I Get So Excited - Tumblr Posts

some random people I don't even know: *talking about something I know a lot about and getting a fact wrong*

me, excitedly: actually, let me explain this for twenty minutes!

𝕊𝕝𝕖𝕖𝕡𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕣

ℝ𝕠𝕓𝕚𝕟 &* 𝔾ℕ!𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣 *𝕟𝕠𝕟-𝕣𝕠𝕞𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕔

ℂ𝕎: 𝕞𝕠𝕕𝕖𝕣𝕟 𝕒𝕦, 𝕞𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕧𝕚𝕠𝕝𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝔹𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕗 𝔻𝕖𝕤𝕔𝕣𝕚𝕡𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟: 𝕔𝕙𝕖𝕔𝕜 𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕝𝕠𝕔𝕜𝕤 𝕓𝕖𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕧𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕙𝕠𝕞𝕖

(𝕞𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕤𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕤. 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣 𝕚𝕤 𝕒 𝕞𝕖𝕞𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝕠𝕗 𝕂𝕚𝕕 ℙ𝕚𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕤. 𝕒 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕨𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕗𝕠𝕝𝕝𝕠𝕨-𝕦𝕡 𝕥𝕠 ℙ𝕣𝕠𝕡𝕙𝕖𝕥 𝕓𝕦𝕥 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕓𝕖 𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕕 𝕒𝕤 𝕒 𝕤𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕒𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕖)

𝔼𝕟𝕛𝕠𝕪!

💤🌑💤🌑💤🌑💤🌑💤🌑💤🌑💤🌑💤🌑

Basically, paranoia is a modern take on The Boy Who Cried Wolf if the boy cried paranoia! instead and the villagers were overthinkers.

The first time it happens, you’re scared. Terrified. Panic-stricken until you realize everything’s fine, actually, and thus resume going about the rest of your day, although slightly winded. The second time is pretty much the same, perhaps even the third but on the fourth distrust starts taking root in your already incredulous enough brain. Soon you’re treating the fear like a local looney hollering about the world ending in the closest supermarket’s parking lot at nine a.m. every tuesday.

Only one day the looney saws someone’s head off, and paranoia’s canines sink into the disbelieving shaking flesh and people stand, aghast, and watch fright slaughter. And then it snaps their head at them, insatiate.

It’s staring right at you, right now, from the trembling shadows of your silenced apartment, the monster you’ve deemed illusory. 

Behind your back the door clicks shut. Your hair stands on end. A stranger’s fingers flutter over the pulse point of your throat, one taps a single time a gentle warning.

“Hello.”

You can’t see a thing.

“…hi?”

Police cars rush down the street. The curtains stop the light from surging in but not the frantic sound: there’s no need to listen to the warnings to know who they’re after.

You think the murmured whistling is coming from some window left open until a hand descends onto your shoulder, and your breath hitches.

“It’s quite late. Do you always come home at this hour?”

The hand slides down and plucks the phone out of your quivering grasp. Turns the screen on; the light stabs through your eyes.

“I won’t stay long,” Robin promises. “Just until sunrise. Can you assist me in that?”

Fingers drum on your carotid. The phone is shut off and slid inside a pocket of her leather jacket. Now, really, you’re in this entirely alone. 

“Will you give me my phone back?”

Five points in between your shoulder blades. Robin gives you a definitively soft push in the direction of the bedroom.

“We’ll see in the morning. Aren’t you tired? You should get some sleep.”

If you checked the time before, it’s already erased. The only temporal marker left, the only one that’s making sense at all, that is important is sunrise. Your knee hits something; you lie down on the mattress, fully clothed, and curl up, press your forehead into the wall. Robin moves completely imperceptibly, the only thing that gives away her presence is the intense sensation of being watched.

You wonder if this is what Heat feels like, trapped in sleep paralysis: static tickling at the body, white noise prickling at the eyes, something breathing down the neck. Your fingers dig into the gaps between your ribs; you hope Heat has someone by his side tonight, hope it’s Wire’s day off. 

There are sounds distorted out of dread, amplified by adrenalin. You have to focus on the physical to stay sane. 

The mattress dips.

“Do you have anywhere to be tomorrow? You won’t be able to fall asleep like this.” The hands that have snapped a thousand necks find yours.

You wake up with a start. 

Sunrays peek from under the curtain crevices. The phone’s in your palm, screen on.  

You roll onto your back and hear leather creak. Besides a t-shirt, you didn’t have anything on, over it, last night.

A square of paper slithers out of a pocket. It reads:

I heard you liked my jacket. 

Bro why the fuck are shipwrecks so cool