#screwcool

[medusacomplex]

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––– the haunting of medusa.

please  do  not  follow  if  you  write  b/lly h*rg/ve.     not  spoiler  free.    private  &  independent writing blog for   𝑛𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑦 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑟  –––  largely headcanon based with an original canon extending past the series into nancy’s college  &  adult years.  very crossover friendly!    previously  rightmoves,  screwcool,  nancyrw,  screwthat,  and medusiac.      #medusacomplex – established 7.28.16

[michaelwheeler]

✩   @screwcool​    [  ⋆  ]       NOT ACCEPTING  !

[onlyvirginsarc]

the fact that róisín included both richie and my oc gray ( @shapetorn ) in her google doc fills my heart. i am full. i am thriving. i love her sm. thank u for existing in my life for all these years u precious angel. 

[madtoo-blog]

“  she’s   pretty .   is   she   your   friend ?  ”

/ *   @screwcool

[shapetorn]

FLESH TURNS TO ROT, DEVOURED AND CONSUMED  ;     the earth will claim what was once her’s and all will end. it’s the constructed concepts of religion that amuse you, that thrills you - the deliverance of the soul at the end of a life time. how all human life believed simply that their end may be poetic, that it may end in the hands of a God that welcomes them with warmth at the pearly gates.    there was nothing warm within you, no sense of welcoming that was anything close to peaceful.   there was poetry in an ending. in the screaming, the longing - -    the terror.       there was a poetry that dripped from the brunette’s aura, an uncertainty, a confliction of right and wrong that you knew plagued her in any waking moment and especially in the growing silence before slumber took hold.      you can’t help push cruel smile, eyes remain black pits - void of anything close to human.   close to sincerity. 

      what’s gonna happen to them?     there’s an innocence in the question, it aches - it burns.  your insides churn, void entity craving substance to satisfy the craving.   the need for chaos that lay waste to this borrowed body.  

“ their guts will twist and i will rip the very essence from them. i will watch them plead their case as they turn into nothing at all. empty. every single human life becomes nothing -  ”   you pause, a slow blink, studying her face. 

              “ including yours. ”      wrong.  a soul such as hers burned empires, a soul that you had wished to save as your own - to keep and treasure. to consume.   perhaps -  you just would.

                   /    @screwcool  from  here

[batslay]

                        ❛     no  ,  listen     to     me     nance  ----  you’re     not     fine  ------  hurt  ,  you’re     hurt  .    ❜         concern     covers     him     like     a     cloak  ,  it’s     coated     within     every     syllable     escaping     lips  .  he’d     kneel     down     to     meet     her     level     &     come     to     aid  ;  feathery     digits     meets     wound     for     a     closer     look  .         ❛     here  ,  let     me     take     you     to     the     car     &     we’ll     stop     by     the     drugstore     to     wrap     that     up  .  yeah  ?     ❜     @screwcool

[stillcominback]

@screwcool cont’d from here ! 

NO ANSWER AT FIRST, she’s not wrong -- that’s just not how Rick looks at it. It’s the parent in him, the leader, that wants to put the children’s rest and well-being ahead of his own. Sleep or no, he’s always been an early riser anyway and old habits die hard. Particularly when SURVIVAL is an increasing worry. Rick feels as though he can hear weary bones creak as he moves down beside Nancy, “I couldn’t sleep much either,” he admits with a hint of a smile, looking towards the young woman before following her gaze to the BLANKET of trees laid out ahead. He looks to her once more, brows knit slightly, not wanting her to worry about these things but knowing there’s not much he can do about it. “Best we can do is try t’be prepared for whatever comes,” Rick continues, voice low and steady, an attempt to comfort, “-- that’s one thing I don’t think s’ changed too much from BEFORE t’now.” 

[michaelwheeler]

* ⋆   @screwcool​   ✩  

       ❝     NANCY.     ❞            cornered  in  the  kitchen  upon  her  return.   he’d  been  pacing  back  and  forth  in  the  kitchen,    fidgeting  in  the  doorway  awaiting  her  arrival.      he  stares,    skin  moon - pale,    eyes  wide  with  fright.        ❝     um    —   i  need  to  talk  to  you.    ❞      the  chaos  that  riddled  the  wheeler  home  had  long  ago  settled  ;   the  leftovers  of  thanksgiving  tucked  in  tupper - ware  and  stored  in  the  fridge.    the  monstrous  happenings  of  the  days’  noon  cycling  through  his  mind,    unable  to  slow  the  serpentine  pathways  of  thought.        ❝      —    like  right  now   !     ❞         he  says  urgently,    voice  hushed  to  something  akin  to  a  whisper. 

[knifewields]

‘  yo  nancy  ,  you  think  you  can  help  me  bring  in  some  beers  from  the  garage  ?  ’

* @screwcool / liked  for  stu’s  hurricane  extravaganza !

[oathmade]

         he  hates  these  fucking  things.  if  it  were  up  to  him,  hell,  he  wouldn’t  even  do  them.  the  monotony,  the  smiling  faces.  how  his  hand  cramps  after  writing  best  wishes,  william  denbrough  for  the  twentieth  time  or  whatever  inane  saying  they  want.  his  agent  prattles  about  public  image  and  how  oh,  they  love  a  good  face  to  match  the  picture  !!  but  bill  couldn’t  care  less.  he’d  just  sooner  spend  the  afternoon  locked  in  his  room,  writing  some  actual  words  that  mean  something.  but  he  supposes  in  a  light  sense,  it  is  a  good  thing.  these  people,  after  all  have  given  him  money.  their  real  life,  actual  money  for  his  fucking  books.  insane,  he  thinks  to  himself,  signing  away  for  this  guy  that  can’t  be  but  five  years  his  junior.  

his  head  throbs  suddenly,  the  line  isn’t  too  long  now.  but  the  room  feels  hot,  slanted  in  a  way.  it  doesn’t  feel         (  right  side  up  ) comfortable  in  the  slightest.  he  shifts  in  his  chair,  it  creaks,  loudly.  his  tongue  feels  fat  in  his  mouth,  he  swallows�� some  of  the  water  beside  him  in  a  flowery  dixie  cup.  a  woman  is  before  him,  and  here  is  he,  just  acting  an  ass,  like  some  kind  of  amateur.  clearing  his  throat,  he  fixes  his  slate  eyes  on  her.  

             “  h-hey, ”  keep  your  fucking  cool,  you  don’t  fucking  stutter.  he  remembers  what  his  agent  had  said,  stick  to  short,  sweet,  quick  comments.  he  claps  a  hand  on  the  table,  “  thanks  for  coming,  which  book  do  you  have  there  ?? ”

*    @screwcool  /  plotted  starter.

[worrshiped]

                                                 @screwcool​ 

  “ who let YOU in? “   She,  the  almighty,  had  once  again  come  face-to-face  with  Nancy THE  SLUT  Wheeler.  Her  eyes  NARROWED  as  they  picked  apart  her  opponent’s  appearance,  deeming  her  UNWORTHY  of  any  sort  of  praise  or  recognition.  Then  again,  PRAISE  rarely  came  from  Heather  Chandler’s  GLOSSED  lips.   “ I thought I sent your LAME ASS packing to LOSER ISLAND. “   she  said,  pointing  a  manicured  finger  towards  the  outskirts  of  the  cafeteria   “ You OBVIOUSLY have SHIT for brains. “ 

[thatsbullsh]

gene has his elbow rested against the table,  a warmth to his expression as he throws a smile nancy’s way, chin pressed firmly against his palm. attention is on her, despite even the brief presence of duffy’s hand along his shoulder ( there only a moment as he passes by to close a nearby window in favor of turning on a fan to keep the space cool ). gene’s the kind of guy to keep focus well – he holds his gaze strongly and with ease as he listens to even the most mundane conversation. for instance, for a while now, they’ve been talking about weather, though it’s winding down. but it’s always been an easy opener for the trio to nestle in with. so frequent, this particular brand of small talk, that they’d developed a little language between them.

i know there’s a storm coming in soon. i can feel it.  :  i don’t think it’s safe to talk here.

that was the only phrase important enough to decide on, officially. luckily, many of their meetings had turned more social and friendly as of late. they’d been becoming a little more than professional partners, the three of them, but in a subtle way that would hardly be noticeable from anyone on the outside – likely because of their tendency for secrecy. theirs was a friendship born of confidentiality. no one could know who the woman behind the don b. hall articles was, after all –––––  IMAGINE THE SHITSTORM THAT WOULD PROMPT. but they’d managed to get past the mundane, now, edging the borders of real talk.

“ i saw the piece you put out the other day. on that place in nevada, duff was showing me. it was good, you know, your voice, that was –– it was really good. ” gene was contorted into a comfortable position on the dining room chair, a cheap thing that could fold up with just a bit of loving force put into your touch. he stared forward, towards nancy, with a spark of admiration to his gaze that always made people feel cared for ( god, was he good at that ).

“ he really means that, too, ” duffy added, a lightness to his expression that seem to appear only when he was in the privacy of his own home. “ he really does. he was saying it when he read it, i mean –– i mean it, while he was reading it. it was funny. ” he disappeared then into the kitchen with a smile and a huff, preceding the sound of water running out of a faucet and into a few glasses. gene looked after him with a gentle roll of his eyes before returning his gaze to nancy to assure her with a light shrug and nod that what duffy had said was true. “ but that’s what i was saying, to the guys at work, i was saying, that, um, that your stuff is good. i mean, they know – they know that – they don’t really care but they know it. ”

“ he means they don’t care because of the press it’s getting –– ” gene clarified, just as duffy was coming out of the kitchen with those three glasses carefully balanced.

“ ye –– oh, no, yeah, i’m –– sorry, yeah, that’s what i meant. really, nance, they’re –– ” he spoke in a sloppy way as he set a glass down in front of both nancy and gene, sliding his way into an empty seat. “ they’re nuts for it. really, they –– they’re all talking about it. they won’t –––– shut up about who they think it is. serious. ” he had always been less smooth than gene, his words never felt like poetry. it had for a long time been one of his greatest insecurities, but recently he’d been making some measure of peace with it. gene had told him it made him sound sincere when he spoke – that he always wanted to listen to him, really listen, and take note of what was being said. “ it’s becoming, like, a –– a game or something, ” he laughed along with his words, a breathy thing that lingered in the air between the three of them.

[burnshort]

“oh.” he’s not a huge fan of crowds. no particular reason, nothing brought on by social anxiety or the like. it is a mixture of things--the likelihood of innocents caught in crossfire skyrockets, too easy to lose a target, too easy to be sneaked up on. they are all equally bullshit to him. even worse when it’s teenagers. their yelling and largely cheerful dispositions drown out his sense, through no fault of their own. he’s bumped into a young girl on the way from a particularly dangerous task that’s bloodied his hands. he hid them as best he could, but he’s more adept at hiding weaponry than his injuries. “sorry. you should leave, soon.” a quick, almost casual glance behind him. “it’s not going to be pretty.” / @screwcool

[realgoner-blog]

  @screwcool  /  heck yeah

❛  CALM DOWN THERE  ,  SOLO !  ❜       sharp whisper /  no bite.   the razors in his mouth are sheathed ,  & the smoke curling from lips is of a cigarette ;  not hellfire.      ❛  no need to shoot first.  ❜      or second ,  twitchy fingers found themselves tickling holster :  reflexive   (  hands up !   hands up ! )    **show her you care.**

the air is thick ,   each frigid breath stabbing at nostrils.   blankets of  fog shroud them both ,  but not from what he’s looking for  ------  his urgent expression tells all.     ❛  i’m not gonna hurt you ,  but we both gotta move. ❜ 

[fuckindildos]

@screwcool cont’d from here ! 

IDIOT! Such a fucking idiot -- that’s all John can think, though he’s not entirely sure what kind of reaction he was expecting from her. The words left him without much thought -- well, there WAS thought...lots of it over all this time they’ve spent together -- but in the moment? Not so much. The confession spilled out past his usually impenetrable guards, but once it’s out there...well, it’s out there. No going back. He’s not entirely sure he wants to go back -- John WANTS Nancy to know how he feels (some kind of miracle in and of itself), but he doesn’t love the anxiety making his heart pound out of his chest.

Hand clenches into a fist at his side, eyes moving nervously from Nancy’s face to his boots and BACK again. “I -- yeah, I mean...” there’s a small shrug, hand raising to push back through his dark hair, “-- I never thought I would be, REALLY never thought,” a breathy, humorless chuckle, “but I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t mean it.” It’s not a word he finds himself saying...ever, really. Love isn’t even something he even thought he believed in, but then she came along and kinda fucked all of that up. “You make me feel good, y’know? Like I’m not a COMPLETE fuck up....I dunno, maybe I don’t know what being in love means -- it’s not like I have all the best role models,” he lets out a sigh, a little embarrassed at what a bumbling moron he must sound like -- being vulnerable and sincere not typically his strengths. Nancy makes him want to try though, to be a little better -- she makes him feel COMFORTABLE, like he can just fucking breathe for a change and he wants to keep that around. “Maybe I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about, but I DO know how how I feel with you and...uh -- yeah, that’s it.” He’s afraid to ask how she feels in return, hoping she’ll put him out of his misery without that prompting. 

[spiritflown-blog]

i promised rosebug that i would make her cry tomorrow so the pressure is on to deliver