love potion.

wyatt pickard, twenty-eight, bartender

restless, aimless, booze aficionado. needs: last sibling, fight club, a romance?

jasper mccoy, twenty-seven, attorney

resentful, questioning, asshole. needs: fiance p l e a s e, a real friend or two?, hook ups

percy hartwell, twenty-two, dispensary worker, bassist

hurricane, gender fluid, wet kitten. needs: roommates? friends? everything?

beau ashfield, thirty-two, police officer

dirtbag, baby A PERCY HARTWELL PLAYLIST. 00's punk pop trash.

you've been talking with your fists. we didn't raise you up like this, now did we?

wyatt isn't old enough to logically understand what's happening, but he knows it's not good. his mom hasn't been home in a while and dad seems to be getting older with each day that passes. eventually the talk happens. mom isn't coming back, she isn't coming home, and they're moving. wyatt is angry and confused and unsure how to deal with any of these emotions so he lashes out.

at some point, wyatt learn that lashing out is just a good way to earn his father's tired gaze and disappointed sighs. he channels it in other places. sports and video games and anything to not think about the fact that he's angry. still angry. and the person his anger is directed at can't be bothered to pick up a phone or write a letter.

the anger gets smaller. inconsequential. he doesn't know when it happens, but suddenly their family of three becomes a family of eight. and wyatt may be fifteen, but he still appreciates it. his dad is happy again, that's the important part really.

you went to stanford. why decide to become a cop?

beau shifts in his seat. it's not as though he wasn't expecting the question. everyone who knew he was doing this, everyone he'd felt like telling anyways, had asked the same thing. who got a full ride to stanford and then decided to become a cop? even worse, he'd done well at stanford. his professors had all been ready to give him recommendations. he'd gotten job offers. and yet... here he was.

licking his lips, he realizes he's been quiet for too long. i, uh, i've been asked that question a lot lately, he shrugs, splaying his hands wide on the table in front of him, i wish i had an answer. i just feels like the right thing for me to do.

so you think you were called to be a cop?

an incredulous laugh spills out of him before he can stop it. no, definitely not, beau rubs a hand over the back of his neck, i just think this is where i could do the most good.

but with your degree, you could certainly do more, couldn't you? social work and the like?

you're a touch overrated, you're a lush and i hate it. an intimate look into the more private parts of life.

you're seven when you find the kitten. it's skinny with fur that sticks up in weird tufts and digs its claws into you as soon as you get your hands on it. no one notices when you sneak it into the house, partly because you hide it under your coat and partly because no onen notices when you're not being loud or destructive. after a bath with lots of hissing, you find out the kitten is white and not grey like you'd thought and you go through a box of bandaids dealing with all the scratches. it falls asleep tucked between your coat and shirt as you sneak back out to the pet store to find out what you need for keep a kitten.

the dress is dark green. you're eleven and boys don't wear dresses, but it's pretty and soft and on sale. the cashier is ellie's age and barely blinks at you, even though you're shifty and ready to bolt if someone so much as opens their mouth. you feel even worse sneaking the bag with the dress in it then you've ever felt doing anything and it lives under your bed for weeks before you drag up the courage to try it on. you don't look pretty like ellie or like honey, but you feel it. it's still your secret though, because you're not sure what anyone else would say and your bravado can only get you so far.

it's a birthday party and the game is spin the bottle with seven minutes in heaven. you're fifteen and you've kised girls before and never told anybody you want to kiss boys too. the bottle seems to spin forever and everyone laughs when it stops except you because your throat is tight and your hands are already sweating. you follow him to the closet and can't hear anything over the pounding of blood in your ears. the inside of the closet is cramped and you can smell his deodorant and when he says we don't actually have to kiss, all you do is nod.

the post prom party is in full swing and you're seventeen. the punch is spiked and you're the only one who knows because you spiked it. graduation is close and you think everyone needs to let go a little bit. you didn't go with a date so you drift around the party, bang on a few bedroom doors just to see who comes scrambling out half dressed, and let yourself get cornered in the bathroom and kissed breathless by your chem partner. he tastes like punch and mint gum and his girlfriend shrieks like a banshee when she finds you.

you're twenty and the back of a cop car is a familiar sight. you don't say a word and poke at your split lip with your tongue. one of the officers recognizes you on sight and says he'll call fitz to come get you. this time, you're not in cuffs, you're not the one being arrested. your eye is already swelling and your ribs hurt when you breath too deeply. while the other steps away to make the call, the other cop tries to get details out of you, but you just shrug. it doesn't matter, isn't worth it.

percival percy josiah hartwell

basics. twenty-four + hailstorm + dispensary "worker" + bassist + pansexual + panromantic + single

personality. esfj-a + aries + slytherin + chaotic neutral + sanguine

aes. leather jacket kink + up all night + untamed hair + ripped jeans + blaring music + clouds of smoke + broken bottles + crotch rocket owner + pizza everyday + stoner haze + punks respect pronouns + wanna fight? + kiss and tell + old band tees + hurricane child

arrogant boy love yourself so no one has to.

older brother. golden child. perfect son. heavy is the head that wears the crown, did you know that, jasper mccoy? that silver spoon you were born with can only carry you so far. your last name is only good if you live up to it. can you live up to it?

which is heavier? your father's expectations or your own regrets? can your shoulders take that strain? you should lay your burden down. which is worth more? your father's pride or your own happiness?

haven't you learned yet? you would think you've had enough time to put it together. there's no love or affection to be found from your father. his pride is not worth your anguish. nothing is worth your own peace of mind.

step away from the ledge, jasper mccoy. you are still young, you still have time. your life is salvagable. reach out and take it. take what you want, take what you need. leave everything behind, don't look back.

the house is full of cruel reminders. you think that maybe you should've told will to take it. let him deal with the reminders. or simply avoid them. (he was good at that, wasn't he?) you could find somewhere else to stay. a friend, a sibling, a rental, but you're too stubborn to admit defeat.

futher defeat. defeat was signing your name on the line and pretending like you weren't signing away your heart.

it's the half slept in bed. it's relearning to make coffee for one. it's your wedding ring on the bedside table. only your shoes by the door, only your coat on the hook, only your things in the closet, only your toothbrush in the cup.

you come home from a long shift, story on the tip of your tongue, only to step through the door to no lights, no sound, and no one there to listen. it's easy, though, to pour a glass of liquor for one. that you've gotten used to.

you've thought about selling it. even gone as far as looking at realtors online. but then you think about finding the house, falling in love with it. you think about moving in, you and will collapsing against each other after. exhausted but happy. you think about filling it with both of you.

#if troy bolton had never met gabriella montez #and ended up engaged to sharpay evans

let me preface this by saying that this more than likely isn't going to end happily. and that jasper is an asshole.

so the quick run down is that jasper has, until this point, done everything to garner his father's favor. he went to law school, played all the sports, and got engaged to The Right Girl. this is the request for that girl.

at this point, jasper is starting to hate his life. he hates that he didn't do anything for himself, hates that he hasn't made his own choices, hates that he can't be happy with what he has.

so the fiance and jasper's relationship probably hasn't ever been perfect or overly loving or affectionate. jasper just doesn't know how to do those things. he's good at putting on a show and everyone probably thinks that they're perfectly happy. but that's just not the case.

what i figure is that she doesn't really love jasper either? she loves the money, the stability, the last name, that sort of stuff. not that she's a bad person, but she wants the best and she thinks jasper is the best. basically, they're using each other for their own reasons and it's starting to catch up to them now that jasper is starting to regret his life.

where things are going to go, how it's going to develop, is entirely up for us to play out and work out. there's probably going to be a point where jasper calls it off if she doesn't first. and he may even quit his job and just kinda say "fuck it" to everything he's got so yeah.

make sure you kiss your knuckles before you punch me in the fact

so this is the most basic of requests for an underground sort of fight club in portland. just a group that gets together every once in a while to beat the shit outta each other. that's it. that simple. open to everyone and probably even spectators.

dustin hatfield, fighter, 28, kenz

freddie ainsworth, fighter, 40, ana

khyran thomas, fighter, 25, sazz

wyatt pickard, fighter, 28, bri

good vibrations. A BEAU ASHFIELD PLAYLIST. mostly embarrassing 80's.

beau westley ashfield

basics. thirty-two + sunshine + police officer + bisexual + biromantic + divorcedish

personality. isfj-t + virgo + gryffindor + lawful neutral + phlegmatic

aes. strong silent type + morning run + cable knit sweaters + vinyl records + newspaper crosswords + man in uniform + black coffee all day + minimalist + sloppy handwriting + good cop + eight am scruff + protective big brother + beer over liquor

jasper gareth mccoy

basics. twenty-seven + blizzard + lawyer + pansexual heterosexual + greyromantic + engaged

personality. intp-t + scorpio + ravenclaw + lawful evil + choleric

aes. sharp dressed man + daddy issues + do i seem impressed + scotch on the rocks + not my dream + life unraveling + closet pansexual + straining under pressure + family expectations + trust fund baby + jerk with a heart of very tarnished gold

wyatt austin pickard

basics. twenty-eight + thunder + bartender + fighter + brother + pansexual + panromantic + single

personality. esfp-a + gemini + hufflepuff + true neutral + sanguine

aes. split knuckles + messy bedsheets + deadpan snarker + bloody lips + never charges phone + different with siblings + take out menus + mommy issues + disaster pansexual + smashed alarm clock + empty bottles + human contradiction

jude kennedy cross / 26 / friday the thirteenth

mechanic + handyman + occasional carpenter cancer + hufflepuff + istp + true neutral needs: roommates, a garage to work at, everything else

montgomery rhett blackmore / 24 / four leaf clover

“monty” + bartender and part owner of the black stump aries + slytherin + enfj + chaotic neutral (evil sometimes) needs: a roommate, people to “fight”, everything else

linden tobias fox / 25 / black cat

“lindy” + co owner of green thumbs & black roots + adopted sagittarius + hufflepuff + esfp + chaotic good needs: co owner, adoptive family, everything else

remiel jonah hawkins / 28 / three am nightmares

“remy” + police officer + son of a preacher + questioning his entire life scorpio + gryffindor + istj + lawful good needs: siblings, (soon to be) ex wife, other law enforcement, everything else

silver leopold ackerman / 30 / spilled salt