#twistingly | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moonstruckme · 5 months

Note

Steve Harrington!! We love him!!

I’d love to request established relationship fem!reader passing out. I just know Steve would be so loving and caring🫶🏼

Thanks for requesting babe! He is so loving and caring...in his own way <3

cw: reader passes out, mention of skipping meals

Steve Harrington x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

“Hey, hey!” Steve taps your face frantically, tone accusatory as if you’ll wake up if you know you’re in trouble. “Y/n, come on.”

You’ve been working in the garden all afternoon. After weeks of complaining about the pests that had been eating your tomatoes, you’d finally found a free day to plant marigolds to keep them away. Steve thought he’d win Boyfriend of the Year by making a pitcher of lemonade for you, but when he’d called you and you’d turned around, you no sooner stood up than you went back down.

“Babe, hey.” Your eyes move behind your eyelids, and he looses a breath, patting your cheek a couple more times until they peel open.

You look frighteningly out of it, eyes squinty and unfocussed as they move over your surroundings before settling on Steve.

“What?” you ask, like he’s woken you up for no good reason.

“You okay?” He shuffles closer to you on the ground. He feels heart-twistingly guilty about not being quick enough to catch you, but thankfully you’d crumpled to the side, onto the soft grass, so he’s hoping you haven’t hurt yourself too badly. Still, he can’t move you until he knows for sure. At his question, you only blink sluggishly. “Hey,” he tries again, urgent. “Does anything hurt?”

“I don’t…” Your face scrunches confusedly. “I don’t think so.”

“Okay, okay.” That’s good enough for Steve. He slides a careful hand under your head, feeling for blood or bumps. When he doesn’t find any, he brings it into his lap, grabbing the cup he’d set on the ground after running to you. “Here, have—have some lemonade.”

Miraculously, there’s still some liquid that hasn’t sloshed out. Your first sip is tentative, but you drink greedily after that, a thin rivulet missing the corner of your mouth and running down your cheek. Steve swipes it away before it can drip off your chin, bringing his hand to your forehead to cover your eyes from the sun.

“Jesus, babe, are you trying to kill me? What happened?”

“M’not sure.” Your voice comes out a bit clearer as you lower the cup, eyes blinking open further now that you’re not squinting against the light. “I just got really hot, all of a sudden. Did I pass out?”

“Yeah.” Steve tries to position his head so it’s blocking the sun, using his hand to brush dirt and grass from the side of your face. “You fell pretty hard, honey.”

“Sorry.”

A funny little laugh startles out of him. “Yeah, you fucking should be.” Steve shakes his head, squishing your cheek meanly with his thumb, both of you sticky with sugar and soil. “You scared the shit out of me, idiot. Are you sure you’re not hurting anywhere?”

You frown. “My head sort of hurts.”

Steve’s blood runs cold. “Yeah?” he asks, already probing at the side that had hit the ground with panicky, perhaps less-than-gentle fingers.

“Mm, but just, like, a headache,” you say, discomfort evident in your tone. “It’s not bad.”

Steve finds that to be of little consolation. “C’mon, let’s go inside,” he says, helping you sit up before wrapping an arm under your shoulders to support you as you walk. You seem perfectly capable, now, almost back to normal if a little disoriented, but he’s not taking any chances.

He sets you onto the couch and you all but dissolve into the cushions, pressing your face to the cool pillow while he goes to get more lemonade from the kitchen. He detours to grab some painkillers too. (Those might be a bad idea if whatever’s going on with you turns out to be serious, but he can’t think past making you feel better right now. If painkillers do that, fuck everything else.) You take them both gratefully, sitting up again to gulp down the contents of the cup. Steve presses the back of his hand to your sweaty forehead. It doesn't seem hot enough outside for heatstroke, but you never know. Thankfully, you seem normal, though you lean into his cool touch with an adorable little sigh.

“I’m gonna make you something to eat,” he tells you, taking your cup for a refill. “PB and J sound okay?”

“Yes, please.” Your voice follows him into the kitchen, and he relaxes a bit at the far more familiar sound of it, less waver in your tone. Maybe the drink and air conditioning are doing you good. “Sorry, Stevie, I don’t know what happened.”

“Have you been drinking water?” he asks, getting a plate down from your cabinets and setting the bread on it.

“Yeah,” you sound confused. A bit defensive, too. “I brought a water bottle out with me, I’ve been drinking from it the whole time.”

That’s true, Steve had seen it sitting upright in the grass next to you. “Maybe one water bottle wasn’t enough,” he suggests. “You were out there for a while.”

“It’s not that hot out,” you argue, but you sound unsure.

He huffs though he doesn’t disagree, slathering the jelly side of your sandwich thicker, the way you like it. “What’d you have for lunch?”

There’s a pause. “A banana.”

“No, you had that for breakfast. I was there.” He finishes with your sandwich, putting his supplies back where they came from. “I meant what’d you have for lunch?”

You’re quiet, and when Steve turns the corner with your PB&J, you’re already looking over at him, your expression sheepish.

His next exhale is huffy with exasperation. “Oh, you asshole,” he says, even as relief floods through him. At least this, he knows what to do about. “You are trying to kill me!”

“I’m sorry, I forgot!” Your voice pitches as he stalks closer, almost laughing when he dumps your plate unceremoniously in your lap. “I really just forgot, Stevie, I would never try to kill you.”

“You’re just trying to make me go gray in my prime, is that it?” He shakes his head, but your smile has always been contagious, and his lips start to curve against his will. “Just eat your sandwich.”

You take a bite obediently, humming in satisfaction. “This is really good, baby. Thank you.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I’ll bet it is.”

“Steve?”

He grunts.

“Could I have a kiss, please?”

He looks over, and you’re giving him the eyes. Those sweet, never-did-nothing-to-nobody, beautiful eyes. And, well, he’s hopeless for them.

“Yeah, fine.” He leans over, still careful as he sets a hand on your face to tilt you towards him. You taste of sweetness, lemonade and strawberry jam and your cherry chapstick. Steve samples it once, twice, three times, before drawing back. “I’m gonna cut you up some fruit, okay?” he says softly, thumb sweeping across your cheek. “Stay put.”

“You’re such a mom,” you tease as he starts back towards the kitchen.

“Keep talking like that,” he threatens, “and I’ll cut off kisses completely.”

799 notes · View notes

virgo-79 · 7 months

Text

Upon a rewatch of Calypso's Birthday, I have an additional thought.

Ned Low was a dead man walking from the moment he started harassing Ed with the bow while he was telling him he was a generic, dirty pirate. And I say that because what I DIDN'T catch on first watch was the moment the camera shifts focus to Stede.

Stede was fucking PISSED right there. There's no trepidation or fear in his face while Ned's shoving the bow in Ed's face and Ed's trying to turn away from it. (Ed, who we know from season 1 doesn't like to be touched by, well, anyone but Stede as far as I can tell.) Stede is furious.

I've not felt that Stede was out to prove anything in that ep. It wasn't about him showing anyone he was a "real" pirate. Stede killed Ned because Ned made him angry -- gut-twistingly angry. Stede has been bullied and terrorized most of his life, and while he still struggles with his own self-worth, that kind of treatment stokes a fire.

When he puts that sword to Ned's neck and tells him to walk, when he shoves him, it is 100% fury driving him. He's angry enough, after a lifetime of being demeaned and terrorized, to be beyond even Ed's ability to talk him down.

And that fury shows itself in that very first confrontation in their cabin. They make a POINT of switching that focus from Ed to Stede, to show us Stede's expression while Ned is tormenting Ed.

I don't even know that the rest of the night needed to happen to drive him to it. I think Stede made up his mind about Ned before he even broke out the fireplace poker. It didn't matter what Ed said; Ned was toast the moment Stede watched him shove that bow in Ed's face.

#ofmd #ofmd spoilers #stede bonnet #ed teach #ned low

362 notes · View notes

wutheringskies · 7 months

Text

but do you ever think of how when Wei Wuxian was losing hope in being righteous and being good, twistingly, it was Wen Qing and Wen Ning's sacrifice that not only sealed his fate, but also affirmed he wasn't the wrong one. It was the world.

#wei wuxian #wen qing #wen ning #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #novel excerpt

110 notes · View notes

ozzy-boy · 30 days

Note

Jealous headcanons for your faves pls?

oh my god oh my god oh my god.

Cole:

-Jealous Jealous Jealous. The MOST jealous do I even need to say it???

-He's jealous about EVERYONE and EVERYTHING. Hell, he'll be jealous of stuffed animals on your bed or your phone if you're paying attention to it and not him. Cole will get jealous of the pillow you lay your head on and insist you should lay on him instead.

-Horrifically, gut-twistingly jealous of other people. He tries not to let it show around you too much, but he's still pretty obvious about it.

-He gets this tight-lipped smile and talks through his teeth when he's jealous. You'll probably see his eye twitch too.

-"Ah... you got coffee with them, huh? I'm so... happy you had fun, darling."

-Although he only smiles along with it when you're with him. When Marshmallow isn't around, he really lets it out.

-Pacing back and forth, fingernails digging into his own skin to alleviate all the pent up emotions inside him, all the anger. The dark expression on his face along with his grinding teeth showing a side of him you'll hopefully never get to see.

-He just doesn't understand why you waste your time with these low-lives. They're so far beneath you- they can't possibly love you like he does.

-As far as he's concerned no one else should even breathe the same air or look in your direction. Hates hates hates having to share his beloved with anyone else.

-He knows deep down that it's unreasonable for him to feel this way, but he can't help it! He can't stand having your attention taken away from him.

Scale:

-Despite how much he tries to hide it, deep down, Scale is very insecure.

-He can take lives and throw himself into training like it's nothing. When it comes to his profession, Scale is extremely confident. Relationships are another story.

-Scale is genuinely in disbelief that you like him.

-I feel like he doesn't fully understand why he's jealous of others around you.

-When Scale is jealous, he gets easily annoyed and snippy. Chances are he may say something really mean without intending to.

-He instantly regrets it and looks like a kicked puppy, so it's hard to stay mad at him for it.

-Scale kind of operates under the assumption that eventually, you'll get bored and break up with him. He's defaulted to trying to keep your relationship at arms length so it doesn't hurt as much when it happens.

-Well, that's what he tells himself. It's hard to stay distant from someone like you. Sometimes, seeing you interact so happily with other people reminds him of how temporary your relationship is.

-Little does that idiot know, he's stuck with you for life. Please kiss his dumb face and remind him of that fact.

#ozzy writing #blush blush game #blush blush cole #blush blush scale #blush blush

43 notes · View notes

yesimwriting · 1 year

Note

Hi! I understand if this isn’t something you’re interested in but I was wondering if you could write the boys being possessive/protective over the reader. I was just rereading final girl chapter 5 and I’d just love to see her rip them a new one in her own way about boundaries and stuff and seeing them manipulate/grovel there way in to her good graces again or like how she would’ve reacted to the boys scaring away the boy who took her to the party if Billy wasn’t in one of his moods I don’t know if I asked this right I’ve sent asks so many time to you now and I’m all ways worried I don’t convey/explain what I mean properly and it’s just confusing for you but anyway have a good day/night and whether you can or can’t,thank you anyway :)

*set in the same world as the final girl fic series but can be read as a stand alone with little to no context lol

A/n hi!! there's still some manipulative vibes in this bc i just feel like one of them is bound to trauma dump as a way 'in' when y/n's mad at them but i still feel like it's mainly nice! especially bc there's some emotional growth

----

You're still on the phone, moving in and out of their line of sight. The intention was never to watch you from the sprawling tree they use to get to your window, but there was something about your focus on the whatever conversation you're still having that left Billy telling Stu to wait.

Billy's not sure what he's waiting for. Maybe it's a form of masochism, to see how long you'll talk to whoever's on the other end.

"She's still on the phone." Stu's voice has taken on that hollow, detached quality that's never an indicator of self control. Billy says nothing, not in the mood to defend you or deflect the stinging. "He wouldn't call her..."

There's a second part of Stu's sentence that's just implied. He wouldn't call her after what happened in the locker room. "She found out. She might have called him."

The words leave a bitter taste in his mouth. The fact that Jack McCarthy didn't permanently fade back into obscurity after he and Stu made it clear that while you might buy the whole study-buddy act, they can see straight through him is pounding inside his head. Again and again, the start of a headache.

"If you don't want to..." Stu presses his palm into bark, so hard he wouldn't be surprised if he pulled his hand away bloody. "If you're not in the mood to talk to cutie in there, there's always another way to see if she's talking to him."

Even though it's a barely an idea, a soft suggestion, the knot in Stu's chest loosens with the words. Just checking in on Jack could easily turn into calling Jack...which would lead to the most mind clearing thing Stu can imagine. Thoughts of tearing him apart, piece by piece until it's impossible to tell that the mess of red and guts was ever the teenager with the letterman jacket that threw his arm around you during your study period rush to the front of Stu's mind. It's so soothing that he almost moves to the lower branch that lets him reach the ground.

Stu thinks about bringing it up again, a little less subtle and more desperate but he wants it too bad to care. Needs it. You pace back into view as his lips part. You're now holding the phone against your other ear, meaning that the receiver is no longer blocking your face. He pauses, taking the opportunity to watch you more openly than he normally lets himself.

Your lips are slightly parted in a just barely-there pout and your eyes are locked on something in front of you. There's something about the slight, halfhearted irritation in your expression. It takes Stu a second to place why he can't stop staring and then it clicks--it's twistingly cute...and you're...pretty.

Not that Stu doesn't regularly see you as attractive or hot, but pretty's different. At least, different in the way it's sticking out to him now, like a splinter that breaks off beneath the skin before you can pull it out. You're pretty in a way that Stu never thinks about. Pretty in a soft way that reminds him of domestic shit and makes his chest feel tight.

"We uh--" It's not the first time they've popped by with a backpack with a few things to do, but this time it's different. They took their time thinking about what you'd like, what'd work as a sort of peace offering. Now, watching you chat away without a care in the world over your fight, it all feels pathetic.

Everything becomes a soft buzz of background noise as you press you sigh. Billy wishes he knew how to better read lips because you sigh, say something, and then dramatically fall back on your bed.

You shift onto your stomach, propping your head up with an elbow. The oversized T-shirt that you're in slides down your shoulder and your hair's a little fluffier than before due to your movements. There's a softness to your appearance that leaves an odd feeling flaring in Billy's stomach, a sensation that could be considered butterflies if it felt less like being stabbed.

The in-between of too close while still being so far is oddly overwhelming drawn out like this. Billy swallows as you laugh at something from the other line. "We're already here."

It's a different level of sad to get here and then turn around, so Billy shift forward and finally reaches for the window. The move has grown so familiar Billy even knows at what point he needs to push a little harder because of the way the sides stick to the frame. He moves his hand an it doesn't budge. To add salt to the wound, you've locked the window. You never lock the fucking window.

A dangerous wave of flighty rejection coils in his stomach. The part of him that knows how to think in the long term knows that he should leave while he still can. The last thing anyone needs is for Billy to start associating this with you.

The window creeks and your head snaps towards them. Your eyebrows draw together and you sit up fully, even more of your shoulder and collarbone exposing themselves with the motion. You mumble something into the phone, a beat passes, and then you stand. you approach the window begrudgingly, placing a hand on your hip before cradling the phone between your neck and cheek.

Your lips are pressed together in a way that seems to lull the violent mindset of them both. It's the kind of look you get when you're trying not to smile. After a second, you lean down, undo the lock, and open the window.

"You won't belie--" You sigh, moving to hold the phone again, "Stop enjoying this." Whoever's on the other line must really be annoying you, because you shift back enough to let Billy and Stu in through the window. "Seriously, I'll hang up."

Billy and Stu exchange a look. They're here, trying to get you past something only you think is an issue, and you're still on the fucking phone. Who could be that important?

"No! You are so not talking to them."

There's a brief silence as you wander back towards your bed. The growing discomfort in Billy's chest wins his silent, internal argument. "Who wants to talk to us?"

At that, you finally pause, breeziness briefly leaving your eyes as you look at him. That look pinches at Billy's flightiness and soothes a part of him that he doesn't quite get. You're so good at that, at detecting whatever you want in him. The inability to twist and fully control your perception of him is overwhelming sometimes. Too similar to the way that his mom could--

"Hallie." Your normal expression has come back, like it always does. The awareness that Billy doubts you understand outside of a subconscious level never lingers on your face. But your voice delivers the answer so gently it feels like an olive branch. "You've subjected her to a super long rant about your betrayal."

Despite all the aggression you forced into your words, that relaxes something in them both. Hallie--the completely harmless childhood best friend that's still in Texas. States away, way too far to come between the three of you, even if she wanted to.

"Hallie," Stu repeats, and Billy can feel Stu's shift to something much more genuine. "The super hot girl from your vacation pho--"

"Do not start." You hold up a finger in warning and there's something in the reaction. You'd deny it if anyone ever brought it up, but Stu's noticed the way you get when he goes out of the way to hit on anyone. Even Tatum. You're subtle about, but you get a little quieter as you pick at your nails or try to focus on something else. This time, though, there's none of that, just a bit of urging annoyance. "She has a big enough head as is."

There's a sound from the other line and you roll your eyes. "What? It's true." You're listening to whatever's on the other end intently. "Okay--fine--bye, loser." Another wave of chatter from the other line. "Uh--it's--" You glance over at the two boys still lingering in the corner. "Love you, too. Bye."

You hang up, making a point of keeping your back to them as you set the receiver back onto the machine on your nightstand.

Stu breaks, laughing once. You snap your head in his direction. "Shut up."

Stu takes a tentative step towards you, already liking how quickly you're easing. Maybe all you needed was to feel a little more in control by ranting to someone that isn't here. "Why don't you ever tell me you love me?"

You glare at Stu's exaggerated pout. "You do not get to make fun of me while I'm mad at you." You stand a little straighter. "Why are you guys even here?"

"Not making fun of you." Stu reaches your bed, flopping onto your mattress like he lives with you. He casually picks up a fluffy pillow and squeezes it to his chest. "Genuinely hurt that you don't love us."

Confusion cracks at your annoyance, "Us?"

"If you said 'I love you' to grumpy before me, I don't wanna know." He squeezes the pillow a little tighter, turning his head and squeezing his eyes shut like he can't take the agony. "Too painful, bug."

You cross your arms again, eyes awkwardly falling to the ground. It's not Stu's dramatics that get to you, but you never like it when anyone reduces Billy into something negative and angsty. "He's not grumpy."

"Oh, defensive." Stu absentmindedly weaves his fingers through the pillow's layer of fluff. "Didn't think you'd still care."

You sigh, annoyed at his passive aggressiveness as if they didn't come to your room while fully aware of how mad you are. "That's dramatic, even for you."

"Is it?" Billy mumbles the question, low and almost unsure. "We--we weren't sure if you'd talk to us again."

The comment leaves you feeling like the intruding force. Something about their somber mood makes it seem like you're what's unfitting even though they came to your room. "Just because I'm mad right now doesn't mean I'll be mad forever."

You're not sure you could be. Sure, you have other friends you really care about, but they're all linked to Billy and Stu. They're dating Sid and Tatum and Randy's usually with the group. It's not that you think the three of them would cut you off, but it wouldn't be the same. And even if everything without Billy and Stu could be perfect, you still wouldn't be happy. Not fully.

You'd miss them, miss the way that Stu can always make you laugh no matter how you're feeling and how comforting Billy's presence can be. They might really push boundaries sometimes, but they're still your best friends.

"I get that you--" Sighing, you scratch the back of your wrist. "Hallie and I were talking about it and she reminded me that you guys have good intentions, and I get that, but this is the second time I have to find out that you threatened someone behind my back."

Stu's moved onto his side, head propped up on an elbow as he watches you. Billy's still lingering near the window. Both of them are quiet and that's getting to you. "I'm not a little kid and I don't need you guys to approve of everyone I'm friends with."

"They didn't want to be friends with you." There's no argument in Stu's voice or aggression, just a factual flatness that leaves your face hot.

You shift your weight from one foot to the other. Noel wanting more than friendship's something that makes sense. He was flirty, you went out on a date, and he's known for being an insensitive player. But Jack didn't seem like that at all. Sure, he's a quarterback and hangs out with the guys that never shut up during class, but he had a reason to study with you. Your english teacher assigned him to be tutored by you because his grades were dropping to the point where his coach was threatening to bench him. Sure, he was nice to you, but that's probably because he was worried about his grade. No star player wants to be benched during recruiting season.

The implication also leaves a hard feeling in your stomach. It picks at an insecurity that rooted itself into you around that time in middle school where kids pair up and start dating. Naivety is a weak spot when it comes to teenagers and your inexperience translates into that. Part of it is your mom, the way she's been open about what it meant to become a mom at 17. The rest of it is genuine interest and practicality. You want to go to Princeton, dating is distracting and you haven't really met anyone you like enough to sacrifice studying or time with your friends.

And it doesn't bother you. Not usually. You know life is long and eventually the whole relationship thing will click and work its way to you, probably with some college guy that's majoring in something artsy, but then things like this come up and it makes you feel so stupid.

"Doesn't matter what they want." That feels like a mature enough answer, and it's not a lie. Teenage boys want sex. You're not so out of the loop that that's some kind of revelation. But what they want or think they're getting doesn't change you. "I'm not an idiot and I'm not that naive."

Even if you were, it's not their business to get involved without you asking. For all they know, maybe you want to hook up with someone. That's your choice, not theirs. "And even if I was, it's still my choice."

Billy angles his head downwards, eyes a little darker than you remember them being. "So our big crime is not wanting you to get hurt?"

Ugh. That's more or less the argument Hallie made while playing the devil's advocate. It must have taken a lot for Hallie to defend anyone that isn't you, but she knew that blowing up your friendship with Billy and Stu over a guy you barely knew would only hurt you more in the long run.

"It's--" Trying to explain your issue with the situation is getting exhausting. They're not capable of focusing on anything besides their intentions. "It's a boundaries thing. You can't threaten anyone you don't like into not talking to me behind my back."

Stu's sitting up now, the plush pillow on his lap. "We didn't think of it that way, angel. We just--we know those guys and know what they're like and what you're like, and--" He's fidgeting, fingers tangling into the synthetic hairs of the pillow. "We don't want anything happening to you."

The sentiment's there, forced out almost shyly. It's almost enough to distract you from the weird intensity there. Something happening to you. Over some guy. You get that heartbreak can be a pretty intense thing, but it can't be that bad.

"Nothing's--" You cut yourself off with a sigh. At this rate, they'll eventually be more protective than your mom. They're both weirdly quiet. "What's the big deal if I'm 'hurt' by some stupid guy? It's not like I'd lose it and stop talking to my friends or like it'd effect us or...anything."

Billy lets out a low scoff. The sound is so cold and unlike him you don't know how to react. "Really?"

You hesitate before reminding yourself that it's still just Billy. "...Yeah?" The single syllable falls flat. "I mean...why would it?"

Billy steps forward. "All it took for me to lose--" The sudden movement makes you stiffen until he sits at the foot of your bed, next to Stu. "My mom was her being hurt by some 'stupid guy'.'

Stu freezes. There are a lot of ways this could have gone, but he didn't think that Billy would drop that. Not tonight, with the way Billy tiptoes around his mom's absence and the reason behind it. It's not the kind of thing he'd throw away just to get you to make up with them a little faster...and the rawness in Billy's voice...

Jack might have to end up on their call list anyway.

You're silent as you study them with an expression that would be completely unreadable if it wasn't for the tiny crease between your eyebrows. Billy's hinted at stuff with his mom before, but the way he talked about her always framed her in a way that made it seem like she had passed. You also didn't think he'd ever say anything about what happened so bluntly...or that something that seemed so small to you could have been forcing him to think about those things.

Billy's eyes are focused on nothing in particular, one of his knees pressed against Stu's. His insides feel like they're at war with each other. That bleeding honesty took over with no warning and it's blinding him to everything else. The reminder of the abandonment gnaws at him.

The mattress dips. You don't know what the right way to react is. While this makes their behavior make a little more sense, that doesn't make your point wrong. They did overstep. But that's nowhere near as heavy as Billy's thing. And it couldn't have been easy for Stu to watch his best friend's life fall apart over something like that.

There's something you should say, you're almost sure of it, but nothing feels good enough. Pointing out the differences in the situation feels callous and any promises you could make would likely make it seem like you blame his mom. You might not know much about their relationship, but the way Billy talks about her, like her memory's this fragile thing, you know better than to risk it. An apology also doesn't feel like the right answer, you haven't done anything wrong and you don't want to risk bringing up the fight.

You stretch out a hand silently, letting your fingertips brush against the back of his palm. He briefly tenses, but doesn't move away, so you take it as an okay to rest your hand over his.

Your touch is warm and unexpected, an anchor Billy's torn between latching onto and running away from. It's overwhelming, the amount of influence you have over him. Sometimes if he thinks too much about how that uncertainty feels he has to fight to not hold it against you.

"I know it's..." Billy speaks slowly, trying to force himself to believe what he's saying, or at least, focus on it enough to act like he does. "Different, it just..."

You brush your pointer finger across his knuckles. "I know." A warmth that's hard to accept burns through his chest. Billy turns his hand over before loosely linking your fingers together. "Just boundaries, okay?"

Billy nods, a bit more color returning to his face. You straighten your spine to look past Billy's shoulder and at Stu. "That goes for you, too."

"You've got it, babe."

"That means no more threatening guys just because they talked to me." You keep your expression serious in an attempt to stare down Stu. It's probably no where near as menacing as you want it to be. "I'm serious."

He lifts an arm to his chest, drawing an uneven cross over his heart. "Scout's Honor."

You roll your eyes. "You were never a boy scout."

Stu frowns, "How would you know?"

It's not so much information as it is his vibe. Stu seems way too active and focused on what he'd find fun to have wanted to stick to boy scouting and you doubt his parents have ever been around enough to make him. But that's way too much to answer his question with. "Were you?"

"Ye--"

"He got kicked out," Billy interjects, "After terrorizing a camping trip."

You laugh before you can stop yourself. It's easy to picture Stu a little younger and a lot more impulsive. "That tracks."

"Fuck off," he mumbles before slumping down until he's flat on his back.

Billy turns his head, giving you a look that seems to ask why you two put up with him. The expression is so familiar you can't help your relief. You're still a little rightfully annoyed at them, but the desire to keep them lighter beats that irritation out by an inch. "What'd he do?"

The real answer isn't anything too traumatic, but it involved newly learned pocket knife skills, a frog, and a pathetically squirmish tent mate. But that's not the kind story of you'd be particularly into. It might even make you a little more closed off. They learned early on that while you might be able to handle most scary movies and gore like a champ, you draw a line at anything happening to an animal.

"Imagine that at age 10." Billy vaguely gestures in Stu's direction, Stu lifts an arm to shove Billy. "What didn't he do?" You smile, a little more amused than you want to be. "And you've seen his house...the way he lives..."

Another wave of laughter rises up your throat before you can help it. The implication that Stu was too spoiled to get through a camping trip is a little too fitting.

Stu groans, reaching back for the fluffy pillow. He smacks Billy's arm with it, a passive display of aggression. "It was not like that." Stu turns his neck, "Don't listen to him."

You laugh again, briefly forgetting that you're still supposed to be annoyed with them as you lay down. "I've been to your house, your bathroom has more amenities than a hotel, so I believe him."

He twists his neck to glare at you. It's more of a pout than anything else. "You have a hundred things in your bathroom."

Stu's technically right, but it's different. He's counting in your perfectly reasonable--and reasonably(ish)--priced makeup, skin care, and hair stuff. Not all things you use everyday or necessarily need, but it's different. He has fancy hand soap that leaves skin extra soft and lotion for guests that's nicer than anything you own for yourself. "You're deflecting."

He scoffs, "Can't hear you over the beauty store in your bathroom."

It's said so seriously it circles back to kind of ridiculous. Especially because of how pointless it is. You wrinkle your nose, fighting down a grin. "That doesn't make sense."

Stu's lips part like he's going to instinctually jump to defend himself. Your smile stops him. "It doesn't."

After a beat, the two of you exchange a look and laugh. Billy sighs, shoving Stu's leg and your arm. "You two aren't funny."

"Maybe you're just boring."

Billy looks over at you, glaring. "Really?"

You nod, a little too smug. "Really."

"Don't listen to him." Stu halfheartedly pushes Billy. In retaliation, Billy extends an arm without looking, grabbing Stu's forearm in a way that, to you, looks surprisingly gentle. "He's jealous."

You smile as Stu sits up. "I can so see that."

Billy's eyebrows draw together. "Jealous of what?"

"Our not-boringness." You push yourself so that you're sitting again.

"Yeah, you two are super cool and not weird."

Scoffing, you pull your legs onto the bed and cross them beneath you. "I'm not weird."

Billy tilts his head in the direction of your desk. "How many sticky notes are in--"

"You promised not to use that against me." You cut him off, not overly thrilled at the mention of sticky notes. Early on in your friendship, he found you going through your locker while you were sorting through sticky note and highlighter combos for homework.

His eyebrows pull together, his nose wrinkling a little in a way that's painfully endearing and surprisingly casual. "I promised not to tell anyone." He angles himself towards you, tilting his head downwards. The movements were subtle, but something about the shift makes him feel a lot closer than before. "That's different."

Your breath tangles itself in your throat at his lower tone. You need to say something, because if you don't you'd just be staring and that's--You force out the first thing you can think of, "Technicality."

"Still counts." There's nothing else you can think of and he still feels closer than normal. Before your thoughts can turn into total panic, Billy turns towards Stu, who's digging through his backpack. "What are you doing?"

"Almost forgot." Stu finds what he's looking for. It's small from where you're sitting. He reaches behind Billy's bag to extend whatever he's holding towards you. "Here."

A bag of gummy candies. You take it skeptically, because it's been twisted shut oddly. Smoothing out the wrinkled plastic, you open the bag and look at the contents. A part of you is surprised that it actually does have gummies...only they all look the same. Confused, you shake the bag once and the candies move, confirming it is what it looks like. They're all your favorite.

"I don't like the red ones," he mumbles, not quite looking at you, "But you do, right?"

You grin, pulling a gummy bear out of the bag and biting off its head to put it out of its misery humanely. "The red ones are the best, you're weird for that."

He scoffs, "The cute ones always have bad taste."

"I think you're complimenting yourself with that one." You pop the rest of the gummy into your mouth. "Orange lover."

"The orange ones are objectively--"

"They're all the acidic parts of a real orange without the orangey-ness."

Billy looks over at you. "Orangey-ness?" He's convinced he's heard this argument more times than anyone else alive, but your points are usually a little better.

You glare, pulling another gummy out of your bag. "You're not a part of this, you like the pineapple ones."

Stu laughs, "He also likes grape flavored stuff."

You gasp like Stu just outed Billy as a criminal. "No way."

"Yeah, yeah," he mumbles, already tired, "Make fun of me."

And after a second, he realizes that he really means it. If you're not mad at them, he can handle it.

----

A/n i never know if i should use the final girl tag list for fics that are set in the final girl world (if that makes sense), bc it's an update technically but also not bc it's not the main fic??

idk i've seen other writers on here tag for more than just the main fic and i'm always happy to be tagged in stuff but idk if that's for everyone lol,, lmk if you have any thought!

#scream x reader #final girl fic #scream 1996 #stu macher #stu macher x reader #billy loomis #billy loomis x reader #ghostface #ask #poly! ghostface #poly!ghostface x reader

160 notes · View notes

skelebagels · 6 months

Text

@didderd's tags on this post ;3 oh boy a reason to word doodle

cw: death, violence, cannibalism, general horror-tale awfulness

Scar's home was very obvious in its decay. The underground didn't feel right, smell right, and it was so quiet. A universe of horrors that has been left to rot away for a while. Long enough for the magic to taint and sour, leaving dust - liquid and particulate - to gather slowly from a decomposing monster instead of vanishing the corpse in an instance.

It gave the others more opportunity for survival.

As a result its extremely obvious to those in the vicinity when a monster so full of life suddenly appears. Scar is one of the first to stalk his way to Snaps and investigate the succulent smell of heavy magic.

He's a little surprised when he sees a skeleton monster, but not one he recognizes. Not that he is personally familiar with the local bone boys. His body shivers and jitters from where he hides and stalks from a distance.

He's so hungry. The sharp heat of magic is already filling his mouth and coloring his jaw while his vision narrows on the possible prey. Hungry but its bones and theres something thats distracting him. Hungry but its bones, distraction, hungry, bones.

Bones have marrow...

He claws at the stitches running up the left side of his scalp, pestering the wound thats never fully healed.

He could break the bones and eat the marrow.

He had to duck and fall back some distance when his ears caught a starving snarl and realized it was from himself.

There was... Something smelled heavy of magic.

Scars mind didn't focus anymore, not really. It easily fell into cycles, forgetting the previous until something sparked in him and led to frustration and aggression.

But when it was a hunt...

Bones smelled heavy of magic. Dogs liked bones.

Wait.

He will wait.

His breathing and the jittering of his body eases, his body relaxing into a predatory stalk. The absent thought of 'at least the trap is nice to look at' flutters through his mind and is quickly swept up in the cyclical torrent.

His ear flicks at a distant disruption and he moves soundlessly into place.

Its a nameless dog monster, fur mangy, patchy, matted, and eyes crazed. It pops out of the brush to attack Snaps driven mad by their desperate hunger even if they stood no chance against the skeletal monster.

A chance they don't even get to roll.

The instant they make their move, Scar makes his. Lunging from the brush, landing on their back to then scale twistingly with fangs and claws. There's only a moment of fight between the two until Scar's legs are secure around the desperate dog's neck and a deep ruddy glow of magenta magic ignites in his hand.

The dog monster drops with a dripping rapier piercing through their skull. Scars tail cracking behind him. He doesn't even look at Snaps before he's tearing into the other monster's throat, desperate to insure his kill and also for the fresh warm meat.

#i uh #._. sorry i went a little ham #horror kelek #scar kelek #snaps sans #horrortale au #skelekins writes #dlkfjsf im doing this on bagels idk why #sdfsdf #I DIDNT MEAN TO GO SO HAM #i was initally just going to have it be more of his cyclical thinking #but then those words didnt return to me and this happened #sdjflsjf

40 notes · View notes

idontknowreallywhy · 10 months

Text

A little fic idea that won’t let go of me but I am not quite sure how to progress…

Space Controller Conrad

I’m intrigued by Conrad’s character - he uniquely of all the TAG rescuees ends up back on Tracy Island. He has the idea that saves Virgil and Two and they seem to adopt him a little but we never hear from him again. This saddens me it would have been great to have a little check in at some point later in canon like we do with the recurring characters.

And the Fosters wrote such a gut-twistingly beautiful theme for him (“Slough”) which really stands out from the rest of the soundtrack as something completely different. He’s so sad, and guilty and, despite clearly having been promoted to a fairly senior role doesn’t feel good enough… I want to know more about him and his family.

His model is a lot like Scott’s… he even has similar greys at his hairline in one shot. Scott also seems to carry the sense of never being quite good enough - is Conrad what he would have become had he been in Alan’s position in the family order, perhaps?

I also keep coming back to the moment where Alan sympathises with him about having an intimidatingly heroic family to live up to, but then looks slightly awkward and doesn’t say any more. I imagine that he is trained as most people in a public service role are to encourage people to talk to calm / distract but not to give away personal information. I felt like Alan found a kindred spirit though and given Conrad does come back to the island maybe they form a friendship where they can discuss these things? I envisage it very much a platonic friendship (he’s a fair bit older, neither he nor Alan see each other as anything else) though.

Would anyone else be interested in reading that? Or helping make it happen? I’d love to share thoughts of how it could work, or co-write, or run with ideas someone has and then let them wrangle it into something good, or even role play it somehow to tease out the story I’m sure is there for the finding.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Thunderfam #Alan Tracy #Scott Tracy #space controller Conrad

87 notes · View notes

wolfoflyngvi · 4 months

Text

can we talk about how icky it is that the game pushes for gale to kill himself one last time before approaching the final boss? how, it's not even gale mentioning it, but the player character thinking without you choosing for them to "yeah this fight would be a lot easier if he just killed himself" even IF he's romanced? does that not imply yet another toxic relationship in gale's future if he's romanced? does that not diminish the value the player character evidently holds in their relationship with gale?

idk man. after talking gale down several times over, that final push for him to kill himself, the ideation of it, felt like a middle finger straight to my face. it made me nauseous.

as complex as other branching arcs are, you'd think that little snippet of a potentially romancing player character idealising gale's suicide wouldn't play, that it wouldn't be so stomach twistingly implied as a supposedly "good" path. that we'd at least get something along the lines of the player character holding to their promise that, yes, we're going to keep gale alive, we can make it through this without any extremes. maybe there's a light at the end of the tunnel.

but no. all my attempts to talk gale down are seemingly moot, here. it's like the game WANTS me to just throw him away and glorify it. that made me feel tiny and icky and gross.

#bg3 spoilers #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #baldur's gate gale #wizard of waterdeep #idk im just upset guys sorry for the rant #i dont like that i didn't have a choice in MY character romanticising gale's suicide #i dont like that its somehow presented as a “right” choice #and i detest that all my earlier input seemingly didnt matter #that me talking him down didn't matter and didn't affect a single thing in my character entertaining the idea

23 notes · View notes

justa-rat · 18 days

Text

Meeting of Minds and Gunpowder. Pt. 2.

May 12th,

Word Count: 920

Part One

Goodnieghbor bloomed before the Ghoul. A mix of robots, ghouls, and smooth-skins. Compared to Diamond City, it was a true mixing pot of all sorts. However, one thing that pulled them all together in similarity - was the no good aura around them. Each and every person was scum, he could tell. Pickpockets, thieves, and scammers the lot of them. Even the spare raider could be spotted slinking in and out of doors in the back alleys. Dried blood splattered on the pavement underfoot, telling stories of mugging and knife fights long passed. A place of true degeneracy. It was about what the world had come too in a nutshell - a steaming pile of shit. As long as he got what he needed, the Ghoul could care less. He adjusted the hat on his head, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and strode deeper into the city. Another wretched bout of coughing wracked his lungs, his head tilting down on instinct as he shoved himself into an alley. He leaned against a wall for a moment, sweat beading down his forehead. He took a wheezing breath, sliding down till he was sitting, resting his aching head in his hands. His body was shaking, not out of any fear - but of need. The world blurred, spinning around and around twistingly.

"Hey… Guy. You feelin' alright?" A raspy voice sliced through the Ghouls' thoughts.

A man stood before him, he wore a brazen red coat - fashioned in a colonial style. Atop his head sat a tricorn hat, it looked to be old, worn, covered in dirt and old blood. The Ghoul swatted a hand lazily in his direction, voicelessly forfeiting the others assistance - yet the stranger still persisted.

"C'mon pal, just talk to me. What's the problem? Run 'outta Jet? Psycho? Buffout? Withdrawal can be a bitch, I've been there." His words sounded oddly sincere. This was no doubt going to cost him. It didn't really matter, if this dumbass stranger could get him in the same room as some Rads - he'd be all set from there.

It was a shame the strangers voice only worsened his aching head.

"I don't need no damn drugs. Not them kinda drugs, anyway." He growled out through grit teeth, the wave after wave of vertigo driving him near mad. His expression turned to a wince, and the stranger nodded in understanding. Wordlessly, he fumbled throughout the pouch attached to his waist. Inhalers and tablets shifted about as he dug through it, momentarily producing a small vial containing a yellow liquid.

"Here, friend." He extended his hand, the vial resting in his palm. The Ghoul wasted no time snatching up the precious vial, uncorking it with his teeth - he paused, looking up at the stranger. A fellow ghoul, it seemed.

"If this is piss, I'll fuckin' shoot your ass." He lifted the vial to the gaping hole in which his nose once rested, sniffing it. It at least didn't smell like piss. The stranger only snorted in response, but said nothing to his comment. The Ghoul lifted the vial to his chapped and broken lips, tilting his head back and slurping up the small amount of liquid greedily. Instant relief washed over him, and a sigh left his body. He relaxed, waiting for the rest of the symptoms to slowly subside.

"Feel better?" The stranger was leaning against the wall now, one ankle crossed over the other as the full of his weight rested on the building behind him. His arms were crossed, and he was watching the other man keenly.

"What do you want, exactly?" The Ghoul cut to the chase, he understood how the wasteland worked - nothing was truly for free. "Caps? Want me to kill someone for ya?" His tone was demeaning, taunting even. Guy looked like he was ripped out of a damn history book.

The stranger simply put his hands up in resignation, bowing his head ever so slightly, "I don't want a damn thing from you, friend, just a fellow forgotten and undermined man looking to help another get back on his feet." A smile appeared on his face, and the Ghoul realized it was worse than anything he could have thought. The man was an idealist.

Pushing himself away from the wall, the stranger took a few paces towards the Ghoul. He tensed in reaction, hand unconsciously feeling for his gun - but the other made no move to pull out a weapon. Instead, he reached out a hand towards the Ghoul, an offering of peace - and to help the fellow stand. The Ghoul's eyes narrowed, and he denied the help - pushing the other ghoul's hand out of his face, and getting to his feet on his own. They stood eye to eye now, rather than the stranger lording over him in a state of vulnerability. The Ghoul even took slight satisfaction of being taller than the other, tiling his head up ever so slightly. He took a moment to look the stranger up and down, fully taking in the revolutionary war garb he dawned. He made a vague gesture towards his clothing, curiosity overpowering anything else in that moment, "So uh… What's up with the getup… You some kinda… Weird reenactor? Thought thems all died out with the war n'all."

The stranger's smile didn't fade, he even let out a laugh, "Ahh, nah. Not really. Outfit just… Spoke to me is all. The name’s John Hancock, I'm the mayor here. I'd like to personally welcome you to my little slice of heaven, Goodneighbor."

#fallout #fallout 4 #fo4 #the ghoul #the ghoul fallout #fallout show #fallout ghoul #john hancock #john hancock fallout 4 #200 words #200 words challenge #may challenge #short story #fanfiction #fanfic #fic

11 notes · View notes