Forty Quinn + being a whole damn mood

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@mvdgrit
Forty Quinn + being a whole damn mood
im not passive-aggressive. im just aggressive. i dont even know what passive means. ill fucking kill you
SHILOH FERNANDEZ
Long Nights Short Mornings (2016)
i hate those videos that are like “could you kill (horror movie monster)?” like no i couldn’t. but i wouldn’t have to. because i would understand them
xemptywithyoux:
“not at all, mi vida. i’m suggesting that you can trust me with whatever is clouding those beautiful eyes…” he knew how to spoke to make himself sound dramatic, charming, just like those men from telenovelas he grew up watching, except he had to say them in english. which every now and then sounded more ridiculous than not. either way, if his intention was to make tate feel better, he would either charm them or make them laugh in that very moment. “so what if i do? it’s not a crime, is it? and i’m not a bad person to be obsessed with. i’m pretty hot,” he winked at tate, laughing softly as he rested his chin on their shoulder. perhaps he was invading tate’s personal space, but there was not a single sign that tate did not like to be invaded like this. he tried to keep his voice soft, just a whisper. even the tv was louder than his speaking, but suddenly they were inside their little bubble that nothing in the world could pierce. comfort, river thought. this was exactly what it was.
river thought about getting all playful when tate started speaking. something had happened, it sounded like the beginning of a great night, but the distant look in their eyes and the strength of their hold on his hand weren’t exactly promising. river bit his tongue, kept himself from saying anything and just nodded ever so slightly, trying to encourage tate to go on. he had given them the space. river smiled for a second. the way tate spoke did it for him, he was so undeniably themself. he couldn’t even envy it, he appreciated it, but as the other kept going, a frown was drown on river’s forehead- he was clutching to tate’s hand with just as much strength. river knew what tate was talking about- that sensation of being but not being- it was the reason why he got high in the first place. for a moment, river saw his own images, the vivid scene that played behind his eyes of her mother falling off that train, but it was not about him.
river forced himself to look into tate’s eyes, even if the other wasn’t looking. he looked down at their hands at the mention of blood- he was terrified, not of them, but of the things they had to re-live that he could not take away. river was not the kind of person to ask questions- he believed firmly that the past shaped the person of the present, and that’s enough to know a person. he didn’t like to speak about the things he had seen, or the things he had done before- so he didn’t force them out of people, but sometimes he wished he could. so they could share their burdens with river, so his friends didn’t have to carry their load on their own, when river had pretty broad shoulders to help out. river looked at him and sighed, laughing a little as he shook his head. “no- no, come here,” he wrapped an arm around their head and pulled it towards him, so now tate was resting against his chest. “you’re not broken- and… you’re not possessed. just… maybe a tiny bit crazy, but that’s got nothing to do with what you… felt, or… or saw.” river kissed the top of their head. “can i ask- you can totally plead the fifth, or– send me to hell, or whatever- are those- were those memories?” he asked softly, delicately, as if his words could make a bomb go off. it was the last thing he wanted, he just wanted tate to feel supported. like they had somebody to trust and cling from if they needed to.
vulnerability is a luxury they don’t feel like they can afford, not because they’re chronically distant and emotionally constipated, but because they simply don’t want to. vulnerability is what breaks the illusion, takes one out of the carefully constructed spectacle that is their whole persona. vulnerability equals reality, and reality is something they’ve learned to resent, worked hard on distancing themself from until they’ve perfected a version of their own. only a selected few will ever get to peek behind the curtain of the vanity project that is tate thatcher. they’re the people he knows he can trust, the people who hold a special place in his selfish little heart, the people who when he says ‘i love you’ to, he genuinely means it. river, for the longest time, has been one of them. it’s not even a crush, nor anything strictly superficial. it’s not about the drugs, or the little kisses, or the fact the other pretty much looks like a supermodel from another dimension. it’s not about attraction, it’s not about romance, it’s not about sex. it’s something much deeper than that, something more convoluted, something personal. it’s about the way the other makes them feel: safe. secure. like they finally belong. tate cherishes it, holds it close to their heart, almost the same way they’re clutching onto the other’s hand in this very moment.
the absolute lack of judgement in the man’s eyes after hearing the confessions that would make any normal person look at them like a madman is enough to set off an unwarranted bomb of emotions. it washes over them faster than they could ever get onto their knees for an attractive gentleman, and before they even get the chance to react, they’re doing the one thing they’ve tried so hard to avoid: fucking crying. luckily, it’s mostly quiet. no pathetic sobbing, no hysteria, just silent tears pouring down their cheeks like beer onto the carpet after your sober friend specifically told you to be careful with the glass. it lasts about three whole seconds before they start desperately wiping their face with the back of their hand, a part of them hoping the other didn’t notice.. which, let’s be honest, is highly unlikely.
when the man pulls them closer, tate wastes no time before wrapping their arms around him, side of their face now buried in his chest. it’s like a whirlwind of emotions, everything happening at once. the tears keep streaming, persistent, soaking into the material of the other’s shirt, but the words are enough to make them chuckle. “it’s just my personality disorders.” squeezes in a little joke, figuring it might take the attention off of the fact he just exposed himself as an emotional wreck. but at this point, he’s got nothing to lose, no holding back, so when river asks, all they can do is tell the truth while trying not to embarrass themself even further. “yeah.” manages, matter-of-factly. “just.. a bunch of stuff i, like, tried to repress, i guess? like, i am over it, i swear i am, but... i don’t know. like, i never think about my father. i don’t believe he deserves to be thought of, so i just don’t. and it’s fine. i’m fine. like, i always thought i was at peace with it.. and- and that’s why it’s so weird, you know? that out of sudden.. i just see him- he’s standing there, and i’m looking him in the eye, and i’m.. feeling all these things that i haven’t felt in years. suddenly i’m fucking terrified and i’m shaking, like- like this helpless little boy, which i’m not. i’m not.” takes a deep breath, trying to regain some composure. “it’s like some... external force looked down at me and thought ‘he’s too powerful’, so they split my brain with their grimy little spirit-fingers and planted these images to, like, knock me down a peg.” sniffles, fingers tangling into the other’s shirt. “god-” lets out a weak sigh. "the underworld is fucking jealous of me, river.” a reasonable conclusion followed by a moment of silence as they take a second to gather their thoughts. hand moves up to wipe their face before falling back onto river’s chest, followed by a shaky exhale. “alright... i think i’m done being ugly now. tell me something fun. or traumatic. your call.”
YOU 2.07 “Ex-istential Crisis”
everandevermcre:
veering off course and away from the buddy system proves to be the wrong decision pretty immediately. this is why i keep to myself. this is why i don’t do friends. venice holds no strong boundaries for the people she cares about, her only imperative thought being that they remain safe. as soon as her back is turned and away from the car, alma’s tasteful way with words is being directed by the kind of crazy cunt that could absolutely kill them both and get away with it.
turning around with haste, venice hops back into the car, calling out, ‘ she doesn’t mean that! ’ and begins driving away recklessly. ‘ they’re not following us, are they? ’ venice stays hyper - focused on the rearview. when no one is there, she lets out a heaving sigh of relief that quickly turns into a load, complaining groan. ‘ can you at least wait until i’m done peeing next time? ’
it’s not like she’s trying to get people into trouble, going out of her way to turn someone’s evening from a peaceful hangout in the parking lot to a gta type of chase sequence minus the cop cars and seven hundred roadkills. sometimes, sure. there are moments where the extra thrill is needed, where adrenaline is the only drug she could ever crave, but most of the time, all she has to do is the bare minimum. there’s something about alma that simply attracts conflict, and while it’s certainly a talent, more often than not it also feels like a curse.
the second venice tries to excuse her actions, lessen the blow, alma’s rolling down the window. “no, i do!” calls out to avoid any misconceptions, standing her ground even though she’s in the wrong. “get fucking help!” final words before the car disappears out of the opponent’s line of sight, a flash of her middle finger the last thing the woman gets to see. “eh.” alma leans back in the seat, head lolling to the side. following them? she highly doubts it’d even be an option. “wouldn’t count on it. last time i checked, they’re a bunch of wasted assholes on electric scooters.” doesn’t sound worried, though that might change in a couple of days when she bumps into them at the supermarket while trying to choose between lasagnas. in a town like this, it’s almost inevitable. with a small smile creeping across features, she mimics the groan with one of her own. “shit, yeah, totally. i’ll make sure to wait with sneaking onto someone’s hitlist until after your bathroom break. sorry guys, can you not bludgeon me beyond the point of recognition just yet? my friend’s taking a leak in the bush.” attempts a joke, glancing over at the other. “seriously though, that was pretty cool. props for the reflexes, dude.” a genuine compliment for a change. “you’re like the clyde to my bonnie.”
xemptywithyoux:
danny’s eyes widened. he could feel the eyes of the tables around them looking now that alma had decided to be loud and clear about what he was talking about. he simply rolled his eyes after a second. “see, for a… penis,” he said quietly, “to be one, it has to be attached to a man. those are just- there. drawn all over. as if it was some kind of artistic demonstration.”
it’s like she’s unaware of her surroundings. either that, or she doesn’t really care, fingers reaching for a fry and dipping it in the strawberry milkshake before shoving it into her mouth. “says who?” she’s not yelling, but it’s definitely louder than his cautious whispers. “the dick police?” snorts. "since when are there rules? penis is a penis is a penis.”
no such thing as kleptomania we’re all just gatherers at heart <3
i like being complimented on my eyes and on my oral sex techniques
Maurice (1987) - Deleted scene
xemptywithyoux:
he got a text from a friend telling him his sister was in trouble. he was not sure what kind of trouble, but the second he read it, mal switched the open sign to closed in the gas station store, hopped on his car and went over to the location he got on the text. he never asked questions- he didn’t like cheap gossip. he’d rather have alma explain herself. as if it was a miracle, as if they had this rehearsed, alma opened the door to his car and got on the passenger seat. mal wasn’t even sure if alma knew what she had done, or whose car she had gotten on, but that rant would have to come later, when there was not some crazy girl going after them with a pretty dangerous stiletto shoe in her hand, ready to crack some skulls. “yo- what the fuck is happening?” mal asked, the second he hit the gas and went down the street flying. “who was that?”
“go, go, go!” blindly jumping into a random car and hoping for the best? words can’t describe how lucky she got with her own brother being behind that steering wheel. it could’ve gone so wrong. can you imagine how embarrassing it would’ve been had it been some random guy? getting kidnapped and murdered right after having what felt like an upper hand in an argument is the lowest kind of low a person could reach. and the joy the other girl would’ve probably felt after hearing about her body being discovered on the side of the road the next morning? alma would be rolling in her grave. “suck on that, bitch!” sticks up both of her middle fingers, the final image the enemy gets before the vehicle disappears into the night. the gratitude for getting her ass saved in a completely non-rehearsed yet heroic manner comes in form of a wolfish howl, a cigarette pack pulled out of the pocket, one white and yellow stick of future illnesses placed between lips before she’s holding out the rest to her rescuer, other hand simultaneously tapping every part of her jacket in search for a lighter. “how am i supposed to know?” vague answer to a valid question. “charles manson’s third cousin in law?” goes for a wild guess. “no clue, but i think her name’s sherry?” although now that she says it, she’s not so sure. “no, charlotte.” pauses. “cindy. no- shit, who cares? she’s fucking deranged, dude. thought i was trying to wed her weirdo boyfriend.” rolls her eyes, failing to mention whether the accusations were true or not. fingers finally find a lighter. “anyway, what were you doing? like, that was fucking sick and all, but there’s no way i’m gonna believe you were there ‘by a coincidence’.” delivers the last few words in her best mal voice. “were you tracking my phone or something?”
everandevermcre:
open starter / @liminalstart lounging ( at the bar or utp )
‘ i don’t mean to put my nose in anyone else’s business, ’ banks starts, turning toward the voice while pulling sleeves down to clench in - between his fingers and palms. ‘ but i can’t listen to you rag on yourself like that anymore. the only person you got 100% in this bullshit life is you. ’
tate and not minding their own fucking business? name a more iconic duo. it’s not like they’re being sneaky either, literally peeking at the other from behind a sticky drink menu, a smile tugging at the lips. the girl who banks chose to comfort from the sheer kindness of his heart looks no older than eighteen, her glossy green eyes filling with hope as she wipes the tears with the sleeve of the tacky sweater she consciously chose to wear in a public setting. she offers a smile, followed by a nod, followed by a sincere “you’re right!”, followed by a moment of empowerment when she gets up from her seat, phone back against the ear, expression at least thrice more confident as she goes off to tell whoever’s on the other end that she doesn’t need them anymore. tate’s obviously impressed - so impressed they feel the need to express it. “what was that?” approaches the other, a wide smile on face, a drink in hand. “alright, mr. motivational speaker. i see you.” a finger is pointed in the other’s direction before they’re shamelessly taking a seat next to him. “that was so hot. like, you know she’s gonna be thinking about it for the next four hours until the hesitation catches up and inevitably crushes her under the formidable soles of self-doubt.”
tcrtcard:
there was something about tate that reminded her of her best friend back home. loud, dramatic, enjoyed being the center of attention. nat felt at home in his personality. perhaps the first sense of home since moving to centralia. “it depends if you deserve it today, love.” she pats the seat beside her. “but you have to sit to find out your fate.”
tate scoffs, half amused, partially fascinated. while a huge sucker for being spoonfed, big fan of gobbling up information given by people kind or naive enough to get charmed by his snakey little smile, they do appreciate occasional uncertainty. it adds the extra sparkle to life, keeps them on their toes when they’re ready to rest. and nat? she’s a tough cookie to crack, so naturally, color him intrigued. “oooh, mysterious.” brows raise slightly as they take a seat across from the girl, hands on the table, cocky grin on full display. “are we doing palm readings?” makes it sound like the most exciting activity. “careful, love, i’ve got a degree in clairvoyance. if you bullshit me, i’ll know. and then..” head tilts to the side. “i’ll have to kill you.”
xemptywithyoux:
open to all || @liminalstart location: utp
“i knew it- the whole train restoration was pointless.” he sighed, taking a seat in front of the other. “not even a month, and the train is all full of graffiti and phallic figures all over. i should have made a bet about it.”
"phallic figures-” repeats, brows furrowed, a look of disgust sprawled across features, though definitely not for the reasons one might think. “fucking hell, danny. you know you can just say penis, right?”
xemptywithyoux:
…
river was quick to reach for a slice and take a bite from it. it was still warm, thank fuck, because really did not want to move a single inch away from this moment. he liked being near people, he loved the physical touch, even if it was only a graze of arms, or a head on his shoulder. it made him feel less alone, less empty inside, and less useless. it was as if there was some kind of meter in him that measured his happiness, and it was slowly filling up by the mere fact that he was not by himself. and yet, tate felt so far away from him that night. river would not exactly call himself an empath- it was hard for river to figure out what exactly was going on, if someone was upset, angry, or simply tired- it felt impossible to figure out. he usually tried to pull the other his way, try to make them laugh, throw some naughty suggestion that would usually land them into some more entertaining activities, but this time it would feel way out of place. even river knew that.
“you’re so not on a diet…” he shot him a quick glance with squinted eyes, his hand going to his stomach, simply moving over it because he could. “there’s a perfect amount of meat, muscle and love right here…” he smiled, kissing his shoulder in attempt to make him smile. “what’s wrong? you’re too quiet,” he almost whispered, looking down at him. it was not that he felt uncomfortable sharing the silence with tate- if anything, he was one of the only people he could do that with, it was simply… odd. “that’s very unlike you.”
"unbelievable. river!” lets out a faux-shocked little gasp, gently slapping the man’s chest, almost as if they absolutely can’t believe he’d doubt them like that. “are you suggesting i’m dishonest and a fraud?” laced with playful undertones, gaze meeting his. if the other is trying to make him feel better which he most probably is, bless his beautiful soul a hand on the stomach and a kiss to the shoulder is definitely the way to do it. the smile that spawns across their features is nothing short of genuine, an unusual glimpse of vulnerability behind the eyes as they cover the other’s hand with one of their own, fingers interlacing. “aw, stop it.” nose scrunches up slightly. “it’s like you want me to be obsessed with you.” teases, a small chuckle escaping before they’re bringing the man’s hand up to their lips, leaving a trail of soft kisses along his knuckle. there’s another moment of silence as tate tries to decide between making up stories of fake problems that won’t lead to him potentially talking about the past and simultaneously break his born flawless persona, or bringing up the real issue.. which could potentially help in the long run. sometimes it can be good to get stuff off of your chest. therapeutic. and river? if anything, they know they can trust him.
“something happened at the party.” finally admits, holding the other’s hand close to his chest for some extra comfort. “and i can’t stop thinking about it.” nods softly. “i was so high. really high. like, shaking hands with saint peter at the pearly gates high, and.. i suddenly started.. seeing things? i don’t know. like, obviously they were hallucinations but.. it all felt so.. real? i don’t know. it’s-” doesn’t even know how to begin explaining it. “it’s like i was right there again, in the middle of it, and i could- i could hear everything, feel everything but.. only in my head? i saw it all. my hands, they.. they were covered in blood, but then they.. weren’t? and the voices.. they wouldn’t stop screaming at me and.. i was screaming too? i think, i-i don’t know because it’s like i couldn’t connect with my body? there was this ringing in my ears, these sounds, like.. static, almost. i thought i was gonna die, but then.. it just went away?” brows furrow, a small, shaky sigh escaping. “i have never experienced anything like it, riv.” swallows, hesitant eyes meeting the other’s. “do you think my brain’s, like, broken? am i possessed?”
open to: all. location: anywhere, honestly. she’s really out here just beefing people on the streets. @liminalstart
“dude, choke on glass, i don’t give a shit about your ugly-ass boyfriend.” spits at the semi drunken girl who’s been accusing her of flirting with her pretentious e-boy husband material. “you can keep him. he smells like salami and puke anyway.” rolls her eyes, already in the process of making her grand departure when the woman starts bombarding her with insults. physically unable to be the ‘bigger person’ and not have the last word in an argument, alma does a little-half spin, walking backwards as she hurls her can of diet coke in the opponent’s direction with a tastefully detestable exit line: “fuck you, crazy cunt!” this, of course, only seems to wind up the other even more. when she sees the girl kick off her heels, alma realizes she might’ve entered a dangerous territory, so to avoid the risk of getting followed and punched in the face, she does the smartest thing she can think of in the moment, which is hopping into the passanger seat of the nearest parked car. slamming the door behind her, she turns to the person behind the wheel, notable urgency in the tone when she gives out the simple order: “drive!”