archivesctrccio

[archivesctrccio]

summary. it’s been twenty-five years and the scar still opens up when you strain your hand too much. a triangle and circle, connected, and then adorned with two lines and a hook. you faintly remember how charlotte would preach, even blessed shauna’s firstborn with this damned symbol. warnings. implied female reader past branding from charlotte past sa trauma from charlotte reader has a panic attack hurt, no comfort religious doubt post season 2 | if you see me projecting, no you don’t, and this is also very self indulgent stats. english is not my first language 860 words

     it’s a tranquil day here in wiskayok. it’s 3pm and the sun is glaring just right against your kitchen window. the faint sound of high schoolers driving home; the drag of their wheels against asphalt, the steady purr of their engines, the distant melodies of whatever kids listen to nowadays. it’s calm, washing the dishes. the soft thrum of water, the sound of porcelain clicking against the steel sink.

     the sponge, soft against your fingers, drains itself against the surface with every squeeze. soap runs down your hand, causing a sting. it seems you squeezed too hard again.

     you let go of the plate and let its bottom chip against the sink to inspect your palm. long, fluid creases make up most of its surface. creases akilah said meant you’d live a long, fulfilling life. creases charlotte would trace with the dullest of blades and then dig.

     it’s been twenty-five years and the scar still opens up when you strain your hand too much. a triangle and circle, connected, and then adorned with two lines and a hook. you faintly remember how charlotte would preach, even blesses shauna’s firstborn with this damned symbol.

     you can feel the static start forming in your head, the dizziness that hits you every time. twenty-five years since charlotte first got sent to switzerland, twenty-five years since she last came into your hut and told you to go back to sleep.

     the feel of her as you squirmed, praying to whatever god is real for her to just please get off faster.

     “the wilderness is pleased with you, yn,” she’d murmur, smoothing your dress and tucking you in like you were a babe. a small kiss pressed to your forehead and a faint apology whispered as she left your hut.

     you remember the first time it happened. unwillingly blissed out and all you said after the struggle was, “please don’t leave me alone.”

     she was already gone by the time you’d cleared your head enough to talk.

     you’re remembering too much, you realize. vision blurred, breathing labored, and you’ve dropped the sponge, too. just take a deep breath. breath in—one, two, three, four, five. get up. breath out—one, two, three, four, five. place down the sponge.  breath in—one, two, three, four, five. reach the leftmost cupboard.  breath out—one, two, three, four, five.

     dismiss the antihistamines, drop a few boxes of tylenol, and grab the box of alprazolam. xanax, written on the label in navy blue. uncapped with a bit of a struggle, trying to focus your eyes on anything but the window.

     times like this, it feels like the view of trees around your house was a mistake. they seem to become bigger and their shadows feel more like a cage than a nice, cool shade. when buying the property, it had been a selling point, but now you just want to go live in the middle of the desert where nothing except yourself can haunt you.

     you serve yourself a cup of water, cold from the fridge, a few droplets spilling. being too lost in thought makes you clumsy, prevents you from seeing just how full your glass gets. however, you go back to the goal, stabilizing yourself.

     maybe you don’t need the pills anymore, you think, but the leftover tremors through your hands and the ringing in your ears that’s trying to crawl back tells you otherwise. you split the pill through its wedge and swallow one half.

     now, just give it 10 minutes so it can start doing its thing. patch yourself up, you got this.

     you leave behind the glass and mess of medicines to find some gauze. you first wash your hands, rinsing the drying blood. a tube of aquaphor then makes itself known, the paste gently smoothed into your hand with a cotton swab. right after, you drape the gauze over and around your palm, trapping the last bits of blood.

     coincidentally, when you’ve just finished, your doorbell rings. you reach for a towel, dry your tears, and walk to the front door. your steps are a bit uneven, the residue of what just happened—a term you won’t acknowledge lest your friends insist you go back to therapy—visible.

     opening the door, looking downwards at the ground, you first notice a suitcase. your eyes trail up and—no, this isn’t real.

     “yn?” they call out.

     your hands are rubbing your eyes, this has to be some sort of joke. whatever god you prayed to back then clearly isn’t real because why—why—would they do this to you? you’ve done nothing but be good and you don’t understand why this is happening, you don’t understand.

     your face goes rigid and you’re about to close the door and sleep it off when they envelop you into a hug. “i’m discharged, did you miss me?” they whisper. you don’t want to believe it, you don’t want to believe she’s here.

     “i won’t leave you this time, i promise,” she adds.

     no. you don’t want it anymore. fuck her and her aftercare, you don’t want her, you don’t—

     she lets herself inside, pushing past a shaking you.

[archivesctrccio]

being college roommates with shauna .ᐟ

warnings: no crash au. modern au. (kind of) band au. (kind of) underage drinking. (kind of) enemies to lovers. fem!reader. ‘girly’ used as a nickname (twice). kissing except i have no idea how to write any kind of physical intimacy. i can’t write dialogue. nothing bad happens to her but she’s still a dick (and she secretly wants you).

word count: 4k+

a/n: hey sweetness… i have never been a college student (surprise!) so this is probably terribly inaccurate so sorry about that x i’ve been delirious the entire time writing this also

having shauna as a roommate is a blessing and a curse, really.

she’ll stay up late to help you with an assignment she knows nothing about, but won’t clean up after herself. she pitches in for basics like bread, soap and the water bill, but she blasts her music so loudly in the shower when you’re trying to sleep that you’ve started to use earplugs at night. you’ve tried to tell her to keep the music quiet, but she gives you a weak frown, “you’re just like my mom.” and you really don’t want to unpack that with her at 1 a.m. when you have class in the morning, so you grit your teeth a bear it another day.

she’ll come up to you on a random tuesday night to disturb your comfortable sleep. “hey. hey, can i borrow some money?” when you wipe your eyes and squint at her she gives you a smile, “i’ll pay you back.” and you can’t be bothered to argue with her when you look over at those glowing red letters on your nightstand that read 2:47 a.m. so you wave her away and grumble, “fine.” she places a hand over her heart in a dramatic fashion, sighing, “you’re so good to me.”

then, a week later, is happens again. it’s just that this time, she’s giving you something. a small flimsy square of plastic. you flick on your lamp and stare down at it. it’s a fake ID. the picture on it is the exact same one that’s on your student ID. she leans over slightly when she sees your confused expression, “isn’t it cool? i know a guy who knows a guy. he did me good for them. i got one, too. see?” she says, holding up her own to your face. “it was $300 for both of ‘em. i think that’s a good deal.” she went on, her tone shifting to one that made it sound like she was trying to convince herself of that.

“look, i figured you’d wanna get drinks sometime. not with me- i mean, just in general. you should be saying thanks.” she tells you, giving a sly little shrug. when you roll your eyes at her and flick off your light, she scoffs softly, muttering “fuck you, bitch,” under her breath.

she’s constantly bringing in new gear. your first year as roommates, all she had was an acoustic guitar. she’d play it for you sometimes, a short tune to impress you with. but, when she realised that you seemed okay with having a musician as a roomie, she got her first electric guitar; a nice fender stratocaster. you had no problem with it at first, considering that she didn’t have an amp, so she would just sit on her bed, fidgeting with the strings. she’d look so upset when she did it that you almost pitied her. almost.

and then, she started practicing. her amp was situated at the end of her bed, facing the door, so every single time you came back after a lecture or from lunch, you would get whiplash from whatever angsty rock song she was playing. “jesus, shauna! do you know how many people have complained about noise from our dorm already this semester?” you ask her, furiously tossing your book bag at her.

“uh, yeah,” she starts, throwing your bag down to the floor, “they can’t kick me out. my grades are top tier. i’m the best in all my classes. it’s be a loss to them if they got hung up over something silly like a bit of noise.” she boasts, unplugging her amp with a grin. that stupid face. that face that stares up at you and sneers, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

it gets worse, of course, when other peoples instruments end up in your dorm. you woke up one morning, got up to brush your teeth and stepped straight through someone’s snare drum. you didn’t hear the end of that for a long time. “are you stupid? do you not look where you’re walking?” the brunette asks you furiously, holding her phone up to the side of her face.

“god. y’know, all that gear isn’t cheap. fuck. i’m gonna have to replace the whole kit now.” and she tries to pace around the room, but it’s ever so hard when there’s nowhere to step but onto strings or sticks, so that she almost feels bad for yelling at you.

she feels “so bad” in fact, that she invites you along to a gig. well, it’s less of an invite and more of a threat. “we’re doing a gig down at that bar in town. y’know the one with the big glass windows? you’re coming. you’re gonna cheer and dance, ‘kay? it’s the least you could do after wrecking everything.” she spits at you when she catches you studying in the library one day.

she doesn’t bother to lower her voice or even sit down with you; she needs to keep her reputation alive. on the inside, deep down, she really just wants to see what outfit you’ll show up in, if you’ll try to get in with the band. maybe, you’ll even go as far to call yourself a groupie so you can get free drinks with that brand spanking new ID she “bought” for you.

the venue itself was pretty small, a short stage near the back that could fit six or seven people and their gear, a cluttered bar to the left, and stairs on the right to the balcony. it’s very… modern, to say the least. you had passed by it a few times before, taking a peek in, and it was always full of freshly turned 21 year old girls in short mini skirts and halter tops. honestly, it fit shauna. sure, she was a bit scruffy and annoying but you knew she’d try to hit it off with at least two chicks minding their business at the bar.

so, the night of the gig, you got all dolled up. you put on your party clothes, with nice knee high boots and a flashy watch. you figured that they would make you look a little bit older, more like the age on your ID. your makeup was simple, dark eyeshadow, mild lipstick, some pink blush on the tip of your nose. shauna had already left an hour or two before you started to get ready, to get her head in the game.

the gig was due to start at 10:30, so you started your walk into town at 10. you knew you’d get there with time to spare. you tousled your hair in the bathroom mirror just before you left your dorm, grabbing your handbag with all of your essentials and spritzed on some woodsy smelling perfume. you couldn’t remember the last time someone had invited you out to a gig, but you could remember the smell. sweat, beer, nickels… you ultimately decided to bring your perfume with you.

when you got to the bar, you shakily handed your ID to the bouncer and showed him the confirmation email you had gotten from a sketchy ticket website on your phone. shauna couldn’t spare the $20, so she forced you to buy a ticket. you had hoped to the gods that she would put all of that practice to good use. the bouncer waved you in and you let out a heavy breath, putting your phone back into your bag.

the sound of chatter had ready began filling your ears when you stepped inside, the lights were low, a spotlight shining onto the stage at the far back. you took a few cautious steps towards the bar and ordered yourself a drink. you sat on a stool, watching a small crowd gather towards the front of the stage. you flicked your wrist, watching gleaming with the time 10:20. they should be starting soon.

the whole night after your drinks was a blur. it was a shame, really, getting so drunk you wouldn’t be able to humiliate shauna about how she played. it wasn’t your fault, though. they started a half an hour late, and you were getting antsy. so, you took a few shots with a group of girls who had a crush on the lead singer of the band. real groupies, you thought. once the band came out on stage, and you saw shauna’s stupid grin on her face, you had remembered to cheer and dance to the music, like she had told you to.

you got lost in the music. you hadn’t realised how well shauna could play when she wanted to. then, you realised that she was staring straight at you the whole time. you tried to give each member of the band your attention, and you’d occasionally look over at shauna; but she was already looking at you. you didn’t know how to take it. maybe she wanted you to cheer louder? dance harder? you didn’t know, so you furrowed your eyebrows at her and shook your head. you could see her lips turn up and chuckle, shaking her head in return. it flustered you. you drank too much. surely that was it.

eventually, the music stopped and the lead singer said his thanks. you paid in cash at the bar and left a nice tip, for which you got a smile in return. you left the bar and the cold night air nipped at your skin. you should’ve brought a coat. you pulled your phone out, checking for any missed calls or notifications, but there were none. it was past 12:30 at night by this point, and you were tired out of your mind. sighing, you took a seat on the curb, deciding to wait for shauna.

the minutes on your watch ticked by, growing groggier by the second. finally, you heard the door to the bar creak open, and shauna stepped out, taking in a deep breath. you looked back at her and pushed yourself up from the ground. “hey,” you said, stepping towards her. “hi,” she began, “were you waiting for me?” she asked, her tone a little bit too cocky for your taste. “yeah, so what? it’s a nice thing to do for somebody. why don’t you have your stuff?” you questioned, taking notice to how she wasn’t carrying her guitar case. she shrugged slightly, “oh. eh, they’re keeping it all there overnight, we’ll come get it in the morning,” she told you, giving a slight nod in the direction of your dorm.

“that’s… okay.” you said, starting your walk back. “you, uh, kept staring at me. i noticed that,” you added, glancing over in her direction. she left out a short scoff, shoving her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. “yeah. yeah, i was. just making sure you were having fun, that’s all.” you gave a short hum of approval, nodding. made perfect sense. after all, that’s what you were there to do. look like you were having a good time.

“you played really well. i honestly didn’t think you could,” you admitted to her with a chuckle. she faked a gasp, nudging you with her elbow, “rude. i’m very good, actually. it’s just that you won’t let me play how i like.” you rolled your eyes at that. it’s not that you won’t let her play, it’s the other people on your floor. besides, you preferred when she played her acoustic for you.

she was drunk, you could tell with the way she was stumbling every few steps, how her cheeks were pinker than usual. drinking on the clock was not unexpected from her. she had told you a story, during the first month of rooming together, about how she was fired from her job as a cashier in a café downtown because she showed up either drunk or hungover three times each week. she worked five days a week.

you had made it about halfway back, when she stopped you at a street corner. “uh, wait,” she said, holding a hand up in front of you to stop you. “what’s up? you gonna vomit?” you asked her, a grimace growing on your face. “shauna, please don’t throw up on me.” she huffed out a laugh, “ha. um, no. no, i’m not gonna vomit. holy fuck.” she was hyperventilating by this point, and you couldn’t do anything to help except offer her an old breath mint that was sitting all by its lonesome at the bottom of your handbag.

she waves it off, rubbing her eyebrows. “i just, uh..” she lowers her hand from her face and sighs. “fuck.” she breathes out, reaching forward to take your face into her hands. she doesn’t even give you a second to think before she’s pressing her lips to yours. the kiss is heavy, her fingers kneading into the back of your neck like she’s trying to soothe you. she pulls away after a moment too long with your lips connected and says “sorry. i’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” and starts her walk back again.

you’re dizzy. you don’t know what to think. you’re sure your own blush you applied earlier isn’t doing you any justice. so, you just follow behind her by a few steps like a puppy dog. the rest of the walk back is silent, except for a few giggles leaving your lips every so often.

when you both get back, she helps you take off your makeup. she sits you up on the toilet seat, smearing your eyeshadow around your face with no apparent goal to reach. it’s a confusing interaction, since the whole time, not a word is said but “sit up,” as though she wasn’t having a whole freak out about whether or not to kiss you not even twenty minutes ago.

when she’s decided she’s done with her lousy attempt at cleaning up your face, she gives your thigh a tap. “alright, girly. time to sleep.” she says tiredly, taking your hand and guiding you out of the bathroom.

halloween is taken very seriously by shauna. she was one of those kids that sat behind bushes in order to jump out and terrify the other kids. she would spend hours trick or treating, setting up decorations, carving pumpkins, the whole shabang.

close to halloween, she gets a short term job as a scarer in a haunted house set up in the city. it’s a simple job, wear weird makeup and yell at people. she was already good at the latter, so you helped her do her makeup, though you called it face paint. it was insulting to call something that made her absolutely hideous ‘makeup’.

she’d blabber on to you about things going on between her coworkers while you tried to paint her lips black, but she’d just end up smudging it. “stop moving,” you mumble, swiping a thin paintbrush over her bottom lip. “you’re making me mess up.” she rolls her eyes, shutting her mouth. “if you actually want to scare people and get that money, you have to look scary, shauna. no one’s gonna be afraid of you if you look…” you gestured vaguely towards her, “regular.”

“i look nothing like an ordinary person,” she says through her teeth, as to not be lectured by you once more. “ain’t that the truth,” you chuckle out, finishing the last minor details of her face paint.

she glances back towards the mirror and grins. “you actually did a good job, i do look pretty creepy.” you smile at that, bowing your head in faux appreciation. “ooh, i have a pair of black contacts if you wanna wear those? they’ll completely black out your eyes. though, i guess that wouldn’t look very different to your eyes already,” you tell her, leaning your chin onto her shoulder as she admires herself in the bathroom mirror.

she gives a slight shake of her head, “nah. this looks good already. you sure you’re not an art major?” “ha ha,” you say stiffly, starting the cleanup of your products. “do you have any plans for halloween?” you ask her as she leaves the bathroom. “nope,” she calls out to you. “i’m gonna stay here, probably watch some scary movies.” you nod along to her words as though she can see you. “sounds like a plan.”

you weren’t planning on staying in on halloween. actually, you were planning quite the opposite; going out and getting drunk off your mind. maybe going to a frat party or two. but, since shauna had said she was staying in… you were sure she would want some company on the spookiest night of the year.

picture this; it’s halloween. shauna’s just got off her shift at the haunted house, you’ve finished up your three hour study session and you’re fresh out of the shower in some festive pyjamas. the window is cracked open an inch, letting in the freezing cold air. screams of both terror delight can be heard from outside. you’re cleaning off shauna’s face paint as you both argue over which movie to start your marathon with. there’s a bowl of popcorn between you and a bag of on-sale candy. you’re positive it’s stale. but it doesn’t matter. the tv you’ve got in your dorm is so old your positive it could play vhs if you tried. it’s shauna’s moms old one, the type that still uses dvds. you think it’s just a piece of junk, but shauna says her mom was going to throw it out anyway if no one was going to use it.

there’s a pumpkin patterned blanket sprawled across both of your laps. “i think we should watch halloween,” shauna says, “it’s literally called halloween for a reason.” you purse your lips, dissatisfied. “no, but you make a good point. michael myers isn’t good looking enough for his own movie. we should watch scream. it’s a classic.” shauna, very fortunately, agreed with you on that part. and she thought sidney was crazy hot, but she wouldn’t mention that.

she put the dvd into the player and hopped back onto your tiny couch with you. you passed her the bowl of popcorn and pressed play on the remote. “i like this one the best out of all of the scream movies,” she said in a whisper. “yeah, me too. the rest of them suck. except for the fourth one. that’s the only other solid one,” you replied, lowering your tone to match hers. she gave a silent nod, directing all of her attention towards the tv.

at the thirty minute mark, you turn towards shauna, the popcorn bowl half empty by this point. “hi.” she glances over at you quickly, “hey.” “do you wanna make out?” you ask her, almost a little ashamed at how easily those words left your lips. “nah, i’m- really?” her attention is completely on you now, actually listening to what you’re saying. she really is so predictable. “well, like, yeah. but, if you don’t wanna…” you trail off, expecting her to get the hint. she lets out a scoff. “are you kidding?” she asks sardonically, a slightly annoyed look on her face.

“so, yes?” she blinks at you once, twice, then nods wordlessly. she shifts closer to you, her knees pressing against your thighs, her hands snaking their way up to your hair. she presses a kiss to an exposed part of your chest, then the side of your neck, then your chin. she stops, pulling back from you slightly.

“hi,” she says, a little breathlessly. you let out a short giggle, “hi, girly.” “shut up,” she mumbles, weakly kissing your bottom lip. pushing herself upwards slightly, her lips finally connect with yours and she lets out a breath through her nose. you rest your hands low on her hips, giving you some control over the moment. she’s wearing a loose pair of black shorts which allow the touch of your fingertips on her skin to leave goosebumps in their wake, and she shivers slightly. “are you cold?” you ask against her lips, and she shakes her head stiffly. “mhm,” she grunts out, only kissing you harder to get you to shut up. “c’mere,” she says quietly, leaning backwards against the couch, patting her lap.

she’s a dog. but, you do as you’re instructed. you leave a kiss on her shoulder as you move towards her, your knees on either side of her thighs. the movie continued playing in the background, another girl onscreen screaming for her life. you lower your head, closer to shauna’s, your hands placed firmly on her shoulders. you nudge her head upwards with your nose, giving her cheek a gentle kiss. she smiles at that, grabbing your chin between her thumb and index finger, guiding your lips towards hers. “you’re so hot,” she mutters, another soft kiss landing on your lips. and before she can continue, there’s a knock at the door. perfect timing.

you look down at her, eyebrows furrowing in annoyance. you were finally getting somewhere with shauna and, of course, you had to be interrupted. shauna looks up at you, shakes her head slowly and shrugs her shoulders, “i dunno.” “who is it?” you call out. another knock. sighing, you get up from your place of comfort on shauna’s lap, taking angry steps towards the door. “i swear to god…” you say, running a hand through your hair in an overly dramatic manner.

pulling it open, you’re greeted with the most stupid halloween costume you’ve ever seen. it’s someone from your floor, obviously, holding a bright green candy bag. “trick or treat..?” they mumble, holding out the bag to you. you sigh, glancing over at shauna.

“nope, sorry. we’re all out,” is what you say to the person at the door before shutting it in their face. shauna’s snorts at that, “who was it?” she asks. “i dunno. someone from this floor in a costume. bad, bad costume. does anyone actually still give out candy?”

you take a seat next to shauna once more with a sigh, “where were we?”

on a quiet spring morning, she wakes you from your slumber. you wipe the sleep from your eyes, sitting up against your headboard, “mhmm?” she sits down at the edge of your bed and grabs your knee through the covers, “come with me to get a tattoo.”

you raise an eyebrow at her, “yeah? when?” “right now. i booked it a few weeks ago. i need someone to come with me, ‘kay?” she tells you, and you nod in reply. “what are you gonna get?” “you’ll see.”

when you arrive at the tattoo shop, you’re taken to a quiet corner in the back. shauna’s pulled up some pictures on her phone, light cursive writing on the side of her forearm, grunge-ish flowers starting at the tips of her fingers and down to her wrists. she eventually settles on the word “devotion” in cursive on the side of her hand. very shauna-like. very sexy, you think.

she’s acting all tough, up until the point where the stencil is put on. then, she’s gripping onto your hand for dear life. “oh, my god. i’m doing this. i’ve always wanted a tattoo, you know. but, now… i don’t know-” you roll your eyes, giving her arm a light slap. “shut up. it’ll hurt, sure, like a bitch. you’ll get over it. it’ll look super cool after anyway, though. it’s a good word.”

she laughs at that. “it’s a good word,” she repeats, a soft sigh leaving her lips. “no, you’re right. it’s gonna look so good.” her eyes flick over to the tattoo artist prepping everything and blinks. “right? you won’t fuck me up?” they shake their head, “no, you’re good.”

once the needle touches her skin, she’s wincing, tears welling up in her eyes. it’s not to say shauna has a low pain tolerance - you’ve seen her take some bad hits after gigs - her skins just sensitive. and, maybe, she’s looking for a little bit more comfort from you.

you glance between the needle and her face, “you’re doing really good, shauna,” you praise, giving her a short smile. she squeezes your hand a little tighter, huffing out a breath. “yeah? does it look good yet?” she asks you, a little worriedly. “well, shauna, in all honesty…” you pause for dramatic effect, shutting your eyes tight, “i can’t see it. so, i don’t know.” “you’re literally useless,” she mumbles under her breath.

after an hour and a half or so of having your bones crushed by shauna’s tight grip, her tattoo is finally finished, in all of its glory. you made sure to get a picture of it before the tattoo artist wrapped it. “oh, it looks really good, actually,” shauna says, her voice full of relief as you show her the picture. “right? i told you it would look good.” you reassure her, giving her a smile.

when you leave the shop, shauna won’t keep her hands off the plastic wrap. you have to keep swatting her hand away, telling her “it’ll get infected, shauna.” because that’s the only way she’ll stop. “it hurts,” she’ll complain every time her hand rubs up against her pant leg as she walks. so, you take her hand in yours, stroking lightly over the plastic just enough to soothe the itch, and she smiles softly at you. as you both begin to walk back towards your dorm, you reach into your handbag with your free hand, “d’you want a breath mint?”

[archivesctrccio]

GREAT DAY FOR THE LESBIANS

[archivesctrccio]

“I’m not waiting any longer for you.”

post travis martinez fem reader

♪ post, beabadoobee

this is how tomorrow moves masterlist

yj masterlist / masterlist

about. after being rescued, nothing is the same

warnings. post crash yj. angst but eventual fluff. death. mentions of getting high. slight mention of cannibalism. normal stuff for yj

In the wilderness, a lot of people died, gruesomely.

Even during that you and Travis found solace in each other.

Before the crash you didn’t speak to him much, sure you’d strike conversation here and there but you didn’t think he was interested in talking to you. Until the crash happened, leading to him losing his dad, and then Javi, and then his mind.

You were there for him during it all. An invisible string pulling you closer makes you both inseparable. Laying on the green grass together, high out of your minds as the clouds fogged together and blended with the trees, your hands in eachothers hands without even realising, blaming it on whatever plants you had consumed.

But when you got rescued, he was distant.

You didn’t blame him at all, he lost his father and his brother, having to eat his brother’s remains and then go home to his mother filled with the guilt the wilderness caused.

But what you didn’t expect was to be shut out by him completely, you thought when you got home you would both still be there for eachother, holding him in your arms again, but in the comfort of your home this time, but it was the opposite.

Whenever you went and visited him at his house, he’d be laying in his bed facing away from you and the rest of the world. You weren’t sure if he was asleep or not so you turned away from his bedroom and passed his mother in the hallway who gave you a sympathetic but assuring smile.

He’ll come to you eventually. In his own time.

You tried to distract yourself as the days went by without Travis’ presence. You were starting to miss the comfort that he brought you.

When you were in the wilderness, you missed the sound of music, you missed watching TV, you even missed your mother waking you up early in the morning for school.

But right now, not even music and the television could distract you from your mind racing. You associated everything with the wilderness.

Your mother barely lets you outside alone. Fearing you would go missing once again. When you went to visit Travis, she’d be waiting outside in the car for you.

Obviously you were different when you got back, so was everyone else. You missed sleep most days, scared you were going to dream of what you did out there to survive, scared that you were going to wake up again there.

When you did sleep, you had to leave your door open, your mother insists. Like you currently.

Perched on your bedroom floor, the door opened, and your legs criss crossed as your headphones sat lazily on your head. You weren’t even paying attention to what was playing, you were just staring idly at the wall, your mind racing, hundreds of thoughts going through it. The one person you needed the most wasn’t available so you were all alone.

You move your gaze from the wall as you feel a presence join you on the floor. Travis. The person you were just thinking about. Your eyes meet his bloodshot ones as your eyebrows raise at his sudden presence.

It was like he read your thoughts. Like he heard your desperate pleas.

You take your headphones off your head, throwing them to god knows what. Travis almost laughs at that.

He looked a mess to say the least, but you didn’t care, because he was here, in front of you, alive in your room.

You place your hand on his face, his skin fragile like glass, bound to break any second now. Your hand fits perfectly on his face, like a puzzle piece.

His glossy eyes meet yours, “What’re you doing?” He croaks, like he hasn’t used his voice in weeks.

You shrug slightly, “Double checking that you’re actually here with me.” You reply, your voice hoarse from the tears that were pooling in your eyes.

He places his hand on top of yours that was resting on his face, his hand surprisingly warm as he looks you dead in the eye. “I’m always going to be here for you.” You frown at his words, almost feeling content again.

You move your hand from his face, bringing your arm around his neck, bringing him into your tight embrace. Scared to let go in case he left you like everyone else.

Here you were, at home, safe. Travis’ face in the crook of your neck, your arms wrapped around each other. A hug of trust. A sign that you will both be there for each other no matter the circumstances. Both of you are comfortable in the embrace of each other.

You finally got what you wanted.

published. 5/5/25 12:26am gmt

notes. reqs are open!!

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I would give anything i have to smoke a blunt with Nat right now.

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oh my god

frat boy!shauna truthers - how are y’all doing after this?

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SCREAM - GHOSTFACE - TRAVNAT

TRAVIS MARTINEZ – The Killer

NATALIE SCATORCCIO – The Mastermind

Travis Martinez & Natalie Scatorccio as Ghostface:

Pain doesn't disappear just because it’s quiet. Natalie fired a gun on her duce-bag dad before she hit high school, Travis's dad was a dick that left him with anger no one taught him to name.

They don’t kill for thrill. They kill with purpose. Their victims aren’t random. They’re cruel kids. Abusers hiding in plain sight. Rich assholes who think they’re untouchable. Each murder has a reason.

It started with one name. Someone who hurt Natalie, some asshole who took advantage of her. Travis found out. He didn't speak, just handed her a burner phone and a voice changer. That night, he wore the mask for the first time. She called. He killed. They never looked back.

NATALIE SCATORCCIO – The Mastermind

Sarcastic. Smart. Unshakable. She speaks like she’s holding your life between her fingers and thinks it’s hilarious. Every call is a performance, she toys with fear like a bored cat.

She's the mastermind. She keeps the list. She tracks who deserves to go, plans the setup, makes the call. If Travis is the weapon, she’s the hand that guides it.

TRAVIS MARTINEZ – The Killer

Silent. Relentless. Controlled. He doesn’t speak when the mask is on. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t fumble. He slips in, finishes the job, disappears into the shadows like smoke.

Under the mask, he feels… honest. All the rage, the confusion, the ache that no one understands - it all channels into something clean. Simple. Brutal.

THEIR DYNAMIC:

They were friends before they were killers. Bonded over stolen cigarettes, bad dads, and a shared distaste for everyone who pretended to be good.

Travis kills, then cleans the blood off his hands while Natalie lights a cigarette and watches. “You okay?” she’ll ask, every time. He always shrugs. “Yeah. Are you?” Neither of them ever answers truthfully.

They argue about their targets. Natalie gets emotional. Travis gets cold. But at the end of the night, she calls, and he answers. Every time.

They never take the mask off together until they’re alone. And when they do, it’s quiet. Charged. Heavy with things neither of them wants to say.

GHOSTFACE RULES:

No random kills. The victim must deserve it.

Natalie chooses. Travis delivers.

Never take off the mask in front of anyone. Even each other during a kill.

Never leave the other behind. Ever.

{re-watching the scream franchise and NEEDED to do this}

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PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE.ᐟ — 𝓝atalie 𝓢catorccio

♬ˎˊ˗ now playing... please please please - Sabrina Carpenter.

series masterlist..

warnings.. guns, slightly manipulation, theft.

words.. 2.2k

✎ᝰ. jinx notes.. oh i loved this one so much i think it became one lf my favourites!

You've always trusted your instincts. A sixth sense that, for the most part, kept you out of trouble—and when it didn't, at least led you to interesting places. Like, for example, a cold cell in some random police station, after being caught in the middle of a mess that wasn't even yours. It was just one night. A collective misunderstanding. Too many people, not enough police, and you were in the middle, trying to explain that you'd only stopped there to buy a soda. And it was in this chaotic scene that you saw her for the first time: platinum hair, handcuffed with charm, the most insolent smile you had ever witnessed.

She walked in laughing. Literally laughing. As if she hadn't been arrested, but invited to a party. His eyes met hers for a second, and there it was. The enchantment. Instantaneous, blatant, inevitable. 

Sure, she could be dangerous. She could have killed someone, blown up a car, or scammed a rich old man in Las Vegas. But she was beautiful. Beautiful in a way that felt unfair, as if she had stepped out of a movie and fallen straight into your reality.

She smiled wider when she caught you staring. You looked away, a little embarrassed, but it was too late: she had noticed you. And you were already screwed.

For the next week, you tried to forget. You tried to rationalize. But in the end, you did what your heart told you—or maybe what your curiosity urged you to do. On visiting day, you went to the penitentiary. You didn't know her name, just her hair color and that mocking smile.

— I came to see the one with the platinum hair,— you said.

The police officer gave a short laugh.

— I know who it is.

Minutes later, she appeared on the other side of the glass and sat down as if she'd been waiting for you. She calmly picked up the phone, resting her elbow on the table. You stared at each other for a moment, silence dancing between the two ends of the line.

— Hello… — you said finally.

— Hey. — Her smile returned, almost lazy. — Why did you come to see me?

You hesitated. You didn't even know how to answer.

— I was curious. What's your name?

She laughed softly, as if amused by the situation.

— Natalie. Natalie Scatorccio.

She tilts her head to the side, studying you with a glint in her eyes.

— And you are…?— You say your name. She repeats it softly, as if savoring it, testing the taste in her mouth. And then she relaxes a little, her shoulders less tense.

— And why are you here? — You lean forward slightly, wanting to know more.

— Hmm... wouldn't you like to know? — She sighs. — Robbery. I was working with someone. She fucked with me, and I got arrested.

— Ah... at least it's nothing so bad.

She smiles again. This time, a little softer.

As if you've passed the first test. 

Months later.

Apparently, passing Natalie's first test was enough for her to decide you were hers. And when Natalie Scatorccio decides something... the whole world has to follow. After that first visit, many others followed. Every week, you crossed the city with your heart racing, just to see her on the other side of the glass, laughing with that half-smile that made everything feel like an inside joke. You made escape plans like they were love vows — the place for your first date once she got out, the hiding spot for her money in a crumbling trailer, whispered requests to keep it all away from the cops.

And you did. You did it all.

Because loving Natalie was like that: a headfirst leap without checking if there was water below.

Even there, surrounded by concrete and bars, she was sweet. Attentive, even. Always asking if you'd eaten, if you were taking care of yourself, if anyone had messed with you. Sometimes she’d press her forehead against the glass, like she wanted to break through it. Like longing alone could shatter the physical barrier of so many inches and a lifetime of emotional distance.

When she got out, everything changed — and at the same time, nothing changed.

You went to dingy bars with broken jukeboxes, ate greasy burgers in the backseat of the car, and slept together that very first night. And by the third night, she was already living with you.

Too soon? Maybe. But what you two had was from another dimension.

You adapted to the chaos. To the constant smell of cigarettes and cheap tobacco clinging to the sheets. To stacks of money stashed under the bed like that was normal. To guns hidden between lacy panties like they were just another accessory. Natalie lived in a world where love was violent and violence smelled like perfume and gunpowder.

And still — or maybe because of that — you loved her.

You just didn’t want her to prove you right when you thought that being with her was a danger, a self-fulfilling prophecy, a ticking time bomb with a heartbeat.

The first time Natalie took you to one of her "jobs," your stomach twisted. It was a bank. Of course. Nothing discreet, nothing subtle. Natalie didn’t do anything halfway.

You stood at the door, heart in your throat, while she stormed in like she was walking into a party. She pointed the gun at the teller with the confidence of someone who’d done it before — and honestly? There was something... hot about it. Power etched into her posture, her voice. A “give me the money” delivered with sinister sweetness.

She took down the guards like she was dancing. Then tossed the money bag in your direction and grabbed your hand with absurd gentleness, like you were just crossing the street — not fleeing an armed robbery.

Natalie was like that: brutal to the world, sweet only to you.

An asshole to everyone else, a walking disaster — but yours.

And deep down, you knew: someday this would all blow up.

But until then...

You’d let her lead you, gun in one hand, your hand in the other. And your heart beating like an alarm about to go off.

But of course — not everything was a movie, not everything was romance. Over time, the fantasy began to fade.

You started getting tired. First slowly, like someone getting used to the bitter taste of a medicine that no longer works. Then faster, like a revulsion rising in your throat. Natalie’s “jobs,” once adrenaline-fueled stories to laugh about later, began to fill you with anxiety.

It was too dangerous. One wrong move, and she’d be back in jail.

And all you wanted… was her here. Whole. Alive. With you.

You begged her to stop. Asked, almost desperately, for her to at least be less reckless — not in front of you, not inside your house, not with you hearing the whispered plans in the bathroom at two a.m.

She promised. Swore. Fingers laced with yours, eyes locked on yours.

Said she wouldn’t hurt you.

Said she loved you.

And you believed her. Because that’s what love did to you: made you blind in the most dangerous places.

But promising wasn’t the same as changing.

Natalie quit robbing for a while, it’s true.

Stuck to dealing, like it was something smaller, cleaner, more acceptable.

— At least I’m not putting my face in the news, — she’d say, laughing like that was some kind of comfort.

And inside, anger started to grow — mixed with fear, mixed with pity, mixed with a love you no longer knew if it was salvation or a curse.

She spent more time with you. Slept in, made coffee, played music. You pretended to be a normal couple. And you were good at pretending.

But it was only a matter of time.

The lack of adrenaline started to eat her alive. You could see it in her eyes — the boredom, the restlessness, the fire that didn’t know how to go out on its own.

Soon she was back.

Smaller hits. Quick, “safe” jobs. Planned just enough to not stress you out enough to make her leave. As if she knew exactly where your limit was and danced right on it — on purpose.

Still, when you realized she was trying — trying in her own twisted way — you decided to give in a little.

You decided to introduce her to your friends.

Maybe because part of you still believed that if the world around her welcomed her, she’d allow herself to slow down.

Maybe because you wanted to prove Natalie could be “normal.”

Or maybe, just maybe, because you wanted her to know what it was like to have something to lose.

— Breaking my heart is one thing. But my ego... my ego doesn’t bounce back so easy, — you said, standing on the sidewalk, night air hitting your shoulders, heart pounding louder than it should.

Natalie looked at you like she wanted to laugh, but held it in.

—I’m begging you, Nat. Don’t embarrass me, you motherfucker. Please.

She took your hand with that dramatic flair only she could pull off without seeming ridiculous, and kissed your knuckles with mock reverence.

— I promise, beautiful. I really do.

And then she laced her fingers with yours, and you walked into the restaurant together — two storms pretending to pass as clear skies.

At first, everything went fine. Laughter. Clinking glasses. The false sense of normalcy hanging in the air like a weak light.

But your friends didn’t fall for Natalie. Didn’t laugh at her sharp jokes. Didn’t like the way she seemed to know everything about everyone — too much.

You tried to smooth things over. Tried to explain.

— It’s just her way. It’s... her culture, I guess. She’s Italian.

Your friends rolled their eyes, and you bit your tongue before apologizing for loving someone like Natalie Scatorccio.

You’d promised she was trying. That it was different now. Because they knew she was just like the others — danger.

You just didn’t expect the night to end like so many others: in chaos.

An off-duty cop recognized Natalie at the restaurant. Someone made a call. And in less than ten minutes, you were sprinting through the streets, heels hitting the asphalt, sirens slicing the air like razors.

It all happened too fast. The world spinning. Natalie pulling your hand. The smell of fear and smoke. And then — the alley.

She pushed you gently into it, your bodies pressed between the cold wall and the hot breath of someone who already knew the end was near.

— Listen to me, baby, — she said, firm, but with that smile that had unraveled you since day one. She held your face with both hands, like she wanted to keep you inside them. — You can’t tell anyone anything. Got it?

— Natalie… what?! — your voice cracked. — Are you turning yourself in?

You grabbed her wrists, desperate, trying to pull her back into the world where you still had time. Still had a chance.

She pressed her lips to your forehead. A gesture so tender, it was cruel.

— It’ll be worth it.

And then, as if that wasn’t enough, she added with a cold whisper:

— You’ll visit me, right?

There was a threat underneath the question. Not explicit. But real.

You weren’t just the girl she loved. You were an accomplice. And accomplices don’t spill everything.

Accomplices don’t survive alone.

That was it. You were tied to her.

Tied by kisses, by plans, by promises. Tied by the crimes you pretended not to see.

Tied to the idea that if she went down, you’d go with her — one way or another.

You nodded.

Because there was no other way left.

Natalie was yours, and you were hers. And it would be like that forever.

Or until the sirens finally caught up to you. Or until someone said too much. Or until love stopped being a refuge and became a sentence.

But until then…

You’d keep holding her hand.

Even if it meant prison. Even if it meant hell. Together.

 Natalie went back to prison on a gray Tuesday.

You remember because it was raining — not that romantic movie rain, but that thin, miserable kind that soaks your bones and tangles your hair.

She sent you a letter the next day. Just two lines:

“I’m okay.

Look pretty for when I get out.”

You laughed. Then cried. Then laughed again.

The house felt quieter than it should.

The cigarette smell still lingers in the corners like a stubborn ghost.

The money’s gone.

The guns — you threw them out.

But her clothes are still in the bottom drawer — the one you can’t bring yourself to open.

You go visit her every week. Put on lipstick before you leave, even knowing it’ll smudge from crying on the way back.

She holds your hand over the metal table and says she’ll be out soon, that she has a plan, that there’s still time for you to run away together to a place where no one knows the name Scatorccio.

You just smile. Deep down, you know.

She’ll get out. She’ll try again. She’ll screw it all up — again. And you’ll be there. Again.

Because some loves are prisons. And some prisons become home.

And yours…

Has a name, cigarette-stained fingers, and a smile you’ve never been able to erase from your memory.

Natalie. Always her.

Always the two of you.

Until the end.

taglist: @moesthoughts, @javizheart, @antlertruths, @antlerqueensab

click here if you want to be part of the taglist!

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PROM W/ THE YELLOWJACKETS! —(no crash-modern-au)

★,｡･:*:･ﾟ Shauna Shipman. .

- My Shauna would wear a suit, full stop.

- Maybe more like a vest/waist coat situation than blazer but 100% this gay ass bitch is in a suit. Matching with the colour of your attire (dress or suit whatever you’re wearing, the both of you are matching!!!)

- Stuck to you like GLUE

- Like you look so damn good she is not fucking letting you out of her sight for a second.. and also separation anxiety

- You have to force her to take pictures and dance 😭. You’re like Shauna cmon this is prom and she’s all grumbling and disgruntled but let’s be real, she’d do anything you say. In every single photo you took that night, she was hanging off of you like a barnacle. Arm around your waist, sometimes literally even head first in your hair, not caring to look into the camera. She’s in the photo, isn’t she? Be happy

- You make her danceee and she’s all whiny but eventually just gives in. You always get your way with her. She’s not a great dancer bless her but she mostly just follows your lead, still plastered to you. Letting you twirl her around and she’s letting out the most adorable laughter as you do, genuinely smiling. If you give her ass a playful smack during one turn, she’ll turn into a bright pink sputtering mess but her grin only widens—ending up in giggles again as she returns the favour with a covert little tit grab that only causes both of you to erupt into even more laughter together, her face once again tucked in your shoulder.

- If you’re wearing a dress, she is very protective of making sure no one around, on the dancefloor etc steps on it—literally guarding the skirt of it like the hopeless guard dog she is at heart. The glare that she sends anyone who even comes close to doing so is so lethal that it literally made one girl piss herself (some girl called Melissa or something? That what I heard). But for real, protective to alarming amounts honestly.

- If you’re drinking, she’ll stay sober to look after you and look out for you. Again, guard dog. Has you sit on her lap (even if she is blushing a little because you’re just so ABOFODOSKSKEKEOR and she’s only a weak little lesbian), monitoring how much you’re drinking & making sure you don’t over do it. (Bless xxxxx). She also sort of just wanted you in her lap, okay? But again, she’s only a simple, pathetic lesbian!! Not her fault

★,｡･:*:･ﾟ Natalie Scatorccio. .

- (Personally, don’t really feel like she’s the prom type but you made her come!!) Ugh. She’ll be in the most cunty outfit it is unreal. Darker, gothic vintage dress. Obviously for cheap because well we’re all broke out here man but it’s still so unbelievably gorgeous and just so her. Will at most, for her hair, put in a silver gothic clip of some sort and of course her makeup is as dark as ever. But she’ll do her nails to match the colour of whatever you’re wearing!

- 100000000% she sneaks booze in like. Come on. & You two just spend the night getting hammered together, making out shamelessly and making an absolute twat of yourselves. Once she’s drunk, Nat literally doesn’t care—she will go along with whatever, she’s just having a good time. You’ll be twirling each other around like fairy princesses the one moment, with people giving you staresss and the next she’s pulled you outside and you’ve found residence with the squirrels in a random bush, her nails digging into the back of your neck as she pulls you into a kiss.

- You honestly spend a lot of prom just making out 😭 (whores). But she literally can’t help it, you look so good she just needs to have her hands and lips on you at all times and you feel the same. Constantly having to go to the bathroom so she, and you if you’re wearing makeup, can fix said makeup in the mirror. Lipstick smudged to all hell.

- Her not liking all the pop-y bubblegum music that’s been playing the whole night so she manages to convince the DJ to put on some rock or something for her, just one song please Mr DJ. Watching this girl rock out—especially drunk—is certainly.. a sight. Giggling as Van joins her in solidarity and you’re left with Taissa watching your girlfriends be fucking idiots, the other girl trying to hide her smile.

- Doing body shots (read: pouring liquor on each other and licking/kissing it off, because you don’t have shot glasses) in the bathrooms or literally just outside the venue, you’re both that gone. She half ruins her dress and she’s given up completely on her makeup—but it literally doesn’t matter to her, the only thing that does matter is you. Safe to say you both certainly don’t go to any after parties because she needs you, stat.

★,｡･:*:･ﾟ Jackie Taylor. .

- Hello????? Miss prom queen. I don’t want to hear anything, she literally will go full out. Perfect, laid makeup, gorgeous dress, silky voluminous hair. Everything. & she definitely plans your outfit or at least ‘helps’ you pick—she wants you both to look like the perfect couple. And don’t worry, she’ll pay!

- So, so many photos. She just wants to document the moment and sue her, you both look so hot she feels it needs to be immortalised. No doubt in my mind she’s one of those girls who rents out the fancy cars to make a dramatic entrance in her prom and she owns that. She is absolutely not wasting this night. Posing for pics laid over the limo in her gown with you by her side. Photos of you standing between her legs as she sits on the hood, both of you looking yummy. (She’ll get them printed out and laminated later).

- Hand in hand dramatic entrance out the limo. It girl couple<3333. She kinda sort very much likes that people are talking about you both—admiringly—and so yes maybe she plays it up a bit for fun. Kissing you on the dancefloor where everyone can see, giggling into each others mouths and giving her a look knowing she’s doing this all on purpose while she just blinks back at you all innocently.

- Oh she is absolutely requesting the most cheesiest slow dance song you can think of just so she can dance with you on the dance floor. Laughing into each others shoulders quietly at the romantic picture you’re painting and yes—she did it for entertainment because messing with people is just so funny.. but she’s also just so in love with you. She wanted to slow dance with you. Staring at you with a secret smile and admiring you as you sway and twirl together.

★,｡･:*:･ﾟ Lottie Matthews. .

- This GODDESS. You’re literally in awe. She’s in the most gorgeous silk dress, heels on her feet which just make her even more towering and beautiful and it is everything. And you know there is no budget so she could do whatever she wants—hair perfect, dress perfect, nails perfect, face ethereal. But it’s not big and a statement—just pretty silk and that effortless beauty of hers. Of course, also, she’s wearing a pretty little necklace with your initials proudly around her neck. Not because you own her.. because you really know her (please someone understand the Taylor reference)

- Not afraid to show her affection for you. As soon as she sees you in your prom outfit she’s all up on you, twirling you around for the full view—running hers hands over the fabric. A wide beam on her face as she compliments you over and over sweetly, telling you how lucky she is to call you hers.

- Pictures!!!!! Using the Polaroid she brought for the occasion and snapping as many photos of you two together as she can!! And also as many candid shots of you as she can—you smiling, you laughing, you just being. She wants alllllllllll the pictures bitch. She obviously wants pictures with absolutely everyone but with you and of you the most. (By the end of the night—she has about thirty photos with you and twenty nine candid shots of you just doing your thing)

- Lottie, big fat tease, Matthews. She loves to tease you, especially in public and she loves getting teased back. The thrill of it makes her stomach flutter and heat up. If you’re in a suit, tugging at your tie to pull you in and whisper in your ear—or by your belt loops, pulling your body against hers. If you’re in a dress, running her hand just barely there up the slit in it. Teasing her nails along your bare collarbone and dipping down just faintly into your cleavage. Hand on your waist thumbing at the underside of your tit. All with an innocent smile on her face, voice casual but eyes teasing as she talks to you.

- Surprisingly good dancer! And obviously, you’re there dancing with her. Letting her twirl you and twirling her in return. Giggling as she makes playful kissy faces at you each time you come face to face to her amidst said twirling. Hands on her hips and teasing along the fabric of her dress as she looks at you with a little grin, flushed cheeks and dark eyes. She has no shame in shouting out a bad pop song and bouncing around with you like hooligans and also no shame in getting real close and hot on the dance floor, ‘playfully’ grinding together. When her hips shift involuntarily with real want as your hands tighten around her waist and you laugh into her shoulder, she’s looking at you with a part needy part amused part disgruntled glare.

★,｡･:*:･ﾟ Van Palmer. .

- NSEKPEOSKSNSLEPWOWJSJKDKDLSPW

- Sorry, just needed to get that out 😖

- Van, of course, would be in a suit for prom and fuck would this butch look so unbelievably good. 200% she’s obviously matching her tie to the colour of your dress/suit. She’s just looks so.. mhmm. The idea of Van wearing a binder and packing under the suit 😫. The slight bulge in the slacks and the flatter plane of her chest. & you just know she’s feeling so fucking good in herself, grinning from ear to ear.

- Van is a gossip and I stand by that. Sitting at one of the tables, your legs in her lap with her rubbing and gently kneading all over your thighs, unable to help herself, gossiping about everyone’s outfits and judging them. A little cheeky grin on her face, her voice playful and just for you as she makes (mostly) lighthearted fun. Some cunts she will properly rip into. Telling you everyone’s business about their dates and blah blah. Her hands never leaving you all the while.

- Off the back of the idea of her packing: dancing with her, your back to her chest and feeling the packer rub against you through her slacks. Her pale, freckled (MDKSKSKS) strong arms wrapped around your waist, singing enthusiastically into your ear to the song as she shamelessly with about.. 60% subtilely, rubs up against you. It’s a good thing no one is paying attention to you on the crowded dance floor. Also—on a different note, she is on that fucking dance floor, tearing it up 😭.

- The compliments oh my god, Van would be complimenting you all night long. Being openly and unapologetically whipped for you. Praising you at every single breath you take. You’re just so everything to her and she really, very much has no problem with you knowing how she feels. Flirty comments into your ear while you dance up against her like ‘you feel so good baby’. Ducking her nose into your neck, taking a dramatic sniff and letting out an even more dramatic (semi genuine) moan as she babbles on about good you smell in her usual theatrical fashion.

- But seriously she’s looking at you like you own her. With genuine worship and devotion on her beautiful smiling face. Every word of her praise is genuine. & When you give it back to her—complimenting her—this bitch is a mess. She’s so pathetic for you it’s comical. Head in your hair to hide her burning blush as she curses her redhead gene. Accidentally letting at a fully genuine whimper into your ear as you push back even further against her while you’re dancing together. Breathing a little whiny ‘fuck’ in your ear.

★,｡･:*:･ﾟ Taissa Turner. .

- In my mind—this Tai has her long curls from the pilot and she’s wearing a regal, thin strapped satin dress that makes her slim tall frame look unreal—& she’ll have definitely some sort of matching something with you. Taissa really thought that shit was cheesy, like, matching? Really? Until… you. And sure, she still put up a bit of a fight against the idea but internally well, she was already planning it all out. She just couldn’t seem like she was, you know?

- Will certainly put up a fight with you about dancing and might even actually just sit at the table for a bit and watch as you go and dance. But either—seeing you happy and so fucking beautiful it truly made her heart ache, out on the floor, dancing and having fun, she’ll cave because she wants to be a part of that. Or you and one of the other girls were dancing a bit too close for her comfort and—yep, she’s already up and striding over. Will outright snatch you into her arms, dancing with you as you cackle at getting your way.

- Tai would be the type to roll her eyes at slow dancing but again.. you. Fuck, you’re like her kryptonite. It’s a problem for her. When a slow song comes on, she’ll willingly let you manoeuvre her, even if she gives you a playful little scowl—her eyes are bright and you can practically feel her melting against you as you dance, even if she’ll try and hide it. Dancing in comfortable, intimate silence to the music. Only occasionally broken by little jokes and snips and sickeningly in love giggles.

- Nicking some weed from Nat or someone and shotgunning in the bathroom—in a stall together, her hand on your waist and your hand on her jaw, lips brushing as you blow puffs into each others mouth. Laughing as you both almost fall into the toilet—her cracking dry jokes but her voice is so uncharacteristically warm, always is for you. And her eyes are focused on your face like it’s the most magnificent thing she’s even seen and she never wants to stop looking.

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REMEMBER!

YOUR CREATIVE WORKS ARE NOT DEFINED BY ITS SOCIAL ENGAGEMENT!

LOVE YOUR ART AND WRITING FOR YOURSELF NOT OTHERS!

YOUR WORKS ARE VALID, DO IT FOR YOUR LOVE OF IT. I SEE YOU! YOU ARE AMAZING!

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DON'T SMILE. — 𝑳ottie 𝑴atthews

♬ˎˊ˗ now playing... don't smile - Sabrina Carpenter.

series masterlist..

warnings.. angst, open ending

words.. 1.8k

✎ᝰ. jinx notes.. i love writing open endings omg!! hope u like it <3

— Hey, Lot. — You spoke quietly, as if the sound could break the charm of the moment.

You were lying on her bed, your bodies almost touching, wrapped in that soft calm of someone who doesn't yet know that time bites. Outside, the world was moving in slow motion. Tomorrow would be the last exam before the vacations, and if everything went well, you would officially be in high school. Another step away from everything that was simple. The thought sent a chill through your stomach.

Lottie was reading some book, as calm as if time wasn't touching her. She hummed softly, a melody without lyrics, and you watched her like someone who wants to memorize every wink, every sigh.

— Do you promise we'll still be together after high school? — Your voice came out lower than expected. Almost shaky. Just imagining a future without her made something in you ache in a deep place.

She laughed softly, sweetly, as if she had heard that question a thousand times before. She marked the page with her finger and turned her face towards you, her brown eyes shining in the soft dimness of the room.

— I promise, baby. Don't worry. — She leaned over and kissed your cheek lightly, as if sealing an old pact. You felt the heat rise to your face and tried to contain the smile that escaped you, almost without meaning to. — It's you and me forever, okay?

She smiled, and in that instant, you believed it. Because how could you not?

Lottie was your person. It was the two of you against the world.

And in that soft summer between the end of a childhood and the beginning of something else you couldn't yet name, that seemed enough.

Four years later.

It was strange to think that it was really coming to an end. That after all this time —group work, exams, crowded corridors and late nights crying over absolutely nothing— high school was ending there, in that warm spring.

You were leaving. For real. NYU, Columbia or Princeton. Colleges that seemed like magic words when you were thirteen were now real destinations with deadlines, scholarships and dorm rooms to decorate. And with them came the silent hope that maybe you could finally forget what life was like before. Or at least pretend to.

You used to think that you'd finish high school the way you finished middle school. But you were wrong.

And not because there was a dramatic fight, shouting in the hallway or messages ignored. No. Lottie was still a good person —or at least, the version of her you knew. But you both started to change. Or maybe you just started to show who you really were.

It was around freshman year. Lottie blended in with the crowd, joined groups you didn't even know existed. She molded easily —like water taking the shape of any container that would hold it—. You weren't like that. You preferred the small, contained world where people spoke quietly and didn't look at you for too long. It was inevitable that you would drift apart. A few conversations made it clear that love wasn't over. It had just changed form. But knowing that didn't ease the tightness in your chest every time you saw her laughing loudly with other people, as if she had never loved you like that.

You wanted her to miss you. You wanted something in her to hurt in the middle of her laughter. It was a selfish thought. And you knew it. But it was still there, throbbing in the back of your mind. You felt kind of stupid, kind of bitter. But also honest.

Because how do you forget the first person who made the world seem less lonely?

Time went by. Other people came in and out of your life. But Lottie stayed —not in the present, but like a shadow stuck in your memory. She was the name you accidentally wrote in the corner of your notebooks, the notification your heart waited for even when your cell phone didn't beep. 

You preferred to stay in your room, with the lights off and music playing in your headphones —those playlists you swore you'd never hear again, that you did when you were around thirteen. Sometimes, when your friends came over, part of you hoped that one of them, in an act of courage, would take your cell phone and delete everything. All the old photos, the archived messages, the social medias you still peeked at in the dead of night.

But nobody did.

Maybe because they knew you still needed that proof that one day it was real.

The worst part came when she found another girl.

And that's when the hurt turned to anger.

You didn't say anything. It was none of your business anymore. But you wanted it to be. You wanted her to feel uncomfortable every time she held that girl's hand. You wanted her to think of you when she lay on her lap. I wanted her to close her eyes for a second and be sure that something was missing.

You.

But she wouldn't say anything. Neither did you.

You had already lost track of the time. The sky outside was still a dirty blue, mixed with city lights and the hum of rushing cars. The people in your class had decided to celebrate the end of high school with an open bar, and —to your surprise— you were invited. The few friends you still had were more interested in maintaining their sobriety than staying out all night, and left early. You were left. With the drink.

And her.

You leaned against a wall, glass in hand, your eyes fixed on the same scene for far too long. Lottie. Laughing. With the new girl. The scene seemed to loop. The way she threw her head back when she laughed, the way she leaned over to whisper something in the other girl's ear —a gesture so familiar that it felt like an assault on your memory.

It hurt. You didn't pretend it didn't hurt anymore.

Maybe it was the drink, which made everything more honest. Maybe it was the end of the cycle, that threshold moment when everything you've tried to swallow for years decides to flow back out. But there, standing in the middle of that pseudo-Happy Hour full of teenagers pretending they knew what they were celebrating, you allowed yourself to feel. To feel everything.

It wasn't just jealousy. It was a kind of mourning.

Because, yes, it has been three years. But so what?

She said you were her person.

And —in your head, in your heart, in all the parts of your body that still remembered her— that had to mean something. But maybe it didn't. Not anymore.

All around you, laughter erupted, bottles clinked, someone played music that was too upbeat for the internal mood you were in. The world seemed determined to move on. You weren't.

You just wanted to get away.

You wanted to go home, take a hot bath, sink into your blanket and watch one of those silly romance movies where the couple fights, loses each other, but in the end —of course— ends up together.

Unlike you.

Unlike her.

Determined to get answers —or at least a closure that would hurt less— you take advantage of the moment when Lottie gets up to go to the bathroom and follow her. Your head was buzzing from the drink, your steps were a little uncertain, but you had a purpose. And that was rare enough to push you forward.

— Lottie. — Your voice came out softer than you'd expect.

She was on her back, washing her hands with the obsessive attention she always had, that old tic of rubbing her fingers against each other as if she could wipe away thoughts along with the dirt.

She turns around, slowly. Her expression is one of fright, almost guilt. As if she hadn't expected to see you there, as if she was being caught doing something wrong —even if she wasn't.

— Oh... Hello. — She blinks a few times. The air between you becomes thick, uncomfortable. You were once so intimate, and now even the silence seems awkward.

You stumble slightly sideways, more from nervousness than alcohol. It's been so long since Lottie looked directly at you that your body hardly knew how to exist under her gaze.

— Why don't you miss me? — you say, a little too childishly, with a lowered voice that gives away more than you'd like.

— What? — She tilts her head, as she did when she was confused —or trying to buy time.

The heat rises to her cheeks, but it's too late to back down.

— Why don't you miss me? — you repeat, more firmly now. — You used to say that I was your person, Lottie. But now you're with someone else. That doesn't make sense.

She laughs —but it's a low, almost nostalgic laugh. There's no poison there.

— It's been three years... I've just moved on. — She gives a little smile, the one that always took you apart. Damn. — And honestly? I'm glad it happened. 

You feel something tear inside.

— I don't want you to smile because it happened — your voice rises a little, heavy. — I want you to cry because it's over. I want you to... I don't know, think of me every time you hold her.

Lottie frowns, surprised.

— Her who?

You blink. Really?

— Your new girlfriend, duh.

— Ah... — She looks away, clears her throat, scratches the back of her neck. It gets to you. Why does she look uncomfortable?

— I just wanted you to miss me, Lot… — you whisper, then cover your face with your hands, as if that could hide the pain. — Forget it. It's stupid. You've moved on. I'm the only one still stuck in this.

You turn to leave. Wounded pride throbbing inside you. But then you feel her hand lightly touch your wrist.

— Wait... — she says your name, as if it were a question.

You stop, but don't look back.

— Which college are you going to?

That takes you apart in an unexpected way.

— What?

— College. - There's something hesitant about her voice now, almost... anxious?

You turn slowly, blinking as if trying to get back to the present.

— NYU, Columbia or Princeton... for now. And you?

Her smile comes before her answer. And it hurts, as always.

— Princeton or NYU.

— Oh... — you say, trying to hide your feelings, but failing. Imagining living with Lottie for more years, seeing her with other people, seemed like new torture.

— I hope to see you there. — she says, letting go of your arm.

You just nod, almost absently, and walk away.

But deep down you knew.

It didn't feel like an ending.

As much as you wished for an end to that story, everything in you screamed that what had just happened wasn't that. It was something else.

Perhaps a comma. 

A new paragraph.

Or just another chapter in the book that you still didn't know if you wanted to finish.

taglist: @moesthoughts, @javizheart, @antlertruths, @antlerqueensab. here if u want to be added to the taglist!

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one of my friends found out that i write and is now reading all my fanfics, i think shes becoming my biggest fan lol i love her

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SOSOSO GOOD

hii! for your summer fic collection, could you do smth about lottie throwing a pool party at her house, and you two are seemingly sitting in her hot tub, but no one knows that she’s fingering you under the jets of the hot tub😋

— YELLOWJACKETS POOL PARTY with lottie matthews

warnings: nsfw content. mdni. fem!reader. vaginal!fingering (r!receiving). semi-public sex. this is also very fratboy!lottie coded.

lottie’s house is buzzing, packed with people from the living room, down to the patio, the crowd spilling out into the matthews’ large backyard. there are guests everywhere, and someone’s speaker has been hooked up in the yard, blasting music over the constant splash of water from the pool & the sizzle of grilling on the deck.

a few of your teammates are sprawled across lounge chairs, beer bottles dangling from their fingers. shauna sits in a hammock near the fire pit, sipping a drink from a red solo cup, while van is submerged in the pool, tossing a soaked ping pong ball between her hands with taissa watching from the edge, legs dipped into the water to the knees. nat, beside her, takes a drag from the joint they’re passing back and forth, tapping the ashes into a tray lottie had rushed to grab the moment she saw her fish out the lighter, making sure none of it ended up on her parents’ freshly cut lawn.

meanwhile, you’re in lottie’s lap in the hot tub, tucked between her thighs with jets bubbling around your intertwined bodies. what only the two of you know, and what goes unnoticed by the other party goers, is that she’s in you already. that she has been for a while now.

it started with some playful touches, her hands wandering up and down your sides. jackie had been sitting with the two of you then, drink in hand, her shoulders pink from too much sun, leaning back against the far wall of the tub while lottie pulled you to sit in her lap.

after a few minutes, jackie offered to grab more drinks, climbing out with a slosh of water. “be right back!” she called. that was twenty minutes ago, and she still hasn’t returned. you swear you saw her with mari not too long ago, passing by while they were caught up in conversation, so you’re not sure she’ll come back at all.

the minute she had disappeared, though, lottie’s touch instantly changed: the pass of her palm across your stomach turned increasingly more suggestive, trailing down your thigh under the guise of “adjusting your bikini bottoms”.

you didn’t stop her, your legs spreading on their own accord when she cupped your cunt and her mouth ghosted over the base of your neck.

lottie’s hand dipped lower, teasingly rolling your clit between her index and middle finger. you weren’t sure exactly when they slipped inside, only that by the time you realized she was stuffing you full, it was too late to stop.

now, lottie is moving those same two fingers with the smallest curls, never risking stirring the tub water too much. your soaked bottoms are tugged to the side, barely clinging to your hip at all as her knuckles graze your inner thigh, the jets disguising how your hips rock up into lottie’s palm.

from the outside, it looks innocent: only a couple, sitting in the corner of the tub, your head resting against your girlfriend’s shoulder, your eyes the tiniest bit heavy. it could be the heat, they’d think, the humidity & the haze of summer, not the fact that you’re currently getting fucked in a very public setting, even if the tub sits secluded, tucked away on the edge of the deck, overlooking the garden without being at the center of anyone’s attention.

you shift, trying to keep still, and lottie presses her mouth to your ear. “you’re doing so good,” she praises, hooking her fingers deeper and sending a wave of pleasure curling up your spine as their pads hit your g-spot. “so good for me”

to stop yourself from crying out, you bite the inside of your cheek, a strangled gasp slipping free as you feel your walls clench around her.

for a second, your eyelids flutter shut, surrendering to the sensation. it’s almost too easy to get lost in it, but just as quickly, you force them open again. you can’t afford to sink too deep, even if, thankfully, no one seems to be watching.

everyone is either drunk or on a mission to be, some sunk into conversations, others too distracted to notice how your breathing has changed and how you’re holding onto lottie’s knee. the jets help as well, masking the gushing sounds of her fingers working inside you.

lottie presses a kiss between your shoulder blades, tender affection to anyone who might glance over, and her hand readjusts so that her thumb presses to your clit. “you’re shaking,” she whispers. “that’s so sweet, baby. are you gonna come like this? out here?”

you would sob if your jaw wasn’t so tight. you can’t even move without drawing attention, so all you manage is a nod, the closest thing to movement you’ll get, and lottie’s fingers, her long, merciless fingers, push deeper, her thumb pressing harder simultaneously.

“that’s my girl,” she says proudly, rocking you against her by bouncing her thigh. it’s hardly noticeable, the hot tub’s surface alive with bubbles, but you can feel it. you feel everything, your body tightening and clenching around her, nails digging into the meat of her thigh.

“you’re gonna be so good for me,” she purrs, the barest scrape of her teeth against your shoulder. “come for me. right now.”

only the command would be enough to send you over the edge, and yet, combined with sudden pressure to your clit, you have no choice but to let go: your legs tense, and your breath is stuttering in your chest as your head falls back against her, arching into the touch.

you don’t dare to make a sound when it hits, your mouth falling open with a silent cry, eyes rolling back behind closed lids. lottie has to tighten her grip on your middle to keep you from floating forward as you shudder and tense, the orgasm washing over you.

the heat that coils in your stomach spreads out everywhere, drowning out the music & the clink of bottles against patio tile, and the water, disturbed by your attempt to ride out the pleasure on her fingers, rocks as lottie’s breath caresses the shell of your ear, guiding you through it.

she doesn’t stop until she’s sure you’re done and wholly wrung out. only then, when you melt back into her chest, does lottie slow and remove her fingers from between your legs.

“well,” she says conversationally, as if she hadn’t just fingered you in the middle of her backyard party. “maybe we should go upstairs next time.” when you turn your head to look at her, dizzy with it, lottie extends a hand to you. “are you coming?” she asks. “or…?”

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tysm jinx !! i hope ur doing well !!

i hope ur doing well too!!! <3

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Hi! Would you do a request for misty quigley?

ofc!!!!

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your account is soooo pretty omgggg

tysm vela!!! yours is too <3

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say this on pinterest and it somehow made me think about shauna with jackie...