#not looking forward to the response on this one. ANYWAYS

[sunnylucy31]

Some asks I got for these in discord, reposting my answers here:

Pierce is on the spectrum, though she does a good job of masking most of the time (until you get her talking about her special interest which is stars and astrology (fun fact she can tell your star sign just by looking at you, very useful power)).

Frieda has BPD, and she handles it by not handling it (that is, she bottles up everything related to it, The Queen must not show weakness to subordinates). Her people don’t say her name and only refer to her as “the queen” out of respect, but a large part of her believes it’s because they disapprove of her (RSD will have you making logical leaps like that, it’s a bitch).

20. Frieda is often jealous of how tight knit her peoples’ bonds with each other are; as the queen she’s often excluded from that since everyone else puts her on a pedestal (as noted previously, they refer to her by title rather than name). More specifically she’s jealous of Hunter’s ongoing thing with Siren, as she’s been yearning for his attention for years and never received it (not in the way she wants, anyway). Again, she handles this by bottling it up, as the queen cannot be distracted by such trivial emotions. Good thing glass bottles are famously sturdy, this practice will surely continue to be a sound one.

If Maya is jealous of anything, it’s her peers’ ability to be content with tedium. With a perfect memory, she’s painfully aware of how much repetition the average day has, but her fellows don’t seem to notice, or if they do, don’t seem to care. Hell, some of them appear to find comfort in the routine, the normalcy. She attempts to shake this feeling off, but like everything else in her flawless recall, she can never entirely put it away.

25. My favorite aspects of both are going to be the angsty parts because apparently I’m a sadist.

For Frieda it’s the dehumanization. The Titans made her to be a living weapon. The gods branded her as an abomination for existing. And her own people turned her into a martyr, a Messiah figure that could prop up their fragile hopes. At no point does Frieda get to be Frieda; She’s Zero, or Priority Target One, or The Queen. Max will be the first person to treat her as human in a long time, and that’s going to be a profound moment for her that I really look forward to.

For Maya it’s going to be exploring all the detriments to a flawless memory and how the human psyche wasn’t meant to handle having that sort of ability. Imagine every mistake you’ve ever made, every abuse you’ve suffered, every pain you’ve felt, as crystal clear in your mind as the moment it happened. How do you heal? How do you move on? I do so love a good “your great power is really a curse” trope.

Frieda certainly wouldn’t think she could get away with it. Tenet Two of the demititans’ code is to do no willful harm against a fellow demititan, and to her mind she isn’t above the code. Her people on the other hand would feel differently. As I said above, they’ve turned her into their Messiah; all their hopes for survival rest in her. While it would be a deeply unsettling event for many, they’d find some way to justify it if only to keep her at the forefront, to keep her trying to save them.

4. Frieda’s innate instinct when scared is to freeze, followed by flee. Years of training have embedded a fight response in her, but part of her still feels the urge to run and hide when shit gets scary.

9. “Most gods throw dice, but Fate plays chess, and you don't find out til too late that he's been playing with two queens all along.” -Terry Pratchett

19. Rage makes Frieda’s calm and collected queenly mask fall away entirely. It’s the one emotion she’s never had much practice at containing, so when it comes out, it really comes out. Violence is basically a guarantee at that point.

Edgy/misc OC ask meme ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

Send me a number and an OC, and I'll answer.

What memory would your OC rather just forget?

What's something about your OC that people wouldn't expect just from looking at them?

What is your OC's fatal flaw? Are they aware of this flaw?

When scared, does your OC fight, flee, freeze or fawn?

How far is your OC willing to go to get what they want?

How easily could your OC be convinced to do something that goes against their moral compass?

What's one way your OC has changed since you first came up with them?

Would your OC ostensibly be able to get away with murder?

Do you have a specific lyric or quote which you associate with your OC?

What's an AU that would be interesting to explore with your OC?

What is your OC's weapon of choice? Have they ever actually used it?

Is your OC self-destructive? In what ways?

If you met your OC, would the two of you get along?

How does your OC want to be seen by other characters?

Does your OC have a faceclaim? If so, who?

What is your OC's pain tolerance like?

What is the worst thing you have put your OC through story-wise?

Is your OC more cold and detached or up close and personal?

How does your OC behave when enraged?

Does your OC have a tendency to get jealous? If so, how does this manifest?

Does your OC have any illnesses or disorders? How do they handle it?

What character alignment would you consider your OC to be?

What emotion is the hardest for your OC to process? How about express?

What is an alternative life path your OC might have gone down? How different would their life be if they'd made those decisions?

What is your favorite thing about your OC?

[postracehair]

say again

george russell x reader | 3.9k

three times george curses. or, a beginning, a middle, and a future.

cw: george cursing. a few scrapes and a little bit of blood, some kissing, and a love confession to boot.

a/n: this kind of ran away from me, especially in the middle but every time george russell says fuck an angel gets its wings. written ages ago but posting in honor of Las Vegas.

---

YOU'VE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME

The door buzzes and you let yourself into the building.

You've only been here a few times, but a match day spent with your coworker and some of her friends is better than sitting on your couch alone, right? Wine and cookies in hand, you trudge up two flights of stairs to her flat. By the time you reach the landing, you can already hear the chatter and the TV.

No one seems to hear your knock so you push the door open and gingerly step in. The kitchen is on the other side of the flat, and you assume everyone is somewhere between there and the television.

But when you pass the living room where the TV actually is, there's just one guy on the couch. Leaning forward, elbows on his knees watching a penalty get called.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he says to no one.

You snicker. He whirls around. "Hello," you say.

"Sorry," he says, standing immedietly. Wow, he's tall. "Sorry, hello."

Oh, and he's familiar. You know him, kind of. He's -- god, he races cars, right? Shit, what is his name? Your coworker has social connections you barely understand so it's not really a surprise to find someone who is probably famous in her flat.

"It is just you, then?" you ask. He laughs and runs a hand through his hair. Dressed in jeans and a team jumper, his casual outfit is at odds with the severe cut of his jaw, his cheekbones. He just looks expensive.

"No," he says. "No, everyone is putting plates together. I'm afraid I might be the one most interested in watching the match."

"Not going well?" you say lightly.

He rounds the sofa, hand out. "Could be better," he says. "I'm George."

You readjust the items in your hands to shake his and tell him your name. He repeats it, and you smile.

"Let me go put these down," you say, "and then, um. Do you want some company, George?"

Honestly, you're not sure where that came from. But, though you came here to escape the smothering loneliness of your own flat, something about him makes you want to stay here rather than go into the kitchen with everyone else.

"'Course I do," he says. "I promise to tighten up my language. Won't do for that to be my first impression."

You wave him away though your cheeks feel a little hot and head for the kitchen.

Your coworker brightens at seeing you and takes your hostess gifts with ease.

"The match is on in the other room," she tells you, "but most of us are drinking in here."

"I saw," you say. "I met George."

She hears something in your tone that turns her expression something between amused and calculating. "You did, did you?"

You just nod, loading up a plate with the various nibbles. "How do you know him, anyway?"

She shrugs. "Oh, you know." No, you don't, but she plows on. "What did you think?"

"Taller than he seems on TV," you mutter. "But very polite. He shook my hand."

That gets her to laugh. "Oh, of course he did. Well, don't stand around in here with us. Go chat up a Formula 1 driver!"

George is back on the couch when you return, arm stretched over the back of it, brows furrowed.

"Has anything exciting happened?" you ask him, sitting down with a perfectly responsible distance between you.

He grimaces. "Nothing good. Wolverhampton, bless 'em, are quite bad."

That might explain why no one is watching this match with him, but you keep that to yourself.

"I see," you say, solemnly. "But loyalty is loyalty, I suppose, if they're your club."

"Exactly," George says. "It's suffering but it has to be done." Someone on the screen triggers a free kick and George leans in until it's over. He starts talking about one of the players being traded, or his contract being renegotiated, or something. You nibble on your plate and just watch. He's animated, this man. Fringe falling over his forehead the more he gestures, blue eyes wide and serious. It's all very endearing.

"Sorry," he says suddenly. "I'm being so rude. You don't want to hear about all of this, do you?"

You smile at him. "I don't mind. I came over for some company more than anything else."

He sinks back into the couch a little, hand running through his hair again. "Well, lucky for me that you did," he says.

Your face feels hot and you don't want to mistake this for flirting if it's not. He is a world-famous athlete, after all, but here you are on the couch next to him. "Lucky for you, indeed."

He laughs, delighted.

OH, SHIT!

This is not how you saw your life going, but maybe that's just the nature of it. Big moments happen just the same as small ones and we have to handle them regardless. The trajectory of your life shifted just a little bit when you sat down on someone else's couch to watch a football match with a stranger.

Because that stranger -- George -- is now much more than that. He asked for your number that day before he had to leave earlier than everyone else, and has been speaking to you ever since. Texts, phone calls, FaceTimes. And, when he's not driving hundreds of miles an hour halfway across the world, he likes to spend time with you.

They're dates, you know they are. But things are still casual, immensely so. Coffee, dinner, long walks through the park. It's probably past due that you ask him what he'd like out of this, but your friends tell you to just have fun for the time being. You've learned a lot about him in the last month or so, both from him directly and by doing your research.

You'd watched a few Grand Prix before meeting him but not with any kind of rapt attention. Now, obviously, you watch with purpose. See him zip around the track, read his radio messages, hope desperately that he'll be alright. He's a big mix of things, George Russell. Witty but determined, thorough but reactionary, polite but intense. You want to keep getting to know him on a personal level and measure that up to how he appears to the world.

Today, you're on one of those long walks. George is recounting the last race at your request. It's always more interesting to hear him talk about what happened than watching it, though you're really growing to love that part, too.

It's a bit chilly and he's got a scarf on in addition to a nondescript hat pulled down low over his eyes. You're used to this by now, though you wish you could see his face more fully.

"And then -- well, I'm sure you saw this bit -- he turned right into me like I wasn't even there!"

"But you avoided it," you remind him. "I saw that, too." A cold wind blows down the path and you shiver a bit.

"You alright?" he asks. "Nippy, huh?" He stops walking and turns to you, his huge hands coming to rest on your shoulders before he rubs them up and down your arms.

"A bit," you agree, a little breathless. God, you really need to talk to him about what this is. You're thinking about him all the time, which is a bit of a nuisance, as you're not sure he's feeling the same. But, a small voice in your head tells you, you can't be too far off in thinking that it might be based on the way he's looking at you right now.

Even under the cap, you can see the soft set of his brow, the way his eyes are shining. The gentle quirk up of his mouth. What would it be like to kiss him? Would he let you?

George stops his warming efforts, catching your hands in his. "Better?"

All you can do is nod. He grins, looking a bit too pleased, and starts walking again, you in tow. This is something else you've learned about him -- he really can be a cheeky bastard. He must have more than some idea as to how he affects you and enjoys it. It's somewhere between a game and a challenge.

You're thinking about ways you can get him back, ways you can flirt mercilessly. His hand is in yours and he's half a step ahead of you when suddenly your fingers are ripped from his and you find yourself on your hands and knees with a gasp.

George is immediately there with you.

"Oh, shit," he says. "Are you alright?"

"I--" You're a bit too stunned to say anything. George rarely curses, which is funny given how you met, but it unsettles you a little bit as much as it warms you. "I think I tripped?"

"Let me see your hands," he says, gently tugging at your wrists with his long fingers. He sucks on his teeth when he sees your palms. "Not too bad, but a little scratched."

You rearrange yourself so you're flat on your bum, legs in front of you. Your hands might be alright but your knees are another story. The fabric of your jeans isn't ripped but you can see the bloodstains already.

"Oh," you say. You look up at George, feeling a bit pathetic. "This is embarrassing."

He scoffs. "No, it's not," he says. "I do think we should get you cleaned up, though."

"We can go to my place," you suggest. The sting sets in a little more, but mingles with your chagrin and you just set your jaw. "Help me up?"

"Brave girl," George says. He presses his lips to the base of your wrist and stands, tugging you up as he goes. "Have you got first aid things at your flat?"

You nod, running through the contents of your bathroom in your mind. It occurs to you that George has not been to your place before, and you did not mentally prepare yourself to bring him there today.

George gently says your name. "Let's get a cab, shall we?"

It takes no time at all to flag one down. George removes his hat in what you can clearly see as an effort to get the cabbie to hurry along a bit, but it seems to work. He takes one look at you, one more at George, and steps on it.

"Let me get your belt," George mutters, making quick work of the buckle.

"I don't think I've ever worn a seatbelt in a cab in my life, George," you reply. He just pats your thigh.

"Think we've had enough injuries for one day, don't you?"

George and the cabbie chat about the race season, about how hot it really is in Singapore, about one of George's recent podiums. He keeps you tucked into his side the whole time -- he's ignored his own seatbelt, you notice -- hand on your thigh. You keep your palms turned up on your knees and wonder how on earth you got here.

The city flies by and you lean your head on his shoulder. You can feel something shifting between you, something clicking into place that wasn't entirely settled before. It's scary, it's exciting, it's big. It's something you're going to have to talk about.

George pays the driver in some large bills and helps you out of the cab and up the steps of your building.

"Where are your keys?" he asks.

"Front right pocket of my jeans."

"Pardon my reach," he jokes, and lightly rests on palm on your hip and slides the other into your pocket to find them. He tugs the keyring out and winks at you before unlocking the door. Up the stairs, into the flat. Shoes toed off, coats on the hook after George helps you out of yours.

"I'm not an invalid, you know," you tell him. He clicks his tongue.

"We don't want blood on this nice coat of yours, do we?"

You roll your eyes. George glances around your flat and smiles. "This is very you."

Dishes on the counter, the pillows a mess on the couch, your books and trinkets on every flat surface -- you suppose he's right.

"Thank you?" you say. He taps your chin with his knuckle.

"It feels like a home, I mean." Your cheeks feel warm and your heart sighs. God, the things he says.

"Oh," you breathe. "That's kind."

"And does this home have a first aid kit?" The reminder brings the dull sting of your scraped skin back to the forefront of your mind.

"Bathroom cabinet," you tell him. George nods.

"I'll get that. Why don't you change into something loose so I can get to your knees?"

In your room, you tug carefully tug on some sweatpants, mindful of your palms, and let yourself marvel at how today has gone. You expected to have George here someday, but certainly not like this. Will he want to see your bedroom? You shove some dirty laundry into the hamper and thank past you for making the bed this morning.

"I think you should sit on the counter," George calls. "Whenever you're ready."

You pad out to meet him in socked feet. It's quite the sight, him in your kitchen. He's bent over your sink, washing his hands. His sweater has been tossed over a chair and you can see the lines of his back under his t-shirt.

"Do you need help getting up?" he asks. You nod. Together, you get yourself on the counter, making you about eye level.

"Hello," you say. His hat is gone, too, so his fringe falls across his forehead in slightly curled strands. When you've cleaned yourself up, maybe you'll work up the courage to run your hand through them.

"Hello yourself. Right hand, please." You hold out your palm and George gets to work. He cleans it, getting all the bits from your skin, and then uses an alcohol wipe.

"Do you have a special interest in first aid, or something?" you ask to distract yourself from the sting. His thumb strokes your pulse point as he works.

"I guess you get beat up a bit in karting when you're young," he says. He wraps one palm in gauze and moves onto the other. "I suppose i just like knowing how to take care of people."

"God," you groan. "Is there anything wrong with you?"

He looks at you then, hair falling into his blue, blue eyes. "Oh," he smirks. "Plenty, darling." He finishes up on your other palm and holds it in his for a moment longer than you expect. Then he slowly brings your hand to his mouth and kisses the bandage.

You might gasp, You're not entirely sure, eyes glued to his lips like nothing else exists. Then he kisses the other palm. Your gaze flicks up and George is looking right at you.

"Knees," he says, voice a little hoarse. "Alright?"

"Alright," you breathe. You stick one leg out just to see what he'll do. You're learning that he rises to the occasion, and that's exactly what happens. He cups your ankle, places your foot on his thigh, and slides your sweatpants up above your joint.

"That's gnarly," he says, breaking the tension. You laugh and tap his leg with your other foot. "You ready?"

"I'm ready."

He makes quick work on it. One hand on your calf, the other gently cleaning and bandaging. The silence is comfortable, familiar, though you've not been in this situation before. It's not until George is almost done with your other knee that he speaks.

"You know," He says, lightly. "If you wanted me to touch you, all you had to do was ask. The tripping wasn't entirely necessary."

"George!" you gasp. He squeezes your calf.

"I'm just saying, darling."

He ties off the gauze and rolls down your pant leg. You widen your knees and he steps between them immediately, hands resting gently on your thighs. It's absolutely electric -- going from shy, appropriate touches to being in your flat together, his hands all over you. How are you going to go back?

Maybe you can't.

George's eyes rake over your face. You inhale his exhales, feeling them on your lips. His pupils dilate.

"What is this, George?" you whisper. His fingers press into your thighs a little harder.

"Well," he says, tongue darting out to wet his lips. "What would you like it to be?"

"I don't know," you say, honestly. He is not dissuaded, does not back away. He must know that this is hard for you -- his life is so different from yours. As it is, you avoid social media so you don't see pictures of you splashed across gossip accounts. It's impossible to totally stay away from it but you try, because you really like being with him.

"Shall I tell you what it is for me?" George says.

You nod.

He cups your face in his hands, thumbs stroking the delicate skin under your eyes.

"Every second I am not with you I am thinking about when I'll see you next," he says. "I store up things to tell you and take photos to show you and I have a bag full of things I've bought you but been too afraid to give you. Beautiful things, things that remind me of you."

"George--"

"I worry about fucking up your life," he continues, and you fall silent. "This is a lot. I am a lot. My life is not simple, and you've already seen that. But I want you in it. I want you in it however you want to be there, though I have my suggestions. I promise that if you let me, I'll treat you so well, because you deserve everything, and --"

Your heart is going to explode if he goes on any longer, so you close the gap between you and kiss him. Finally.

It's just the press of your lips against his for a few seconds, your eyes fluttering shut, before George catches up to what's happening and angles your faces a little bit to make it deeper. Your bandaged hands rest on his elbows and you swallow a sound from deep in his throat, something that lights a fire in your belly.

"Blimey," George says, leaning your foreheads together.

"What, no curse for me?"

His eyes sparkle and he wrinkles his nose at you. "Fuck," he says. "I've been thinking about that for weeks."

You press your lips to the corner of his mouth. "That's more like it."

BLOODY HELL

What the fuck was that? Is he serious? Keep focused, George. This is fucking ridiculous. Head down.

It's a bad day. Not as bad as it could be -- George does not end up in the wall. But he ends up way further down the pack than he should, barely scraping together a few points. It's the car and everyone knows it. The bouncing, the drag, the understeer. A showing far too poor for this late in the season.

And George is pissed. It's not often that you see him this way -- he's fairly levelheaded, even when things get tough. Something about him causes conflict to lull, things to fall into place, but even that can't fix the silver arrow.

You slip out of the garage during the last lap to sit in his driver's room and wait.

This isn't your first race. Far from it, by now. Things got official halfway through the season after that day in your flat, and you've been coming to as many as you can. It's a rush, really, to see him work. Scarier than anything, but when it's good? It's amazing. You love the energy of the garage and everyone seems to have taken to you, too.

So much so that they know to send George right to his room before the media pen so you can calm him down.

You sit on the bench and wait.

He comes in, closing the door firmly but never slamming it, and sighs. All the tension melts from his body and he looks defeated. Sweaty, annoyed, and defeated.

"Hello," you say, lightly.

He smiles wryly. "Shit day, huh?"

You love how George looks after a race. Hair a mess from his helmet, skin beaded with sweat. He unzips his race suit and lets it hang at his hips and you can see the outline of his muscles through his fireproofs. It's genuinely swoonworthy, even with his visibly bad mood.

"Are you alright?" you ask. He shrugs, rolls his shoulders, and winces.

"Bloody hell," he curses. "My back is killing me."

"What can I do?"

"Nothing," he says automatically. "You're perfect just as you are."

It's a reflex he has -- not to ask for things. You're still working it out, poking and prodding to find the cracks. Maybe, with time, he'll loosen this grip he has on his desire to make your life as comfortable and wonderful as possible without thinking of himself. There are moments when it's best to just let him fuss, but right now you think you can push back a little.

"George," you sigh. "Come on."

He hides his face behind a sweat towel for a breath, then tosses it aside. "Alright," he says. "Just sit with me for a bit."

You scoot over on the bench and he flops next to you, head back against the wall and eyes closed. His hand fumbles around for yours, pinching your thigh when he overshoots, which makes you laugh. He cracks a smile and opens one eye just enough to see your grin before settling back into his rest.

He breathes deeply, fingers entwined with yours. The line of his jaw is pronounced in the awful lighting of the room and the shadows under his eyes look worse than usual. A few more races and then he can rest. What will you do in the off season? Maybe a vacation. Hopefully a vacation. You imagine George in swim trunks on a beach somewhere, dozing in the sand. Rubbing sun tan lotion on his back and his shoulders and his nose, reading books for hours until he convinces you to run into the water. Lazy days on a balcony or in a bed with all the windows open, never being far from each other --

Someone knocks on the door.

"Christ," George mutters. "Let's ignore it."

"You need to go to the pen, darling," you whisper back. He squeezes your hand and presses your legs together.

"Just a few more minutes," he says. "Eventually they'll just come in."

"If you say so."

You press a kiss to his tacky cheek and lean your head on his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut.

George takes a deep breath. "I love you," he says.

The words stretch into the silence that comes after, the moments it takes for you to process it. They fill the small room, sneak their way into your bloodstream, your lungs, all the way to your heart.

Part of you is waiting for the follow-up. I know it's too early, I know it's a lot, You don't have you say it back. But George doesn't deal in excuses. He feels it, so he says it.

You lift your head to look at him and find him already staring at you. Not expectant, just looking to look.

"I love you, George," you say.

He grins bigger than you've ever seen, bigger than after your first kiss, than the days when he's on the podium.

Someone knocks on the door again.

"Oh, piss off," he mutters and leans in to kiss you.

[pendarling]

Tsundere Character Prompts

Nearly passing out every time Character B does something cute

Constantly angry with themselves for never being forward or clear enough

Struggling to give Character B a compliment of any kind and instead giving vague responses or dismissing them entirely

Character A is trying everything in their power not to lay their head onto Character B's lap

^^^ Or imagine having Character B sit on Character A's lap

Desperately wanting comforting hugs or giving comforting hugs to B but being reduced to half-baked attempts at comforting.

Panicking at the thought of sharing straws or spoons

Unconsciously touching Character B's thigh while driving and then pulling away, only to end up touching them again instinctively

Wanting to hold Character B's hands, but it's so hard, and what if it's just as soft as they expected? What if Character B noticed how clammy their palms felt?

Wanting to make their favourite food as a kind gesture but not wanting to come off as too caring

Wishing for even the slightest chance Character B could ask them to take a shower together but knowing that it could never happen

Unintentionally staring/checking Character B out

Following everywhere they go and missing them greatly when they're not in their line of sight

Worrying every second, even when they're gone for just a few minutes longer

Their heart is always pounding at every close proximity

Dismissing their daydreams with Character B as childish thoughts

Overthinking scenarios in their head

Silently saying, "I love you," half hoping they didn't hear it and half hoping they did and won't mention it

Wishing that Character B would kiss them soon

When Character B says they will do Character A a favour, they instantly think of something affectionate

Wanting 110% of Character B's attention all the time

Getting jealous when Character B smiles at someone else because Character A wants that to be reserved for them

Pretending not to be affected by the way Character B calls their name

Hiding the blush on their face from Character B

Saying they would never do something for Character B and then doing it anyway

Warding off any other potential love interests with just their presence

Character A looking at other couples doing activities like feeding each other or slow dancing

Becoming Character B's partner for assignments/jobs that require two people

Instantly freezing when Character B sleeps on their shoulder

^^^Or sharing a bed and trying not touch or think about the way Character B is breathing so calmly and safely in their presence

^^^Or leaning in to listen to Character B as they talk in their sleep

Overhearing and eavesdropping on Character B talking with Character C about them

Feigning disinterest when Character B brings them a gift and then mumbling a "thank you"

Disciplining Character B for not preparing properly for the weather and giving them their gloves/jacket/scarf/umbrella

Cleaning Character B's wounds/taking care of them when B is sick because "they can't do it themselves/are so uselss"

Pulling Character B out of dangerous situations but not because they were worried, only because it's stupid

Mouthing off other characters that talk down about Character B

Genuinely feeling happy when it's Character B that's worried sick about them instead

Thinking that Character B looks cute when they cry but never says it out loud

Pretending to be annoyed at supervising or guarding Character B but secretly overjoyed at having an excuse to be alone with them now

Accidentally saying something possesive

FOR MORE LIKE THIS: Unrequited/One-side Pining/Forbidden Romance Master List Portal

~~~

MASTERLIST

[jellyskink]

The Doc is OUT (For the day.)

"Callie I'm home! And I got you a treeaattt~!"

Irene's voice rang through her studio apartment with a mix of excitement and weariness. She was finally done with work for the day, seeing her child was what she was looking forward to the most after today.

(Hm... I don't see her waiting for me at the door as usual, where could she be?)

Unceremoniously kicking off her shoes next to door, she tosses her jacket onto her sofa, after which she follows suit onto.

Today was just like any other, day in and day out from the medical office. The same car troubles, the same usual bickering with Mr. Ibis, the same dang stress of worrying how soon the world as she knew it was going to end, but on top of it all off, she had another appointment with Dr. Stanford Filbrick Pines that day.

(I just don't get that guy. Nothing about his lifestyle or even state of being makes sense! This is the first time in my entire career I can't figure out SOME kind of pattern with my patient.)

Dr. Pine's entire situation confused her, and the cherry on top was that his medical records were just as confusing and a mess to figure out.

(I just don't get it, there's such a wide gap of time between any kind of medical logs that have information on Dr.Pines. It's almost like he went MISSING for a while in his life.)

Thinking about this all really made her headache worse. Her hands reached up to her temples as she began to massage them gently. It didn't help much, but it was better than nothing.

Irene found herself sighing loudly as an adorably unearthly meow rang in her ear and she felt an otherworldly ball of fur lay on her head.

"mRrowww..."

"Daww hello my little angel! I missed you so much!"

Her hands immediately went from her own to the incomprehensiblely adorable ball of fur that gave her so much reason in her life. She was her baby, her adorable little cat Calamari.

Calamari happily purred in response to Irene's affection. Irene knew she was a walking trope of a lonely cat lady who treated her cat like her own flesh and blood, but she didn't care. Calamari was really the only family she had right now, and the foolish trope was one that was lame anyway.

"Guess what? I got you a treat while I was out today! It's your favorite! A tuna flavored cat biscuit!"

Reaching into her pocket, Irene revealed the cat biscuit to her fluffy friend. Before she had the chance to unwrap it, she felt it dematerialize from her hand like it was going out of style.

"Haha! I knew you'd love it! You're so cute!!"

Alright so Callie rarely ate with her mouth and preferred to absorb most food items into her third eye. It wasn't normal but it was very much still adorable! Even if staring into said eye for too long made you space out and question life for twenty minutes.

Calamari happily rubbed her head onto Irene's hand after finishing her treat.

(I know there isn't a ton of reliable studies that show animals such as cats can thank people, but Callie's a smart kitty, I'm sure she knows how! It definitely wouldn't be the weirdest thing she could do. Hmm, it is getting pretty late now, I should probably get dinner taken care of, I'm pretty hungry right now myself.)

With a sigh and movements as graceful as she could, she picked up Calamari and cradled her as she reached for her phone and opened up her flipphone.

(I... really don't feel like cooking today. You know what? I'm going to splurge and get takeout tonight.

But what? Chinese? No I need to watch my sodium intake... Spaghetti Bolognese from that one Italian restaurant a couple blocks down? Tempting as that is one of my favorite foods, and the owner does owe me a couple of favors themselves, but then again I get that a lot, I don't want to get tired of it by accident...)

Calamari flopped around in her arms playfully as she contemplated what she wanted to eat.

(Ah of course! Why didn't I think of it sooner! Pizza! It isn't the healthiest choice either, but I could seriously go for it right now! Now where did I put that one pizza place's number...)

After what felt like eternity waiting for her pizza delivery order, Irene heard a knock on the door as she opened it. The pizza she ordered placed politely on top of her cat shaped doormat, looking as much as a treasure as an ancient relic in the moment.

(Gotta say I'm glad I'm able to pay by card for this... I'm really not in the mood to talk right now to anyone.)

Happily taking the pizza into her home, Irene flopped down onto her couch, Calamari immediately following suit.

The pizza was as delectable as ambrosia in that moment. The crust was perfectly golden brown and spiced with italian seasoning, the sauce was the perfect balance of sweet and savory, spiced to perfection, and the cheese and pepperoni on top was the perfect way to end the wonderful layers of the pizza pie. And was that basil added on top? It was!!

The pizza was cut into squares, triangle pizza at least for the past year wasn't very popular with establishments or certain people, especially if it was just a cheese pizza, but that didn't matter at all to Irene.

Before she knew it Irene found herself eating the entire pizza, sharing some of the cheese and pepperoni with Calamari since that was her favorite part to eat.

(Ah I didn't mean to indulge so much tonight... well you know what? It was delicious! Who knows how long it's been since I last ate a nice meal that WASN'T something from the hospital cafeteria...)

Calamari at this point was sleeping next to Irene on the couch, satisfied and happily napping.

(Daw... I'm glad she liked it too, thank goodness the ingredients in this are alright to give to her in moderation, I have trouble saying no to my darling little Calamari!)

Noticing the time, Irene decided it was time to get ready for bed. There were patients to see and work for her to do tomorrow.

(I really want to wear my comfiest and favorite pajamas tonight, where are they? I know I washed them and had them in my pile of clean laundry on my bed... aha! Here they are!)

Irene quickly threw on her favorite pajamas, an oversized nightshirt with the words "Live, Laugh, CatMom" printed on it in cursive accompanyed by a silly picture of a cat Irene absolutely adored. Paired with it were her flowy and comfortable pajama bottoms, decorated with pictures of cats with silly mustaches.

(Finally done for the day, I really should fold my laundry and put it away... Ehhh I'll do it tomorrow. For now I'll just put the clothes and the basket on my dinnertable.)

Nighttime quickly began to set as Irene sat at her worn down antique vanity desk. The stars were beautiful at this hour, glittering throughout the night, they were one of the only things that stayed consistent and normal in Irene's life.

(Geez, no matter how many times I look at myself in the mirror I can't help but notice how quickly time passes. Stress really isn't doing your already awkward looks any favors... Maybe I need to change up my look again? But how?

Maybe I should get back into trying to learn makeup and more "modern" fashion... Or maybe a new haircut? Maybe not that latter option, I'm quite happy with my bob, it's certainly been easier to care for my hair lately, and I'm not sure I could pull off anything shorter or more... "Adventurous.")

"Mrrroww??" With a quick leap, Calamari jumped onto the desk, knocking over a few cosmetics, toiletries, and photos while doing so.

"Woah! Careful my dear! Haha you always seem to know when something is bothering me..."

*Sigh* "I suppose I'm just worried about myself again is all. You know me, whenever I'm not worrying about how I look, I worry about my work."

(I guess I just, never expected my life to go this way I suppose. Cipher really did throw a wrench into a lot of my plans in life. I mean, did anyone expect any of this to happen? I'm ashamed to admit I was arrogant in the beginning, I believed this all couldn't be possible, that it'd be solved soon if anything, I believed it couldn't cause as much problems and dangers to the world as it did...)

"You know what they say, every rose has it's thorn, although I certainly feel like I have more thorns than rose sometimes..."

(I'll never forget my first reaction to being sent out as a part of the group of doctors to help the people evacuating Gravity Falls. There was so much panic, so much chaos, and some of the wounds I had to patch up weren't anything you'd ever normally deal with even if you worked in the ER.

It almost seemed unreal, that any moment someone would say "cut" and it would end like a movie.)

(It's these kind of moments of panic that really make me childishly wish that the world of medical science was as simple as we believed it was as kids, that all it really took was being rushed to the infirmary, some rest, a bandaid, and some care to heal whatever was hurting somone.)

(But that wasn't how things were. It was much more complicated than that, and the kicker was that you always held your patient's life in your line like a tether. Whenever that tether broke and you couldn't help fix it no matter how hard you tried, having to tell the patient's family their loved one was gone... It's almost too much to bear sometimes.)

"I'm so thankful I have you though Callie, I really think you're one of the only good things to come out of this mess and into my life."

"Woof!"

"Haha!! That's a new one! You never cease to surprise me girl! That and the weird things you sometimes bring me home..."

(When she was younger it was normal stuff like mice, small birds, and insects. Nowadays it was much more... weird. When it wasn't something like a gnome panicking for it's life or an eyebat, it was random items.)

(At first it was pretty normal, like a sparkly pink ribbon probably used to tie up hair or something, black nail polish, or what I'm assuming is someone's art project for pins of what I'm guessing is a top hat and bow tie??)

(Then it became weirder and more varied. For example, she once brought home a weird plush that resembles Dr. Pines in a way. That one in particular was odd because I don't think I've ever seen Dr. Pines smile in such a showboating way, let alone wear anything that wasn't of any semblance to "his muse". The suit seemed normal but the fez was definitely the weirdest thing.)

(Most recently she brought home some kind of sentient gummy lizard-snake thing. It had jumped out of my hands when I had tried to take it outside to release it, and I still haven't found it to this day. Sometimes I swear spot it moving around somewhere from the corner of my eye while I'm at home...)

"Anyways, how about we head to bed? I know I'm tired today after an exhausting day!"

(I'll clean up my vanity later, it's certainly getting way too late for me to be up at this hour...)

With that, Irene promptly headed to bed with Calamari following in tow. She promptly fell asleep quickly after laying her head down, despite wanting to spend some more time thinking about things.

Unbeknownst to her though, up high in a corner of the wall of her apartment, was a cute little housespider sitting on it's web.

Of course the next morning Calamari would be found by Irene playing with this exact spider.

A cute little spider, with a strange pattern that strangely looked like a certain evil dorito with an eye. :)

(I'm really glad you and others liked my cringey fanfiction! It definitely surprised me and had me smiling ear to ear!

I hope you don't mind I kinda winged it with Oleander's character. I thought she kinda gave off the vibes of a tomboy/tomboy in her youth while also the vibes of the "determined doctor" trope. Hopefully this doesn't clash with your actual ideas for her? I love the idea too of her being a dorky cat lady too lol.

I seriously loved the details you made about Calamari! I thought it'd be funny if her teleporting power also let her travel dimensions for funsies, because imagine all of the mischief she could cause! Especially if she likes to steal Bill and Ford's stuff the most lmaoo.)

I LOVE cat mom Oleander!! And Calamari stealing stuff from other universes? PERFECT. I DEEPLY hope she steals things from other AU Fords!

And, Ford. Honey. Baby. Calamari isn't the reason you lost the cat show.

(I think I'll call this ask fiction! I'll put these in that tag, for those who want to find them again!! c: )

[a-god-in-crime-alley]

Ok, so this is how I think it would work and I feel like you’re looking at this from the perspective that Danny is still a teenager. If he’s Ghost King (as the prompt says) than it’s already a huge stray from DP canon, anyway. But let me lay out some possibilities real quick.

I actually imagine Danny is probably in his 20s here, at the youngest. I doubt anyone would let him be Acting King before he’s as least an adult by the Living’s standards. Let’s say, Mid 20s. Give him some time to have Been King for a few years.

In old fashioned monarchies it’s possible for a high enough ranking person in a group to represent that group to petition a ruling monarch. In this case, a respected enough ghost can represent the Jokers victims.

If we break it down into a trial:

The Jokers victims are the “Witnesses”

The Representative is the “Prosecutor”

There would probably be someone high ranked in the Zone that doesn’t think they should Interfere with any of the Livings problems. So there’s our “Defense” who is only tangentially representing Joker.

With the Ghost King, Danny, acting as Judge. He may make a Jury of council members. Older ghost that he trusts. But ultimately, the final decision will have to come from Danny.

As for why Danny would be the one to hunt down Joker himself? Can you honestly say he would let one of the Ghost out to do so? The only ones I can see would be Fright Knight or Skullker and both a pretty intense and not really concerned with collateral damage. Plus, the need to keep his people safe from possible harm.

Danny being willing to kill also would make sense for the Joker Specifically. His numerous unsanctioned resurrections would be a violation of the balance between life and death. With his many murderus act being seen as overcompensating and Increasing the imbalance by the forces of the universe.

Even without Jokers victims coming forward to seek justice, Death of the Endless would probably ask Danny to solve the issue. Death would probably be considered the God of the Infinite Realms. As a primordial. And I actually think the Realms would be within her own domain, so Danny would still be the highest power Within the Realms but Death is still above him.

Plus, an older Danny that’s been steeped in Ghost Politics for a few years would have learned very quickly that death isn’t a big deal for them. Those that have died and resurrected have a higher chance of becoming ghost, so death isn’t really The End for them.

Especially for the Joker because he’s died and come back so often. He’s not a normal human anymore. The normal rules don’t apply. Joker doesn’t have anyone who will actually miss him either. No one to truly mourn him.

The most mourning anyone would be doing is Batman. Mourning the fact Joker never changed despite the many chances he had. And that’s not really mourning Him, just who he could have been.

So, really, wouldn’t it make sense for Danny to be the one to handle it. He would be somewhat desensitized to what death means for mortals, and Joker would be on his radar because a large group of his citizens (his people, his responsibility) would have brought him to his attention.

DPxDC Legal Power

Batman: You can not punish the Joker

Batman: You are no judge, jury, and executioner

Danny Fenton, standing over Joker's beaten body: Actually, I am

Danny Fenton, raising the Creep Stick up: I am the High King of Infinite Realms, and this bitch has been resurrected more than once

Danny Fenton, smacking Joker like a piñata: With the use of a pool of some nasty smelling ecto, mind you, but it puts him under my jurisdiction nonetheless

Danny Fenton, smiling at Batman as Joker is wheezing and trying to crawl away: So I am the judge, jury, and executioner for him since I'm the highest power in a Realm where he is a denizen

Danny Fenton, catching the Joker by the ankle and dragging him back: And as the King, I hereby sentence him to death by a repetitive use of The Creep Stick over his whole body

Batman: ...

Red Hood, with a bowl of popcorn: Do you mind switching The Creep Stick for a crowbar?

[leupagus]

I've seen a number of posts claiming that Rebecca choosing to stay on Boat Guy's houseboat was "incredibly stupid" or "wildly unsafe" or other such descriptors. Everyone's perspectives are valid; I certainly understand that individual people would not want to stay there in that situation, and don't get why Rebecca did.

That being said, I really disagree with the posts that think she should have left or that she was in danger. Even putting aside that this is a television show and not real life, Rebecca, had she been a real person, did not have a "death wish" merely by remaining on board and spending time with Boat Guy.

Boat Guy was clearly interested in Rebecca, even before she fell into the canal — after all, he tries to warn her about being in the bike lane first by whistling at her and then saying she's a beautiful woman. He's smitten right from the jump! And during the scenes they have together, we see him make a number of passes at her. This is a guy who saw Rebecca and thought "ooh yes please."

But that does not make him unsafe, nor does it make any of his actions "creepy," "gross," or "red flags." What it makes him is a middle-aged man speaking as an equal to a middle-aged woman, who is similarly showing sexual interest in him. And who doesn't feel the need to pretend he doesn't find her gorgeous and compelling and sexy, which again, is not a bad thing!

I suspect a lot of the folks framing this guy as predatory just... don't have a lot of personal experience of being a 40-something woman flirting with a 40-something man. And I can say, from personal experience, that it's really fucking nice to see that dynamic between them.

Because I would've stayed on that boat, you'd better believe.

[justashadetalkative]

Status

Alright yeah the crash has hit. I've been thoroughly puddled this weekend.

Bright side is that it means I'm finally putting my foot down with myself and proactively doing some stuff that should help my mood (and abysmal sleep schedule) once I've been doing them for a bit, but in the mean time, I expect to be MIA for at least the next few days; maybe a week.

Sorry to folk I've just been starting stuff with! I promise I'll be back. o7

[slavhew]

im doing a drawtober of characters i think of through the day and will post in batches. day 3 solo because its already been derailed and todays blorbo is immunochemistry.

[nemmet]

question: how did you discover/get into scooby doo?

this is something i'm always so interested to hear, being that there are few people who don't have at least some small tie to the franchise. whether you would consider it one of your biggest current interests or it's just something nostalgic from your childhood, i'd love to know how you found scooby and what it means to you!

[crystallineconflict]

sucrose guardian grinnaux... aka modern au (by temporoyales !)

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

i've been thinking about this one again a LOT so:

Eddie never said anything about the letters.

Not that Wayne wanted him to, just a fact of the matter.

And consequently, Wayne forgot about them until about five years later.

He's older now, so's Eddie. Along with the added years of experience came the fame. The billboards, the charts, the money, all that good stuff.

His nephew, no, his son was thriving, loving every minute. One album under his belt and another on it's way.

The final show of this tour wound up in Indianapolis, so Wayne made the trek north to see Eddie for the first time in about three years at that point, getting ushered back stage as soon as his ticket was scanned ("You ain't payin' for shit, boy. Lemme support you how I can.").

"Right through here, Mr. Munson." The stagehand gestures him forward through a door and he's immediately accosted by a flying head of curls.

"Jesus Christ Ed, I ain't as spry as a use'ta be!" he complains, grabbing the kid up in a hug.

"I know," he says over Wayne's shoulder, "Jeff only just convinced me not to jump."

"And for that, I thank 'im." Wayne lets him go, looking around the room. "Nice place y'got here. A bit small, but it's nice."

Eddie rolls his eyes, "Ha Ha Ha."

They spend a good half hour catching up on things, then, after the same stagehand gives them the "Five minutes Mr. Munson." warning, Wayne finds himself in the wings in front of an absolutely jam-packed stadium.

Now he loves his nephew, don't get him wrong, but his music was never much Wayne's speed. Charlie Daniels, Dolly, Clarence Clearwater? absolutely. Eddie's deafening guitar and pyrotechnics? ... well, he loves the kid...

All this to say that even knowing how well Eddie's done for himself now, how well his album sold, how many people are here, it surprises the hell outta him when the entirety of the sold out show screams for an encore Eddie says "isn't like anything you just heard, but it's pretty important to me if you care to stay."

Jeff comes off the stage, gestures for Wayne to take off his construction-grade noise cancelling headphones, and says "You'll wanna hear this one."

Wayne shrugs, passes the headphones to the first person that reaches for them, then turns his attention back to the stage as Eddie gets comfortable on a stool without his beloved sweetheart.

"Yeah, I know right? Far cry from my baby, huh?" he laughs, showing off the acoustic in his arms to the whole place.

It's only when he shows the thing to Wayne's side of the throng that he can see the flash of white on the black face.

It's his acoustic. His as in Wayne's before, his as in it's Eddie's now, the one that's had 'This machine slays dragons' scrawled onto it for a couple decades now at this point.

Wayne's heart swells at the sight.

"Now, like I said, this is nowhere near the show you came for, but I've got a special someone here tonight and this song is for them." Teasing oohs and wolf whistles sound across the crowd as Eddie nods, "Mmhm, mhmm, that's correct, my Uncle's here tonight."

The gathered masses howl with laughter at that and Wayne can't help but join in.

"So, to preface this, I left home with a stick up my ass about how no one understood me in my tiny hometown, not that far from here, actually, and my dear Uncle Wayne just nodded at me, let me bitch and complain, and said 'See ya.'."

More laughter echoes up at him.

"Come to find out, he'd been saving me money for years before that, for just such an occasion. Do you wanna know when I found this out?" he nods sagely at the noisy response, "Yep, correct, I found out a month ago when I finally went through that one box that'd been haunting the back of my closet."

Eddie looks back to where Wayne is standing out of sight, "You couldn't have said something? There was a whole grand in that envelope!"

He grins as the crowd jeers and playfully boos along with Eddie, then just shrugs at his nephew.

Eddie rolls his head around as he turns back to the crowd. "Anyway, Wayne, this one's for you."

To say the song was not at all what Wayne expected would be an understatement. The one of the century.

He expected a few alternating chords and more jokes on his behalf that he'd have to rib Eddie for later or something of the sort.

No chance in hell he'd ever expect this.

Nor did he think he'd get all misty-eyed.

Wayne recognizes some of the things he'd written into the letters, some things he's sure he'd told Eddie in the first couple years of him living with him...

When the song is over, the people there for his nephew cheer sky high for him. Chant Wayne's name until he makes his appearance, striding out under the lights to hug his son in front of everyone else who loves him.

(and then eddie sends him all the copies of the magazines and papers the picture of them hugging on stage in front of thousands gets printed in. the one that makes it into a frame and onto the wall, however, is a clipping that says Eddie Munson plays heartfelt ballad for his Uncle, Wayne Munson, who (according to one fan present at the show) "looks exactly like I thought he would.".)

more munsons | my ko-fi | my other works

you're gonna go far

eddie & wayne picture fic based on this post

(long post ahead, but bear with me)

4/10/1984 Eddie,  I’m starting this letter after you came home with the letter from the school saying you’re not graduating this year.  I could tell you didn’t believe me when I told you it’ll be alright, that it’ll all work out in the end. That it did for me when I had the same talk with my pa.. but you eventually stepped back from the edge, I think, you’re in your room now. There was something else there too, which is really why I'm writing this now. You have the same look in your eye that I saw in my own reflection long before I got drafted, the look I saw in your dad’s when Lizzie told us she was pregnant.  You’re already planning your escape.  And I won’t hold it against you when you do kick rocks, I just pray you give me a little warning so I can say goodbye. And I ain’t a praying man. I’m tucking away some cash with this for when you go. Don’t have much, but I have you. And I wanna make sure you have the best start you possibly can.

10/11/1984 It’s been rough for you again. Working at Merrill’s has been good for you. Getting fresh air, sunshine, shit, even your gangly noodles you call arms are looking less noodley. But they just sent you home early today.. something wrong with the crop and they won’t need the extra hands this season. That, starting school again, even Ronnie leaving last week.. I know you two kids were close. You ain’t even getting all excited for halloween! Adding some more cash for you, little more than I could last time.  Just hang in there kiddo. 

6/5/1985 I think you think you don’t know, and I’m willing to let you pretend for a little while longer, but shit, Eddie, you think I wouldn’t know when graduation was supposed to be just because you weren’t the one to tell me? You know I won’t be mad at you. If you don’t say anything for another week, I will. 6/7/1985 - There it is.

7/22/1985 I was able to talk you down again that night, and you ‘re getting back to your old self again. I still can’t believe you had your whole room all packed up like that. I’ll give ya that speech all over again as many times as you need, but I’ll write it down here for you: You’re gonna go far, Eddie. You’re gonna tear outta here next year and you’re gonna knock ‘em all dead. You are so talented, you are much more than any of us Munsons have ever been or will ever be, and you’re gonna be the biggest star in the world. You mark my words. And I know you’re gonna fight leavin’ when the time comes, thinking you need to take care of me or some crap but I promise you: The birds’ll still sing, the trailer will still creak, the leaves will die and fall like they do every year, but I’ll be here whenever you need to come back. I’ll be here as long as you need. If that’s forever, so be it.

8/15/1985 I’m taking you up north this weekend. Just to get away, y’know? Before your LAST senior year starts. Might be cutting it a little close on funds, happens when you’re trying to survive, but we’re overdue for a change of scenery. We ain’t living just to die. Only a little going in this time, but I’ll be damned if I don’t add something along with a new note.

10/5/1986 Been a while since I added to this, huh? Well, it’s finally happening. You are leaving tomorrow and boy did you make a stink before you did. Went on a whole tirade about needing to get out of this damn town, about not being able to get anywhere when everyone except me is against you. I wanted to point out that you’ve got your band guys and that Harrington boy in your corner too, but I didn't think you’d like me interrupting your whole big speech about who it is you love and being queer and all that with a “Yeah. I know. You and Steve make moon-eyes at each other all the damn time.” I’ll make sure to pass on your info to him when I get it. He doesn’t seem like one to hold a grudge (or at least not hold it long), so I'm sure he’ll be the first in line to greet you the next time you find yourself in our neck of the woods. Those kids’ll miss you too y’know. They’ll be college age before you know it. I’m gonna pack up this envelope and stash it in your stuff somewhere I know you’ll find it again. so you can find it when you need it. Can’t believe I managed to save you close to a grand. Not enough by a long shot, but it’ll help ya for a while. Been saving for a years now, y’know..  Now Eddie. I told you all this last year, and just now before you slunk off to bed, but here it is again, just in case you need to hear it: - I’m proud of you. - I love you more than you’ll know. - You love whoever it is you want to love (as long as i’m on that list somewhere) - I’m glad you’re getting out of here when you can. And I’ll continue to be glad that you did even when things get hard. When I’m doing all the chores around here myself, when I go visit Al in county even though I know all we’re gonna do is fight… I’ll be so grateful you’re making your own way in the world far from here. I’m not angry at you, Teddy. But you’ll be the greatest thing I’ve lost. I’ll always be here if you need me. Wayne

some notes!

-i hc wayne as a military man ofc and bc of that, my own sloppy, all caps, post military handwriting is perfect for him!

-i like to think eddie thinks he's slick and wayne didn't know he liked boys until he was about to leave but wayne knows. of course he knows. al told him why he kicked eddie out, wayne just didn't think it was his place to bring it up before eddie did.

-didn't think too much farther after this, but let's just say that steddie happens when eddie comes back to hawkins in a couple years when the shitheads graduate.

[drivemysoul]

can i have one thing go right for me this year. just. please. without anything ruining it. please. just one thing.

[starlooove]

Do ppl genuinely think jinx blew up the council for the liberation of zaun

[loumauve]

I snapped today at work, and by snapped I mean I politely commented on a help desk ticket by summing up an mess of an (type of) issue that's come up for at least the fourth time in the 2+ months I've been managing user accounts, and asked the person responsible to fix it (himself for once) because last time I fixed his mess-up it took me two whole days to work out the details with at least four other colleagues from different departments and I really don't want to do it again. there's other shit that needs doing, I've been working 10+ hour days for most of this week already, so I need to cut down not add on more.

(good thing tho - at least we managed to fix the issue where the dataset of a newer employee got mixed up with another one of the same name and therefore wasn't able to apply for any of the access/accounts she needed. technically not entirely my area but it does impact us not being allowed to create an account for her so I figured I might as well track that issue down. took three days and at least three other people, but hey - it should all work out now. yay for that)

[starkidlabs]

Kinda hate how weird men can ruin you passion for something.

[houl-eater]

i am perfectly capable of hurting people and being insufferable. i realize this. and it doesnt make me an inherently bad person, it makes me just like everyone else.