’s a recognizable diner employee. Otherwise she’s just the girl in the graveyard, daydreaming next to her late mother’s tomb; prolonging the time before she has to go home to her creep of a father.

snippet

Green flannel covered the taut knuckles clutching the old Impala’s steering wheel; if rain hadn’t started dappling the windshield she might not have regained her breath. The trickling droplets reflected the flashing lights of the cop car behind her as her wide eyes stared at them. Lilly gulped tensely as a shaking hand put the car in park and rolled down the window; she shouldn’t have tried running. She knew it was a bad idea. This was her punishment.

The slap of the officer’s shoes hitting the dampening pavement matched the rhythm of her heartbeat, and when he finally reached the window she couldn’t bring herself to look out at his eye-level, khaki-covered crotch- or worse, up into his authoritative eyes. She would’ve recognized him otherwise; he undoubtedly recognized her. The diner was a popular spot in town.

Lilly wasn’t sure what fire he was talking about, though; there hadn’t been a fire, just blood. A lot of blood and screaming- she snapped out of her train of thought, handing her ID to the officer unprompted. She let out a shaky “I’m so sorry”, looking for all the world like a teen who had just been pulled over for the first time.

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[MissPlastique]

Am I doing the right thing?, is this really a good idea?​

​

Meghan O'Brien

All of the O'Brien kids had their struggles. Meghans happened to be self esteem issues stemming from competing with an older sister who was a major Narcissist. From an early age every achievement of Meghans was overshadowed by Abby doing something bigger and better. Her brothers not being much better. When Meghan was 15 and Abby 17, she thought for sure that Abby getting pregnant would do something about Abby being pampered at the expense of her siblings but it did not. it was Abby who oddly enough resented the baby as soon as it was born. Meghan tried focusing on herself until senior year when all of a sudden Abby passed away. Her parents had no interest in the child and her brothers were too busy so it fell to Meghan who (ever the people pleaser). Foregoing college to focus on raising her Nephew. Now, 4 years later, she is relocating with her Nephew to hunt for his dad.

snippets

Meghan was looking at her phone, her mind going in 100 different directions. The Lease on the house had been signed, Chase signed up for school. All she needed was a job. The money she had would cover them but just barely. Naturally, all thoughts of her Nephew made her think back. Finding out Abby had gotten pregnant, the pride she had as if she had planned the whole thing. Knowing Abby she probably had. The birth and following trauma as well as Abby slowly coming to resent her baby.

Sighing Meghan pulled herself out of her thoughts to hear someone say excuse me. Looking around slightly startled, she found it was not directed at her, but someone ahead of her.

“He wasn’t talking to you”

Meghan turns with a playful glare to her Nephew standing behind her, not even looking up from his phone until he knows she is looking. Then it’s a teasing grin.

“I knew that…I was…just making sure you did not run off”

It was a terrible excuse and Meghan knew it, but she had to say something, it wasn’t like she could say it was about his mom. Diversion tactics would be needed.

“Besides it’s not like I should talk to you, I’m a meme lord remember?”

She turns with a grin as Chase begins to debate the dubious title she had teasingly given herself, which had spawned an entire text chain of some good, mostly terrible memes. It’s when she turned that she spotted the man ahead of the kid, his nose beginning to drip blood. Shocked, she dug through her bag pulling out a handkerchief.

“Oh…here your nose..It’s bleeding….”

Her offer trailing off when she saw the man was not saying…or even doing anything. Suddenly nervous, she placed a hand on the kid’s shoulder in front of her. She said nothing more, suddenly nervous that this guy may have some kind of break down.

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[forest fire]

“Every step you take is forever. You cant make it go away. None of it. You understand what I'm sayin?”​

​

Colton McBride

It’s easy to be confident—to stand tall, to be unafraid of taking up too much space and blissfully unaware of it when you do—when you present as so conveniently American. Colton McBride (he almost exclusively answers to Colt) is a good ol’ boy in every visible way: dark blond hair with a touch of stubble, blue eyes, blue jeans, work boots, complete with an easy (read: stupid) perpetual smirk. Simple, friendly, and digestible. The former Lincolnville football star’s body—muscled and toned, with broad shoulders from all the years of running and weightlifting—is just now starting to wither and deflate in a way that profoundly depresses him. A physical reminder that his best years are behind him.

Colt is a smoldering young man—if you know when to look, you could maybe see the smoke come tumbling out of his ears. Living with an invisible disability like epilepsy is difficult enough, but the added burden of inadvertently causing it with his own recklessness adds salt to the wound. Watching his brothers slowly destroy Lincolnville with their “business” angers him just as much: it’s even harder to look the raving delusional junkie at the corner store in the eye when your own blood turned him into this. And then there’s his sexuality, which he’ll never be free to explore in a place like this.

A dying high school star, homecoming king, quarterback, fully aware that he’s becoming less and less relevant by the year and woefully unable to do a damn thing about it—it would make anyone bitter. You do what you can to laugh and smile and pretend nothing’s changed.

Sample

It was hard for Colt to keep his composure from across the dinner table.

It was even harder for him to keep his eyes off his two degenerate brothers, flinching every time one of them moved as if they were going to break something. They had changed so much. Colt hardly recognized the thin, sunken eyed, tattooed men that, somewhere along their way, found the gall to wear dark hoodies and sweats on a goddamn Sunday. In their mother’s home.

Ma didn’t seem to notice at all, unlike her usual self, and it made Colt feel crazy for being so irate with them. They hardly ever visited anymore, so she was excited, rushing around in the kitchen to scrape together a home-cooked meal. From the look of the frozen vegetable bags and soft pop of the crescent roll tin, they were having chicken and biscuits tonight—that had always been their favorite when they were kids.

But Andrew and Blake certainly weren’t children anymore. Colt watched them, brow furrowed, wondering how they could possibly look so relaxed and smug. He wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if he’d poisoned Lincolnville with their greed and laziness like they had: the two were actually fresh out of prison after a fucking sixteen year old overdosed and died on fentanyl-laced Xanax purchased from them.

Colt sighed, settled deeper into his seat, still scrutinizing. Then he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and placed his chin on top of his hands. “You’re out of there early,” he remarked flatly. “Good behavior or somethin’?”

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