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jo-harrington · 2 years ago

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Lei, my friend! What a lovely Chapter and as we get into a new...sort of "Volume" of this story, I am so excited for the slight changes in theme as we go from fear and shame and almost (or maybe definitely) self loathing (and trauma sorry but that's also always gonna be there)...to more lighter and fluffier and more romantic themes.

This chapter...omg delivered. I am screaming. The imagery the...the everything. And the analyses that I sort of always do...since we're kind of at the beginning of that new volume I think...I'm not gonna go as in-depth as I usually do, just know that this chapter...did something to my heart and kind of healed a little thing with the absolute softness and intimacy that I didn't know I needed.

My favorite lines:

It was subtle, as all things were in your relationship with Eddie Munson, but ever since some force beyond yourself possessed you to utter even the barest inkling of your feelings, he was bolder. YES yes Eddie, feel empowered. You both are in it now. You're in it together.

“You think so?” There was a whisper of pink in his cheeks. “Oh yeah, absolutely,” you said breathlessly. Then he did something he hadn’t done before — he put his arm around the back of your chair. THE IMAGERY OF THIS?! LEI WHEN I TELL YOU I DIED. I can just see his face in my minds eye. And her amorphous face like OMG.

But when his warm thumb rubbed circles over your icy knuckles, slow and deliberate, soothing and caring, the sounds got muffled. Ok do you know what scene flashed in my head when this happened? It isn't even the same thing but it had the same...sense of urgency and intimacy. In North and South (BBC 2005? with my ex husband Richard Armitage) John and Margaret are at the train station and they're talking and everything and John just takes her hand in his...and then she kisses his knuckles because all of her worries have faded because of him like THIS FUCKING...IF THEY WERE NOT IN THE CLASSROOM...SHE COULD LIKE...ACTUALLY RECIPROCATE THE CARE AND COMFORT BECAUSE ITS HIS SIMPLE TOUCH THAT MADE THE DANGER AND REALITY GO AWAY AND I AM DYING.

Eddie noodled out a mindless melody. “I dunno I’m thinking War Pigs.” Because R liked War Pigs!!!

But he did know what he wanted. Not necessarily this line specifically but the lead up to it and then including it. Like oh baby boyyyyyy...when you know you know. And I just love that all consuming-ness of it all.

The last 3 lines specifically...babe this was gorgeous. Yes we're going after what we want now. That's how it should be in life. And it always seems to work out for so many people, that what they want and what they should do are aligned. But sometimes it doesn't and it feels wrong to want what you want. I'd like to think...even if R came back to Hawkins and Eddie just happened to still be there working someplace and they came together...it would be just as powerful for them both but they'd be allowed to be together and this would have been so easy. But the...risk makes it that much more powerful that they know they want and need one another but it's going to take a lot of willpower to get there.

Congratulations on this absolutely powerful chapter my friend. Ugh, again I know every time you sit down and write you are kind of second guessing yourself a little. Don't. Seriously, even if you came out with a half-trash chapter (to you) it would still be a masterpiece to us. This story is such a masterpiece as a whole, and I know we're not even halfway done yet.

Thank you thank you so much for writing it. <3

Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 10

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 10/? 4.6k. Series Masterlist

✏︎ Progress report — subtle strides in secret and deals not forgotten.

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Series CW: forbidden romance, slow burn, true love, smut (18+ mdni), internal conflict, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)

Chapter warnings: flirting, rule breaking, mild exploration through touch, cheating mention

Monday, November 11th 1985

The fog was lifting in you.

You could tell when the laundry beckoned to be folded after weeks of neglect. When the act of folding it was something you wanted to do.

When the boxes that had become part of the scenery in your living room suddenly seemed like they didn’t belong there. When you wanted to cook more than just things you could put in a microwave.

You would wake up on the weekend and ask yourself what you wanted to do with the little free time you had in the space between the chores, and the errands, and the papers you had to grade. You would ask yourself what records you wanted to listen to instead of just turning on the radio to fill the space with noise. Instead of exhausting them all without consideration.

You had been asking yourself a lot of questions over the last two weeks. The loudest of them all — What am I doing?

You would ask yourself this question every morning as you brushed on your makeup and felt more beautiful than you could remember, even since before your life came crashing down this summer.

You would ask yourself again as you sifted through your closet, as the hangers screeched against the metal pole to dig out a dress from the back that you hadn’t worn in ages. Cream colored linen, tea length, with short puff sleeves, a square neckline, and buttons down the front. It tapered at the banded waist and flowed outward in an A line.

The question would rattle like a pinball in your mind as you stamped your punch card in the main office. As the receptionist complimented the dress that you had on.

It would sit like a weight in your stomach as you made small talk with the other teachers. As you sat in one of the old scratchy chairs in the teachers’ lounge that suddenly bothered you less and opened the lunch you found the energy to pack again.

It would echo in your thoughts like the clicking of your footsteps down the hallway.

What am I doing?

It was a question you didn’t know the answer to.

All you knew was when the wind caught your dress from the haste you made toward your classroom, the smile you stole from him as you passed brought silence to it. That the way he looked at you made all noise, all else, cease. That it made you feel as timeless as he said you were.

There was a change in him too. It was subtle, as all things were in your relationship with Eddie Munson, but ever since some force beyond yourself possessed you to utter even the barest inkling of your feelings, he was bolder.

He would sit very close to you, oftentimes with his shoulder angled behind you. An action equally as thrilling as it was terrifying. He had done this before on a few prior occasions but never like this. Never for this long.

He always took his jacket off so you could feel his arm graze against yours as he reached to turn a page or grab a pencil.

He would do these things so often that there was a quiet, secret part of you that wondered whether it was time to rearrange your classroom so that your desk was out of sight of the doorway. You shot the thought down the moment it intruded. As long as the desk was within eyeshot, you could ration that the possibility of being seen would hold you both accountable and encourage good behavior. That was what you told yourself anyway.

The problem was that Eddie Munson wasn’t that concerned with good behavior.

Every time he sat beside you, your eyes, in the closeness of his proximity, would find another feature to admire.

Today it was the rips in his jeans. The way you could see his skin straining against the slits in the fabric. How your eyes could gather the strong angles of his kneecaps and for some reason, this was doing things to you. You would steal glances at them, down and to your right, as he leaned forward in his seat next to you.

It was always next to you. It had been for the past two weeks.

He pointed at a drawing of a humanoid demon looking creature with horns and a tail in the monster manual laid out in front of you on top of his history textbook.

“So this is the tiefling race, which is what I played years ago before I took over as DM. I was a tiefling bard, which is like a sort of, uh, musician spellcaster.”

That was another change — how frequently he would get off topic, and how often you would let him.

“Very true to life then,” you said with a little chuckle.

His lips curled into a hardened smirk to smother a blinding grin.

“You think so?” There was a whisper of pink in his cheeks.

“Oh yeah, absolutely,” you said breathlessly.

Then he did something he hadn’t done before — he put his arm around the back of your chair.

The animal inside you preened.

Heart racing, you turned your head ever so slightly, allowing your eyes to trace the barely there stubble that peppered his jaw before they wandered to his lips — soft, broad, and still smirking. You were close enough to feel the delicate hairs that strayed from his wild curls brush your cheek. Close enough to feel the warmth radiate from his arm against the linen of your back, like a bubble of protection, or some other magic found in the pages sprawled out before you.

It was hard to think of anything else but you managed. “What do you think I would play?”

“Mmm.” His hum was a warm vibration at your ear. It sent a ripple to your core. Ringed fingers drummed against the back of your seat. “Well, an elf, obviously,” he chuckled. “As for class, let’s see…”

You could feel the weight of his eyes on you, scanning you as the gears turned in his head. It was quiet in the room, and in the hallway. Quiet enough to hear your heartbeat in your ears. You wondered if he could too.

“See I wanna say wizard because they get their magic from reading books, but…”

You raised your eyebrows playfully. “But?”

“I think you’re more of a healing type."

“Oh yeah?” Your soft chuckle filled the silence and you allowed yourself, for just a moment, to relax a little bit. To lean into the warmth of his strong shoulder, enveloped in the safety of the secret you both shared. You could catch his scent from this position more than ever. The warm musk emanating from under his arm. The whisper of shampoo and cigarettes. That soft, indescribable scent of his skin. It almost made you dizzy.

“Yeah, like a cleric, only they get their power from worshiping deities and… I don’t know if that’s really you either.”

You hummed. “Where do you think I get my power from then?”

His voice was soft but certain when he answered. “Within.”

Flutters — straight to your core.

“Maybe that makes you more of a sorcerer then,” he pondered, tipping his head towards you. His breath feathered your cheeks, lids heavy over deep chocolate eyes.

You met them with a breathy chuckle, feeling so girlish all of a sudden. As if suddenly you were not behind the big desk, but a much smaller one.

The pads of his fingers brushed your arm. So delicately that at first you thought it was just a consequence of their proximity, but when they began to trace tentative, tickling circles, it was evidently intentional.

You swallowed, your skin beneath his touch like a livewire. Every delicate hair on your arm picking up on the movements of his calloused pads, amplifying them like a radio signal straight to the animal part of you.

He held you in his gaze, eyes wide like a question. But when the corners of your mouth gave way, gave their soft permission, the corners of his did as well. As did the corners of his eyes, crinkling in that way you loved so much.

His fingers got braver. The circles widened into strokes. His thumb got involved. Still, you could feel his heart pounding into your shoulder. Feel the nerves emanating from under his touch. Feel the want, the care, the ache, the frustration.

It might have been seconds. Minutes. A small, stolen eternity.

Until a voice echoed in the hallway. Suddenly there was that question again — triggered like a pinball machine, loud and intrusive as it rattled in your mind. Your eyes shot towards the door. His followed.

Eddie took his arm away, and you wondered if the strangled whine that left your chest was audible to him too.

Silence prickled the space between you, ears attuned to the noise coming closer. Eddie’s eyes were fixed on the door, his strong brows furrowed in what you could only interpret as annoyance. The voices grew louder, then passed, fading into distant echos.

The footsteps left behind an ache. Palpable, pervasive. Eddie sighed and looked at you, to which you could only respond with a resigned huff of your own. You must have looked as pitiful as you felt, because what he did next took you by surprise. It always did, even if this time it was something he had done before.

He reached under the desk and grabbed your hand.

It didn’t matter that he’d held your hand before. It didn’t matter even if he’d held it a hundred times. Your heart still leapt in your chest. The pinballs still fired off inside your head with lights and sound effects.

But when his warm thumb rubbed circles over your icy knuckles, slow and deliberate, soothing and caring, the sounds got muffled. The flashing dimmed. Until there was nothing but a landscape of bones, and tendons, and the meat of his soft palm. Nothing but the valleys of the space between his fingers when they ventured further than they had ever gone before — in the spaces between yours.

Your back might have arched. Your eyes might have rolled back into your head if you hadn’t closed them so quickly. You wouldn’t know because the only thing you were aware of anymore was the velvet interior of the space between Eddie’s fingers. How they filled the space between yours in a warm, comfortable stretch.

There was a line and both of you had crossed it. Held hands and jumped over it like a broom. You knew it, he knew it. There was no going back. And knowing this, there was another question you had been asking yourself for the past two weeks — how far would you go?

Would it stop at holding hands? Eddie wasn’t exactly the patient type. You’d spent enough time with him to know that much.

You opened your eyes to the classroom. Your classroom. To the rows of desks lined up like soldiers. To the chalkboards, and bulletin boards, and concrete walls. To the big desk in front of you. To the open door.

Pinballs again. Ricocheting like thunder. Your pulse in your ears, your stomach in your seat.

You glanced down at your hands intertwined, hidden from sight in the shadow of the large, looming desk. You admired how the heel of his hand cradled yours. How perfectly they fit together. The way your forearm rested against his, warm and soft. How secure it made you feel. There was a tug in your heart, deep and thrumming. You squeezed his hand for one more precious second… and let it go.

“I— I think we should, um,” you swallowed and gingerly shut the monster manual. The ache was back, shooting through your chest like daggers.

Eddie looked at you, the loss of your hand palpable in the subtle pain of his expression. “Right,” he said plainly. There was a knowing there too, an understanding that replaced it more quickly than you expected.

He scratched behind his neck with the hand you could still feel the ghost of. “So it’s uh, progress report day.” You could tell by the look in his eyes that he was going somewhere with this.

You raised your eyebrows. “I’m well aware.”

He tipped his head towards you. “I believe we had an agreement.”

“Oh?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Remind me.”

Eddie reached into the pocket of the jacket that hung on his seat and procured a paper folded into thirds. “You told me that if I got a B in any of my classes that you would let me read one of your stories.”

Your eyes widened. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

He squinted smugly. “You did.”

You glanced toward your grading binder on the upper lefthand corner of the desk and grabbed it, “If I’m not mistaken though, you have B- in my class,” you said, thumbing through the pages to find fourth period. “Yeah, see?” you pointed to it. “Technically not a B, all those missed assignments from September still count I’m afraid,” your voice was playful.

Eddie’s mouth curled into mischievous little grin as he opened the paper in his hands, “Oh I’m not talking about your class. I believe the agreement was for one class. Any of my classes.” He pointed to a line on the page. “I got a B in shop class.”

You leaned closer, honing in on the clearly printed B above his finger. “It’s — it’s still not the final report, just a progress report.”

“It’s still an official report,” he said smugly.

It was almost as if he could see the gears turning in your head, the dread setting into your features.

“See, I’ve kept the promises I’ve made so far,” he brought a hand to his chest, “I think it’s only fair that you make good on yours,” he said, squinting again.

You sighed. “Fine. I’ll bring it in on Wednesday. But… it’s— it’s not totally finished. There’s still quite a bit of editing that needs to be done and—“

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. More than fine. Captivating, actually, if it’s anything like the author.” His smile was tinted with childish excitement. His eyes with a warmth made you shiver.

You tucked your hair behind your ear to distract from the heat creeping into your cheeks. “It’s been forever since I’ve even looked at it to be honest. Years actually.”

“Glad to give you an excuse then.”

______

It was a typical Tuesday night.

A typical night of the flimsy windows in Gareth’s tidy garage trembling at the raw, unhinged, cranked-up-to-eleven power of Corroded Coffin.

“Hand of Doom” was cleaning up nicely. Dave’s bassline was solid. Gareth’s drums were neat and timely. Jeff was nailing the chord progression. Eddie’s vocals were well equipped to handle Ozzy’s range.

You’re having a good time baby

But that won’t last

Your mind’s all full of things

You’re living too fast

Go out and enjoy yourself

Don’t bottle it in

You need someone to help you

Stick the needle in

There was a perfect balance of space for his vocals to breathe over the walking bassline, then crescendo into pure instrumental power.

A power he could feel as he attacked the strings. An agency at his fingertips as they tapped out a howling melody over the chugging chords laid out for him by Jeff and Dave, over Gareth’s thundering kick drum.

A power that could sweep him up and away, carry him far from the crushing weight of the stares of his classmates, far from the looks of disappointment on the faces of the other teachers, far from the heaviness of his feelings.

Swept away in a wave of sound, there was only space in his hindbrain for the patterns his fingers made on the fretboard. For his breath to leave his chest in wailing song.

The last chord of rung out through Gareth’s garage with a thunderous rattle.

All four of them looked at each other with smiles and nods. Gareth banged out an extra drum fill. Jeff chugged out approving strums.

They were ready to take it to the Hideout.

“Nice work, gentleman,” Eddie shouted into the mic, met with whoops and hollers. “I think we’re ready for another, whaddya say, boys?”

More hollers and drum fills.

“How ‘bout Ace of Spades?” offered Jeff.

“No, Symphony of Destruction,” countered Gareth.

Eddie noodled out a mindless melody. “I dunno I’m thinking War Pigs.”

Dave rolled his eyes. “We just did Sabbath, dude.”

“Yeah, we just did Sabbath well,” Eddie pressed.

“Why don’t we do something different, like a Rush song or something?” suggested Dave.

Gareth snorted. “Rush isn’t metal. We’re a metal band, dude.”

Dave rolled his eyes. “Whatever, you couldn’t handle a Rush song anyway.”

“Could too, asswipe. You know what, yeah, let’s do Rush. I wanna see those fat fingers of yours fingers of yours find their way around the bassline,” Gareth laughed.

“Shut up!” Eddie hollered. “Everyone just think about it and we can vote on Saturday. We’ve got like half an hour before we’ve gotta leave anyway.”

“I can’t Saturday, remember? Me and Cindy are going to a movie.”

A low ooh emanated from the guys.

“What ‘cha end up picking?” asked Jeff.

“Back to the Future. Cindy still hasn’t seen it.”

Dave balked. “Seriously? Does she live under a rock? It’s been out since like, July, dude.”

Gareth rolled his eyes. “Yeah, seriously. Cindy doesn’t go to a lot of movies, she’s into like… books and stuff,” he said, a touch of pride colored his voice.

“Ooh so cultured,” Dave taunted.

“Dude shut up, you’re just jealous ‘cause I have a date. I feel like that’s a good one though, right? I mean it’s got action and a sorta romance but it’s not too serious?”

Jeff shrugged, “Yeah I dunno, do girls like those kinds of movies?”

Gareth gave a puff of air through his nose. “Depends on the girl, they don’t have a hivemind, Jeff.”

Dave snorted. “Like you know anything about girls.”

“More than you!”

Dave rolled his eyes. “You got one date you haven’t even been on yet — doesn’t make you an expert.”

That’s when three of them turned to look at Eddie.

Eddie glanced around nervously, “What?”

“You’ve like… been with girls before, right?” asked Jeff.

Eddie scratched the back of his neck, “Uh, yeah.”

Truthfully, Eddie would hardly consider himself an expert on women. But in a garage full of virgins, his few summer flings would render him one by default.

“Yeah, haven’t you like,” Dave raised his eyebrows suggestively, “Done it?” He gestured with his hands, his index finger moving in and out of the circle he made with his other.

The boys erupted in wheezing cackles.

Eddie snorted. “Yeah I’ve done it,” he said, heat creeping up his neck.

“Ok then, so like, what should Gareth do on his date?” asked Jeff.

“Yeah what should Gareth do to… you know,” Dave chuckled lewdly.

Gareth scoffed. “Dude I’m not trying to score on the first date. Cindy’s not like that. Besides, I’m not a total sleazeball.”

By Gareth’s definition, Eddie certainly would be. He could count the number of actual dates he’d had on less than one hand. The number of girls he’d slept with on about the same. Actually, it was rare that a date coincided. There was the girl he met at a carnival the summer he turned 17. That was short-lived. Then there was another girl who spent July with her grandma at the trailer park. He was 19 then. They would fool around in the woods outside of Forest Hills before she moved on too. That winter he would meet another at the Hideout, just passing though. She never even called him back. Could he really consider any of them dates?

The boys quarreled amongst themselves and Eddie found his thoughts drifting as they always did — to you. The truth was he had no idea what he was doing. What he did know was how good it felt to be next to you. To touch you. To hear your thoughts on anything at all. To lace his fingers between yours and watch the sigh as it left your body. To pretend that you were his for one stolen moment.

What he did know was that he wanted to take you on a date. Like a real, proper date. He wanted to buy you flowers and open doors for you. He wanted to sit down across from you over dinner, to see your smile in a candlelit glow, to pay for it at the end.

What he did know was that he’d never felt this way about anyone before. What he also knew was that he could do absolutely none of these things with you in public.

But he did know what he wanted.

“I dunno, man. Just like, buy her a ticket, get her some popcorn, be a real person,” Eddie offered finally.

“And get a spot in the back of the theater so you can —” Dave turned around, moving his hands up and down his body like he was making out with his bass.

Gareth threw a drumstick at him.

______

It was a typical Tuesday night.

A typical night of coming home later than you wanted after a pointless faculty meeting.

The breath you took in the crisp air outside the door to your apartment was deep and ragged as you turned the key. You could still feel the tacky chalk on your fingers as you pressed open the door. The echos of the questions you would answer over and over to raised hands still ringing in your mind. The adrenaline still coursing through your chest, tight and constricting. The mask that still weighed heavy on your face.

You shut the door behind you and removed your boots, and the mask.

The sun was going down already. Dim and quiet. Not a single sound for your tired voice to fight anymore.

It was nothing like your house in Indianapolis, the old craftsman bungalow that you had loved so dearly. A real house with character and charm. A kitchen with a big gas stove, and a dishwasher, and actual counter space. A dining room with a table big enough to host Thanksgiving.

It was a place would never have been able to afford on your own. Not on your meager teaching salary. Not in a city like that.

You might have been able to afford something small here in Hawkins, if you’d saved for it long enough. One of those little one-story shoebox homes built in the 50s near the neighborhood you grew up in. But buying a house just felt so permanent.

You hung your keys on the hook by the door. There was no character in the plain white walls of the entryway. None you could gather in the hall leading past the nook of your kitchen into the wood paneled confines of your living room. No space for a dining room table.

But the carpet still cradled your aching feet. There were still your records, and posters, and television exactly where you left them. There were still your books overflowing on the meager shelves you were able to squeeze into your bedroom. You couldn’t take the built-in craftsman cabinets with you when you moved. There was a lot you couldn’t take with you, and other things you wished you could have left.

There was one box you hadn’t unpacked yet. It was sitting in your closet, pushed back into the corner under summer dresses and winter coats. It was a box you hadn’t even unpacked at your old place in Indianapolis. One of those boxes that traveled with you from place to place ever since you packed your dorm room up for the final time your senior year.

Sliding open the slatted wood door, you reached under the clothing and dragged it out into your bedroom. It was not that big, but it was heavy.

You sat cross-legged on the carpet and hooked your fingers under the cardboard, folded in on itself to keep it shut without tape. It took a good tug to untuck one of the panels. Dust powdered the air as it sprung open.

It was hard to remember the last time you’d opened it, let alone everything that was inside. You sifted through the contents as the memories returned to you.

There were a few notebooks, an old journal, a few Polaroid photos you had forgotten about. Just you and your roommate doing stupid poses, hanging off of the bunk bed you shared like children.

There were many things that were more or less junk. Things that at the time of packing you just couldn’t seem to part with, like an old party hat from your roommate’s 21st birthday — crumpled and creased under the weight of time. You remembered decorating it with her and your other friends at the table in the common room. You all looked ridiculous wearing them on the town, going from bar to bar, your bright colored hats standing out like beacons against the backdrop of the January snow.

There were other things — a few postcards from friends brave enough to study abroad. A folded world map that once hung in the living room of your first apartment, the one you scrounged for with your best friend. In hindsight it was even smaller than the one you had now, and it had two bedrooms. It felt big to you then.

That was before you met Dan.

Before you settled into the craftsman he’d purchased in the historic part of town. Settled into routines and scheduled fancy date nights. Settled into planned family outings and weekends home in Hawkins where he would surprise your mother with news of his promotion at the law firm over dinner. News of the computer he’d purchased for you. News of your engagement.

Before you added more things to the box. Things that didn’t fit into you schedule anymore. Before you’d moved it here.

Before he left behind an ice in you.

There was one thing in the box that you expected to find. It was a black three-ring binder. Unassuming, but most important.

You cracked it open and stared down at the first page of your novel, quietly bracing yourself for the contents. It had been ages since you’d looked at it. You wondered if the years of separation between the you of the present and the you who wrote it would determine whether it was actually any good or not. In your memory it was.

You thumbed through the pages, silently critiquing your choice of verbs, your lack of variety in the dialogue tags, how tangibly painful it was for you to set scenes.

The story was there though. That was the thing that mattered most. The verbs could be changed, better tags could be added, the scenes could be more fleshed out. But the story held water.

Most distinctly of all, you remembered the thrill of writing it. The rush of being flooded with ideas. The hours you would spend in the car that flew by in a vivid daydream on the weekends you visited Hawkins. How every song on the radio seemed to fit the telling of your story.

There was a dreaming taking root in you again. Yesterday. Now. For the past two weeks. You felt it like the rush of wind that caught your dress as you glided down the hallway. The airy softness that pervaded your thoughts and made you want to dance.

You thought about the last time you felt this way.

The last time you did something for you and only you.

The last time you pursued what it was you really wanted.

______

A/N: You didn’t think I was going to leave Chekov’s unfinished novel sitting on the mantle did you?? ;)

A technical note — the tiefling race wasn’t introduced to the game until 1994 but we’re going to ignore that because I think it’s really fitting for Eddie. :)

As always, I deeply appreciate any and all comments -- keyboard smashing, theories, small novels, all of it. Hearing your reactions to my story fuels me in ways that I can only begin to tell you.

Please reblog and help others to find my precious creation! ✨

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#lei <3 #DSSCTM #ULTIMATE FIC REC

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warandpussy · 2 years ago

Note

For the WIP meme may I meet Jongle please and thank you

omggggg my BOYYYYYY i think about him constantly

okay so Jongle is a sort of pseudo-medieval figure, a blend between a classic court jester and a troubadour. he's also hot shit: full errol flynn vibes. he's got a fancy moustache and a recorder and he plays the hottest cansos on it for the court.

there's also a subplot where he is a member of the union of troubadours, trovaires, jongleurs and jesters, but they don't really acheive much because there's too much leftist infighting. the travelling musicians hate the jesters because they think they're corporate hacks; the jesters hate the travelling musicians because they never show up to meetings.

there's a lot of tension between jongle and the king (timothy) because every time the king tries to get him to play at another banquet (because he's obsessed with jongle) (because of how hot and silly he is) jongle is like... but sir my contract says i can only do scheduled overtime if i've been booked 3 weeks in advance -- or the king will try to take him on hunting trips where they share a horse and spend the whole time clutched to one another, and jongle will be like, oh but sir if i'm asked to go on a work outing i've got to have transport provided

it's very silly.

it's GOING to be a romance obviously and i want to finish it soooo badly but i'm in my fallow period and i've barely been writing anything recently.

here's a snippet:

“I just…” the king trailed off. “I just feel like we don’t really know each other.”

Jongle paused. “Your majesty.”

“She’s from France, Jongle. France! I don’t even speak French!”

This was irrelevant, of course, as the queen spoke perfect English. Jongle rubbed the cleaning cloth over the mouthpiece of his recorder and tried to think of something comforting to say. “I’m not an expert, but I’m told that marriage is about communication,” he tried. “Perhaps you could talk to her about her interests. Sir.”

“Pfft,” the king scoffed, reclining in his chair and kicking his feet out. “Pfft! She doesn’t have interests! She just sits in her room and does embroidery. Pfft.”

Jongle did his best to control his expression, and focussed on the task at hand. He pushed the cloth into the hole at the bottom of his recorder. It was completely wet with spit after his performance, and if he let it dry out it would undoubtedly get covered in mould and ruined, as had happened to many of his previous instruments. “Is embroidery an interest? Sir?”

“How would I know,” the king said sullenly. “Women.” He jerked up. “You must be a hit with women, Jongle –”

“I’m really not –”

“– why don’t you talk to her for me?” He frowned. “Of course you are, look at you.”

“What would I talk to her about?” Jongle said desperately. He pulled the cloth out and shoved it in his pocket, dropping his recorder onto a plush velvet pouffe. “I’m just a guy, I’m not even – I mean, I don't really -”

The king interrupted him. “Embroidery. It’s all we have. If you don’t know anything about it, learn. How hard can it be? It's just putting thread in fabric.”

Jongle wilted. “Yes, your majesty.”

“Stop looking so pathetic,” the king said, and nervously tucked his hair behind his ears. “Also, you’re not allowed to use any of this in any of your routines, you hear me?”

“I’m off the clock, sir.”

“Well,” the king blustered. “Alright then,” he said. “Do you want to take off your hat?”

“Thank you, sir,” Jongle said, and took it off with a shimmer of bells. He set it down next to his recorder. Then, for a lack of anything else to do, he sat down.

Carefully, and looking in the opposite direction, the king said, “I think, don’t you, if you’re off the clock, you could probably drop the ‘sir’.”

“I –” Jongle faltered. “Okay. What should I…?”

“Timothy.” The king twisted back to look at him. “Yes?”

“Okay,” Jongle said again. And then, heart pounding, he said it. “Timothy.”

At this, the king’s expression was indecipherable. But then, Jongle thought, I am a rather stupid man.

“And you?” the king asked. “Your name?”

“I am Jongle, son of Jingle,” Jongle said. “I have no other name.”

#jongle #he's my boyyyyyy #ask game #my writing

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ultraviolet-ink · 2 years ago

Note

🌴🌈🍃

Rebecca and Roman!

So Rebecca has an OC intro here. Roman is her Great-Grandson, and also Miles' Maternal Uncle! I'll make an intro for him and my Mom-worth OC later but yeah! :D Rebecca

🌴- Who is this oc's favorite person? Barok, they just GET each other on a certain wavelength, and they know their inside jokes <3 Him or their baby boyyyyyy (his name is Everett <3). Her kid's a pretty aight kid B-)

🌈- What does this oc like and dislike about themselves? She loves her passion and talent for Ballet, it's her LIFE at this point, and she loves how hardworking she is to put her all into her work!

🍃- Describe this oc in one word Musicality- it's a skill that dancers (as well as musicians!) have to really hone in when they're performing a piece! She's just musical in everything she does, even if it's just walking or swaying, there's a certain rhythm to it!

Roman

🌴- Who is this oc's favorite person? Honestly, he is best friends with his baby sister! Even if half the time he's being an annoying big bro XD

🌈- What does this oc like and dislike about themselves? His charming wit and good looks of course, what ELSE? he's total perfection XD Just don't ask him about his self-esteem or how no one takes him seriously because he's the funny/sarcastic guy

🍃- Describe this oc in one word Chaos- He's a chaotic guy, a bit of a hot mess, and the personification of a Mullet Prompts here!

#ask #ask meme #ask game #my ocs #rebecca du maurier #roman van zieks

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productofaritual · 4 months ago

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(Hi me from the future here. You were mostly right. I am now on a quest for cs!Dream's blood. Context below. Enjoy my suffering)

Ok going into it let's see what we got

"Plans to go to dinner" Ok date much??? Marriage much??? He mentions marriage again right I got bingo right

NEOPRONOUNS NIKI LET'S GOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Skirt pog. Compliment pog. Kiss already.

"Realization" Yes. We all know. You're the last one to realize it actually

Gay. Gay. Homosexual. Gay.

Oooh Tubbo's the first one to know about it??? Cool. Predictable. Now for your wedding vows-

DREAM NO. NO. DREAM. YOU MOTHERFUCKER LEAVE HIM BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE NOT NOWWWWWW- oh Tubbo saves the day pog. I'm sure that won't bite Ran in the ass later (me from the future again. I guess it didn't? Maybe in the 'filler' chaps)

OH MY GOD THEY'RE SO FUCKING GAYYYYYYYY also if I got a nickel for every fic that compares Tubbo to the sun from Ranboo's pov, I'd have two nickels because DeTerra. I'm so normal. Let's continue

NOT THE FUCKING QUIZ I'M CACKLING

MY ARO BOYYYYYY your sins of liking chocolate over vanilla are forbidden, welcome to the club, we have cookies

"That was the part I knew you'd love" Is a sentence I read after writing that. Damn u. /pos

The storm. o7 to my mental state let's go

New years pog. Preemptively put Tubbo in rehab overnight I don't think he can handle this

DREAM. Oh what did I say about the ignored call coming to bite him in the ass (once again, guess it didn't?)

Ranboo. My dude. My buddy. My pal. My guy. My fella. My friend. My fellow aspec. DID YOU NOT LEARN A SINGLE THING ABOUT GOING STRANGE PLACES WITH STRANGE PEOPLE WITHOUT INFORMING ANYONE??? YOU'RE JUST ASKING TO BE MURDERED THEY SHOULD'VE TAUGHT YOU THAT AT SOME POINT YOU DOOF

Along with my payments towards Tubbo's rehab, Tubbo's therapy, Ranboo's therapy, and their subsequent wedding, I will also be paying for a fucking hitman to take out Dream because YOU LEAVE MY BOY PANICKING IN A FUCKING HOTEL ROOM. Also real talk for a sec, Ran, buddy, what did I just say about going strange places with strange people. What did I JUST say

"Gets comforted" Dream I will rip out your veins and guts and organs and eyes and chop off your fingers AND HANG THEM AS HALLOWEEN DECORATIONS

Hallucination update: I will not be paying for a hitman. I'LL TAKE THAT MAN OUT MYSELF "KEEP SLEEPING" HOW ABOUT YOU SLEEP FOREVER AND WHATEVER IS LEFT OF YOU AFTER I'M DONE IS BURIED IN MY BACKYARD

All this God talk as an atheist is weirdly funny to me

"Let sleeping comets die" Look I'm no space expert, but I don't think that's how comets work?

"He's wondering where Fundy is" Why did that make me laugh

I'm sure there's imagery and metaphors in that, but I'm also sure I'm shit at metaphors and therefore we will move on

DREEEEEEEEEEAAAAM. Also with the amount of comments Ranboo previously made about dying in a car crash. You're just torturing my poor boy let him be :(

"You're not God you're some delusional kid" Ok he kinda right tho- "you need me" Never mind I'm back to murder and realistic Halloween decor. Might paint the walls red too if you catch my drift

"Mental hospital" Why am I surprised. Also yay, you thought about dying in a car crash so much that u called it! Congratulations! I'm sad now.

"It was supposed to be Tommy" LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

NO HE WAS TALKING WITH DREAM??? Of all the fucking people istg i would have been happier with it being an internal monologue. And we all know how much I hate internal monologues

Backstory- and he's commuting murder suicide. I mean. A bit drastic. But I approve. Just make sure to leave him intact enough so I can get my Halloween decorations (can you tell I'm coping with humor)

DING DONG THE WITCH-O-BITCH IS DEEEEEEEEAD- no don't have a mental breakdown about it pookie this is great news- fuck's sake WHY IS EVERYONE HERE SAD WHEN THE BAD GUYS ARE DYING FUCK YOU LET ME CELEBRATE

Also Tubbo text pog what does it mean I'm sure I'll find out (future me here again, hi, I didn't find out)

FUCK he's not dead. DAMMIT. Do I have to do everything myself around here?

You're right I do hate it and I hate that I was right about it being endersmile. Fuuuuuuck my life.

Drunkbo. Fuck you. Rehab. Now.

Oh wow sad ending fml ig also pls don't die pookie your hubby still didn't get into rehab you gotta wait a lil longer

Also can I just get what happened at the very end of the last chap? 32 I believe it is. Ihave a feeling I should be able to get through the fic if it's one chap once every full moon

Heyoooo so could u spoil the rest (so far) of cs for me plssss. Like I would read it but I feel like it would ruin the entire fic for me because I'd have to force myself to and that's not fun -.-

Ended at the scene where Ranboo goes to Fundy's flat and Fundy's like "Hey! Here's your tragic backstory!" And Ranboo's like "oh fuck *has a breakdown*"

This is also me giving u a chance to yap about cs so add as many details, hcs and personal opinions as you'd like, :)

my time to shine :D

i’m probably just going to give out the main plot points that happened then on, just because if i said every little thing that happens we would be here literally all day because towards the end the chapters get very long so!

if you don’t want spoilers for cs, look away !!!!

okay, the main chapters to talk about are chapter 28 and 30 the rest are less plot driven and more just fillers, almost. lots happen, but not much to talk about like the big two !

28:

the chapter starts out with ranboo talking to dream about photography and shit, nothing out of the ordinary, and it’s pretty short! at least that scene is. and then he and tubbo have plans to go to a diner later in the evening, and while ranboo is finding clothes, he spots a skirt that he thinks is niki’s. he considers wearing it, which makes the chapter mostly about identity + gay shit ! (more on identity later, not just this bit) and he tells niki he thinks it got mixed up in his closet, and then asks about pronouns and niki is revealed to go by she/xe, and she lends ranboo a skirt to wear and he kind of loves it. it’s a very sweet scene :) and then he goes to pick up tubbo and tubbo’s kind of first reaction is to tell him he looks pretty, which ranboo says he’s not used to, and tubbo says he’ll make sure he’s used to it (i fucking hate gay people /j) then, they go to the diner, order food, have some banter, and tubbo has, in his words, a “realization”, which is probably when he realized he’s gay for ranboo! and he calls ranboo pretty again. the 2nd time that night. and ranboo says some gay stuff about how pretty tubbo looks to himself, as well, because of course he would. and they go to the train tracks nearby, and ranboo explains the whole memory loss thing to tubbo. dream calls him, and tubbo asks him not to answer. so, ranboo doesn’t. and then you have my personal favorite scene of the entire fic i’ve had multiple emotional breakdowns about.

when the sunsets, tubbo points it out, and ranboo comments that it’s pretty.

and here’s the line that literally gets me crying all the fucking time; “beside him, the sun says, “so are you.”” he drives him back home and tubbo falls asleep in the car.

ranboo goes home and proceeds to take a quiz. “do i have feelings for my best friend?” which sends him to find out about being aromantic, and being queerplatonic. that’s the second part of the identity part of the chapter. ranboo realizes he’s aro :) that was the part i knew you’d love lmao

and now, the storm, because that was the calm.

in chapter 30, it is new years. around 2-3 in the morning, can’t remember, and ranboo is still awake. dream shows up at his door, and tells him they’re going somewhere. ranboo doesn’t question it (maybe because it’s so early) and puts out food for springerle and grabs the necessities. they drive to a hotel, and dream tells him not to worry about paying because he never told him they’d be going there.

dream leaves ranboo alone in the hotel room for HOURS, which has ranboo panicking the whole time, thinking he could be dead, and having an emotional breakdown when dream gets back. he gets comforted, they play some video games, and then they’re on the road

dream is driving, and he tells ranboo to go to sleep because it’ll be a really long drive and they’re stuck in traffic. ranboo has nothing better to do, so he closes his eyes. there’s also a storm.

it’s very creepy. there are voices, beckoning him to come and saying things like “we have your parents” “we have god” “come join us” and ranboo immediately wakes up in fear. dream tells him to go back to sleep. and he does. and the voices don’t stop. they never do. they keep mentioning god, especially, which will make more sense in a moment! he feels hands on him, tugging him down. they also say “come down here we don’t love you nowhere does” and it’s all very eerie. ranboo wakes up once more, to dream asking what he’s dreaming about because he’s muttering about smoke, and there are scratches on his arms. dream insists on him sleeping to “get more information”

this time, they’re still talking about how they have god. they have his entire life. they have his future lover. his future life. how they stole his smoke, his voice, his music— the stars — and ranboo, in his dream, is screaming back and saying he doesn’t want to go.

“YOU ARE A COMET” and they mention stars, and black holes (more on that) and let sleeping comets die (foreshadowing)

and ranboo is freaking out in his dream, begging for it to stop, and it doesn’t. and it describes tubbo, mentions the diner and smoke and brown hair. the hands are still on him, pulling him down.

there’s a black hole. a lid over it, closing the iris of an eye. which takes him to “THAT WAS NEVER MY NAME” all of the writing that is supposed to be a voice is frantic and mostly misspelled and some are in all caps (usually ranboo, but the voices too) “GOD IS AN IRIS” and he is wondering where fundy is

and he can’t breathe and they’re calling him a rabbit, a baby comet, an iris

he has blood underneath his fingernails when he wakes up, and dream asks him what he saw.

dream swerves and ranboo hits his head on the dashboard . ranboo feels like he’s going insane. dream is holding the collar of his shirt tightly.

and this is where all hell breaks loose.

ranboo says there was a black hole and he thinks he killed it. dream swerves and ranboo hits his head against the window. he says something like “not again, we’re not doing this again.” ranboo doesn’t remember having this happen before.

dream starts screaming about how he should forget. he always forgets. that he’s still dreaming about the black hole. ranboo says it needs him. dream continues screaming.

then, ranboo says; “it’s god, isn’t it? that’s me. i’m… i’m god.”

dream slams his head against the dashboard. he yells, “NO! you aren’t god. do you understand me? you aren’t god. you’re some delusional fucking kid. and you need me. you’re nothing without me.”

and then, dream says “do you think you’re getting out of this alive?”

he slams his head against the dashboard AGAIN. he’s screaming about how he (ranboo) should’ve stayed in the mental hospital.

ranboo thinks that no one will see him or dream ever again. he calls it “one of the best days in history”

dream rambles about it was “supposed to be tommy” and that his family ruined it.

dream mentions tubbo and how he would’ve hated ranboo. ranboo whispers “we were gonna get married.” “what?” “he called me pretty.”

we’re given the information that when ranboo was 15, with a new name and no family, on withdrawal from anti psychotics, he had been walking for days straight with nowhere to go, reaching an overpass, he caused a collision of cars. one unconscious, and one wide awake. dream was awake. he almost killed him. if only it worked.

and how dream bought him his first camera and how they’d meet in a park. how he left for a while and ranboo was waiting for him.

dream says no one will go looking for him.

dream swerves and ranboo unbuckles his seatbelt to slam on the breaks, because he is going to try and kill both dream and himself so neither of them get out of this alive.

when the car stops spinning, ranboo grabs something smaller than a gun from the glovebox, while dream gets out of the car. he drops the gun on accident. he feels something cut him.

dream has a fistful of his hair, a switchblade, and is holding him down against the pavement. ranboo passes out.

three days go by, where he’s asleep. he wakes up to being all bandaged up.

he’s confused. he has a text from tubbo saying “EXCITED 2 C U”

he won’t see him. but he also has a multitude of texts from dream. i won’t go much into detail, but the overall message is; “you made me kill myself and i wanted you to live with that guilt.”

he has a breakdown, of course, because telling an anxiety ridden psychotic 17 year old that he’s the reason you killed yourself probably isn’t the best way to do things!!!!

he goes to sapnap and george after his little breakdown, and they tell him he’s not dead at all. he’s in jail.

but, regardless, here’s the whole parallel i told u you’d fucking hate ^___^ “and he wants dream to hug him again, and he wants dream back so badly, he needs dream back he needs him he needs him why did he leave him—“ “ranboo loved dream. dream was his boss, and dream was his tutor, and dream was his friend, and dream was everything he had, and now he’s gone”

he goes to a park and it’s basically midnight, or at least VERY late. tubbo calls him. he doesn’t know what he’s saying. he doesn’t hear anything.

eventually, though, he hears him ask for him to say something because ranboo hasn’t said a word since he picked up. and the only words he can muster up is “‘m a white dwarf.” and of course, tubbo is pretty confused. he’s also drunk, so. (a white dwarf is a dead/dying star…)

he goes back to his apartment, and the last thing it says in the chapter is;

“in the quiet of his bedroom, body and mind equally broken, ranboo beloved becomes a black dwarf.” (black dwarfs are theoretically white dwarfs minus the light and heat if i remember right)

#mootsies.bzzt #i feel ive said everything i needed to say so no additions in the tags

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fandom-blackhole · 2 years ago

Text

Episode 9...

Im not ready for this to be over 🥲

AHHHHH

ASHLEY

Sobbingand screaming omfg

So I guess the theory of Ellie's immunity being bc her mom got bit while pregnant is canon now??

I've always liked that theory

Oh I figured we'd go back to Joel and ellie after the intro sequence guess not, glad we are getting more about her mom and Marlene

Oh Anna holding her knife to her throat :(

Oh I'm sobbing, Ashley you're too fucking good omg

Fuck you Marlene thats so fucking selfish she asked!!!

Good, sobbing again

Though the way Marlene killed Anna shows her character and how she can compartmentalize her own feelings and push them away

Oh joel

Theyre doing an amazing job at showing how the roles reversed with joel being the one to reach out to ellie while she's the closed off off after winter/david

Joel i love you joking about dynamite to get ellie engaged just a little

THE LADDERRRRRR

I didnt think they'd do it after all these episodes

Can finally cross it off my bingo card

AHHHH DHE RANNNN

Its the giraffes isn't itttttttttt

GIRAFFE (BINGO BITCHES)

This looks just like it did in game 🥲🥲🥲

Oh my heart

Oh the rooftop scene

And they're all in the baseball feild

So is it everything you hoped for 🥲🥲🥲

Oh Joel trying to protect ellie still, my heeaaarrrttttt

When we're done well go where ever you want

I'll follow you where ever you wanna go

Ugh I'm sobbing

Joel trying to connect by telling stories

Joel talking about Sarah

I was the guy that shot and missed

Omfg he did try to kill himself like I thought!!!! 🥲🥲🥲🥲

Joel implying ellie healed his wounds 😭

Well im glad that didn't work out

Joel cryinggggggg

You know what I'm in the mood for? Shitty puns.

The no I just screamed when I saw the dude in the bg

Was that blood?!

Nm omfg

Fuck you marlene

You are the one person I never wanted to be in debt to.

What surgery 🥲🥲🥲

Ope he understanndssssss

Yeah exactly YOU PROMISEDDDDDD

The fuck you are the only one that understands

Give him this. 🥲🥲🥲

Come on joel, DO IT

Aw he grabs her knife

The shot of him shooting through the window 👌👌

This part of the game always takes me forever to get through

I love the music over the muted audio is perfect

Joel use your flame thrower its quicker lmao

That was an ugly ass elephant lmao

SAVE HERRRRRR

Oh man no hesitation, love my husband

Rip bitch, you had it coming too bad you're gonna jump start s2 with abby

Now kill Marlene fuck that bitch

Oh ellie <3

Oh Joel you're lying 😭😭😭

Yeahhh by bitchhhhh

Fuck you marlene

Oh ellie 🥲

Im sorry 😭😭😭

You'd just come after her. That's my boyyyyyy

Her smile when she says "yeah"

She woulda liked you. 🥲🥲🥲

Back in Jackson :/

Oh shes gonna tell him about riley

You find something new to fight for 🥲

Swear to me. :(

Okay.

Sobbbbiiiinnnng

Screa.mmminggggg

Its over and im not okay

And the music 😭😭😭😭😭

And a finally update on my bingo card->

Ok ok ok The Last of Us episode 1 thoughts below!

• CLIMATE CHANGE?! (Love that honestly)

• Not me sobbing at the intro (I HOPED they'd do something like the games intro so this was a perfect surprise)

• Joels shirt is inside out 😭 (ok noticed this before it was mentioned)

• Let the man have his coffee Sarah

• Gabriel as tommy?! Sounds almost identical omggg

• The neighbors 😭 (oh I understand now.....)(I like how they changed the changing/infected neighbor scene)

• Desert Storm???? 👀

• Sarah fixing the watch instead of getting him a new one 🥺

• Sarah's backpack is so cute omg

• The dog 🥲

• "Drugs. I sell hard-core drugs." Happy screams

• Joel and his shitty movies smh (hope this is ref later with ellie and joels movie nights)

• Dammit Tommy, jail, really??

• Yo wtf grandma. No joke the cordyceps out of her mouth?!?!?

• The truck scene was done so welllllllllll

• Jimmy's place!!!

• The planes (OMFG THE PLANE)

• Ooo the car crash separating them, I approve

• These bitches CREEPY (Love that they have no fine motor control)

• Joel begging 🥲🥲🥲

• That is infact a small child (😭😭😭)(🥲🥲🥲)

• DONT YOU TWENTY YEARS LATER ME YOU BITCHES (both 2014 Hannah and 2023 Hannah)

Sarah's death was sadder here and I stand by that

• The amount of time it takes to change depending on where your bit poster is 👌👌👌

• Joel doing actual work in the QZ is kinda really funny to me (sewer maintenance) (now this is more like it....wait drug dealing??)

• MUSICCCCCCCC

• HANGING?????? IN THE QZ??? BY FEDRA???

• Tess 🥰🥰🥰

• Ooo truck battery and not guns (what about your guy?- He answers to me FUCK YEAH HE DOES....WAIT oh fuck explosion! Well fuck you anyway Robert)

• ELLIE!! (SHE HAS HER EYEBROW SCAR! And her sense if humor) (veronica?) (unchain my child please)

• Oooo message operator! (TOMMY!) (Slavers 🤔)

• Joel planning a trip already is genius (wtf you doing drinking and doing pills?!)

• The watch 🥲

• Those walls are THIN or that baby is LOUD

• Marleneeeeeee

• I love all the yellow wires, ik in the game it was an obvious way to show you where to go, but u like that its been added to the show

• Oh damn, rip unnamed firefly Marlene talked too, you're dying in the capital (kim) (ope her ear)

• Tell me to look for the light and ill break your jaw 🥰🥰🥰

• Ellie getting water on her face lmao

• The knife 🥺

• Atleast the wrapped the handcuff so it wouldn't hurt her

• Don't talk about Riley bitch, I will fight you

• I like all the water dripping, good touch

• Joel talking construction 🥰🥰🥰

• Ok but that wallpaper in the hallway with the dead Robert, I want

• Well ellie you tried, but Joel is better

• Ellie is in fact feral, love her

• Give ellie her knife dammit (yes ellie I agree that was an asshole move)

• Ope don't mention Tommy

• What are they capable of?- alot ellie, alot

• You all talk it out but please remember I am bleeding out 😭😭😭

• God I love my husband

• Ellies shoes squishing 🤢

• Bill and Frank 🥺

• Your watch us broken 🥲

• Ok but why is all the wallpaper cute in this episode?!

• Ellie figuring out the radio code shes so smart i love her

• That door (or whatever you wanna call it) was hidden perfectly omg

• Worst time to take a piss (hahahahaha honestly fuck that guy)

• Pedro's eyes 😩 (oh fuck wait hes fucking that guy upppp)

• PTSD!!!

• THE RADIOOOOOOOOO

• THE RADIO AS IT PANS OVER THE CITY AND WE HEAR INFECTED?!? so good

• The trailer!

• The city landscapes 😩😩😩

• Frank!!!!

• There's no halfway with this, we finish what we started *indistinct screeching*

If you read all this PLEASE send me Joel thoughts, I wanna talk about my husband! Also if you want me to explain any of these ASK MEEEE!! Also, Also, I'll be doing this for every episode so if wanna be tagged in these just if be down 👉👈

#tlou spoilers #tw suicide mentioned

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