#stabscream

       nikki  looks  up  at  his  words  from  where  she’s  sitting ;  on  the  floor  with  her  laptop  balanced  on  her  bare  thighs  with  a  small  fan  right  in  front  of  her.  the  summer  heat  has  seeped  into  every  crevice  of  this  jammed  apartment:  the  dark  brown  leather  couch,  the  wooden  side  table  and  nikki  thinks  she  could  even  hear  the  small  tv  whirring  from  the  relentless  heat.  even  now,  when  the  sun  has  long  set,  she  was  still  seeking  any  kind  of  relief  from  this  swelter. 

       her  mouth  is  still  hanging  open  from  reading  to  rome,  eyebrows  knit  together  at  his  comment.  she  has  not  even  made  it  past  the  introduction  of  her  short  story  (an  introspection  of  the  events,  to  put  it  mildly,  that  have  occurred  a  year  ago)  and  he  shoots  her  right  down.  so  direct  &  rude;  something  she  usually  cherishes,  something  she  is  and  has  been  herself  countless  of  times  before. 

…Oh I actually like this

I couldn’t decide if he wouldn’t just stay a dumb little knife or if he could be a sword too

maren does a twirl.

the shirt’s too big, it’s faded. there’s a … stain, something … near donatello’s bandana. but those are some of the reasons why she picked it out of his dresser in the first place. the interesting stuff was always hidden at the bottom.

“do you puke on everyone’s clothes or just mine?”

she lifts the collar and sniffs: sunscreen, detergent, cedar. in that order. smells lived in. loved. but since he’s already accused her:

𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐄𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐄, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐄𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒. in the moment it takes so much effort for her to silence the whispers wanting to fan themselves against her ear, echo inside her mind in a tone that does not belong to her. the temperature always drops when she's in the presence of a spirit, when they decide to use her to say something unspoken in life. the repression of it felt like being drawn to the bottom of the ocean by weights, the fatigue that overtakes her & the physical withdraw is almost not worth trying to keep is pushed down. ( ever since she was girl it felt like this yet before the trials & horror of adulthood riley had been able to handle it better. perhaps it was the rose tinted glasses, the playful mind, of a child that made her 'friends' easier to digest. ) riley often hated what she was, what she had seen. would it have been easier to be normal, would she had been happier ? instead she was tempermental, grouchy, not the friendliest person alone. there was a reason she was alone.

︳ ︵ ⟡ 〔 @stabscream said, " it's feminine intuition. " 〕

  nightclub \ bar action based starters 　　send ‘slide’ for my muse to slide into the seat next to your muse.

the bar is filled with the noise of other patrons. an amalgamation of conversations merging into an overall hum && an occasional yell. the music && bustle at the pool table, it all fills the room loud enough that the swinging open of the front door is barely heard every few minutes.

over all the noise, however, eddie still somehow makes his arrival known.

with an exaggerated && loud scrape of the stool against the wooden floor, eddie slides into the spot next to the other like he was invited. two fingers wave at the bartender, an innocent smile flashed toward rome, " hey, uh, i'll have two -- " a third finger is held up, " three of what he's having. " he's gotta catch up, right??