#Anyway i love Ellie

[galadrail]

[booksandpaperss]

you know when you read one of the most well written well characterized fics of a character and you’re like “FUCK YES THIS AUTHOR UNDERSTANDS” and then in the notes or in a comment reply they’re like “I hope this wasn’t too ooc I can’t tell 😭” or “I’m glad this wasn’t super ooc I was rlly nervous!” like girl this may as well have been a transcript directly from that character’s head what are you TALKING about

also this isn’t author hate obv I luv you guys I just think it’s funny how this happens a lot. fic writers youre amazing <33

[cordycepspog]

There’s something horrifyingly beautiful about Tess’s final moments. In the midst of the most dire chaos, as she waits for her death to come rushing past so she can blow it sky high and give cordyceps a big fuck you one last time, one of the infected stops. It looks at her, really looks. Her own mortality is personified in this infected. It’s death that’s looking at her, and it sees her. She looks her own death in the eye, and the suspense is so high as it approaches. But then, it doesn’t bite her throat out like we all expect it to.

It kisses her. What’s more, it kisses her gently. And I think it was a brilliant choice on the writers part, because it reminded me that the infected aren’t supposed to be evil. Sure, they’re scary as hell, but really, they’re just trying to survive. They’re connected to one another, they can feel each other from miles away. They seek out and want to be close to their own kind, just like the human survivors do. And when they do find each other, they kiss hello.

And after so long apart from a loved one, someone you know and trust with every instinct in your body, wouldn’t you want to kiss them too?

[tlou-obsessed]

There is something about Pedros eyes as Joel that has me on the floor, throughout the series there are alot of microexpressions he does but this damn contrast makes my heart ache.

He goes from disbelief to shock to completely shutting down when Sarah dies, there is so much pain in those eyes it makes your heart clench, it's in the way Joel keeps hugging Sarah harder as to transfer his own life into hers by pure will,

Then you have the hospital and you see no light behind those eyes, you can just feel the pure rage and agony. Him walking slower and slower and you can just feel his heart drop, and the wires come lose in his head and then there is one mission, save Ellie. His eyes man....

[sugarbcnes]

𝜗𝜚 NSFW 18+

loser bestfriend ellie who all of a sudden turns into loser/sub top ellie after fucking you for the first time with the strap on she found in your closet.

she’s so fucking obsessed with the way you look when you bounce on her hips, nails tearing at her freckled skin as you string out the most beautiful sounds she thinks she’s ever heard anyone make in her entire life. her mouth drops open and she freezes as you fall into her, still trying to comprehend the whole thing as your face is buried in her neck, whimpering and gasping for your breath.

her hands tremble as they come up to wrap around you, long fingers tracing patterns into your skin in an attempt to calm you down.

she can’t fathom how needy you are or how you paw at her biceps in an attempt to get her to move her hips because you ‘feel so empty’. she can’t fathom the obsession you have of her that grows days after, constantly pressing against her or trying to get her alone or trying to be in her arms. she can’t fathom any of it except the part where she knows she’s fucking loving it.

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 131

Okay, so first of all Dan would like to say it’s not his fault. Ellie was the one to bring some unknown object into the speeder and Jazz was the one driving. Or had Sam been driving- didn’t matter! It wasn’t his fault, he wasn’t the one shooting at them, he wasn’t the one to break whatever, he was not the one to open a stupid portal, and so it wasn’t his fault! 

So why is he now like, five years old, and why is the speeder crashed in some sort of corn field. Why is everyone- except for Jazz whose now like six- also like three at most?! And- oh fuck the door just opened and… okay that’s a kid. Like, nine at most. 

A kid and an adult, who he hadn’t noticed at first so again, it’s not his fault if he hissed at them and tried to hide his not-siblings behind him. It’s also not fair they’re apparently stuck to ghost speak for who knows how long, but at least they can understand the people. 

“Martha, get some blankets, it’s happened again!” 

[homkamiro]

Me and my ability to get invested in a game that nobody knows about

[pixlokita]

Aight 😔

[starry-bi-sky]

More Clone^2 or just Damian Clone Au because these two have my heart rn.

————

“Asmi Danyal.” Damian says.

“Asm- asmi Danyal.” Danny repeats.

There is a sharp jab to his leg.

Danny thinks this means he’s winning, and he grins goofily.

(He’s not, he did the pronunciation wrong. He has to say it again.)

Where he is, is his room. It’s nearing midnight, and him and Damian have been sitting in his room for the last three hours.

He has books about learning arabic sprawled at his feet, from beginner’s books to advanced, he got whatever he could get his hands on that would teach him Arabic.

And Damian, little Damian who has finally taken it upon himself to settle down over these last few months, has decided that he doesn’t really like the way Danny is teaching himself.

“Your pronunciation is bad.” He told him through the translator Danny downloaded onto his phone. And then he sat down onto the ground and pointed at the floor and said “‘Ardia.”

And then wouldn’t stop until Danny said it in a way that he liked. He moved on to the next object. And then the next, and then the next. And so this has been their dynamic for the last two weeks. They’re finally moving on to proper sentences.

(It’s not fool-proof, and that’s why Danny still has his books. Damian doesn’t know every word, and knowing words doesn’t mean he knows how to string them together into a sentence.)

(But never let it be said that Danny is not a quick learner when he sets his heart to something.)

“Asmi Danyal.” Damian says.

“Asmi Danyal.” Danny repeats.

(“My name is Daniel.”)

Damian nods, satisfied and sated. He points to himself, puffed up like a peacock showing off its feathers. “Asmi Damyan Alghul.” He says, “‘Ana abn aldam.”

(There’s a flicker of uncertainty on Damian’s face, a slump in his shoulders that exists for only a millisecond. It’s a look on Damian’s face that Danny sees on his own whenever he looks in the mirror.)

(A question of identity, an ‘I think’ - am I really who I say I am? Doubt comes in with fickle tongue.)

Danny - much to his own surprise - is able to piece together the second half of his sentence on his own. It’s slow, assigning words to translation, but he learns it.

(“My name is Damian Al Ghul. I am the blood son.”)

The blood son - he can only assume he means the blood son of Bruce Wayne, of course. He shares the same face as the very public figure’s youngest boy.

And Danny shares the face of the youngest boy’s father.

And much like him, this Damian was younger than the original, thirteen year old one. Much younger.

“Marhaban Damian.” Danny says, a sly smile creeping up his face. “Asmi Danyal Fenton —” his eyes glance to one of his books, a list of greetings going down the page. He finds one he’s looking for. “Tasharafna.”

(“Hello Damian, my name is Daniel Fenton. It’s nice to meet you.”)

(He’d hold out his hand in a customary, playful handshake, but his palms still sting and hurt from his last encounter with Damian’s blade. He’s got them half curled at his side, unmoving as much as possible.)

Danny got the last pronunciation wrong, much to his amused delight. Damian’s face darkens and his smug expression falls away into a scowl.

“‘Ant aldajaalu, wanha ‘tasharafna.”

(“You are the imposter, and it’s ‘tasharafna’.”)

And so here they go again.

[maggiecheungs]

Jeanne Dielman, 23 Commerce Quay, 1080 Bruxelles (1975) dir. Chantal Akerman // Emily Wilson's introduction to The Odyssey

[ellieloves2draw]

heard it was bi visibility week AND tim stoker tuesday

(ID: a colored ink drawing of tim stoker, from the waist up. he is a brown man with partially dyed blond hair, a beard, and a notched eyebrow. he has three piercings on his left ear and one on his right. he’s wearing a striped dark yellow button up. he is smiling and winking at the camera, holding a bi flag in one hand and making a peace sign with the other. end ID.)

[eddievedders]

ELLIE TAYLOR AND ANTHONY HEAD TED LASSO — 3.12 "So Long, Farewell".

[antimonyandthyme]

carcar the last of us au snippet

warnings: past character death, descriptions of the infected, descriptions of use of weapons and violence

What Carlos wants to say, in a way fashioned entirely after his father: That grave is about as deep as it needs to be. No one has the luxury to mourn. Stop fucking around and move on or die standing still.

What he actually says: “Do you need help?”

“No,” Oscar says, curt. “I should be the one to lay him to rest.”

“Okay,” Carlos says.

Maybe it’ll help Oscar, and Carlos shouldn’t begrudge him that. Help him avoid the scenario in which every infected thereafter shared facial characteristics with Charles. Max. A pretty mouth, a strong jaw. It’s his fault, after all. Carlos should have taken the time to bury all of that under the dirt. But all he could do was run.

There’s an almost relaxing rhythmic sound to the ground being hacked up, and a different kind of tanginess to the smell of fresh earth that lets him forget about blood for a moment.

He could be kind, sit at the foot of the grave and listen to Oscar talk about Logan. Why he thought coming back to where they grew up was a good idea. All these good ideas crumbling to dust, at every town they've witnessed that has eaten itself from the inside out.

Carlos closes his eyes. He doesn’t quite know what to do with another faceless loss, can’t add another number to his collection.

And anyway, Oscar's seen his fair share. He’s too good with the shovel for this to be his first.

Carlos clears his throat, when Oscar's finally done placing some leafy branch at the head of the grave. Flowers. On a grave. That’s some doe-eyed rose-tinted bullshit. There’s a strangled bird, caged somewhere to the left of Carlos’ chest. He doesn’t allow that bird any food or warmth or hope, for fear of softness. Can’t be soft if you want to survive.  

“We should move,” he says.

“We?” Oscar reels his head up. The loss carving its way down his cheeks haven’t fully dried, but he looks hopeful, almost like a lost dog. With how Carlos acts, he probably hadn't expected an offer like this. It should've been cut and dry. Getting you to your city, in exchange for a car battery.

“It’s a simple question,” Carlos says. “Are you coming?”

If he wasn’t already fucked all ways to Sunday, making his way along this forsaken earth with two rounds of ammunition and less than a quart tank of gas left, he’s definitely fucked now, adding a bleeding heart to their journey. But Carlos imagines Charles’ face if he were to leave a kid behind and—damn him for that. For being a ghost and still demanding good of him.

“Yes,” Oscar says.

Arguments and energy spent on arguments should be saved for the important things. Carlos throws what’s left of their shit into the back of the trunk, and wordlessly, gets into the driver’s seat.

--

“I’m just saying.” Oscar’s insistent. He’s spent the first half an hour of the journey staring vacantly out the window, but apparently, country music’s where he draws the line. “If for some reason this car caught on fire—”

“Don’t you even dare,” Carlos says. The thought of losing the Sienna makes him want to shrivel up and die. With luck, they managed to jack a vehicle with a working CD player. Tunes are a necessity in what is essentially a never-ending road trip. “I don’t want to think about it.”

“If it did,” Oscar says, “and I only had time to save one album—”

“Zach Bryan,” Carlos says.

“No,” Oscar says flatly.

“Dios mio. I should have left you back there.”

“You nearly did,” Oscar points out, but it doesn’t sound accusing. At Carlos’ furtive glance, he shrugs. “No hard feelings. I know what you’re doing.”

“Yeah?” Carlos doesn’t like the sound of that, gets his back all up. Ten and two on the wheel, lest he reaches for Oscar’s shirt to shake him until his teeth rattle. “What am I doing?”

“Self-defense,” Oscar says.

“I really should have left you.”

“I didn’t mean that in a bad way.” Seemingly chastised, Oscar digs his teeth into his lower lip. Charles used to do that too, before he acquired the ability to unhinge his jaw and take larger bites. “You look out for your own, right?”

Carlos wonders if Oscar can see his trauma for what it is. The way Carlos has been tuned toward Oscar in the passenger seat, as if an infected would crash through the windscreen at any second. The way he’d swerve right, driver’s seat to the road, without a second thought, if it meant his neck would be exposed instead of Oscar’s.

He’s got nothing to offer but his own body.

“I’m doing such a great job of it.”

“Mate,” Oscar says warily. If he could hedgehog his way any further into the car’s upholstery, he would be so far back he’d be invisible by now. Zach croons in the staticky background, There ain’t no world in which I am good for you. Ain’t no world, now or ever. “I wasn’t saying you weren’t.”

“No, really,” Carlos says, a little hysterically, “I’m doing such a great job—”

--

There were things in the world that should not have applied to Charles. Spend upwards of two months to four years with him and you’d start to imagine that his fingernails never got dirty, or that his smile never got ugly, or that his face never got bloodied.

But he turned like everyone else.

His skin bleached itself until every single vein was visible, and his eyes lost all recognition. He could still speak, for the first bit. Said their names in what was almost a parody. Cahlos. Cahhhlos.

“We have to,” Max couldn’t finish his sentence, though he kept trying. “We have to—”

Charles lunged for them like a rabid animal. They cringed, but the tire chains wound around Charles hold fast, and he shrunk back. Before lunging again, and again. If Carlos were a better man, he’d put Charles out of his misery. Too bad he was a big fucking coward.

“Don’t,” Carlos hissed, absolutely feral, when Max squared his shoulders and took a step forward. “Don’t touch him.”

Max’s chest rose and fall in rapid succession. His eyes were glassy and hollow. Max, who Carlos had never seen shed a tear once, who they all joked would survive them all. He looked a gentle tap away from breaking. “This isn’t about our stupid feelings, it’s about what Charles would have wanted.”

“Fuck you,” Carlos said, to nobody in particular. To maybe himself. Charles was his responsibility when they went on the raid for food, and Charles was still his responsibility now. Till the end. He’d shown Carlos the bite on his calf, almost guiltily, and remained docile and quiet when Carlos wrapped him in chains, while Carlos breathed through what was most definitely a panic attack.

Easy, Carlos. You’ve got to care of Max now. Easy, come on, breathe Carlos. It doesn’t hurt much, not now anyway. Just. Do me a favour. Make it quick, alright?

Cahhhhlos.

“I’ll take care of it,” Carlos said, because all of this was his fault. In the chaos at the grocery store, he got separated from Charles for a harrowing two and half minutes. That was all it took. “Just. Just give me a moment. Just give me a second, alright?”

Charles snarled, snapping his teeth against the metal biting into his skin. This couldn’t be how Carlos remembered him.

“I’ll do it in the morning,”Carlos promised. I’ll do it after sunrise, so he gets to see it one last time.

In the morning, this is what he found:

Charles, chest cavity open, lying still like he was peacefully asleep.

And Max, bleeding out from a bite wound in his forearm, the gun used to lay Charles to rest tucked at his feet. His skin was paper white, but his eyes were still bright.

“I fucked up,” Max said. It was the way he said it. Completely accepting and calm. It made Carlos drop to his knees and hack out the nothing he had left in his stomach. Bile burned his throat raw. “I thought I could do it, so you wouldn’t have to. Sorry.”

Carlos trembled, pushed his forehead into the ground. The entire world was bearing down on him like a magnifying glass on an ant. He didn’t want to look up. If he didn’t look up, then this didn’t have to be real.

“Carlos,” Max said, more gently than Carlos had ever heard him. By some magnetic, supernatural force, it lifted Carlos’ head from the dirt. Max had enough in him to kick the gun over to Carlos, and life in him yet for the corner of his mouth to twitch up. “You can do it.”

Carlos shook his head mutely.

The expression on Max’s face morphed into something unfamiliar. Pleading. It would carry itself into Carlos’ nightmares and every single infected running after him after. “You can. Just don’t fuck it up this time.”

--

“I’m,” Oscar says. He sounds heartbroken for people he doesn’t even know. “I’m sorry about your friends.”

“You didn’t know,” Carlos says. He never should have said anything. Maybe it’s the kid, snapping, I should be the one to do it. Mirrors are a relic of the past, but Carlos looks at Oscar and sees the same jagged stubbornness lining all his edges. “I’m sorry about Logan.”

They pass the rest of the drive in silence.

[bnha-more-like-bnh-gay]

Shinsou: I hate all those things that were like, “they used to be so strong and funny…. ThEn [insert trauma here], now they are a shell of what they once were”

Shinsou: I can be traumatized and still be strong and funny. I’m the funniest fucker I know

Tsuyu: yesterday you said that you wanted to enter a coma so you didn’t have to deal with an authority figure being mad at you again

Shinsou: both can be true, am I not allowed to have duality, tsuyu??

[thisbitchcantdraw]

Genuinely tweaking because it’s 4 in the morning rn and I’ve been drawing this all day, literally the second I was free I was drawing.

AND IT TOOK ME 6 HOURS WHATTT

So as some of you know I’m a big fan of a FanFiction made by @theellipelli and it’s epic and great and it’s yanqing and Jing yuan and time travel and family issues GO READ IT IM GREAT AT PROMOTING THIS HAHAH.

So like… I didn’t read the new chapter and I’m scared to do so BECAUSE WHAT DO YOU MEAN TW DEATH??? STOP.. I better not cry

Anyway so I had the idea on what the idea was but I didn’t know how to make it right so I ended up with this, here’s the starter sketch with colour

Now MEGA TRANSFORM RENDER BOOM WOW heheh thank you thank you👏👏👏👏

If you can’t tell Baiheng is drunk and in my head she should be kept at least 5 miles away from any person when she’s drunk

Jinglius hand looks weird but look at yanqing he looks great #neverdoingmysondirty

The atrocious hand grip on yanqing head I head to learn how to draw hand can someone teach me

Ik it’s really hard to tell what’s going on with df and yingxing but I wanted to fit all the quintet in (they are just whispering to each other which is pretty much “bro can we please leave” “nah”) Df is so circle I’m sorry idk what happened I’m tweaking again

Sorry that jy, yq and baiheng look so much better than everyone else that’s the difference between start vs finish

And if anyone is out there “6 hours for that?? Man you got to be joking” well Uhm actually I’m a very slow artist

I think I spent the smallest time on yingxing

But I think I spent at least like an hour on the sketch sigh can I get a pat on the back

ALSO DRAWING THEM WAS SO HARD BECAUSE OF THE SMALL AMOUNT OF REFERENCES I HAD..

I wanted to do cloud night Jing yuan but the design was different from the fic one so I had to live of that one art the author of the fanfic did (go check out her tumblr tagged her above she’s great support her on every platform possible or you’ll die)

Anyway ik not a lot of people are reading this but I would like to thank art Jesus, art God and Beyoncé for giving me the motivation to finish this in one day

Uhm that’s the end make sure to support the author love you all bye,!

Scared to post this second thoughts are gonna be the end of me

[undressrehearsal]

So we know they can hear each other through the walls given reader can hear Ellie's singing so... Has Ellie heard reader through the walls doing more than just singing 👀

if you asked she'd tell you no

or she would feed you some bullshit about how she could hear your awful music through the walls. during exams, she would bitch about you keeping her up late into the night because she could hear you cussing to yourself as you pulled an all-nighter. she would complain about how loud you were after you had had a girl over - a girl whose name you couldn't quite remember even though ellie had heard it loud and clear. hell, she would even talk to you through the wall if she was too lazy to get up, calling for you to come smoke with her or asking what you wanted to do for dinner

what she never told you is how when you first moved in together - the living room still piled with boxes - she heard you that night. of course she did - the walls were so paper thin that she had heard you humming while you got ready for bed. she could hear each time you opened a fucking drawer. and as she lay awake that first night, staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling on top of sheets still dusty from the move, she heard the sharp gasp through the wall

she didn't think anything of it at first. it could have been anything - that's what she told herself at least. and she wouldn't tell you how she had laid there with held breath, ears straining in the silence. she wouldn't tell you how her stomach twisted when she heard your muffled whimpers. you tried so hard to stay quiet - she imagined you biting your lip the way you always did when you were focused. she couldn't stop her imagination from wandering, imagining how your eyes screwed closed, your brow furrowed. in the dark, nobody would know that she wondered how you did it - did you circle your own clit with your fingers, nice and slow, drawing yourself to the edge? did you use a toy? she had an idea of which ones you had; she had snuck a peek into the boxes when you were moving. maybe it was that rose you liked so much? did you slide your fingers inside yourself, swallowing a moan in the hopes she wouldn't hear?

did you think about her?

she would never tell you about all the nights she lay awake, hearing those shattered whimpers from the other side of the wall. she wouldn't tell you about how warmth pooled between her legs when a choked moan slipped from your carefully guarded lips. and fuck, she would never tell you how often her hand drifted between her own legs, her boxers traitorously soaked from listening to her best friend through those paper-thin walls. she would never tell you all the things she imagined doing to you, her own fingers pulling her over the edge - imagining they were yours instead.

she would never tell you that, but you kind of always knew she was full of shit. the walls were so fucking thin after all