#this stupid neurotic bitch

[courfeyracs-swordcane]

for alonzo:

What’s the lie your character says most often?

Can they cry on command? If so, what do they think about to make it happen?

What’s a hobby they used to have that they miss?

What would they do if stuck in a room with the person they’ve been avoiding?

How would they respond to being fired by a good boss?

When they make a mistake and feel bad, does the guilt differ when it’s personal versus when it’s professional?

What’s a phrase they say a lot?

What’s the lie your character says most often?

Oh it’s gotta be his whole dramatic “I’m so sorry superior officer, I just couldn’t get her this time 😫 she’s always been stronger than me 😭 but I SWEAR I’ll do better next time, I promise I’ll bring her in, just send me out again and I’ll get it! 🥺🥺🥺” spiel that he does every time he uses the allotted mission time they give him to hunt Kyrie for sport to just go hang out at the tower for fun

Can they cry on command? If so, what do they think about to make it happen?

He CAN and he uses this to his advantage pretty damn often. He doesn’t think about anything specific tho he just opens his eyes really wide and is under a lot of stress all the time. It doesn’t take much.

What’s a hobby they used to have that they miss?

Okay not exactly a hobby but I think he really misses going to school? The school system works different in universe and it’s a whole nother infodump but tldr he dropped out at the equivalent of 8th grade and honestly I think he would be happiest if he got to go on through higher education and do some kind of academic career instead of the whole sword for hire schtick

What would they do if stuck in a room with the person they’ve been avoiding?

DID YOU MEAN. THE LAST THIRD OF THE PLOT. tldr he would fight like a cat in water to avoid being put in that situation but if you put him in it he’s gonna sit in the corner and not say anything and try very hard to control his face (but this is the one time he probably fails)

How would they respond to being fired by a good boss?

Okay so technically he can’t be fired because he gets incredible job security by virtue of Being Technically A Hostage BUT. This is also arguably the last third of the plot! (His good boss (/mentor) quit as his direct supervisor because of his actions and he gets gets daddy issues (part 2) about it)(and goes full. Never Trusting Anyone Ever Again it’s him and his evil job against the world mode)

When they make a mistake and feel bad, does the guilt differ when it’s personal versus when it’s professional?

,,,okay that one is lightly complicated because he is Very Good at not feeling bad when he makes mistakes. He works in the murder department he has to be good at justifying shit to himself. Also the mistakes he makes at work are on purpose usually

What’s a phrase they say a lot?

Okay I Will come back to this one someday when he’s written I know there’s something but I don’t know what it is yet

[jrueships]

Is there a reason why sauce refuses to follow more than 99 accounts on instagram ? He’s such a control freak lmfao

LOL yea ive always noticed that like wtf 😭 okay 😭

he only follows 99 people on Twitter too, and i think i remember seeing him post on his twit like during the beginning of his first season in the NFL abt who he should follow to reach 99 bcs I think he had 98 at that time? And he wanted 99?

And on his insta i think (less sure on this) he posted a story that said like 'ok... who to make my 100th following 😻' but i think he only wanted it to be a stupid idk a 'fellow famous internet influencer' like he is , so famous, so self-loving, so empath .

so like. he either didn't follow anyone or he quickly unfollowed to remain at 99

he is... so strange. Such an odd critter. but my guess is he's keeping 99 as his ideal number rn and will unfollow whatever normie/less famous person he needs to in order to keep his precious 99 when he has to follow a more famous person,

or he's just holding out for a special someone to make his 100th follower ( and then later unfollow someone else he doesn't care abt rn to keep his number 99) bcs he WANTS to make ppl feel special, but also. He is weird. And he likes the number 99. And he's weird. And im going to give him a wedgie

[succubi-tch]

Jfc I cannot fucking do this

[likearhinestonecowgirl]

Jason Todd Headcanons

Jason who will move you- whether it be placing a big hand on the small of your back to usher you through a busy crowd, or you're in his way, maybe in the kitchen rambling about something you saw on the news. He will wordlessly pick you up, tired and lethargic with bruised knuckles from the night before, and sit you on the counter. He mumbles something, makes a grunt to let you know to keep talking while one hand smooths up and down the inside of your thigh and the other opens the drawer you were blocking.

Jason who is obviously a theater kid- but if this is living with Bruce, moonlighting as Robin Jason, he'd be discrete. He'd say he needs the class as his obligatory elective and didn't take pottery because he doesn't like getting his hands dirty (lie). He'd sit near the back of the theater, but he'd listen intently, and every poetry assignment he'd turn in would be a work of fucking god. Every project, the teacher would ask him to perform instead of doing the alternative (some paper or poem) and maybe, just maybe, he'll say yes if he's comfortable enough.

Jason who hides food around his apartment and safehouses. Non-perishable, like trail mix, granola bars, little ziplocks of cereal. Dick had cut that habit, made Jason comfortable enough to understand he'll never have to worry, he'll never have to fend for himself by himself. Rising from the lazarus pit as an animated corpse turned everything on its head. The neurotic habits came back. If you're close enough, if he spends enough time at your place, it's likely you'll eventually find a baggie of chex mix sitting on top of your fridge.

Jason who is a barb. I'm not explaining this one, he just is. An honorary member of gag city 🫡

Jason who always has a pack of Marlboro menthols on him. Alternatively, when his lungs are feeling extra gross and he decides he wants to quit, he'll start on zyns again (cool mint ofc). There's usually a zyn tower on his bedside table, teetering right beside the glock 47 he most definitely should put in his gun safe but never will, no matter how many times you tell him

"Jason, what if someone comes in and grabs it?"

"No one-"

"What if it falls and goes off?"

"That won't happen."

Before you can get another word his, large hands turn you to face him, practically suffocated you against his chest, one hand on the back of your head while the other dips low and follows the curve of your spine.

"No one in the world is safer than you right now."

Jason who is extremely invested in TLC (specifically 1,000 pound sisters) and never wastes a chance to tell you how shocked and proud he is of Tammy for finally losing weight- even if she's still a bitch

Jason who loves to buy you things. Usually not too crazy, more like stupid little keychains and stuffed animals to build the militia in your room. But he thinks of you all the time and he can picture the look on your face when he comes back with another stupid surprise. Next thing he knows he's got a turtle or dragon or cat stuffed safely in the inside pocket of his jacket while he threatens a few men with his fists.

"They just gave it to me for free." He shrugs, holding a loving grin as he watches you beam over the fuzzy thing in your hands.

But when your face contorts in something accusatory, he holds his breath.

"What?"

"Were you wearing that?" You look over his costume, the Red Hood, the guns hardly concealed on his sides.

"Yea, why?"

"Dude, you robbed them."

Jason who loves to buy you things, who hardly goes out of his way to hide when he comes into some money (obviously by violent means- but who cares when he's gunning down men who sell drugs to kids. Minor casualty). He'd show up with a purse that's ten times your rent, a bracelet the blinds you when it's under direct light, a dress that he knows you have no place fancy enough to wear it to. If you start to ask questions, he'll distract by any means necessary, like standing behind you to slowly untie your sweatpants or unbutton your jeans, inch off your clothing and let his fingertips dip low so you can really feel the old callouses and scars he knows you love so much, before carefully dressing you in whatever nice thing he'd bought.

******i hardly proofread this sos sorry for the typos if they're there lol lmk if i should make more

[minustwofingers]

exoplanet p.3

pairing: ellie williams x fem! reader (ur a girly girl in this one!!) (she/her pronouns)

summary: you’ve won the life lottery as one of the few people on earth with parents who gained admittance to the most prestigous safezone in the world after the outbreak. but after a lab accident sends you out to jackson, wyoming, real life hits you fast. it’s a good thing that a hot lesbian finds u. (lol). mean ellie at first, slowburn, enemies to friends to lovers, fem reader asf

warnings: (PLEASE READ!) explicit language, violence, description of a medical procedure sans anesthesia, recreational drug use (idk how else to put it ellie gets absolutely zonked in the beginning), reader overthinks asf and is a little neurotic but that's why we love her x

a/n: hey guys! thank you so much for the wait! it's been genuinely insane how sweet and incredible all of you are. i've never felt so appreciated for my writing!! also, some notes: this chapter is heavily inspired by my last relationship. sorry if it's not as immersive bc of it! and also i don't have ANY medical knowledge so...cast a blind eye when u get to that scene

part 1

part 2

tags: @prettyplant0 @666findgod​ @sawaagyapong​ @rystarkov​ @buzzybuzzsposts @addisonnie @galacticstxrdust @parkersmyth @pinkazelma

wc: 6.6k

enjoy x

“One more time.”

You gave Ellie a withering look from where you were sitting at the end of her bed.

“Please,” she said, drawing out the s. “Just once more. I promise.” 

“Fine.” You rolled your eyes—a habit of hers that you were quickly picking up—and took in a deep breath. “Fuck.” 

Ellie lost it, peals of laughter bouncing off the walls. “Another one. Say something else.”

“I don’t understand why you think this is so funny,” you said.

“You say it so weird.”

“I enunciate,” you clarified. “I don’t ‘sound weird’. It’s called pronouncing every letter in the word and not having a lazy mouth.” 

“Please,” she gasped. “At least say bitch. You haven’t said that one yet.”

You looked her dead in the eye. “Bitch.”

If you weren’t already certain that Ellie was high out of her mind by the smell of her room and the general haze in the air, the way she howled with laughter and fell back on her bed would’ve made you entirely positive.

This was new. You’d begun to hang out with her in her room after dinner—that was normal—but when she’d knocked on your door smelling heavily of weed once you’d said goodnight to Joel, you were nothing less than shocked. Of course, she had none left for you. Which was probably good, because only a sober mind could navigate a night sitting on Ellie’s bed without doing something really, really stupid. 

“I can’t believe you call me weird,” you said, tucking your feet under her and giving her a pointed look. 

“You’re so lucky you didn’t grow up where I did,” Ellie said, wiping a tear away from her cheek as she tried (unsuccessfully) to rein in her giggles. “You would’ve been eaten alive, good lord.”

“What were you like as a kid?” you asked, resting your chin on your knees. 

She considered for a moment, growing more somber. “Um…I don’t know if you would’ve liked me very much.”

“What do you mean? Of course I would’ve liked you.” 

“No,” she said, swiping at her face so she pushed a strand of hair away. “I don’t think you would have.”

“Why not?”

“I was…” She paused, picking at her cuticles. “Back then I didn’t have anyone. I was an orphan, you know. My parents were never in the picture, so I was the only one I could count on.  I was really rough around the edges and could be nasty. But I probably would’ve ignored you like I did everyone else. “

“Everyone? You didn’t have anyone? No friends at all?”

Ellie blinked, and her gaze remained fixed on her hands. “Basically, yeah. I mean, there was one girl, but that’s…I don’t want to talk about that right now, actually.” 

“That’s okay,” you said, reaching forward to touch her knee. She flinched at the contact but didn’t brush you away. The image of a young, scared Ellie living somewhere alone made your chest ache. “You don’t have to tell me.” 

“What were you like?” she asked, tilting her head and meeting your eyes. 

“Hmmm…” Mirth crept into your tone. “What do you think?”

“What do I think?” Ellie echoed, her eyes cloudy as she thought. Then a small smirk formed on her face. “Oh god, were you one of those spoiled brats? Were you a mean girl?” 

“God, no,” you said, raising your eyebrows. “Not mean.”

“Then what?”

You paused. “I was really shy, I guess. And quiet, too. I didn’t do much but read for a good 10 years of my life. I used to have awful pronunciation because I would spend more time reading than talking to anyone. But I think I would’ve liked you.”

Ellie shook her head.

“Yes,” you said. “Maybe I would’ve been a little scared of you. I probably would’ve never had the courage to talk to you. But I would’ve liked you, I think.”

“Scared of me?”

“Yeah.”

“Why? I was a kid.”

“I was mostly going off of how I felt when I actually first met you,” you said, shrugging. 

She gasped theatrically. “You’re scared of me?”

“No!” you said, smacking her knee. “That’s not what I mean. You’re just really intimidating.”

“Intimidating?” She looked at you incredulously. 

“You’re so tough,” you explained, feeling heat grow in your cheeks. “You seem just—I don’t know, just so capable. There’s nothing you’re too afraid to face, nothing you’re too afraid to say.”

“That’s not true,” she said lightly. 

“Well, of course I’m sure there are things that you’re afraid of,” you amended. “But you hide it so well. You just seem so…fearless.”

“Hm,” Ellie said, letting her head rest against the headboard. “I think you would’ve made me a nervous wreck. If we’d met when we were kids, I mean.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “I’ve never met anyone quite like you before. You’re just so untouched.” She winced. “God, no. That sounds gross. I just mean…I dunno. I wouldn’t have known how to act around you. You haven’t had to harden up like everyone else I know.”

“Are you saying I should develop trust issues or something?” you asked, your voice a teasing lilt.

“You know,” she said, nodding seriously, “That is part of it. It was really off-putting how quickly you trusted me. But I guess that’s just a product of where you grew up.” 

“Yeah,” you said softly. “I wonder how I would’ve turned out if I’d grown up like you.”

“Can I be honest?” Ellie asked. 

“Sure.”

“I don’t think you’d still be here if you were me,” she said, her eyes crinkling. “No offense. You just have zero survival skills. I swear that shit has to be genetic. I’ve never met someone more averse to violence in my life.”

You sighed, pressed your hands deep into Ellie’s comforter as a thought hit you. “I think if you’d been born in my position, you would’ve been greater than anything either of us could ever dream of. Much greater than me.”

“Definitely not,” said Ellie. “There’s no fucking way I’m studying the way you apparently do. I honestly think I’d take being an orphan over the study schedule I saw in your bag.” 

She was of course referencing the time table you’d roughly sketched up the morning before you’d ended up in Jackson. It was blocked to the minute, citing the study content and the location of said study session. She’d been beyond horrified to see it. 

You laughed, nudging her socked food with yours. 

“Is there music? In Terranova?”

“Oh,” you said, startled at the abrupt change of subject. “Uh, yeah. Of course. I listened to it all the time.” 

“I used to have a Walkman,” she said, leaning back as she reminisced. She was lying flat on her back now. “It ended up breaking a while ago, but it was like my child.” 

“Have you ever seen a movie before?” you asked, sitting up rigid straight as the thought occurred to you.

“Duh,” she said, giving you a weird look. “Do you think I live under a rock?”

“How many?”

“Hm.” Ellie began counting, ending on her second hand. “I think 6?”

“You’ve seen a total of 6 movies in your life?” 

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to see more?”

She shrugged. “I mean, I guess. It’s just tough to find CDs that are still functional after so long.”

“Hold that thought,” you said, holding a finger in her direction as you stood up.

“Hey!” she called as you bolted out the door. “Where are you going?”

You came bounding back to her room in a matter of seconds, your laptop in your hands. 

“What the fuck?” she said. “Isn’t that your homework thing?”

“Yes,” you said, feeling around for an outlet, “But I also have a ridiculous amount of movies downloaded on this. Our dorm wi-fi is shit and I have way too much storage on this thing, so I just download, like, every movie I’ve ever wanted to watch.”

“Your dorm what?”

You waved your hand. The last thing you wanted to do was explain to her how the 802.11 standard allowed wireless connections a few years after the outbreak. “Not important. Here, come look at this.”

Your laptop roared to light with the help of your charging cord. Quickly, you typed your password in and opened your downloads. Ellie hovered over your shoulder, squinting at the screen with confusion. 

“Here,” you said, opening up the album that had everything you had seen for your entire university career and passing the laptop to Ellie. “Use the touchpad—there, yeah—to navigate. Press to click. These are all movie files that I’ve seen. We can watch them on my laptop. Some of them were filmed in Terranova, too, so they’re post-apocalypse.”

She perused the selection you had for quite some time, the glow of the screen lighting up her face against the dim room. “Okay. This one.”

And thus began a tradition. Each night after you’d finished showering and Joel retired to his room, Ellie would come knock on your door and ask if you wanted to come over. You’d talk for a while, then open your laptop and pick something out to watch. Ellie was never high after the first time, which was unsurprising considering that there definitely wasn’t a way to get any in Jackson. Where she found any the first time was still a mystery to you. 

~

A week or so after your first patrol with Ellie, Joel had taken it upon himself to teach you how to shoot. You were surprisingly not as bad as you’d expected, but the rebound was tough to get used to, and you were still hung up over the whole “killing living things” part. 

Your first patrol—first real one—came quickly, and before you knew it, Ellie was handing you the same gun you’d dropped the first time with a suspicious look. 

“Don’t kill one of us with that thing,” she warned. “Be smart, okay?”

“Sure thing, boss,” you said to her, mock saluting as best you could while you were leading Japan to the mounting block.

She rolled her eyes. “Please act normal or I’ll make you carry around that glorified pocket knife instead again.” 

The patrol began as usual, Ellie leading you down the same path you went last time. It was a beautiful day out, with the early spring sun filtering through the evergreen trees that populated the woods and birdsong filling the air. 

Though conversations with Ellie were getting easier (given that it actually seemed like she wanted to talk to you now), you were still starstruck. Nothing that you did and nothing that you thought could get you to stop seeing her the way you did. You were routinely distracted by everything about her. It was a wonder that you could even function as a normal person around her, much less handle a weapon and a horse. 

You two had nearly made the full rotation when your surroundings exploded in action. 

“Fuck,” Ellie hissed as someone behind you two fired a shot that narrowly missed Shimmer. 

You whipped around, gun in hand, to see two men—two normal men who weren’t infected. One held a bow, the other a gun. 

The one who had fired the first shot never even stood a chance. He was down on the ground seconds after you’d seen him, Ellie’s aim taking him out before you could even ready your gun. 

The second man notched an arrow and managed to draw it back and release into the air right as Ellie’s bullet struck him, sending him falling back. 

“I don’t think there’s any more,” said Ellie, slightly breathless as she scanned the forest. “Sometimes outsiders pull this shit—try to kill us for our supplies. I’ve never seen them this close to the wall, though. I’ll have to tell Maria and Tommy.”

Normally, you would’ve felt up to making some sort of sarcastic comment about how that was a really unconcerning thing for her to tell you and that you actually felt so much more comfortable going on patrol knowing that there were also just run-of-the-mill people trying to kill you, but a twinge in your lower body distracted you. 

Slowly, nervously, you looked down. Air immediately left your lungs. 

“At least we’re done,” Ellie was saying, wiping her hands off on her thighs and slinging the gun over her shoulder. “What a crazy end for your first actual patrol, huh?”

When you didn’t answer, she turned to you and saw the arrow sticking out of your side, 

“Shit,” said Ellie, jumping off Shimmer and reaching you in seconds. “Shit, shit, shit. Oh god.” 

“Am I going to die?” you asked, staring starstruck at the blood escaping the outline of the arrowhead. You couldn’t feel anything anymore. Were you in shock?

“No,” said Ellie firmly. “Absolutely not. Do you need help getting off?”

Before you could answer, she was already helping you down, carefully avoiding the protruding arrow. 

“Listen,” she said, back to being her unwavering self, “We’re right by the wall. I’m going to help you walk in, and then I’ll grab some supplies, okay? Don’t try to pull the arrow out. You hear me? Don’t.”

Swallowing hard, you nodded. She helped you walk the few steps to be carefully concealed by the wall, then grabbed the two horses and darted past you, making a break for Maria and Tommy’s cabin. 

In a haze of confusion, you could see Maria running out, holding a box out to Ellie in exchange for the reins of the horses. Ellie said something that made Maria point towards you. She nodded, then ran back to you.

By the time that she’d reached you, the shock had begun to wear off, replaced by the stinging pain from the object that had impaled you. It was worse than anything you’d ever felt before in your life, and it took all you had not to keel over. 

“Hey,” she said, reaching out to grab your face so you had to look at her. “Don’t be afraid. I’ve done this before, okay? I’m, like, the master. It’s going to be alright.” 

“Done what before?” you managed to grind out. 

Ellie let go of your face to dig through the box Maria had given her, producing a needle, a bottle of rubbing alcohol, and what looked like a spool of thin thread. 

Horror slowly trickled through you as you realized what was about to happen. 

“It doesn’t look all that deep,” Ellie was saying as she examined the arrow. “So I don’t think it’s hit anything. It’s just going to be a nasty hole. I’m going to pull it out now, okay?”

You let out a strangled scream as she grasped the arrow’s end and yanked it out without warning.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Ellie repeated. She threw the arrow over her shoulder and knelt so she was hovering over you. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you gasped. You were most certainly not. You couldn’t quite get your eyes to focus, and your heart was beating out of your chest. 

“Alright,” she said firmly, grasping your shoulders and pulling you up so you were slumped against the wall. “Sit up straight, alright? Also, this is going to hurt.” 

At first there were just snipping sounds as she cut part of your shirt away—then something cool and wet pressed to your wound. You cried out again as a fresh white hot pain bloomed in your middle. 

“I know, I know.” Ellie’s voice was consoling as she reached up to brush away the sweaty strands of hair stuck to your forehead. “Just a few more seconds.” 

“Fuck—off—” you gritted out from your teeth. 

Ellie’s eyebrows shot up. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. Just this once.” 

She released the alcohol-saturated cotton pad, throwing it aside and fussing with the thread and needle until she was satisfied. 

By the time her fingers were ghosting over your abdomen again, you couldn’t pull your eyes away from the puncture wound and the needle she was wielding. 

“Don’t look,” said Ellie. “Pick something else. You don’t need to watch.” 

“I hate needles,” you whispered, choosing the air over her shoulder to be your focal point. 

There was a prodding at the top of your wound, and you hissed. 

“I can’t say I’m a fan myself.” 

Something pierced through your skin, and your midriff exploded in pain. 

The edges of your sight went fuzzy, stars forming in the corners of your vision. Someone that sounded suspiciously like you cried out. Your cheek rammed up against something solid and warm. 

Once the initial sting had faded, you realized that you’d slumped into Ellie, your face buried into her neck. She didn’t make any move to push you off, instead just taking one hand to brush up and down your arm with a feather light touch. 

“You're fine," she said firmly. "Everything's going to be fine."

Your fingers curled around the hem of her shirt as the needle exited through the other end of your wound, pulling another whine from your throat. It was easier to not feel like you were about to pass out when you were crushed into Ellie, clinging onto her and just focusing on the way she felt against you. 

“Hang on, I'm almost there,” she muttered a few stitches later. You’d quieted down, only letting out the occasional gasp as she pulled the thread through. “You're doing so well. Just one more.”

Now that you were more conscious, you had no idea how she was managing to stitch your side while you were nearly on her lap, but she continued to weave her needle through your skin, pulling it taut. 

“And done,” said Ellie. You felt her take another cotton square to swipe against your skin. 

You laid against her for a few more moments, panting as the shock slowly began to fade. She shifted, and for a moment you were sure that she was going to shove you away, but then the hand she’d lifted hesitantly rested on your head, her fingers parting to card through your hair. 

“How did you learn how to do that?” you asked, your voice muffled from where you were pressed against her. 

“Trial and error.” 

Her joke was enough for you to finally let go, sitting back against the wall. Her hand slithered out of your hair, resting back in her lap. 

“Shut up,” you said. “That’s awful.” 

Ellie shrugged. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, feeling the bumpiness of the stony wall press into your back. “I have a really low pain tolerance.”

“So I’ve noticed,” said Ellie, the side of her mouth quirking. 

“I’ve never been hurt before,” you heard yourself saying. “Like, beyond the occasional splinter or bee sting or accidental scrape or ankle sprain. It’s just not something that happens.” 

“Must be nice.”  

You smiled sadly. “Yeah. It’s not nice being weak, though.” 

Ellie looked away from you then, silent as she packed up the first-aid kit. Then: “I don’t think that’s true.” 

She’d said it lightly, like it was meant to be an offhand comment, a throwaway addition that wouldn’t be remembered by either of you. But the sentiment still struck you, twisting your heart.

You were less capable because your survival had never required anything more. You were weak because you could be. 

Her voice from the night she’d been high floated back to you. You haven't had to harden up like everyone else I know. 

Out here, weakness was a luxury few could afford. 

“Not so untouched anymore, huh?” you said, since you didn’t know how else to respond.

“I won’t tell anyone if you don’t,” quipped Ellie. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t lose sleep over it. I still consider needing to be held to get 4 stitches as being soft. You haven’t changed a bit. No offense.” 

Your cheeks burned bright red. “I—”

“I’m teasing,” she said before you could defend yourself. “Arrow wounds suck. I get it.” 

“Right.” You turned away, keeping your gaze fixed firmly on the ground beside you. With feeling more yourself came the inevitable shame at what you’d just done. What had you been thinking, touching her like that? Grabbing onto her like that?

This was going to haunt you for the rest of your life. 

“Don’t make that face,” said Ellie. “I’m sorry for saying that. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. It really is fine.” 

It was not fine. It would never be fine. You wanted the thugs to come back to life and finish you off, and then have the earth open up and swallow you for good measure. 

Ellie probably thought of you as an overgrown child. You doubted that there was ever a point where she could see you as anything equal. If she ever knew how often she appeared in your imagination, she’d probably be disgusted.

She called you pretty a contrarian voice in your head reminded you. Don't you remember?

But maybe she hadn’t meant it. She hadn’t said it explicitly: “Y/N, I think you’re pretty.” She just hadn’t argued when you’d pointed it out. Maybe because she was being nice, or maybe because she was actually being sarcastic. 

“You were really brave, okay?” said Ellie. “Your first armed confrontation and you did well.”

“I didn’t shoot anyone.”

“It could have gone worse,” said Ellie. “You could’ve accidentally shot me. Or died. And neither of those things happened, so that’s successful in my book.” 

“That’s very glass half-full of you.”

“That’s me. Ever the optimist.” 

You snorted.

~

That night, Ellie knocked on your door and asked you if you were up for another movie. You found yourself sitting on her comforter, plugging in your computer and booting it up minutes later.

Physically speaking, it had always been a little awkward to fit two people on her twin bed if they weren’t right next to each other, given that your laptop screen was a very unimpressive size. When you’d first started watching with her, Ellie would rest against the headboard, her legs stretched out in front of you while you would sit with your legs crossed, positioned sideways so you weren’t accidentally pushing her legs off. 

But after the day you had had, your back was sore and your whole body ached. Sitting on something soft without any back support as you angled yourself to look at the screen was quickly proving unsustainable. 

“Pause,” said Ellie about ten minutes in. You’d been watching an older sci-fi flick—Ellie’s choice. 

You complied, leaning forward and pressing the spacebar. “What’s up?”

“Are you even comfortable sitting like that?”

“Yeah,” you said.

“Liar,” accused Ellie, crossing her arms over her chest. “Don’t think I don’t see you ‘discreetly’ cracking your back every 2 minutes. It’s ruining the movie.” 

“Sorry,” you said, shaking your head and smiling in exasperation. “It’s from all the years I spent hunched over a textbook.” 

“You know, you can sit up here,” she said, patting the space beside her. “I don’t bite.”

“Jury’s still out on that,” you said, though by the time Ellie let out a laugh you were already unfolding your legs and moving so you were next to her. 

She leaned forward, grabbing the bottom half of the laptop and lifting it. “Hey, do you want a blanket?”

“Sure.” 

Ellie’s other hand grabbed the edge of her comforter and held it up. 

Hesitantly, you slid your legs under and watched as Ellie did the same, awkwardly holding the laptop in the air before you were both settled enough to rest it on your covered right thigh and her left.  “Better?”

When you nodded, she reached her tattooed arm out and pressed play. The audio picked back up, but you couldn’t for the life of you focus on the movie.

When Ellie had asked if you’d wanted a blanket, you were expecting her to toss the throw blanket that would really only fit one person at you, not invite you to get under the blankets with her. That was significantly more intimate.

You two were sitting close enough that your sides were touching, from shoulder to thigh. You could feel her chest lift with each breath, feel the heat coming off of her.

After a while, Ellie properly laid down, taking the laptop and hoisting it up so it rested on her lower abdomen as she settled into her pillow.

You gulped, your eyes flickering between her face and the screen. Ellie’s gaze was fixed intently on the screen, her eyes half lidded with exhaustion.

You could be tired too. You weren’t, of course—your heart was racing a thousand miles an hour. But she didn’t know that. It was normal to lay down next to her, right? You’d done that with Irena more times than you could count, and it was never weird. Yeah, you could do that. 

Also, if you were totally horizontal, you would stop getting distracted by the sliver of her skin that her crooked shirt showed of her chest. 

In a moment of blind courage, you scooted down so your head was lying right next to Ellie’s. She didn’t seem to react, just extending her hand from under the covers to steady the laptop as it wobbled from the movement. 

Her sheets smelled like the soap that you used to wash your hair—a cottony freshness that had the slightest hint of lavender. 

“Are you going to fall asleep on me?” asked Ellie after a while, her voice nothing more than a whisper. 

“I could ask you the same thing,” you responded, equally quiet. Then, because you hadn’t made enough rash decisions for the night, you angled your head so it rested in the space right above her shoulder. 

She inhaled sharply but didn’t move. On her next exhale a piece of her auburn hair tickled your forehead. 

“How’re your stitches?” she asked suddenly, like she'd just remembered.

“They’re okay. I think. As stitches go.”

“After this is over, I’ll check on them,” she said. “Don’t let me forget, okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered, suddenly feeling shy. It was one thing for her to cut off your shirt and see your skin when she was trying to save your life while you were mentally gone. It was another thing altogether to pull up your shirt without adrenaline coursing through you.

You didn’t pay any attention to the rest of the movie, instead hyperfocused on the rhythm of Ellie’s breathing and the fact that if you moved just a little your chin would be on her shoulder. 

Her mention of the stitches wasn’t helping at all, either. Now all you could think about was the embarrassing way you’d basically tried to crawl under her skin, burying your face into her and clutching at her clothes like you were a child.

A part of you was disappointed that you hadn’t been more lucid at the time. If you had, you would’ve been able to clearly remember the softness of her skin against yours. You would’ve been able to enjoy it for what it was—the only time you’d be able to touch her like that.

Because you couldn’t go around just grabbing onto her shirt and getting into her lap. That was a one-off, the only time that the rules were waived. You couldn’t touch her like that now, now that you didn’t have any excuse. It wasn’t allowed.

But sometimes you wanted to so badly that it hurt. 

The movie ended abruptly, wrenching you out of your thoughts. 

“Hey,” whispered Ellie. “Sit up so I can see.”

Reluctantly, you pressed yourself up from your back and began rolling up the hem of your shirt. Ellie twisted to face backwards, her thin top riding up and showing part of her back as she reached for the lamp.

Once golden light returned to the room, Ellie turned back and bumped your hands away. She bent over, tilting her head so that she was looking at the stitches straight on.

They didn’t look bad, you had to admit. Though you wouldn’t consider the actual experience of getting the stitches a 5-star experience, Ellie had clearly known what she was doing. The surrounding flesh didn’t look angry or irritated, and she’d pulled the stitches just tight enough without it puckering. 

She prodded at the side, then gave a satisfied nod. “Looks good. What did I tell you? I’m really good at this sort of stuff.”

“I think you would’ve made a really good doctor,” you said once she’d sat up straight again. “Under different circumstances.”

“Is this you telling me that you don’t think I’m a good doctor now?” she teased. 

“Your bedside manner could use some work,” you offered.

Ellie laughed then, shaking her head and crossing her arms over her chest. “Yeah, yeah. You lived. You'll get over it.” 

“Did you go to school?” you found yourself asking, hung up on the thought of Ellie as a potential medical student. If she’d been in one of your intro biology classes, you never would’ve been able to pay attention. That was a fantasy you could shelve away for later. 

“Sort of,” said Ellie, looking down at her arms. “I went to a military prep school run by FEDRA. I didn’t graduate though—obviously. I was long gone by then.” 

“Right,” you said, remembering that she’d mentioned that she’d been 14 when she’d left Boston. “And what was it like?” 

She paused, opening her mouth before closing it. “It was—unkind. Joel's told me about schools before the outbreak. It was nothing like that. There were some normal classes, but most of it was meant to prepare us to be soldiers.” 

“Is that where you learned how to do sutures?” 

“Among other things.”

Terranova had no military academies, given that there was hardly any military presence. The founder of Terranova had bodyguards and there was a police force that controlled the borders, but it was nothing like Ellie described. With invisible borders and a social order that valued peace and tranquility over all else, there was no real danger posed to any of the citizens. 

But from what you had learned from movies and books and comments from older people, you had gathered a very dim picture of what a military academy looked like—harsh, strict, and cruel. 

“I’m sorry you had to grow up like that,” you said. 

“It’s okay.”

“Is there anything you would want to study? If you could?” 

Ellie’s eyes closed. “Yeah. There are a couple things.” 

She did not elaborate. 

~

It didn’t take long for you two to settle back into your routine of meeting in her room each evening and watching one of your downloaded movies. Following the night after you’d gotten your stitches, you wouldn’t even have to ask—Ellie would pull up her comforter and let you slide in next to her without giving you a second glance.

You’d also gotten over the fear of touching her. Now, when you flopped back so your head was on her pillow, you’d adjust until you were nestled into the crook of her neck. She never once reacted to it, remaining perfectly still unless she was adjusting the laptop or messing with the sound. 

Because it was normal, of course. You and Irena would rest your head on each other’s shoulders sometimes. That was something that friends did. 

One night a week or so into April, you and Ellie made a harrowing discovery: there was only one movie left in your collection that you two hadn’t seen together. 

“Damn,” said Ellie, furrowing her brow. “And there’s no way to get more on here?”

“I’m afraid not,” you said, frowning. “To download more or stream one, I’d need either an Ethernet cable or a wi-fi connection. Neither of which function out here anymore without cell towers and maintained cables.” 

“Right,” said Ellie, though her face told you that she didn’t understand a word that had come out of your mouth. “So—this is it?”

“Yeah.” Your finger hovered over the play button. “Savor it, I guess.” 

When you settled back and into her side, the heavy weight of dread settled into your stomach. Now that you’d finished showing her your entire collection, it’s not like she’d have a reason to invite you over every night. And there was especially no reason for you two to lie so closely together unless you were both trying to watch something on a small screen.

Once again, your excuse to touch her was gone.

You pressed closer to her as your mind raced. There was no way that Ellie didn’t see what you were doing as platonic, right? Was it possible that she was creeped out by how touchy you were but just tolerated it to be nice? 

Maybe. You swallowed hard, keeping your eyes fixed on the screen. Ellie didn’t see you like…like that. She spoke to you like you were an obligation, a burden. Because you always had been. You’d been a responsibility thrust on her by a father figure who felt like he was indebted to you from that stupid bag of coffee you were lucky enough to bring. 

Oh, god. Had Joel told her to befriend you? Had he asked for Ellie to pretend like she enjoyed spending time with you and to put up with your privileged, soft-hearted nonsense? 

The knowledge that you were spiraling wasn’t enough to stop you. You did the best that you could—tried to remind yourself that it’d been a while since she’d looked disgusted with you, recall that she was outspoken enough to tell you to fuck off if you did something she didn’t like—but it was to no avail.

Ellie reached forward and hit pause on the movie, thrusting you both into silence. 

“Is everything okay?” she asked after a moment. 

“Yeah, why?” 

“I can feel your heart going, like, crazy fast.” 

You froze. “Oh. Uh, yeah. I was just thinking.” 

Ellie pushed the laptop off of her, sitting up to give you an odd look. “About a near death experience or something? You running a marathon up there? That shit’s not normal.” 

You laughed nervously. “It’s really nothing. Just an, uh, suspenseful movie.” 

Which was actually really stupid of you to say, because you were watching some obscure Tarkovsky film that did nothing but pan over burning buildings and pensive men. For the past 5 minutes, there had been nothing on screen but the back of a car driving through traffic with minimal sound. Also, it was in Russian, and the English subtitles made zero sense.

There was a reason why this was the last movie you chose.

“This is the most boring fucking movie I’ve ever watched in my life, so you’re a dirty fucking liar,” said Ellie. Then her face pinched in worry. “Wait. Have you taken a look at your stitches lately?” 

Before you could answer, she was grabbing a flashlight off her nightstand and yanking the comforter off you. She was pulling your shirt up when you finally found your voice.

“Wait!” you said, grabbing the bottom of your shirt and yanking it back in place. “It’s not—I don’t have an infection, okay? There’s nothing wrong with me. I really was just thinking, okay?”

“About what?” She reached back to place her flashlight back on the stand without taking her eyes off you. 

“It’s nothing important.”

“If you say so.” 

She picked the laptop up and placed it back on her thighs, lying back down. You followed suit, but this time you didn’t touch her, opting to keep as much distance as you could so she wouldn’t hear the stuttering of your heart. 

Not even 5 minutes had passed before Ellie sat up to pause the video again.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“No. Why?” 

“You’re acting weird,” she accused, but there wasn’t much conviction behind her voice. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean that you’re acting weird,” she repeated, shutting your laptop off and moving it to the bottom of her bed, despite the protests that left your lips. 

“I don’t understand,” you said. “I’m just watching the movie. I’m not doing anything. “

“You’re not watching the movie,” she said. “You weren’t even looking at the screen. What’s got you so bothered? Did I do something?” 

“Of course not.” You pulled your legs under you so your legs were crossed and your back was against the wall. “You don’t need to worry. It’s honestly fine. I’m sorry if I’ve done something to imply otherwise.” 

Ellie rubbed the bridge of her nose, sighing. “You stress me out. You can just tell me, you know? No need to be so cagey. I promise I’ve heard worse.” 

“Don’t be so quick to say that.”

“Okay, now you have to tell me,” she said. “I’m never going to know peace again with a hook like that.” 

You were about to open your mouth to tell her that it was stupid and that it didn’t matter, but something stopped you. 

That was the coward’s way out. That’s what you’d always done—hid your feelings and concealed your emotions. That’s how you’d been raised. That’s how you thought everyone was. But now that you’d spent 2 months in Jackson, you’d realized that some people actually just said what they thought. And that, in the grand scheme of things, it was a better system than the Terranovian culture of superficiality.  

Just because the you 2 months ago would have shook her head and changed the subject didn’t mean the you now had to. 

Maybe this you could be different. Maybe, for once, this you could be brave. 

“I really—” You stopped yourself. Saying I really like you didn’t even begin to encompass what you felt for the girl sitting across from you. To distill the sheer magnitude of your feelings down to four words felt criminal. The swell in your chest that never went away whenever you were near her could never and would never be adequately represented in the puny offerings of the Latin alphabet and the English language, and if you were going to do this, you were going to do it right. 

You dared to look up at her for a moment. She was completely still, her green eyes reflecting the dim moonlight from outside. Once you met her gaze, you couldn’t bring yourself to pull it away.

“I’m really sorry that I’m putting you in an uncomfortable position for saying this,” you began (because old habits ran deep, and you would rather die than be impolite), “And I totally understand if you don’t want to talk to me after this. And I’m sorry for not telling you earlier.”

“As much as I’m sure that this is some sort of cultural cornerstone for you, please spare me the 6 foot long disclaimer script,” Ellie drawled.

“Right.” You gulped. “Anyway. As I was saying.”

“Any day now.” 

At that moment, she had never looked more perfect. Your eyes had adjusted to the dark lighting, so the weak moonlight that spilled in from the window above her created a halo around her head. 

“It’s you.” Your voice came out tiny. “You’re all that I can think about, and I don’t know what to do.”

There. It was off your chest.

For a moment, it was as if you’d suspended time, stopping Earth on its axis as you both held your breaths. There was nothing but silence and the occasional wooden creak of the old house’s foundation in the wind. 

Ellie’s face betrayed nothing, save for something in her eyes and the disappearance of the smirk that had been on her lips moments before. 

Then she spoke, her response whispered.

“Come here, then.” 

final a/n: NOW HOLD ON before you show up outside my dorm with pitchforks and torches 🗣️🗣️🗣️ i'm so sorry but this was a necessary evil as this was going to a massive scene without the chapter break. also a disproportionately massive chapter compared to the other ones coming out. i write very quickly and should get the following part out in a timeframe similar to the first 3 parts. thank u for reading ! tell me what you think abt this chapter while you wait x

[thebearer]

SPOILERS FOR SEASON 3 AHEAD

just finished episode one of season three & have to share some thoughts.

spoilers below the cut, don’t read if you don’t want spoilers!!!

• first and foremost carmen in copenhagen made my heart soar

• secondly, i knew KNEW he lived with stephen and michelle when he was in new york and i’m so fucking glad they showed it

• richie and mikey after the christmas incident. everyone after the christmas (fishes) incident. made me want to sob

• chef david, personally i think should light himself on fire and die idc. fuck that weird ass mf.

• chef terry???? living breathing angel we love you bestie!!

• luca in a headband and that’s all i gotta say. great day for the luca babes.

•the ENTIRE scene where carmen was in copenhagen and sent mikey a photo of some dish. then mikey proceeds to proudly show it to tina??? and you expected my eyes not to water. for me not to shed tears???

• natalie is a fucking gem and i have never felt so represented as an older sister. forever the peace maker, forever the care taker. i wanted to sob for her already.

• sydney keeping carmen in check. mf really said “do you think she’d want to hear my voice rn?” BITCH??? sydney is the realest for being like “im not talking about her” RIGHT!!! bc why are we talking about clarie rn?? RICHIE IS PRIORITY RN!! carmen’s already pissing me off, in sydney we trust.

• realizing the funeral scene was about mikey made me want to scream and cry. all their acting tho??? too motherfuckin’ notch.

• i want to give marcus the biggest hug in the world and take his pain from him. the waiting room scene. that blank stare hit so fucking hard. felt so raw and so real it made my stomach ache.

• and the scene in his mom’s bed?? I haven’t stopped crying. i’m not usually a big crier but the way that grief and just complete shock and overwhelming feeling was captured and portrayed??

• and can we talk about the plot twist that was carmen serving sydney??? fennel allergy bc he knew chef david’s bland stupid dumb ignorant hateful useless waste of space ass was WRONG and the dish goes to sydney!!! symbolic as fuck and i hope that’s a foreshadow of the season. how they’ll bring the best out in each other.

• lastly, carmen’s neurotic notes. just losing his shit in the restaurant. out of control so now he’s got to get back in control by acting crazy. we’re in for a fucking ride guys, i feel it.

[jovialtorchlight]

 A Letter to a Dead Brother on the Day After His Birthday

 A Letter to a Dead Brother on the Day After His Birthday

Sometimes I wonder if we would even be friends now. If the world was kinder and you never died.  Growing up, we were different.  You, calm, wise and cool. Me, a chubby kid, neurotic and impulsive.  Maybe we would live across the country, and tag each other in a dumb Facebook meme a few times a month.  Me, 12 miles from where I grew up. You, working in some big city; some vague ‘communications’ job. Maybe I would visit you for vacation get blackout drunk, puke in your petunia bush, and overstay my welcome. Maybe I would pick you up from the airport on Thanksgiving every year. Maybe you would have been my best friend. Maybe you would have the best man at my wedding. Maybe you’d be working at your parent’s shop on the pier, bitching about tourists and feral seagulls. 

Breathless. 

Maybe we could have been sad millennials together, Bitching about the job market, the housing market, the prices at Market Basket, warming water, the dying planet, stupid memes, we could have lost our jobs and helped our dad through cancer scares had a bonfire and fought and talked about our fucked up childhoods and had cars repossessed and be boring and bitter, maybe we could have been hyped for Skyrim and gotten married and divorced and had kids and dogs and cookouts and funerals but not for you for the people who die and it’s sad sure but it’s okay because they’re old which you never got to be  and had a day a month a year just one fucking more man please for the fucking love of god just give me one more day i swear i swear i swear trailing off. 

Anyway. It was your birthday yesterday. I tried to write you something, and the words didn’t flow. But here we are, and I guess the most important thing, the only thing that really matters, is to say;

happy birthday.

Love you, man. 

I miss you.

[kylekirkwoods]

‘If you have questions the asks are open’ you know what I’m about to ask about o7, beautiful woman and her man who has never combed his hair. Or tbh any of your other wips I like hearing people talk about their wips :3c

(I was half tempted to just dm you but you said asks so ask it is >:))

erika, you've given me the amazing opportunity to rant about my wips/fics so i am going to utilize it. i'll tell you about the beautiful woman and her man who has never combed his hair first, and everything else below the cut (for context, here is that wip summary poll). :DDDDDD

beautiful woman and her man who has never combed his hair this is my wag au for the fest!!!! i have talked to many a friend (including you) about this wip, and everyone seems to be very excited which i am happy about :)) basically, it's loscar with trans girl logan as the wag. they're very sweet and in love and it is simultaneously annoying and adorable to all of their friends. the main cast also includes max fewtrell (my beloved) as oscar's teammate at mclaren, lando norris as logan's bestie and max's wag, fred vesti as the most amazing supportive friend anyone could ask for, and a few other things that i am still working out (lawnsonoda is a very real thing that may or may not be included in this fic). i plan for it to be a semi linear narrative, by having the 2023 f1 season as the main thing but with flashbacks, social media, and other things sprinkled throughout. you have seen some of my outrageous planning and this will be a behemoth when i am done. i'm so excited!!!!!

gatekeep, gaslight, girlboss, george russell <3 imagine with me: george russell was born georgiana russell. so she's like if irl george was 50 times more neurotic and worried about what people thought of her. it will also be secret relationship gax (gasp... tuser gaxpodium writing gax... crazy...) and overprotective girl dad toto.

can the ghost of enzo ferrari fix my relationship? catholicism and being italian go hand in hand, so we're translating that religious fervor into f1. teams have a patron god (usually someone important to that brand or team) and surprise surprise, enzo ferrari is the patron god of the scuderia ferrari f1 team. your fealty and worship to your patron god will greatly impact your race results. this is angst central, with deeply heavy lore, so it will take me a while. and it focuses mainly on sewis and charlos (and how they deal with the whole "ferrari chewed me up and spit me out and you're still worshiping him" thing)

first a fan, then a teammate, then things got really mushy anyone else deeply impacted by leaf's dando video edit to "love of my life" by harry styles? no, only me? but i'm serious, this is entirely based on my visceral and life-changing reaction to that video. it changed me as a person...

uptight british bitch versus kind-of-rude dutch dickhead actually the first bit of rpf i ever wrote. it started as an assignment for my fiction 1 class (crazy...) and will probably be pretty short when i actually post it (no more than 10k words probably). it's a two part canon compliant gax fic, one part from george's perspective and one from max's. there's not much to say about this one since there's very little planning for it lol

what if three guys were in love but they were all stupid about it? it's geochalex. i feel like this should be obvious for me, but the three guys who are stupid and in love? geochalex. my notes rn for this fic mainly consist of the words "geochalex miscommunication!!!!!!!" so like yeah, that's the stupid right there

there are a few other wips/ideas that i forgot about when making the poll including a chalex apocalypse au that is inspired by the last of us (and also written for my fiction 1 class)

[prydainroyals]

((Trigger warning for a gaslighty, neurotic bitch.))

"Alice. Alice and Arthur," George interrupted.

"What?"

"The twins are named Alice and Arthur," repeated the King, greatly annoyed.

"What does that have to do with aything? Honestly, you're more fun when you're drunk," Gwyneth scoffed.

George gritted his teeth.

"Why are we having this meeting, Mother?" he asked through them.

Gwyneth heaved a dramatic sigh as though she weren't the one playing stupid, neurotic games, and folded her arms in that infuriatingly defensive and insecure way of hers.

"You don't need to be testy," she huffed. "As I was saying, before you interrupted me," she went on, adding a bit of simper to her voice that grated on George's nerves like nails on a chalkboard, "Alicia intends to plan a dinner for Little Artie's return."

Silence drifted suddenly between them until George deigned to peer up at his mother through tired eyes.

"Well? Go on then," he told her.

"I was just waiting to see if you were listening!" came her haughty reply--George's temper nearly broke but he held firm, and simply ground his teeth in seething silence.

"Anyway, I want you not to do it," Gwyneth commanded suddenly, again, as if she weren't the one playing stupid little games, changing subjects and wasting George's time. "Only Little Princes who behave get rewards,~" Gwyneth touted like some sort of cruel and petty mantra.

It was one George had heard hundreds of times before during his own childhood.

His head continued to pound, light and sound breached his senses like spears, and he ground his teeth so hard he thought they might fall out any minute.

Both Arthur and Alice's words had been buzzing around his head as of late. He couldn't stop thinking about them, or that he had just spent Longest Night without his sons, both he... he did miss dearly, and one of whom was still actually alive.

George pulled in a long and shaking breath, inhaling deeply:

"--No."

"... I beg your pardon?" Gwyneth snapped.

Still looking at his shoes like the coward George felt he was, he soldiered on.

"I did not stutter, Mother," George toned with the sort of timbre of someone whose patience has long since run out, but to whom decorum still mattered just a little bit.

"Yesterday, Alice asked my permission to set up the engagement in honor of her brother, and I am due to give her my answer this morning."

"You'd better let her down lightly, then!" Gwyneth threatened airily.

"I will grant Alice permission and resources," George spat, "and I will publicly support MY her, His Royal Highness, Crown Prince Arthur. Not Little Artie, Mother, but Arthur. A-R-T-H-U-R," the King spelled out plainly and loudly in as pig-headed a manner as he could manage.

"I know how Arthur is spelled!" Gwyneth scoffed defensively, but before she could begin another scolding, George intercepted her again:

"Good! Then say his name correctly, Mother!" the King glared upward at her, his voice loud and taut with all the building tension within him cresting unbearably.

"Now if you will excuse me--My daughter and I have a dinner to plan. You are dismissed."

"Georgie--"

"Get. OUT!!" roared the King, loudly enough that even Gwyneth obeyed.

---

Y I K E S. This was a bit painful to write. I think most of us know someone like this.

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[kimwexlers-brownhair]

Limp Noodle Dish: There was no need to character assassinate Meg when Carlotta exists and would be sufficiently vengeful since, y'know, Piangi's unjustified murder.

Dude, I've always wondered why ALW chose Meg as the jealous antagonist over Carlotta! I mean, either way, it's a tired sexist trope, but it just makes no sense to me to twist Meg into that stupid trope when Carlotta has actual reason to hate Erik and resent Christine.

My rather out-there theory I cling to is that ALW became aware of all the Erik/Other Woman fanfiction, including Erik/Meg. Being the most neurotic, possessive E/C fan in the world, apparently, maybe he decided to take it out on Meg in the sequel. "There! See? No one's good enough for Erik except Christine! You think Meg can compete with Christine in terms of kindness, understanding, and attractiveness? You fools. She's a mess. EVERY WOMAN IS A MESS AND A CRAZY BITCH EXCEPT SAR -- EXCEPT CHRISTINE! I meant Christine."

[streetkid-named-desire]

Also I'm an open book and genuine person and you at least know what you're getting with me as a friend which is a very passionate trained attack dog with autism. I don't have any ulterior motives bc I'm too old and have a day job. I just wanna have genuine connection and have fun. Also I'm socially stupid and can't pick up on subtle cues so you think I could put subtle cues down too? Please I have resting bitch keyboard and need to make sure everyone knows I'm not actually mad at them ever. I'm neurotic. I'm both a big attack dog and a little Chihuahua.

And I hate people that make social situations a game and that clout chase and use people and bully people. Like idk man it's just so low stakes and you can choose to just vibe and have fun but you choose not to vibe and have fun or at least your definition of vibing and having fun is using people and playing a game of high school popularity contests but for cyberpunk modding and VP. SAD! Just be normal about fandom it's so easy.

[shopcat]

i've definitely said this before but no harm in repeating like i think... beyond what the writers intend or what they're actually attempting to aim for (if anything) i can see the stupid steve nancy "love triangle" Thing in many entirely reasonable lights and not one of them end in it actually being a love triangle. it's not a love triangle. and MAYBE!!!! i'm just tired of the steve haters of the world being like "season 4 steve sucks he's just so into nancy" FUCK OFF!!!! MAYBE YOU TRY AND HANG AROUND YOUR EX IN A STRESSFUL SITUATION AND SEE HOW YOU COPE. BITCH. anyway i think it's a testament to um character empathy and a love for their part in their narrative to view things not only kindly but ... logically and not just dismiss what could be happening either out of like panic or despair bc that's just not as fun at the end of the day and i am maybe naively hopeful. and instead it's just SO easy to contextualise and a story is only what it's telling YOU etc etc.

like how okay to me the 6 little nuggets speech coalesces all at once like, 1. steve and nancy got together in a period of their lives where the only problem in their lives was meant to be like. which college they're getting into. to each other they represent the like literal halcyon days of normalcy in an incredibly depressing twist on it where the nostalgic times they wish they could go back to was just Average Life. just Highschool. with the knowledge monsters don't exist and their friends aren't dead. in the continued battering ram of the upside down's particular brand of trauma year in and out wearing them down i think being around each other will always bring out that part of themselves that remembers what it was like When They Were Happy and i think the entire reason they seemed to revert so much to their roots this season in those little glimpses we see is because of this and this particular like, go of it the stakes were higher and their involvement was far more concentrated so um. when every move you make has weight it's not CRAZY that he wanted to let a little bit of it off and i think he sees nancy as this shining beacon of What Once Was, so YEAH in the fucking throes of the beginning of the apocalypse he latched onto her again a little. entirely understandable and not a VILLAINOUS TRAIT on either of their parts

this goes hand in hand with 2. steve himself is a notoriously avoidant incredibly actually NEUROTIC person. he wants SO badly to just cling on to what he once had he will unintentionally dig his nails in to it and we see this a LOT in the context of nancy especially during season one and like the first half of season two. he wants to Let The Bad Things Go and just go to the movies and be a couple normal kids again. whenever the upside down rears it's head again he doesn't react with like, preparedness or even fear he just goes straight to NO NO NO NO NO which is like. literally. but it's because he doesn't WANT to deal with it like at All. and i find that actually interesting juxtaposed with how nancy actively seeks out and cannot let the upside down go... maybe for what it did to her or maybe because she just feels she has to. who else is going to. and the initial reason she even bonded with jonathan or if you like to think so developed proper feelings for him is because jonathan ALSO sought it out. the upside down is a mystery to them that they want to solve and the upside down is a PROBLEM to get away from for steve and i think this is significant. so i think them experiencing something that feels bigger than it ever has in a context where it's all on them and where the kids they're taking care of are in genuine danger as well as themselves, coming right off the back of having to ESCAPE the dimensional hell they were this time not even metaphorically dragged into it's totally reasonable to look at one another and go GOD. it was so simple with you!!!!!

and while also 3. the speech itself was ... a death speech to be later quoted and reminisced upon a la "but you need to go on your rv trip!!! you can't die here!!!" and he'll go "you idiot... the six little nuggets were you guys all along" and 4. within the Literal speech itself he SAID the kids were "practice" and it was probably only ever intended to be a way to show his genuine connection to them and was never meant to be taken quite so literally as "i actually want 6 real life children that you my future wife will birth", it's also tied into 5. i am so fucking scared right now. and we used to be in love. and you're sitting next to me while my throat hurts from the ligature wounds given to me by a monster and you appreciate how i also represent a sense of typicality and grounded preparedness that you sometimes feel you need. and you're also scared. and i want to be normal and i want to be happy and i want us to be safe in the end and i want something to look forward to. and it's the simplest thing on earth -> i want to get the FUCK out of here. but we can't get the fuck out of here because we're driving towards our doom and i'm the one in the driver's seat. and i'm scared. and i want to say it because if i don't say it no one else is going to know. and she says that sounds nice because it sounds nice...

and finally 6. i think steve is like. mourning. i think he's looking at her and going i loved you once and i miss it but, integrally, it's past the point of return. we've grown and we've changed and maybe you're finally realising how much and she is so important to him and he loved her and he LOVES her but he doesn't Love her. she is the reason his life changed and maybe he never got to put to rest that he could never go back to the way it once was but he doesn't WANT to go back and he's SAYING this. he's going thank GOD you gave me the bump on the head and woke me up because i feel like i'm finally moving forwards now and i wish it could be normal but it can't and thank god for that. i am so scared of change but knowing you is what changed me and i am so happy for it. she introduced him to it all through one way or another and he never once even considered that a bad thing (though i do think he doesn't give himself enough credit etc etc). their talk in the woods before it is SO important to me because he's saying Thank you. and he's saying GOODBYE!!! he's saying yeah the person i picture next to me in this pipe dream is you because in a way it probably always will be you and because it Was always you back then. but i don't want to marry you. i want a place to settle down and have some kids even metaphorical and i know YOU don't want that. it's an acknowledgement of how much they've changed it's a conversation behind the conversation of looking into someone's eyes and telling them what you want and knowing they don't want the same and letting go of what once was even though like YEAH it's not the end of the world if there's still some sort of stirred up feelings. but it's not a love confession and it's not a man desperately trying to cling onto his ex while she (grown woman that she is) sits there and smiles at him for it and therefore turns her into a doormat and him into a creep or whatever the fuck the braindead masses are squawking about...

AND THAT IS THE REAL 6 LITTLE NUGGETS!!!! also i think to reduce two great characters independently to who they are To Each other is a disservice and there is no hidden plot within the plot dedicated to their romance in any deliberate way imo. or whatever. steve is not just Nancy's Ex and nancy is not just one half of a love interest bouncing back and forth in the worlds most tired misogyny ping pong of steve v jonathan. i think all the stuff this season it's the show's way of letting us see that nancy can see how much he's developed as a person and how even after all the hard work he himself put in for it and it's his own genuine kindness and literal body he puts in the line he still believes it's all because of her and he's grateful and while i have Low Hope i also must also have Hope that it will end... kindly. they both deserve an Ending and not just a massacre of characterisation.

[whitexdove]

⭐  𝙢𝙚𝙚𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙪𝙣

— 𝙗𝙖𝙨𝙞𝙘𝙨

(𝙋𝙀𝙉)𝙉𝘼𝙈𝙀: Stumpy

𝙋𝙍𝙊𝙉𝙊𝙐𝙉𝙎: they/them (genderless, probably a demon)

𝙕𝙊𝘿𝙄𝘼𝘾: pisces but spiritually an aries

𝙎𝙄𝙉𝙂𝙇𝙀 / 𝙏𝘼𝙆𝙀𝙉: totally married to @/fatetainted (pete)

— 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙚 𝙛𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙨

𝙞. i am NERVOUS. constantly. just a fuckin mess. i have a hard time with social interactions and i'm trying more on this blog but you guys i'm fucking dying. (autism and anxiety is a hell of a combo). it's been weird to be the most authentic version of myself on this blog but.

𝙞𝙞. i have a fursona and my friend is making a partial fursuit of the dude. uh. they're a poorly bred german shepherd/a neurotic mess that chews holes in their clothing, like me. goth/punk aesthetic but nerves.

𝙞𝙞𝙞. i feel like im the peak depressed artist. i'm constantly sleep deprived and struggling with my art. i share my art occasionally but tbh with the drawing ideas i have here you will unfortunately see it more

— 𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚

haha i started rping on tumblr when i was 13. i'm 25 now so i've certainly got roleplay experience. uhhh i do write standalone things, but not frequently. you can find some of those HERE (though it's back when i wrote cats so... jot that down) --i stille WRITE standalone short stories but its really only a fit of passion thing. look i draw i'm bad with words (i say, when people have surely seen my nonsense/read the stupid long bio page anyway)

— 𝙢𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙛𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚

if this is what i write... feral. animal-like. not quite an animal but they're a little too wild to be a normal person (which is like, the vibe with rufus. he bites.) i used to have a werewolf oc that got big and was known for being unhinged and feral. just,,, lets not talk about that bitch please ty. i also write dragons, cats, kinda anyone.

either the muse is picked up as a joke, because i had like extreme passion&ideas or like,,, some fucked up combo. i have a sideblog for college fratbro versions of slashers LMAOOOOO nothing is safe

— 𝙨𝙪𝙗-𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙧𝙚𝙨

juuuuust about anything within reason (like sometimes. sometimes we are gonna have to plot i'm not just writing wild shit with anyone you feel) -- horror is a personal preference but like. haha i love horror. i need to make a list of horror influences i've used. idk fuck it we ball after discussion. fluff/soft stuff is also SUPER NICE. but if im not writing casual stuff im probably writing soul crushing angst. iiiii do not rp smut. fine to imply it /talk about it in threads but like. please. please do not boink my muses in threads. even if they joke about it. i will hard skip into the next scene ty goodbye

— 𝙥𝙡𝙤𝙩𝙨 𝙫𝙨. 𝙢𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙨

U H. look, memes are the best way to start bc like either i'm shit at plotting or galaxy brained. there is no between. once i have a better feel for how our characters interact it's easier/more comfortable to bullshit plots! i'm the captain of the uss make shit up

[onebigerror]

@araneorum - continued from here

trixie is deeper in the closet than most. she’s barely allowed herself to even think about what she really wants. of course she knows, she just tries to focus on other things. the things that she can have without question. like that stupid boy that went off to get her another drink to chase off the migraine she was forming from just from being near him - what was his name? justin, jason? it hardly mattered. he’d be gone soon enough calling trixie all kinds of names on his way out - neurotic, frigid, bitch - as another one lined up to take his place. money and status - as long as she stood behind a man who possessed it like her father. those were all things she could have. this woman was not. sometimes she wished she could just be like her twin. tricia had been knocked half senseless over the years by their father as he attempted to keep her in line. still, she managed to be herself and do what she wanted. even if it was behind his back. trixie was way too scared to even dare go against the rules. no, she would do as she was told, she would marry well like their mother and older sister had and she would enjoy all the things money could buy as a cheap reward. “that’s great. for you.” she tried to make her words cut and didn’t succeed. there wasn’t any of the venom she had hoped for. “just keep your voice down. it would be unfortunate for anyone to hear.” trixie meant those words more for herself than for jasmine that didn’t seem to care. the music was way too loud and no one was really paying attention to them. justin or jason had been gone for much longer than she expected he would be. it was a reprieve that she found herself silently grateful for. trixie didn’t have any idea that he was really across the room behind her back with his tongue down another girls throat. “i have a boyfriend. he’s gone to get me a drink.” the confession made her tense up. 'it's you that i like' “why?” was all trixie could say at first. she was clearly flustered. “why me. you barely know me.” nervous blue eyes did another quick sweep to be sure no one was paying attention. again she missed him - justin or jason. trixie would only see what she wanted to see anyway. the music was pumping like a damned heartbeat. right in tune to the pounding in her head. she needed to get the hell out of there.

[scarletkilometers]

sup bitches I’m Back(TM) now and I’m going to break my blog back in with some Funny Train Twin Meta, bc that is deffinitely what everyone here followed me for

like everyone else I read the twins as MASSIVELY autistic, but what sticks out to me the most is how they come around to resembling the two extreme ends of the scale most autistic ppl I know irl fall on. In Ingo’s case he's the guy who sees that people always seem to be mad at him for inscrutable nonsense reasons and tries to preempt it by becoming a neurotic people-pleaser, plus a layer of trying to counter the assumption that he’s stupid by being Extremely Clever And Articulate (AKA being a Wordy Motherfucker) So There Can Be Absolutely No Chance Of Confusion. Meanwhile, Emmet is someone who can't fit in and doesn't particularly want to, and has long since concluded that the swathes of allistic ppl getting mad at him for inscrutable nonsense reasons are 100% Not His Problem. He is unapologetically himself, he says Exactly what he means with no pretense or subtext and if you want to project some left-field malicious intent onto it bc Venus was in retrograde and he asked for two pickles on his sandwich instead of one, that's between you and God.

[toxicrants]

I literally glanced at the anti-natalism subreddit because I'm a single, child free woman turning 30 and reddit obviously has my number, but jesus christ, these people really type out full essays on how every suffering in your child's life is your fault and you'll have to live with yourself knowing all their failed marriages and bankruptcy are all your fault because you had the selfishness to want to procreate... I've never seen such neurotic dribble. They even said 'every skinned knee'.

Also, not to mention all the obvious incels who refer to women as breeders and think pregnancy is women 'being stupid bitches self-harming'. Hide yourself behind as much 'I don't want anymore children to suffer' bullshit as you want, but when the majority of your comments are about slagging off women, calling us stupid, calling us whores, calling us 'breeders' and insisting maternity leave and childcare shouldn't be a thing because it 'encourages women to be lazy whores who get fucked and paid' then you're just another incel sub by a different name.