#a stupid so-called moderate

[bibibitchery]

talking to a libertarian about prison abolition is such a trip because so often, they’ll agree and be like “yeah, the prison system doesn’t work, people are likely to re-offend when they get out” and you agree like “yes, you are absolutely right, which is why we need to-“ (said overlapping) “focus on restorative justice” “kill all of the prisoners”

like,,, excUSE ME?

and then you go off and talk about human rights and false convictions (with an emphasis on how frequently the justice system fails and wrongfully incarcerates Black men), and they say something like “well, as long as the streets are safe and they get what they deserve”

[equalperson]

being the friend that's "too woke" fucking sucks because everyone else can talk about their political beliefs just fine, but the moment you say something, the conversation either dies or you get berated for it. god forbid you want to talk about any lesser-acknowledged type of discrimination (E.G. sanism, fatphobia, ageism, etc.)!!

[hana-bobo-finch]

i am one day late to my own character’s birthday but whatever better late than never. this image popped up in my head last night and I felt obligated to make it

for context Tornado is the name of the only social networking site on fincg island and C.C. is. very into the occult and would definitely think this is a halfway decent thing to do (it is not)

og

[heyitslapis]

ITS FUCKING BAY BRIDGE INSURANCE APPARENTLY

[cantpickyourgenre]

I've seen a lot of "first date gone wrong shenanigans" but what about a "friend hang where everything goes so right, they're forced to call it a date" for them? Eddie buys Dodgers tickets for him and Chris. Chris says, "Dad, are you crazy?!?!?! I have three tests and two essays ALL due Friday. I do NOT have time for this" because Mr. I Puke Over the Stress and Pressure of Chess definitely cares about his grades. So, Eddie texts Buck and says, "I have an extra ticket, you in?" and Buck responds, "A night with the Diazes? Wouldn't miss it for the world" and Eddie says, "well. Actually. Just me. :(" and Buck goes, "I'll pencil you in then, if I must :)" But then Buck is driving to Eddie's because Eddie is going to drive them to the game, and he stops at the store first. To get Chris study snacks because he's trying to suck up to him post-Texas. The cashier is like, "here. Someone paid for these roses but then dramatically took a phone call with their girlfriend and said they no longer needed them. I think they broke up. They're yours now." So, Buck brings roses to Eddie who is like, "uhhhh, wow" all rosy (pun moderately intended) cheeked and Buck is like "yeah haha I got them for free, BUT they'll look so much better here!!!!!!!!" (they both miss him living there, but couldn't think of a logical reason for him to actually stay) And they go to a restaurant first, and the couple next to them gets engaged. Turns out to be like some rich LA couple, so they buy everyone in the restaurant a bottle of wine to celebrate. So, Buck and Eddie are just like chilling, sharing this bottle of wine, and the couple next to them is talking about their plans for the future and Buck and Eddie are eavesdropping and smiling at each other and feeling light and happy. Then they get to the game finally, and a couple asks them to take their photo, because tourists, and then they offer to return the favor and Buck and Eddie now have a picture of them in front of Dodger Stadium and Buck "jokingly" sets it as his phone background, which makes Eddie take a picture of Buck but super zoomed in on one of his eyes, and he "jokingly" makes that his phone wallpaper because they're being giddy and stupid and maybe a little 30-something men flirty. And the Dodgers win and neither of them care or notice. They decide to take a walk after, maybe at the beach, maybe in the neighborhood of South Bedford because Buck "misses the area". And when they're walking it just feels right to hold hands, and then maybe when they go to say goodnight it just feels right to share a first date sort of kiss. And they don't really talk about it, they just go on dates and start treating each other like boyfriends and all of this is fine with them until Maddie is like, "okay, wait, when did you guys actually start dating? Like when is the anniversary? Also how did this happen?" and Buck and Eddie are like shrugging, Buck is saying, "maybe that dodger game? maybe non-exclusively years ago? I guess I don't really know, just sort of happened." And Eddie is just like grinning, "See Buck, the universe doesn't scream, sometimes it just whispers."

[fragranticareviewers]

Hello to you, 

I am so sorry to bother you, but I am the Fragrantica user, Sopping Wet Hog. Well, I was until I was banned from the website today. I would include a screenshot of the message that appeared when I attempted to login which stated that I had been banned for "Spamming reviews with nonsense" but alas, I am too stupid and dumb to attach an image to this message. 

I came upon your Tumblr and was delighted to find that people had been sharing and enjoying one of my reviews which included a brief retelling of the time I was nearly married to the stone-hearted, crabapple-faced Grunip. I found this heartening, to say the least. I would like to thank you and your audience for taking the time to read, share, and appreciate my work. 

Additionally, I wondered if you or any members of your audience might be compelled to write the panjandrums at Fragrantica and petition for my release from the internet shackles in which they have me currently bound. I have already done so myself, but I thought maybe, with a little luck, they might take pity on my wretched corpse if a few people kindly requested that my account be reinstated. I know this is a whole lot to ask, but if anybody reading this sentence would like to send an email to the moderators at password@fragrantica.com and request the reinstatement of the Sopping Wet Hog account, I would be forever grateful. 

Additionally again, I would like to ask if you, or anybody, might have any suggestions where a poor pauper like myself might be able to share their honest, unbiased perfume reviews without fear of having their account deleted. Fragrantica clearly does not take kindly to those of my ilk. 

Thank you again so very much. I hope you never die. 

how dare they call your marriage with gurnip "nonsense". Fragrantica warriors grab your perfume

[strayingawayy]

counterpoint chemistry...

...the one where you and chan turn a debate into a flirting match

you’re in the middle of a very serious academic debate.

or at least, it was serious before bang chan decided to turn it into his own personal rom-com.

"automation is creating a dangerous overreliance on technology," you argue, voice steady, eyes locked on your actual opponent and not on the annoyingly attractive man smirking at you from across the room. "people are losing problem-solving skills, critical thinking, basic human interaction-"

"basic human interaction?" chan interrupts, tilting his head. "you and i seem to be interacting just fine."

your jaw tightens. "academically, bahng. stay on topic."

"i am on topic," he counters, leaning slightly on his podium. "your whole argument is about losing human connection, but here we are, connecting. seems a little counterintuitive, don’t you think?"

his teammates snicker. your teammate visibly facepalms. the moderator sighs deeply, as if regretting every decision that led to this moment.

you take a steady breath. "you're missing the point. this isn't what the motion is about."

"or maybe," he says, tapping his fingers, long and slender and adorning a simple bracelet, against the podium, "you just don’t like that i have a point."

your eyes narrow. "oh, please. the only point you have is the one you’re trying to make about yourself."

he grins. "if you think i’m that self-absorbed, why do you pay so much attention to me?"

"i don’t."

"really?" he raises a brow. "because every time i talk, your eyes go straight to me."

"that’s called participating in a debate, bang. gets me the point you lose every time you're being stupid."

"that’s called being interested," he fires back.

you clench your jaw. "in proving you wrong."

he chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. "you’re fun when you’re all riled up."

"and you’re turning this debate far too personal," you mutter, flipping through your notes. "if i wanted to waste my time, i’d debate a brick wall."

"but a brick wall wouldn’t flirt back," he quips, eyes twinkling.

"oh, so you admit this is flirting?" you shoot back, raising a brow, a slight smirk adorning your lips. you got him.

his grin falters for a second, no, half a second too long. "wait. no, that’s not-"

"moderator," you say smoothly, turning away from him, "i'd like to formally request that my opponent get deducted points for flirting instead of debating."

the moderator looks exhausted. "if i start deducting points for flirting, we'll be here all night."

"can we please be here all night," chan mutters under his breath.

you turn to glare at him. "i heard that."

he smirks, completely unapologetic. "good."

your teammate groans. "can we please just finish this debate before one of you confesses?"

"i'm waiting on them," chan says, nudging his chin toward you.

"in your bloody dreams," you fire back.

his smirk softens, just slightly, in a way that makes your heart stumble over itself.

"you have no idea."

[mooooonnnzz]

World/Insured Part 3

Stanford Pines x Sibling!Reader/Stanley Pines x Sibling!Reader

☆ hope you guys r liking it so far!! :p

☆ 4,4k words

✶ “Can we talk about [Name]?” Ford suddenly brings up one day. The waves of tourists have been moderately slow for the day, allowing Stan and Ford to kick back and relax for once. And in the midst of sitting down on the couch, his mind dwelled over to the thought of you. Stan let out a long sigh as he sat down, pitt cola in hand. Stan was trying to break free from his alcohol addiction, Ford noted. “Sure, what do you want to talk about?” The causality held in Stan’s words made Ford uneasy. He was so unnaturally calm with his words, at least the last time he brought you up, he can sense the agitation in his words, but he couldn’t find any dripping anger from him now. Mustering up all the courage he had left, he asked; “How were they?” He felt his mouth run dry. Out of everything he could’ve asked, he asked that? All the questions he had were out the window and off into the woods, leaving him scrambling for words. Taking a sip from his soda, he said, “Do you want to know how they felt immediately after they left with me?” Ford nods. “Well, being fifteen and a rage of hormones, they pretty much hated you.” Stan’s eyes glance over to Ford whose face could visibly read hurt. “I’m just kidding!” Stan cackled, shoving Ford. “They were ripped apart. I remember they told me how they felt everything and nothing at the same time, real poetic than one.” He takes another sip. “They missed you so much while I hated your guts. I couldn’t think of you without seeing red and they couldn’t think of you without crying.” He swirled the drink in the can, looking down to his shuffling feet. “What did you guys do to survive?” 

✶ “I enrolled them into a high school. I didn’t want them to be stupid like me, ya know? And while they were in highschool, I started my business which earned us money to get by.” Stan told him. “Would you even call what you did a business?” Ford said with his eyebrow raised. “Hey!” Stan rolled his eyes, placing the can of soda down on the floor. “Once we got banned from a few states, [Name] put their foot down and encouraged me to get a job. And guess what, I landed a pretty good job! My history of stealing peoples money was long gone, until now,” Stan quietly said the last part. “And we were living pretty comfortably. I got us a nice house, a good car and [Name] graduated highschool and they got a job as manager of some sort, can’t really remember.” Stan scratched his chin idly. “They were on their way to move out and take their business elsewhere when you decided to show your face.” Stan cleared his throat, looking at Ford. “They talked about you a lot.” He softly added. “I saw how they lit up when they saw me for the first time. They looked so much older.” Ford said. “I mean, yeah, that’s what happens when you miss, like, 10 years of their life.” Ford ignored Stan’s comments and mulled over his thoughts. After a moment, he spoke up. “Thank you for talking about them, Stan.” Stan shot him a smile. “Of course, talking about them wasn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be.” Since then, Stan would share stories of you whenever Ford asked, ranging from embarrassing ones, to one’s where it was a little harder for Stan to tell. But in the end, it brought them closer together and kept the memory of you alive. 

✶ Much to Ford’s dismay, the whole shack was rearranged to be a tourist trap. By day, they were busy ripping people of their money and by night, they buried themselves in their work, fixing what they could while simultaneously searching for the second book. And before they knew it, they were in their late 50’s. Adjusting his fez, he smiles at himself through the mirror. “Stan!” Ford bursts through his room, starling Stan. “Geez, Ford! A little warning next time?” Ford stammers over to him. “No time for that!” He huffs out. “The book! I-I can’t find it!” Stan’s face falls. “What?! What happened to it?” Ford opened his mouth to answer when Soos yelled out; “Mr. Pines!” Stan curses to himself, that must be the kids. “Do you have any idea where it could be?” Stan asks. Out of all the days something could’ve gone wrong, why today? “I think maybe the gnomes took it?” Stan was ready to scream again when Soos called for them again. “I want you to go and look for the book.” Stan insisted, pointing a finger at him. “I’m not coming with you to get Dipper and Mabel?” Ford gasped out, his hand slapping on his chest. “No! Because you lost the book!” Stan pointed an accusatory finger at him. “I lost the book? It was probably a gnome who took it!” Ford defended. “How are you so sure that a gnome even took it?” Ford scratched the back of his neck nervously. “They may or may not have knocked me out just a few moments ago.” Stan was so ready to deck him in the face when Soos came into the room. “Mr. Pines!” He pointed outside. “The kids are here!” “We know that, Soos.” The twins spat out. “But there’s this wolf mailman dude, and I really don’t trust him and he’s probably like eating the kids right now at the bus stop!” Soos rambled out. While Stan carried an unimpressed face, Ford’s face twisted to one of horror. “We need to pick them up now!” Unfortunately for Stan, both Soos and Ford have a rising suspicion that the mailman is a wolf in a human disguise. But the man was just hairy! Ford pulled Stan along and got inside his car. Starting up the car, Stan let out an exhausted sigh. “How did puny little gnomes knock you out?” He asked, backing out of his parking spot and onto the road. “I was busy reading when they knocked me out cold! I don’t think they intended to steal the journal, when I was waking back up they realized and grabbed the nearest object possible and ran out of there.” Stan sighed, tapping his finger on the wheel. “I really can’t believe you sometimes.” He mutters. “It wasn’t my fault, Stanley!” 

✶ Coming to a complete stop, Ford rolled down the windows, a large smile on his face when his eyes landed on his favorite great nieces. “Grunkle Ford!” They cheer, equally large smiles on their faces. “Hey, hey!” Stan watched as they stumbled into the car with their bulky backpacks skidding against the roof. “Where’s my love?” Stan exclaimed. “Right here, Grunkle Stan.” Mable giggled, wrapping her arms around Stan’s neck and nuzzling her face into his shoulder. “That’s more like it,” Stan grinned, gingerly patting her back. “Now where’s the sweaty one? I’m missing one!” Dipper sighed, a playful roll to his eyes. “I’m right here,” Mable pulled away from Stan and swiftly latched herself to Ford. “C’mon, give your old grunkle some sugar.” Dipper cringed. “Don’t ever say that again, Grunke Stan.” He said, hugging Stan. “I say what I want, kid! We live in a free country for a reason.” The drive home was full of conversation, the twins telling their grunkle’s stories from school and their home life. Stan and Ford made the conscious effort to comment and react to everything they said, if not Mable would make sure they did by repeating what they said over and over again. When the Mystery Shack came into view, they both shoved their face against the window, marveling at the shack. “Is this what Grunkle Stan is always talking about when we call him?” Mable’s hot breath fogged up the window. “Yup. And now you guys get to see it.” Ford gestured to the shack, smiling proudly. He had soon come to love the shack he and Stan worked on, he will never admit that out loud though. Parking in his usual spot, he turns to the kids. “Get yourself settled in, alright?” They wasted no time jumping out of the car and scampering off into the shack. “And don’t touch anything!” A jar crashing onto the floor was heard in the distance. “They don’t listen, do they?” Stan shook his head. “Alright, poindexter, what are we going to do about the book?” He started, looking at Ford who pulled at his turtle neck anxiously. “We have to wait till tonight to look for it.” Tonight came and they were too wrapped up with the twins that they couldn’t go out and search for the third book. Their schedules became so busy that a week had passed and they still were waiting to find an empty slot in their schedules to find the book but it never came.

✶ “Grunkles! Grunkles!” Mable came running at them at full speed. “Woah there, kiddo!” Ford swooped Mable up from the floor. “You almost bumped into me.” He laughed, putting her back down on the ground. “That was the plan.” She giggled. “But I have something to ask!” She shoved her hand inside the pocket of her skirt. She pulled out a photo, a very specific photo that Stan had kept in his room. She pointed at the person in the middle. “Who is this?” She asks. “Mable!” Dipper rushed to the living room. Bending over, he hoisted himself up by propping his arms on his knees. He wheezed out, his eyes locking onto the tense scene in front of him. “Did she already ask about the photo?” Silence was his response. Breaking out of his trance, Stan swiped the photo out of Mable’s hands. “Where did you find this?” Stan’s eyes flickered between the photo and Mable. “In your room.” A flash of emotions went through Stan’s face. Why was Mable in his room? Why did she pick this photo out of all the things in his room? He spiraled. He wasn’t expecting to speak of you to someone who had no idea of your existence. Stan’s heart crumpled into a pathetic ball. The twins had never met you. Ford took notice of Stan’s unnaturally quiet nature.  “Kids, why don’t you go to your rooms?” Ford said, kneeling down to their height. “But why?” Mable whined, pouting. “Because we need to decide if we are ready to tell you, okay?” Ford gave a knowing look to Dipper who understood that this wasn’t an easy topic. Dipper told something to Mable and with a worried look, she dejectedly followed him up to their room. “Stan?” He looks over to Stan who was shakily pulling out a packet of cigarettes. “I thought you quit, Stanley?” Ford watched sadly as he walked inside the kitchen and searched for a lighter, when he did he pocketed it and walked back out. “It’s either I drink or I smoke.” Stan said, heading towards the porch. Ford followed after him, shutting the door behind him. “You want one?” Stan offered the pack and he debated for a moment before denying his request. Stan brought the cigar to his lips. He cupped his hand around the cigar as he lit it up with his lighter. Taking a deep drag of the smoke, he allowed himself to relax, welcoming the familiar feeling of the smoke filling his lungs. “We don’t have to tell them if you don’t want to.” Ford spoke, watching the puff of gray smog lighty cover his vision momentarily. “I don’t think we have a choice here.” Stan takes another long drag from the cigarette. “We can tell them we’re not ready yet.” Ford reasons. “I think it’s time they should know about [Name].” Stan stares at the late afternoon sky. “It was just all so sudden and I didn’t know how to react. It all went downhill from there.” Stan twiddled his cigarette between his fingers. “You don’t have to explain yourself, Stanley. I know how you feel.” A comfortable silence blanketed the both of them warmly. “Do you ever wonder what [Name] would think about the twins?” Ford breaks the silence, glancing at Stan from the corner of his eye. Stan wistfully smiled, stubbing out his cigarette on the floor. “[Name] would have loved the twins.” 

✶ Stan looked between the twins. “So, whaddya wanna know?” He asks. “Who are they!” Mable shouted. “They are our younger sibling.” Ford said. Mable’s face exploded into shock. “We have a secret Great Aunt/Grunkle?” Mable couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Where are they?” Dipper questioned. “They’re somewhere,” Stan said with a strained voice. “Where is somewhere?” Mable cocked her head to the side. “They’re out exploring the world.” Ford horribly lied. Mable frowned. “You can tell us if they’re dead, Grunkles. You don’t have to hide it from us.” Stan took a harsh deep breath in. “They aren’t dead, pumpkin. We just have no idea where they’re at.” Mable nodded her head in understanding. “Did you guys fall out?” Dipper asked with a tiny frown. “Yeah. A terrible fight broke out and they left.” Ford gazed at the photo of the three of them when they were young, clueless of the world and just happy to be surrounded by one another. “I’m so sorry.” Mable’s excitement was no longer there and was replaced by sadness for her poor Grunkle’s. “It’s okay, dear. No need to apologize.” Ford assured Mable with a smile. “[Name] is a wonderful person,” This was the first time Stan had talked about you in a present tense and he couldn’t tell if he liked that or not. “I hope one day you get to meet them.”

✶ Unbeknownst to the two older twins, Dipper had found journal three when Stan instructed him to go out and put out signs in the woods. But they didn’t find out that Dipper had it until he had shown the book to Ford and Stan after the events that had followed them the past few days. “Gideon nearly destroyed the whole town trying to find it!” Dipper said. Stan pretended to feign interest as he skimmed through the pages. “I don’t know what it means, or who wrote it, but after all we’ve been through,” He looks at Mable and smiles, directing attention to his Grunkle’s who were trying their hardest to hide their actual feelings. “Maybe you guys should finally know about it too.” He grinned. “I’m glad you showed us this, Dipper.” Stan shut the book closed. “Uhm, Grunkle Stan. Why does Grunkle Ford look like he’s about to crap himself?” Mable looked concerned for her Grunkle. Everyone turned their attention to Ford who weakly smiled at them. “Excuse him. He’s still shaken–” Ford yanked Stan by the sleeve and pulled him out of the twins room. “We need to go to the lab now!” Ford whispered. “I know that, Stanford! But at least let us pretend we don’t give a ratsass for this book!” He whispered back. “We’ll be back!” Ford awkwardly excused him and Stan. The twins heard their Grunkle speedily walk down the stairs. “Do you think I’m ever going to get that book back?” Mable shrugged. 

✶ Placing the books right next to each other, Ford flipped to the pages containing the blueprints. He connected the books together, showing the full plan of the portal. Stan read the instructions and swung over to the controls, he flipped the exact switches that were told to be switched. The lights around the portal flickered on. “Oh my god!” Ford laughed out in surprise. “Is this actually going to work?” Stan and Ford rush over to the portal. Their hearts thrumming against their chest. Together, they pulled the lever. With a click, it moved to the other side and the portal hummed. Zaps of electricity emitted from the portal as it powered back on. A rush of wind blew by Stan and Ford as the portal swirled to life. Ford shook his head in disbelief. “Can’t believe we did it, huh?” Stan says with a smile. “I thought we were never going to get this portal turned on.” Stan claps his back. “Well, believe it!” 

✶ Ford was so sure they weren’t going to get caught. He was so absolutely sure. The plan he made to steal the nuclear waste was perfect, there was no room for error. But it seemed like the universe had other plans. He never imagined himself getting pinned to a cop car with cuffs around his wrists. This was more of a Stanley thing, and yet here he is, getting arrested. “This is all just a big misunderstanding!” Ford cried out, his cheek squished against the hood of the cop car. “Guys, can’t I give you some money?” Stan approached them with his hands in his pockets. They all watched him nervously, guns aimed and men ready to tackle him down. “Grunkle Stan, maybe you shouldn’t!” Mable grabs Stan’s hand and pulls him back. “You guys got the wrong guy, my brother is innocent!” Stan argues. “Oh, we’ve been watching your family all summer and we have seen some pretty disturbing things. Whoever you think your brother is, he is not what he seems.” They shove Ford into a car. “Guys!” Ford calls, the door slamming shut on him. Stan watches as they drive off with Ford, his head spinning. “As for you guys, we were removing you off the property.” The guy with a mustache said, directing them to another cop car that was beside them. “No, you can’t!” Stan felt helpless. He just wants you back, why is this so difficult? The chaos spiraled into madness and suddenly, Stan was in the lab, begging the kids to not turn off the portal. “This’ll end the world, Grunkle Stan. Why can’t you see that?” Dipper had his hands hovering dangerously close to the button. “Just listen to me, kid. It’ll make sense later, just don’t press the button.” He walked towards them but was soon taken off his feet. “Brace yourselves!” They all rise up, twirling and thrashing around the room. “T-Minus, thirty five seconds.” The robotic voice said. Dipper had grabbed onto a beam and told Mable to reach for the button. Using the cable wrapped on her foot, she inched herself close to the button. “Mable, wait, wait!” Stan pushed him off the wall and tried reaching towards her. Soos dove straight for Stan and wrapped himself around him, apologizing to him. “Soos, what’re you doing?!” Dipper followed what Soos did and yelled at Mable to turn it off. 

✶ “Stop!” Everyone looked around and they all gasped when their eyes landed on Ford. “Mabel, don’t listen to Dipper. Listen to me,” Ford pushed himself toward the nearest beam. He coiled his arm around it, securing himself. “Do you trust me and Stan, Mable?” Ford firmly asked, his eyes locked with Mabel. “I do!” She desperately said. “Then trust us when we tell you to not push the button.” Mabel looked to Dipper who was widely shaking his head. “Okay,” She raises her hands above her head. “I trust you guys.” She let herself float up, away from the button. “Mable, no–!” A white flash envelops them whole. 

✶ They all roughly made contact with the floor. With a groan, Stan rubbed his head, his head lifting up towards the portal. The portal flickered with wandering electricity. Ford held his breath, eyes fixed on the portal as he waited. A black figure barreled out of the portal, their head whipping towards it. “Close the portal!” You yelled, your hand wrapping around a gun that was hoisted in their waist. You turned their attention back to Stan and Ford. “Close the portal!” You repeated louder this time. In the distance, they all heard a loud distorted guttural grumble. Ford got up from his feet and rushed over to the control panel, flicking all the switches down. “Switch the lever off!” Switching the gun to your other hand, you aimed it at the portal and with your free hand, you pulled the lever. Before whatever monster was chasing you could catch up, the portal sputtered close. You held your chest, catching your breath. The rush of adrenaline you felt passed and you were immediately struck with pain. “Thank you.” You whisper, clutching your side. You think you can manage and to prove it, you take one wobbly step forward. You tried to take another but you collapsed to your knees,  blood splattering on the floor below you. “[Name]!” Stan yelled, he darted towards you. “Stanley?” You croaked out. You blinked in surprise. “Is that really you?” Your question falls on deaf ears as Stan yells for medical supplies. Ford comes rushing to your side, inspecting the upper half of your body. “Stanford’s here too?” You felt your body teeter from side to side. “Is Mom and Dad gonna pop up?” You joke, your body crashing onto Ford. “[Name], can….hear…?”  Stan’s voice fades in and out. “What did you say?” Your eyes squint at Stan. “Here, Grunkle…” You could hear a high pitched voice and you go to look for it but your vision has gone hazy. “They’re slipping…out of…” You really wished you understood what they were saying. And without even realizing, your eyes closed on you. 

✶ You feel a warmth tickle your face causing you to stir awake. “Oh my gosh, it worked!” A voice spoke. “Mable!” A prepubescent voice filled your ears. “What is with all this talking?” You sleepily grumbled out, peeling your eyes open to see two tween kids staring right at you with big wondrous eyes. “Hi, I’m Mable! I’m your great niece.” She introduced herself. “Great niece?” You groggily got up. “Where am I?” You ask, blinking as your vision comes back to you. “You’re in the Mystery Shack!” She tells you with a chipper attitude. “Mystery Shack?” You look down to see that your original outfit you wore was now discarded somewhere and instead wore a large baggy white tee and heart pajama pants. “What am I wearing?” You pinched at your clothes. “Kids!” A gruff voice was heard behind the doors. “Oh shoot!” Mable looked around the room. “Where do we hide?” Dipper whispered, his eyes darting under the bed. “Go under the bed!” Dipper said, diving straight under. “Please don’t tell Grunkle Stan that we’re here!” She pleaded. “Uhm, yeah?” She beamed and hid right under the bed. In an instant, the door was pushed open and your eyes locked on your brothers. Your brain processed it for a moment, wait… “Stanley, Stanford?!” A gasp leaves Ford. “Why are you awake! You’re supposed to be resting.” Ford scolded. You didn’t pay attention to Ford’s scolding, wrapped up in the moment of seeing your twin brothers living and breathing right in front of you. “Are you guys real?” You try to blink away the tears that were obstructing your view. “Of course we are silly.” Stan laughed, sitting down on the bed right next to you and wrapping you in a side hug. “Stan…” You cried. You had spent countless nights, shouldering the knowledge that you weren’t going to see your brothers ever again. That haunted you every single day from the moment you woke up to the minute you went to sleep. Here you are, proven wrong for once in your life. And it feels so good to be held by Stan again, feels so good to have a familiar feeling wash into your senses again. “How?” You ask, peeling yourself away from Stan’s shoulder, wiping the tears away. “We just kept trying and trying.” Ford told you, a somber smile on his lips. “Oh, Ford. Come here!” You grab his wrist and tug him into the bed. The action caused you to drag and flop all of them on the bed with you. Tearful laughter erupts in the room. “I apologize for the scare earlier,” You say, your hand pressing against your side. “Don’t apologize. It wasn’t your fault.” Stan said. “No, really.” You begin to unwrap the gauze around your waist, ignoring Ford and Stan’s protest. “I heal quickly.” You point to your already sealed up gash. The only thing left to prove that you were injured was the thin scar that spread across. Ford gawks in awe. “You need to tell me an in depth story detailing every single thing you have been doing for the past thirty years.” Ford said with so much seriousness you laughed. “Bu-but you passed out. Ford said it was from blood loss!” 

✶ “I only passed out because my body needs to shut down momentarily to heal up my wounds.” You tell him matter of factly. “Oh, great. Now we have another snobby nerd.” Stan joked. “Oh, stop it! You are too, considering you fixed the portal alongside with Mr. Branic over here.” You jabbed a thumb over to Ford who yelled out, “Hey!” in offense. “Hello family!” Mable popped out from under the bed. The three of you screamed loudly in fear, clutching each other. “Woah, didn’t mean to scare you guys!” She helped Dipper out from under the bed. “I just wanted to say that you guys are so adorable!” She squealed, pouncing onto the bed. “I can’t believe I have a Great Aunt/Grunkle who has traveled throughout dimensions. Isn’t that so cool?” She kicked her feet in excitement. “What kinds of monsters did you see out there?” Dipper asked, climbing onto the bed and settling himself between you, Ford and Stan. “A lot.” You respond with a smile. “I never caught your brother's name.” You say, booping Dipper’s nose. “His name is Dipper!” Mable pulls him close to her, cheek to cheek. “We’re twins.” She mentioned. “So it runs in the family, huh?” You elbow the two sets of other twins you had the misfortune to partially grow up with. “Guess so,” Stan smiled. “Let’s play a get to know each other game.” Mable offered. Everyone surprisingly agreed. “Okay, let’s start with Great Aunt/Grunkle [Name]. Tell us about yourself.” The rest of the afternoon was spent catching up with the family and when the game was over, the twins had left, leaving you with Stan and Ford. “Thank you guys for not giving up on me.” You say into the hug. “We’re family! How could we ever abandon you?” Ford replies. An awkward cough emitted from you and Stan looked off to the side. “Oh.” The last thirty years had been rough, for you and the twins, but it was nice knowing that it ended with the three of you once again reunited at last. 

IT'S DONNE, and again if you guys want more i'll write more but till then i think this concludes word/insured YIPPIE

Taglist: @boredwithlifeatthispoint, @lovexsage, @teddycricketdream, @theilluminatidragonqueen, @raventeen @cedarmoonzz if you wanna be added to my taglist, dm me or comment! <3

[gothamundernightlight]

Random Shit the Waynes Do on Social Media

Dick:

- The white whale of D1 and Olympic gymnastics athletes; always stitches their stunts and challenges, executing them perfectly, but no one knows who he is or who trained him

- Shares pictures of random children, and the whole internet becomes a detective trying to figure out if Bruce Wayne adopted another kid or if his gymnastics students won another trophy

- Photo montages of Haley being the cutest, which slowly transitions into Haley in whatever cute hat the internet can send to Dick’s PO Box

- Random video of him skydiving while giving tips on what to do if your chute doesn’t deploy. He never deploys his chute doing the video and no one can tell if it’s a bit or not.

Jason:

- AI Voiceover text posts providing surprisingly insightful analysis into classic literature

- A full six part rant on the Broadway adaptation of “The Great Gatsy”

- Random selfies complete with wildly made up backstories of any and every new injury he has

- Prank war on Damian specifically (this was intended for Talia but his finger slipped and now the whole internet loves it)

Tim:

- Randomly goes live to do study/work/research with me sessions complete with an actually decent Lofi soundtrack that no one can find (He totally mixes it himself but won’t admit it)

- Did ONE social media vlog for WE’s marketing division and it went so viral he gets forced to do more. The dead eyed stare he gives the camera with every stupid dance the intern teaches him makes the video top-tier

- Cute couples videos with Bernard

- Skateboard tricks (and fails)

- Screenshots of text conversations between him and his siblings discussing the most random shit??

Cass:

- Dance routines/pre-show/GRWM videos

- Shakily filmed videos of her kicking Dick’s ass and everyone just calls her a baddie in the comments. She doesn’t know what that means but she appreciates the love.

- Her and Steph’s late night food runs with the two of them just belting out to a song in a dark parking lot

Steph:

- Posts riddles and puzzles and how to solve them. She’s really good at it. Riddler hates her.

- Apartment tour of all the purple shit she owns. She’ll never admit that the room she’s showing off is her Wayne Manor bedroom, so everyone believes she just has a moderately sized loft apartment somewhere and she just never shows the kitchenette

- Her and Cass’s late night food runs with the two of them just belting out to a song in a dark parking lot

- POV shots of her going up to the boys asking them random questions. Dick matches her energy. Jason tells her to fuck off. Tim is barely conscious. Damian always has an overly rational answer to take the fun out of it. Duke just stares blankly at her (he always comes back later with a proper answer now that he’s had time to think about it). Bruce just stares blankly at her

Damian:

- Art reveals that never get many views but he’s still proud of nonetheless. Dick always comments on them to hype him up

- Accidentally recreates a popular vine that went viral and it’s just him insulting fellow GA kids under his breath but one of them says hi to him and he’s instantly polite back. His most popular video

- The multi-part experiment of him trying to Pavlov Tim, and when it actually works, Tim just chases Damian around the manor. The video cuts to black frames after Tim takes a flying launch at him

- All the pet videos. There are so many. People try to cancel him for exploiting them, but Damian clearly demonstrates that he would never force his animals to participate for views and how they will just leave if they don’t want to do something. Batcow is in the background just two-stepping unprompted

Duke:

- Every morning without fail, he posts a daily sunrise pic of Gotham, with a positive affirmation caption. One day he’s sick and he wakes up to a thousand messages of people panicking because their favorite poster has disappeared. He never misses a sunrise again

- Passionate rants about local government. Will not shut up about it. He might be an anarchist, but he’s forever remain optimistic that one day the systems that define society will one day actually work for all people. Bruce has every single one saved so he can implement Duke’s ideas into reality

- Boxing videos of him training with Luke. It’s never meant to be a thirst trap…but sometimes it is

- Dumb selfies. Duke unironically loves taking them, no matter what face he pulls, what filter he uses, not even caring where he is. This gets him in trouble the one time he posts one of him leaning off the edge of a high rise roof

Babs:

- Constant lectures on cybersecurity and internet safety. She teaches this at the library as a volunteer but feels she can reach a lot of people by building a platform

- Computer build stuff. Brands reach out to her for her reviews and she thoroughly discusses each product in length

- Rarely posts about her disability, but absolutely tears people to shreds when they make ableist comments about her. The only time she brings it up first is when City Hall takes over a month to fix their elevator and she calls them out on it

Harper:

- Electronics repairs. She constantly takes things apart to teach people how to fix it, and this can range from toys to cars. On more than one occasion , her video has been interrupted by someone who planned to be using the vehicle she’s just taken apart

- 2 AM hair dye/maintenance sessions. She constantly gets comments from men being like “Therapy works too, y’know” or “No, you’re so beautiful? Why would you do that to yourself.” She responds to the comments with a video of a gun pointed at the camera with the sole caption being “Fuck Off.”

- Gym videos. She and Dick work out together and he’s the ultimate hype man

- Outfit montages of her getting ready for a random gala and she’s always pulling off the most masc-looking suits that look gorgeous on her

Helena:

- Target practice. She does all kinds of trick shots and crazy crossbow stunts in a wide variety of outfits. Her most popular video is of her in a corset and platform heels.

- Her and Steph bonding over all things purple

- Outfit of the Day posts. The girl has expensive tastes and she absolutely shows it off.

Bruce:

- Occasionally does promo stuff for WE (because Tim refuses to do all of it, and their social media intern won’t back down)

- Shares absolutely wild stories from his college years that somehow always get proven to be true even when the whole comments section is just like “this seems false???”

- Kid tour. He saw one mom do it and felt sad bc he’s never get the kids to agree, but somehow they all did (Alfred bribed them.)

- Shares everything from each one of the charities he’s involved with. Has reposted every single one of their posts on his own personal channel. It raises them hundreds of followers each time.

- One of the kids posted a video montage of Bruce being Brucie and it’s so utterly humiliating? But he won’t delete it because all of the comments say he’s their favorite billionaire and that’s more than his own kids will say.

- Random Pride Month post. Every year it catches people by surprise and every gossip magazine always wonders if Bruce is coming out. He’s just being an ally (and potentially is in denial).

Alfred:

- Prefers not to use social media, but one of the boys filmed him doing random things to teach the internet how to do things properly, like making the bed, doing laundry, etc. Is the internet’s favorite grandpa.

[purplereina11]

🏀 Based after Eleven 🏀

Chapter 9

It started as playful online chemistry with someone unexpected-Alexia Putellas. Flirty banter turned into late-night texts before a heated moment on a club balcony shifted everything.

Now it was post game meet-ups, no-strings friends-with-benefits arrangement. They shared passion, comfort, and the grind of pro sports. But as the season went on, lines blurred.

It was supported to stay simple. These things never do however. Not in professional sports. The option to stay isn't always yours.

The press room was packed—shoulder to shoulder with journalists, cameras, microphones, and the heat of anticipation buzzing off every surface. The pre-final press conference always drew attention, but this one was something else. It wasn’t just another game. It was a shot at trophy number four of four. A chance to keep chasing history.

And most importantly it could be your last game in Barcelona.

You sat at the table in your team’s warm-up top, the club crest over your heart, ankle still slightly taped under your pants but stronger now—your presence here was no longer symbolic. You were starting.

Your coach answered the early questions—tactics, opponents, rotations. Maya followed with her usual sharpness and charm. Then it was your turn, and the room leaned forward like it always did.

And after a few standard questions—your fitness, your leadership, how much this final means—came the one everyone had been waiting for.

A quiet, confident voice near the back asked it, “You’ve been pretty quiet during all the contract speculation, but with the season almost over, can you comment on where you stand? What’s driving your decision?”

You took a breath, looked down at the table for a second, then straightened up. No spin. No fluff. Just truth. “Look,” you said evenly, your voice steady but honest, “It’s not just about playing basketball. If it was, I’d already have re-signed.”

Cameras clicked. Pens paused.

“I’ve loved playing here. I’ve grown here. I’ve helped make history here. But this job? This career? It doesn’t last forever. We’ve got a small window to earn, and then it’s over. So when one team offers you a certain figure—and several others are offering double, sometimes triple—“you shrugged, “you’d be stupid not to think about it.”

There was a ripple across the room. Eyes wide. A few scribbled notes. One or two raised brows.

“It’s not just about the badge on the shirt,” you continued. “It’s about where you are. Who you’re playing with. How you’re treated. And yeah—money matters. Because five, ten years from now? When I’m done? No one’s gonna pay me to relive my glory days. It’s about building something now that helps me later.”

A silence followed. Not awkward—respectful. The moderator moved to wrap, but you leaned forward to finish your thought.

“Right now, I’m focused on this final. I want this last trophy. I want to finish strong. But after that…” you paused, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of your mouth, “we’ll see who’s really in the business of backing their belief with more than just words and promises”

And with that, the press conference ended. But the headlines they were just getting started.

—

The final week of training before the big game was always a pressure cooker—drills crisp, energy high, everyone a little sharper, a little louder. Every pass felt tighter. Every play call had weight. And you were locked in. Blocking out the noise. Staying focused on the fourth trophy—just one game away.

Your ankle had held up, your rhythm was back, and you’d just hit a string of perfect shots in transition when your coach called a sudden stop. “[Last Name],” she said, voice raised slightly over the buzz of sneakers on hardwood. “You’ve got a visitor.”

You frowned, confused. Visitors weren’t unusual, but during closed practice? That was rare. You turned toward the far end of the gym, wiping sweat off your brow as you jogged off court—and then you saw her. Alexia. Hovering in the doorway, her hoodie pulled low, hands shoved into her sleeves, like she wasn’t sure she was actually going to go through with this.

Your heart kicked—fast, involuntary. You walked over slowly, the sounds of practice fading behind you, your teammates shooting glances in your direction, but no one saying a word. Alexia’s eyes met yours, soft but determined.

You stopped in front of her, arms crossed, breath still catching from drills. “What are you doing here?”

She swallowed. “I know you’re preparing. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

You raised a brow. “Bit late for that.”

She flinched slightly, then nodded. “I know sorry.”

You waited. And then, quietly, she said, “I want to go to Paris.”

You blinked. “What?”

“For the final,” she clarified, eyes flicking to yours, holding them now. “I want to be there. I want to support you.”

You stared at her, trying to read between the lines—because with Alexia, it was never just about what she said. There was always something else, something buried beneath the surface.

She continued, softer this time. “I know I haven’t earned much of anything lately. But I still want to be there. If you’ll let me.”

You exhaled slowly, heart a mess of adrenaline and emotion. You’d told yourself you were done. You meant it when you said it. But looking at her now—open, asking, showing up for you without expectation for the first time in a long time— It made something shift.

You glanced past her, toward the gym full of noise and motion and pressure, then back to her. “I’m not a sideshow, Alexia. This isn’t about proving a point.”

She nodded quickly. “It’s not. I swear. I just… I want to be there when you win. If you’ll let me stand in the crowd this time. Not outside your door.”

The honesty in her voice made your throat tighten. You paused, then gave her a small nod. “Paris, then.” And for the first time in what felt like forever, she smiled without fear behind it.

You gave her a long look—sweat still clinging to your skin, the thrum of practice still pulsing faintly in your limbs—and she just stood there in the doorway, shifting slightly on her feet, eyes never leaving yours.

“Come over later?” she asked, voice quiet. Not a demand. Not a lure. Just… an ask.

Simple. Soft. You let the words hang in the air between you, unreadable for a beat too long. Long enough to make her glance down and lick her lips like she was bracing for a no. But you surprised yourself with your answer.

“Okay.” Her eyes flicked up, surprised. Hopeful—but cautious. Like she wasn’t sure you’d say it, and even now, wasn’t sure what it meant. You stepped back just a little. “I’ve got film review after this, and recovery. I’ll text.”

She nodded, her voice barely above the hum of bouncing basketballs behind you. “I’ll be home.”

Then she turned and left as quietly as she came, the door swinging shut behind her like a breath being released. You stood there a moment longer, staring at the space where she’d been. Something in your chest fluttered, unsure. But something steadier whispered, not everything was finished yet.

And maybe, just maybe… some things were ready to begin again.

—

You stood outside her door for longer than you probably should’ve—hands buried in your jacket pockets, staring at the brass numbers like they were going to give you an answer. Like they'd whisper what to say, how to act, who to be.

It was easier before. When everything was sharp. When it was anger and jealousy and fire. Now… now it was a slow burn. An ache. A silence you didn’t know how to fill.

You knocked. Not hard. Just enough.

The door opened almost instantly, like she’d been standing right behind it, waiting.

Alexia looked tired—but not unkempt. Like someone who hadn’t been sleeping but still wanted to make it look like she was fine. Hair pulled back, clean hoodie, fresh mascara but no concealer under her eyes. She looked like she’d tried. And that fact alone made your chest twist.

“Hey,” she said softly. Not a greeting. A test.

“Hey,” you replied, just as quiet. Just as unsure.

She stepped aside without saying anything else. You walked in, that familiar scent of her place wrapping around you like it always did—fresh linen, vanilla, something vaguely citrus. You used to tease her about how her apartment smelled like a luxury candle. Now it just smelled like her.

You didn’t sit. You hovered, shifting from foot to foot like you were still deciding if you were staying.

Alexia leaned against the back of her couch, arms crossed loosely. Not defensive—just contained. “You want water or something?” she offered.

“No, I’m okay.”

Silence stretched. Not tense. Just… cautious.

You looked around the room like it would give you something to latch onto, but the space was cleaner than usual. No clutter. Nothing out of place. Which only told you how much she was trying to maintain control.

You stepped a little closer but not enough to breach whatever line was hanging invisible between you.

Alexia’s lips pressed together, then relaxed.

Her eyes flicked to yours then. Not sharp. Not soft either. Just looking. Like she was trying to read you through layers she didn’t know were still there.

You stood there, silent for a moment, then crossed your arms—more out of instinct than anything. “I don’t really know how to be around you anymore.”

Alexia met your eyes again. “Yeah. I feel that too.”

It wasn’t cold. It wasn’t angry. It was just… careful.

You wanted to reach for her. You wanted to say something clever, something disarming, something that would take all of this back to the place where you knew her and she knew you, and it didn’t feel like walking through emotional landmines just to ask how the other one’s been.

But you didn’t.

Because this time—this moment—wasn’t about kissing your way around the hard parts.

So you just said, “I don’t know what this is anymore. Or what it’s supposed to be.”

And Alexia nodded, not flinching from the truth. “Me neither.”

You both stood in that admission like it was something sacred. Something broken.

And for once, neither of you tried to fix it. Not yet.

You stood there a moment longer, eyes on the floor, breath caught in your throat.

And then, barely louder than a whisper, “Can I have a hug?”

Alexia didn’t even pause.

Her arms were around you in an instant—gentle at first, like she was afraid to break something already cracked. But when you sank into her, let your weight fall against her chest, she pulled you in tighter. One hand slid up your back, the other cradled the back of your head, her fingers threading into your hair like they had a lifetime of permission.

You hadn’t meant to cry. Not really. But it started anyway. Quiet at first, then steadier. You buried your face in her shoulder, the fabric of her hoodie soft and warm and familiar, and let yourself unravel just a little.

Alexia didn’t say anything. She just held you. Rocked you slightly, barely perceptible—like the motion was more for her than for you.

And when you finally pulled back, your face damp and your voice stuck somewhere in your chest, she didn’t tease. She didn’t joke. She just reached up and gently wiped the tears from your cheeks with the sleeve of her hoodie, her touch soft, slow, careful. Like she was afraid to make anything worse.

“Hey,” she said, her voice low and quiet, “it’s okay. You don’t have to hold it together right now.”

That made your throat tighten even more. “I just… everything’s shifting,” you managed, barely. “And I don’t know what’s coming. With my career. With anything.”

“I know,” she said, thumb brushing just beneath your eye again. “I know it’s a lot. You’re allowed to feel it.”

Her forehead pressed gently against yours, not asking anything more of you—just being there. Present. Solid.

“You’ve always carried so much,” she whispered. “You don’t have to carry all of it alone.”

You closed your eyes, just breathing her in. Letting her words settle in the spaces where all your worry lived.

For once, she didn’t try to kiss it away. She didn’t try to fix it. She just held you.

And maybe—for right now—that was exactly what you needed.

You weren’t sure how long the two of you stayed like that—folded into each other on the couch, her arms wrapped around your waist, your head tucked beneath her chin. The silence was warm, not awkward. A rare kind of quiet that asked nothing of you, just let you be.

Her fingers traced soft, absent-minded circles along your arm, and every so often you’d feel her chest rise a little deeper—like she wanted to say something, but didn’t. And maybe, like you, she was afraid the wrong word would pop the fragile peace you’d finally landed in.

Eventually, you exhaled, your voice muffled by the cotton of her hoodie.

“I’m so tired, Alexia.”

She shifted slightly, just enough to look down at you. Her brow furrowed, but her voice stayed soft. “Physically?”

You hesitated. “Yeah. But not just that.” You paused, then added, “It’s like… tired in my soul, you know?”

She nodded slowly, brushing a strand of hair off your cheek. “I do.”

A beat passed. Then, carefully, “Do you want to stay?”

You looked up at her, surprised. She must’ve seen it in your face, because she was already clarifying before you could speak.

“Not like that,” she said quickly, her thumb still grazing your skin, steady. “I’m not asking for anything. No pressure. I just meant… stay. Rest. You don’t have to be alone tonight.”

Your heart ached at the way she said it. Honest. Earnest. Gentle.

“I’m not trying to start something just because we’re hurting,” she added, quieter now. “I just… I care. And if you need somewhere to breathe, this can still be that.”

You stared at her, the weight of everything behind you pressing heavy against the relief of that simple offer. “Okay,” you whispered. “Yeah. I think I want that.”

Alexia nodded once, her arm tightening just slightly around you. “Good.”

You tucked your head back under her chin, your eyes already drifting shut. Her breathing steadied against you, and for the first time in what felt like weeks, the exhaustion didn’t feel like drowning.

It felt like rest. Real, safe rest.

No expectations. No promises. Just presence.

And for now, that was more than enough.

Later, after a quiet dinner of leftovers you barely touched and a shared tea neither of you really drank, you both padded down the hallway to her bedroom. It felt surreal, familiar and foreign all at once—like muscle memory mixed with déjà vu. You’d walked this hall before. Slept in this bed before. Undressed in this room a hundred times with her eyes following you like gravity.

But tonight was different.

Tonight, you both got ready like roommates. Soft silence. Occasional glances. No tension, just... that cautious kind of calm that follows a storm.

You stood at her bathroom sink brushing your teeth while she folded a hoodie over the back of a chair. At some point she handed you a clean pair of sweatpants—her own—and you didn’t even hesitate to change into them.

And now you were both lying on her bed, under the same duvet, facing opposite directions, bodies stiff with the effort to not touch.

You blinked up at the ceiling for a few long seconds before finally muttering into the quiet,

“Well... this is weird.”

Alexia let out a soft laugh behind you. “Weird?”

“Yeah. Us. Clothes on. Not immediately making bad decisions. Kinda feels like a sitcom where the two exes get stuck in the same room for the night.”

You heard her shift slightly, the mattress dipping. “Except we’re not technically exes,” she murmured.

You turned your head slightly toward her voice, raising an eyebrow. “What are we, then? Chronically confused situationship survivors?”

That got a real laugh out of her this time—quiet, tired, but genuine. “Something like that.”

You smiled faintly, turning back to the ceiling. “Still weird though.”

“I know.” Her voice was soft now. Close. “But not bad weird.”

“No,” you agreed. “Just... like we’re trying not to touch a bruise.”

There was a silence after that. Comfortable, if a little fragile. Like maybe tonight was your version of a bandage.

Eventually, her voice came again, lower this time. “I don’t mind weird if it means we’re okay.”

You glanced at her. “Are we okay?”

Alexia was quiet for a moment, then nodded slowly. “I think we’re trying. And that counts.”

You nodded back, even though she couldn’t see it. “Trying’s better than nothing.”

You both settled again, the stillness a little softer now.

And for once, the quiet didn’t feel like avoidance. It felt like peace.

—

Paris shimmered beneath a spring sun, the city buzzing louder than usual—not just with tourists and locals, but with the weight of something historic. Your team was one game away from completing the impossible:

Four trophies. One season. A perfect run.

You stepped off the team bus, headphones on, tracksuit zipped to your neck, your expression unreadable behind the sunglasses shielding your eyes from the chaos of flashing cameras and reporters shouting your name. But inside, your pulse was steady. Your focus, sharp. Your heart, beating with purpose. This wasn’t just another final. It was the one.

The end of a chapter—maybe your last in Barcelona colours.

The air in the locker room was electric—nervous laughter, bouncing knees, whispered affirmations. Maya was already blasting a playlist. Liv was braiding someone’s hair. Your jersey hung in your locker, bold and bright like a crown. You pulled it on slowly, taking in the moment.

One more game.

The tunnel was tight, echoing with footsteps, and you could hear the roar of the crowd even before you stepped onto the pitch. French fans, Barça fans, international press. It felt like the world had shown up for this. And somewhere in the crowd you knew she was there.

Alexia.

She’d said she wanted to come. You hadn’t texted to confirm. You didn’t need to. She'd be there. And for the first time, you weren’t playing for her. You were playing for you. For the girl who grew up chasing this dream. For the player they tried to undervalue. For the team you helped carry this far. The whistle blew. The game began. And from the first possession, it was clear—you weren’t here to play it safe. You were here to win.

From the moment the ball tipped, the game pulsed with intensity. This wasn’t just a final—it was a war of wills. A battle between two sides clawing for glory, but only one of them had already held three trophies this season. Only one of them had a shot at cleaning the slate. And only one of them had you.

You moved with purpose. First assist. Then a steal. Then a layup through contact that had the crowd roaring and your bench on their feet.

Your ankle? Forgotten.

Your doubt? Gone.

Every possession was crisp, calculated. The court shrank to just your teammates, your breath, the rhythm of the ball echoing against hardwood and crowd noise. The opposing team tried to double you. Didn’t matter. You split it. Hit Maya on the roll. Bucket.

They tried to force you to your weak side. Didn’t matter. Step-back. Three. The crowd exploded. You didn’t celebrate. You pointed to your chest, to the crest. One more. Eyes locked on your coach. Laser focus.

In the stands you allowed yourself one glance. And you found her. Alexia. Standing. Hands clasped near her mouth. Eyes wide. Watching you like you were a storm rolling through the court—and she was helpless to look away. She looked proud. Not possessive. Not broken.

Just… proud. And for a flicker of a second, your chest loosened. Because even if she hadn’t said the words yet—you knew she saw this version of you. The best version. And she loved it.

The game was close all the way into the fourth quarter. Bodies on the floor. Foul trouble. Timeout drama. You were exhausted—but not done.

With less than a minute left, tied score, the ball found your hands one more time.

You didn’t hesitate. Crossover. Step. Fadeaway. Net. Clean. And the stadium—detonated. The other team burned their last timeout. Your bench swarmed you. Maya shouted something you didn’t catch, but Liv was already grabbing your shoulders and screaming, “YOU’RE UNREAL!”

But you weren’t celebrating yet. Not until the final whistle. Twenty-three more seconds of defence. One more stop. You locked in. And when that final shot missed—When the buzzer went—When the scoreboard flashed your win— You dropped to your knees.

Four for four.

The dream.

The story.

History.

And when your teammates tackled you to the ground, screaming, crying, laughing— You let yourself feel it all.

Confetti rained down like a summer storm—gold and silver falling in flurries over the court, caught in your hair, clinging to your skin. Your teammates were everywhere—hugging, crying, collapsing in disbelief on the hardwood.

You were on top of the scorer’s table. Shirtless. Drenched in sweat and adrenaline. Your jersey in one hand, raised high above your head like a flag. The stadium was deafening, a wall of noise surrounding you, vibrating through your chest as you roared into it, face flushed with triumph, voice hoarse from the game.

“VAMOOOOOS!” you bellowed, chest heaving.

Your arms stretched wide, like you could catch the sound and throw it back. Your mouth cracked into a wild grin, the kind that only came when dreams met sweat and sacrifice and everything you bled for came to life.

You turned slowly, taking it all in—the sea of fans, the flags, the chaos. But your eyes stopped on one section. The family and friends section. Your parents were there, standing, hands over their mouths in disbelief, your dad clapping hard, your mum crying behind a camera lens. Erin was yelling, hoarse and proud. Ivy was on someone’s shoulders, both arms in the air, screaming your name like you were a superhero.

And then—her. Alexia. Not front row. Not waving like a fan. Just standing. Still. Focused. Her eyes locked with yours. And for a moment, everything slowed. You didn’t need to say anything. You could see it in her face—what she wanted to say. What she hadn’t said yet. Pride. Respect. Something deeper.

You pounded your fist to your chest, once, twice, then pointed at your family. Then you threw your jersey into the stands and dropped down into the waiting arms of your teammates—dragged into a dogpile of champagne and history. Four out of four.

Tonight, you were the one they’d never forget. The lights above the court felt brighter now—not stadium-bright, but spotlight bright. Like they knew who this moment was for. Security had relaxed, the crowd still roaring behind barriers, but the family and friends section had been opened. That sacred post-championship tradition—let the people who got you here step onto the floor you conquered.

You were still damp with champagne, a gold medal swinging around your neck, your voice nearly gone from shouting. Your heart? Still racing. You turned and there they were. Your mum pushed through first, her arms already opening before she’d even fully reached you.

“Oh my god,” she whispered as she pulled you in, her voice cracking, “you did it—you did it.”

You held her tighter than you had in years, your eyes stinging again—not from pain, not from pressure—but from everything this moment meant. “We did it,” you murmured back. “You got me here.”

Your dad was next, clapping your shoulder like he was afraid he’d break if he hugged you too hard. “That shot,” he said, eyes wet but proud, “you owned it. Like you were born for that moment.”

“I was,” you grinned. “You made sure of it.”

Then Erin appeared, already crying, already rolling her eyes. “You just had to go and make it impossible for me to ever be the favourite again, huh?”

You laughed, pulling her in for a one-armed hug. “You’re welcome.”

Then you heard it— “AUNTIE!” And suddenly you were on your knees, arms wide, catching Ivy as she launched herself at you, all tulle skirt and glitter face paint. “I KNEW you’d win,” she said, her small hands holding your cheeks like she was trying to memorise you.

You smiled, forehead pressed to hers. “You did?”

“Yep. I told mummy. You’re like… a superhero. But better. 'Cause you're real.”

Your throat caught. You kissed her forehead, swallowed the lump building there, and hugged her a little tighter. Behind them, your brother, sister-in-law, cousins—all there, all beaming, phones out, voices hoarse from screaming. This wasn’t just a victory. It was a legacy. Something they'd talk about forever.

And when you stood again, medal glinting under the lights, arms wrapped around your mum and Erin, Ivy holding your hand tightly—You looked out across the court and locked eyes with Alexia again. Still watching. Still waiting.

The celebrations had finally settled into a quiet hum. No more cameras in your face. No more champagne showers. No more speeches, interviews, or staged photos with trophies clutched to your chest. Just a cool Parisian night, your gold medal still warm against your collarbone, and your teammates—your people—sat with you on a stone wall that lined the river, facing the glowing majesty of the Eiffel Tower as it sparkled on the hour.

You’d taken a photo there earlier with Maya and Liv—feet dangling, smiles exhausted, but pure joy behind your eyes. After that, no one wanted to leave. So you sat there, trophy beside you, legs swinging over the edge, shoes muddy from a night that didn’t care.

And then, maybe because you were feeling bold… Or maybe because your chest still hadn’t settled—You pulled out your phone and texted Alexia.

If you’re still in Paris… come see me. Riverbank. Across from the tower.

You didn’t expect anything. She hadn’t texted post-game. Hadn’t come down to the court. Maybe that had meant everything, maybe it meant nothing. But part of you needed to give her the choice. One last time. You tucked your phone back in your pocket and didn’t tell the others.

Sometime later when you’d convinced yourself she wasn’t coming “[Your Name]!”

You froze.

Your head snapped toward the voice, heart leaping into your throat, and sure enough—There she was. Alexia. In jeans and sneakers, a long coat wrapped around her, hair still damp from a quick shower, cheeks pink from the breeze. And beside her, like some chaotic dream, were Mariona, Irene, and Jenni Hermoso, all bundled up and laughing like they’d just crashed someone else’s night.

You stood slowly as she reached you, your heart pounding. Mariona threw her arms out dramatically. “Did someone say Paris celebration? We brought snacks. And alcohol.”

Jana waved a flask and grinned. “You didn’t really think we’d let her come alone, did you?”

Alexia looked at you, something unreadable in her eyes. “You didn’t think I’d come, huh?”

You smiled, exhaling softly. “Honestly? No.”

She stepped closer, glancing briefly at your teammates, who were giving each other the look but staying silent—for now. Alexia nodded toward the space next to you. “You saved me a spot?”

You reached out and patted the stone wall. “Always.” And just like that, she climbed up beside you. No words. No pressure. Just the two of you, side by side, staring out at the city of lights. History behind you. Something else—maybe something new—still ahead.

The others were still laughing behind you—Liv and Maya teasing Jana about her tiny contraband flask, Mariona dramatically reciting poetry about the Eiffel Tower, and Irene recording it all for future blackmail.

You caught Alexia’s eye. She raised an eyebrow, a quiet, knowing smirk tugging at her lips. “Wanna walk?” you asked softly.

She nodded, hopping down from the wall without a word. You followed her down the cobbled path, your sneakers crunching lightly against loose gravel, the Seine beside you glimmering gold with the reflection of the tower lights. Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to. The quiet between you wasn’t awkward for once—it was calm, gentle, a kind of peace that had been rare between you.

You walked shoulder to shoulder, the buzz of the evening still humming through your body, the medal in your pocket catching the occasional tap against your leg with every step. Alexia glanced sideways at you once or twice, like she was waiting to see if you’d say something first.

You didn’t. You were too busy noticing how soft she looked in this light. How her coat swayed around her legs. How close your hands were swinging as you walked, almost brushing.

The Eiffel Tower started to twinkle again—that five-minute magic moment every hour. Lights dancing across iron bones like the city was holding its breath. You both stopped. Turned toward it. Silent.

And then, Alexia spoke, voice low, like she was afraid if she said it louder, it might ruin the moment. “You’ve never looked happier than you did tonight.”

You blinked. “I was. I am.”

She nodded slowly, eyes on the tower now. “It suits you. That kind of joy. I don’t think I’ve ever let you feel it without… pulling it away.” That ache rose in your chest again—but before you could respond, she stepped in closer.

Her hand brushed yours—deliberately this time—and her fingers laced with yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You looked at her. She was already looking at you.

The light of the tower flickered in her eyes, and for the first time, there was no tension behind her gaze. No sharp edge. Just something soft. Something you hadn’t seen before. “Can I kiss you?” she asked quietly.

You nodded. Just once. And she did. Slow. Steady. Tender. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t heavy. It was romantic. Which—honestly—threw you off more than anything else ever had with her. You weren’t romantic. You’d never been romantic. Not with her. But this? This kiss, under the twinkling lights, in the city of love, after the biggest win of your career— It made your stomach flip in a way you didn’t know what to do with.

You pulled back gently, your breath caught somewhere in your throat, nervous laughter bubbling just beneath the surface. Alexia tilted her head. “What?”

You licked your lips, a little dazed. “That was… really nice.”

She smiled. “You sound surprised.”

“I am,” you admitted, cheeks warm. “I wasn’t expecting to feel like I’m in a movie.”

Alexia leaned in, pressing her forehead to yours, voice barely a whisper. “We’ve always been drama. Maybe it’s time we try a little romance.”

—

Paris was quieter now.

The celebrations were winding down, the riverbanks slowly clearing, and the city had retreated into that hush that only comes late at night—when the world feels too big to speak in full sentences. You didn’t plan to end up at Alexia’s hotel.

But when she asked softly—“Come back with me?”—you just nodded.

No hesitation. No expectations. Just the two of you chasing whatever this was a little longer.

The elevator ride was silent, except for the quiet buzz of the city still clinging to your skin. When she unlocked the door and you stepped inside, it wasn’t like all the other times. It wasn’t immediate. It wasn’t hungry.

You stood in the middle of her room, face to face, the glow of the Eiffel Tower still faint in the window behind you, and for a long moment—neither of you moved.

Then she reached for you. Slowly. Like she wasn’t just touching your body this time, but asking for something deeper.

Her lips found yours again, and it wasn’t rough or desperate. It was reverent. Like she was trying to memorise the shape of your mouth, the way your hands fit at her waist, the way you sighed when she leaned in fully.

Clothes fell away in soft motions. Her hoodie sliding off your shoulders. Your shirt caught in her fingers like she didn’t want to let go just yet. Every movement was slower. More careful. Intentional. When you reached the bed, it wasn’t rushed. It was quiet. Tender.

She kissed you like she was trying to say everything she hadn’t. And you kissed her back like you understood anyway. There was no teasing this time. No need to prove anything. No power play between skin and sheets.

Just love, in its most fragile, most fleeting form. When she moved over you, it wasn’t possessive—it was intimate. Her hands weren’t just touching your skin, they were holding pieces of you she hadn’t earned until now.

And when you finally broke, when your breath caught and your fingers gripped hers—she whispered your name like it meant something more. Maybe it always had.

Afterward, you lay tangled in the sheets, her arm draped over your stomach, her breathing slow and steady. No one said a word. Because the unspoken truth hummed louder than either of you dared to voice.

You were leaving. And she wasn’t stopping you. Not with words. Not with promises. This—whatever this was—felt like a goodbye.

A beautiful, aching one. And still, neither of you said it. You just held each other under the soft hum of Paris, pretending the sun wasn’t already on its way up.

[calolily]

I don’t expect everyone to like me, that’s unrealistic. However the aggressive venomous hate I’ve gotten in the past 6 months is kind of bizarre. It’s bordering on insane obsession.

It’s from people that have actively bullied me or my friends. Which I have never retaliated against in any way. I’ve shared that I’ve been bullied by anons and I’ve shared it with moderators on one Discord to get guidance when I blocked someone but shared the server. Never asked for them to be removed. That’s stupid. Why would it matter if they are on the same project if they aren’t working directly with me?

I’ve left public discords because they can’t leave me alone. I’ve done mediation through a mutual friend in an attempt to just be left alone. No dice. I’ve begged to be left alone. I’m the villain.

At this point I don’t care what anyone thinks of me. I have my friends that I enjoy talking to and creating with. I’ve never done anything to these people other than refuse to join in on their witch hunts and dare to express hurt when they create anonymous hate blogs about me and my friends.

I’m not pulling strings in the background. I’ve not told anyone not to be friends with you or work with you. I blocked you months ago and was done but you keep coming at me and lobbing around insane theories and hassling me because of who I’m friends with. To date they have driven two of my friends out of this fandom with wild unsupported accusations and harassment.

I have two alternate tumblrs-

@bwelysium and @ungabungadarling for my private Discord and for the caveman event.

Everything else is what you see is what you get. I have no reason to have alternate accounts. If I have something to say I’ll say it with my face showing. I’m not a coward. I just don’t see a reason to call you out with all the evidence and cause a scene. I can coexist if you leave me alone.

It doesn’t matter what I say. People believe sensational stories and lies above the truth. I’ll be the villain in someone’s story no matter how much good I do and how kind I am.

The majority of people interact with are sweet and so so creative and it’s been a joy to be in this fandom, despite the fleas.

[teapartyprincess4two]

Y/n and Matt get closer when it's just them 2 in the house, and i was thinking Fluff and Smut like a lot of Smut. Maybe Matt is a virgin but Y/n aint so she teaches him???

End of the World- M. Sturniolo

pairing: fem!reader x Matt

classification: Zombie Apocalypse AU, smut, fluff, angst/sad (kinda? Idk it’s a mix of everything)

inspiration: request^^

warnings: 18+, MDNI, set in modern day, use of y/n, literal sex, slight cursing, zombies & general apocalypse stuff (death, lnives, guns, killing, blood, hunger, dehydration, etc.), kinda long

summary: No one deserves to die a virgin, not even at the end of the world.

—

If anyone would’ve told you two years ago that you’d be huddled around the hood of a car, staring down at a worn out map, covered in blood, you would’ve called them crazy.

Two years ago your life was convenient. Now? Now life was simple, all you had to do was survive. All the things you wished would disappear; homework, bills, work, none of them mattered anymore. But they were easily replaced with an even greater burden, a zombie apocalypse and the end of the world.

Two years ago you wouldn’t have had even a spec of dirt under your fingernails, yet here you stand covered in blood that isn’t yours, weeks worth of dirt and grime, and sweat dripping down your forehead. Your hair is pulled back into a ponytail, exposing your shoulders to the harsh Texas heat and further working towards dehydrating you.

Two years ago you wouldn’t so much as hurt a fly. Now you wouldn’t think twice before pulling the trigger if it meant you had a chance at survival.

Two years ago you didn’t have to worry about where your next meal was coming from or if your bedroom was secure enough to sleep in. But the world has changed and so have you.

It’s been months since anyone in your group has had a good nights rest or a warm meal. All you’ve done is run from anything that threatens to harm you. Although you’ve all managed to set up a temporary moderately safe camp within the woods, it’s been difficult to stretch resources that are already scarce.

Food, water, clothing. These are all things that you wish you didn’t need. Why? Because leaving camp to retrieve them is dangerous. But, it’s been 2 days since your last run, and canned goods can only last so long, especially when there’s mouths to feed.

Chris uses his knife to point to an unmarked location on the map, “Nick and I will head south. I saw an old water tower in that direction when we passed through, maybe there’s a town nearby.” He uses the back of his arm to wipe the sweat from his forehead before returning it back to the map, tracing the blade up a road.

“Matt and Y/n, you two try looking in this area. We haven’t checked there yet and if we’re lucky it hasn’t been completely ransacked. You might find something…” Chris pauses, taking a look at the group of people not far behind. They’re chatting, all of them wearing exhausted expression and filthy clothes. “…something to get the group through the next couple of days. We can’t stay here anymore, place is crawling with infected.”

Chris became the leader of your group easily. He had a great way of talking to people, of showing them that even though the world was ending, the glass was still half full.

“You want us to split up?” Nick whisper shouts, a clear alarm evident in his tone. “Remember what happened last time? We lost a third of the group!” Nick flails his arms in desperation, almost like he’s willing Chris to realize the stupidity of his actions.

Nick was reasonable and smart, but too kind for his own good. If he wanted to, he could’ve become the leader of your group and done just as good of a job as Chris, but Nick was too empathic to take on that responsibility. He felt the needs of the group and often was led more by emotion than by reason or logic.

“You think I don’t know that?!” Chris bites back.

You stand next to Matt, watching the argument unfold. This was typical for Nick and Chris, but it stressed you out every time.

“If we had more people, we wouldn’t have to split up. But we’re low on supplies and can’t wait around for food to magically appear,” Chris says.

“If we hadn’t split up the first time, we’d have more people,” Nick snarks, storming away. Chris groans, running his hand through his hair. This was much more responsibility than he could handle, but as the youngest, strongest members of your group it was up to you all to pull the heaviest weight.

“We’ll be fine. Y/n and I are always careful,” Matt finally chimes in, placing a firm hand on Chris’s shoulder to ease any tension. “Besides, that part of town is pretty deep into the woods. I doubt any infected will be lurking and if they are, Y/n’s good with a gun and I’m fast.”

“I’m fast too,” you chuckle, knowing that Matt is trying to make light of a dark situation.

“True. I just gotta be faster,” he replies, sending you a cheeky wink. You laugh, earning a small round of laughter from Chris and Matt in return.

Chris visibly relaxes, grateful that at least one of his brothers isn’t giving him a hard time. But truth be told, Matt didn’t agree with Chris’s plan, he was just smart enough to keep it to himself. He knew that doubt created fear, and once fear infected you, you were as good as dead.

That’s what Matt was good at, being quiet. It came in handy on runs like this, especially because he was so quick on his feet. It’s your favorite characteristic of his, he’s a good listener, he’s observant, and you know that you’ll be safe as long as Matt is with you.

“Alright. Let’s head out, we’re gonna lose the light,” Chris instructs, jogging in the opposite direction of the camp to begin loading up a few trucks with guns and ammo.

“You two can take the car.”

Matt mulls the idea over. A car would be faster, but definitely much louder. Noise attracts anything looking for its next meal, especially the infected, and with only you to cover him he’s not sure he’s willing to take that risk.

“Nah. We’re walking. The town’s not too far, we’ll make it back by tomorrow morning the latest,” Matt replies, tossing a rifle in your direction. You’re quick to catch it and just as quick to respond, “Are you sure? A car would get us there and back before dinner.”

He understands your concern, but he can’t risk losing you, not after all the losses he’s already suffered. “Just trust me,” he murmurs, the look in his eyes being enough to calm your nerves.

“Whatever you have to do, Matt. Just come back,” Chris says, slamming the trunk shut.

—

Leaves and dry grass crunch under your feet with every step. It’s late summer and the Texas heat has managed to kill everything left alive that wasn’t infected.

You’ve been walking for two hours, only running into a few infected on the way, managing to take them out with nothing but your blade. Matt hates using guns, in fact you’ve only seen him use them on very rare and necessary occasions. You never understood his apprehension, I mean it’s the end of the world for Christ’s sake, but you’ve never questioned him.

“Heads up,” Matt whispers, nodding his head in the direction of a gas station.

You follow his gaze. It seemed like an easy place to loot. Apart from the few rotted corpses that roamed the exterior, only parked cars litter the parking lot, most of them still connected to the gas pumps.

“We’ll go in through the back. There’s got to be dry storage there,” Matt says, crouching and leading you towards the back of the building. You hum in response, readying yourself with your weapon and following closely behind.

Your scent must carry because as soon as you’re within 10 feet of the infected, their attention is drawn to you. Their arms are limp at their sides and their walk is more of a stagger, but it always manages to get your blood pumping.

“Hurry!” Matt whisper shouts, reaching behind him for your hand. Soon he’s pulling you into the building, shutting it securely behind you and bringing his pointer finger up to his lips to instruct you to keep quiet.

“I’ll go left. You go right,” you mouth, beginning to walk the aisles of the store while ensuring to keep your back to the wall. Matt nods, perusing the aisles as best he can while his life is in immediate danger.

Infected bite and claw at the glass windows, snarling as they watch you and Matt like prey. Sometimes you wondered what their life was like before they were bit, but the second one is close enough to harm you, all sympathy leaves and you don’t think twice before unloading the clip.

When you’re sure the building is secure you put your knife away and grab a shopping basket, securing it in the pit of your elbow as you load it with as many supplies as you can. Chips, jerky, candy, canned food, oil, rags, water, any and everything you two can carry is being thrown into these baskets.

“How are gonna get all of this back?” You ask Matt, noticing the even greater pile he’s accumulated. He scratches his head, taking a look around for something that’ll help lighten the load.

From the corner of his eye he spots a few duffel bags. Matt grabs a few and motions for you to begin packing them with as much as possible. “If they get too heavy I’ll carry them.”

“Bet you wish we had a car now,” you chuckle, neatly organizing the duffel bags.

“Not when those things are staring back at me,” Matt says, shuddering as he looks behind his shoulder to see the group of infected that have pooled at the entrance of the building.

—

You’re carrying two duffel bags full of supplies, one weighing on either one of your shoulders. Matt’s holding three, two rest on his shoulders and he’s carrying the other in his hand. He holds the straps so tight that his knuckles have managed to turn white.

The both of you are exhausted from the strength you’re using to carry this supplies back to your camp, from the long trek up-hill, and the energy you exerted to take out at least a dozen infected.

You stumble on a rock, the weight on your shoulders making it difficult for you to fix your footing. “Hey, you okay?” Matt asks, examining you with his eyes.

“I’m fine. Just tired,” you wheeze, hunching over and supporting yourself with your hands on your knees.

Matt’s tired too, of course he is, but it’s not like you two can set up camp in the middle of nowhere while surrounded by infected. He remembers seeing a few houses further up the road, it’s not a long walk and if you can make it, you’ll be able to rest there until morning.

“C’mon I think I saw a neighborhood, just push through a little longer. We’ll rest there for tonight and pick back up in the morning, okay?”

He waits for you to catch your breath, rubbing your back and comforting you, but never once letting his guard down in case something gets a jump on him.

You take a deep breath, straightening up and adjusting the duffel bag’s straps on your shoulders.

“Okay.”

—

The walk to the neighborhood was much longer than you thought, and you were starting to wonder if you were lost.

“Are you sure this is the right way?”

Matt looks at you from behind his shoulder, subtly rolling his eyes before averting his gaze forward again. “You wanna lead the way, princess?”

The nickname makes you chuckle, mostly because you knew Matt used it when his mood was starting to sour and that only ever happened when he was hungry or tired. By the looks of it, he was starting to become both.

A small town comes into view just as you’re about to reply. It looks like you’ve stumbled across the Main Street, and as packed as it is with abandoned businesses and stores, a residential home is nowhere to be seen. “Didn’t I tell you I saw a town,” Matt snarks, a hint of sass laced in his tone.

You hum. “No. You said you saw a neighborhood. There isn’t a house anywhere to be seen. We might as well season ourselves for the damn infected to eat.”

A twig snaps in the distance. Your voices, although relatively quiet, have already worked towards alerting the undead of your presence.

“Shut up,” Matt grits, pulling you close to his body. You know better than to argue, instead pressing your back against his and unsheathing your knife.

Snarling and growling echoes through the town, bouncing off the buildings and making it difficult for you to pinpoint exactly what direction they’re coming from. That doesn’t stop Matt though, instead he uses the hand that isn’t holding a knife to grab your arm.

“Stay close,” he mouths, so inaudible that you almost don’t catch it. You nod your head, taking a fleeting look at your surroundings before following Matt through a back alley between a cafe and a gym (or what used to be a cafe and a gym).

The alley is a dead end, fenced off at the end with nothing but hungry zombies reaching through the metal rods in attempt to grab you. The old you would’ve screamed and cried for help, but you’ve learned to suppress your fear in order to survive.

You take a firm hold of your knife, stabbing it into the head of as many infected as you can. Quiet grunts emit from you and Matt as you clear the path, watching undead body after body hit the ground. For a second you feel sad, but only for a second. You don’t have time for trivial things such as emotions anymore, especially not when a trail of flesh eating monsters follows closely behind.

“Through here. C’mon,” Matt ushers, opening a door that leads into a gym. Although it’s safer than being stranded outside, the brick walls can only protect you for so long. You do a quick sweep of the room, looking for anything useful while also ensuring there aren’t any hidden surprises.

Once you’re sure it’s safe, you motion for Matt to follow you with a head tilt. He locks the door behind him, barricading it with an old elliptical before following you into the next room.

You enter a changing room, lined with showers and lockers that were sure to have at least one fresh pair of clothes. You set the heavy bags you’ve been carrying down, sighing with relief as you stretch your shoulders. Matt does the same, joining you in rummaging through the lockers for a new, clean shirt.

A lot of the clothes is tucked away in backpacks, most of it being unflattering male clothing, but you weren’t big on fashion nowadays. “Here. Found this for you,” Matt says, tossing a white tank top your way. You hold it up in the light, “Cute. Thanks.”

You’re about to change your shirt, without any real warning for Matt, so he quickly looks away and fixes his gaze on the shower heads and tiled walls. His hands fiddled with an unopened bar of soap he found in one of the lockers. Matt doesn’t know why he grabbed it, it’s not like he had access to running water, but a man could dream.

“I wonder if the showers work,” he thinks out loud.

You stand behind him, wearing only your bra and underwear as you wonder the same thing. God knows you could both use a shower right now. “Hmm,” you hum, tilting your head in wonder.

“Only one way to find out,” you shrug, pushing past Matt and sauntering over to the knob. You twist it quickly, patiently waiting for even a single drop of water.

Nothing, just groaning pipes and a slap in the face for naivety.

“Guess they don’t,” you say, standing under the shower head and looking at Matt with a sad smile. He chuckles, and just as he’s about to give up too, hot water spurts out abruptly, hitting the back of your head and running down your spine.

“Holy shit that’s hot!” You gasp. In all the excitement, Matt forgets how inappropriate it would be to join you in the shower under regular circumstances, and throws his clothes off. You’ve somehow already managed to remove your remaining clothing and have started scrubbing at your skin with your bare hands, letting the water run down your face.

“Matt! Hurry before it runs out!” You say, waving your hand behind you blindly. He doesn’t skip a beat, joining you under the shower head and letting it relax his sore, aching muscles. The water draws an audible groan from his lips, bringing you back to reality. You were naked and taking a shower with Matt, someone who was a stranger to you before the end of the world.

Suddenly, he remembers the bar of soap still in his hands and he accidentally takes in your naked figure as he opens it. His dick immediately rises, a clear indicator that he’s enjoying the view.

“Turn around,” he instructs, running the soap under the water and lathering his hands up. You do as your told, immediately feeling his fingers tangle themselves in your hair as he massages your scalp. It wasn’t necessarily an in depth hair wash routine, but it would suffice for now.

Soon, you’re turning around and rinsing the soap from your hair before reaching for the bar and instructing Matt to do the same.

“Here lemme get you now.” You shuffle behind him, tip toeing to reach better. Although it was odd and unexpected, you were glad to be sharing this moment with Matt.

The rest of the shower is silent as you and Matt bask in the warm water that runs down your bruised and battered bodies. You try keeping your limbs to yourselves, save for the brief moments Matt’s erect member brushes against your thigh or butt, but it’s hard when there’s only one shower head. You want to say something, mostly because you’ve had a crush on Matt from the moment you met him and his group, but you don’t. This isn’t about pleasure, not in this world at least. It’s about survival and the second you forget that, you get hurt.

“Haven’t felt that clean in years,” Matt chuckles, shoving a shirt over his head. The shower seems to have brought his spirits up, providing both of you with a new surge of energy. Little things like running water meant so much more now, especially when you’re trudging through highly forested areas and fighting for you life on the daily.

As you’re about to reply, a loud bang echoes through the locker room, followed by the sound of shuffling in your direction. You’re putting your pants on, buckling them quickly as you try to keep quiet. Your eyes are wide in fear and anticipation, watching Matt for a signal on what to do next.

He doesn’t say anything, instead grabbing the duffel bags from before and darting his eyes towards the exit. Your gun, which you hadn’t used at all today, rests in your hand. Matt holds his as well. He’s on guard, raising the weapon close to his face as he inspects the area.

You follow behind him trying to keep as quiet as possible, fully expecting him to shoot whatever lurks behind the wall. But, as you near the exit, you see it.

Tense shoulders relax, lowering your weapon and sheathing it back into your belt. A squirrel sits on the cement floor, grooming itself and chittering away. You want to approach it, maybe even pet it, but Matt stops you with a hand to your chest.

Unlike you, he’d inspected the entirety of the situation and didn’t let himself become distracted by the first cute animal that crossed his path. After recognizing that it was a squirrel, he wondered what could’ve lead it into the building in the first place, causing him to check the window it entered through. A reanimated corpse stood right outside the window, dragging its feet as it paced back and forth in search of the fluffy animal.

“Let’s go. We’re done here,” Matt ordered, pulling you back towards the exit. And just like that, you were off to find somewhere to sleep, leaving the fluffy animal to fend for itself.

“Bye little guy.”

—

“Forgot how quiet and boring the world is,” you huff, slumping down onto the worn out mattress. Whatever energy the shower provided you was now long gone. You and Matt walked for another hour before finding the initial neighborhood you were searching for. And, after that, you spent another hour finding the perfect house and clearing all its rooms.

“Quiet’s nice,” Matt replies with a soft groan, joining you on the mattress. It sinks with his weight, the coils creaking as he becomes comfortable.

“You’re just saying that cause you want me to shut up so you can fall asleep.” You kick your shoes off and unbuckle your belt, letting it fall to floor with a soft thud. A smile tugs at Matt’s lips. “Right now yes. But in general, quiet’s good. Means we’re safe,” he replies, toeing his own shoes off.

Matt shuts his eyes, fluffing the pillow under his head and willing himself to finally get a full nights rest. This house is safe. He secured all the rooms, barricaded the doors, and his weapon is on standby. He can finally rest and relax. But, of course, your mind begins to wander and when your mind wanders, your words follow. “Guess you’re right… But quiet also means you’re not learning anything about the people you care about.”

A deep breath causes Matt’s chest to rise and fall. He doesn’t understand why you’re trying to be all philosophical at the end of the world. Nonetheless, he responds, “I know you, Y/n. I know you’re strong, I know you’re a kind person, and I know you have my back. I also know you’re annoying, but I trust you and I learned all that from watching. Sometimes you just have to watch people. In quiet. Can we sleep now?” He turns onto his side facing away from you in hopes that you’ll drop the topic and fall asleep.

You stare at his back. “Those are all things you learned about me now. I was nothing like this back then.”

Matt takes another deep breath. It’s obvious you’re in the mood to talk, maybe because you finally feel safe enough to keep your voice anything above a whisper, so he decides just to give in and turn your monologue into actual dialogue.

“Back then?” He asks. Matt shuffles on the mattress, now staring at the ceiling as your eyes remain on him. “Yeah, before everything went to shit. Before the end of the stupid fucking world when the little things used to matter. You know, like first kisses and picking the perfect outfit for a date with a cute guy.”

Matt picks at his fingernails, listening to every word that escapes your lips. When you put it that way, he really didn’t know anything about you. “Okay, so tell me about yourself then. Pretend like we’re not in a strangers house, in a strangers room, on a strangers bed, and tell me all about Y/n… Before the ‘end of the stupid fucking world.’”

You chuckle, preparing yourself for the vulnerability you’re about to put on full display, but now that he’s put you on the spot it’s much harder than you thought.

“Okay so… you already know my name. Hmm. My favorite color is pink?”

Matt scoffs. “That’s the real you? C’mon, you can’t go on this whole tangent about how you were different before and then say THAT.”

“Fine fine.” You think for a second. “I was a waitress at a hotel bar. Mixing drinks was easy, the customers were nice, my coworkers made the job tolerable. Mostly only worked weekends because I was at school during the week… I went to UCLA. Go Bruins!,” you let out a breathy laugh, “My siblings were going to visit me that weekend, the weekend it all happened. They had planned the trip for a long time and finally were gonna make the drive.”

Your mind goes to a dark place, the only thing anchoring you being the hand that Matt places on yours. You clear your throat before continuing, “I had a small off campus apartment. Cleared the living room out and everything for them. Even deep cleaned.” Matt squeezes your hand.

“College was fun while it lasted. My parents worked really hard to send me off. They threw me a going away party and everything, even dressed up my dog as the school mascot,” a small pause as you recollect your thoughts, “I had a puppy named Pig. Well he wasn’t a puppy, more like an old fart, but the name suited him. Named him after my favorite animal and because he had the pinkest nose when he first adopted him.”

You feel yourself becoming increasingly sad as you reminisce on what once was. “You know what? Maybe quiet is nice,” you laugh solemnly, wiping the tears that are rolling down your face.

Matt offers you a warm smile, thinking of something, anything, to get you to smile again. But he can’t help it, he’s curious, and since you’re already on the topic he wants to pry further into your personal life. “What were you going to school for?”

“Engineering. I’m shit with numbers, but I was pretty undecided so my parents just chose for me. Brandon would help me a lot. He was really smart… really sweet… But enough about me, tell me about you. Who was Matt before all this?”

Matt ignores your question, instead posing one of his own. “Who’s Brandon? Was he your boyfriend?” He cringes slightly, both at his boldness and at his lack of awareness of your vulernable, emotional state, but his curiosity keeps getting the best of him.

You snort. “Brandon? God no. He was my best friend, sure, but I was definitely not his type. Plus, I never had time for anything serious. I made time for the fun stuff, but never the commitment.” Matt couldn’t hide the relief on his face even he tried. A relationship status meant nothing during a zombie apocalypse, yet he found himself relieved to know that your heart didn’t belong to another.

“I’m sure you had girls swarming you,” you continue jokingly, poking Matt’s sides with a teasing edge. He makes a noise, something between a groan and chuckle as he runs his hands down his face.

“I take that as a yes?”

He hums, remembering the short lived internet fame he shared with his triplet brothers before shit hit the fan. “Some would say that. If you consider subscribers and followers as swarming girls.”

You visibly cringe, “Oh God. Were you one of those thirst trappers? Bet you went to influencer parties and vlogged your morning routine.” Matt laughs loudly, a genuine laugh, one of the few you’ve heard from him since you met.

“Rent was due, okay?” He replies between laughter. Soon you’re both laughing, bodies clumsily bumping as you clutch your stomach and wipe away tears. Your bodies are impossibly close, closer than they should be on a queen sized mattress, and you only notice it once your laughter dies down.

Your eyes have locked with his and your noses even manage to graze. Neither of you make an effort to look away or even to apologize for invading the other’s space. Instead, you do the unthinkable, the one thing you didn’t allow yourself to even think about doing even when he was naked in front of you earlier. You kiss him. You lean forward and close the gap, moulding your lips onto his.

Matt doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate the kiss. His hands find a comfortable resting place on your upper thigh and lower back, using the little energy left in his body to pull you closer. One of your hands lays on his chest while the other gently weaves its way through his hair.

The kiss is sweet and innocent, and it could’ve been over by now, but because you’re both so touch starved you separate for air and dive right back in. You moan against his lips, caressing the side of his face your thumb before moving so you’re cradling his waist. Subconsciously, as if on instinct, you grind down onto him, wanting to feel and explore him further.

Matt wants to go further, and he knows you know it too, especially with the display he put on earlier in the shower, but he’s a virgin who’s afraid to disappoint. So, he pulls away from the kiss and holds your hips in place with strong hands.

“I— Give me a second,” he murmurs, squeezing his eyes shut and gulping so hard his adam’s apple bobs up and down. Matt’s mind is racing, every possible outcome for this situation playing through his mind.

You sense his apprehension, plus it’s written all over his face. You never want to push his boundaries or make him uncomfortable. So, you do the only thing you can think to do. Quickly, you shuffle off of him and off the bed. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. I just thought— today in the shower— I’ll sleep downstairs on the couch.”

You begin to gather your things, leaving Matt dumbstruck as he stares between you and his raging erection. If he didn’t speak up now, you were going to get the wrong idea and he’d miss his chance at a shot with you. Your face is red hot with embarrassment.

“Wait.” He reaches out and grabs your hand, gently pulling you back down onto the mattress.

Matt prepares himself for the vulnerability he’s about to display. He’s nervous, embarrassed, scared, and to top it off you’re the hottest girl he’s ever seen. And it’s not just because you’re the only one left either.

“I’m a virgin.”

Your eyes blow open in shock. “But earlier you said about the? I just thought?” He laughs at your inability to form a coherent sentence, but he gets the gist.

“It was hard to trust people when I was famous, especially girls. I never knew if they truly liked me or just wanted to have my name associated with them for the clout. But it’s different now, I know I can trust you. We took a shower together without making it weird after scavenging through old worn out clothes to find something slightly newer than what we had. You’re covered in the blood of monsters we killed to keep each other safe. You’re here with me when I have nothing permanent or safe to offer.” Matt pulls you back onto his lap, sitting up against the bed frame so your torsos are parallel.

“I should’ve said this a long time ago, but it’s hard to find the time when you’re fighting for your life on the daily… I care about you, Y/n. A lot. I’m not sure what to call it yet, but I care about you and I trust you. I trust you enough to do this.” You’re touched by his words, feeling their effect on your heartstrings and your throbbing core.

“I trust you too, Matt. So much more than you’ll ever know.” In that moment those words felt more real than an ‘i love you’ ever could. Matt leans forwards and kisses you, holding you by the neck. This kiss is different than the one from before, it’s needier and laced with lust.

His hands travel towards your tank top, tugging until he successfully untucks the fabric. You pull away from the kiss and lift your arms, allowing Matt to remove your shirt in one swift motion. The smile on his face as you slowly begin roaming your hands all over his body is genuine, filled with admiration, love and lust.

Your fingers beginning slipping his flannel over his shoulders, your mouth falling down to his broad shoulders to pepper kisses on the skin there. Soon, you’re both removing the rest of your clothes and Matt’s excitement has him flipping you over on the old, worn mattress. He gawks at the sight beneath him. You lay there completely exposed with only the soft moonlight that trickles in through the blinds to illuminate your body. Matt takes it all in, relishing in your beauty like it’s the last time, because in this world it very well might be.

A gentle hand trails from his stomach down to his penis, tracing the outside of his cock and watching intently at the way Matt’s eyes screw shut in concentration. It’s been so long since he’s touched himself and the sight of you alone is enough for him to combust, but he pulls himself together. You trace your thumb over the slit, coating his member with the natural lubrication that’s already spilling out before dragging his cock along your folds. Matt’s breath hitches at the new sensation, you already feel so warm and soft, he doesn’t know how he’s meant to last even one second once he’s actually inside you.

“We can stop if you want to.” Matt gulps, shaking his head feverishly. He doesn’t want this to stop, he’d never want this to stop, even if it hasn’t even really started yet. “No,” his voice is choked, “don’t stop.”

Your lip is caught between your teeth as you continue to guide the tip to your entrance, finally unwrapping your fingers from around him and instead wrapping your legs around his waist. Finally, Matt moves, sinking his cock into you slowly until he’s completely bottomed out. The initial feeling is euphoric, so euphoric in fact that his arms wobble as he tried to keep himself from collapsing on you. You love seeing him like this. A strong man who’d do anything to protect you, so weak and vulnerable from your touch.

His head finds the place where your neck and shoulder meet, forehead resting in the divot there as he slowly begins thrusting. Soft grunts and groans brush against your skin, sending shivers up your spine. Praises fall from your own lips as his tip continues to kiss your cervix, egging him further in helping you reach your climax. But tonight was about him, as long as the man on top of you convulsed with pleasure you’d be happy.

Matt’s hips snap against yours, picking up the pace as he chases his orgasm. It’s so close, right on the edge, and from the way he sounds and feels you’re close too. “Keep going, Matt. Don’t stop,” you moan, pulling him in closer with your legs around his waist. Matt whimpers your name, sucking and biting on the skin of your neck harder with each passing thrust.

“I’m gonna cum,” he grunts, words choppy and interrupted by pants and moans. All you can do is whimper in return, snaking a hand between your bodies to rub your clit. As soon as your fingers touch the sensitive bundle of nerves, your body goes into overdrive. Your legs are shaking, pussy fluttering around his cock as you grip his shoulders and moan his name. The feeling of your walls pushing and pulling around him, mixed with the way you chant his name, pushes Matt over the edge. His hips tremble slightly as he spills his load inside of you, his inexperience making it to where he’s unable to pull out before the wave of pleasure washed over his body.

Your bodies remain intertwined for a while, both of you trying to catch your breath. Matt reluctantly pulls out of you, relishing in the way your body chases after him. The mattress dips as he slumps into the spot next to you.

“Thank you.”

You turn to face Matt, a confused look on your face. You’re not sure where this will lead your relationship, but you never expected a thank you after sex, nor had you ever received one.

“Thank you?” You chuckle, curious to where the conversation was heading.

He hums. “Yeah, for not letting me die a virgin.” You can’t help the snort that follows.

“Well in that case, I guess you’re welcome. No one deserves to die a virgin, not even at the end of the world.”

Matt smiles again, a sight you’ll never grow tired of. He leans in for a kiss, pulling you close and keeping you there. The kiss is sloppy, mostly because you’re both exhausted from the days events, but neither of you dare pull away. You don’t know what tomorrow will bring or if there will even be a tomorrow, all you know is that this moment right here is real and you’d like to enjoy it for as long as possible.

“Get some rest, we have a long trip tomorrow.”

—

MASTERLIST

A/n:

Thank you so much for this request my sweet anon. I’m currently rewatching (binging) TWD and needed to get some zombie apocalypse type story out of my system, so I hope you don’t mind that I used that idea on your request. Also, I know you requested for the reader to teach Matt and I didn’t include really any of that here. I focused on the whole Virgin!Matt aspect of it all. Hope you all enjoy, sorry for not writing a lot recently :P I’m deep in the trenches of Daryl Dixon fanfiction right now so if u need me, that’s where you’ll find me (if u can’t already tell by my reblogs lolol)

ps, I didn’t go to UCLA so if that’s not the mascot don’t kill me. A quick google search told me that much

luv u all xxx

- L.A.M.B 💗👼🏻

—

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note: if you want to be tagged in my fanfic related posts, you can access my TAGLIST and comment 💐 if your user is striked through, I wasn’t able to tag you :(

[quasi-normalcy]

So, in science & technology studies, one of the words we throw around is "scientization," the act of making something into a science. And, you know, a lot of this is good, or at least neutral: the scientization of medicine; the scientization of cosmology; it means that a field has gotten more rigourous and definitive than it used to be.

But in politics, what scientization often means is that something that should be a policy issue is kicked over to scientists as a means of naturalizing or normalizing it, exempting it from normal political debate, or avoiding responsibility for unpopular decisions. "Oh, we needed to bomb this place because our models said it would end the war faster"; "Oh, we needed to privatize this service because our economists said it would save us money"; etc. And a lot of the debate in the field of science policy is given over to the question of when is it legitimate to kick something over to scientists, and in what contexts, because it's often kind of arbitrary. Like, I think that anyone who takes climate change seriously believes that science needs to inform the response to it, but you can build whatever assumptions you want to into your models, and the math will gobble them up indifferently; and Western liberal governments have overwhelmingly chosen to imagine scenarios where we can just keep doing capitalism because magical new "carbon capture" technologies will probably be invented down the line, and cap-and-trade will probably work perfectly, and anything that might be lost due to climate change can be straightforwardly assigned a monetary value and compensated, and refugees from desertification and rising sea levels will probably just not exist and so on. [Obligatory reminder that Climate Change is way worse than pretty much anyone in mainstream politics is willing to admit]

And anyways, I think that a special case of this "scientization-as-political-bullshit" phenomenon is at play in the field of polling. Like, consider Kamala Harris's entire campaign (or if you prefer, practically any neoliberal politician's campaign anywhere in the world since 2008 or so). This was a campaign where seemingly every decision was kicked over to pollsters. Can't call conservatives weirdos--you might offend moderates! Can't call on Israel to stop bombing Gaza--you might offend moderates! Can't stand up for transgender rights--you might offend moderates! Can't call for single-payer healthcare--you might offend moderates! And so on, and so forth. In every case, it's trying to do politics without being political, and it's doing so by embedding a bunch of incredibly insidious assumptions into models and then calling it science! Like, maybe "moderate" voters would get on board with a ceasefire, or trans rights, or single-payer healthcare, if a prominent politician with a billion-dollar war chest to get her message out fucking tried to make a case for it! Like, remember when the overwhelming majority of Americans opposed gay marriage? I do! I wonder why that changed? Or, for that matter, why courting moderates--as all of these models seem to assume--should necessarily be a higher priority than inspiring disenchanted voting-age adults to turn out at all?

And I worry I'm making this sound like innocent incompetence--it's not. This was done very specifically and very intentionally to foreclose upon discussion of progressive priorities while saying that you're being scientific; while saying that you are, ridiculously, being apolitical when a running a political campaign. And now we have these useless, disingenuous assholes patting themselves on the back and saying that this campaign was never winnable! Because the "SCIENCE" says so!

And meanwhile, you have Donald Trump--idiot nazi bastard thug child of a demon and a swine Donald Trump, cursed be his name--bowling through the political scene like a bull in a china shop, utterly indifferent to all of these fancy-schmancy mathematical models and too stupid to understand them...and winning enormously! Making his own coalition. Because thick as he may be, ignorant as he may be, incurious as he may be, he at least knows one single solitary thing that the Democrats don't: Politics isn't science; it's magic. And you don't get anywhere in magic without the will to power.

[capesandshapes]

For anyone who is unaware because this is not like common knowledge I guess

A good portion of Hallmark Christmas movies are made in Canada and shot during the summer until around the beginning of October. I'm pretty sure they also sometimes rent studio space to other production companies, and Christmas romance movies have a pretty rigid schedule and obscenely low budgets.

That's why they have snow blankets and the occasional sponge painted white foam ball snowmen. And the same lady in like nine different movies that seem almost like they were filmed all in the same week (Hallmark... Does not reshoot much of anything very often.)

How will this effect the industry of Hallmark Christmas movies

[thealogie]

yes as a progressive I think it was supremely stupid that she pivoted to the right. I have said this over and over that it’s idiotic of her to look at the base being so excited for her and ruin it by suddenly becoming a moderate Republican. I would have bet on an energized base if I were running her campaign or at least been able to live with myself losing by running on simple ideas such as “I will not fund the mass murder of children.”

But the thing is. It would be one thing if she were losing for that reason. But as far as I can see from these early numbers (and this could be wrong because we don’t have all the data yet) she is not behind because leftist people didn’t turn out or voted third party she is very much behind because so called moderates swung for trump and more right wing people showed up. So like the democrats won’t even learn the right lesson from this

[oh-no-its-bird]

Look all I'm saying is that if I were going to make a minecraft movie.

Well, first off I'd put down the first person to even reccomend we do it in cgi. Not just because it looks objectively terrible and half of the magic and nostalgia factor of minecraft is in its texture but holy shit budget much??? You are literally looking at a situation where the cheaper option is also objectively the better option. What the fuck are you doing

But I mean, after that.

Second off, all my writers must watch popular smps and minecraft roleplays/let's plays to understand the "magic" of the game. That's how we're studying for this, not the game books or whatever. Those guys are clearly doing smthn right, and as the executive/writer who knows very little about mineraft that I am in this hypothetical scenario, I need to do my best to make money. And that means learning what people like about the game and community.

Maybe even bring on some popular (non controversial please god) smp writers for consulting. They literally make minecraft movies as their fucking job, they are the expert u need to consult

Story wise, you NEED to choose if you wanna play this straight or silly. I'm so sick of movies trying to be all emotional and "ohh this world is so beautiful,, if u could only understand,, woaa" with their epic sound track and dramatic lighting, but then the dialogue being ripped out of a stupid marvel knockoff trying too hard to be witty

Anyways. Give me a generic "kid has a hard life and uses [thing] to escape it but then their parent trashes [thing] to teach them a "lesson"" movie.

The thing is minecraft and this kid is totally in love with letsplays and smps and has a server with their online friends (get a sponsorship from discord for that good good film sponsorship money, have them play while in call)

The mom or dad or maybe both trash the kids computer for some reason (bad grades maybe or one of those shitty "you need to talk to us more!!! That computer is killing ur brain!!! You don't love us as much as you should and it's that damn games fault!!!" But like it's actually just a kid being a normal fucking kid and having normal fucking kid hobbies things and the parents are dicks)

They delete the minecraft world rip

Them boom, kid somehow gets stuck in the game

Switch to NON CGI FILMING IN MINECRAFT. If you really need to add your stupid shitty fucking cgi then at least make it look like an ACTUAL MINECRAFT ANIMATION holy shit

It'll save us so much money too

So main plot is this kid, being trapped in minecraft, actually falling through different minecraft servers.

We can have different cameos from popular smps and youtubers, get some old youtubers and gameplay in here too. Get fucking dantdm and the diamond minecarts og series with the lab thing, it'll make the old fans lose their fucking MINDS.

The youtubers themselves don't even have to show up, just shove the kid into settings that are clear references to smps and letsplays. Have them wander through Aphmau's OG minecraft diaries sets or Sundee's lucky block series

The best part is that as backdrops, you don't even have to fully commit to "you'll only get this/find this interesting if you know these guys" bc if your writing is good enough you can still make people care by just. Introducing it correctly. Don't present it as "Aphmau's old minecraft diaries series world" go "oh wow look st this cool village,, woah I wonder who built this ,," And have them interact with NPCs organically

Meanwhile the parents go into the game after the kid to bring them back and we do this whole world hopping adventure where the parents learn that,, minecraft can be fun? Actually?

They find the kid and the kid is like "nooo I'm having too much fun the real world SUCKS!!!" but then we do that "it's cool to have fun and indulge but you still need to be present in the real world and do real people things too in order to have that fun responsibly" where somehow the kid realizes that moderation is good for u.

Maybe they almost die in game fr fr? Every world they enter has its difficulty upped a little bit till they enter *gasp* a hardcore world (oh no)

So like the kid learns that you can't just lock yourself in the room and wish the world goes away while you play minecraft for 12 hours straight, and the parents learn that minecraft is cool and fun and can be a good outlet and outlets are important for adults and children alike. And also that they totally pulled a dick move and they need to try to understand their kid instead of just demanding the kid understands them

Somewhere along the way, the kid ends up in their friends server and the friends help to pull them out of the game w the parents

We end the movie with the kid making an effort to be more present with the parents, and the parents also making an effort to interact with the kid in ways that they know the kid will enjoy and respond well to— shown a family dinner scene where the kid very eagerly eats their food while talking about school, then they all go to play minecraft together

The end <3

Oh right and if you seriously want Jack Black there so fucking bad then make him either the dad or like. School computer teacher who helps the kid use Minecraft EU to learn science (shows off that some schools use minecraft for education purposes) who also helps the kids friends pull them and the parents out of the game

Overall, lots of themes not just about how the game is cool and can let you do cool shit, but also about how the community is cool, and how it's provided so many kids and adults outlets to express themselves and have fun together

That's how you do a game movie

Anyways yeah, minecraft movie looks shit. Hire me instead next time