#and say genuinely weird things in genuinely inappropriate times. who genuinely come off as weird or dumb or childish

[electricpurrs]

i keep having embarrassingly deeper-than-they-should feelings about caboose that im not sure what to do about, with how i feel like i relate in a pretty genuine and sweet way to him in an autistic level and i do feel like reading him that way makes real sense but im just incapable of feeling very good about it when its very very clear caboose's neurodivergent esque behavior is applied exclusively to make the butt of the joke off how stupid he is. i care about him a lot as a character but i mostly just wanna rip him off r-slur-loving rooster teeth's hands and handle him with a minimum level of respect

[lovelookspretty]

lies for lunch

rafe cameron x reader

— in which y/n returns to her hometown, the outer banks, to work as ward cameron’s assistant at cameron development, but living under his roof for the summer leads to unexpected tension with his son, rafe.

warnings: animosity, rafes daddy issues, safe !!

authors note: for the sake of the story i need y/n or you or whatever to have a person of familiarity whos hung back in obx to act like you’ve known each other for years, SO U HAVE A FICTIONAL BROTHER 😭

for the past ten months, you’ve been working at cameron development, helping ward negotiate deals and obtain permits. it’s been almost like being his assistant through everything. what started as an internship turned into a full-time job with actual pay after all this time.

they were right—hard work and determination can really pay off. you just didn’t expect to get so lucky with how quickly things moved. after a series of private meetings where ward discussed traveling back to north carolina to work in his hometown, he suggested you come along.

the relationship isn’t weird or inappropriate. you’re one of the few employees ward genuinely appreciates, which is more than he can say about the burnouts that float through the company. since you’re from the outer banks yourself, ward thinks it makes sense to bring you along to continue working for him and the company for as long as possible.

but anyway, you’re absolutely thrilled to be back in the outer banks. it’s more than just a job opportunity—it’s a chance to reconnect with everything familiar, everything that’s been tugging at your heart since you left.

the occasional visits have been fine, enough to keep the homesickness at bay for a while, but that constant, quiet longing for the place you grew up never really goes away. but now? now you’re staying in obx for the summer. no more fleeting weekends, no more rushed goodbyes. you’ll have time to breathe, to soak it all in. to be home.

the airport air is still fresh in your lungs when you slide into the backseat of the car, your bags dumped beside you. before the door even clicks shut, your fingers are already scrolling through your contacts. there’s only one person you want to talk to right now—your brother.

“hey,” you say, stretching out the word, a grin tugging at your lips as you hear the familiar click of him picking up.

“hey,” comes his easy, laid-back reply, his voice filling the small space around you like it always does. like home. “did you land?”

you bounce slightly in your seat as the car hits a bump, your grip tightening on your phone for a second. “yeah,” you confirm, digging through your bag absentmindedly. “i’m about twenty minutes from figure 8, so i’ll be there around noon. are mom and dad home?”

there’s a slight pause on his end, the sound of him shifting around, probably sprawling lazily on the couch back home. “nah, they’re not,” he finally says. “i swung by to check, but i guess mom’s out at lunch with her friends, and dad’s working today.”

you let out an involuntary groan, the disappointment settling in your chest. of course, it would work out like this. “this is what i get for trying to surprise them.”

his voice comes back, laced with mild amusement. “it’s your fault for not announcing you’re coming a day earlier.”

he’s right, but you don’t want to admit it. instead, you plow forward. “look, can you at least call mom and ask if she can be home soon? ward wants me to head straight to him as soon as i land, but i really wanna stop by as soon as i can. i can’t be there later than two.”

on the other end, you can almost hear the exaggerated sigh that you know is coming. the kind that’s loaded with all the typical dramatics. he’s probably rolling his eyes too, even though you can’t see him. “yeah, yeah, whatever,” he mutters, clearly unable to resist playing up his irritation. “i’ll take care of it. just text me when you’re on your way. still can’t believe you’re working for wc.”

with that, the call ends abruptly, and you pull the phone away from your ear, blinking down at the screen in mild confusion. wc? who calls him wc? you furrow your brow, lips tugging into a slight frown as you shoot off a quick text to your brother.

‘ 1st, nobody calls him wc. and 2nd, what??? ’

your phone buzzes again. his reply is as cryptic as ever.

‘ just a coincidence that in ny u ended up working for someone from obx still. don’t u remember him growing up? ’

you stare at the message, trying to piece together what he’s talking about, until another text follows almost immediately.

‘ he has like 3 kids. rafe, sarah, wheezie. i saw rafe down at the pier a few weeks ago. we used to see them at parties when we were younger. ’

rafe? sarah? wheezie? none of those names ring a bell. you rack your brain, searching for some kind of recognition, but you come up empty. a soft laugh escapes you as you quickly type back, ‘idk who that is lmao sorry’ and lock your phone, leaning back in the seat with a sigh.

ward cameron has three kids. it’s a strange thing to realize, that the man you’ve been working for these past couple of years has an entire family you’ve never heard of. but then again, work was always work. personal details were rarely exchanged unless necessary. and now, you can’t help but think—would you meet them? would they be anything like ward?

your brother mentioned seeing one of them recently, so you can assume at least one of ward’s children still live here. you wonder if the rest do too.

your thoughts wander as the car turns down another road, bringing you closer to the heart of figure 8. it’s been a long time since you’ve been back here, long enough for some of the details to feel fuzzy, but the feeling of the place—that never changes. the salty air, the warmth of the sun filtering through the car windows, the sense of familiarity that sits low in your chest, almost like relief.

you try to imagine what the next few months will be like. working for ward in the outer banks is worlds apart from working for him in new york. for one, the pace is different—slower, more laid-back. and for another, you won’t be disappearing into a faceless crowd when the workday ends. you’ll be here, surrounded by people who might actually know your name. or at least remember your face.

the car slows down, the gravel beneath the tires crunching softly as you near the cameron estate.

“thank you!” you call out, waving as the driver pulls away, leaving you standing on the driveway with your bags at your feet. for a moment, you just stand there, taking it all in. the cameron house looms in front of you.

you bend down, grabbing the straps of your bags and hauling them up, careful not to drag them across the grass. even though this isn’t your home, there’s an odd comfort in the way it feels.

you’ve been here before—well, not here exactly, but close enough. working summer jobs in figure 8 as a teenager had given you a glimpse of this world. a world where you were always on the outside, always temporary. back then, you were just a girl from the cut, doing what you had to do to get by.

no one looked at you twice. but now? now you’re here for something more. wanted, even.

the thought of it makes your stomach twist with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. you adjust the weight of your bags on your shoulder and step up to the door, knocking firmly before dropping your things to the floor with a soft thud.

a small sigh of relief escapes your lips as you straighten up, rolling your shoulders to shake off the stiffness from the journey. you’ve been lugging these bags around for hours, and your arms are starting to feel like lead.

as you wait, you take a moment to fix your hair, fingers smoothing back stray strands that have fallen into your face. it’s only then that you hear a rustle in the bushes to your left. your heart skips a beat, and you freeze, mid-motion, your eyes flicking toward the sound. you stretch your neck slightly, peering over your shoulder, but there’s nothing. just silence. your pulse settles again, and you let out a quiet laugh at yourself.

the door suddenly swings open, and you drop your hands to your sides, your face breaking into a smile. standing in the doorway is a girl, and instantly, you’re struck by how put together she looks.

her long blonde hair cascades down her back, and she’s dressed in a cozy white knit sweater paired with shorts. it’s casual, effortless, but there’s something about it that screams figure 8 wealth. but what really catches your attention are her socks—brightly colored, with little monster faces peeking out from the tops.

you smile a little wider at the sight. you’re starting to like her already.

“hey, i’m y/n,” you introduce yourself, stepping forward and extending your hand.

“it’s so nice to meet you! i’m sarah,” she replies, her smile just as warm as she reaches out to shake your hand. her grip is firm but friendly, and before you know it, she’s ushering you inside with a wave of her hand. “come on in! my dad isn’t here right now, but i can actually show you to our guest room. it’s, like, right next to mine. it’s so homey. you’ll love it.”

her energy is almost overwhelming, but in a good way. she’s excited, and you can’t help but feel a little relieved.

“i mean, yeah, sure,” you say, bending down to grab your bags again. but before you can get a good grip, sarah is already stepping in to help, lifting one of the bags with ease. you follow her inside, the door clicking shut behind you as you enter the home.

it’s everything you expected and more—bright, airy, with high ceilings and tasteful decor. it’s the kind of place that feels almost untouchable, like something out of a magazine.

as you make your way toward the stairs, you can’t help but glance around, taking it all in. the house smells faintly of lemon and clean linens, and the soft hum of the air conditioner is the only sound that breaks the quiet. it’s beautiful, but it’s also a little intimidating.

“so, is there anyone else home that i should worry about if i, like, wanted to shower?” you ask as you follow sarah up the steps.

sarah shoots you a smile over her shoulder as she leads the way. “i think you’re good. my brother and sister are here, but they won’t bother you. wheezie’s doing her homework, and rafe . . . well, he’s probably not even home.”

her tone is casual, like she’s talking about the weather, but you can’t help but feel a flicker of curiosity. you remember your brother mentioning a rafe in his text earlier, but the name still doesn’t mean much to you. maybe you’ll meet him later, maybe not. either way, it’s not something you’re too concerned about right now.

you reach the guest room door, and sarah twists the knob, pushing it open with a flourish. “here! this is your room for the summer.”

you step inside, and your breath catches in your throat. it’s . . . gorgeous. simple, but elegant, with soft cream-colored walls and wide windows that let in streams of natural light. the bed is large, with crisp white sheets that look impossibly inviting, and there’s a small sitting area in the corner with a plush chair and a side table. it’s more than you ever expected.

“wow,” you breathe, your eyes sweeping over the room. “this is . . . really nice.”

sarah grins, setting your bag down on the chair. “told you! if you’re gonna shower, i’ll leave you to it. but if you need anything, my room’s right next to yours.” she gestures vaguely toward the door. “the bathroom’s across the hall from mine. my dad will probably be home in, like, half an hour? him and rose just ran out to do something before you got here.”

you nod, but your mind snags on the name—rose. ward’s wife. it’s funny, now that you think about it, how little you actually know about ward’s personal life. you’ve worked with him for years, but he’s always kept things strictly professional. it’s only now, standing in his home, that you’re realizing just how much of his life is a mystery to you.

sarah gives you one last smile before slipping out of the room, closing the door behind her. and just like that, you’re alone. you let out a long, slow breath, your fingers absentmindedly twisting the rings on your fingers as you take a moment to center yourself. it feels surreal, being here. like stepping into someone else’s life for a while.

you cross the room and pull back the curtains, revealing a stunning view of the island and for a moment, all your worries melt away. it’s beautiful here. peaceful. maybe this summer won’t be so bad after all.

you grab your bathroom bag and a fresh set of clothes, the weight of the morning starting to press on your shoulders as you make your way to the bathroom. you pause outside the door, hearing the muffled laughter of sarah and wheezie from across the hall.

their lighthearted chatter pulls a soft smile onto your lips, a sense of warmth in this house. it's comforting, in a strange way, to be surrounded by family—even if it's not your own.

the bathroom is sleek, modern, almost too luxurious compared to what you're used to. you lock the door behind you and let out a long, relieved breath. the hot water feels like an escape, like it's rinsing away the tension of the trip, the awkwardness of being in someone else’s home, and the nerves tangled in your chest about what comes next.

as the minutes pass, you try to calm the buzz in your mind. you know you need to hurry—the last thing you want is to be caught mid-shower when ward and rose return. you quickly towel off, pulling on your new clothes with an urgency that betrays your attempt to stay calm.

you grab your bag off the counter, unlock the bathroom door, and step back into the hallway. as you cross toward your room, you stop abruptly. there, by the door, are three guys, clearly in the middle of something. confusion furrows your brow—who are they? why are they here?

one of them has his back to you, looking into the room, while the others glance in your direction, the closest one nudging the other to signal your arrival. great. more people.

the one in the doorway catches your eye. his hand is rubbing his jaw, his stance casual, like he owns the place. for all you know, he does. his other hand is stuffed in his pocket, his expression unreadable as he turns toward you.

you can feel the weight of their stares, but you offer a polite smile, trying to act unbothered even though you feel a little out of place. honestly, the house is big enough for all of them, and you're too new to figure out who’s who just yet. you’re not even sure who lives here or if they’re just guests like you.

before any introductions can be made, ward’s voice booms from the front of the house, pulling you from the awkwardness of the moment. “is she here?”

you move past the tall boy, dropping your bag off in the guest room, and make your way downstairs. your heart leaps when you spot ward and rose. the grin that stretches across your face feels genuine, a relief after navigating the uncertainty of the last few hours.

“hey,” you say, stepping off the last stair to shake their hands. “thank you for letting me stay in your home, by the way. i met sarah. she’s great.”

ward gives you a friendly nod, his demeanor warm but business-like—he's already familiar with your work ethic and you know that he expects the same here.

“yeah, wait ‘til you meet rafe and wheezie, though,” he says, glancing at rose, who’s already inching away, clearly not interested in small talk, and it stings more than you’d care to admit. but you brush it off, focusing on the fact that you’re here for work, not approval.

“did sarah show you your room?” ward asks, guiding you toward the kitchen.

“yeah, she did!” you nod, falling into step beside him. “it’s really nice. i also used the shower, honestly. also super nice.”

he chuckles lightly, gesturing to the open space around you. “help yourself to anything while you're here. bathrooms, the kitchen, the living room—whatever you need as long as you're working with me here.”

when you reach the kitchen, ward turns to face you, and you're about to answer his question when the boys from earlier walk in, their presence shifting the energy in the room.

the tall one—who you now realize must be rafe—moves with an air of familiarity, heading straight for the fridge without so much as a glance your way, though his friends have sprawled out on the couch nearby, keeping half an eye on the situation.

“you grew up here?” rafe asks, pulling something from the fridge with a nonchalance that borders on arrogance. his tone isn’t rude, exactly, but there’s a challenge in his words, like he’s testing you.

you shift your weight slightly, feeling his attention on you now. “yeah, i did.”

“humor me,” he says before his father can talk, smirking as he continues, “figure 8 or the cut?"

there it is—the divide. figure 8, the land of privilege and wealth, versus the cut, where people like you are from. it's a question loaded with judgment, but you stand your ground.

you hesitate, unsure whether to entertain your boss’s son. “that’s . . .” you begin saying, noticing the small hint of a smile on his lips as he twists the bottle cap off. “i lived in the cut.”

ward quickly steps in, raising a hand to ease the tension. “y/n,” he says, using your name in a way that reminds you you’re under his wing here. “you don’t have to answer his questions.”

there’s a quiet pause before he officially introduces rafe, confirming what you already suspected. “this is rafe,” he says, nodding toward his son, who watches you intently. ward pauses as he brushed over it quickly, “and his friends,” like he doesn’t want to say it.

you give a small wave in return, feeling the awkwardness creep back in. you’re not sure what to make of the boys yet, but the dynamic between them feels . . . off. guarded. like there’s more going on than meets the eye.

ward claps his hands together, breaking the silence. “time for lunch. rafe, can you please tell sarah and wheezie to come down?” he asks, already heading toward the patio doors. “y/n, feel free to find a seat at the table.”

you murmur an ‘okay’ and follow ward outside, the breeze hitting your face as you step onto the patio. you take a moment to scan the setup, unsure where to sit, but ward motions for you to pick any spot. the table looks inviting, the outdoor space just as luxurious as the inside. it’s surreal, really, being here—like stepping into a different world entirely.

the table outside is a lavish spread, every dish meticulously placed as though the meal is a display of the cameron family's status. some of the food is freshly prepared, you can tell by the steam rising from the platters, while other dishes have clearly been delivered, probably from some upscale restaurant.

everything is pristine, almost too perfect for a casual lunch, but you remind yourself this isn’t just any ordinary lunch. this is a welcome—to ward’s world, to his home, and into the lives of the camerons.

this lunch wasn't really about you, though. it’s more of a formality for ward’s return to north carolina.

as you sit at the table, alone for now, your gaze drifts to the patio, the large windows giving you a glimpse into the house. your thoughts wander to art, and you can almost hear his voice in your head—his dry humor, his sarcastic quips. he’d love this, probably have a million things to say about the whole setup.

the camerons, so far, seem nice. well, most of them. sarah is definitely the easiest to get along with, the type of person you instantly feel comfortable around. but rose? you're not even sure she’ll show up for lunch. and rafe . . . you’re still figuring him out. there’s something about him, something unreadable that leaves you on edge.

as your eyes sweep around the room inside, they land on rafe. he's with his friends, the same group from earlier, laughing and talking like they don’t have a care in the world. there’s an ease about him when he’s with them, like he’s more at home in their company than anywhere else.

you can’t quite put your finger on it, but something about him feels . . . dangerous? no, maybe not dangerous, but unpredictable. like he could switch from charming to something much darker in the blink of an eye.

and then it happens—he looks at you. directly at you, like he knows you’ve been watching him. the way he smiles is almost smug, as if he’s aware of the effect he has on people, on you. your heart does a small flip, caught off guard by the intensity of his gaze.

then, just as quickly, he says something to his friends, who erupt into laughter, and you feel the uncomfortable prick of self-consciousness. are they laughing at you? god, you hope not. the last thing you need is to be the butt of some joke you don’t understand.

you pull your focus away, trying to ignore the warmth creeping into your cheeks, and you shift in your chair, suddenly too aware of how out of place you feel. this isn’t your world, not yet at least. you’re still figuring out the rules, where you stand, who you can trust. it's like being in a play without knowing your lines.

“i know my kids are going to be a handful when they’re all together, so . . . be prepared for that,” ward’s voice cuts through your thoughts, and you turn slightly to glance over your shoulder at him. there’s a warmth to his tone, something almost paternal. “but they’re good.”

you force a small smile and nod, though you’re not sure how much you believe him. you have a feeling ‘good’ might mean different things in the cameron household.

“you’re a year or two older than sarah,” he continues, and you turn back to face the table, focusing on the clean lines of the polished wood, the way the sunlight catches on the glassware. “you’re not that far off in age with rafe, either. sarah’s probably going to be your best friend. she can’t help it.”

there’s a lightness in his voice, and you get the sense that sarah is the glue that holds this family together, the one everyone relies on to keep things civil. “but rafe . . . he’ll warm up to you.”

will he? you can’t help the slight lift of your brows, amusement flickering in your expression as you consider his words. you don’t agree, but you can’t say that. something about rafe feels like he’s not the type to easily ‘warm up’ to anyone, especially someone like you—an outsider stepping into his territory.

“yeah,” you murmur, your tone filled with doubt, “i’m sure of it.”

the cameron family finally gathers at the long, polished table outside, sunlight filtering through the trees and casting dappled patterns across the plates. you take in the scene quietly as everyone finds their places, the quiet shuffle of chairs pulling out, scraping slightly against the patio stones.

it’s a family affair, but rafe’s friends have tagged along—an addition that seems unsanctioned by ward but tolerated nonetheless. ward positions himself at one head of the table, with you and sarah flanking either side of him like you’re all part of some carefully orchestrated tableau.

rafe is at the opposite end, far enough that the distance feels intentional, deliberate. you can’t help but notice how he’s checked out, his gaze drifting, uninterested. to your right, one of his friends, the blond one, settles beside you, and his presence feels awkward, like he’s trying to take up as little space as possible, aware of the invisible tension in the air.

on the other side of him, the other friend sits, both of them quiet for now. down sarah’s side, wheezie sits next to her sister, then rafe at the very end. the empty chair beside wheezie feels like a gap. technically it’s rose’s chair if she were to have changed her mind.

“so what are you?” wheezie asks, breaking the initial silence, and you can see sarah’s immediate reaction, the quick glance she shoots her sister, a mild scolding in her eyes.

the phrasing is blunt, too blunt, but then again, wheezie is a kid—still learning the art of conversation, still figuring out the way words land.

before you can answer, ward steps in, his voice calm but authoritative. “y/n is my assistant,” he says, filling in the blank you hadn’t yet decided how to describe. you pause mid-chew, a small bite of food lingering on your tongue as you listen to him explain. “she’ll be working with me here in north carolina for cameron development over the next few months.”

you nod slightly, not sure how to react to being discussed like you’re not there. you’ve been in situations like this before, professionally at least, but it feels different now, being talked about in front of his family. a piece of you wants to assert yourself, to explain your role in your own words, but it feels like there’s no room for that right now. so, you stay quiet.

“that’s cool,” sarah says, her voice warm and genuine as she glances over at you, a small, encouraging smile on her face. she seems like the type who would get along with almost anyone, a natural mediator. “what do you do? as his assistant and all.”

from the corner of your eye, you catch rafe’s subtle shift, his gaze flicking toward sarah, his expression sharp for a moment, like he’s not interested in this conversation but is still somehow annoyed by it. you wonder what’s behind that look, what tension simmers under the surface.

you swallow and clear your throat, aware that everyone’s waiting for your answer now. “uh, yeah,” you start, your voice sounding more casual than you intend, like you’re trying to downplay your actual responsibilities.

“your dad has his job—he oversees the projects, handles the big picture stuff. i come along when he needs help with negotiating contracts and leases, hiring architects, engineers, contractors, all that. i also scout available land for potential developments.” you pause, glancing around the table. “just stuff like that.”

there’s a moment of silence, and for a second, you think maybe your explanation was enough. but then, like a crack in the veneer, rafe speaks, almost mockingly, “do you also get him coffee whenever he asks? do you fuck him, too?”

his words hit like a punch, unexpected and crude, cutting through the air with a kind of reckless confidence that leaves you momentarily stunned. for a second, the table feels frozen, like no one’s quite sure how to react.

the blond boy next to you nearly chokes on his food, a strangled half-laugh escaping before he catches himself, suddenly aware that rafe’s comment shouldn’t be funny.

your stomach twists, a flush of heat creeping up your neck as you force yourself to stay composed, staring straight at rafe from across the table. his gaze is fixed on you, unflinching, like he’s testing you, waiting to see how you’ll respond.

it’s infuriating—the audacity of it, the way he tosses out the insult so casually, like it’s no big deal.

ward sets his fork down with a soft clink against the plate, his fingers intertwining as he leans forward slightly. the tension shifts, thickening around the table, and you can feel every set of eyes on you, but your focus remains on rafe.

“rafe,” ward’s voice is calm, measured, but there’s a warning in it. and yet, rafe doesn’t look away, doesn’t flinch. he stays locked onto you, like you’re locked in some kind of silent standoff, and part of you wonders what he’s trying to prove.

after a beat of silence, ward adds, “can i talk to you inside the house?” it’s not really a question, more of a command, and finally, rafe moves. slowly, he pulls the napkin from his lap, tossing it onto the table before rising from his seat.

ward turns to you, his expression softening into something apologetic, and you nod slightly, acknowledging his silent apology even though you’re not sure what to do with it. as they disappear inside, the tension lingers, heavy and uncomfortable.

you force yourself to take another bite of food, though it feels like chewing cardboard. the uneasy feeling coils tighter in your chest. this is off to a rocky start, to say the least. sarah and wheezie seem fine, but rafe . . . rafe’s going to be a problem.

sarah reaches across the table, her hand brushing lightly against yours, and you glance up to meet her eyes. there’s sincerity in her expression, a quiet kind of empathy. “i’m so sorry for him,” she says softly. “rafe has a tendency to act like an idiot on a daily basis. don’t let anything he says get to you.”

before you can respond, the blond boy—topper, you think—finally speaks, his voice quiet but carrying a hint of amusement. “he doesn’t have a tendency to act like an idiot every day,” he says, shaking his head slightly as he takes another bite of food, a small smile playing on his lips. it’s the first thing he’s said to you directly, and the casualness of it surprises you.

“oh, he absolutely does,” sarah retorts with a light laugh. “and i’m sure you get yours from him.” she turns to you, smiling again. “y/n, this is topper and kelce, if you hadn’t already been introduced.”

before you can say anything, wheezie pipes up quickly, almost as if she’s sharing a secret, “sarah and topper used to date.” her voice is soft, but the reaction from sarah and topper is immediate—they both look over at her, like this was something she wasn’t supposed to say out loud.

“what?” wheezie says, glancing around the table innocently.

you can’t help but smile at the sibling dynamics playing out in front of you. it reminds you of your own relationship with your brother, the way siblings know each other’s secrets, their histories, the things that outsiders wouldn’t catch unless they were paying attention. in this brief moment, amidst the tension, you find a sliver of familiarity, of something you recognize.

you pull your napkin off your lap, rising from your seat, feeling the tension still clinging to your skin like humidity. you adjust your clothes, smoothing down fabric that doesn’t need smoothing, but it gives your hands something to do.

“where’s the nearest bathroom inside?” you ask, trying to sound casual, but you can feel the strain in your voice, the way your words almost trip over themselves.

“once you’re in the kitchen, it should be the door in the hallway if you just keep walking straight,” sarah tells you, offering a small smile. you nod in response, forcing yourself to return the gesture, though it feels hollow.

you step away from the table, and sarah seizes the moment to nudge wheezie, probably to scold her for spilling her relationship drama with topper.

as you make your way toward the bathroom, your steps slow. it’s not like you really need to go. you glance behind, making sure no one’s paying attention, before diverting your path to the front door instead. the knot in your stomach tightens with every step.

the front door is slightly ajar, and through the opening, you spot rafe. he’s leaning back in a chair on the porch, his head tilted toward the sky as if it’s the only thing he can stand to look at.

ward’s standing near him, mid-conversation, and their voices pull you in, despite knowing you shouldn’t eavesdrop. you lean against the doorframe, just out of sight, your heartbeat quickening.

“you didn't have to fly out some girl that works at the company just because she’s doing good,” rafe says, lifting his head from the chair, his voice tinged with frustration, like he’s been holding it in for too long. “i could've taken the job, especially because i’m already here.”

there’s bitterness in his words, but beneath that, you catch something else—something raw. rafe’s trying to understand why he’s being left out, why he’s not the one ward trusts.

“exactly, rafe,” ward replies, his tone firmer than before. “you're twenty-one and you’re still here. she’s twenty and she's been working with me for nearly two years. don’t you think that says something?”

his words land heavily, and for a moment, there’s silence. you feel the weight of the comparison ward’s making, and it sinks into you too, even though it shouldn’t. rafe chuckles, standing up, but it’s not out of amusement. it’s a defense mechanism, a way to shield himself from whatever hurt ward’s words are causing.

“y/n is here because she’s good at what she does,” ward continues, his voice steadier now, trying to end the conversation.

“alright, dad,” rafe says, nodding, but his expression betrays his words. “let's say i believe that—because i don’t—why am i not in her place?”

ward sighs, shaking his head like he doesn’t understand how rafe isn’t getting it. “rafe, think about what kind of job she has. how could i trust you with that?”

the words sting, and even though they aren’t directed at you, you feel a strange sense of guilt crawling under your skin. you know you’ve earned your place, worked hard for it. but hearing it spelled out like this, in such a stark contrast to rafe, it makes you feel . . . uncomfortable.

rafe rubs his chin, his fingers brushing against the stubble there. he doesn’t say anything, just nods like he’s processing it all, or maybe pretending to. he turns to head back inside.

and that’s when he sees you, standing there, caught in the act of listening.

his eyes lock onto yours, and for a second, you don’t know what to do. your throat tightens, but you force yourself to keep your head high. you can’t apologize. you don’t need to. this is your job, after all, the one you’ve worked damn hard for.

still, the silence stretches between you, heavy and uncomfortable. rafe doesn’t say anything, just turns away, walking back out toward the patio. you exhale, realizing you’ve been holding your breath. the knot in your stomach only tightens as you push yourself off the doorframe and head toward the bathroom, your footsteps almost echoing in the stillness of the hallway.

you stop in front of the bathroom door, staring at it like it might hold some answers you don’t have. your hand reaches for the knob, your fingers curling around it, but you don’t turn it. instead, you stand there, replaying the conversation in your head, trying to make sense of what you’ve just heard. rafe’s resentment, ward’s trust in you—it’s a lot to take in, and you wonder if you’re supposed to feel . . . what? proud? guilty? it’s hard to pin down.

before you can figure it out, you hear footsteps approaching. your hand drops from the doorknob just as ward’s voice reaches you.

“hey,” he says, his tone softer now, though there’s still an edge of frustration lingering there, probably from his conversation with rafe. “you and the girls getting along good?”

you plaster on a smile, nodding even though your thoughts are still tangled from the scene outside. “yeah, we’re good.”

ward mutters a small ‘good, good’ as he walks past you, heading back to the patio. you watch him go, your arms crossing over your chest as if that’ll hold you together. you follow behind him slowly, a quiet unease settling in your chest. this family, with all its complications, feels like a storm you’ve just walked into.

and then there’s rafe. if he already resents you, you can only imagine how his friends—topper and kelce—will react. boys like them, they stick together, and you know that dynamic all too well. the chances of them giving you a fair shot seem slim.

you brace yourself as you step back outside, a small sigh slipping past your lips. this job, this place—it’s not going to be easy. but nothing worth it ever is, right?

“so you're from the outer banks?” sarah asks as soon as you sit back down. there’s an edge to her voice, like she’s making an effort to seem casual but is still trying to figure you out. you can’t blame her. she’s probably just trying to get a feel for who you are, maybe ease the tension that’s been hanging in the air since you got here.

“where from?” she adds, glancing at you over the rim of her glass.

you pause, fork hovering just above your plate, feeling a flicker of unease. it’s a simple enough question, but you can already feel the weight of your answer.

“near quinton,” you say, cutting into your food with deliberate care, keeping your tone light. “a little south.”

you don’t look up as you speak, focusing on the neat little slices you’re making in your lunch, as if perfecting that action could keep the conversation from slipping into uncomfortable territory.

“i’m surprised we haven’t met before today,” you continue, the lie slipping out so smoothly you almost believe it yourself. “my friends and i knew just about everyone before i left the island.”

but the truth sits heavily in your stomach. you don’t know them. sure, your brother mentioned that your families had crossed paths when you were younger, but the memories never stuck. whatever brief moments there were, they’ve faded into the backdrop of your childhood.

rafe, however, doesn’t let your words slide by as easily. he latches onto them like a dog with a bone, straightening in his seat, eyes gleaming with interest.

“your friends?” his voice cuts through the air, almost too eager, too sharp. it’s like he’s waiting for you to say something wrong, give him an opening to tear into you. sarah watches him warily, her eyes flicking between you and her brother. she’s looking for help—maybe from her dad—but the tension is palpable, thickening by the second.

your phone buzzes in your back pocket, and the vibration pulls you from the uncomfortable scrutiny rafe’s casting in your direction.

“who do you know here?” he presses, and his tone is challenging now, like he’s daring you to prove something to him. to justify your place here, in this house, at this table.

you lift your gaze then, meeting his eyes with a steady look, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm. but there’s something in the way he’s staring at you that makes your skin crawl, like he’s already made up his mind about you, about what kind of person you are.

it’s fucking exhausting.

“hate to interrupt you, ray,” you say, letting a mocking lilt creep into your voice as you rise from your seat. you keep your movements controlled, measured, not too rushed. “but i have a phone call.”

you pull your phone from your pocket, waving it slightly, feeling a small rush of satisfaction when rafe’s jaw clenches ever so slightly. “let me just take that really quick so we can continue our conversation.”

you don’t wait for his response, because you know whatever he says will just add to the irritation simmering beneath your skin. as you step out of the way, you hear him mutter, “it’s rafe,” under his breath, like correcting you is somehow important to him.

“it’s actually my brother!” you whisper-yell back, flashing the screen of your phone in his direction, making sure he sees the call.

as you walk away, you feel the tension ease just slightly, but it’s still there, humming beneath the surface. this place—figure eight, tannyhill—it’s like a tangled web, and you’ve just stepped into it, with people like rafe already ready to watch you stumble.

you press your phone to your ear as you step out of the patio and into the cool air of the home, and you try to calm yourself, leaning against the wall as your brother’s voice greets you on the other end.

you know you’ll have to go back in there, face rafe again, but for now, you allow yourself a brief moment to breathe.

considering making this a few-part series (maybe) !! let me know if you’d be interested thru replies, anons, or dms <3

@tiaamberxx

[sexhaver]

i’m sorry i’m like this too.

but this site is so fucking WEIRD about john green. the cock monologue is whatever, but you also have a post about green being “weirdly chummy” with fans and. come on that was the actual problem in 2014. he was getting accused of pedophilia and grooming which was disproved at the time and remains completely untrue.

john green wasn’t predatory for writing YA novels with teenage girl main characters. he wasn’t predatory for interacting with fans who sought him out. he wasn’t predatory for creating an online community that remains safe for minors to participate in currently. he’s not a predator and he isn’t weird to his fans. it’s genuinely messed up to imply and keep implying that a YA author was being predatory towards fans after it was disproved. he had a public social media account before it was common for authors to engage that way. we were teens and we got weird about it.

it is actually serious to say john green was being inappropriate towards children and it’s important for all of our safety that we stay Very Very Clear about what predation is and who is Actually Dangerous To Children.

first off, no, you're not sorry, if you were sorry you would realize this ask sounds ridiculous and not send it, and yet here we are.

what really gets me the most about idiots such as yourself is that you make such a painstaking show of recounting How Things Really Happened, as if there's a massive conspiracy of historical revisionism afoot with the end goal of smearing a middle-aged YA author when like. i was literally there. i used this website before john green joined. i watched him get popular, i watched as we all took the piss by editing his text posts like we edited 10000 other text posts, i watched as a teenage girl called him a "creepy uncle at a pool party" and he responded by siccing his adult YA author friends and fans such as yourself on her so hard she deleted, i watched as he called nerdy girls an "underutilized resource" in a video targeted at boys, i watched as he jerked himself off in the notes of a gifset of his own movie ("is this the FIRST TIME the GIRL has kissed the BOY????"). i was (and still am) mutuals with the guy who edited the iconic copypasta over his announcement about hitting 100k followers or whatever.

i did not suffer through all of this, the worst fucking years of this hellsite, to be talked down to by tiktok users who deign to cite the deep magic to me. he was not targeted with post editing copypastas (yes, plural, it had been ongoing for months) for being neurodivergent. he wasn't even targeted for being creepy or predatory, although that was definitely a discussion being had at the time. he was targeted because he was fundamentally cringe before the word "cringe" had been discovered, and because he took himself so seriously that you were guaranteed to get a response from him every time.

imagine if Lin Manuel Miranda made an account on here now, and you could edit his posts, and every time you edited them, he would reblog it back from you saying "haha, very funny guys, but this is an edit! i didn't say this!", which you could then edit again, and so on and so forth. and then imagine if, a full decade after this happened, people who weren't even there started calling this practice "violent harassment" because someone edited his post to the "what the fuck did you fucking say about me?" copypasta once. and furthermore imagine that when you laugh at these people, they get really really indignant and demand you take them seriously and imply that somehow you're losing the debate by refusing to engage with them, and also that this is a debate all of a sudden instead of them embarrassing themselves

[keen-observations]

Keen observation: The Kny "Ship wars" are getting out of hand

(Disclaimer: This post has NOT been made to promote // encourage hate of ANY kind - it is simply me passing my opinion on recent events in this particular fandom)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Let's begin. This post has been made to deliver my take on the, uh... insanely inappropriate actions of the fanbase for the popular anime and manga series: Demon slayer - Kimetsu No Yaiba - from the futile beginnings of shipping characters.

And do not mistake this for me saying people should not be shipping characters at all - I am a Multishipper myself, and I do think it is nice to see people coming up with beautiful art for them, and I have read some fics that have genuinely been so interesting I almost forget that it is cannon deviant.

What I AM saying is that people are literally allowed to do literally whatever they want. People want to ramble on about how immaculate their very specific Rarepair is? Let them. You see someone making art for a ship you don't like? Sit back and appreciate the art - Let them.

But the problem really begins when people start getting fiercely overprotective of their ships. It does seem a little silly to me, even as I'm typing this like why is this such an insane problem lmao??

And it's not even just limited to the Kny fandom - the HH (Hazbin Hotel) and BNHA//MHA (Boku No Hero Academia // My Hero Academia) fandoms are probably the best example of the shows getting low-key ruined by the fanbase - EVEN IN TADC WHERE THE CREATOR SPECIFICALLY SAID THAT THEY DO NOT CARE WHO PEOPLE SHIP. And I really don't think the media should be dragged down by a few people taking things way too far.

And if you have been following the drama going on in the Demon Slayer fandoms, particularly here on Tumblr and Pinterest - you already know what ships I'll be talking about.

*drumroll*

SaneGiyu // GiyuShino.

Like I previously mentioned, I am a Multishipper, and while I can appreciate GiyuShino - Like it is a cute ship, I see the vision and there is a little bit of evidence that can be interpreted as fuel for the ship, I used to ship it myself, by the time I had finished the Manga I was fully shipping SaneGiyu. Not to the point I say it's cannon per say, but where I can see the chemistry and I will use things from the manga to back up why the ship is plausible.

(This is such a stupid post) But then there are some people who ship SaneGiyu who are being toxic to GiyuShino shippers // Saying things like "Giyú is clearly gay!!" And I mean there is a pretty good case to be made that Tomioka is not interested in women, it's still just a headcannon and you literally cannot force someone else to think that??

Or "Shinobu is clearly a Lesbian!!" I personally like this headcannon, she is just too much of a girl boss to be with a man, but then looking at canon material, there isn't much to go off of that shows her to have an interest in women! - and no hate to ShinoMitsu shippers - it's cute x

"Please - the age gap is insane" And you know what? Fair enough. It is fair enough. She is 18 and he is 21. And that is a three year age gap, and in some cases there would be a rift in maturity, but I think that can fly out the window, as Kocho is clearly more mature than her age.

But then you need to look at context for the time and it isn't too outlandish. But then in the moderns School AU, hell no. That same age gap, in modern times with him being a teacher and her being a student?? THAT'S WEIRD.

But then on the other hand there are some GiyuShino shippers that make the opposite arguments; "Giyú is clearly straight" (Like I said, there is a clear case to be made that Tomioka has little to NO interest in women) or "Sanemi and Giyú hate each other!!" (That was a case of miscommunication between them, and was resolved by the manga's end, they are now - in cannon - seemingly good friends)

BUT.

I have now seen multiple accounts on Pinterest making Pins telling people to K!ll themselves - BECAUSE OF A SHIP??

Like excuse me?! They literally said they think these two fictional characters would be a cute couple - AND YOU TOLD THEM TO K!LL THEMSELF??? It's disgusting to say the least.

People: shipping is supposed to be a silly goofy fun thing we do to show our interests and explore AU's - NOT AN OPPORTUNITY TO HURT PEOPLE OVER SHIPPING. FICTIONAL. CHARACTERS.

But if you guys ever:

See people Proshipping? - report it if you want to.

See art for a ship you don't like? - hide it from your feed.

See people hating on a ship you like? - Remove / Block them.

See people leaving nasty comments on your // other people's posts? - Remove the comments, block them and report the usuer.

Just BLOCK the people causing the issues - do not become one of them.

TLDR: Let people ship what they want to PLEASE guys, lets just have fun with our fandoms x.

[all-pacas]

Honestly, I thought the writers were psychotic with how forced the hameron arc was, makes sense the character were writing seemed weird too.

OK, here's my lukewarm defense of Hameron:

I buy that the arc would happen.

Cameron likes to fix people, but more than that, Cameron likes to be right. She has strong morals, she really does believe the world should work in a certain idealistic way ��� she's not stupid, she knows it doesn't, but she keeps hoping for better, she keeps pushing for better. And in a way, she's a lot like House, who also has to be right, who has to understand and pick at people and know. Neither do well with mysteries, neither do well with ambiguity, both are disappointed over and over again by the fact that people lie and are bad and are selfish. But House is cynical and avoidant and hides his intense empathy behind twenty layers of asshole, and Cameron wears hers on her sleeve.

From the start of the show, in fact, they're constantly having this philosophical debates. Foreman pushes back on House when he thinks House is messing up or missing something tangible; Cameron pushes on the morals. They discuss religion. They discuss abortion. She's absolutely unafraid to push House on his beliefs, and it's interesting (and another post, probably) that Cameron is nearly always presented in the narrative as wrong; her faith in others is never validated. But she keeps trying anyway. And that's an interesting dynamic. But it's also a doomed one: House isn't ever going to change too drastically, and so Cameron either has to become cynical like him — and therefore lose these appealing traits — or distance herself. I think this is also, ultimately, why she was written off the show (as much as I hate that she was).

House in S1 does treat her differently than he does Foreman and Chase. He's constantly pushing Foreman, because Foreman is brilliant but kind of needs to be pushed, is too stubborn and set in his ways otherwise. Chase kind of coasts by in the background: he actually pushes back against House quite a bit, if not to Foreman's extent; he doesn't have an issue saying I think this is wrong if he needs to. Cameron, in S1, is the one always defending House, always sticking up for him. She's the only one who insists he doesn't have a drug problem, for example; when House is off on a particularly long limb (such as in Damned if You Do), she's the only one saying "no, he has to be right, he isn't just making this up." House in turn is a bit gentler with her. He reassures her when she's worried no one takes her seriously. Foreman and Chase, at least, think that she's House's favorite: he certainly is less critical of her than he is the guys, and is quite gentle with her when she's upset on the whole.

So, okay, decent set up. The problem is that the crush arc comes out of fucking nowhere. "I need to know how you feel about me," Cameron says, out of nowhere, as though they've been exchanging looks and heated moments for months, as if they've been flirting. He invites her to monster trucks and they have a good time, genuinely, but Cameron at least beforehand is clear that she knows it's not a real date. I can see her thinking afterward that it was a date, that it was a sign of interest, but the thread isn't picked up on at all for a few episodes; I think they should have had them… maybe not flirting, but have House do his "stand inappropriately close" thing, send some Mixed Messages. Something to make Cameron come off as less completely delusional.

But fine. She asks how he feels, and, okay, she has a crush on him. He says nothing. The next episode, she and Chase have a little conversation about this (and in my S1 rewatch, for real, I do appreciate their friendship, they really do get along well, apparently Chase knows all about her crush to the point she asks him for advice), and that's pretty good too. She admits she likes House, but not in an unrealistic way. She shot her shot, it didn't work, she's uncomfortable around House now. Works for me.

Except then Cameron maybe makes a minor mistake and jumps to House wants to fire me because he can't handle his love for me! Which. Cameron. My gal. That's insane. She spends the entire episode stomping around furious that House dared suggest she made a mistake. It's made worse because just like two episodes ago, Chase made a bigger mistake and was legitimately worried about his job and didn't take it personally, like, you made a much smaller error and are freaking out and taking it as a personal insult. We know House calls people on their mistakes! He doesn't care! It isn't personal! But Cameron is like nope, it's personal, it's about his love for me, and again, there has been nothing from House here. Nothing at all. And so she quits explicitly to take control of the situation and her feelings (VERY on brand for Cameron, no notes), and then kicks off Kids with "I can't come back because it was so weird between us :(" like she isn't the one who made it weird. It's so wiiiiild

I think I lost my train of thought. Anyway. I think the set up and concept were okay, if always completely doomed, but the writing absolutely did them no favors. I can buy Cameron's crush on House, and I can fanfic my way into seeing House with a bit of an interest in Cameron. But in the space of two episodes we go from nothing to "everyone knows House has a thing for her, really!!!!" with absolutely nothing to show for it. They even try to make a big sad moment in the finale like "you're capable of love, just not love for me!" like the entire plot line didn't come off as entirely in Cameron's head dfsdf

Ironically and hilariously they have way more and better tension/chemistry after this arc. S3 has some genuinely strong Tense Moments. I think their dynamic is overall much more interesting and stronger in S4 and S5, when they're on more equal footing and Cameron has gotten more confident and less gloomy. Like, I still don't care for it, and I firmly believe it would crash and burn in two days (Cameron would haaaaate dating House once the excitement of fucking her boss wore off, we joke about how broken people are her type but he is not her type, they're two control freaks who would murder one another), but boy is this show also just awful at writing romance.

Also pour one out for Hugh Laurie who clearly was not into the ship and did not hide it. Like I'm agnostic towards Huddy but you cannot deny they had chemistry and enjoyed flirting and those actors acted their hearts out with all that banter. Hugh Laurie just looks faintly terrified in all his S1 scenes with Cameron and. Good for him lmaooo

[phatcatphergus]

Another thing that lowkey makes me dislike the frubbo storyline sometimes is the way chat is so weird about it even off the server. Any time the topic of irl relationships comes up there are always chatters spamming about Fred and it’s not funny it’s just weird. Tubbo himself has had to tell them off for not separating real life and minecraft before. Even on the late night MaxGGs stream that just happened there was still someone who felt the need to bring up Fred in the middle of a genuine discussion and the stream was only at like 300 viewers. It’s a little sad how much fan reactions can sour the viewing experience but it’s not really possible to fully ignore stuff like that on live streamed content with chat right there on the screen.

People that do this shit make me angrier then I would like to admit as a God fearing woman who confesses my problems with anger regularly.

Part of it is because it’s a long and obnoxious pattern of fandom space that doesn’t seem to go away, but the fact that it’s been happening to Tubbo for so long and so persistently is something that truly enrages me. I don’t think there’s been a point in his career that people didn’t associate him with another person, and we all know how insane some of those beeduo people were. Even before beeduo people were asking about other people and bringing up Tommy when it wasn’t appropriate or needed. Especially referencing or talking about lore characters very much outside of rp.

People doing this shit is something I find it hard to just say “oh it’s just a constant, can’t do anything about it” and leaving it because Tubbo himself said he saw himself and his career as an extension of his friends and undermined his own achievements, goals and projects because of it.

The behavior isn’t new, but the fact that now people pushing tubbo into being associated with an NPC character is disgusting. It not only shows how little these people know of his lore, but also how they never saw Tubbo as his own person in the first place. Irl and in rp.

I will say that some of it is young fans trying to be funny or make a statement, but that doesn’t excuse them from the fact that it’s inappropriate. Especially when it’s in other peoples chat or during a conversation that has ZERO correlation.

I think the bottom line is that fandom spaces have never treated Tubbo well. They see him as a character that they can treat however they want and he only exists to “be with someone” or continue someone else’s plot both in rp and irl. He’s never been seen as his own person outside of his own fanbase and it will continue for however long this fandom space does.

[pink-strawberry-kissess]

Bit of a wacky head cannon comin' at ya. I know there are some things that happen for the sake of gameplay (like, why are these villagers in re4 so fond of yellow paint and have ammo laying around in cabinets and chests despite no one owning a firearm in the entire village?) But I genuinely believe that Leon can eat whole raw eggs and dead snakes, not out of a want of course but a necessity, I think it's something he learned while undergoing his training as an agent.

All I'm saying is that he might have picked up some strange eating habits or table manners, which also account for his lack of romantic success. A woman would really be going out with this hot agent who is a little awkward and occasionally cracks inappropriate one-liners, but she's like, "OK, weird, but i can work with this!"

Then Leon inhales whatever the hell they're having for their dinner date, and she's like

(But you know this man's pussy eating game cannot be matched.)

Not sure if you have anything to elaborate on that lol, but if not, I guess I'm just asking if you have any wacky head cannons yourself regarding Leon or Ada.

[the game devs said that leon is eating the eggs raw lol]

realistically, he should have rations and MRE (meal ready to eat) for missions since he had army training. but YEAH I GUESS HE COULD BE EATING EGGS lol i would worry about disease but he's built different ig.

i really see leon as being incredibly socially awkward and that most of his social advances come off as weird/too forward lol whenever he's seen flirting or just asking people for dinner, it's kind of weird and like he's putting on a front lol like it's not actually part of his personality and he's trying to make friends

only when we see him with ada do we have variations of him, trying to seem cool enough for her, but also to meet her on her level. then we have so much fucking sexual tension in damnation (which makes sense since they had sex and she was literally asking for it, i mean go off queen, go get that dick), and then they way they work together in re6 always makes me insane.

i really feel like if they went to dinner, he'd have to try and eat normally but ada would just want him to be himself because she finds his truest self the most endearing. he's awkward and weird and she's into that.

ada would have to teach him how to eat pussy and he'd get good at it for her sjbfdsjkfsf by the time it's damnation era, she be wanting that

the only weird headcanons i really have aren't even that weird lol i might have some listed in my masterlist but yeah

[sparrowsarus]

Still up for the alphabet ask game? What about:

K - What character has your favorite development arc/the best development arc?

and

U - Three favorite characters from three different fandoms, and why they’re your favorites.

P.S. Have a nice day!

Good timing, I'm just off work! I gotta say, the character with the best development arc is Rodney McKay from Stargate Atlantis (if you ignore S5, wherein the writers chucked all of it.)

When you first meet Rodney in SG-1, he is fucking awful. Every single stereotype about A Certain Kind Of Guy. Sexist, demeaning, has no consideration for others--just the worst. Sam should have gotten to hit him--or, you know, her superiors should have taken him aside and told him it was inappropriate workplace behaviour, but it was the US military in the 90s. Let's temper our expectations a bit.

But in SGA? He's sympathetic. Genuinely respects his (woman!) boss, is only a little bit of a creep to his main woman coworker, is more generally a dick to everyone instead of women in particular and even that eases up as the seasons go on. Is only a little weird to Sam when she becomes leader in S4.

And! He demonstrates loyalty to people not-him! Is brave under pressure! Becomes more self aware about his faults and admits them to people, while still being recognizably the same character.

And frankly that all comes down to David Hewlett rather than the writers, but I digress.

Three favs you say

Ed Darvis, D&D:HAT: A man who is so utterly devoted to his mental idea of his wife and his perfect family that he fucks over his alive family, realizes that fact, and tries to unfuck it. Tries to not make it anyone else's problem. Likes his friends and isn't a fucking creep.

Sam Gamgee, LOTR: Speaking of loyalty. Of friendship. Of doing the right thing. Sam/Rosie is genuinely one of my OTPs. My man is a ride-or-die sort of chap.

Karlach Cliffgate, BG3: My girl. She was sold to the Hells and conscripted into a war, had her body modified against her will in a way that will eventually kill her, and she survives anyway. She survives! She laughs and she jokes and she's so loving, even when she spent a decade in a place where love is dangerous. She knows she's dying. She knows everything she loves will be stolen from her.

But she does it anyway.

Bonus characters: Ulder Ravengard, who fucks up so much no matter how hard he tries--and he tries so hard, who loved a woman who died giving him a son--Sam Vimes, who loves his wife and his city and his kid, whose his wife nearly gave her life for their son--and really this list is characters who love, they love so hard and so much and they get it wrong sometimes but gods do they try their best.

[gaykarstaagforever]

MOVIES I AM SURPRISED I HAVEN'T SEEN

Predator (1987)

This is weird to me, because I love the Predator(s) as a monster, and I've seen a bunch of terrible Italian and Hong Kong movies that were shamelessly ripping this off. And I love Arnold more than I should. But I was 5 when this movie came out, and by the time I was old enough to see it without it giving me terrible nightmares, I didn't have an older brother or cousin to illicitly show it to me (which I'm pretty sure is how most people around my age saw it). Plus it was immediately eclipsed by all of the "Xtreme" 90s action movies it inspired, many starring Arnold, so it kind of immediately got lost in the shuffle of that VHS world.

Going into it without nostalgia and only an eye-rolling regard for most of the other movies in the franchise (most of which I also don't remember seeing more than bits of), I can say that it is a better movie than it has any right to be. But it is also kind of a mess. Basic B-.

The performances are pretty good. Carl Weathers (RIP) is fantastic as always, and Arnold is Arnold, though he seems like he's playing three different characters at various points. Which makes sense, because this feels like it is at least three different movies edited together.

One is a serious war movie about big men killing in a jungle, because they got tricked into doing it by the CIA. Another is a goofy macho over-the-top action blockbuster parody, where Arnold does one-liners and everyone else is hamming it up with random sex jokes and wacky character beats. Then the third is an action-horror movie where a lone desperate man is hunted and hunts a murderous alien monster. Accompanied by a score from a hypothetical Steven Spielberg movie about toys coming to life to save Christmas from a mean old troll.

No part of any of this gets to work on its own for more than 3 minutes, before another part of one of the other movies, or the godforsaken score, elbows its way in to throw it off. There is absolutely no tonal consistency. Which isn't automatically a bad thing, but kind of is here. I'm supposed to care about these characters enough that I care they are being murdered by a Space creature; but I don't, because I'm too distracted by which movie is doing what to them right now. If I was 14 I probably wouldn't have cared, but as an adult, I just can't get into it.

Especially not with that score. Oh my god. It's a good score, just for a totally different movie. This story needed some incidental drums and maybe a synth hook as a theme for the Predator. What it gets is a full orchestral score that has to scream the intended emotion of a scene at me like I'm not paying attention. It is unbearable and ruins everything, constantly. I very nearly watched the last 20 minutes on mute. It is just...stop. Leave me alone, inappropriate string section.

Another highly unnecessary thing is the stupid "Predator vision" sequences. The Predator is only on screen for like 15 minutes of the hour, 47 minute runtime, but I swear it feels like 45 minutes of this movie is eye-straining incomprehensible fakey thermal vision POV shots from the Predator's helmet cam.

Was this exciting new technology in 1987? It must have been, because why else would there be so much of it? And no, it doesn't build tension or reveal anything notable about the Predator. It serves no structural purpose. It just wastes valuable time that would be better used actually showing the Predator. There is exactly one cool shot using it, and that shot would have been just as cool as a regular camera shot:

As for the legitimate good, the special effects - the practical Predstor costume, his invisibility shield and weapons, all of the gory killings and explosions and gunfire - are great. As I said, Carl Weathers is the only character who is tonally consistent throughout, and I have no doubt that is mostly due to his skill as an actor. It is a genuine shame he isn't the one who survived long enough to force the Predator to rage-quit.

The last 20 minutes are the absolute best part and should have been most of the movie, where Arnold is unarmed, caked in mud, using the jungle and improvised traps to confuse and abuse the Predator. It unfortunately raises questions about how skilled the Predator actually is at the one thing he does, since with all his advanced alien tech, he can't see you if you're muddy for some reason, and he also won't kill you with a gun unless you have a gun, even if he's been hunting you and you've been seriously wounding him with sticks for like 2 days. I realize he has to folllow these kinds of rules to make the fight fair. But it also makes me wonder if the Predator is just a big narcissist whose hubris makes him a shitty hunter. You're whole thing is hunting sentient creatures in swamps, you boob. Probably get mask goggles that can see them when they get dirty?

Especially when the movie makes it clear that he, or other Predators, have been doing this shit in this exact area for decades, at least. Like, figure it out already, guys. You have interplanetary space flight, but Earth mud kills your laser / nuclear advantage? Please.

Also, how does the "fair fight" crap apply when you're strapped with both an advanced first aid kit AND a suicide vest? Those are a perpetual unfair advantage. Being weird about things because the prey dropped their gun or ran out of ammo seems arbitrarily pedantic.

Also also, you as a species are 8 feet tall, can leap from tree to tree, and have massive punching daggers mounted on your wrists. Tossing your own gun to wrestle a tired human man isn't being fair, it is cheating a little differently. Why bother? What do you gain by this?

Especially when you know that if you lose, you're going to explode, and take several surrounding acres out with you?

It is still a cool premise and a cool monster, and the movie overall is way, way better than it could have been. It has parts that are good, and lots of fun, idiotic 1980s action movie lines that we have been rightly quoting for 37 years. It is gratuitous fun, and that feels like all it intended to be, so good on it. But it's no RoboCop or Total Recall or anything. Paul Verhoeven always nails the hambone tone of these kinds of things, even when he's making something awful like Showgirls. That's hard to do, and Predator doesn't quite manage it.

I think a lot of the intense love for this movie is simple nostalgia. And that's fine. But that doesn't make it a great movie.

[areyouafraid]

ughhhh where do i begin on this. first of all i more or less agree with everything adam says here. i already kinda mentioned this situation in passing; this is a really weird case and the public speculation is not helping. the thing that this really hinges on is i have no way of knowing whether or not the messages are even real. the idea that the origin of these messages is like some fucking 4chan thread and not the victim or someone close to them is first off incredibly dodgy to me. the fact that the victim in this case is also maintaining that the messages were taking out of context and that they don't want to be seen as a "victim" is also troubling.

i will say first and foremost if the messages ARE real, which neither party has denied that they are, then it's fucking wrong full stop like it's textbook grooming. at best it's still a wildly inappropriate interaction to have with a minor. like this is a crime. this is probably going to sound a little harsh but as someone who experienced very similar shit when i was around their age you really, genuinely don't realize how fucked up it is until you're your groomer's age and you realize that you would never have done shit like that yourself and what they were doing is objectively wrong. lots of teenagers conceptualize themselves as being at an adult level but looking back it's just not fucking true. you do not have the same cumulative knowledge and social awareness to consent to these kinds of interactions when you're 14 as you do when you're 21. i want to respect lavags' point of view but i also don't feel like it's... applicable do you know what i mean? to give some of my perspective, when i was a 12 - 14 year old girl i had an older "friend" who was like, somewhere between 17 and 20 i dont really remember. he would talk to me in private about his kinks and the hentai he liked to read and shit like that. in the moment you believe that you are peers, but the fact is that you are not. im 20 now i can barely comprehend even maintaining a serious friendship with someone who hasn't even graduated high school yet. in my honest opinion to have a sexual relationship with someone that much younger is completely unthinkable unless you're a pedophile. i said that i think that even a relationship between someone who's like 19 and someone who's 16 is inappropriate. and my reasoning for that is yeah a lot of people will make the argument that the chronological age difference isnt that much and yeah sure i guess but you're also in completely different stages of your life. one of you drives, has a job, and goes partying and one of you is in high school and, studying for their algebra final and still has to ask their mom permission to go to the grocery store. you're not even in the same space regularly. like what do you have in common? (ntm that only one of you is a legal adult) i've joked that people aged 18 - 21 are basically glorified teenagers but still what i said applies. i wouldnt have dated a 16 year old when i was 19 and i wouldnt have done whatever the fuck this is at ava's age. i'm still hesitant to call myself a grooming victim because i was never like pressured into sending nudes and i never got raped, it's definitely a heavy term with heavy connotations so i can understand why lavags doesn't want to be described that way but to be honest again if all of this is true then i really think it's a matter of time until he puts together how fucked up this is.

(there's rumors she was into like shadman and lolicon which even if that's true i think she should be separated from minors period. i could say something worse but i dont think now is the time)

in any case again if it's true i'm glad this has come out but still like adam mentions the anti-trans brigade is having a field day with this. i think back to like sunnyv2 and whoever the fuck speculating on how Dangerous ava was to have around on the basis of "trans bad". in the moment even though i really do not fuckinglike jimmy at all i was glad at least that he stood up for her in the face of at the time baseless transmisogynistic accusations. obviously now i'm kinda anticipating that that entire crowd feels vindicated now but still it's like. they care more about what ava is than what she did. a lot of these same people even are the ones who were quick to shit on tana mongeau when she accused cody ko, with ample evidence, of statutory rape. and especially like given that real minors have been hurt here it's beyond frustrating to see people brush past that to instead jump to "i was right about trans women". the space is obviously teeming with anti-trans vitriol rn which is not only the wrong fucking reaction to have it's also just like a wildly inappropriate response to have. a child was groomed. can we focus on that? how about the fact that this seems to be a recurring theme with youtubers? like i said i really cant help but feel frustrated and hopeless whenever someone who happens to be gay / transgender does something fucked up and then it's the rest of us who are normal fucking people who are caught in the crossfire and are placed in a position where we have to basically defend our honor from something that someone else did. and again just for the record you're not going to make any progress trying to convince someone who believes all transgender people are satanic pedophiles that you're a normal decent human being, trying to "debate" these "people" is a waste of time, it's just fucking exhausting seeing again and again i think i kind of hoped we'd be past this stage by now when i was a kid

sorry abt the fucking essay it's just. terrible fucking situation this is & i hope lavags is doing well.

[the1975attheirverybest]

Hey yk theres a group chat on instagram that mattys in and yk yesterday he talked again in it and theres a screenshot of him saying hes gonna eat ass on stage and a couple of people issued it bc apparently there are a few 17yo in the group chat (one of them posted it i think) and its obviously a joke and the person who posted it said that most people are adults and it was a direct respons to an adults comment and its not anything weird or sexual and it didnt last more than 30 seconds and most people werent even awake for the conversation but i see a couple of older adults thinking its inappropriate and im not sure that its because im not as old but i don't think its a really big thing but i would love to hear your opinion about it

So, I have to say that I’ve been avoiding Twitter the last couple of days cuz my mental health is hanging on by a thread. So I haven’t seen the screenshots myself, but going off of what you’ve said here:

I think it’s dicey. Like, on the one hand, matty says shit all the time. Like, if this minor is someone who is familiar with “cumming to her lookalikes” and “bust into her hand” and “the type you just don’t fuck” or hell…matty saying that his tendency to reach for porn is entangled with his addiction….then this kid has heard all kinds of inappropriate things that maybe too much for their age. This comment wouldn’t be any different.

I’ve seen him doge potentially inappropriate conversations in group chats before. Like he’d reply to bluntly sexual comments and stuff either by simply liking them or only writing “haha” or like when someone was being extra flirty and shit with him then was like “follow me back” he replied with “but you’re the worst one” so he knows to tow the line really well. Idk if he like clicked on this persons profile and checked before replying to them or not. He probably just treated it the way that he would speak onstage. And he does say shit onstage.

But I have a sister. Who likes to remind me that she’s entered her 20s now. But in my mind she’s always gonna be 12 years old. And if I heated that some rockstar was talking about eating ass in her dms I would find that mf. I may not be that great at taking care of myself. But for my sisters??? You best believe I’m gonna fuck shit up. So, like, I get older peoples mentality. But matty has never been the sort of guy who will adjust the way he’s speaking for anyone. That’s who he is. And if he were worried about being taken out of context then he wouldn’t say half the shit that he does. I think he genuinely lives by the whole “I don’t have anything to hide cuz I’m not actually a bad person.” Like if anyone got suspicious of this kind of comment and went to dig deeper, he’s not Colleen Ballinger. Nothings gonna come up. So at worst Twitter hunts him for it for a while until he does the next “cancelable” thing.

He’s a lot of things but he’s not a sleaze. I think he tends to operate in good faith when it comes to fans. Cuz he knows we understand him. Which is what makes our connection with him so special.

[yesimwriting]

Final Girl

A/N I start my second year of college tomorrow and i wanted to write something for the movie series that got me through moving out on my own for the first time!!

Fandom: (original) Scream

Summary: Y/n can’t believe that she has to leave the only home she’s ever known just because her mom’s latest boyfriend has a house in some town in California. Just as she’s starting to think that Woodsboro might not be that bad, something life altering happens after she agrees to sleep over at  Becker’s house. Now her name is practically synonymous with Ghostface’s. 

Final Girl Masterlist  (updated chapters 1-10 and extras, asks/extras involving the final girl fic verse are under the tag ‘final girl fic’)

----

Like usual, the bell that signifies the end of homeroom rings while I’m in the middle of a sentence. Mrs. Ramirez may be strict about tardies, but she always wraps up her announcements early, which means most of homeroom is filled by basic high school chatter. 

On the first day, that made me incredibly nervous. I didn’t think I’d have to start over at a new school almost two months into my junior year of high school, but now that I’ve been in Woodsboro nearly a month, the space in between instructions doesn’t bother me. The people here have been a lot more welcoming than I thought they’d be. And one of those surprisingly welcoming people is Casey, who’s patiently standing by her desk as I pick up my backpack. 

“Are you doing anything this weekend?” The question surprises me a little more than it should. I’ve been invited to a lot of things since I first moved here, and even when nothing’s going on I normally run into one or two of my friends on the weekends. Usually Stu and or Billy. 

I swing my backpack over my shoulder, “Uh--besides studying for that unit test in math, nothing much.” 

She smiles, “Okay, good.” Casey walks out of the door and into the hall with me. “I was going to rent a movie to watch with my boyfriend, but I’m thinking of blowing him off. You want to have a sleepover at my house? We can watch something scary and freak ourselves out and get no sleep.” 

I grin. “Sure, sounds fun. I’ll bring the Jiffy Pop.” 

“Great, I’ll write my address out for you tomorrow.” She turns her head slightly, taking note of the students crowding the hall, “I’ve gotta get to class. See ya.” 

“See ya.” 

A second after I’ve waved her off, a voice comes from right behind me, “New friend?” 

The words are so unexpected and strangely harsh in their lowness that I nearly jump out of my skin. I turn, posture straightening instinctively as I do so. Oh. Okay--not a threat at all. “Oh, it’s just you,” I exhale, “You scared me, Stu.” 

I offer him a partial smile in greeting, which is a gesture he normally returns with a genuine grin. Today, though, he just kind of looks at me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen his eyes look so dark, especially not while he’s looking at me. “Sorry.” He watches me blink at him. “I was just waiting to walk you to your first period like a good friend, but you seemed busy.” 

Oh, is that what his weird attitude’s about? “You mean Casey?” He doesn’t say anything. “She’s nice.” I don’t know why I feel the need to defend myself or maybe even apologize, but I do. I don’t want him looking at me like that anymore. I want Stu to throw his arm around my shoulders with no warning after making an inappropriate joke that I pretend to get mad over. “We talk in homeroom, she’s a friend.” He doesn’t ease. “Are you jealous?” The joke doesn’t land. “Ease up, you know you’re my favorite.” 

At that, Stu’s oddly serious expression shifts into something softer, maybe even a little amused. “Your favorite?” 

He finally smiles, making the inky undertones of his expression disappear. “Mhm,” I continue, “My favorite out of everyone, but don’t tell Tatum or Sid because I don’t want to hurt their feelings.” 

“Fine,” Stu relents, casually throwing an arm around my shoulders, “I’ll just tell Billy.” 

I gape at him for a long second. After almost two weeks of eating lunch with their friend group every day, Billy offered me his drink after someone bumped into me and spilled mine. I had been sitting next to Stu, who had made some joke earlier that involved grabbing my hand and he had yet to let go. I released him to cross the table and thank Billy. Stu frowned and pretended to be seriously hurt until Tatum told him to leave me alone before he scared her new friend off. Since then, the two have a running joke (well, it’s Stu’s joke that Billy kind of just sort of allows) that revolves around me picking a favorite. 

“You’re in a drama starting mood today.” 

Stu hums once absentmindedly, rubbing his hand up and down my arm in a comfortable display of affection. ”What can I say? I want you all to myself.” 

Heat rises to my face for no good reason. Stu’s touchy, I learned that about him pretty quickly. “Haha,” I mumble dryly, hoping humor manages to come across in my voice. “We should get to class before you erupt into a jealous rage.” 

----

Temporarily discarding the cardboard lid of the Jiffy Pop container, I let my gaze linger on the few polaroids Casey took a little earlier in the night. Just a thing I’m trying out, she had explained before snapping a few awkward shots of me smiling before joining me behind the camera. The one where she’s cross eyed and I’m sticking my tongue out is kind of cute, but most of the ones of me are a little rough. 

Casey announces her return to the kitchen with, “Okay, I wasn’t sure what kind of movies you liked so I brought some variety.” She sets her stack of tapes on the counter next to me. “I was thinking Nightmare on Elm Street or Pet Sementary.” 

Leaning down, I turn on the stovetop before placing the pan on a burner. “Mmm, both are good but I’m more of a Nightmare on Elm Street kinda person. Can’t resist a story with a final girl in it.”  

“Alright,” she says just as the first kernel pops, “I’ll keep that in mind for future movie nights.” 

I turn my attention back to the stove in hopes of concealing a smile. Casey caught my attention that first day in homeroom because she’s just so effortlessly cool in a way that normally I find off putting. All morning, I tortured myself over everything that could go wrong. “Yeah, just--” 

A loud pop from the Jiffy Pop pan nearly makes me jump. Casey’s lips turn upwards like she’s going to make a joke about how easily startled I am, but a ringing sound spares me. “Hold on a second.” Casey pushes herself away from the counter she was leaning against. “Landline.” 

She casually picks up the receiver and I give the stove my full attention in an attempt to offer her some sort of privacy. Her words are low and easy to miss as butter begins to sizzle and more kernels start to explode. My gaze shifts and her slightly bothered expression makes me wonder if she’s on the phone with her boyfriend. I’ve never met him, but the few stories she told me earlier make me think I’m not going to like him. 

Casey hangs up with a sigh. “Wrong number.” She straightens, stepping away from the counter before grabbing a tape from her pile. “I’m going to go work on the movie, my mom was just complaining about the VCR. Careful with the popcorn, our stove’s a little iffy.” 

“Please,” I hum, “I know Jiffy Pop, I feel Jiffy Pop, I basically am Jiffy Pop. I’ve never burnt a single kernel.” 

She raises an eyebrow at my only slightly exaggerated claim before turning to leave the room. “You better hope you’re not all talk or you’re never living this down. 

I move the Jiffy Pop around the burner with a level of skill that’s worthy of someone of my expertise. About a minute later, Casey’s home landline starts ringing again. “Casey!”

“On it!”  

The ringing ends with the sound of a quick click. She must be on the living room extension. Her voice keeps getting louder, but I’m not hearing enough to understand who she’s talking to. She does sound like she’s getting a little annoyed, which makes me really think she’s on the phone with her boyfriend. Preconceived notions about people kind of suck, but Steve sounds like a total asshole. 

Casey returns to the kitchen with a playful, albeit softly irritated eye roll. “How do you feel about prank phone calls?” 

My eyes narrow in mock consideration. “Like making them?” 

“Nope,” she replies, popping the ‘P’ sound. “Dealing with them.” 

She waves the phone in front of me like it’s some kind of offer. “That’s kinda an ominous question,” I decide, arm extending to take the phone from her, “I’m in.” Without thinking twice, I raise the phone to my ear. Static hums from the other end of the line. “Hi.” The only response to my greeting is the consistent crack of static. “Are random phone calls your big Saturday night plans?” 

The static is starting to feel a lot eerier than it did before. That, paired with the continual popping of kernels is starting to unsettle me. Snap out of it, it’s just a prank call. I begin to move around the pan again. I can’t afford to burn anything after all that big talk about my Jiffy Pop skills. 

Just as I’m settling the pan at a new angle, the sound of shifting fabric interrupts the steady stream of white noise. “Did your friend scare so easily?” 

I blink. Whoever’s on the other line is probably a total weirdo, but his voice is kinda attractive. “It’s not personal, she’s just busy messing with the VCR.” 

An unsettlingly deep laugh comes from the other line of the phone. Okay--his attractive voice is no longer enough of a redeeming quality for me to not see him as a total creep or perv. Actually, he’s probably both. “What’s your name?” 

The confident authoritativeness of the question rubs me the wrong way. I release the handle of the pan in favor of instinctually placing a hand on my hip. “I don’t share things with strangers.” 

A beat of silence is followed by the rustling of fabric. “But I already know something about you.” 

“Mhm,” I muse dryly, beginning to work on the popcorn again, “And what is it that you know?” 

“Your friend is setting up the VCR, you’re going to watch a movie, aren’t you?” 

I roll my eyes, understanding why Casey was so quick to leave them without hanging up. Weird people like this are normally more persistent when they’re ignored. “Wow, your detective skills have truly shocked and amazed me, Nancy Drew. Congratulations, now if that’s all--”

I’m not sure if its my sarcasm or my attempt at stern dismissal that amuses them, but a deep chuckle comes from the other end of the line. “What movie are you going to watch?” 

“Why? Are you looking for a recommendation?” My reply comes out too fast and too bitter and I regret it instantly. People like this can’t know that they’re getting to you. “Nightmare on Elm Street.” 

Static turns into the sound of more ruffling. “That’s scary.” 

“I think I can handle it,” I breathe. 

“Do you like scary movies?” 

I nod, “Yep, I even have a golden rule for them.” 

“Golden rule?” 

Rolling my eyes, I stare at the pan. The popping is starting to slow down. Soon enough, I’ll have an excuse to hang up and get back to my sleepover. “Yeah, it’s silly, but I think all the great scary movies have a final girl.” 

Another dark laugh. “I agree.” 

“Your approval fuels me,” I mumble. 

The stranger is quick to ask, “Is Nightmare on Elm Street your favorite scary movie?” 

I shake my head, turning the pan so that it’s more on its side than before. “It’s good, but it’s not my all time favorite.” 

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” 

I sigh, a part of me wishing that Casey would come back. “I already told you that I’m not telling you anything.” 

“So I shouldn’t ask for your name again?” 

“You can ask, but you’re not getting an answer.” Rolling my eyes, I move my hand away from the pan and towards the switch that controls the stove. “Why do you want know so bad, anyway?” 

“It’s rude to not ask a pretty girl for her name.”

Wow--what a line. “That line doesn’t work in person and works even less over the phone when I know you can’t see me.” 

Silence stretches between us so long I start to think that he might have gotten up or something. “What makes you so sure I can’t see you?”

 It’s the kind of vague threat that normally I’d laugh off. But something about the stranger’s assured tone cuts right through all of my security. Irrational dread pulses in my stomach. “Yeah, I’m not interested in being in a scary movie. Bye.” 

“Wait--” There’s the slightest hint of panic in their voice. 

“I am so sick of creepy men trying to ruin everything just because they can.” 

“Don’t even think ab--!” = 

“Porn exists for a reason, perv!” And with a single beep, the man’s voice disappears. 

Ugh, men. Even though his threat was the kind of meaningless joke that creepy, horny men tell because they get off on scaring girls, I can’t stop feeling a lot less alone in Casey’s kitchen. 

I let myself shudder as I pace away from the kitchen and towards Casey’s living room.

“Y/n?” Casey’s voice is completely casual as she questions me. That means that weird phone guy didn’t scare her. 

Be more normal. “Hey--I just..” 

She turns her head, blonde bob falling to the side as I trail off. “Did something scare you?” 

There are a lot of things I could say, but nothing feels good enough. Denial crawls up my throat and just sits there as my thoughts beg me to tell her. To maybe even warn her. Warn her of what, though? That some weird guy has her phone number and the junior girl she took a chance on is this easily freaked? 

Before I can make up my mind, the living room phone rings. Dread roots itself in my stomach and tangles itself in my throat. Casey sits up a bit more on her couch as she reaches for the phone. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

Casey raises an eyebrow as she picks up the receiver. “Forget that guy, he’s probably already forgotten us and is harassing someone else. She then raises the phone to her ear and listens for a long second, “Is this some kind of joke, because it’s not funny.”

I stare at her with wide eyes as she stands, quickly pacing away from the couch and towards the center of the living room, as far from any window as possible. The noise from the phone is muffled, but something about the tone feels a lot more aggressive than it was earlier. Maybe aggressively calling him a pervert and hanging up on him wasn’t the smartest thing I could have done. 

Casey’s face is void of any color as she slowly pulls the phone away from her ear. “He wants to talk to you.” 

My eyes widen as I play back the last words I said to him. An instinctual no crawls up my throat. With shaky hands, I take the phone. “Hi,” I curse myself for sounding so nervous, “Again. Hi again.” A nervous giggle crawls up my throat and I have to my tongue to keep it down. “Listen, you win. You scared us. Now I’m going to hang up and you’re gonna let me.” 

“Really?” The laugh, or maybe even growl, that follows comes out in the form of low grumble that turns my blood into slush. “And if I don’t?” 

Great. Of course phone freak is trying to verify my threat. I don’t exactly have an arsenal of intimidation tactics. “My mom’s dating a cop, and I’ll get him to arrest your ass.”

It’s not the most honest thing I’ve said to him, but it’s not a lie either. My mom’s boyfriend being hired as Woodsboro’s police chief is one of the main reasons we moved, but I’m not sure he’d particularly care about someone scaring me over the phone. I’ve known Wells for a few months now and the only thing I’ve seen him express interest in is my mom and beer. And occasionally, he shows a little too much interest in the length of my skirt. 

Silence. Okay--maybe he took that seriously. My finger moves towards the button that can end this call, but before I can convince myself that nothing bad will happen if I press it, the voice returns with a vengeful chuckle. “What’s Chief Wells Hoffman going to do for you?” 

I feel each drop of blood drain from me. My hands shake as my grip on the phone tightens. With a wavering voice I ask, “How did--how--” 

In an act of a sadistic sort of mercy, the man cuts me off, “Oh, doll face,” he breathes the nickname like he’s taking pity on me. Like I’m a child that needs to be comforted. “I’m going to play nice with you.” He’s waits a beat, “But your good friend Casey Becker’s not going to be so lucky.” 

At the threat of someone that’s standing right next to me, something in me becomes strangled. “How do you know her name?” I shake my head, forcing down the wave of dread trying to force me into panic. “Leave her alone, or-or you’re gonna regret it.” 

“You look too sweet in those cherry pajamas to be making threats.” 

My lips part but I can’t bring myself to ask the question because I already feel the answer in my chest. “How do you know what I’m wearing?” 

“Why don’t you look behind you?”

I pull the phone away from my ear slowly, my eyes snapping upwards in search of Casey’s. But she’s not looking at me. She’s staring at something that’s just over my shoulder, her hand covering her mouth in horror. I pull the phone away from my ear. 

My body does not feel like my own as I force myself to turn towards Casey’s sliding glass door. Despite the glare of the living room light against the reflection of glass, it only takes my eyes a second to adjust enough to see that Casey’s backyard is not empty. 

A figure that’s clothed in all black except for their contrasting, stark white mask that depicts a face frozen in a permanent, cartoonish scream is standing there. Now that he has my attention, he raises his hand, miming the action of answering a phone.

I take a deep breath in an attempt to settle myself, but all it does is make it harder to not scream or cry or laugh hysterically. I raise the phone to my ear again. “Hello, Y/n.” 

“Hi,” I squeak back before pressing the phone into the side of my thigh in a pathetic attempt to muffle my words. “Casey,” I whisper, raising my hand in greeting in an attempt to appease the figure on the other side of the glass, “R--” 

Before the single syllable can slip past my lips, the glass bursts. I turn in on myself, lifting an arm in a feeble attempt to protect myself from the explosion of glass shards. It only takes me a moment to look up in horror at the masked man that’s now in the house. If throwing his entire weight against gas sliding glass door with enough force to shatter it hurt him, he shows no sign of his pain as he begins to run. 

An instinctual scream escapes me as I blindly hurl the phone in the man’s general direction. I grasp Casey’s hand pulling her forward with all my strength as I start running. I urge her forward, ignoring the pain in my forearm and feet from the glass. We’re about to make it to the front door when I feel a firm grasp on my arm. 

I yelp, thrashing blindly as I’m yanked away from Casey. My body twists, but the leather clad hand holding me is unrelenting. There’s a strange strain in the way they pull me back, but I don’t care about his promise to play nice. In a move that likely surprises both of us, I kick behind me with all of my force. Their hold loosens for a fraction of a second, but they regain control before I can even take a full step forward. The man pulls on me harder than before, throwing me back and into the Becker’s entryway table. A scream that I only vaguely register as not mine is so terrible and high pitched my lip quivers at the sound of it. The vase on the table gets knocked over and shatters as I fall. 

My head slams into the wall with enough force to leave me disorientated for a second. Our attacker must not be completely aware of his own strength because for a brief moment, they just look at me as my body lays against shards of glass. With a shaky breath, I push myself to stand even though the movement forces large pieces of glass to cut into my palm. The man recovers before I’m fully up. He grabs me by my shoulder and forces me down on the other side of the hall. I push against him with the support of all the adrenaline in my body as he moves to pin my wrists above my head. The man reaches for something hidden among layers of black. All I can hope for is that my death might have given Casey a chance to escape. 

Instead of pulling out a gun or a blade, he reveals a small, white towel. The confusion makes my stomach twist in a different way as I fight against him even more now. He places the rag over my nose and mouth, forcing me to breath through it. Is this a form of suffocation? I blink twice, my limbs growing impossibly heavy the more I try to breathe. Eventually, that’s all there is. Just the weight of my body and the polluted air in my lungs until even that is replaced by darkness. 

----

NARRATOR’S POV

The one thing about meticulously planning is that it takes so little for plans to go off the rail. One can prepare for every possible outcome and life can still throw twists at them because the rest of the world can never seem to listen to the fucking plan. 

That’s how Billy felt when he saw you standing in Casey Becker’s kitchen, casually prepping Jiffy Pop like you’ve been best friends with her your entire life. Not only did a dangerous sort of aggravation pulse through him at the realization that his perfect plan needed to be adjusted, he also found himself dealing with the kind of anger that’s a result of betrayal. All the time Stu and him spend with you and you couldn’t tell them that you were planning on spending the night at Casey Becker’s? 

When you mumbled some vague excuse about why you couldn’t hang out with Tatum and Sidney Saturday evening during yesterday’s lunch period, Billy felt skeptical. He thought that that’d be something to figure out later. And then he saw you there, grinning and having the time of your life without a single thought about them.

For the briefest moment, Billy wondered if this was some kind of sign. Maybe the universe was trying to tell him to screw it, to let you get what you deserve for keeping secrets. But then he realized that if anything, this signified that he was right about you. After all, what were the odds that you’d be in the perfect place to make your debut as the one thing their movie was missing--a final girl? It only took a few minutes of watching you for Billy to be glad that he thought to bring some chloroform in case anything got complicated. 

The new and improved plan went off without a hitch. Steve was an easy kill and Casey’s death was even more satisfying than he thought possible. Nothing bad happened, so why the hell is Stu taking so long? 

Approaching the house’s entryway, Billy sighs when he sees that Stu isn’t wearing his mask. “What is taking so--” He cuts himself off as something he doesn’t quite get settles in his chest. There’s a hole about the size of his fist in the wall, blue and white ceramic fragments scattered around a small, knocked over table, and most unsettling of all, your unconscious, still bleeding form lying parallel to it all.

“I didn’t mean to,” Stu says, voice uncharacteristically shaky, “I--I--fuck, I didn’t mean to. I was just gonna put her to sleep, but she kept trying to get away--and the chase was exciting,” he scoffs the last word pathetically. “I didn’t think she’d fight back.” 

Billy lets out a breath, crouching down to get a better look at your face. There’s a shallow gash on your forehead that’s still dripping blood into a puddle that your cheek is resting in. If it wasn’t for that, Billy might have been able to imagine that you were sleeping. “What the fuck did you do?” 

When Billy’s hard gaze meets Stu’s, Stu blurts out the only thing he can think to say, “She’s still breathing! She’s not--she’s not dead.” He stares at your crumpled form, desperately studying the slow but even rise and fall of your chest. “I didn’t mean to.” 

Billy’s fingers brush against the side of your face. “I know.” Stu doesn’t ask him to specify which part of his defense he’s referencing. “She’ll be okay, someone will find this, they’ll take her to the hospital. She’s not that hurt.” 

“She fell into the glass,” Stu admits, “And--and her head hit the wall so hard. What if she has a concussion? Shit, aren’t you supposed to stay awake if you have a concussion?” He lets out an uneasy sigh that doesn’t seem to fit him. It’s the kind of breathy, uneasy sound that’s the precursor for a tantrum a child throws after realizing that they just broke their favorite toy. “What if she has some kinda brain damage? She has--she has the SAT next week and she’s been studying for it since before she moved here.” After a moment, Stu snorts, but the sound comes out more desperate than humorous. “She’s gonna be so mad.” 

The corner of Billy’s lips turn upwards. “For like a week, and then she’ll be trying to spin this into some kind of college essay.” 

Another uneven laugh escapes Stu. “You’re right.” He then looks down, something weirdly close to what some might call guilt cramming itself into his head with too much force. It’s all too much. All he wants is for you to open your eyes and smile at him. “Fuck, we need to call an ambulance.” 

“You know we can’t.” 

“She could be bleeding in her skull. Isn’t that a thing?”

Billy bites his tongue. So many versions of a reply are circling in his mind and not a single one of them feels right. He should tell his best friend, his partner in everything, that that’s just something he’s going to have to life with. Billy should tell Stu that what happens to you is on him. Instead, Billy just looks at you, at the cuts in your soft skin. Some dominant part of him is thrilled at your vulnerable state. All bloody and broken and still somehow so soft and warm. He could have you now, he thinks, and he wouldn’t have to pretend the way he does when you’re awake. But something else in him, maybe the part of him that knows the way he’s supposed to act, knows that to leave you like this, to waste any more time, could lead to something permanent.  

The updated plan is already in motion. After this, there’s no way you won’t need them. He likes the thought of you needing him more than anything else, and he knows that it’d be so easy to push you into a state of dependency. You’re going to be so scared that any reservations you feel towards them because they’re dating your friends will disappear. And how could Sidney and Tatum have a problem with Stu and him being supportive after everything you’ve been through? 

Besides, a part of him wants to see how your role plays out. After all, you said it yourself. All the great scary movies have a final girl. 

He cups your face, studying each of your features as if to commit them to memory. “We’ll call 911 from the house phone and not say anything. They’ll have to send someone over, but we need to get out of here quick.”

[house-of-slayterr]

Being autistic is weird as fuck, because you’ve never experienced NOT being autistic. Like autism is unfortunately measured by how not allistic we are. Like it’s directly proportional. It’s not autistic people decided that were different and that difference is wrong. But HOW THE FUCK ARE WE SUPPOSED TO KNOW WERE DIFFERENT?

I’ve never been anyone but myself. How am I supposed to know that I don’t feel things the same way as everyone else? How am I supposed to know that I talk weird? Like how should I know that I can’t read social cues, if I’m unable to read social cues? Hello? My inability to understand the task, makes me unable to understand that I’m unable to understand the task!

Like to get an official diagnosis you have to rely on the fact that other people looked at you as a kid and went “that’s weird, it’s not supposed to do that!” And then their “cure” is to just tell you “well stop doing that.” Like gee thanks bud, never thought of that. If I could just turn off my autism you think I wouldn’t have tried by now? You’re the reason my autism is even stigmatised in the first place!

My autism specifically comes with the complete inability to introspect. Like so much of my problems as a kid would have been solved if I just realised “oh, this is an autism thing” instead of being like “oh, well I just must suck at everything, and this is how everyone feels, so why am I the only one having a mental breakdown?”

But also phrases like “everyone’s on the spectrum” are so harmful, cause they just aren’t true!!!! When I was having anxiety attacks as a kid, my mom would always say “well everyone has anxiety.” Which made me think I was just weak, when in reality I have a mental illness that had treatment options and I could have gotten help the whole time, if people stoped minimising disorders.

“We’ll everyone’s a little depressed.” No- no they are not. There are people out there that have never experienced having a brain with mental illness. But my brains always been sick, and when you can only view the world from a sick brain, how would you ever know there were healthy brains out there?

Especially since things like mental illness and learning disabilities or physical disabilities are all hush hush. We aren’t supped to talk about them because it’s “inappropriate” somehow. And then they make you feel crazy when you do talk about it. Like parents who beg their kids to “just be normal” THIS IS MY NORMAL!!! I can’t be like you because I’m not you, and I don’t know how to pretend to be. And I shouldn’t have to!

You don’t suddenly become autistic when someone slaps the label on you. Which is why I always respect self diagnosis, because you know you better than anyone else ever could.

Another story to prove my point. Let’s talk about being LGBT on top of that. My entire life I always thought everyone was Bi. Like I assumed everyone just happened to end up in straight relationships, because how could people not think boys and girls are both pretty? I had no reference to know otherwise.

And after that, I assumed everyone was asexual. I didn’t have a term for it at the time, but I genuinely though everyone was joking about enjoying sex or being horny. Because I’d never experienced those things before, I couldn’t fathom what they were meant to feel like. And if I didn’t feel it as a “normal” human, everyone must just be playing an inside joke I don’t understand right?

But if I just had labels when I was young, I would have understood these things. People who ask “why would you want to diagnose your kid, they’re so young?” Or parents who withhold a diagnosis cause you think if you ignore it, your kid will be “normal” somehow. That’s not how it works. A diagnosis or label can make the world less scary, and often times it can bring you to people who can help you navigate the world. Instead of trying to force you to see it through their eyes.

Autism isn’t dirty. Mental illness isn’t dirty. Disabilities aren’t dirty. And being LGBTQ isn’t dirty!

Children of all ages should have access to knowledge of these things. Because to the people who are part of these groups, labels and information are vital. They’re a huge part of who we are and they aren’t going to go away just because you don’t want to say the words.

Children should have access to knowledge about how their bodies and brains function. This would help kids feel less ostracised and alone, and prevent a lot of pain and trauma in the world.

[fairestwriting]

Lmao so I just had a funky idea xD i hope its alright if I send in a request for it! Can i request Azul, Idia, Jamil, Vil and Jade getting caught checking out their fem crush? xD

+ if you like my writing, you can buy me a ko-fi to support me! 

Azul Ashengrotto

Feels bad doing something like this, genuinely. He wants to be a proper gentleman to you but, wow, it’s gym class, he’s suffering, it’s hot, and you somehow look insanely good in a tank top, with that NRC jersey tied around you waist.

You’ll only catch him off guard in a context like this, he’s usually too guilty and careful -- And when you point it out, he’s quickly flustered. He swears he wasn’t staring at you inappropriately! He’s... just... unused to seeing you in these clothes, is all.

He’s crazy embarrassed about it, face flushed up to the tip of his ears. The more you accuse him, the less sense his excuses make, you can actually get him to the point where he’ll just cover his face and promise he’s sorry like this. (Though I wouldn’t recommend that, he’ll be genuinely upset,)

Idia Shroud

Idia doesn’t want to look, doesn’t want to make this weird, but, but... that’s a skirt with thigh highs, talk about absolute territory. He couldn’t not look at least a little! Plus, you had your back turned, surely it was fine...

Well, it wasn’t fine, because you notice and point it out, and Idia goes from deathly pale to tomato red in just a second -- You’d worry about his health, really -- and he almost shrieks in embarrassment.

He’s apologizing and making excuses at the same time, like he doesn’t know what the hell to say (He really doesn’t). Poor guy’s genuinely scared that you’re gonna think he’s a creep now, he’s already thinking about hiding in his room forever after this...

Will need to hear that it’s not a big deal, or else you won’t be seeing him for at least a week. He’s absolutely mortified.

Jamil Viper

Is very sure he’s being sneaky. You two are walking outside together, it’s hot so you took your blazer off, some of your buttons were already undone... he doesn’t really mean to stare, but it’s tempting, and he doesn’t worry about it since there’s no way you’d see him while you’re not looking at him, so...

Then you laugh at him and say your eyes are up here, and he sputters. Quickly makes up an excuse, saying he was looking at the grass, not at your chest, but it’s a bit wobbly. Master manipulator or not, he got sloppy, and you caught him off guard...

He tries to change the subject right after, latently scared that this would sour things between you. If you press him on the subject, teasing him about staring at your chest, you might actually be able to get him flustered.

Vil Schoenheit

Swears he isn’t checking you out. Really! It’s just, he’s noticed your clothes seemed a bit more form fitting today, he was wondering if you got them tailored? It really did... compliment your figure.

Jolts a little when he’s playfully asked about where he’s looking at, his composure falters for an exact second -- And it comes back quickly, he just mentions that you seemed to put some more effort into getting ready today, the way you arranged your uniform looked good on you.

Vil is so good with these sort of compliments, you might just think you were imagining things. He sways the conversation easily, like he’s done it a million times.

But if you pay attention, you might notice that he’s gone a little pink on the face, embarrassed. Really, how could he just lose track of his stare like this...

Jade Leech

Actually checks you out often. Full on gawks even. But he’s so discreet about it, it’s extremely hard to notice.

It seemed he got careless today, but, well, who could blame him? You were wearing Octavinelle’s dorm uniform for a reason or another (Whether you’re a member, or you’re just playing around with him...) and it looked damn good on you.

This bastard doesn’t actually have any shame, and that shows when you teasingly ask him if he’s checking you out. He chuckles and says that, well, you just look stunning in these clothes, he couldn’t help himself.

Catch Jade staring at you and he’ll use it against you. He’s nearly impossible to fluster, every teasing comment you throw at him will have a rebuttal. You’ll be the one getting flustered instead.

[inklingofadream]

This came up in my activity feed again, and had me thinking about ways other people think about Jon in the teen jon au. So the additional fact I have to add here is that the Strict Parent rules mostly fade out as Jon gets older and more enmeshed with Daisy, so a lot of the weirdness people see from him is put down to that enmeshment. I've known a couple sets of siblings who have SUPER low boundaries from each other, and similar stuff happens, like siblings having an outsized influence on a person's decisions, anything from personal fashion choices to romantic partners to where to live.

People see adult Jon and Daisy's dynamic and categorize it according to that scheme; it can be really hard as a friend to push back on inappropriate overreaches like that, even when the person you're talking to is being hurt by them. To dig into the personal stuff that influences my writing, one of the people I've known IRL that the reaction of others is a bit based on was severely parentified and also basically her year-younger sister's full time therapist/comfort object. As we got older I had a growing vocabulary and knowledge base that made the situation seem increasingly sinister, but she was caught in a very similar headspace to when we were in elementary school. She wasn't willing to consider that people she loved were doing something wrong, and she also wasn't positioned to see how much her growth was stunted and how absurd some of the comparisons she would make to justify it were. I babysat my brothers, sure, but she wasn't willing or able to see the difference between a few hours every Friday evening for our parents' date night and her parents having her do more to raise their kids than they did. The last time I saw her, pre-COVID, was her wedding reception. Her sister was also engaged, and the fact that it wasn't a double wedding genuinely represented a greater loosening of that relationship than I (or my mom) thought would ever happen.

So going back to the fic... people see stuff that's off with Jon and Daisy, but it can be really, really unrewarding to speak up. That's doubled here, because there's a clear reason they're so close- their parents died while they were both really young and Daisy didn't have a choice but to raise a brother who was close enough in age to be something of a peer. It feels ruder (and is harder to be listened to) when there's a good excuse. There's not much external difference between someone recoiling from you saying something isn't normal because they don't believe that and because they're being abused and are afraid of what that coming out could mean. In Jon's case, it gets twisted up in each other- he doesn't want Daisy's threat of bad things happening to anyone who tries to separate them to come to pass, but increasingly he doesn't want to be split up, period.

When the reaction is that pronounced, it feels safer to stay friends so that you can make you saying something isn't normal notable enough to pump the brakes on something really bad happening. Spoilers, but there's a reason that Basira isn't just closer to Daisy than Georgie is, she's also closer to Jon. Part of it is Daisy wanting to make an effort, but a lot of it is the same willingness to let things slide we see in canon. Georgie is both really outspoken and still close enough to the events of her Statement that she hasn't entirely recalibrated to judge risk accurately. She lays out lots of the stuff that isn't quite normal about Jon and Daisy's relationship. She's right, but it also means that Jon feels pricklier, on edge and less receptive, when she DOES see something severely wrong and talk to him about it. Jon knows he can't trust her to keep quiet; it's not a fair expectation, but it also means that when she DOES hit on something he can't just pass off as a quirk of his relationship with Daisy that's totally normal his instinct is to pull away, for everyone's safety. If Georgie can pull the thread in his excuse this time to see that it's more Daisy's decision than his, the threat of him saying she's being nosy isn't enough to keep her out of the stuff that could actually get Daisy in trouble, and Jon struggles to accept that risk just as much as Georgie struggles with staying in his life while he makes choices that she (correctly) thinks are really bad

what super weird habit/quirk does Jon have in the teen!jon universe? I mean judging by how he grew up I imagine he does Some Wild Things under the impression it’s normal

I mean I think he’s old enough and self aware enough to catch most of them and at least be self-conscious of his weirdness, but when he gets to go back to like actual school all of his classmates assume he’s deeply religious, because some of Daisy’s rules (no sleepovers, v strict parental controls on devices, etc) happen to overlap with the stock set of Strict Religious Parents Rules, just for completely different reasons

[alleyskywalker]

(THEON MONTH | Day 12: House Stark}

An interesting little thing I wanted to talk about… it’s widely accepted as canon that Catelyn both dislikes and distrusts Theon. Now, we can maybe make the argument that she doesn’t particularly like him – at least she seems to find him kind of obnoxious with all his smug smiles she doesn’t understand and grandiose posturing. But does she really distrust him?

 I think this assumption comes from three passages, primarily. First of all, Theon’s own POV in Clash:

 Lord Eddard had tried to play the father from time to time, but to Theon he had always remained the man who'd brought blood and fire to Pyke and taken him from his home. As a boy, he had lived in fear of Stark's stern face and great dark sword. His wife was, if anything, even more distant and suspicious.

—ACOK, Theon I

 Theon here is being a little bitter about all the Starks, save Robb, and while the overall trajectory of his feelings about them is likely genuine, Theon does tend to dramatize a bit. Cat, anyway, is generally a somewhat suspicious and distant person, especially to someone who she’s not particularly fond of. But also, we do have someone to compare Theon with here. Is there a person we know Cat sincerely dislikes and distrust? Yup. Jon. And I don’t think its controversial to say that she treats Jon a lot worse than we ever see her treat Theon.

 Here's the second passage that gets quoted in connection to this is from Cat’s own POV:

 She studied Theon Greyjoy's sly smile, wondering what it meant. That young man had a way of looking as though he knew some secret jest that only he was privy to; Catelyn had never liked it.

—ACOK, Catelyn I

She doesn’t like his smiling and she reads them as sly. Of course, Cat isn’t the only person to regard Theon’s joking and smiling as weird, unsettling, inappropriate or confusing. Does the fact that she reads them as sly or like he knows something secret indicate her being suspicious of him? In the absence of any other context, maybe.

But Cat never actually displays real distrust toward Theon. She has no objection to him being on Robb’s war councils. She has no objection to him being a messenger between Robb’s camp and the Blackfish’s outriders, nor the fact that he’s one of those outriders. She never seeks to exclude him from Robb’s inner circle. In fact, she does the exact opposite.

These are the members of her super-secret meeting about her suspicions regarding Bran’s attempted murder:

"Robb arrived before her food. Rodrik Cassel came with him, and her husband’s ward Theon Greyjoy, and lastly Hallis Mollen, a muscular guardsman with a square brown beard. He was the new captain of the guard, Robb said.”

—AGOT, Catelyn III

 Maester Lewin will join them in a moment as well. So, her son, the maester, the captain of the guard, the master-at-arms/castellan…and Theon. Like if anyone is superfluous here, it’s Theon, but she has no objection to including him whatsoever, nor does her POV indicate for a moment that maybe he should be there.  

 Later, when Cat is telling Robb off for not giving the command of the host that’s going to war to free her husband, she offers the following possible candidates for command:

 "No one?" she said. "Pray, who were those men I saw here a moment ago? Roose Bolton, Rickard Karstark, Galbart and Robett Glover, the Greatjon, Helman Tallhart … you might have given the command to any of them. Gods be good, you might even have sent Theon, though he would not be my choice."

—AGOT, Catelyn VIII

 Theon’s not her first or even third choice, sure, but that’s clearly about experience and not trust, given that Theon is a nineteen year old lad whose never fought in a battle, not to mention led men into one, unlike all of these other seasoned lords.

But what about Pyke? That’s the third major passage that tends to be quote, Cat’s opposition to sending Theon to Pyke. You know, this one:

Catelyn ignored that. “I’ll say again, I would sooner you sent someone else to Pyke, and kept Theon close to you.”

 “Who better to treat with Balon Greyjoy than his son?”

 “Jason Mallister,” offered Catelyn. “Tytos Blackwood. Stevron Frey. Anyone… but not Theon.”

—ACOK, Catelyn I

That’s the part that’s usually quoted, but here’s the rest of that conversation:

Her son squatted beside Grey Wind, ruffling the wolf’s fur and incidentally avoiding her eyes. “Theon’s fought bravely for us. I told you how he saved Bran from those wildlings in the wolfswood. If the Lannisters won’t make peace, I’ll have need of Lord Greyjoy’s longships.”

“You’ll have them sooner if you keep his son as hostage.”

“He’s been a hostage half his life.”

“For good reason,” Catelyn said. “Balon Greyjoy is not a man to be trusted. He wore a crown himself, remember, if only for a season. He may aspire to wear one again.”

—ACOK, Catelyn I

The person Cat doesn’t trust, first and foremost, is Balon. Cat doesn’t think Theon’s a good choice to treat with Balon not because she’s expecting Theon to turn on them, but because she thinks he has more utility as a hostage. It may be that Cat senses the immense conflict of interest possibly looming here as well. She’s older and wiser than Robb, after all (even if he rarely deigns to actually listen to her). But she’s throwing out her best arguments and she never quite brings this up explicitly, and to the extent she does, it’s Balon and his political ambitions that she’s concerned about. Cat’s thought process is basically: Balon can’t be trusted to not have some crazy political aspirations and do god knows what > the best way to keep Balon in line is to have something hanging over him like the life of his son > any competent lord could negotiate a treaty > thus Theon is best kept close to keep him away from Balon’s possible plotting and as a bargaining chip to boot. Any distrust Cat has here is just a healthy understanding of how someone (any person, really, this isn’t Theon-specific) might be tempted to…you know…align with their own family in their plans. But that’s more subtextual, a “sense of discomfort” type of thing. The actual distrust is aimed at Balon. The argument isn’t “Theon isn’t trustworthy” it’s “Theon is more useful here.”

And, really, in a way, Cat here is just following Ned’s advice from back in AGOT:

When the door had closed behind him, Ned turned back to his wife. "Once you are home, send word to Helman Tallhart and Galbart Glover under my seal. They are to raise a hundred bowmen each and fortify Moat Cailin. Two hundred determined archers can hold the Neck against an army. Instruct Lord Manderly that he is to strengthen and repair all his defenses at White Harbor, and see that they are well manned. And from this day on, I want a careful watch kept over Theon Greyjoy. If there is war, we shall have sore need of his father's fleet."

—AGOT, Eddard IV

Cat never shows any elevated distrust or suspicion toward Theon than she does toward anyone else who she’s not specifically close to, really. Even on the opposite, she displays a significant amount more trust than you’d expect of someone to have toward their hostage. Even after she gets news that Theon has “killed” Bran and Rickon, her reaction isn’t “I knew it!” it’s this:

"Bran and Rickon tried to escape, but were taken at a mill on the Acorn Water. Theon Greyjoy has mounted their heads on the walls of Winterfell. Theon Greyjoy, who ate at my table since he was a boy of ten." I have said it, gods forgive me. I have said it and made it true.

—ACOK, Catelyn VII

It’s surprise, bewilderment, outrage of a sort, but it’s not vindication. She didn’t see this coming. The why is an expansive enough topic that it would properly deserve a post of its own. I’m not going to prove up this thesis in this post, but I’ll say that Cat is just another example of the shocking amount of entitlement that the Starks specifically and Northerners generally feel in regards to having Theon’s loyalty. And it’s probably why Theon doesn’t feel entirely trusted by them – it’s not real trust, born out of respect and/or affection, the notion to distrust him just doesn’t seem to fully enter their minds even when it’s a reasonable question to ask, because they feel so secure in the idea that Theon must be loyal to them, that they deserve that loyalty. But again, that’s a post for another day, I’ll just say that Cat is really not an exception.  

I’ll close this with a little observation that’s a bit tangential but related. When Cat argues with Robb about legitimizing Jon, while it’s easy to side with Robb against her emotionally because her treatment and distrust of Jon are so unfair, she’s not actually wrong in what she says. And she’s asking Robb to not make the same mistake they all made – to put trust into loyalty that has been assumed for no good reason, ignoring all conflicts of interest for the sake of righteousness:

"Precedent," she said bitterly. "Yes, Aegon the Fourth legitimized all his bastards on his deathbed. And how much pain, grief, war, and murder grew from that? I know you trust Jon. But can you trust his sons? Or their sons?  . . .  Should he wed and breed, any sons you may have by Jeyne will never be safe."

"Jon would never harm a son of mine."

"No more than Theon Greyjoy would harm Bran or Rickon?"

Grey Wind leapt up atop King Tristifer's crypt, his teeth bared. Robb's own face was cold. "That is as cruel as it is unfair. Jon is no Theon."

"So you pray. . . .”

—ASOS, Catelyn V

Robb is, as usual, not listening. Cat isn’t even talking about Jon to begin with. She’s talking about his sons. Who know one knows what they’d be like, and it would be insane to put blind trust in them and their theoretical goodness and family attachment. It’s Robb who starts talking about Jon. And Cat has a point here too, though Robb doesn’t want to hear it: you think Jon is not like Theon, but you also never thought Theon would do what he did. How blinded are you, Robb? By love? By righteousness? By how you believe things are supposed to be? No one thought Theon would turn. Not even Cat, who didn’t like his smiles and thought he made a better hostage than negotiator.

She’s always been unfair to Jon, of course. But can we blame her for being paranoid now, when she’s learned the hard way that assuming loyalty for theoretical, self-righteous reasons is folly?