bury me

Bea Fletcher. 20. No good ruffain never done anything right kind of kid.

[bcafletcher-blog]

matcofernandez:

Mateo couldn’t help but burst into laughter as she explained her frog comment, so startled with how hard he was chuckling that he ended up leaning forward and resting his forehead on Bea’s shoulder, riding out the snickers before finally pulling back, large grin still on his face. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed that much and that openly, cheeks sore with it, “Well do I at least look a bit more like a prince now?” he asked, batting his lashes at her exaggeratedly to try and sweeten his sharp features, lids already growing heavy with the sort of comfort one would get while wrapped up in a blanket and a hot chocolate in hand, her fingers running through his hair making his heart pound with a sort of fondness he hadn’t felt for someone since before his father’s passing and he still knew who he was. They looked an awful lot like the couple’s Mateo usually made fun of, absolutely obsessing over each other, incapable of breaking eye contact while their hands stayed glued to each other’s sides. Her compliment barely even settled in his mind before he was already leaning into and pressing his lips to hers again, blame it on alcohol or genuine feelings, he refused to think about it now, afraid of spoiling the moment. “Feels like we’re in The Notebook right now or some shit. If you’re a frog, I’m a frog. Basically the same thing,” he mumbled, lips brushing against hers, hardly even capable of bringing himself to properly pull back before closing the distance between them once more.

His head on her shoulder made the girl’s smile grow wider, a warm feeling of affection rising up in the spots where she was usually tense. The girl rolled her eyes dramatically, hand unable to stop itself from playing with Mateo’s hair something about the gesture making her feel grounded in the present moment. She wasn’t the kind of person that had a lot of friends. That Mateo had stuck around with her, despite all of the rough spots of her that scratched other people like steel wool, always managed to shock Bea. She was full of holes, like gunshot wounds from the emotional losses of her life, but she felt a little fuller around him. She kissed him without a second thought, eyes closing for a brief second before she let out a laugh of pure happiness, trying to keep all of the doubts and hesitations about what this sort of gentle affection meant out of her mind. Bea shook her head at him. “You’re ridiculous. You’re making me talk ridiculous. I’m like a melting puddle of goo over here. Get me a fackin’ mop,” she mispronounced on purpose, biting her lip as she tried to hold back another laugh. Thankful for the kiss to stop her, she pulled herself tighter towards him, hair dark hair brushing up against his face as they kissed yet again. “Is this your way of telling em to shut up? Rude. Naughty boy...” She mused, before laughing and pulling him in to kiss again.

[bcafletcher-blog]

delilahastor:

Having shrugged her jacket low enough that the sleeves were dangling around her like limp streams of party confetti, Delilah equipped one as a weapon of mass destruction, swinging it back to slap the culprit in the face as if she was a KGB agent mid interrogation. “Silence! We vill ask zee questions!” It wasn’t at all relevant, yet it coaxed a rare laugh out of the long legged blonde regardless, lips still cemented with a leftover smile at just how shocked he looked at the impromptu act of violence. Rolling with his suggestion in spite of the fact she’d practically just smacked him in the name of Bea’s honour, Delilah took his hand in order to be helped down from her makeshift dancing podium, unleashing a brief grimace when he grappled with her hip like a randy sailor a bottle of wine deep. “What kind of bucking bronco…” she murmured back towards Bea, likes of which undoubtedly got lost in the next throb of music. “She has a dress on, man. She won’t do it,” he sighed miserably towards a duo of Average Joe faces waiting behind them, to which Delilah responded by perching down on the edge of the coffee table, fingers dropping down to hike up the bottom of her cream slip at a deliberately teasing snail pace. “Bet?” Dilated pupils ricocheting between the three stunned faces looming above her as she brushed the skirt of her dress up around the tops of her thighs, Delilah merely shrugged, about to lean back and leave it pulled up around her waist when a fresh face barged in on the scene, voice blaring, to interrupt them. “Lilah, what the fuck are you doing?” Spine straightening like a startled cat, Delilah took a second to even recognise the face – Dylan, an ex-boyfriend that she’d never quite managed to shake – before she was abruptly dropping her slip again, leaning back into her hands on the table and grumbling a quick “Jesus”. Switching a furious glance between Delilah and Bea, he quickly pointed a finger at the smaller of the girls, eyebrows severely drawn. “You just letting her show herself up like this? For fuck’s sake, Lilah, your friends were always a fucking train wreck. They just… They just let you do anything. They care even less than you do.” Hopping up with all the languid ease of a tabby scaling a rooftop, Delilah stood in front of him with eyes void of interest or even a flicker of life, vaguely wafting a hand mid air as if attempting to dispel a bad smell. “Bea, call an ambulance. Dylan’s forehead vein? About to burst! Blood everywhere. Catastrophic. Nosferatu will be dining big tonight, boys.”

Bea raised an eyebrow at the chorus of doubts that sprung up around Delilah as everyone noticed her dress. The duo were never ones to let something like that stop them, and almost as if in answer to her thoughts, Bea turned her head back around to see the dress already coming off. A chuckle spilled out of her lips as Lilah performed what was quickly turning into a strip tease, before the needle on the girl’s faster and faster spinning record of a night was lifted off the turntable with the invocation of the sharply piped “Jesus.” Bea’s glazed eyes drifted over slowly to the boy who had joined them, someone who seemed familiar but not quite. She had a tendency to forget the masses of nobodies who her friends dated, the peripheral characters of the drama of her childhood friends. The brunette examined his face closely, frowning at the receding hairline she noticed on him as he shouted at the two girls, mouth set into a drunken pout. Sighing as he turned his attention to Bea, she hardly noticed the words of his tirade against her and everyone they knew, instead taking her lighter out of her pocket and flicking the flame slowly, as if the action were more enthralling than his criticisms. “Who the fuck are you?” She finally said, lips bursting into a delirious chuckle as she slung an arm around Delilah, the circle they existed in growing ever smaller in front of Dylan’s eyes as if to say: you will never be one of us. Her eyes floated back to the blonde beside her, laughing at Delilah’s dismissal as her other hand finger the lighter still. “Oh shit, that’s who he is! Dylan, right. Honestly, I thought he was a member of a Steve Buscemi Convection gone rogue. Check out that bald spot, honestly,” she continued, craning her neck as if to examine the minuscule patch of his head where the hair was a bit thinner. “Dylan? That was really entertaining but you’re gonna fuck off now,” Bea finished, in an impulsive and drunken moment reaching the lighter out so that the flame touched a bit of his hair, igniting it quickly as her expression remained impassive. Her brown eyes shifting back to her bored expression as if she was lighting a cigarette as he exclaimed in shock, rushing to put it out.

[011594]

[bcafletcher-blog]

matcofernandez:

“Um. ‘Kay. Bit offensive,” he said with a faux scoff, tossing his hand in front of her face before dutifully instructing, “in the words of Dolly Parton, talk to the booty cause the hand’s off duty.” Letting his hand drop as he watched with mild concern as she began to mix nothing but a multitude of liquors together, he made a noise of protest, grabbing at her wrist to halt the amount of vodka she was pouring in, “Jesus, you’re gonna kill me. Vodka’s my kryptonite, I’ve never had a good night whenever vodka was involved.” But still, in the name of friendship, Mateo took a tentative gulp of the ‘beverage’ Bea concocted for him, sour look forming over his features before he could stop it, “Bea, full offence, this tastes like what water would taste like after someone’s rotting corpse was floating in there for a few months.” Placing the cup of liquor onto the kitchen counter, Mateo fully intended on never touching it again. Glancing back at Bea once he’d rid himself of the drink, he wasn’t expecting to turn back to the brunette and be greeted with a kiss. However, the second she pulled back, it didn’t stop him from picking her up by the waist like she weighed nothing more than a feather-stuffed pillow and settle her on the counter he’d been previously leaning on, making a home in between her legs and mumbling, “Froggy? I’ve been described as many things but none quite that creative. Mind giving me an explanation?” he asked, hands remaining loose over the expansion of her hips, easy and fond grin on his face. This was easy territory, the simple flirting that happened between the two of them. It was fun, and sometimes Mateo couldn’t quite get enough of the other, which seemed obvious at the moment with the way his gaze drank in her every feature.

“Kay. Bit dark. I just gagged a little at the thought of that image,” she complained, corner of her mouth twitching slightly as he rejected her disgusting concoction. Her hand rested on his shoulder after the kiss, her mind turning as she prepared for another one of the quick quips they constantly traded, but before she could she was being lifted up onto the table. It was easy, the way they flitted in between harmless flirtation and something more intense. Bea wasn’t flustered easily, but the feeling of his hands on her hips had a way of making her hard exterior melt, a flush creeping over her cheeks as he questioned her choice of words. “Y’know. The princess and the frog? It’s clear which one is which here,” she teased him, her hand reaching up to play with a bit of his hair, fellow partygoers eyeing the two as they tried to navigate around them to fetch drinks. She was a private person. The thought of putting on such a public display of affection like the two of them were horny teenagers usually would have made her laugh. But it wasn’t somehow different with Mateo, she thought as her eyes flicked back to his lips briefly before she gave him a grin. “For a frog, though, you’re pretty fun. I think I’ll keep you around,” she told him, intoxicated from the tequila or from the sensation of actually being this close to someone, she wasn’t sure.

[werewolfweather]

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[bcafletcher-blog]

( + 1 notification from Instagram ) beafletch havin a laff while @mateo_fern tries to suck out this girl’s soul through her mouth

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@mateo_fern: k

@lilahastor: why does he look so startled did he just fart

[bcafletcher-blog]

madsvela:

he wasn’t even going to question what he had heard as he started to unfold the paper cup in his hands in a detailed manner. “well pizza has never done me anything but good so i’m bringing up pizza and that’s how it goes.” there was no point in anything but going along since she’d probably switch topics sooner than later.

The dark haired girl tapped a toe, the drugs in her system making her more irritable than usual. “I seriously regret starting a conversation with the Pizza Rat in the flesh. Are you one of those dudes who thinks liking pizza is a personality trait?” She said, lifting up her cigarette so that it was above his head, tapping her finger to let the ash fall into his hair. “For your insolence,” she said, turning on her heel to walk away.

[bcafletcher-blog]

@beafletch: immediately clicks play on a video titled "how to overthrow the government ASMR"

[bcafletcher-blog]

tvriqkhvn:

“Shit, which spirit did you tick off with a Ouija Board?” A light laugh emits from pink lips at her theory, as brows furrow with mild interest. Unless I’m smoking them all when I’m drunk… A playful roll of his eyes in return as a hand digs into his pocket. “Man, you make it so easy that it’s not even fun anymore.” One side of his lips tugs upward at her inquiry, before pulling out the Marlboro box he’d previously swiped from her and handing it out for her to take back. Only because she’d offered him one, this time. “How charitable.”

“Honestly, could be a multitude. I feel like I’d be very easy for a spirit to hate me.” The girl put the cigarette in her mouth when her eyes widened, seeing a missing pack of her own cigarettes in his hands. She kicked him in the shin gently, not enough to hurt as she let out a chuckle. “Fuck off! You’re my demon ghost. You’re probably the one swiping all my left socks too. Can’t believe I’m Mother fuckin’ Teresa,” she said, bringing a lighter up to her mouth and illuminating her face as she sucked in on smoke. “I’m missing my favorite pair of underwear too. Was that you?” She joked.

[bcafletcher-blog]

delilahastor:

“The superior Hulk by far,” Delilah agreed, nodding her head solemnly and lightly sounding her hand down against a counter-top, acting as a high ranking supervisor in a Game of Thrones court might should a bill he approved of get passed. “Here, here.” Going about fixing up her own drink after she drained the entirety of her scalpel sterilising mix, Delilah merely cracked the faintest hint of a smile at Bea’s reaction, pad of her thumb milling along her bottom lip after like she was checking for any physically manifested cracks in her facade. “Vermouth tastes like an old lady that wears too much Chanel No. 5. My mother, for example.” Making a face like she’d just tasted Satan’s armpit, Delilah finished drizzling her cup full of straight vodka, ignoring the way her stomach subtly curdled at the thought of guzzling it all down with no food to soak up the high percentage. “Come on,” she prompted out of the blue, nodding Bea along after her as she started weaving between party guests until she reached a particularly littered coffee table in the centre of the living room. Stepping up on top of it with little care to the fact that a dozen eyes were feasting over her like a captive carnival audience watching the beginning sequence of a sword swallowing, Delilah butted off a crushed cider can with the toe of her over-the-knee boot, flinging a hand down towards the floor to assist Bea up after her. “Cue the Cabaret sequence,” she crooned into her ear once she’d joined her, expression growing a shade more alive as she delighted in shimmying a narrow shoulder out from beneath cream faux fur, jacket slinking down a slim arm to dangle around her elbow. She possessed all the tragic, timeless beauty of a glassy eyed Daisy Buchanan slow stepping to Gatsby’s party music in the waning moonlight, if slow stepping looked anything like a hypnotic grind against the oncoming trembles of bass. “Who here wants to bottle feed Bea gin like she’s a baby lamb? She’s parched.”

“It always reminded me of a funeral. My aunt hugging me in between her giant honkers that were soaked in the stuff,” Bea commented darkly, eyes flitting off as the sentence slipped out of her mouth without warning, before she snapped back to Delilah with a smile on her face that was akin to the one a mortician would paste on as he rattled off coffin prices to a family. Bea always had a way of masking herself. Hiding a sharp personality under frilly dresses and pastel colors, a quip at mortality covered in sexual innuendos and flitting eyes. Her heavy boots trailed after the blonde, feeling like a dark shadow following after her as Delilah stood on the coffee table, the center of attention wherever she went. But Bea didn’t want to be seen, and part of the appeal of being next to Lilah was being able to obscure herself next to the girl. The Jordan Baker next to her Daisy. “Cabaret to the sounds of Kanye?” She said of the current music blasting over the party. “A modern classic. Baz Lurhmann is quaking in his boots.” She let out a laugh as Delilah called out to the party, drawing even more attention to the girls as they both danced atop the table, a gaggle of frat boys stepping up to the plate, eager to fulfill the blonde girl’s order. Seeing a dark-haired young man grow closer to the two of them, Bea crouched down, strap of her black slip dress sliding dangerously low on her shoulder as she tilted her head back, the young man pouring clear liquid into her mouth. “Lilah! He gave me vodka and not gin! Off with his damn head,” She shouted, laughing even more now as she loosened up a bit. “You guys wanna do body shots?” He shouted at them, causing Bea’s eyebrow to quirk. “What do you think, want him to slurp at your belly button?”

[bcafletcher-blog]

mcreau:

“hey I make a pretty good ghost alright. I’ve already got the pasty white skin on lock. I might need to work on my delivery but nobodies perfect.” oh heaven forbid he break into song right then and there. index and middle finger remove the lit tobacco stick from his mouth because he truly needs a moment to process what she’s said. and he’s not even close to intoxication. “woah woah woah. a murder? I know a lot of shit goes down here, but I’m not too sure we’d take it that far.” still he chooses to entice her. a small nod in her direction carries on the conversation. “are catching any names for our resident phantom?”

“It’d be hard to convince me that you’re not a malicious spirit at this point. You look like someone dug you up out of the ground and propped you up on stilts. I’m getting a sexy Weekend at Bernie’s vibe here,” she teased him, smile parting her lips to show him that she was only kidding. “You don’t think so? This place totally has a dark past. As a child of hell I can totally sense these things. I’m coming for the Long Island Medium’s brand.” Bea thought for a few moments, cigarette perched in her hands a smoke curled around her face, dark eyes obscured a bit by stray curls. “I think she was named Lucinda. She was a nurse at an asylum that killed her patients. What do you think?”

[bcafletcher-blog]

harrispierce:

“Just a tad,” he agreed, grinning in her general direction. “Not too sure many noticed by this point. For all they knew, you were the fairy smoking godmother.” A small shrug to punctuate his words, then he tilted his head back to think of a better response. “But – how do we know you’re not the ghost? Maybe the bird was the one driving you to your… eternal doom.”

“Fairy smoking godmother. I like that. A magical entity that helps people with their nicotine cravings,” she commented, cracking a rare smile. “Shit. What if we’ve been in hell this entire time? I’m starting to sound like I smoked way too much weed tonight,” the girl responded, chuckling a bit and taking a sip of her drink. “I wouldn’t be surprised is Beaumont is hell,” she said with a raised eyebrow, looking over at a round of three frat boys attempting a keg stand. “Look! It’s Cerberus.”

[midsommars-deactivated20201109]

Thoroughbreds (2017) Directed by Cory Finley

[realistmuse]

[bcafletcher-blog]

marstefio:

“Honestly, maybe it’s a little bit of both?” Marin looked at the girl and laughed, the idea of a nicotine-addicted ghost was hilarious. “Maybe you’re your won nicotine addicted ghost, taking your cigs and you don’t even know it.” She thought out loud, more so speaking into the universe than to the girl, “I’ll take a cig if you have another one.” She accepted as soon as she was done with her deep thought.

“Maybe. But I’d prefer a supernatural explanation. I always wanted to go out with a bang. Maybe I’ll get possessed and pull a Jennifer’s Body,” she said with a shrug, handing it over to the girl before lighting up her own.”

[bcafletcher-blog]

matcofernandez:

“Where are you gonna find a Professor at this time on a fuckin’ Friday, Bea? I think we need to make your expectations a little bit more realistic. Wild Gorl…” he chastised teasingly, final word in his statement mispronounced on purpose. Instead of attempting to stifle his laughter, feeling a bit delirious with it, he only began to laugh hard when Bea grabbed his joke and ran with it. Which he was mostly grateful for, it wasn’t often that he could laugh without care but it seemed easy with someone like Bea as his company. “Lily Paradise? That’s hot. Down for the porno industry, I think my mom always figured I’d end up there anyway after that chick leaked our sex tape. Not - not mine and my mom’s, ew. I realized how that sounded after. … I still don’t even think she made that much money from it, which is offensive, to be honest.” Purposely bumping into shoulders unnecessarily as Mateo guided them to the kitchen quickly, he made a noise of appreciation when Bea admitted to drinking straight tequila, glancing at her from the corner of his eye with an impressed smirk on his face, “Straight tequila? Guess no one told you tequila makes your clothes fall off,” he goaded as he grabbed her offered cup, filling it with the alcohol after plucking it from the kitchen counter. “Have you ever thought about how many people had the chance to just. Drug this shit? There’s a fuck ton of open bottles of alcohol here and not a single person lying face floor on the ground, half of the guys who live here are not that nice,” he mumbled with a casual shrug, handing Bea her now full cup with a more gentle grin on his face, “There you go, fair maiden. What’s my prize?”

“You made a sex tape? Without me? I’m shocked and insulted. I should have been there, to at least, I don’t know, fluff up your hair or hand you a Capri Sun mid-romp.” The girl faked a disappointed sigh as she tucked a bit of stray curly hair behind her ear, leaning against the table. “I know, nut, right?” She responded with a small chuckle in response to his comment about her drink choices. “Really? I thought that was whiskey. Shit. Maybe that’s why I keep fucking you,” she told him with feigned innocence, unable to stop her laughter form her own joke from spilling out of her lips. “Hold on, I’m gonna make you a Beatrice Fletcher special.” She grabbed a few bottles, pouring a but of tequila, whiskey and vodka together. “It’s called jungle juice. I made up the recipe myself. Similar to Michael Scott’s One of Everything, but with a few less ingredients,” she told him, exchanging cups to take the tequila from him. “Whoa. Good point. They’re not exactly a home of Mother Teresa’s. Last week I saw one of the dudes here leave the bathroom without flushing or washing his hands. Dark shit,” she muttered, taking a long sip. Considering his question, she looked at him for a few moments before leaning in to kiss him, the dark haired girl pulling him closer for a few moments before leaning back again to drink more. “There. You’re looking far less froggy now.”

[bcafletcher-blog]

@beafletch: if you swallow your teeth upwards you can chew on the bottom of your brain