“i’ve never been quite sure of the fanciful coffees and teas, but this toasted marshmallow is addicting.“ he stated to no one in particular, glancing about as he took a sip from his drink, smiling at whoever’s eyes he caught. “i’m not sure i can even move on to try the other flavors… but i’m determined to at least finish a menu at one of the establishments in town.” when he finally settled on someone he continued to speak to them, giving a nod in greeting before turning to address the snowmen being built. “that looks like fun, would you care to join me? i am a handyman by trade, so i’m more than my looks and personality.” thor paused and then flashed them a dazzling smile. “so some say.”
elena had sworn off men when she came to decimation, deciding instead to focus on school and getting her phd before forty. if love was real, it could wait, and she knew herself well enough to know that if she got wrapped up with someone now, somehow, everything was going to start to suck. but god damn it, she wasn’t blind, and this guy was outrageously hot. “whatever you do, don’t make that menu night moves,” she said with a laugh. “there’s some stuff on the menu that i think could actually kill you.” she drank from her own mug, savoring the slight bite of all the cinnamon in her hot chocolate. “you know,” elena said, “i don’t think i’ve built a snowman since i was in middle school – which, i know you’re going to find this hard to believe, was a very long time ago.” she grinned to match his cheeky personality
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like him, natasha kept odd hours - not unusual for a lawyer, but certainly not the best way to live. father lantom had told him more than once that matt would work himself into an early grave, which he shrugged off as an old man’s adage, but more recently he’d started to suspect the priest was right. not that he’d willingly admit it were lantom here.
matt walked through the mostly quiet courthouse, surprised at how few people were actually there, and slowed when he heard the familiar, quiet voice he was looking for. a few more steps and a careful touch of the doorframe told him he had reached the office he was looking for – along with the woman inside. “i thought i might find you here,” he greeted and offered her the smile of an old friend. he lifted up a heavy plastic bag that smelled strongly of orange chicken and soy sauce. “i brought take out. i figured if we were both up late working, we might as well keep each other company.” not his usual move - he’d more or less always been one for solitude, but his friends, so few and far between, he held close. “i hope you don’t mind.”
JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES - ━━ ◤ ( DEEP SHADOWS UNDER DARK, EXHAUSTED EYES, THE COLD OF A SIBERIAN WINTER NIPPING AT BARE SKIN, FADED JOURNALS FILLED WITH MEMORIES TOO FRAGILE TO LOSE, AND THE ICY WHITE OF SNOW SHINING IN THE SUN ) welcome, JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES, HE/HIM. before you move in, tell us what you remember: REMEMBERING WHO HE IS. excellent, now we are pleased to accept your offer to live GOLDEN FIELDS APARTMENT COMPLEXES, and your new job as MECHANIC at IGGY’S CAR REPAIR AND MECHANICS is waiting for you to begin. ( MARVEL AND SEBASTIAN STAN )
THREE FAVORITE THINGS: the pulse of music in his ears as he works, the feeling of weightlessness that comes when riding his motorcycle, the sound of rain pattering on his window
HEADCANONS: once, a young boy with dreams of being some kind of hero, then a spy. bucky can’t remember what happened between brooklyn and moscow or how exactly he became one of russia’s most skilled and deadly kgb agents. his memories only come in flashes – the faces of a family, parents, a little girl who must have been his sister. but they don’t mean much other than a hole in his chest; an ache for something he can’t even remember knowing.
it was only in the last few years that he finally defected from the kgb. in the beginning he traveled around europe, creating a trail so convoluted that following it would take skill. it took a year for someone to get close enough to attempt to take his life; but he’d been trained well; he cut out the threat with a message. leave me alone.
europe wasn’t all bad. it was in europe that he learned how to be bucky again. how to be a person again.
he lost his arm on an assignment, and after years of experimental prosthetics and the physical agony they caused him, he now lives without one.
WHAT THEY’RE PLANNING TO DO IN DECIMATION: bucky lives with his head down. he wants to disappear into a simple life as no one of significance – just a guy. a quiet one, maybe, a little strange, but nothing special. this life suits him – the quiet, the aloneness gives him room to heal. his nightmares wake him up screaming or vomiting; he can’t be sure what’s real or what isn’t, but in the end, he tries to tell himself it doesn’t matter. he just needs to start believing that.
’ i’d hate to meet the person who would rat you out for eating. don’t worry, my lips are sealed. ’ for good measure, she pinches her fingers together and drags them across her lips, pretending to zip them shut. cat remains quiet through the other woman’s practiced greeting, mouth forming into an amused smile. she’s heard it a few times before during previous visits to the willow street shop, albeit with some variation in tone. ‘ i’m hoping you can direct me toward something like an orrery or an armillary sphere. ’ ideally, she wants to bring an astronomy antique to the science section of the library. likely, she will bring it home with her.
bryce smiled in relief at the other’s understanding. “you’d be surprised,” she said with a shrug. “it’s usually the older folks i have to be careful of. they’re stingey on the professionalism thing.” she pushed her bowl of noodles under the counter and stood, adjusting the tight skirt of her dress as she walked out from around the desk. “an orrery,” she repeated, and nodded. “yeah, that’s one of those old solar system models, right?” she weaved through glass shelves and ornate shelves, coming to a stop at a far wall with a ladder. figures. she stepped up carefully, letting her heels hang off the rungs, and reached up for a brass orrery. “it’s not actually eighteenth century, obviously,” bryce said, climbing down more slowly than she climbed up. “and i can’t speak to its accuracy, but it’s really pretty.”
as her eyes moved about his office, alexander’s followed - a seeming pattern to the two of them. a game of chase, a game of follow - circling around each other as the moon chased the sun. but soon, as predictable and inevitable of an eclipse and of shadow meeting light, he returned to her, and found himself smiling warmly and openly in her presence. mina humanized him, made him feel not alone, and ultimately aided him in understanding compassion and patience. “ah, it appears i need to change my name if you know more than one alexander de ville.” he teased, pushing away from his desk and taking the slow stride towards her, daring to be within her reach.
“but here i am.“ he whispered, now close enough to touch her face - to feel her skin beneath his fingertips. he could smell her perfume, a subtle but floral scent - something pleasing like jasmine or rose - something so very mina. “i’ve always been interested in kansas, you know - something about the state in the center of all states that appealed.“ he spoke, though his tone suggested he was joking. “but the draw of it all was the word of an astounding and exemplary professor of gothic literature. i simply couldn’t pass the opportunity to see her in action.“
mina watched him carefully – his slow movements, the way his eyes trailed after hers, as if only just seeing his office from her perspective. though it seemed impossible, she had very little doubt of his ability to see from her perspective, to really know what she was thinking. but they did have a certain effect on each other, didn’t they? he was different around her; he smiled more. she pressed her lips together into a gentle smile as he stepped towards her, wishing there was something behind her to grab onto. “what would you change your name to, i wonder? the name of a poet, perhaps – robert frost? edgar allan poe.”
she had to consciously slow her breathing when he whispered, and she resisted the urge to reach up, gently run a finger down his cheek. a reassurance that he was there, perhaps, or just a way to connect to him. she missed him. “kansas, yes, of course,” mina said quietly, and laughed lightly, glancing downwards. “what isn’t there to love about kansas?” it had been an adventure, she decided when she came here, something new and exciting. it wasn’t the word she’d use for kansas anymore, but life here was pleasant. he sang her praises and she looked back up to meet his eyes, shaking her head. “you really are a poet.”
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@decimationstarters·. ( an open starter with vex )
‘ oh, trinket, darling, leave them alone, won’t you ? ’ it appears that no, vex’ahlia’s pet newfie will certainly not be leaving the other person on the sidewalk alone and will instead be bounding over to the person in question. in fact, vex is pretty much unceremoniously dragged down the street to meet them. he mostly seems interested in sniffing around the other person and wanting to be pet, but she still looks mortified. ‘ trinket ! sit ! ’ this he does do. the dog looks as pleased with himself as he possibly can. ‘ i’m so sorry. i know he’s huge but i promise that he is really very friendly. ’
jim braced himself for impact when he saw the newfoundland bounding towards him – he could tell by the dog’s hanging tongue and wagging tail that he meant no harm, but any dog over a hundred pounds could take down an unsuspecting person. he sighed in relief when the dog didn’t leap into the air, choosing instead to investigate his shoes. “trinket, huh?” he raised his eyebrows and laughed. “that’s quite a name for such a big dog. don’t worry about it, i love animals.” he went down on one knee and put his hands on either side of the dog’s face, scratching behind its ears. “you’re just a big slobbery teddy bear, aren’t you?”
bucky preferred to work in silence, but it was a luxury he couldn’t afford in the middle of iggy’s. he could block out the machines, the banging of metal, the sounds of work, but people loved to talk. even when people weren’t talking to him, as many had given up doing due to his apparent lack of interest, their voices broke through his focus and overwhelmed him. so he listened to music as he worked, headphones the universal sign for i’m not open for conversation right now, and he kept the volume high enough to drown everyone and everything out. he’d been told before it wasn’t a safe practice around heavy machinery, but he didn’t waste time on concern.
but even frank sinatra couldn’t drown out the metallic sound of metal hitting metal when he dropped a rivet nut tool back onto a steel work table, eyes locked on the woman standing in the open doorway of the garage.
natalia. he must have said her name out loud, as he felt his lips coming back together, but for just a moment he didn’t make a move. he’d spent enough time in dangerous situations to know there was no such thing as a coincidence – but her? no. he lifted his hand and pulled the headphones out of his ears, music still quietly sounding from them, the sounds of the garage filling the space around him again. “natalia,” he repeated, and shook his head. “what are you doing here?”
“Don’t know who corrine is but your secret is safe with me,” she smiled, “honestly whoever came up with the no eating while working rule should work a 12 hour shift without eating or drinking a single bite of food,” she thought aloud. “I’m just looking, I’m a lover of antiques so I couldn’t pass this up”
“ah,” bryce said, tilting her head in thought. she opted out of explaining who corinne was, deciding the less the customer knew about her boss, the better. “well, you’re right anyway. we could really use another hand in here. my overtime is so bad it’s only a matter of time before she insists on salary.” she rolled her eyes and pushed her bowl of noodles under the counter. “anyway, is there any specific type of antique you like?”
( @niffleheim reacted for a starter! – stephen strange & sae byeok )
“Is this really a ‘psychic’ detective agency?” Stephen asked the person who looked like she was manning the front desk. Honestly, he wouldn’t have bothered, his scientific mind ready to reject any nonsense about psychics, but he actually needed help. “And is it more about the detective part, or the psychic part, or …” A mental shudder. “Both, somehow?”
Why was he here, he wondered, not for the first time. “Because I have a problem that may be a little … occult.”
sae-byeok was used to it being pretty quiet at her desk – after all, most of the people coming in and out knew exactly who they were there to see. she didn’t mind the quiet. it gave her the opportunity to read the books bones leant her. she kept a computer window open to look up the translation of words unfamiliar to her and wrote them down on a pad of paper to teach to cheol later that night. she was halfway through the tall stranger, pen poised above her notepad, when someone walked into the office.
sae-byeok resisted the urge to finish the paragraph she was reading, looking up to greet the guest. she hadn’t managed a ‘hello’ when he asked the same first question most newcomers asked. despite the fact that she didn’t believe in psychics, she would never say so here; she liked and respected shawn too much. “it is both,” she said finally, and shrugged. “shawn discovers things with his... psychic gift.” she recited the last bit, the phrase feeling funny coming out in her voice. she paused, eyebrows coming together. unsure what occult meant, she asked, “what kind of problem?”
she adored the museum and all it contained - found each little spec of history to be beautiful in its own right. spending a particularly considerable amount of time within the hall that contained the photographs, she smiled to herself when she felt the presence of another. “didn’t think i’d have company,” she started, straightening herself up and turning to look at her newly found friend. “i presume you work here?” she asked, her brow raising as she wrapped her arms across herself. “i like to come when its quiet, when most are working or at school - it gives me time to be intimate with the stories that these objects hold.” she continued, “my job requires me to work from the point of death, so i come here because i like to see the moments of life.”
it was late, coming closed to closing hour, and elijah was doing his final walk through of the museum. it wasn’t particularly necessary, but he enjoyed it. louis was young, but he had an eye more impressive than even the most seasoned curators. the lingering guests also made him smile; there was something unique about a person who spent the last hour of their day in a museum. he lingered behind what might have been the last straggler, and smiled when she addressed him. “a wise presumption.” her voice was quiet and thoughtful – full of... something. longing? perhaps not. “and yet what joy could we find in the beauty of life were it not for the fact that it comes to an end?” many considered the perspective to be rather macabre, but if historians must understand anything, they must understand the importance of the distant past, the life that is left behind after death. “the best way to interact with the past is intimately. it’s all that’s left of people who are long gone. what do you do?”
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“wha-what?“ quill asked, squinting as he watched arya and rocky in his living room. “why does my house look like its been decorated by a guy addicted to polka dots? and where’s rocket?“ he asked, looking around for the tempered cat that could be lying in wait to attack him at any moment. its like the tabby loved him but only when it wanted to - but would do anything to protect rocky. as if it knew he named him after him. “and where did you even get the paint??” he asked, his voice rising in volumes as he splayed his hands out to look at the mess of the room. quill knew that he wasn’t even going to get close to cleaning his mess up - and the house was going to be doomed to be themed like a bizarre kid’s playroom for eternity.
alright, so it was a little worse than arya expected. a lot worse. she’d even bought big tarps from the local hardware store to cover the carpets, but that had lasted all of twenty minutes before rocket tore into them, and all hope was lost. what then? was she supposed to tell a three-year-old they had to stop and clean? no way. “i brought the paint,” she said, and shook her head. “obviously. what kind of babysitter do you think i am?” she pulled a rag covered in smears of red, green, yellow, blue, and used it to wipe off what she could of the wet paint that was still on her hands. most of it was pretty dry, now, and she would have to stick her hands in boiling water later to get it all off, but it was a small price to pay. “does it help if i say it’s kid friendly? i’m pretty sure that means machine washable.”
oh meg absolutely adored her spark and instantly wanted to be friends with arya stark. a troublemaker and a daring soul, it was easy to sense a mirrored personality. “if i told you i killed a man and had a bath, would you believe me?” meg deadpanned, meeting arya’s gaze - ever so slowly raising her lips into a smile. “i have a lot of access to caro syrup and red dye - my boss might hate me, but i sure had fun in that ugly diner’s kitchen.” she poked her tongue out through her teeth before letting out a laugh. “and you’re like the first pirate i’ve seen that isn’t a walking joke - i love your style.” meg complimented, giving a nod of approval to the costume. “ hi, i’m meg,” they offered their hand, while the other took a swig from a bottle of alcohol that was likely not for individual use.
arya couldn’t help but laugh and shake her head – not just because the exaggeration was funny, but because she could almost, almost see it not being an exaggeration with this stranger. “it depends how you told it,” she said. “i’m a pretty skilled lie detector.” oh, sure, mum had always taught her the importance of being humble, but arya had always been on the proud side – probably because she’d had to work so hard for what she could do well. she wasn’t born perfect like her sister was. “pirates weren’t sexy,” she agreed. “pirates were dirty, probably diseased, but really cool – so thank you.” she gave a little bow at the waist. “i’d have loved to see that kitchen when you were done with it. think you’ll still have a job in the morning?”
“corinne?” gabriel’s only been here for five years and he still has yet to be fully familiar with the town and its residents. he doesn’t go out much, usually just content with staying at home with amélie and grim when he doesn’t have to be at the shop. frankly, there aren’t enough deaths ( if at all ) in decimation that neither he nor amélie have ever actually been busy.
“uh, i was wondering if you could help me find a present. it’s for my brother and his wife’s fifteen-year anniversary.”
“corinne,” bryce repeated, nodding. “she owns this place. she’s...” terrifying? mean? a badass? her friend? she looked the stranger over, considering that she didn’t really know him or what would come back to her boss, so she settled on, “she’s corinne.” she waved a hand breezily in front of her, as if to brush the subject away, and placed a lid back on her food container to push it aside. “you’re a good brother,” she said, only slightly relying on her customer service voice as she stood from her spot behind the counter and moved into the front of the store. “what’s your budget, and what’s their style? reclaimed wood, eclectic knick knacks, straight out of fixer upper, or modern, sleek, clean, guests are scared to sit down anywhere...?”
closed starter for @niffleheim { michelle jones & eddie brock }
the coffee and tea house, her safe space, her haven, and today her lunch spot to meet up with a colleague. michelle was a new and upcoming journalist who could use all the help she could get, whether she would say that out loud or not. she’d been told she had a knack for finding out people’s truths. it had to be put to good use in a world where so many used it for evil. she walked into the coffee shop with her bag slung over her shoulders. it carried all her essentials: a laptop, a notebook, headphones, a couple books, and her sketch book (it went everywhere with her). looking around the shop she noticed her mentor inside already so she approached the table and nodded her head in greeting towards him. “order any coffee already or should i get us some?”
honestly, eddie had never seen himself as the mentor type, especially considering he’d turned into something of a fuck up for a while. even before then, he’d always worked best on his own, finding that was how he got the best results – nobody to warn him not to do something he shouldn’t, nobody to distract him from his goal. but he was in kansas, a serial killer wanted him dead, and he really kind of liked mj. she was young, a little bit of a pessimist, and observant. a deadly journalistic cocktail. he lifted his hand in greeting when michelle walked in, hoping he looked less exhausted than he felt. “way ahead of you,” he said. “first thing i did when i came in. i got one for you, too.” he motioned to the spot across from him for her to have a seat.
bones was the chef of the two, and jim didn’t sneak out of bed early that morning to put that to the test. instead he started a cinnamon breakfast cake and tried to be as quiet as the pots, pans, and whisk would allow. he quickly dipped his pinky in the batter one last time and nodded with satisfaction at the taste. he’d only just closed the oven door on it when he heard bones walk into the kitchen behind him. jim turned and greeted him with a smile. “good morning.” he wiped his hands on his apron and pulled it back over his head. he himself still looked like he just rolled out of bed; he hadn’t bothered to do any morning grooming before getting breakfast started. “you’re up earlier than i expected. coffee?”
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MINA MURRAY HARKER - ━━ ◤ ( MIDNIGHT BLACK HAIR SHINING IN THE MOONLIGHT, PAGES AND PAGES OF A BOOK NEATLY WRITTEN IN SLANTED CURSIVE, A CANDLE FLICKERING IN THE DARKEST OF NIGHTS, AND BLACK VELVET CATCHING THE SHINE OF LIGHT ) welcome, MINA MURRAY HARKER, SHE/HER. before you move in, tell us what you remember: THE MOMENT OF DRACULA’S DEATH. excellent, now we are pleased to accept your offer to live OLD CREEK HISTORICAL DISTRICT, and your new job as AUTHOR & PROFESSOR OF GOTHIC LITERATURE at COMMUNITY COLLEGE AND ONLINE UNIVERSITY OF DECIMATION is waiting for you to begin. ( DRACULA AND BESTE KÖKDEMIR )
THE BASICS
NAME: mina murray harker
NICKNAMES: mina
BIRTHDAY: may 26th
AGE: 28
PRONOUNS: she/her
LAST KNOWN MEMORY: the moment of dracula’s death
ORIGINATION: dracula
FACECLAIM: beste kökdemir
THE DETAILS
FAMILY: malcolm murray ( father ), vanessa ives ( surrogate sister ), peter murray ( brother ), jonathan harker ( ex-husband )
THREE FAVORITE THINGS: being surrounded by well loved and often read books, lengthy conversations about love, life, and death by candlelight, a hot cup of tea bright and early in the morning
EDUCATION: phd in english literature ( emphasis on gothic and horror lit )
SKILLS: intelligence, writing, shorthand, fencing, perseverance, cartography, latin
HEADCANONS: mina murray grew up in london england, almost too young to even remember when vanessa ives was brought into their home. they were as good as sisters from the beginning – closer, even, trusting each other with everything. mina’s father raised them in a world of the macabre, and they were taught latin, cartography, fencing, and all sorts of other skills from the time they were very young.
she met jonathan when she first started college, and in the beginning, everything seemed... perfect. how could she ask for a better relationship? he was smart, funny, kind, and he always made an effort to help her where he could. better yet, they both loved to write. unfortunately, where she preferred genre literature in the form of gothic and horror, he preferred literary writing. between that and the fact that he was a man from a rather wealthy family, he found quick success. meanwhile, mina had to fight for every publication and any recognition. at literary events she was “jonathan harker’s wife, aren’t you? he tells me you’re also a writer”.
she met alexander de ville near the end of her relationship with jonathan. what fire they had was long put out, and mina told him her truth. she loved him, but their relationship wasn’t right for her. she wasn’t happy. she would forever be trapped in the role that she had given herself when marrying him. alexander came into her life and she couldn’t be more sure of that – he was so unlike jonathan, supportive but not diminutive. he saw the world the way she did – through the beauty of darkness, not beauty through the darkness. and though she saw a chance at a new life with him, she chose instead her sister.
mina followed vanessa to decimation, kansas, and though trepidatious at first about it, she found that she enjoyed the little town. there was something a little eerie about the place, especially considering the size of the cemetery relative to the population.
she has a small scar on her forehead, vaguely in the shape of a cross. she doesn’t remember where or how she got it, but she keeps it covered with thick bangs.
WHAT THEY’RE PLANNING TO DO IN DECIMATION: mina has started to carve out a new life in decimation. she’s working on her writing and has started to teach at the local college. though her expertise is quite niche, she does attract a certain type of student, which has made the experience quite enjoyable.
“of course not!“ alexander’s tone was heightened with authority and definition. the other, standing within the cafe across from him - daringly challenging him but learning soon that the professor would not back down so easily. when the other left, alexander relaxed his shoulders and steadied himself before turning to retreat back to his table, pausing only so when he realized someone else had come up during the commotion. “my apologies - sometimes my love for debate tends to get ahead of myself, or ahead of those wishing to engage in the conversation.” he paused, taking his new conversational companion in, “and i am not without my shame of turning an establishment into a mockery, so would you mind if i bought you something? a drink? pastry? anything to show an apology for my crass interruption.”
it was the voice of the gentleman that caught his attention – at least, the only one of the two he might consider a gentleman, if just for his authoritative tone. the context of the argument might have caught him as well – ah, but lestat hardly cared about what they argued – he knew better than anyone that an argument could be made for or against just about anything, and it only mattered how you held yourself, how you presented yourself. appearances were everything, especially among those who didn’t understand that which you were saying. lestat couldn’t help approaching the remaining man. “apologies? that’s hardly necessary.” he offered a charming smile in greeting. “ah, but you must know that filling an establishment with intrigue is hardly turning it into a mockery. feel no shame for that.” he held out his hand to shake. “lestat.”
