#sHUT UP MITCHY!

[artistmitchy]

A stupid edit I made for Twitter. Faust would absolutely benefit from more cartoon sound effects.

[missmitchieg]

The way Portia honestly believes no man will ever love Penelope enrages me so.

[asexualjedi]

Thinking about how even if things like turn around amazingly. Best case my mom only has 2-5 years left. And like. Getting big mad thinking about how little most of her siblings has visited. Like. Especially her sister. Which she’s the aunt who broke into my home who I’ve mentioned before so this shitty behavior isn’t. Like. Super surprising. But. Shit sucks man. I hope I’m never like that to my siblings or friends.

[leafsleafsleafsstuff]

AH MITCHELLY 🪄

[sergeifyodorov]

i love how morgan rielly's self-assigned role in the leafs locker room is "the one that brings them all down to earth" but. he's just as weird as the rest of them. girl you ARE exactly like these other freaks

[letorip]

kiss with a fist [iii]

"your slaps don't stick, your kicks don't hit, so we remain the same"

===+++===

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: you can't help but feel like maybe you and tara are more than frenemies, and it culminates in a night where you finally share some truths with each other.

warnings: a somewhat traumatic dream sequence lmao, mentions of sex, kissing (almost), curse words, blood

word count: 5.8k

A/N: hope y'all like this one because i definitely liked writing it. definitely a whole lot more kissing than fisting.... wait a minute....

it's 5 am, my ass is grass. anyways, part 4 relatively soon because woo wee theres still so much to explore in this story i legitimately cant believe my idiot self said it'd be done in 2 parts originally

===+++===

===+++===

"(Y/n)," a voice calls to you, sing-song and sweet as your eyes fade to darkness. It's a gentle woman's whisper, but it manages to hit you like a truck, pulling you down from wherever you came from, and plopping you wherever you've arrived. Or, rather, wherever you've always been. "(Y/n), look, darlin'."

A gust of wind gently strokes over the plane of your cheek, and when you open your eyes, all you can see is rye. On one end, it reaches out towards a sharp cliff, overlooking a lake, with nothing but rocks and the water below. On the other, it runs far up the plains of land in front of you, stopping in front of the white house you know all too well, with its rickety porch and broken tire swing.

You take a few steps forward, as if ready to run right inside, and then before you know it, you're running. Like the world is about to end, like the house is burning down, like you'll never see the place ever again. Foot after foot, you dash towards it, hearing Alisha's piano flit through the front window for the first time in years, and the smell of a pie right along with it. "(Y/n)!" the voice calls again. "Dinner time, kid!"—

But your foot catches on a root, just like it did in your memory, and in an instant, you've fallen down into the rye, with a painful thud, right on your face. You let out a grunt, feeling the dirt on your new, white shirt. The one your mother never let you wear when you were playing outside.

And when you right yourself again, sitting up out of the field, the house isn't any closer than it was before. It sits, perfectly far away, only all that stuff is gone now, and the house looks about as dark as it did the day of Mitchie's funeral.

"(Y/n)!" an excited voice calls from behind you. "Wanna play tag?"

"(Y/n)'s too old for that, Mitchie," another voice chides, and you whip around like Calvin would actually be there to chide him like that. Like he used to. But he isn't. All you can see is the rye. It stands in thick stalks, reaching up to your knees in lush groupings, tall and abundant, strong and growing.

Another voice. "Read me a story?" It's soft and it's a little girl's and it's far away, and you get to your feet and spin in a circle, waiting for her to appear. It seemed to reverberate through your ears, washing through the pathways of your brain before seeping into your heart. It fills it up, and before you know it, you can feel yourself hastily searching for her.

"'Randa?" you called into the open field. "Miranda? You there?" but she continues on like she didn't hear you.

"Would you read me a story? Please?"

"I will Miranda, but where are you?" you called back, raising a hand to shield your eyes from the barrel of the hot sun.

"I'm gone, (Y/n). You're supposed to be gone too," she says back, with a sweet giggle. "Why aren't you gone with us?"

"I—" you stammer, whipping your head around the field in search of your siblings. "I don't—"

"Do you really think that's fair, (Y/n)?" Calvin asks.

"Why aren't you here, (Y/n)?" Miranda asks again, this time her voice wavering like she was about to cry. "Why aren't you in the rye with us?" Your hands came up to your head, trying to squeeze your eyes shut and block out the noises, but they seemed to reverberate into your skull.

"Mitchie was your fault, you know," Peter chides. "We would've never let that—"

"—Why did you get to stay, (Y/n)?" Came Tomas' voice. "We're supposed to be cursed, and you're supposed to be cursed too." He was always the quiet one, but now his voice had a sharp edge to it. One of jealousy. One of anger.

"Why didn't you catch me?" Mitchie asked. "If you just would've caught me..."

"Come play piano with me, I'll teach you," said Alisha, in her light, airy laugh.

"Why did it get to be you?" snarled Calvin. "And why are you getting closer to Tara? You want to curse her, too?"

"Stop—" you stammered, squeezing your eyes shut tighter.

"Wanna play hopscotch?" said Mitchie.

"Do you miss us, (Y/n)?" Alisha said, in between tears.

"Yes, of course— I—" you tried, but now the voices were filling up your head, threatening to spill over and knocking you to the ground. You curled up into a ball as your brain filled up. Words piling up on top of words, piling up on top of words, about to split you open. "STOP!" you yelled.

And everything went silent. When you opened your eyes, you found yourself still in the field, but your siblings' voices had gone entirely. Now it was just you, in the field, alone with the rustling of the wind and the rye, as it grazed gently against your legs. You hadn't remembered standing up, but you were now.

In a flash, you could see a shape, running through the rye in a line that was very visible from where you were. You recognised the dark hair, and the yellow jacket he always wore. With the realisation came the looming dread, and you realised with very little time left what this exactly was a memory of.

You took off running, faster than you had to the house, faster than you had ever run, and faster than you had run then, chasing after him as he took off towards the cliff-end of your rye field. "Mitchie!" you yelled, trying to be louder than the buzzing cicadas, but it seemed the moment you yelled, the cicadas got even louder. He was too short to see over the stalks, but you could see him go, running in odd shapes as he got nearer and nearer to the cliffs edge.

"Catch me if you can, (Y/n)!" he called back with a gleeful laugh.

"(Y/n), grab your brother," called your mother. She didn't seem too worried, and she hadn't been, then. No one had been, until it was too late.

"Mitchie! Stop!" you cried out, feeling tears already beginning to fall down your cheeks. "Mitchie!" you tried again.

"Come on, you've gotta be faster than that if you're gonna be it!” Mitchie called back. "Catch me! Get me! C'mon! I'm gonna make it hard for you to win, Duck."

"MITCHIE! PLEASE!" you screamed, but all he did was giggle. “STOP! DON’T GO!” But the moment you reached the end of the rye, he was gone over the edge, just he had been when you were 13, and there was an arm shaking you awake.

===+++===

"Oh my god, you're about the least peaceful sleeper I've literally ever seen," Tara laughed, grinning at you from over her textbook. She had it pulled into her lap from her side of the table and titled against the table edge, and spread out in front of you were her papers galore, with notes scribbled all over them in preparation for her upcoming exam.

Mindy sat next to her, playing a stupid game on her phone, while Ethan was also studying in his own textbook. He had stopped trying to avoid you as much, as had Chad. You and Tara "dating" seemed to offend them less and less the longer it went on.

"Uh," you mumbled, still feeling a little bit disoriented from the dream. It was like a dose of adrenaline had been shot directly into your heart, and you struggled to adjust to the calm, peaceful library that actually was around you. "Shut up," you grumbled, but not like you were actually upset by her teasing.

Tara watched you with her eyebrows raised. "You look tired."

You sat up in your chair, running a hand through your hair. There was a small layer of sweat on your forehead. "Aren't you never supposed to say that to someone? Pretty sure that's how you get someone at the bar to throw their drink in your face."

"It is," Ethan nodded. "I made that mistake once. I was trying to be sweet."

"Good thing I'm not seducing you, then," Tara shrugged. "You've seen me puke everywhere. Pretty sure that ruined my chances right-out, and yet you love me anyways."

You grinned, leaning back to stretch out your arms. It was meant to be a gentle teasing from Tara, but you had only gotten better and better at deflecting the longer you were around her. "You'd be surprised, actually. That was super pretty. That was the prettiest you've ever been." Mindy snorted next to Tara.

Tara glared at you, unappreciatively. "And you're pretty when you do not speak."

"I'm pretty all the time, Tara," you mockingly shook your head. "And you think I'm joking. Find yourself a girl who looks nice covered in sweat, with her hair going everywhere, and puking in the toilet. That's my girlfriend."

"You're such a dick," Tara scoffed, but you could tell part of her was stifling a laugh. It was funny to her too, and you both had laughed at it together for days, afterwards.

If anything, it had gotten easier and easier, to act like the both of you were actually dating. You weren't too sure why, maybe Tara had become less annoying, or you had become less annoyed by her, but you had definitely at least become a better actor. That's what it was, after all. "Oh, also," she continued.

"Yeah?"

"Someone tried to call your phone, while you were sleeping. I think it was your dad."

You frowned. "You didn't pick up, right?"

"No," Tara said, shaking her head. Then she paused. She dropped her voice to speak just to you, guarding the conversation from Mindy and Ethan. "Do you and him not get along?"

You shrugged. "Eh. He was probably just checking in. We have a fine relationship." It wasn't true but it was an easy lie, that rolled off the tongue like nothing. He had already called twice, that day, and you knew why.

"Seriously, though," she said with a frown, looking up from her book. "You look fucking horrifying—"

"—Thanks," you said, flatly.

"—I mean, even more than normal, it's crazy—"

"—Thanks," you repeated.

"—Have you not been sleeping, or something?"

You shrugged. "I mean, I'm an architecture major, and it's midterms... so not really."

"Hm."

"What?" you asked, propping your head up on your arm. "What's the 'hm' for?"

She shrugged, trying to turn back to her textbook. "Hm, nothing."

You furrowed your eyebrows down at her. "Well, obviously the 'hm' was something, Tara." Mindy shot you a look again.

"Or it was just a hm."

“Would you two shush,” she said to you, rolling her eyes. “You bicker like an old married couple.” But you both ignored her.

"It's never just a 'hm.'"

"I say hm all the time. It's literally just a hm."

"No, it means you've got something to say but don't want to say it."

She frowned at the accusation but was obviously even more displeased that you were correct. "I was gonna suggest we go to the OBK party tonight, but maybe you should just go home and sleep. I was trying to be nice.”

You shrugged. "I won't be doing either, actually." Tonight was not the night for parties. You were somewhat grateful, that you had a legitimate excuse to busy your time, or else you would've spent even longer thinking about the dream. "I have to do homework. My final is due tomorrow."

Tara furrowed her eyebrows at you. "Wait, but I thought classes ended today."

You shook your head. "Nope. I've still got some stuff do."

"Oh," Tara frowned.

"Not all of us can have easy majors," you teased, trying to lighten the mood away from what was clearly concern.

"Hey! You chose the stupid thing," Tara shot back. "Not my fault I chose something fun." She stood up, gathering her things into a neat stack. The time was nearing for her midterm exam, and you stood up with her, grabbing her textbook to be helpful.

"Thanks," she said, then she wandered over and held out her hand. You grabbed it in yours, lacing your fingers together, just like you had practiced together.

The library was a tall building on the far side of campus from where you lived. It was a trek and a half to get there, which is partially why you had been a little annoyed, when Tara said she needed to go there. It ended up being the perfect place to fall asleep in, with the quiet signs and only a few murmurs now and again, and though it had been a less than peaceful dream, it was more than you had been getting for the past few days.

"I don't see why you can't just go without me," you shrugged, adjusting her book in your hands. "Just tell Sam I'll meet you there. Besides, Chad and Mindy are going to the same party, right?"

"Yeah, but I what if they realise you're not actually there and mention it to Sam, or something? And, I'd have to go there alone, since Chad and Mindy are going early."

"They are?"

"Yeah. Helping with set up. Mindy literally just mentioned that. Shows how much you listen to her.” She shook her head in a mocking disappointment in you.

“I was asleep, jerk.”

“I know,” she said, grinning.

You looked down to her, where she walked next to you, gently swinging your joint hands back and forth. "It's not a far walk to OBK. You could probably make it there in five minutes. It's well-lit, and—"

Tara frowned, shaking her head adamantly. "Not alone. Not without you, no way. Sam would want to see you at the door to pick me up. She'd probably hate the idea of it."

"Fair enough," you shrugged. "Find a movie at home tonight, then. Relax, or something. I'd kill to be done with this stupid project."

"What are you even making?" Tara groaned, breaking your hands to shove hers into her pockets. Actually, it was your jacket, and therefore technically your pockets too, but she had taken a liking to it, after your date. You had been less than pleased, when she asked to borrow it, considering how much the jacket meant to you, but she insisted it was assisting her to keep up the act. You figured you could part with it, at least for a little while.

"Architecture," you said with a thick layer of sarcasm. Tara rolled her eyes at you. She nudged you, and you couldn't help but laugh as her elbow pointed into your side.

"Oh, you think you're funny, huh?"

"I'm hilarious."

"You wish..." she scoffed, shaking her head.

It was a beautiful day in autumn, and the weather was soon to leave the sigh of brown leaves and rainy days and move into whispery winds and icy pavement. You didn't mind winter, but you didn't like the chills, even though it was undoubtedly what gave summer's warmth a certain sweetness. Still, nothing burned like the cold.

You walked her all the way to the door of the exam hall, stopping out front to hand her the textbook you had been carrying. You went to speak, but the moment you tried to open your mouth, your phone started ringing. You grabbed it from your pocket, sighing and declining the call, while Tara stared at you.

"Is that your dad, again?"

"No," you said. "Telemarketer."

"Right..." she said, frowning. "You're a terrible liar."

"Am I?" you challenged. You were, it was true.

"Why don't you want to talk to him?"

“I just don’t.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m asking why, (Y/n).”

"Why don't you leave it alone?" you shot, in frustration. You could see Tara's eyes narrow at your tone, and you felt a bit bad. There was the occasional reflex still, to bite each other's heads off. You weren't sure what it was about her, but something about Tara Carpenter always seemed to rile you up inside, and do the same for her with you.

"Sorry," you said, looking down at your shoes. "I just don't want to talk about it."

"That doesn't mean you have to be an asshole," Tara glared.

"Right... I'm... sorry."

Tara sighed. "I guess I'll see you next week?" She asked.

You nodded. "There'll be plenty of time after this, I just need to get this thing done."

"Okay," she nodded, failing to hide her excitement. Tara seemed to really love parties, the more and more she went to, and you were somewhat glad you could help her find something she enjoyed. It was nice to see, not that you'd ever say that to her. Doing that would absolutely result in her teasing you again, or something even more annoying.

"Good luck on your test," you said.

"Good luck on your project, babe," she said, drawing the name out.

“Now who’s hilarious,” you said with an eye roll. Tara winked at you, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Me.”

===+++===

It seemed you were having no good luck on it whatsoever, actually. Laid out in front of you was all of your materials, in a messy pile of cut-out pieces and foam boards that were there, sure, but not likely to just jump together and put itself together on its own.

The clock had already ticked away to 12:33 in the morning, and your design was barely finalised to where you could get to work and finish quickly. All of the other students had left at a much more reasonable hour, and it left you standing at your table alone, quietly working to classical music in the empty modelling lab.

At this rate, you could be here for another two or three hours, and the project was due at eight. You were sluggish, slowly working through the plans you had set out days ago and working through the kinks.

Every few minutes, when you stopped for even a second, the dream seemed to rush back to the forefront of your brain. Your mother had been the one to call, that evening while you were eating a poor excuse of a dinner, and you had declined that call just like you had declined all the rest.

You were hunched over your work, probably unhealthily so, with your face buried in your iPad, hastily throwing out sketches of the various shapes. You were settling on a design that would have to do, heading for the woodcutter, when you heard a noise.

It resembled a door shutting, and you froze right where you were. "Greg?" you called out. There was no one else in the building except for you and Greg, at his usual security post, and you waited with bated breath for him to return your call.

But there was no response, and all you could hear was the sounds of classical music gently floating in the background. Usually, it set you at ease while you worked through whatever you were doing in the lab, but now all it did was raise your heart rate to match the increasing tempo. It was completely dark, except for the overhead light above you, which illuminated the table you were working at and a few of the stainless steel cabinets that held tools and supplies.

Then, off to the side, you heard a rolling. An odd, wooden rolling, slowly drifting towards you. On the ground was a pencil, gently pushed towards you, playfully rolling as if perfectly in front of your toes. You hopped to your feet. "Hello?" you called, squinting in the dim light, in case anyone else was there. "Is anyone there?" you called out again. "Greg?"

Now you could really feel the thumping of your heart. The modelling lab had always been creepy late at night, but this was a new level of unease. It was as if someone was watching you, playing with their food, and you swallowed down the lump in your throat. "Is someone there?" you said to the rest of the room.

"Hey!" said a voice, and you jumped what felt like five feet into the air.

"Fuck!" you shouted, spinning around and seeing Tara behind you. She jumped at your reaction, raising her hands up. In one of them was a tray with two coffees on it. “You scared me!”

"Woah, woah, are you okay?" she asked, face etched with concern. She walked towards you slowly, and you put your hands on the edge of the table, trying to calm yourself.

"Don't just sneak up on me like that, dude," you glared at her.

"I literally didn't, I fucking announced myself, loud as can be," Tara said, rolling her eyes at you. Then, it melded into concern. "How long have you been here?" she asked, looking around the place and its emptiness.

"Since I left you at your test," you shrugged. "How'd it go by the way?" Tara's eyebrows furrowed, ignoring your question instead for one of her own.

"Did you at least eat dinner, or something?"

"Yeah," you nodded.

"Good."

“Yeah…,” you trailed off, turning back to your work. “How did you know where I was?"

“I asked Chad. He’s still a little snippy with me about, well, thinking we're together. Tried to tell me that if anyone would know, it would be me, and I said, yeah, that’s true, but it’s only been three months, now.”

“Well,” you said, gesturing around to the lab. “This is the modelling lab.” You were a bit of a nerd about the whole place, showing it off like it was your cool superhero lair.

“I know,” Tara mocked. “I saw it on the giant sign above the front door.”

“Ha ha. Does Sam know that you’re here?” You asked, grabbing your pen and resuming your work while you continued to talk to Tara. She plopped herself down on the edge of the table, letting her feet swing.

She looked a bit sheepish at the question. “Uh… no.”

“You know she’ll kill me like she did that one time, if you’re not home when she wakes up,” you frowned, wandering over to the supplies and grabbing out a box cutter to help trim the pieces you needed.

Tara nodded. “I know. But I snuck out, so I’ll sneak back in.”

You turned back around to reply, maybe say something stupid, but you had to stop yourself from laughing, when you saw her legs hanging off the counter and not reaching the ground.

“What?” Tara asked, furrowing her eyebrows. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” you said, shaking your head and returning to the table. “…Dwarf.”

“Hey!” she said, smacking you on the arm. “I brought you coffee, don’t make me take it back.”

“That’s true,” you frowned, weighing your options. “Guess I can’t make fun of you; you brought me caffeine.”

“That’s more like it."

You worked in silence for a few minutes, feeling Tara watch your every movement. It was harder to work, under her scrutiny, but you were grateful that she was there. It wasn’t lonely in there, any more. A few months ago, you would’ve hated her guts for sitting around while you attempted to work. But not with Tara anymore. Not on that day.

“This might be an all-nighter,” you warned, sending her a small smile as you sliced a piece of foam in half and went to work to attach it to your board.

“Fine with me,” Tara shrugged. She just continued to watch you, in a calm silence. “Actually, I have beef with you,” she hummed.

You laughed, looking up while you secured the base with glue. “Why’s that, Tara?”

“You got that song, stuck in my head.”

“Which one?” You asked.

“The one you sang for me. I found it online.”

“Which one?” you teased, smiling again. Your face was tired and the smile certainly didn’t help, but you couldn’t help the newfound peace washing over you again. You had completely forgotten the weird happening from earlier.

“You know, don’t play dumb.”

“No,” you shook your head. “I really don’t know.”

“You literally do,” Tara scoffed.

“Sing a little bit. Refresh my memory.”

“Nuh uh,” she said, crossing her arms. “This is a trap.”

“It isn’t,” you insisted, sticking your pinky out to her. “Swear.”

She wrapped it in her own, rolling her eyes. She definitely knew it was, but she obliged anyway. “If you need a friend, don’t look to a strangerrr. You know in the end,” her voice broke on the low note like yours did, and you laughed while heat rose to her cheeks. “I’ll always be thereeee.”

“And when you’re in doubt,” you sang back to her, in between laughs. “And when you’re in dangerrr.” You both were tone deaf and the rendition was awful, but the mood in the lab was getting lighter and lighter the longer you were together.

“Take a look all around,” Tara sang, coming back in. “And I’ll be there.”

It was impossible not to laugh at how bad it was on both sides, and you grinned at her toothily, before turning back to your work. “Thank you for reminding me.”

“You’re welcome, idiot,” she teased, nudging you in the side again.

===+++===

You went back to working on your model, finishing the first floor in about an hour. You and Tara occasionally talked now and again, but mostly she just watched you while you worked. “Why are you doing this all tonight?” she asked.

“Uh…” you stuttered. “I didn’t have time the past couple weeks…cause of… well, you.”

She shot up to her feet, mouth dropping open. “Why the hell didn’t you say no to me?! I didn’t know you had all this to do.”

You shrugged. “I never mentioned it. Plus, you were having fun. I’m glad someone was enjoying themselves.”

“Oh…” she said, and it sounded small.

“What?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

“…Nothing."

“It’s fine, Tar. Seriously.” She blinked at you.

“Tar?” she asked, looking amused.

You looked up from your work, feeling the change in the atmosphere. “What?”

“I don’t know, you’ve just never used the nickname for me, before.”

“Yeah, I guess not. Is it weird?”

“Well… no. I kind of like it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” she agreed, nodding a little. “My mom was the one who gave me the nickname Tar. Haven’t spoken to her in a little while, though.”

“Do you still miss her?” you asked, glueing your second story onto the base successfully.

“Sometimes…” she trailed off, staring out at the pitch black night through the window that hung over your workspace. "She calls me once in a while."

"Do you answer?" you asked.

"No," she admitted. "It's usually about Woodsboro. I gave up on her a few months ago, but she still calls sometimes about the town."

"You never talk about it..." you comment, trailing off with a hand on the back of your neck. "You don't have to, if you don't want to." You leaned back against the table with a curiosity, watching her face move as she struggled to answer.

"Well... it's cause I don't want to that I don't talk about it. You know how people say that shit about manifesting happiness?" you nodded, knowing what she was talking about. "Well, I keep saying I'm fine, and I'm moving on, but it just keeps following me everywhere. It's like this chronic cough I can't shake. This constant thing. No matter how much I run, it's always there. People don't see me as anything but one of the survivors."

You swallowed, feeling her words hit you. "I know what you mean." Tara's eyes snapped down to yours, but when you didn't volunteer more information, she sighed.

You frowned, turning yourself back to your work and hunching over, so she wouldn’t see the heat rising to your cheeks. “I, uh… I listened to that song you said you liked, too.”

“You did?” she asked, lighting up at the mention of it.

“Yeah… added it to my playlist… so…”

“So…” Tara laughed, amused by your awkwardness. It was somehow less awkward when you hated each other. The fact you could tolerate each other now was unusual but not unpleasant, and you still found yourself grappling with how pretty Tara’s eyes looked in lamplight. "If I get a nickname, you absolutely have to have one too."

You scoffed. "That's not at all what that means."

"You had to have had one at some point."

"No, I haven't had one," you said.

"Liar!" Tara said with a giggle, pointing at you with her finger. "You're so bad at lying it's remarkable. Now spill. What is it?"

"I'm not lying!" you insisted, but now you were laughing and it was even less convincing.

"C'mon, promise I won't say it in public— unless it's really bad."

You stared at her for a moment, when she clasped her hands together in a begging plea.

"Please?"

"No," you shook your head.

"Please?"

"Nope."

"Pleaseeee?"

"Fine," you sighed. "My family, they used to call me Duck."

"Duck?" She asked, leaning back to look at you as if the nickname would re-contextualise your entire appearance. "Where'd that come from?"

"It's dumb. I used to wear this yellow raincoat when it was storming outside and these orange booties, so my little brother Mitchie saw me, when he was like five or six, and said I was a Duck. And so I was Duck."

She smiled at you, genuinely pleased with the explanation. "That's adorable. Where is Mitchie, tonight?"

You opened your mouth but shut it. Then, you opened it again. "Probably watching cartoons, or something. Back in Nebraska." (A/N: my ass genuinely did not know that was a U.S. state until right now)

You couldn't tell her that today was the day he had died, several years ago. That a year or two before that had happened, Calvin had gone, and a few months before that, Tomas and Alisha had passed too. That Peter had gotten sick, or that Miranda had gone missing before any of that mess had happened. That you were the only one left.

It was a bad lie, and probably one you would regret later, but it was one you ushered past, and Tara didn't seem to pick up on. From one cursed person to another, you figured it was probably best that you keep your own curse to yourself. It's part of what had made you hate Tara so much at first. She walked around knowing her days were likely numbered, so carefree and careless. And then there was you, you who was so careful in order to keep living.

But you couldn't resent her for that. It had melted away with seeing the Tara underneath. The real, beautiful Tara underneath.

"Duck is good, though. I'll bring it out when I want to embarrass you," Tara smiled, inching closer on the table.

"Yeah?" you grinned back at her, standing up to gently tap against the glue. It was set, and your model was finally finished at 4:42 in the morning. Tara leaned close, watching the glue with her own eyes, cheek almost up against yours in curiosity.

You finished the thing, looking over at her and her large, warm brown eyes, staring at the model you had made with so much curiosity and genuine interest. Tara hadn't lifted a finger to help, but you couldn't help but feel like it was partially hers.

You went to pull back but found your face turning towards hers, looking at each other for a long moment. Your eyes lingered on the slope of her nose, down to the curvature of her soft lips, turned up in the corners like Tara always did when she smiled. They looked so soft, and before you knew what was happening, you could feel Tara's hands coming up to the sides of your face, thumbs gently stroking against the skin there.

You couldn't breathe, feeling the warmth of the pads of her fingers on your face and the faint brush of her breath upon your nose. "Tara," you whispered. The pull was magnetic, and just as you were about to say to hell with it all, her phone began to vibrate in her pocket, and you both leapt apart from each other.

You wandered a few feet away, trying to seem busy while she answered it. You could feel Tara watching you while she spoke on the phone, so you did your best to hide the blush that was certainly spread wide across your cheeks.

This was the very girl you had spent the past several months hating. You suddenly felt dizzy, like the world would slip out from under your feet. Tara, the very same annoying girl who had pestered with you and bickered with you. The one who had so much more to her that what you had ever thought possible. The one who drew you in. The one in search of a hook up, for which you were only the decoy. You cleared your throat, whipping around when you heard Tara say "What?!"

"What's wrong?" you asked. "What's going on?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, looking up at you like she was about to cry. "They're questioning Sam again. They think Ghostface is back."

===+++===

DUN DUN DUNNNNNN anyways my ass is going to bed now. also i do not recommend anyone lie to someone they're interested in about who they are, ESPECIALLY an attempted murder victim

[theywantedplayer]

hii so i have a small lil req, maybe mitch marner had a rough (home) game, and reader comforts him by playing w his hair or rubbing his back, whatever, i just need some teeth rotting fluff for me to consume. love your writing a tad too much 😔😔

PromptList

MasterList

It was late at night almost midnight when you and Mitch decided to watch a movie on the couch. You were laying down with Mitch laying in between your legs and his head resting in your stomach on his side watching the tv. He’s not been himself since he got home, he had a tough game hours ago.

They played Boston and were shut out not being able to break the ice with a goal giving Boston the chance to score 5. Mitch was very hard on himself when it came to games like this, you both knew he was off his game and when you got home it was a slow quiet night.

You ran your hands through MItch’s hair softy not wanting him to get worked up again like he did in the car.

“You want something to eat?” you hummed out

There was a long silence between you both 

“Mitch? Want something to eat?” you asked again

“Mmhm” was all he responded with 

You slowly tried to get up from the couch but Mitch was making it hard since he was laying on top of you and didnt get off.It took a couple of seconds of maneuvering around him to get free. He followed you close behind to the kitchen in your apartment.

“We have left over shepherd's pie from last night?” you told opening the fridge 

“Sure” you could hear him mumble 

You could feel a ping in your chest at his tone of voice, you knew Mitch played the best he could tonight but still fell short and you knew he was going to be off all night. You grabbed the shepherd pie and put it in the microwave and turned to Mitch as it warmed up.

He was leaning up against the counter staring down at the floor clearly in deep thought.

“Honey” You started trying to catch his attention 

He slowly looked up at you, his face clearly showing you that he didn't feel alright.

You walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and looking up at him.

“Im sorry Mitchy, I know that was a rough game” you tried to comfort “But tomorrow you have a day off so you and I can take it slow”

He just sighed before he could speak “I just wanna go to bed”

You nodded leaning up against his chest as he wrapped his arms around you “We will go to bed after you eat ok?”

“Ok” he mumbled “Thank you” he whispered

“No need to thank me  

[bunting27]

i’ll be good, i promise. w auston 🤓

impressions ✏︎ a. matthews

bunting27's 100 follower celly !

a/n: semi long gap between posts because my contact tried to jump out of my eye like a thousand times while i was writing this

prompts: “i'll be good, i promise"

wc: 0.5k

taglist: @nylwnder @kenanlotus0

✏︎

when auston had confided in mitch about a girl he had been seeing, he was not expecting his best friend to immediately suggest a double date. it had been a while since auston had considered anything serious like he had been with her, and mitch had been waiting for the moment that he would meet someone who could be auston’s potential life partner.

auston brought it up casually with y/n that same night, and she agreed, though her face clearly wavered and she looked uncertain. she wouldn’t quite say they were at a serious stage, but she guessed auston had assumed differently.

she wasn’t opposed to it at all, she was more shocked that auston was even viewing her that way to begin with, since most of their time together so far had been physical. this would be their first official date, even.

she was more than happy that he wanted more with her, but in her eyes, meeting mitch was a bigger thing than auston made it out to be. 

they spent ninety percent of their winter together, and even some of their offseason, and she’d guessed they were close enough that one another’s opinions certainly mattered when it came to new partners.

her nerves skyrocketed even more when she discovered that this wouldn’t be a casual friendly meetup sort of double date, but one where she would have to dress nicely and go out to a fancy restaurant.

“you look off, sweetheart. you good?” she nodded slightly, looking up at him through the bathroom mirror as he zipped up the back of her dress and then held her hips.

“s’ just that you talk about mitch all the time, don’t want to make a weird impression” auston smiled, leaving a kiss on her shoulder and then turning her so they were actually looking at each other

“i think his impression will be that you’re hot, and smart and funny, and i really, really like you so he has no choice but to be ecstatic about your entire existence” she smiled into his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his lower waist, looking up at him through her eyelashes

“you think?” he hummed, rocking her back and forth and giving her a kiss on the forehead 

“let me take your mind off things, yeah? if you can be good for me all night, behave yourself, we can do anything you want when we come back home. how’s that sound?” she bit her lip and began fidgeting with the chain around his neck, breaking eye contact as she thought about it with red cheeks.

“can you be good for me tonight? so mitchy finally shuts up about me getting myself a girl?” she nodded into his chest, running a hand through his hair.

“i’ll be good, i promise” she whispered and he grinned, cupping the back of her neck so she’d look back up at him.

“start thinking of your reward, then, sweetheart. cause i don’t think this dress is making it much further than the front door when we come home” 

[artistmitchy]

The little teddy bear things that hang out with Faust after he murders twelve, injures thirty seven, and eats two and a half people.

[missmitchieg]

Portia, I swear to God!

[eyes-above--the-waves]

Oh thank god, Mitchy has an assist on the Knies goal. Will the dummies shut up now?

[brainddeadd]

"whatever tone wants to think, tone thinks" i mean.. yeah.. thats how that works mitchy

jt calling auston "papi"

"he dont let anything slide"

"he's not afraid to open his mouth"

"if i was a coach, id probably like that guy the best too"

"ohl is like a cult"

"i don't shut up so.. THIS GUY... i dont think too many people like me either"

"legolas"

"well it aint big booty mix over there"

"goalies are always wierdos"

[angstyaches]

Augusnippets Day 3

Prompt: Thunderstorm, requested by anon

OCs: Mitsuko and Bastian

Word Count: 476

CW: fear, werewolf whumpee, (oblivious) human caretaker, secret identity.

___

“Oh, mahal,” Bastian murmured under his breath. He had been waiting for her with a towel as she had plodded miserably from the building’s exposed walkway into their genkan. He had barely given her a chance to slink off her drenched platform boots before he had ushered her into their western-style living room and parked her in front of the space heater. It was early summer, which meant he had gone rummaging through the cupboards to get it out for her. 

Now he was scrubbing at her hair and shoulders with a dry towel that was quickly becoming less dry. 

And yet the tension was reluctant to let go of Mitsuko’s trembling muscles. The frown felt permanently welded onto her face. The rainwater felt as though it had not only penetrated her clothes, but her skin, too, and was driving its spiky coldness deep into her bones. And as if that all weren’t bad enough, each clap of thunder that barreled up through the building’s foundations and into their cramped living room made a growl sneak up behind her teeth. She was fighting a war with her own face, desperate to keep from baring her gums in front of Bastian.  

“You’re shivering, Mitchie. You’re like a poor little puppy who got lost in the storm.” 

Puppy?! Was he... What was he getting at?! Mitsuko stomach did a queasy, nervous flip that had nothing to do with the clapping of thunder outside. She hungrily scanned the glossy brown of his eyes, the curve of his mouth, the set of his jaw. Her nostrils flared as she calculated his intentions the best she could, sifting the air for any shift in his pheromones that might indicate that a confrontation was imminent. 

But... no. Bastian was just a little sad. Probably because his joke – she was now fairly certain it had been a joke, albeit one that struck a little too close to home – had made him think about real puppies getting lost in the storm. It was just the kind of thing that – 

Thunder crashed overhead. It sounded just like a tree cracking in half. 

A growl rumbled in Mitsuko's chest as she squeezed her eyes shut, sucking a steadying breath in through her teeth. Her lips curled back from her gums, her jaws gnashed harshly, and she felt goosebumps bristle all the way up her back until her hair practically stood on end. 

A defensive snarl slipped out when he grabbed her, taken by surprise, but found herself pulled her into a hug. She was freezing and damp against his dry clothes. Once she settled, Bastian lifted his hands and gently cupped them around her ears. 

She settled her forehead against his chest. When the next clap came, she barely heard it, focusing instead on the soft, squelching blip, blip, blip of his heartbeat behind his ribs.

___

@augusnippets

[artdecosupernova-writing]

OC Kiss Week Day 1: Almost

WIP: Partners Pairing: Ben x Reagan Timeline: non-canon, but 1969 (the time of the majority of PIII) CW: none Rating: T Words: 1,776 (🤙🏽)

***

"Alright, Reagan, let's try it once more from the top of the scene..."

Ben watched Reagan push himself off of the couch in the rehearsal room, pressing his thumbs into his eyebrows with a weary sigh. His scene partner, however—gorgeous Hollywood "It girl" and rising star Favra Violetta—glided off the couch to eagerly await him on the blocking tape beside the false door standing in for the real, eventual movie set.

As he crossed to her, Reagan threw a glance at his director to verify if that's what he meant by "from the top" before swiping his palms together. "You don't think I've got this acting thing figured out by now, Jimothy?"

"Shut up," grumbled Academy Award-winning director James Fernando as he took exactly two long steps to position himself at a prime angle to best view the scene. "Okay, you're back in the house, you're casting aside the horrible day, you're in your coat and soaking wet from the rain." James gestured to Favra. "Your beautiful wife has music on, and you smell dinner in the kitchen, and the only thing you can think to do despite all the bleakness and the misery is dance with this amazing woman. It's not difficult."

Ben crossed his arms in the spot where James once stood, an unregistered smirk on his face at the promise of watching Reagan have to dance again. "I'm so sorry this is the direction your career decided to take you."

Reagan shot him a third of a glare that melted into a boyish grin the moment his fingers wrapped around the doorknob.

"Right," James said, clapping his hands. "Action!"

A record started from the other side of the room, a kicky tune that likely would be replaced for filming. Reagan shut the door behind him, his shoulders heavy, eyes cast to the floor, and in the way he carried himself, he looked soaked to the bone from a nonexistent downpour. He stepped forward but stopped, recognizing the music, and his vacant gaze fell on Favra's Sadie bustling about the simulated living room.

She turned and smiled at him, smoothing down the waistband of her trousers. "Hey there, Mitchie."

What Reagan was supposed to do, here, was wait a beat, and then sweep Favra into a mid-tempo dance that carried them joyfully around the living room. Instead, he frowned and bit his lip.

James looked at Ben over his shoulder with a huff of desperation.

Ben shrugged. "He's got the yips."

"And how in the hell do I fix that?"

Ben swiped a thumb across his nose, taking in Favra's olive skin and endless brown eyes. He shook his head. "He lacks chemistry with Favra. It's kinda weird for him not to click instantly with...well, anyone, and it's probably nothing against you, Favra...but until he's able to find that spark there, I don't really see this working out the way you want it to."

"Yeah," James sighed. "Wonderful."

Favra dropped character and pulled her dark hair over one shoulder, motioning toward Ben. "Why doesn't he try the scene with Mr. Murray? Maybe going through the motions with someone he's comfortable with will help loosen him up?"

"I'm also standing right here in case one or all of you decide to consult me on the matter," Reagan said.

James nodded and waved impatiently. "Sure, sure, if Reagan's good with it, we'll do it that way. I would like to be confident in this scene sometime before I fall down dead of old age." He punctuated his sentence with a dramatic flop of the hand and a raspberry sound effect.

Favra graciously allowed Ben to take her place, and he did, with much apprehension. He'd been on the big screen a few times—once in a major way with Reagan—but he'd still never gotten used to the practice and found himself a bit nervous even though it was only rehearsal.

Since he was a temporary substitute, he went the comedic route with his miming, pretending to use a vacuum that started to suck up the toe of one of his socks as Reagan's Mitchie walked into the house.

"Good, good!" James said. "Music cue's late, but roll with it!"

Ben glanced up as the music hastily kicked on, and he smiled at Reagan much like he'd watched Favra do several times leading up to this. "Hey there, Mitchie."

Reagan stood where Ben imagined there'd be a step leading down into a sunken living room. He didn't know how long had passed since Reagan shut the door, but it was long enough to affect a wistful, bittersweet stare right into Ben's face.

He dragged himself, "wet" and "tired," into the living room and started to bounce a bit to the beat of the music. He acted out setting the vacuum cleaner aside and took Ben's hands.

"What're you doin'?" Ben asked, still on script and pulling his smile as far as it could go. He stopped needing to try when Reagan began to guide him in earnest, swinging his hips into a gradually more enthusiastic partnered Watusi.

Ben met him with every move, spinning with him, letting the music and the laughter sweep him into another mindset entirely. He remembered almost too late that the script then called for Sadie to break away and for Mitchie to chase her around the living room until he caught up to her by the couch and they shared a passionate kiss.

He would've brought the rehearsal to an end had he not clocked the mischievous sparkle in Reagan's eye as they danced fairly close to one another.

"Sadie, go!" James barked cheerfully.

Without another thought, Ben took off, a strange giggle bubbling out of him, fueled in part by adrenaline and mostly by the years that sloughed off of him just by being silly with Reagan. It brought him back to their school dances, their respective weddings, the time on the secluded beach before Reagan moved back to Ireland...

Ben screeched to a sudden halt in front of the couch and whipped around to Reagan, his heart slamming into his chest and a bolt of thrilled fear shooting through every extremity of his body as Reagan bore down on him like a beast of prey.

Like a movie reel flashing before his eyes, he recalled Reagan's twenty-first birthday, their rough and wasted first kiss against the brick wall in the alleyway he still wasn't sure some twenty-seven years later that he didn't yearn to remember in full...the drunken, highly charged striptease Reagan gave as a parting gift when they went to the beach alone...every time they'd give each other a quick kiss because they just loved one another that much and didn't care who knew it—

Reagan grabbed Ben around the waist, fervently cupped his face, and kissed him.

Ben did not expect that.

For comedic purposes? Sure. But to put his heart into it, his soul into it, to pull Ben closer and dig his fingers into his hair, to zap his knees of strength, to splay his other hand against the small of Ben's back? To take a man in his forties still recovering from a mental breakdown nearly a decade ago, a man who still couldn't fully admit to himself that his mind made up the rest of what happened on that beach, and whittle him down to a trembling mess sinking into his arms as the kiss became more and more meaningful?

When Reagan pulled away, Ben didn't even notice at first. Ben pried his eyes open and he was slammed with Reagan's beauty, his incredible smile, his blown pupils, and the sneaky dart of his tongue across his own bottom lip.

Why was Ben not able to do this all the time? Why was he wherever he was right now, whatever they were doing, whatever was going on, and not enjoying this every minute of every day? Why was he so pressured, so stupid, so restrained, so sad, why wasn't he running away to live with Reagan in blissful devotion and adoration for the rest of their lives...?

...Faye.

"Son of a fuckin' dumbass," he breathed sharply, swiping the back of his hand over his mouth.

"Right, excellent!" James clapped once again, laughing boisterously and scaring the daylights out of Ben. "That's great! Favra, whenever you're ready, dear. We'll run through it one more time to make sure we're in a good place."

Ben's eyes had gone wide as soon as his wife's name entered his mind. He swallowed slowly, making the mistake of dropping his face toward the ground. Reagan hadn't let go of him yet, and Ben felt an almost imperceptible squeeze around his midsection, an apology, a clutch of barely concealed terror. Reagan pressed his lips to the side of Ben's head, and then it was over.

Favra smiled at Ben as the actors reset the scene. Ben finally looked back to Reagan, spotting the regret veiling his face prior to getting into character again.

Standing to the side to watch the scene again, Ben could see the added frustration, the added fire in Reagan's performance that had definitely not been there mere moments ago. Reagan chased Favra around the couch, caught up with her, pulled her into a kiss that made Ben's lungs feel as if they were being squeezed.

Ben's forehead creased. James called it a night on that day's rehearsals.

Reagan drove Ben home from the studio in silence. Sometimes, most of the time, their silences meant nothing. They could endure an entire car ride without a word and be quite comfortable. But this time was different, and it made Ben's entire head hot. Even the crisp air exposed to them via the Capri convertible did not help.

Halfway to Ben's house, Reagan switched on the radio. Serendipity or a happy coincidence, he'd tuned into the last seconds of one of their songs from their Gilmore and Murray days.

Ben carefully looked over to Reagan, who broke into a warm smile and caught his eye while maintaining focus on the road.

"'Sendin' me into a tailspin...'" Reagan sang along, his voice soft and pillowy against the chaos of the L.A. streets. "'No matter what kinda mood I'm in...'"

"Forgetting everything I know,'" Ben joined in, "'I'd wanna see you again before I go...'"

Reagan led them into the crescendo, "'But I'm not goin' yet, I'd be a fool to put down a losin' bet...'"

Ben threw his arms up into the air. "'So we're on! Our! Way!'"

Reagan laid down some jazzy vocal runs behind Ben's sustained final note, and things went almost back to normal...

[annieqattheperipheral]

I thought this was great, these old white men fully and completely used their privileged rizz on me. They were fantastic at shutting down reporters asking about mitchy & jt, they're like bitch sit down this is day 1, we've been interviewing nine coaches, we'll get to that in our pro and amateur scouting meetings coming up this week and next, or won't whatever just to troll you massive assholes.

And then shanny was like craig and i battled on-ice a lot when we played and he was so tender and gentle and that's how i know he'll take care of my beautiful boys.

Then berube's like all you assholes you're lucky i keep my thoughts on toronto hockey media internal bc I've already chatted with all of the players over the phone or in person these past few days and i am already deeply in love with each and every single one of them and would go to war for their hands in marriage, and also hey I'm a canadian boy who dreamt of coaching the leafs and i came here to coach the talent here so i want these hot little fuckers to stick around and frustrate the fuck outta you losers targeting that beautiful little hamster.

And also I swear this was all 💯 verbatim. guys i should work for sportsnet???

[mmmitchmmmarner]

shut up about mitchy and his birthday tomorrow