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@fezc0
fezco o'neil , with love, ᴹᴼ.
Euphoria (2019-2026) | 3.08 In God We Trust
a summer carnival at night, lights too bright.
𝓣EMPORARY THINGS, much like this carnival, possess a peculiar sort of melancholy. The carnival sprawls itself across East Highland with all the permanence and longevity of one. BECAUSE BY WEEK'S ENDS THERE WILL BE NOTHING LEFT HERE. Save for flattened grass & tire tracks that have impressed themselves into the dirt. Overhead, a fissure between clouds permits the moon to split in silvered fragments, allowing pale light to spill across the fairgrounds & mingle with the bulbs jubilant in pinks, golds, blues & reds. Within 'PRETZEL MANIA', business has concluded enough. Stainless steel catches the glow of overhead fixtures. This whole little pretzel business has been ordinary enough to stop anyone looking any deeper. The final latch catches and Fez descends from the rear of the truck, gaze wandering toward the departing crowd. Intoxicated, overfed. HUMANITY APPEARS STRANGELY BEAUTIFUL AT A DISTANCE. ( Less so upon closer inspection. ) “ ˓ ... ˒ y'know what's crazy, though ? ” The question emerges absentmindedly, softened by some air of amusement. Smoke gathers briefly behind his teeth before it's escape in languid ribbon. “ Half them motherfuckers owe me money. But they got turkey legs 'n shit. ” THERE MIGHT BE SOMETHING ADMIRABLE ABOUT IT. This economic optimism that exists within other people.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀╵╵ ( same asshole will dodge your call for three consecutive weeks. )
HIS ATTENTION DRIFTS ELSEWHERE. Mina, perched along the service ledge with all her effortless inevitability. She exists with such remarkable conviction.
The blunt leave his mouth & ash falls softly toward the earth. For a brief moment, it glows against the darkness before disappearing into the rest of the evening's debris. Fez extends his hand toward her without ceremony, offering the joint as naturally as a gentleman may offer a chair. “ YOU ONE OF THE ONLY ONES THAT COME BY HERE AND DON'T WANT NOTHIN'. ” There are no accusations truly, hardly any coquetry. It's just that curiosity, perhaps, is one of the most dangerous things a person could inspired. AND LATELY, MINA HAS BECOME INCREASINGLY DIFFICULT TO EXPLAIN. / [⸮] ⋆
It was as easy as breathing for Maddy. Finding herself in situations she deemed pointless & demeaning. It could've been another screaming match with her own mother, or BFF Cassie Howard screening her calls, or innate desperation to avoid Kat Hernandez [AND HER PERFECT RELATIONSHIP] ─ the feelings attached to the latter weren't seen as kindly by anyone, let alone Maddy, but these things tend to have DISCREPANCIES AND NUANCES that aren't so obvious to the naked eye. Whatever the cause may be, it's led her to this moment.
She's a little cross-faded, but the high is finding its way home, leaving a petite frame swallowed by BAD HABITS of tequila & lime. She didn't really think about who she was texting, and to be honest, Fez was amongst a line-up consisting of four incredibly eager individuals. But he was the only one who received a double text: STARTING WITH HIS NAME] ── as if the pathetic plead was unravelled right to his face.
BY THE TIME HE ARRIVES, SHE'S SOBERED UP A LITTLE, AND THE STRANGE HEAVINESS IN HER UNDERBELLY CAN ONLY BE BLAMED ON REGRET. FOR WHERE SHE IS, WHAT SHE'S DONE, AND WHO SHE'S CALLED TO WITNESS IT.
Despite how she feels, however, she takes great solace in the fact that she still looks magnificent. Her nails feature a leopard-print French manicure, torso adorned in a crimson-red strapless corset top that remains crease-free, and her platform flip flops complement a rhinestoned denim skirt ensemble. She knows Fez won't really notice, nor appreciate it, but she's hoping it's enough to distract him from asking too many questions. ❝ Cassie wasn't picking up. Kat's busy. And I didn't wanna' call Nate. ❞ IT'S A WHISPER TOWARDS THE END, like any mention of his name could set Fez off. His aloof & effortless cool solidifies everything Maddy expects from him, but still─ she's so used to being in a fight or flight mode with everyone else, she forgets he most definitely may not give a shit.
Hair tied in a high ponytail, it sways to eventually sit beside her left side, rhinestoned eyelids accompanying a gentle flutter up towards Fez, bloodshot hues giving too much away. ❝ . . . Do you have anything on you right now? ❞ It comes out harsher than intended, monotone yet possessing a certain sadness that envelops consonance. Regardless of how it might make him feel ─ desperation seems to change her heart.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀╵╵ 𝓽he impala rests around them like some aging reliquary.
weathered leather & objects everywhere. coins in a cupholder, receipts folded neatly. it isn't enough to quite enough to qualify as clutter. contrary to popular assumption, fez dislikes disorder immensely. sometimes the people around him ask for drugs because they want drugs. SOMETIMES ITS SO THEY CAN SILENCE SOMETHING ELSE. his gaze drifts. there exists a peculiar misconception about men like fezco — that because they speak little, they notice little. IT ISN'T TRUE. more than any rhinestone or crimson, he notices the faint fatigue gathered beneath her eyes where mascara has begun collecting like sediment. THERE'S AN EXCUDING EXHAUSTION THERE, TOO. & it clings with effortless precision, this elegant mathematic. [ will maddie follow that path ? ] anyway, he sighs and he cannot say no. “ ... shiiiii, i got somethin'. nothin' crazy. ” the words emerge slow as poured syrup, dragged through smoke-scuffed vocal cords. he nods toward the glovebox. “ POP THAT. ” drops open and reveals a little civilization of miscellaneous debris: papers, insurance, then a grinder. fez accepts it, scraping past feline acrylics & then rolls with the same unceremonious competence other men may reserve for tying ties or buttoning shirts.
“ thought i was gon' have to bury a body. ” the comment arrives dressed as a joke, some foolhardy omen.
NATE. there is no visible reaction or shift. only the faintest tightening somewhere beneath the surface. THE EQUIVALENT OF SPOTTING STORM CLOUDS OVER WATER. truthfully ? fuck nate. fuck nate with remarkable sincerity. at the new years party, orbiting rue and jules, nate jacobs discovers that being six-foot-whatever does not actually render him immune to any consequences. there remains a stubborn little portion of his brain that occasionally revisits the event with an enthusiasm to finish the job, what with rue and jules. [ .. and now maddy, too. ] the blunt is sealed and offered across the center console. fez sparks the lighter for her, once and then twice before it catches. the firelight climbs briefly across gold jewelry and dark upholstery before settling into the glowing cherry at the tip. “ for somebody that goddamn big n' shit ” attention is fixed stubbornly upon that flame rather than maddy as looking directly at her sadness felt too personal. “ he sure do bitch. ” LIGHTER SNAPS SHUT. it's tossed carelessly back into the cupholder. the smoke begins its slow pilgrimage toward the ceiling, distant traffic murmurs beyond the windows. TWO PEOPLE OCCUPY A TINY ILLUMINATED ISLAND AMID THIS INDIFFERENT OCEAN. then: “ what'you see in him ? ” his ringed thumb drags absently across the grinder's edge. thinking. “ ˓ ... ˒ for real. ” ⋆
••• “why you look so sad? haven’t you heard? this is the happiest place on earth,” with a sardonic, toothy grin, ani brings the glass to her lips, pours the shot down her throat. the man next to her, hunches over on a booth, just sips on a beer with stone-faced indifference to the scene before him. women curled around poles, twirling in their highest pumps, with glitter in their bodies and faces.
ani knows the ocasional stoic type when she sees it. she also knows that most dealers are a bunch of slimy fucks, nevertheless, it’s the ones who do the nastier work who usually keep to themselves, “y’know, that tough guy look you’re givin’ is makin’ me real wet.” @fezc0
fezco occupies his corner booth with peculiar stillness, one hand wrapped loosely around a sweating longneck with condensation gathering beneath his rings. yet his attentions drift elsewhere entirely, tracing invisible pathways between exits and hallways and private rooms where business transpires. [ there are names attached to the process tonight with numbers and obligations. ] and she speaks aside him and builds him up from the shadows, carving sharp edges and legends around him. what the fuck. his gaze lifts, slowly and decidedly, balancing the beer upon his lip. “ you wildin'. ” a pause. he shakes his head, “ crazy as fuck right now. ” then drinks. somewhere, in another universe, she may be right. perhaps there exists a version of him worthy of all this narration. unfortunately for both of them, that guy isn't currently present. “ that sound cool an' all but i'm cool on that, shorty. ” it's deflated with all the same ceremony of a punctured balloon. despite her best efforts and despite this glitter-reigned atmosphere and every narrative convenience available, fez remains stubbornly ordinary in all the inconvenient ways. his attention wanders past her more toward the corridor leading deeper into the establishment. toward reality. “ i'm, uh conductin' business and shit. ” unglamorous and mundane. women move with the languid fluidity of tides, the sort of grace carved into muscle after hundreds of nights spent beneath the gaze of strangers. fez watches dollar bills migrate from pockets to stages. [ and yet, he isn't here for any of it. ] he watches for the piece of shit he's meeting who is already twenty-three minutes late and therefore either disrespectful or stupid or choking. “ on some james bond type. ”
a church basement set up for a meeting. u.u
there ought to be 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 signs for crossing thresholds & declarations. fezco's devotion here had begun as 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨, one became two and two became three. suddenly this man who had once dismissed the entire endeavor as bible belt, freak nonsense .. well, he finds himself traversing the same carpet of the basement every thursday evening. it's funny how ali never really convinced him of anything. ali simply asks, asked a few times, then waited for him with a patience possessing a far greater lethality than persuasion ever could. [ addiction, loss, loss of self. ] these few words drift through his ear with the indistinct quality of radio frequencies heard from the opposite room. every week a new tragedy is shared. fathers, daughters, pills, bottles, funerals. the strange thing about it was all the stories sounded fairly different until they didn't. every lesson seemed to converge upon the same destination.
fezco spends this meeting in the same place as he'd spent the others, the hallway outside the room. shoulder against the wall and pretending not to listen, but he was. the meeting has long since concluded and emptied out by the time he pushes the door inward & the basement would ordinarily exist in that peculiar state of 𝗮𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗵 wherein occupancy has departed but the folding chairs and styrofoam evidence remains. his gaze catches upon the figure still planted amongst the ruins. she sits amidst folding chairs and cooling coffee with an air of improbable permanence, as though the room had gradually emptied itself around her rather than the other way around. [ whatever momentum carried everyone else toward exits and parking lots and homes seems to have missed her entirely. ] when she appears to startle, he speaks. “ nah, you good. you straight. ” the words emerge roughened by fatigue, smoke, & habitual understatement. simple things. small things. “ thought y'all all'd be gone. ” the silence that follows possesses a certain weight to it. overhead, fluorescent bulbs continue their quiet dirge and entire lives unfold beyond the boundaries of the basement. yet his attentions drifts backward as he makes his way toward the coffee pot and water station. “ you believe all that ? .. ali swear by it. but he be drinkin' this shitty coffee, too. so, i dun'no. ” : ⋆ settings prompts.
ᝰ🚬 𝚉𝙰𝙲𝙷𝚁𝙿 .ᐟ RANDOM SETTINGS PROMPTS. CHANGE ANY PRONOUNS IF NECESSARY. SOME MATURE THEMES MAY BE PRESENT.
a liquor store with barred windows and a bulletproof counter.
a decommissioned lodge overtaken by weeds.
a bathroom in a run-down apartment building.
a roller rink playing the same songs on loop.
a flea market at dawn, vendors still setting up.
a motel pool glowing turquoise after midnight.
a hiking trail where the signs stop making sense.
a dive bar that smells like smoke and regret.
a bridal shop filled with mirrors.
a county fair after the crowds thin.
a courthouse hallway that smells faintly of old paper and stress.
an amusement park in the rain.
a confessional booth that smells like old wood.
a high school gym during a pep rally.
a chapel with the lights off except for candles.
a fire lookout tower miles from anything else.
a laundry room humming with fluorescent lights.
a city rooftop slick with rain.
an arcade humming with old machines.
a bowling alley with sticky floors and neon lights.
a gas station at the edge of nowhere.
a fallout shelter forgotten by time.
a chairlift stalled above the slopes.
a church basement set up for a meeting.
a newsroom just before deadline.
a basement stacked with old boxes.
a desert highway shimmering with heat.
a funeral home parlor arranged too perfectly.
a brewery patio strung with cheap lights.
a physical therapy clinic that smells like antiseptic and rubber bands.
a greenhouse fogged with humidity.
a community garden at sunset.
a prison visitation room divided by glass.
a tattoo parlor buzzing late into the night.
a photography darkroom glowing red.
a summer carnival at night, lights too bright.
a power substation crackling with electricity.
a toll booth lit like an aquarium.
a half-abandoned shopping mall with only one store still open.
a city park at sunrise.
a holding cell with peeling paint.
a rest stop bathroom off a desolate highway.
a rental cabin buried in snow.
a costume shop crowded with masks.
a city planning office full of maps.
a college dorm hallway echoing with laughter and shouting.
a ghost town baking under the sun.
an underground nightclub where the bass rattles your ribs.
a security office watching too many screens.
a pawn shop cluttered with other people's memories.
a wake held in someone's living room.
a quiet cul-de-sac after a storm.
a recruitment office in a strip mall.
a courtroom bathroom where no one speaks.
a courtroom with the jury absent.
a sauna where the air is too thick.
a summer camp cabin long after the campers left.
a video rental store frozen in time.
an evidence room packed floor to ceiling.
a judge's chambers after hours.
a speakeasy hidden behind a false wall.
a cemetery at dusk, cicadas screaming.
a public restroom lit by flickering fluorescents.
a psychiatric ward common room with bolted furniture.
a tide pool exposed by low tide.
a storm cellar during a tornado warning.
a natural history exhibit after closing.
a zoo maintenance corridor behind exhibits.
a museum storage room full of artifacts.
a firing range ringing with gunshots.
a locker room echoing and empty.
an aquarium tunnel at night.
a karaoke bar at its most unhinged hour.
a suburban backyard during a barbecue.
a stairwell no one uses.
a junkyard full of stripped cars.
a hotel elevator stalled between floors.
a police station break room with stale donuts.
an abandoned warehouse tagged with graffiti.
a hockey arena during overtime, air sharp with ice and spilled beer.
a shrine built by someone who wouldn't let go.
a car wash tunnel swallowing a vehicle whole.
a haunted house attraction mid-season.
a movie theater lobby after the last showing.
a roadside attraction shaped like something absurd.
a dog park during golden hour.
a muddy riverbank after heavy rain.
a courthouse stairwell where voices echo too loudly.
a school parking lot under buzzing streetlights.
a planetarium during a private showing.
a cheap motel room with floral bedspreads and a flickering lamp.
a roadside diner at 3 a.m., neon buzzing, coffee burnt.
a city bus idling at the end of the line.
a penthouse balcony overlooking the city at night.
a wine cellar beneath a historic building.
a lifeguard tower at night.
a municipal pool pump room.
a tailor's back room full of pins and fabric.
a public swimming pool drained for repairs.
a fenced-in yard littered with dog toys.
a thrift store where the air smells like dust and old perfume.
a witness stand under harsh lights.
a crowded subway platform just before the last train.
a piercing studio that smells like disinfectant.
a beach boardwalk after tourist season ends.
a tow truck yard lit by security lamps.
a loading dock behind a closed business.
a recording studio cluttered with cables.
a barber shop mid-conversation.
a radio tower hill overlooking everything.
a classroom long after the final bell.
a drive-in theater with a cracked screen.
a fire escape overlooking an alley.
a passenger ferry cutting through fog.
a hospital waiting room at 2 a.m.
a pharmacy open all night.
a mechanic's garage smelling of oil and metal.
a hallway between two locked doors.
a public records office that no one visits.
a pet adoption center during feeding time.
a crematorium hallway humming quietly.
a border crossing checkpoint at night.
a locker-lined hallway in a community center.
a ski lodge during a whiteout.
a courthouse records archive underground.
a water treatment facility humming endlessly.
a forest trail choked with fog before sunrise.
a playground after dark.
a train platform dusted with snow.
a radio station during the graveyard shift.
a military barracks just before lights-out.
a front porch with a single rocking chair.
a mom-and-pop ice cream parlor on a scorching summer's day.
an emergency room hallway curtained off from sight.
a small-town grocery store minutes before closing.
a farmer's market just as it opens.
a lake dock at dawn, water perfectly still.
a nail salon filled with chemical sweetness.
a bus terminal that never quite sleeps.
a library corner no one ever uses.
Fezco and Rue
Euphoria - Fezco’s World
her name arrives across the dull, 𝗯𝗹𝘂𝗲-𝘁𝗼𝗻𝗲𝗱 light of his phone screen. & fezco, who has survived many sharper things than a text message ... who knows the precise, ugly temperature of danger still finds himself staring at it for half a second too long. maybe, you could recognize something that's akin to nervousness beneath the breastbone. [ morerather, no. ] nervous is a cruiser easing past the store in the middle of the night, nervous is somebody knocking after midnight with their hands hidden and voice nauseatingly polite. it's all sharp teeth and survival instincts. AND THIS ISN'T THAT. this is warmer, settles low beneath the sternum. it's inconvenient. it's really a lot more annoying than anything, actually. come get me it reads. not a question, not a plead. rain moves over the windshield in slow, slanted tributaries, blurring the city lights into bruised and aqueous molten gold. fez is on the way, one hand loose on the wheel, fingers tapping absent rhythms against the worn-in leather. a greasy, brown paper bag in his lap. maddy tells him to come and apparently, that's all it takes now. because three words from maddy perez at damn near one in the morning is rarely just three words. and maybe that shouldn't matter as much as it did. jesus christ. [ fez spots her before she'd spot him. ] she's pindropped outside the apartment complex like somebody had dropped something particularly expensive in the middle of the neighborhood & hadn't come back for it. heels are abandoned beside her, earrings catching brief gold flashes. fez exhales slow through his nose, something like annoyance moving through him. it's not at her, truly. not really. it's the arrangement of it all: maddy, maddy in the rain, the rain, the curb, whatever the fuck happened before his headlights found her. car rolls closer with a soft hiss through past rainwater and he rolls the window down. “ yo. what you doin', 𝙗𝙖𝙧𝙗𝙞𝙚 ? ” voice low. rough with tiredness. his gaze flicks over her once: a quick inventory, automatic and silent. no blood. no bruises he can see. that's good. “ you be hitchhikin' ? ” instead he leans across the console and shoves the passenger door open from inside, rain-speckled streetlight sliding over the rings on his fingers while the paper bag crinkles softly beneath his wrist. “ c'mon. ” // @madelent
S01E06: The Next Episode / S03E03: The Ballad of Paladin / Angus Cloud Instagram / S03E04: Kitty Likes to Dance
BITCH I SHIFTED AND GOT HIGH WITH FEZCO