#WRECKAGEOFYOU - written by max. 30+ years old. he/they. multi-muse & semi-selective. 21+. previously incalescentia.

a 21+ plotless, slice-of-life roleplay based in new york city. following an indie tumblr vibe with the accessibility of discord — no activity checks, no muse caps, and duplicate face claims allowed. we support a relaxed environment for people who love writing and developing their characters. follow the link to check us out! ( it will take you to a very short application server. though it shouldn’t take long, please give us up to 24 hours to review! )

The bar top is cluttered – half-empty glasses, crumbled napkins, toppled beer bottles – the kind of mess that suggests no one is in a hurry to leave. In a small town like this, funeral receptions are an excuse to binge drink and meet up with old friends. Give it an hour and everyone will forget the real reason they're gathered here. Unlucky for Sutton, her family's small pub is the only establishment in a ten mile radius suitable for such an occasion. The bar had been her dad's pride and joy. Now it belongs to her, whether she wants it or not. People still tell her how they're glad to see she's still keeping it going and how her father would be so proud, but they don't know the truth. How sometimes she stares at the shelves of liquor and wonders if she's really doing this to honor his memory or if she just doesn't know how to leave. Tonight would be an easy way to drown the noise in her head, really, if it weren't for the awkward glances and constant whispers. Sutton knows what they're saying. How is she holding up? Is the bar now too stressful after the incident? Eight months isn't enough time for people to forget. Their wandering eyes catch glimpses of the uneven texture decorating her skin under the dim light. The subtle reminders make her left arm ache up to her shoulder. Sutton instinctively moves the glass to her right hand, shaking out the tingling pain that's building. If it hurts, her face doesn't show it. Her fingers tighten around it, not trusting any inch of her body now. There's a dip in the conversation, the kind that occurs when someone walks through the door and everyone's checking to see who it is. Avery. She's not sure what's worse – that she's here at all, or that a part of her knew that she would be and she anticipated it. Because of course they would be, right when she's learned to live without her. The weight of the ring on her finger is a sign of that. Sutton turns away, taking a moment to catch her breath by keeping her hands busy, dumping out some bottles in the sink. Focusing on the coolness of the running water, the slickness between her fingers... It doesn't matter. Sutton can feel her. Knows she's close enough that if she wanted to say something, she could. For a second, she wonders if Avery will, but she's too stunned to turn around to find out.