#and they put on the pantomime and and and

[bitterkarella]

Midnight Pals: Physical Fitness

[at the beach] Sonia Greene: oh howard this was such a lovely idea! Greene: a romantic seaside picnic and just the two of us! Greene: and we've got your favorite food right here - untoasted white bread! Greene: isn't this nice? HP Lovecraft: [sweats, stares at ocean] right sure

HP Lovecraft: Hey! Quit kicking sand in our faces! Sonia Greene: that man is the worst nuisance on the beach! Aleister Crowley: [grabbing Lovecraft] listen here, I'd smash your face, only you're so skinny you might dry up and blow away!

Crowley: [to greene, as he manhandles lovecraft] look babe, why don't you drop that zero and get with the hero Crowley: i'll show you how a real man kicks sand in people's faces! Crowley: THE GREAT BEAST!!! DO AS THOU WILLT!!!!

Lovecraft: The big bully! I'll get even some day! Greene: oh don't let it bother you, little boy Greene: i'll fix you up a nice big meal, put some meat on those bones Lovecraft: and that'll help me build muscle? Greene: [sweats] um muscle? um sure yeah muscle

Poe: howard, you need to stop letting aleister pick on you Lovecraft: but he's twice my size! he's all buff cuz of all the mountain climbing! Poe: you could start working out? Lovecraft: you mean physical labor? Lovecraft: sport?! Lovecraft: [sweats] like a common cornishman?!?

Poe: you should try it Poe: a good regimen of rowing and swimming helped me build mass Barker: oh come on edgar Poe: no really! Poe: [removes shirt, revealing he is super swole] Barker: Barker: oh right Barker: right i forgot about that

Mary Shelley: listen up nerd you don't need exercise Shelley: what you need is one of these [flips switchblade] Poe: oh come on mary, what if he gets attacked when he doesn't have knife on him? Shelley: dunno, that's never come up

Shelley: next time aleister gives you shit, you give him one of these [pantomimes shivving] Poe: mary, violence never solved anything Shelley: it does if you're good at it Poe: Barker: ah ha ha she's got you there edgar

Lovecraft: Darn it! I'm sick and tired of being a scarecrow! William Hope Hodgson says he can give me a real body. all right! i'll gamble a stamp and get his free book Lovecraft: i'll just not eat this week to afford the stamp

William Hope Hodgson: are you "fed up" with seeing the huskies walk off with the best of everything? Hodgson: sick and tired of being soft, frail, skinny or flabby? Hodgson: i know because i myself was once a puny 97 pound "runt" Hodgson: today, I am two separate gorillas

Hodgson: give me 5 weeks and my body building plan will turn YOU into the bronzed adonis you were meant to be Hodgson: through a dynamic combination of cardiovascular training, lifting big kegs, and standing in the desert while getting your balls tanned by an ultraviolet machine

Lovecraft: wow, how's you get so buff?? Hodgson: from constant brawling during my navy days Lovecraft: w-wait Lovecraft: you're a sailor?? Hodgson: yeah you should know from my popular lecture series about how much the navy fuckin sucks ass Lovecraft: [sweats]

Hodgson: ugh, i tell you Hodgson: it's just impossible to pay the bills with pseudoscience fitness programs catering to mens' insecurities Hodgson: i'm gonna pivot to weird fiction instead Hodgson: that's where the big money is

Hodgson: what if a bunch of pig men attacked a big house Smith: [on phone] hey clark ashton? it's me! your cousin! marvin smith! Smith: you know that new horror genre you're been looking for? Smith: well, listen to this! [aims phone at hodgson]

[natjennie]

IM SORRY YOU LOST THE SISTER YOU NEVER HAD YOURE THE SISTER I NEVER HAD

[lauraroselam]

So I wrote this weird book about queer dragons. It came out the same day as the other dragon book everyone talks about. It was a Sunday Times bestseller in the UK, though, which was incredible!

However, I'm not sure how to continue to promote this book--people either seem to really like it, or not quite get it. Or it just wasn't what they expected. Which is fine, no book can please everyone, and I knew I'd made some unusual craft choices that was going to make it more marmite. (Or, as my brain tells me at midnight, I'm just a bad writer). However, there's that librarian saying "every book its reader" and the people who love this book REALLY love it, and that makes me so happy. So I decided to write this post and explain its weirdness and lay out what you can expect if you do pick it up. Maybe you're my kind of odd, too. :-)

Short pitch: 800 years ago, dragons and humans were bonded, then humans were dicks, stole the dragons' magic, and banished them to a dying world. But humans have short memories, forgot, and now worship dragons as gods. The dragon "gods" remember, and they do not forgive.

Thief Arcady steals their grandsire's stone seal (which helps them funnel magic) from their tomb. Their grandsire supposedly released a magical plague that killed a proportion of society, and Arcady is locked out of society as a result. They perform a spell to rewrite the seal to have a new identity as they want to go to university at the Citadel and also clear their family's name. Problem? The spell also accidentally calls through Everen, the last male dragon, trapped in human form. Everen has been foretold to save his kind, and now he has a chance: he just has to convince one little human to trust him mind, body, and soul, and then kill them. Then he'll be able to steal the human's magic back, rip a hole in the Veil, and the dragons can return. Good news for dragons, less good news for humans. As you might expect: this does not go to plan. Because emotions.

Grab it now. (Note: there's still a contractual delay so it's not available in US audiobook yet, annoyingly. Hopefully soon). (If you are like "weird queer dragons?! Sign me up" but aren't interested in hearing why the author has made certain decisions and want to go into the text cold, stop here! Death of the author/birth of the reader, etc. Otherwise, carry on.)

You should pick up Dragonfall if:

You like experimental narrative positions! It's all collected by an unnamed archivist who has access to both first person narratives (Arcady, the genderfluid human thief, Everen the hot dragon) and can scry into the past and draw out third person narratives (Sorin, hot priest assassin. Cassia, Everen's sister, who is also hot. Spoiler: everyone in this book is hot). Then to make it even weirder, Everen's bits are technically in first person direct address, so he's writing it all to Arcady (the first chapter ends with: "For that human was, of course, you. And this is our story, Arcady.") I ended up writing it this way for a few reasons, even though it probably would have been simpler to just stick to straight up third throughout, like most epic fantasy does. The big one is that Arcady is genderfluid and uses any pronouns (I tend to default to they when I talk about them outside of the text), and constantly gendering them in the text felt wrong whether I used he, she, or they. This way bypasses that a lot in the first volume, so it's up to the reader to make up their own mind. I also just really love first person direct address as a narrative position. It can be a little confronting, and it makes Everen the dragon sound a bit more predatory at the start. But it's also quite intimate. Is he writing his sections as an apology, or a love letter? Both? You find out at the end. So if your green flag books are: The Fifth Season, The Raven Tower, or Harrow the Ninth, this might also be your jam.

You love classic 90s fantasy. This is in many ways an homage to all the stuff I read growing up: Robin Hobb and the Realm of the Elderlings (the book is dedicated to Hobb in particular), the Dragonriders of Pern, Tad Williams, Lynn Flewelling, Robert Jordan, Mercedes Lackey, Tamora Pierce, etc. But I wanted to give it a more modern twist. I'm NB and growing up I didn't see a lot of queerness in fantasy, and I clung to the examples I did find (Vanyel, the Fool). Also, not 90s fantasy, but I also freaking loved Seraphina by Rachel Hartman and Priory of the Orange Tree, so those were influences too.

You're not put off by Worldbuilding(TM) and a slower pace. Probably because I grew up on the likes of Tad Williams, I honestly love slow-paced fantasy. I love to luxuriate in a world and take my time getting to know a made up world. In Assassin's Quest it takes over 100 pages for Fitz to leave the forest. Love it. I have a more lyrical writing style, I guess, and I'm pretty descriptive. My stuff always tends to start off slower, set the stage, and then ramps up the pace as we get further along. So yes, my book starts out with some infodumping, depending on your tolerance level of that sort of thing. I worked with a linguist and they made a conlang for the dragon language (hi @seumasofur). There's a map by Deven Rue (cartographer for Critical Role). I got nerdy.

You love queernorm fantasy! This is set in a world where it's considered rude to assume a stranger's gender and so you tend to default to they/them. If you consider someone much higher in status than you, you'd capitalise it to the honorific, such as They/Them. Once you get to know someone, you tend to flash your pronouns to them with a hand signal, since a sign language called Trade is also a lingua franca in the world. 99.95% of all the dragons are also lesbians, BTW. Everen is the last male dragon.

You like frankly silly levels of slow burn. Everen and Arcady can't physically touch without it causing Everen pain while they're half-bonded. They may or may not find creative loopholes. But it's not mega mega spicy, if you're expecting that. I expect the spice levels will gradually go up as the series progresses.

Alright, I think that's more than enough to give you a sense of what you'd find in Dragonfall. If you're open to sharing this post so it reaches more people outside of my little corner of the internet, I'd really appreciate it. Whenever I do any bit of self-promo, I'm always so anxious and worry it'll get like, 2 eyeballs on it anyway or that I'm just annoying people by mentioning that my art even exists. And if you end up liking it, please tell a friend.

I'm loving the recent dragon renaissance! Long live dragons.

[tallymali]

im gonna be honest i think ppl getting mad when their partner just mentions their ex is like. rly weird

[i-am-become-a-name]

Re prompts! I’m pretty sure Nyssa is to me what Tegan is to you- ie favourite companion, beloved character, light of my life etc. Any moment with Nyssa in the aftermath of Logopolis- her entire world taken away from her- would be greatly loved by me <3

I shan't lie, I struggle to ever remember having thought of Nyssa as a lone character, outside of the units she's part of. So this was a bit tricky (and required much reference to her wiki page, a bit of fudging, and looping of the song Good King Wenceslas.) I hope it doesn't do her, or you, a disservice.

December 2nd - Nyssa.

She couldn’t sleep, the tranquillity she had come to expect of a Traken night interrupted by the breathing of the new traveller they had picked up, almost as strident in sleep as she had been awake, and that slight presence at the back of her mind - the TARDIS itself, she thought - happy and sad and a rainbow of emotions that she couldn’t find the names for but that came into being like small bubbles of feeling that tickled and burst in the back of her mind as the TARDIS reacted to whatever was being related to it, perhaps by the Doctor, perhaps by the outside world. Whichever it was, it was not Traken. Could never be Traken again.

 She drew her borrowed nightgown around herself and padded to the door. If she couldn’t escape the noise in her own mind, she could at least leave behind the sighing and grumblings of a sleep she could not achieve mocking her. The corridors were cool and bright, clean lines that both reassured and made her ache for home. Castrovalva had had some of the same lines, perfection through cold mathematics, before it had begun to fall apart. Logopolis too, had shared that order before the Time Lords had intervened. Before this- before the Doctor had stolen a new face for himself. And she had watched, watched with the fascination of a scientist introduced to new data in a once predictable experiment, and knew it was not by the same method the Master had… chosen his new face, but she was wary of him in the same manner. There was nothing in these new eyes that echoed anyone she had known, but she had been frightened for a moment at the bottom of that tower that in those oversized clothing it would be her father again, her father with his same kind voice, saying such unkind and dreadful things. 

Her feet had carried her past the living areas, past the door Adric had disappeared through self-importantly, past the kitchen they had all felt too awkward to take advantage of, as though the domestic necessity of making a meal was to diminish the catastrophic events of the day, to forget about the worlds that would never make their meals again. She, selfishly, she now admonished herself, had not been capable of assuaging their guilt in the matter, had been numb to the social conventions that had been instilled in her as the daughter of a consul. 

She missed her teddy bears suddenly. Grief for the whole of Traken was too overwhelming to consider, the incomprehensible state of no longer being a daughter of her father, of no longer have a place to call her home were all too large to be thought of logically yet, needed more space, more peace than she was capable of gaining here to think about. But her teddy bears, tucked tidily away on her bed when she had completed her ablutions- yesterday morning? A lifetime ago? were no longer there. How could she sleep if she no longer had Big Bear to guard her safety? It had been silly, a child’s superstition she had been too old for already but had continued as tradition, but it was suddenly the most important thing that there should be something of her home to guard her. But all she had carried with her was her clothing, a comb and a bag. 

A small bubble of grief rose in the back of her mind, and she didn’t know if it was herself or the TARDIS she was feeling. Or even perhaps, in a flight of unreality, the TARDIS was grieving for her, with her. Such a trivial thing, she knew, but still she mourned such childish superstitions she could never truly feel again, for all that the teddy bears had guarded was now lost, herself most of all. Another twinge redirected her feet, and now she knowingly allowed the TARDIS this, too tired, too numb of all but trivial sorrows to resist or fear the push of a stronger mind on her own. Doors blurred together in the corners of her eyes, and she failed to muster an interest in what could do that, whether speed had possessed her, whether the TARDIS was doing it. Or whether it was simply the tears she could not seem to let fall. But one door stopped, and her in front of it, the pressure on her mind now gone. Her hand, weighing as much as each planet that had been destroyed, lay on the handle, pushed it down of its own accord. 

In neat rows upon a table lay beakers, neatly coiled tubing, stacks of bound books that she knew suddenly would open to crisp new pages. A laboratory, as tidy as if it had never before been touched. Equipment lay in the shadows beyond the pool of light from the open door, both that which she recognised from her studies, and ones she would have to learn the purposes of. A mix of things from home, and the future she had yet to learn of. She had brought more than her clothing and a comb to this new world, and while it would take time for the numbness to truly lift, her mind with all its carefully taught lessons, from dancing to politics to science would wake again. She did not know if dancing or politics would feature in this future she was tentatively beginning to believe in, but science would always have its place. Entropy may be a certainty of the universe, but so was progression, and Nyssa knew which she would prefer to aid. 

But tonight was not the night, nor a nightgown safe clothing for a laboratory. She retreated, closed the door momentarily on the offering, and allowed her feet to carry her back to bed. The TARDIS would guard her till morning, she hoped, and then, perhaps, the future could begin. 

[rhoddys]

Gonna throw hands with the pantomime skins for items

[lamarie-artsy]

from that one draw your comfort characters like this meme over on twitter

[ihonestlydontknowwhattocallthis]

Something that I think is great is that every musical I’ve gone to see that has been made in Australia finds a way to add a drag queen into the musical.

Like. Even if there aren’t any drag queens in the musical there will very likely be a man dressed up as a woman.

I’ve only seen 3 musicals not containing a drag queen and they’ve all been big, non Australian productions.

I just think it’s cool.

[citnamora]

Dangerous to Dream works too good as a metaphor for autistic masking to not be at least considered as a metaphor for autistic masking

[timogsilangan]

WHO WOULDVE FUCKING GUESSED THAT HIRING A PROFESSIONAL TAP AND BALLET DANCER FOR A DANCE CENTERED STAGE SHOW INSTEAD OF A RANDOM CELEBRITY FOR MARKETING AND ACTUALLY USING A CLICK TRACK ON THE SONG IN 13/8 WOULDVE YIELDED GOOD RESULTS? WHO COULDVE GUESSED HONESTLY. NOT ME!

[xfindingtrouble]

thinking very specifically about the phrase ' the scar orthax left on your [percy's] mind' & then the following line ' percy's hate lives'

[homunculus-argument]

Once again randomly remembered this story about a couple who had a small parrot - pretty sure it was a budgie - who didn't talk but learned to communicate with people in its own way. Once it figured out that people always turn to check their phones when the notification sound comes on, it started making the text message notification sound to request human attention. The parrot also liked to follow people to the door whenever guests were leaving, and would use its wings to pantomime the motions of a person putting their coat on. A very clever, charming bird.

And every once in a while it just randomly hated some people. Not for any real reason, or even reason to suspect bad vibes, but by deciding "fuck this person in particular" for shits and giggles alone. And one time when the owners had invited a new friend to their home, the bird decided that it Did Not Like Her.

So in the middle of polite conversation, the bird - who was free to roam around the apartment at the time - hopped onto the living room coffee table, right in front of the unwanted guest. And in that moment, the owners put two and two together and understood that whatever mischief the bird had decided to do, it was now too late to stop it.

But instead of unleashing the absolute hell that even the tiniest displeased parrot could be capable of, the little budgie made its little "may I have your attention please" cell phone notification sound, and once the guest was focused on the bird, looked at her dead in the eye while doing the putting-my-coat-on wing motion.

The guest did not recognise the pantomime for what it was, but she was nonetheless delighted that the parrot would do a little wing-roll dance for her. And the host couple were at first too stunned and then too polite to tell her how impressive that gesture truly was. Their bird had shown both remarkable restraint and cleverness by using its entire vocabulary of human communication just to say

"I have an important announcement: I think you should leave."

[gruelproponent]

Tired of seeing that kid who does breakcore drum covers and looks like rick from degrassi

[inspectorspacetimerevisited]

Although the Inspector reckons challenging the Tinker to one of his own contests,

the Tinker decides to put on a little panto to inform Mona what happened to so many of the Inspector’s Associates.

The Tinker: ‘Zey die. Zey all die.’

The Inspector: ‘What about Susannah, Irma, Bart, Layla, Coco, Peter, Aiden, Regina, Joey, Bess, Yosif, FE-Line, Lunda, Veneziana, Thorough, Nymeria, Jeffrey, Dynamo, Chastity, Lily, Joanna, Minnie, Tillevendesuk, Suri, Gil and Tim?’

[quotesfrommyreading]

When I’m out with Deaf friends, I put my hearing aid in my purse. It removes any ability to hear, but far more importantly, it removes the ambiguity that often haunts me.

In a restaurant, we point to the menu and gesture with the wait staff. The servers taking the order respond with gestures too. They pantomime “drinks?” and tell us they learned a bit of signs in kindergarten. Looking a little embarrassed, they sign “Rain, rain, go away, come again another day” in the middle of asking our salad dressing choice. We smile and gently redirect them to the menu. My friends are pros at this routine and ordering is easy ― delightful even. The contrast with how it feels to be out with my hearing husband is stunning.

Once my friends and I have ordered, we sign up a storm, talking about everything and shy about nothing. What would be the point? People are staring anyway. Our language is lavish, our faces alive. My friends discuss the food, but for me, the food is unimportant. I’m feasting on the smorgasbord of communication ― the luxury of chatting in a language that I not only understand 100% but that is a pleasure in and of itself. Taking nothing for granted, I bask in it all, and everything goes swimmingly.

Until I accidentally say the word “soup” out loud.

Pointing at the menu, I let the word slip out to the server. And our delightful meal goes straight downhill. Suddenly, the wait staff’s mouths start flapping; the beautiful, reaching, visual parts of their brains go dead, as if switched off.

“Whadda payu dictorom danu?” the server’s mouth seems to say. “Buddica taluca mariney?”

“No, I’m Deaf,” I say. A friend taps the server and, pointing to her coffee, pantomimes milking a cow. But the damage is done. The server has moved to stand next to me and, with laser-focus, looks only at me. Her pen at the ready, her mouth moves like a fish. With stunning speed, the beauty of the previous interactions ― the pantomiming, the pointing, the cooperative taking of our order ― has disappeared. “Duwanaa disser wida coffee anmik? Or widabeeaw fayuh-mow?”

Austin “Awti” Andrews (who’s a child of Deaf adults, often written as CODA) describes a similar situation.

“Everything was going so well,” he says. “The waiter was gesturing, it was terrific. And then I just said one word, and pow!! It’s like a bullet of stupidity shot straight into the waiter’s head,” he explains by signing a bullet in slow motion, zipping through the air and hitting the waiter’s forehead. Powwwww.

Hearing people might be shocked by this, but Deaf people laugh uproariously, cathartically.

“Damn! All I did was say one word!” I say to my friends. “But why do you do that?” they ask, looking at me with consternation and pity. “Why don’t you just turn your voice off, for once and for all?” they say.

Hearing people would probably think I’m the lucky one ― the success story ― because I can talk. But I agree with my friends.

  —  I'm Deaf And I Have 'Perfect' Speech. Here's Why It's Actually A Nightmare.

[undressrehearsal]

is it casual now?

chapter 1

summary: you and ellie agreed that this was just for a little fun - so what's the harm in her inviting you to joel's for a movie night?

word count: 2.3k

tags: nsfw, fingering (e and r receiving), angst, dub con?? i think?, does this count as public sex?, this shit's messy af y'all, mean reader, toxic relationship

a/n: i've wanted to write a fic based off this song for a while now. i've seen a few people write it (the song's a banger) but i only ever see ellie being written as the distant toxic one and tbh i don't think that matches her character so here's the opposite

also i hid a one last stop reference in here if you find it you get a prize (it's not hard to find)

if you wanna be tagged in the things i post, just lmk in the replies!

Joel was trying to decide what movie you should watch. 

At least, Ellie thought he was. She could see the way his lips were moving - could even make out the words Dawn of the Wolf, whatever that meant - but she couldn’t actually hear him. She sat across from him at the dining table, nodding along, trying to school her expression into a pantomime of interest, but his words were drowned out by the ringing in her ears. 

Your hand on her thigh crept higher. 

Ellie shifted in the uncomfortable wood chair, uncrossing her legs only to recross them, and your hand didn’t move. You stroked slow circles into her jeans with your thumb; she would have thought it was absentminded if she didn’t know you so well. Ellie could see you in her peripheral. You smiled politely, nodding along as Joel listed off what movies he had found lately - it had become his mission to hunt for them while he was on patrol. (He always insisted that Ellie needed to be familiar with all the classics from before the outbreak.) 

Somewhere past the sound of her heart pounding in her ears, Ellie heard Joel say her name. She blinked, shifted in her seat again, and replied intelligently, “Huh?” 

He shook his head at her and laughed as he said, “Where you at, kiddo?” 

She ran a hand through her hair, purposely avoiding looking at you - she knew she’d only find that shit-eating smile on your face. “Sorry, had patrol late last night. Yeah, that movie sounds cool.” She had no idea what movie he had suggested. 

It didn’t matter much in the end. After switching off the lights, Joel sat back in his big old recliner (he’d looked like a fucking kid on Christmas morning when Tommy gave that to him), leaving the couch to you and Ellie. You leaned into her with your head on her shoulder; she had her arm draped over the back of the couch, not quite touching you. She was dancing a fine line between wanting to hold you and knowing you wouldn’t let her, but the tightrope was slipping from under her feet because you had put your fucking hand on her thigh again. She’d swear there was a damn magnet connecting your hand to her. 

Ellie covered a gasp with a cough when your hand drifted between her legs. Your eyes were glued to the flickering television, but there was no hiding the small, satisfied smile on your lips. And she fucking hated herself for wanting to kiss it more than anything. 

The tattered blanket you shared covered up the fact that the tips of your fingers were grazing across the seam of her jeans. Even the ghost of friction made her squirm, the movie becoming nothing more than white noise. You were too fucking bold, and her head spun when your nimble fingers undid the button and slid the zipper down so slowly it ached. When your fingertips dipped below the waistband of her boxers, she couldn’t stop herself from glancing at Joel. He was enthralled in the movie, and she couldn’t even pay attention to it; she hated herself for that too. 

She knew she shouldn’t; she knew she should’ve grabbed your wrist, told you to stop so she could just enjoy the movie with her… with Joel. He’d been trying to plan a movie night with her for a week, and tonight she had finally been free from patrol. God, she shouldn’t have invited you, but when he asked if she wanted to bring a friend, of course your name had popped up. 

She should have known it would be a mistake - an intoxicating one, but a mistake nonetheless. And when you dragged your fingers over her, pressing the lightest pressure to her clit, it took everything in her not to tilt her hips against your hand in search of friction. 

Ellie bit down on her lip so hard she'd swear she tasted blood when you dipped just the tips of your fingers inside her. It was embarrassing how easy it was - how wet she already was and you had hardly even touched her. But when you circled her clit, your fingers already soaked, the shame burning in her chest evaporated. Her eyes fluttered, heat burning in her stomach, your touch setting her aflame. Her fingers dug into the back of the couch. She longed to touch you, to just wrap her arm around you and hold you close, press your head to her chest so you could hear how her heart reached for you. 

Instead, she could only grip the couch behind your shoulder, gritting her teeth against the ache of it. You didn't even look at her, playing with her as though it were an afterthought, but there was no missing the smirk on your lips. She hated it; God, she wanted to kiss you. 

Ellie didn't dare look at Joel - she didn't think she could handle seeing him so engrossed in the movie he had been so excited to show her while she sat only a few feet away, coming undone on his couch. She couldn't handle the shame rising in her throat again. If she looked at him, she was sure she'd be sick right there. 

She tried so hard to keep it together - her hips ached from the force of holding them still, her lip surely cracked from biting it. Her chest burned with the moans she had to swallow like acid. But she couldn't keep it all in - it was overflowing. And when finally, the coil in her stomach threatening to snap, a low groan spilled from her lips, Joel turned to look at her. 

Ellie didn't want to think about what he saw, but whatever it was, it made his brow pinch in concern. She couldn't meet his worried eyes when he said, “You okay, kiddo? You don't look too good.” 

Your fingers hadn't even fucking slowed. You looked at her with a mask of concern, batting your eyes so innocently even as you pressed your fingers into her, curling them so you hit that spot that made her see stars. And then Ellie did grab you, gripping your shoulder in warning and glaring down at you. You wrinkled your nose, but relented and slid your fingers out of her; her grip tightened when you slid back over her clit. Fuck, she never should've invited you. 

Ellie cleared her throat; she couldn't look at either of you without feeling sick, so she turned her gaze to the movie. What was it even about? 

“Sorry, I just-” Her voice was strained, suffocating in her own throat. She felt like she was going to swallow her own tongue. The coil in her stomach tightened and she felt nauseous. She groaned again, and the words tripped over themselves in a rush when she said, “I don't feel good.” 

Ellie stumbled to her feet, forcing you to withdraw your hand; when she glanced down, she could see that your fingers were wet and it made her stomach twist. Keeping one hand over her stomach to hide the fact that her fucking pants were undone, she hurried from the room, ignoring Joel when he called after her. She couldn't look him in the eye or else she might actually puke.

Making a beeline for the bathroom, Ellie slammed the door behind her and leaned against it, the wood cold against her back. She took a deep breath, counting the cracks in the ceiling until her heart finally stopped bashing against her ribs, her throat burning. Pinprick tears stung her eyes as she fixed her pants, her fingers shaking so hard she could hardly grasp the button. 

Cursing under her breath, Ellie braced her hands on the bathroom sink, her shoulders sagging. Her eyes were rimmed red; she scrubbed her hands over her face roughly, willing her stomach to settle. 

She shouldn’t have been upset, really. The first time your hand had found its way into her pants, all those months ago, you had made it perfectly clear what this was. She could still hear your voice from that night, saccharine sweet and smelling like the whiskey you had nabbed from her cabinet: Come on, Els, Jackson’s so boring. We can just have a little fun, right? She remembered the weight of your body when you climbed onto her lap, your thighs warm on either side of her hips, your hands pressing her back against the couch. She could still feel the way your breath had ghosted over her neck, your voice dripping with honeyed desire: It's just a little fun.

Her own eyes looked so unfamiliar, a stranger peering at her from the bathroom mirror. 

Cursing again, she turned on the faucet, bending to splash water on her face - it was December and the water was so cold it numbed her hands. It was a welcome relief against her burning skin. 

Ellie felt so fucking dirty it hurt. No matter how she scrubbed at her skin, rubbing it raw, she couldn’t seem to rid herself of it. The cold water stung her cheeks. 

A knock on the door made her jump, cold water splashing down the front of her shirt. She cursed, pulling the damp fabric away from her chest with a grimace before calling, “Give me a minute, okay?” 

But you had never been very good at listening, had you? You didn’t even look surprised when you pushed the door open, ignoring her protest, and found Ellie leaning against the counter, water still dripping from her chin. If anything, you looked almost amused, quirking an eyebrow at her. It was the look you gave her every time you got her worked up, your eyes showing the laughter you bit back. She fucking hated that look. 

Ellie glared over her shoulder at you, but there was no real malice behind it - even when she hated you, something in her still softened when you were around. A switchblade girl with a cotton candy heart. 

You closed the door softly behind you, leaning back against it with a smug smile that she wanted to wipe off your face - she just wasn’t sure how she wanted to yet. Ellie could hear how your ego tinted your voice when you said, “Joel sent me to check on you. Probably thinks you're barfing your guts out or something.” 

Ellie rolled her eyes, looking away from you and mumbling, “Yeah, I guess dinner didn’t sit well….” 

You scoffed and the sound went straight to her stomach. She felt rather than saw you step behind her; she tensed when you placed your hands on her hips, leaning forward to put your chin on her shoulder. Her hands gripped the edges of the sink so hard she thought the porcelain might crack. She could feel the heat of your body all the way down her back, your hips pressing into her ass, and her traitorous heart fluttered embarrassingly. 

Ellie met your eyes in the reflection, watching as your smile grew into something almost mocking. You placed a kiss on the back of her neck, pressing your words into her skin: “Damn, Els, I didn’t know Dawn of the Wolf got you so hot and bothered.” Your fingers pressed into her hips, pulled her back against you. She failed to smother the sigh it pulled from her. She hated how it made your smile widen, and she hated even more how much she wanted to fucking kiss it off your stupid face. She shivered when she felt your teeth graze over her neck, and almost missed it when you muttered, laughing, “God, you’re so fucking easy, you know that?” 

Ellie shoved away from the counter, spinning on her heel and grabbing your wrist before you could flinch away. You had only blinked before she slammed you back against the wall, praying that Joel didn’t hear it. Her fingers wrapped so tightly around your wrist she could feel your pounding pulse, pressing it to the wall above your head. She slipped her thigh between your legs, pressing up into you, and she only had a moment to register that smug fucking grin before she slapped a hand over your mouth. She relished in the way your eyes flashed in something akin to fear. She had to find wins where she could, right? 

Leaning forward so her nose brushed yours, Ellie growled into the back of her hand, “Don’t make a fucking sound.” 

And she did get to wipe that cocky smile off your face. She kept her hand over your mouth, releasing your wrist to snake her arm between your legs. She muffled your moans, hissing when your nails dug into her biceps. 

Joel was in the next room, she thought distantly. Joel was in the next room, watching the movie he had been so excited to show her. He was in the next room, concerned about her, waiting for her, and here she was pressing her best friend into the wall of his bathroom. She had your pants around your ankles, two - three - fingers pushing into you. She could feel the vibrations of your moans against her hand - she wanted to press her lips to yours and swallow them, knowing you would never let her. 

It came too fast, Ellie pressing into you relentlessly if only to make you fucking shut up for once. Your body shuddered against her, and she wanted to hold you through it, but by the time it was over you were already pushing her away. When her hand fell from your mouth, you were smiling again. Maybe she was going to be sick after all. 

@filtered-sunlight