#ultesc

[luminarot]

@ultesc suddenly feels around the bed to search for Patrick's hand when they’re sleeping.

He doesn’t sleep very well these days. To tell the truth, he barely sleeps at all; it’s too easy to fall into a bad dream, to a world where they didn’t make it, where he’s still trapped in that god-awful basement, where he’s free but Julie isn’t and her dead eyes haunt the dawn. Sometimes, when he starts to drift, he can’t tell what’s real at all — so he stays up for hours just staring at the ceiling, listening to Julie breathe beside him. ( In, out, in, out. A steady, shaking thing. )

He memorizes the rhythm; he listens for her heartbeat, and tries to match his own in the chasm between, in the tangled space of rumpled sheets and a few bare inches that feel like a mile. When she shifts, he hears the hitch in her breath before he feels the movement, a minor hiccup that stalls meditation in a wash of panic. At the same moment she reaches out, he turns to her: in dim light, two lost souls reach across the void for their anchor, the only soft place left to land.

"I'm right here," Patrick murmurs, and his hushed voice sounds so loud in the quiet night. With fingers intertwined, he still shifts closer until he can place a kiss to her crown. "You with me, sunshine?"

[strnza]

"lift  up  your  hair,  baby  -  your  shoulders  are  startin'  to  burn."  the  request  is  gentle  but  commanding  as  eliza  leans  forward  in  her  dinky,  little  lawn  chair,  squeezing  some  coconut-scented  sunblock  into  her  palm  and  smearing  it  all  over  julie's  shoulders.

they're  planted  on  a  half-dead,  half-green  patch  of  grass  outside  eliza's  back  door,  the  farm  of  misfit  animals  that  eliza  calls  her  own  all  milling  around  &  relaxing  in  the  sun  along  with  the  two  women.  only  when  eliza  is  satisfied  with  the  newly-applied  lotion  to  julie's  shoulders  does  she  rub  the  nape  of  her  neck,  signaling  that  she  may  return  to  sunbathing  as  before.

"you  gotta  help  me  come  up  with  a  set  list  for  tomorrow,"  eliza  whines,  flopping  back  into  her  own  chair  &  resting  her  ankles  over  julie's  calf,  "booker  says  i  need  peppy  shit."

*    /    @ultesc  🤍

[publicabsent]

@ultesc: intimacy - muse a ( julie ) braids/brushes/works knots out of muse b’s hair. / accepting.

annette never really had a lot of friends. & she's definitely never had any sisters. (to be honest, she's a little afraid of other girls. the polite-but-not way some of them have, or the looks they give -- too much like her mother.) but this new frontier isn't as unwelcome as it may seem: after all, she sits very still as julie works through the wild thicket of curls that sits atop annette's head. it's soothing, really. she's always had to do these sorts of things herself. granted, her hair used to be much longer, but circumstances have altered that fact. it had to be chopped short after her escape with the group, the knots too matted to be undone. she'd cried, sure; it was something small to comprehend after some strangers saved her life.

the frail brunette draws one knee up to her chest, eyes half-closed. "um ... n-n -- nob-bod-dy's ev - ver ... um. d-d-don-ne th - this f'r me b'fore. ... th - than-nks."

[t4mpered]

❛ i'm sorry i can't turn off my feelings as easily as you. ❜

she's right. she's right and he hates that she is. she's right, but she isn't. sure, he can flip a switch and pretend that everything goes dark and settles back into the shadows, he can numb the gnawing sensation with one drink, two, five, and more, but in reality it just casts what he feels every which way. they have nowhere to go and so they web out like ivy against the walls of his heart and hold fast. a parasite he can't shake. a leaky faucet that keeps him up at night with a steady drip, drip, drip down the drain. static on a tv in a dilapidated house while screams echo in the basement corridors. blood he can't wash off. she's right, though. she is. and he hates that, too, because it means she knows him still. still, after everything. still, like time has slowed again and they're getting ready for a summer and everything carries on like normal around them. around their friends.

how can you be known when you don't even know yourself most days anymore?

danny's lip curls, hand running frustrated through his hair. he wants to bite. he wants to leave. he wants to take everything she's throwing at him, all the live-wire feelings she's emanating, and help her, but he can't. he fucking can't.

he can't even help himself.

"maybe you should practice, then," he says. and it sounds like stop bleeding out on the floor. he hates it the moment it leaves his mouth, but he's good about not retracting the barbs he leaves out. julie doesn't deserve any of this. he looks at her now and can't unsee the smeared tear lines of makeup on her face. can't stop hearing how she sounded when she was really hurt. really scared.

they survived.

why does it feel like they're both strung up in the dark then?

"... i'm sorry," and he is. sorry for not being better at all this. sorry for not being able to talk about things. sorry is a shitty word. he hates it. he knows better than to reach out, but he does anyway. hand extended out, palm up. hands littered in scarring. a mechanic's no good without his hands, you know?

he needs another hit. of something strong.

"c'mere. you're right." he tries.

he tries because losing more people can't be an option.

"you're right, jules." : @ultesc

[luminarot]

@ultesc said: “It’s getting crowded. Here, hold my hand.”

Colored lights cast the room in hazy hues not unlike the ones Patrick likes to live in, floating through some stranger's house with an easy grin and a joint in his pocket. Lazy Texas heat has left his shirt loose a few extra buttons, sweat sticking the patterned fabric to his back even with the cool blessings of indoor air conditioning — but it hasn't stopped him yet, lingering close to Julie as some new crowd drifts on by, bumping shoulders as he offers the drink he's nabbed her from the kitchen. Even a seasoned veteran could use a drink in this heat.

Really, the party's only just getting started; there's still pleasant fuzz humming out of the cabinet in the corner, an intermission between each vinyl's switch, a chance to rest and call out requests when he's not laughing with Julie or trying to dance. They hadn't arrived early by any means, but the sudden influx of people marks a noticeable shift in the night's activity. ( After all, every evening’s promise needs a beginning. )

There's also some promise in an outstretched hand, which Patrick takes without hesitation. Julie barely even has to ask before he's weaving calloused fingers in hers. "There. Now you won't lose me," he says, grinning all the while. His head tips to the side, warm hues shining in a teasing glint as he leans in to ask the age-old question: "What's the game plan, California?"

[moldcursed]

@ultesc sent : sender leans on receiver for support.

she’s bleeding. there’s always so much blood here, always so much death. it’s hell in this fucking horror show, and it never gets any easier to deal with. julie moves to lean against his side, and immediately ethan’s arm wraps around her, face twisting with concern.

“ they got you good, didn’t they? ” the words are a careful whisper. anything louder might risk overhearing. “ you’re lucky to have gotten away. ”

ethan glances around. they’re not exactly in the safest of locations — the risk of them being caught here is higher than he’s comfortable with — but she needs to be patched up, there’s no way around it.

tightening his grip around her, ethan sighs and says, “ we’ve gotta try and stop that bleeding before it gets worse. ” a brief pause. “ probably need to find somewhere a little safer, though. you think you’re up for that? ” he won’t let go of her — he’ll let her lean on him every step of the way.

[t4mpered]

@ultesc: didn't like the sc but gets this anyway. ) he isn't what anyone could usually call a team player. lone wolf, as cheesy as it sounds, is more up his alley. not because he opts for that out of disdain for company, but because it's always been easier. always moving around. always shuffling. nothing ever feeling like it has a sense of permanence. arriving in austin, he had no expectations for anything. expectations always led to disappoints. all he could do was focus on himself. get himself from point a to point b and hopefully not get derailed again.

until he met all of them.

there's a vague sense of belonging when it comes to this group of people. like maybe they're missing some similar bits and pieces, too. he isn't one to delve deep into metaphor, but this feeling has him out at a damn sports event when otherwise he would've been content to stay at his place alone. studying. tinkering away at some of his projects.

"told you i'd make it," he says when julie's away from the victory high fives and pats on the back. not a flex, but as a hey, i held to my word. "how you feelin', champ?"