TAGGED BY: @parvumchao // thankies love~!!!
TAGGING: @schattenwerfenkeineschatten, @miidnighters, @escapedartgeek, @troublesomecousin, @hangtenn, and anyone else who wants to do this~!
⚓ Are there any small details you tend to like in roleplays?
𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑 𝐔𝐏 𝐈𝐍 𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐒 & 𝐁𝐎𝐖𝐒 . . . really love it when someone tells me about their character's outfit, what they smell like, & really any small details that I can then have my muse ( or not have them ) notice about your muse. I love to be able to bounce off others' writing to give my character more knowledge on your muse, even if it is a surface-level bit of knowledge. That way, my muse can make assumptions about your muse.
[ FIVE FIGHTS ] send for the five times our muses almost get into a fight and the one time they do. (Oh shit, Shaun and Stu 👀)
@parvumchao || 5 times
i.
Everyone knows that Danny's was where the best ragers used to happen, but with him off to med school? The slot for party house was up for grabs. Sure, Steve could just take over, but not without competition. Stu's house is every bit as remote as theirs, with the added bonus of actual fucking room to park. Thanks vineyards. He's been putting the word out for a hot second, talking up the privacy the folks' farm offers. Plenty of places to smoke a little, take a girl to a couple of spots he can point out, not to mention the regularly scheduled emptiness of the house itself.
He goes all out for the first bash of the new school year— geared up and ready to make his mark. Fucking pushes the limits of his fake id in every town he can drive to without being recognized as the Macher's boy. Leslie's little brother. Not that little anymore, fuck yeah! Bottles are absolutely stacked in the kitchen. Enough ice in the fridges, upstairs and downstairs, to host penguins. He's got food, mixers, a stash of bud to share... no way he doesn't he doesn't make the case that Casa de Macher is the only place to be all year! Every Friday night, every three-day weekend, every break! Guaranteed to be hosting a good time. Money-back guarantee on satisfaction, he promises, tongue wagging.
"This is it?"
Conlon's words drift over pounding music and chatter both, worming their way into Stu's ears and making the drink in his red solo cup suddenly taste like somebody spit in it. What?!
Head's on a pivot instantly. Looking for the complainer— looking for the why. What could possibly be missing from his house or his party to find it lacking?!
And there he stands, fucking jerk, drinking one of Stu's beers and turning up his nose like he's too good to hang. Talking shit. Surrounded about a bunch of ain't shit friends with not near enough social power between them to dare nod agreement too obviously. They bluster noise instead. Nowhere else to be.
"What the fuck did you just say?" The couch between them gets hopped by stretched out boy with mile long limbs. Yeah that's right asshole, gotta look up to talk shit to me. Predictably everyone in the splash zone makes room, gets themselves to impromptu ringside for the expected fight.
Well, almost everyone. Billy's voice cuts through the bullshit like cracked whip, too cool to want to be bothered with something beneath him like rolling around on floor, even just to break it up. Stu feels his hand on back of his shirt's neck, curling and ready to pull. On the other side Junior does something similar, putting his hand to Shaun's chest, not yet holding back but close enough. Whatever.
"What happened to the music?!" Stu pivots, letting himself be manhandled away and acting like it's all good and part of the plan. Music. Mood. He can bring it back. It only takes a couple of winks and grins before everything is back to the way it was before.
Conlon's been on his shit list ever since.
ii.
Somehow, Stu's not surprised that the next time he's ready to jump Conlon for his crimes, it's on account of Billy. They're a connected scale that way. Balance. It doesn't mean he knows what's happened, but it doesn't much matter to him either. He sees the secret tension coiling his best friend tight beneath loose white-tee and just FEELS ready to do whatever they have to about it.
A quick sweep in the same direction as Billy's glare makes enough connections. Lou's reading Conlon the riot act. Christina? Christina, he thinks... looks like she's trying not to look annoyed. Yeah. That'd do it... for some reason. Stu wasn't wise to why. Didn't need to be. If Billy leaped, he'd follow.
Or... actually like, remember that's a bad idea. Billy would hate it and himself later. Put the plan in danger. Better to just open yap and cause a distraction of his own. Billy can take it out on him later in private.
Conlon doesn't deserve having his life saved, but it's not about him.
iii.
Eight, nine, ten parties later... Stu's gotten his way. His spot is the place to be when there's nothing else to do in town. There's always food, music and a crowd so nobody's lonely. It means if Shaun wants to hang the same place as most of his friends? It's gotta be there.
Sometimes it doesn't take more than that.
Ladies and gentlemen, in the blue corner, failing out of B track and all around jerkwad: CONLON! And in the red corner, the host with the most, boytoy to Woodsboro's hottest girls, MACHER!
They meet eyes and vibes like they're just waiting for the bell to ring.
They keep waiting.
iv.
Stu's got one hand on the wheel, one arm around Casey— his latest usual when school's out for the day. Take a little ride to Bradley's. Get something sweet to snack on. Something scary to cuddle about. Good night guaranteed, keeping him all grins— at least until his backing out of his parking spot suddenly calls for slamming his brakes over that jumped up truck Conlon drives for no reason. Blared horns become exchanged fingers. If Shaun had been on his little bike instead no doubt they would have finally come to blows about something. Instead they've each got shotgun passengers who help. Casey begs him to let it go. Junior or Lou or whoever probably eggs Shaun to do the same.
Secretly, Stu inks Conlon's name on the list nobody knows about. He doesn't fit the theme, but he'll be damned if he doesn't make Stu itch for his hunting knife. He'd give him something to gurgle about.
v.
Where one girl goes, usually a couple follow. Stu's learning these things. Whole clusters of them like to take off for the bathrooms together in between classes and come back with Chapstick reapplied, hair tousled or fixed or put up... chattering and treating the facilities like some kind of conference room. Weird but fascinating, the same way nature documentaries that show strange animal mating routines are.
Turns out, they group up and exit together about a lot of other things too. All he hears is one singular, "You're such an asshole!" and before he can investigate, there's a parade of schoolmates all making their way out his front door, consoling the girl in the lead. What the fuck? Sure, his parties are always a little skewed in the boy-girl department but not like they will be if he doesn't get to the bottom of this.
So OF COURSE it's Conlon standing around in the crater of momentary devastation.
"What are you trying to get a sausage-fest going, dude?! Why don't you just take Junior upstairs and use my parents bedroom for that, you dick! You don't fucking have to clear the girls out."
No time to fight about it now. Stu's got amends to make, moods to fix. He's going to put the word out though, to whoever keeps inviting that asshole that they're going to end up as ex-communicado as him if they don't stop.
i.
With every step he takes throughout the day to track Conlon down, Stu can't help but see the image of the night previous. Lou. At his door, teary-eyed, hurt voiced, sporting rapidly bruising knuckles and a bottle that was more empty than her broken heart. She's the fuel that keeps him going. Armstrong to Reilly and beyond. Shaking them down for details on how to find him. Where he is— or when he'll be somewhere.
Conlon doesn't know it, but it's just lucky for him that Stu doesn't have the kit stashed on him. Too soon. Not yet. It's not even for these purposes, but Shaun drives him to feeling like the boy he becomes when he pulls on the shroud and dons the mask. If he had it his way? Shit, if he was Billy with his plans upon plans upon plans? Yeah, he'd make a game out of the hunt. Call him up at his house with the modulator, creep him out good, get him sweaty and scared before stalking out from the shadows to gut him and string him up somewhere.
Instead he has to settle for keeping his word to Eddie, letting him know what Sparrow said. Practice. Being back in time for it. That's an interception they can run.
And do.
Stu pays no nevermind to still being on school grounds. It's Lou's broken heart, her sniffles, her upset, her pleading questions towards him about her worth that play like soundtrack set to REPEAT all while he waits. Winding him tighter. Blurring his vision. So that when he finally spots Shaun trying to make quick work of crossing the school lawn to get to where he needs to go? All he sees is RED. Big giant red flags waving him on, spurring him into action.
No words. Just swings. Surprise motherfucker kind of upper-cut for a hello and a tag-team ass-kicking to follow.
At least until they get broken up by force and numbers bigger than boy in love can tackle without a knife.
can you zip this for me ? it just won't stay. (Aisling hehe)
Make a Demand - Accepting - @parvumchao
"Baby girl, you ain't gotta ask me twice." He sizes her up before he moves an inch in her direction. She looks good. Real good. That dress fit her curves in all the right ways. Made him want to slide it back off of her, toss it aside so they could go another round or two.
Alas. Places to be. People to charm. It's a shame but.. It's the name of the game.
What if they kissed - Lou, but it's not like their usual angry, dirty kisses 🤔
but what if smooch? || @parvumchao || no longer accepting
Grief is a strange thing. It takes him weird places and gives him the unexpected. Reflections of an eighteen year old with a bag slung over one shoulder, and a girl held in his other arm, holding her up to kiss goodbye.
Just when he'd made up his mind to talk to Sal about Seminary and the vision he had for going forward... Ma died. Right before he could even do ONE thing to make her proud of him. Sure, it wasn't going to be rosy and perfect the way she might have wanted, he was never gonna cut his other family out entirely, but... it would have been better than burning his saint and getting made, surely.
The old man did him the courtesy of taking care of her before biting it right there on his bedroom floor, the BASTARD. The audacity, after everything else he'd done, had made Frank see red. The need to find someone and make them hurt came roaring back, filling chest with rage and hands with white-knuckle tension, ready to fly. He didn't hit a church about it, but one of Sal's joints where he was cleared to drink as long as he didn't get sloppy. It'd been a decent escape until Vince Mancino started in on his usual bullshit. Frank fled before he could do something he'd regret the rest of his life.
The recruiter caught him soon after that, saw the potential in him despite his beer-breath and underage status combo. Maybe he was just low on his quota. Frank didn't care. He signed all the same.
Then he went drinking some more. Finding the haunts that catered to his crowd, cruising the house-parties, looking for trouble and outlet and finding it more often than not— getting to vent his bile, roar his dissatisfaction, and pound flesh into substitute submission for the higher powers he couldn't actually put paws on.
Somewhere in that haze, he finds HER.
Lou is... bark AND bite. She's tough medicine. Wit sharp enough to cut him down to size, hands gentle when they tend to his bruises, all the while she reams him out for being some kind of asshole. Ruining parties. Not thinking beyond himself. Did he know how long she needed that? No. He's never seen her on the block in his life. She sounds like somewhere else entirely. Wasn't his intention to get the joint busted or to have to flee with some weird ass guardian girl-angel. Huh.
Frank takes her to the last place he wants to go. Home. Been avoiding it since the old man got wheeled out in draped sheets. It's also the last sanctuary left to him. He gives her the tour, lets her put steak on his face and breaks out the inherited liquor stash as amends, making up as good a time as he can on short notice with no crowd.
A few weeks later his Direct Ship ass is begging her to stay. Keep the joint afloat for him while he's gone. It's paid off. He can send what he makes as soon as he starts making it and even with utilities it's gotta be cheaper than rent. She'd have it to herself. She can redecorate or demolish, that's how much he cares. So long as she's still around... a little something to come back for.
"Every day confirms my belief of the inconsistency of all human characters" (Pearl, bc i can't be calling her Bullet here XD)
Jane Austen Sentences
"The very nature of character is to be consistent. It is only a shallow understanding of one's traits that would lead you to think so. For someone to have the capacity for both good and bad temper, does that make them inconsistent, or does it make them human?"
"Do you know any lesbians? Or bi/pan ladies?" Lux blushed. "Asking for a friend who's new to town." And totally not her.
"I don't pay that much attention to people." Ben said with a shrug, but a eyebrow shifted in Lux's direction. "Might know a couple of that persuasion if I really think about it."
[TXT]: That pretty much sounds like the same thing
[TXT]: Now I look like the foolish one, standing here with six pizzas in my hands
[TXT]: And no one to eat them with
