played by
northy
POSTS
66
awards
|
Revolutionist
call me wren
he / him
26 YEARS OLD
August
18
leo
bentwood, alabama
bisexual
bartender
TAG WITH @wren
WREN POLLOCK
there's nothing else for me there at my door. all the people i know aren't who they used to be.
[attr="class","revolutionist"] [nospaces] [attr="class","rcposting1top"] [attr="class","rcposting1img"] [attr="class","rcposting1img2"]  [attr="class","rcposting1mid"]
Wren’s hands won’t stay still. He’s fidgeting, tugging on the hem of his coat, rattling his car keys in his pockets, thumbing the edge of his wallet as it sits in the folds of his jacket. He’s standing out in the hallway of Joan’s apartment--there her door is, a door he’d knocked on so many times before without much issue. Tonight is different, somehow--tonight is a foreign language that Wren has never learned how to speak. Her door stands there, beckoning the bartender forwards. Knock, you idiot, he tells himself. A beat. Don’t knock, he thinks weakly. All dressed up, just to pussy out at the last minute? The rational side of him barks. Get it together, man.[break][break]
Wren’s been out with Joan before. In fact, it’s become a pretty routine thing--they’ve both got gaps in their schedules that allow for time with one another, and more often than not, they use the time that they have off to spend with each other. There hasn’t been a week that’s gone by that Wren hasn’t stood at this very door, grin on his face, waiting for the girl he’s so helplessly falling for to open the door and give him that smile he adores so much. [break][break]
This time is different. Aggie had invited the two of them to a showing of her newest line of clothes. Models walking the runway, Aggie standing in the wings with a clipboard in hand and a pencil behind her ear, ticking off item after item as it’s revealed to the public. Wren has been to one of these before, proudly watching from the sidelines as his little sister’s hard work is applauded and cheered by an adoring audience. He’s just never had a date--the date in question being Joan, the date in question being the waitress he’s been crushing on for months now. [break][break]
His sister had handed him a bag a few weeks ago with a brand-new suit made with rich, black fabric and garnished with a bright, ruby-red pocket square. True to Aggie, she’d fitted it to his frame perfectly--it was often hard for him to find clothes that fit him; tall enough, big enough to accommodate the hard muscle that laced every inch of his formidable frame. And yet his own sister had fit the suit to him like a glove--tight in all the right places, loose in others, a vision of fashionable perfection. This fits great, Nessie, he’d texted her after trying it on. [break][break]
I know it does, she’d texted back. Just make sure to do something with your hair. Get it out of your eyes so it ain’t hangin’ in your face. It’ll ruin the look if you’re all gussied up but still look like a mop above the neck.[break][break]
So he’d used a bit of water to comb his hair back, marveling when it seemed to work--his forehead, usually covered by blonde wisps of hair, was exposed. It made him look the slightest bit more professional--and it changed the outfit drastically, turning him from a high-school promgoer into a handsome CEO. [break][break]
And still, he’s nervous. He looks good, and he knows it--Aggie had told him so, the woman who’d rung him up to Joan’s apartment had told him so. Even Everett had chimed in when Aggie had showed him Wren’s picture, texting Wren the thumbs-up emoji followed by the heart-eyes emoji. Whatever that had meant. Now Wren only had to do the hard part--pick up Joan. This is what he’d been dreading, why his stomach had been in knots since the moment he’d spotted her apartment complex on the horizon. [break][break]
But he can’t back out now, can he? She’s expecting him. [break][break]
So he lifts a hand, curls his fingers into a fist, and knocks--three sharp beats, one, two, three in succession. Then he steps back, slipping his hands back into his pockets. He can already feel the blush seeping onto his cheeks, already feel his ears growing hotter by the moment. Joan makes him nervous, that much is easy to see. Hopefully she’ll open the door quickly. Like ripping off a band-aid.[break][break]
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|
played by
Kileo
POSTS
212
awards
|
tired nostalgic
call me Joan
she / her
25 YEARS OLD
September
4
Virgo
North Bend, Washington
Demisexual
Waitress
TAG WITH @joannadyer
JOANNA DYER
yes I'm older, yes I'm moving on. and if you don't think it's a crime you can come along
[attr="class","JOANCOLOUR"] [nospaces] [attr="class","rcposting1top"] [attr="class","rcposting1img"] [attr="class","rcposting1img2"]  [attr="class","rcposting1mid"]
The dress was probably the nicest thing she’d ever worn. Nothing else came close to it. Unless, you counted the garments Aggie shoved her in to model, but those were just for photos. This was… different. There was nothing she could really compare it to, she’d never gone to a formal event before. She’d never even gone to prom in high school. But she knew without a doubt that whatever outfit she would’ve been able to scavenge for to wear back then was rags compared to what Aggie Pollock could produce. Joan genuinely felt out of place wearing something so beautiful - it didn’t feel like it was meant for someone like her. She almost didn’t want to wear it. Simply out of the fear that she’d ruin it by so much as touching the rich red fabric. But it was for her. As in, specifically made with her in mind. It was a gift and it was for her, so it wasn’t like she just couldn’t wear it.
[break][break]
It fit her perfectly, which she’d expected. It carefully emphasised her slight frame, made her look more along the lines of willowy and graceful, rather than a lanky beanpole. It was… actually kind of amazing. And of course, Aggie had also given her matching shoes to go with the dress too. While they weren’t as bad as she’d been expecting, she knew she’d definitely have sore feet by the end of the night. Though, she supposed this one time, she could sacrifice comfort for looks.
[break][break]
If there was one thing she wished she could ask Aggie for, other than the dress and the shoes, it would’ve been her makeup skills. Might as well call the blonde her fairy godsister for everything she’d provided so fair, honestly. While it took her effort to hold back from calling the vaguely terrifying Pollock girl for advice, she’d managed on her own for the most part. Lips painted red and eyes lightly shaded. Joan had been a little tempted to try and cover up the freckles on her face, but it would’ve been a fruitless effort. They were practically everywhere, it wouldn’t have been worth all the time. Especially with the design of the dress.
[break][break]
Peering at the mirror, Joan nervously rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms. She was seriously fucking pale, Jesus Christ. The urge to grab a jacket, to cover up, was undeniably tempting. But she knew without a doubt, that she had nothing nice enough to wear with her dress. So, she was left to simply stare at her reflection critically. The freckles were scattered over her shoulders and down her arms, with only a few patches of pale skin and faint, faded scars left over from teenage mishaps interspersed between all the sunspots.
[break][break]
The knock on the door jolted her from her thoughts, and she hated the way she jumped at the sound. Joan scowled weakly down at her faintly shaking hands, before resolutely clenching them into fists in attempt to curb the trembling. It helped, but only somewhat. God, why was she so nervous? Calm the fuck down already. It wasn’t like she was going alone. She’d have Wren. Wren right next to her, for the whole time they were there. Though, as she walked towards the door, she’d be lying if Wren wasn’t part of the reason for her nervousness. Which was stupid, because what the hell was there to be nervous about with Wren-
[break][break]
She really should have opened the door slower. Maybe then, it could’ve given her the chance to take everything in at an appropriate pace. Maybe then, she could’ve been able to keep her train of thought. But instead, she was left to take in the sight waiting at her door all at once.
[break][break]
Holy shit, she thought rather intelligently. Though, she had an excuse. Her cute country boy, her flirty little shit cowboy… Wren was fucking gorgeous. He was always beautiful, but in that moment, seeing him standing there in that suit and that hair, and that flushed face- It was a startlingly easy realisation. I really want to kiss him. The thought hit her suddenly and as hard as a baseball bat to her stomach. The air was knocked out of her with a swift whoosh, and while she should probably be a little concerned about the lack of breath, she was a little preoccupied. Her heart seemed to practically stutter to a stop in her chest, before restarting in a vengeful fury. It felt like her heart was going to crack open her ribcage with how hard it was beating. And the only explainable cause of it all was the man right in front of her. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.
[break][break]
“Wren, you-” Her voice was embarrassingly breathy, and she knew her face was probably pink with how hot her skin felt. She quietly cleared her throat, like that was the reason behind her failing words. She couldn’t looked away from him, didn’t want to look away. A smile pulled valiantly at the edges of her lips, big and bright, no matter how hard she tried to smother it. “Are you sure you’re not a model for your sister’s show? Because you look fucking amazing.” Joan was genuinely surprised that she had the ability to string anything resembling coherent sentences together at the moment, never mind actually function properly.
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|
played by
northy
POSTS
66
awards
|
Revolutionist
call me wren
he / him
26 YEARS OLD
August
18
leo
bentwood, alabama
bisexual
bartender
TAG WITH @wren
WREN POLLOCK
there's nothing else for me there at my door. all the people i know aren't who they used to be.
[attr="class","revolutionist"] [nospaces] [attr="class","rcposting1top"] [attr="class","rcposting1img"] [attr="class","rcposting1img2"] [attr="class","rcposting1mid"]
Wren may be many things, but one thing he is not is easily surprised. In his line of business (in the bar, in the revolution) it’s the nature of the beast to become accustomed to seeing things meant to startle, meant to surprise. He’s seen many an outlandish thing in the early mornings on the job, and he certainly would peg himself as the sort of person who can take just about anything without reeling. [break][break]
Apparently, Joan is not one of these things. [break][break]
He almost wishes she would have given him some sort of warning beforehand. Of course, he’s the one that knocked--he’s the reason she came to the door to begin with, and he’s most definitely responsible for understanding this basic human notion that once he’s knocked, there’s a fifty percent chance that within the next thirty seconds whoever is on the other side is going to open the door. He could have very feasibly steadied himself beforehand, couldn’t he? [break][break]
Although, he thinks, he doesn’t think anyone in their right mind could have even come close to being prepared for someone like Joan. One moment he’s shuffling, hands stuffed in his pockets, eyes on his feet, and then the next he’s standing and looking with rapt attention at the woman in the red dress. He should have known Aggie would pull something like this, would match every stitch and every thread on Joan’s dress to his own. Joan is positively stunning, the mere vision of her enough to force him backwards in a few astonished, tiny steps. ”Holy shit,” he mutters under his breath, unwittingly echoing Joan’s own thoughts. [break][break]
”Easy for you to say, girl. You look-” He lifts his hands helplessly, the smile on her lips forcing his own smile to spread across his face like oil on water. ”Beautiful.” And then he lifts a hand absently and presses it over his heart, which he can feel pounding against his chest. ”Damn, Joan,” he says, the laugh that flutters past his lips verging on breathless. ”Don’t wanna sound cheesy or anythin’, but you-” He starts, eyeing the dress, her makeup, the freckles dusting her shoulders, ”Are a knockout.” [break][break]
And it hits him--as startling and as sudden as a thunderclap--that he very much would like to sweep her into his arms and kiss her senseless. But how could someone like her ever stand to be in love with someone like him? With someone who comes home half of the time with bruised knuckles and sore shoulders, smelling of spilled alcohol and secondhand smoke? Someone like her--responsible, caring, kind--with a wretch like Wren?[break][break]
He couldn’t dream of it. Not in the slightest. For now all he can do is admire her from afar (or as far as her arm’s length will allow) and hope beyond hope that maybe (maybe) she feels the same. [break][break]
Wren takes a short breath and then reaches down to rattle his car keys in his pocket. He takes a moment to thank whatever divine power had been watching over him that Aggie had decided to make his suit rather lightweight instead of those hefty, heavy sorts that have you sweating before they’ve even touched your skin. He tugs at his collar, nearly stifling under the bowtie he’d so long ago learned how to knot. He can remember standing in his mirror on Sunday morning, watching as Kather knelt before him and tied the bow for him. Now, it almost seems too tight, not because Aggie had mismeasured but because Wren himself is growing more and more nervous by the moment. [break][break]
But he has to get himself together, doesn’t he? For his sake, for hers. So he turns and extends a hand, fighting the urge to rake his fingers through his carefully styled blond locks. ”Car’s out front. You ready to go?”
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played by
Kileo
POSTS
212
awards
|
tired nostalgic
call me Joan
she / her
25 YEARS OLD
September
4
Virgo
North Bend, Washington
Demisexual
Waitress
TAG WITH @joannadyer
JOANNA DYER
yes I'm older, yes I'm moving on. and if you don't think it's a crime you can come along
[attr="class","JOANCOLOUR"] [nospaces] [attr="class","rcposting1top"] [attr="class","rcposting1img"] [attr="class","rcposting1img2"] [attr="class","rcposting1mid"]
“You look- beautiful.” Her face had been flushed before, but it was positively bright red now. The brunette didn’t even bother to hide it. It would’ve been a losing battle anyway. Compliments had always been easy for her to dismiss. People often said flattering things out of courtesy or to feel better about themselves, so she had never put a whole lot of faith into what people said. Good or bad. It wasn’t that she thought she was ugly, she was just… normal. Nothing to write home about. The freckles probably made her stand out a little, but other than that, she couldn’t really see anything worth the title of ‘beautiful’ when she looked in the mirror. Though, what she usually didn’t account for, was someone else being able to see something different. “You- are a knockout.”
[break][break]
“That was really cheesy. You’re making me blush, cowboy.” Which was an understatement to say the least, with how blazing hot her cheeks felt. Discreetly as she could, the brunette pressed the back of her hand against the heated skin. Even her chilled fingers did very little to help dissipate the colour. “You look handsome as hell, I can only imagine how many people are gonna be jealous when they see me walk in with you.” She said with a playfully crooked grin.
[break][break]
Joan wanted to reach out. Run her fingers through his hair, hook her arms around his neck to bring him down into a kiss, paint his lips red with her own. It was all kind of overwhelming.
[break][break]
It wasn’t like she hadn’t thought about doing it all before -- kissing Wren. He was gorgeous, and the most lovable dork she’d ever met, who wouldn’t want to kiss him? The first time she’d thought about it, it’d snuck up on her. It’d been on a night where she’d invited him over, when it was late and she was tired from all the usual reasons. But having Wren there had wanted to make her stay awake longer. She’d looked over at him and just- she’d wanted nothing more than to lean over to press a sleepy kiss against his lips. She’d wanted to do it so badly. It’d really only gotten worse since then.
[break][break]
Whenever the stray thought crossed her mind to just grab him by the front of his shirt and drag him into a kiss, she’d ignored it. It’d been becoming an increasingly frequent train of thought for her brain to take, and every time, she stopped herself. There’d never been much of a sign that Wren would… like something like that from her. He was a hopeless flirt and ridiculously charming, but that didn’t mean he’d be cool with Joan making out with him. Though, that didn’t stop her from smothering him in her own brand of subtle -- and other times not so subtle -- affection. Leaning against him while they sat together or tried to watch a movie, was the perfect time to cuddle close. She’d even fallen asleep on him once or twice. But she hadn’t kissed him.
[break][break]
Whenever he left, Joan had to hide her disappointment as she watched him go. The brunette was had a relatively quiet life with very loud, eccentric friends, she worked too much and never seemed to get enough sleep to cure her near-constant exhaustion. And when Wren was around -- God, this was corny as hell -- it felt like whenever he was around, it made everything just that little bit better.
[break][break]
Joan was starting to think that Aggie knew something and was trying to fucking kill her, just based simply on what she’d dressed Wren in. Why the hell would she want to go to a fashion show, when she had Wren standing in front of her looking absolutely gorgeous, making her heart beat so hard it was very nearly breaking out of her chest? She was just supposed to go through the night with this beautiful man as her date? Fuck. It was bold of anyone to assume that she’d survive the night. God, she felt like she needed a cigarette to calm her nerves, but she knew it wouldn’t have helped. It wasn’t like they had the time for that anyway.
[break][break]
Carefully tucking a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear, Joan finally stepped through her door and locked it behind her. “Yeah, I’m ready. Well, not really, ‘m kinda nervous actually.” She paused to peer up at him, her already cheeky smile fighting to widen as she confidently claimed, “But I’ve got you, so I should be alright.”
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played by
northy
POSTS
66
awards
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Revolutionist
call me wren
he / him
26 YEARS OLD
August
18
leo
bentwood, alabama
bisexual
bartender
TAG WITH @wren
WREN POLLOCK
there's nothing else for me there at my door. all the people i know aren't who they used to be.
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It’s not enough to say that Wren is starstruck. He’s sure there isn’t a word in the English language that can describe the waves of heat roiling through his belly, the way he feels like he can’t quite catch his breath. His eyes roam, catching each detail of Joan’s dress—immaculately sewn, not a stitch out of place thanks to Aggie’s careful hand. His gaze snags on the freckles on her shoulders, across her cheeks, undercut with a flush so deep and rosy that Wren can’t believe that he, of all people, was the one to invoke it. He can’t help the way his heart stutters in his chest, the way his whole body warms as if it knows how badly he wants to sweep the waitress into his arms and forget they had a show to go to. Aggie would understand.[break][break]
But two can play at the flattery game, he’s learned. Her own comment about his appearance only serves to worsen his blush, and he drops his gaze, scrubbing the heel of his hand across his cheek (as if it will help, as if he isn’t already red as a tomato in response to her playful grin.) ”Says you,” he mutters, slipping his nervous hands into his pockets. But he can’t think of anything else to say, because here she is, an absolute vision in a bloodred gown perfectly matched to his own outfit, and for the first time in as long as he can remember, he’s verging on speechless. [break][break]
It would be a lie to say that Wren had never felt this way about Joan before. In fact, in recent weeks, he’s felt this--pounding heart, twitchy hands, nervous breaths--in the most mundane situations, in situations he’s grown so accustomed to that they’re almost like second nature to him. He feels like this when she looks at him out of the corner of her eye, a smirk tilting up the corners of her mouth. He feels like this when she laughs at a joke he’s made, tossing her head back in that way that he loves. He feels like this when she reaches for a box of cereal above her head and her sweater slips off her shoulder, exposing those freckles he’d love to sit and count. He feels like this when she nestles into his side, getting comfortable for a movie he probably won’t watch with her.[break][break]
This feeling--this frantic feeling--is not new to him. He’s gritted his teeth through the worst of it for weeks now. But now, but now, when she looks up at him, when she smiles at him in that come and get me sort of way--Wren goes absolutely brainless. As if he’s forgotten how to function properly. [break][break]
Wren clears his throat, shaking his head. ”No need to be nervous,” he says, trying to pick himself up out of the gutter. ”You’re definitely gonna be the prettiest girl there. No doubt about it.” And then, turning to retreat back down the stairs from whence he’d come, he adds, ”Of course you have me. You’ll always have me, if you want me.” His smile is easy, but his voice is sincere. He means it. Every word.[break][break]
The drive to Aggie’s showroom is relatively short--only fifteen minutes or so, traffic included. When Wren finally manages to squeeze his car into a spot, they’ve got ten minutes to get upstairs and seated before the show is supposed to begin. [break][break]
Wren thinks Aggie might be on her way to kill him when they finally make it up to the showroom. It’s well-lit and relatively large, lined with rows upon rows of white plastic chairs. Many of the guests are already seated, but most are still standing about, chatting idly and milling around while they wait for the show to start. Wren, to his advantage, stands above most of the very immaculately-dressed crowd. He catches his sister’s eye in no time at all, and the blonde cuts through the crowd like she’s Moses and the guests are the Red Sea. “You’re late,” she says, grabbing Wren by the arm and tugging him towards the front of the stage, right by the entrance to the catwalk itself. “Guests were about to throw a fit because I wasn’t gonna let em’ sit in your spot.” [break][break]
Wren scowls. ”We’re here, aren’t we?” He asks, and Aggie lets out a breath. [break][break]
“Yeah,” She says, shaking her head. “Uh, sorry. I’m just...stressed out.” She points the two of them towards two white plastic chairs with pamphlets on them that read RESERVED. Wren rubs a hand between his sister’s shoulder blades, offering her a reassuring smile. [break][break]
”You’ll be fine,” He says. ”Promise. You’ve done this a million times.” Aggie grins and pats his arm, then looks past him to Joan. Her smile falters a bit, and then all at once brightens even more than before as she lets out an excited squeal and tugs the waitress into what looks like a crushing hug. [break][break]
“Oh, my god, Joan, you look so good-” She runs her hands up and down Joan’s arms, eyes snagging on the dress and Joan’s hair and Joan’s ruby red lips. Aggie nods approvingly, smile never once faltering. “I oughta have you up there walkin’, girl!” [break][break]
Wren opens his hands. ”What’d I tell ya, Joan? Prettiest girl here.”
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