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secretsofblackthornhall · 2 years

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Emma To Bruce

Dear Bruce,

We did it! The curse is broken! Rupert is free! Long live Rupert!

In retrospect, it’s insane how much of this we tried to do by ourselves. We should have known that when we finally succeeded we would do it with a whole team present—in this case Jem, Tessa, Kit, and Magnus. (Mina assisted by raising morale and drawing all over everything with her toy stele.)

Everyone’s still here, too, and we can relax a little in a newly uncursed house. (It really is quite homey, now that it’s been cleaned up and, you know, had its demonic aura dispelled.) Everyone except Magnus, who left this afternoon in a great rush to get back to New York.

New paragraph to talk about this, actually, because I have a lot of questions that don’t have answers and I can only ask you, Bruce. So Magnus was in a hurry to get back because of a meeting Alec is holding with Luke and some other Downworlders about plans for negotiating with the Cohort. Okay, but I feel like the Cohort doesn’t have much leverage, right? The situation is way worse for them than for us. We should be able to wait them out—shouldn’t we?

I mean they have a symbolic advantage, I guess. We’re all Shadowhunters and we all miss Idris and Alicante and Lake Lyn and probably a lot of us left stuff there we can’t get back and oh right, also a lot of people lived there who have had to evacuate all over the world and want to get back. I get that. But, like…what are the Cohort even eating in there? Idris doesn’t really grow food. Are they all homesteading in there? Raising crops? Churning butter? It’s kind of hard to imagine Zara doing any of that. But you never know. I mean, there aren’t even any demons to fight in there. Which is a good reminder that Shadowhunters are definitely not meant to hole up in Idris where there’s no demons for them to fight. I feel like Raziel was pretty clear on that point.

They must be losing their minds in there. I hope they found some board games or something.

Maybe Zara has declared herself Queen for Life and she doesn’t have to farm because she just marches around threatening to kill anybody who doesn’t grow her a potato right this instant.

Or maybe we haven’t heard anything because they all ate each other in there. Or maybe they mutinied against Zara and someone else gets to threaten to kill people now.

Okay, end of pondering the Cohort. I’m in a good mood, or was before I started this entry, anyway. We’ve been hanging out with Jem and Tessa and Kit and it’s really great. We ordered in Chinese (delivery couriers are always a bit terrified to come up the driveway, but we tip them like crazy so they’ve started to know us while we’ve been here). We lit candles—for ambience instead of for dark magic, what an idea!—and ate dumplings until we were too full to move, a thing I haven’t done since Magnus and Alec’s wedding. Apparently if I am offered dumplings, I will eat them until I become a dumpling myself. To that I say: I would never reject becoming that which I love most.

Anyway. Even Kit was less broody than usual tonight! He was hanging out with Round Tom and they seemed to be getting on okay. Oh, and I almost forgot! How could I forget! The workers found a coffin buried in the garden. But there was not a horrifying dead body inside, but rather a bunch of old stuff! Using a coffin as a time capsule seemed like a weird choice to me, but Tessa and Jem made some faces and some noises that suggested there was a long-ish story there we’ll have to ask about later.

Anyway, in the coffin was A SCABBARD FOR CORTANA. I mean, right? Can you believe it? Tessa said it used to belong to Cordelia Carstairs, who was Cortana’s wielder generations ago. The scabbard needs a lot of cleaning (a lot of cleaning) but then it can be reunited with Cortana. (After all, I think it’s probably more Cortana’s possession than anyone else’s; perhaps they’ll be happy to be reunited.)

There was also a sword for Julian—what used to be a Blackthorn family sword, but this one is only a hilt, its blade is totally missing, I have no idea why. He’s talking about getting it reforged. Big shock, Round Tom knows a guy. Triangular Jerry. No, I’m kidding on the name, but Round Tom actually does know a blacksmith and he and Julian have started talking about getting that done. (Actually, what Round Tom wants to do is have a forge installed at Chiswick, which is a cool idea, but do we want another building project on top of all the others? I mean, maybe, having a forge here at the house would be pretty cool.)

Oh, you might be wondering about Rupert’s ring, since it’s not like he could take it with him, and he hasn’t come back for it in a ghost way. Magnus checked it out and said no magic any more, just an ordinary ring Tatiana must have enchanted to bind Rupert. But none of us is going to wear it, of course. So we put it on the mantelpiece in the drawing room. Where it will remain.

The Gray-Carstairs-Herondaleses are heading back to Cirenworth tomorrow. It’s been really great having them here, but you know, it will be nice to have them go and have it be just Julian and I here in the house, not feeling creepy all the time. That seems like good times for us.

Bruce, good times are canceled. Everything’s gone wrong. I guess I was a little too smug about how everything was going; the universe had to come and screw it up for me.

Mina is gone.

And by gone I mean kidnapped.

And by kidnapped I mean, the kidnapper left a creepy old-timey porcelain doll (with wide, dead eyes, ugh) in her place, and a note.

I had just finished writing the above stuff when I heard a horrible scream from upstairs and loud footsteps, and came out to find everyone gathered in Mina’s room staring in horror.

I immediately thought oh no, another curse, or the same curse, the curse isn’t over, and maybe you did too, but that’s not what this is. This is something else entirely. Something involving faeries. Something involving Faerie.

Tessa picked up the note, read it, and handed it to Jem with a bad look on her face. Julian was already opening the window to see if anyone could be spotted outside, and I read over Jem’s shoulder:

#secrets of blackthorn hall #sobh #mina carstairs #emma carstairs #Tessa gray #faerie #jem carstairs #Rupert #zara dearborn #The Cohort #cortana

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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 4 months

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Wait im sorry if like youve talked about this before but what is everyones roles in the fantasy au 👁️👁️ or jobs?

i've just Thought Aloud in bits and pieces but hey. i feel like talking today so i'll put it all in one place with Updated Thinkings

(i like to imagine that they all kinda Quit their initial jobs/lives to go adventuring with each other, either by choice or... not. except Howdy, who's a multitasking king). the Neighborhood party earns their wages by completing jobs/quests, though some of them have minor supplemental ways of adding to the coin collection

Wally, of course, didn't really have much of a Before. he didn't intend on becoming a warlock/wizard - that choice was kinda made for him by the circumstances of his existence. but Wally had to pretend to be a wizard for his own safety, and wizards have a sort of societal expectation to be Helpful and Magical and Wise and Existing For Public Service. so while Wally would have rather just been a painter, he's obligated to be a wizard - that's technically his role/job. within the Neighborhood party, he's a bit of a distance fighter/support! he doesn't really do the whole up-close / physical aspect of battle, though he technically knows how. He casts spells from afar, which tend to be widely benign. artsy little cantrips and inconveniences to make it harder for the enemy to fight. he's also a bit of a bloodhound - illusions don't trick him, he can "see" most magic, and he's really good at getting around unnoticed. if they're stuck somewhere, Wally can probably get them out

Barnaby's "job" before going adventuring with Wally - it started out as just the two of them! - was just working on the farm with Ms. Beagle, where he had been his entire life. Sure he'd sometimes do public performances/acts in town, which would earn him extra coin, but that was more of a paying hobby than anything (a paying hobby he will Continue) in the Neighborhood, he's... uh. their cheerleader? that's not entirely inaccurate! he's not big on combat or effort i'd reckon, so he prefers to just keep morale high. offer background music, funny commentary, jokes to lighten the mood, mediate tensions, etc. if necessary, he makes good backup - he has his illusions of course, and he Does pack a mighty punch if need be! he's also very helpful when retreating - he can grab the smaller party members and run

Wormie is the group mascot <3

Sally was a bit lost before joining the party - i like to think that she was constantly on the move as part of a traveling theater troupe, but she wasn't the star or director. she was just part of the group, uninspired and with a full well of untapped potential. one day she up and left (dramatically) to find her own inspiration/muse & path to stardom, which ended up being several years of wandering until she happened across the budding Neighborhood and went "this! this will be the source of my stories!" as for her role, she's a bit of an everyman. front lines fighter, entertainer, mediator, etc. she views herself as the party "leader", or rather, their Manager. she keeps the party entertained with stories, and bolsters their reputation in the same manner. in a battle she's a bit of a powerhouse - her light magic is useful both in combat and entertainment! she keeps a "book" of the Neighborhood's exploits (she swears it will be edited/published someday) holy shit she's moominpappa, and in their Extended downtime she writes and throws plays inspired by their adventures at their home base (town).

Eddie was still, originally, a mailman. or i suppose in a fantasy setting - a courier! until one day he saw a group of people being attacked by some bandits, managed to fight them off, and immediately got roped into helping rescue the folks' entire town from the bigger group of bandits. then they told others about Eddie's help, they wanted his help too, one thing after another and now he's got a full set of armor, a sword, a shield, and his whole thing is saving people. huh? how did that happen? he was delivering letters a month ago! if i had to give him a title... i'd say he's a Protector! he seems like the type! he always has his fellow adventurer's backs - i bet he has his hands full trying to cover everyone at once. outside of combat, he's still very helpful and does whatever is asked of him / needed. collecting firewood! pitching tents! stirring soup! getting Frank to remove a centipede from camp! in downtime he probably takes small bodyguarding gigs. he also is a minor healer - he took some sorta oath for some sorta god (or virtue) that he can't remember, but he has minor healing/cleansing powers. he's also good at sniffing out evil & dark magic! some would joke that he's the party's guard dog

Frank was raised in a monastery that believes in "using your body to fight for the greater good". this was not his job when they became old enough to actually Act on his training! nah they ran away in his mid teens because they wanted to fight things on his own terms. also they want to study bugs more than anything, which he does! for a long time! then they meet a certain princess, befriends her, and helps her run away. he only joins the Neighborhood because Julie wants to, and it's a good way to travel - read: study more arthropods - and earn coin. fighting is a bonus aspect Frank's role is... front line fighter, bookkeeper, and the Guy Who Knows Things! what monster are they dealing with? what are its strengths/weaknesses? Frank probably knows! can they afford a room or two at an Inn? Frank knows (no, they cannot)! who's throwing themself into direct mortal danger with gusto? it's Frank! no but really, Frank is like their resident nerd who can beat pretty much all of them in hand-to-hand. in downtime he probably has a garden purposefully full of plants that can be left alone for long periods of time... maybe they sell half the things grown for extra coin!

Julie, of course, was a princess! that was her whole job! it was incredibly boring and restricting, so she ran away with the help of a funny nerd. after that her whole life was just "avoid getting recognized while figuring out how to live in a world without the comforts/ease of castle life". i'd think she much prefers her new one! as a role, Julie joins Barn and Sally in the "entertainment category". while they entertain with humor/stories respectively, Julie goes straight for games and activities to fill the lull between action. keep the blood pumping, spirits high, and bonds Solid! camp games, road games, locked-in-a-dungeon games! in combat, she's on the front lines with her oversized sword. i think another fitting role would be "navigator" - she can ask plants for directions! technically Julie is a secret powerhouse. her flora magic is insanely powerful, though she prefers not to use it for several reasons

Poppy, i like to think, did indeed have a bakery. it was well-loved in her community, her staff were wonderful people, and it all burned down in a night due to raiders. luckily for Poppy and her town, Eddie was nearby and got on the case to get rid of their problem - maybe Poppy felt obligated to help in some shape or form, and Eddie wound up inspiring her to learn healing magic. She moved into the town that would become the not-yet-existing Neighborhood's HQ to try and restart her business, but it just wasn't the same, and she had gotten a taste of what it would be like to directly save/heal people Poppy is the party's cook, healer, and ultimate voice of caution! the most she'll do in battle is sprint into danger to drag an injured person to safety for healing - she doesn't have a combative bone in her body i'd guess! does she enjoy being in the Neighborhood? eh... it's stressful and terrifying, but she couldn't live with herself if she let them all brave the wild without an adequate healer OR an adequate cook. i like to think that she saw the state they were traveling in and went "oh no"

Howdy, of course, has his tavern! it's a popular hub for travelers, townsfolk, pretty much anyone and everyone. of course it helps that it's the only tavern in town! the only reason Barnaby managed to convince Howdy to join the Neighborhood on one of their jobs is because Howdy realized that he can widen his net & sell to new people On The Go. finally, a use for that magic backpack collecting dust in his room! Howdy got a taste for adventuring and joins the Neighborhood every once in a while, usually only for shorter jobs - he doesn't want to be away from his tavern for too long his roles are support, professional haggler, sarcastic commentary. he doesn't have a crumb of magic in him, but he's clever! he's learned how to make his own support items - including his fancy revolvers with magical crayonsbullets. Howdy rarely fights, choosing to watch over his pack, dole out items when needed, and listen to Barnaby's running commentary. when it is necessary that he join in on combat, he can usually clear the playing field in a matter of moments. he's skilled with both the revolvers and using his own items - he's a one man four armed army!

Home's job is "keep Wally upright and powered". they prefer to be an observer in all situations, even after their existence becomes common knowledge to the Neighborhood. the most Home will do is nudge Wally in the right direction or alert him to something important. Home's literally just hanging out behind Wally's eyes w/ a bucket of popcorn. unless something happens to his beloved little puppet, in which case Home becomes the biggest baddest bitch around and sends everyone else to the bench

tl;dr: Wally: support fighter, magic geiger counter, escape artist Barnaby: entertainer, backup Wormie: mascot Sally: storyteller, fighter, Manager Eddie: protector, minor healer, "paladin" Frank: bookkeeper, fighter, scholar Julie: activities director, navigator, fighter Poppy: cook, healer, overthinker Howdy: tavernkeeper, inventor, support Home: just keeping an eye out

#THERE'S A TL;DR AT THE END BTW #YOU DONT HAFTA READ ALL THAT #honestly thinking about them fighting is so funny #bc like... out of the 9 of them technically only 5 actually fight #Unless frank needs to sit one out to research #then its 4!#so you've got four guys fighting for their fucking lives while everyone else is just vibing off to the side #honestly half of the appeal of fantasy aus is the Fun Combat Aspect #not only the actual fights but also! sparring! practicing with each other!#its about frank teaching wally how to throw a punch & wally immediately decking him right in the face! Accidentally!#its also about the Camping. and the Healing. and the Trusting Each Other With Your Lives.#found family it up babeyyyyyyy #rambles from the bog #wh fantasy au #just realized that ~In Canon~ if anything the neighbors are Forced Family #they dont have a choice! they're in it together whether they like it or not!#and i say 'if anything' bc ehhhh i dont really think they count... are they more like coworkers? but yk #this is an au post i cant be speculating on The Delightful Source here

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marlynnofmany · 1 year

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The Oddest of Odd Jobs

Captain Piercing Sunlight rubbed her knuckles together, making yellow scales click. It was a more worrying sign of agitation than when Paint did it. The good captain was concerned.

“I imagine more opportunities will be posted soon,” she said, staring up at the job board. Not a single one of the posts was a request for a courier ship, or even passenger transport. It was all local stuff for this colony world. Surprising, really, since the people living here surely needed stuff they couldn’t make for themselves yet, but nobody seemed to be asking for a delivery.

“We could try the other colony,” Kavlae suggested, pointing vaguely over her shoulder while a gust of wind ruffled her head frills. With the sky-blue tone of her skin, she looked cold in the breeze, but that was normal. “I spotted a big spaceport while we were coming in.” Kavlae always noticed alternate landing sites; it was part of what made her a good pilot.

Before Captain Sunlight could reply, Zhee hissed sharply, which I’d learned was the bug-alien equivalent of a skeptical snort. “They’ll know we came from this one,” he said. “The local news said there’s feuding already.”

“What, really?” Kavlae asked while Captain Sunlight sighed deeply. “Weren’t the colonies started by the same group? They’ve got the whole planet to share, and they’re feuding?”

“Territorial species,” Zhee said with a dismissive click of his pincher arms. “Not enough food-plants to go around, apparently.”

“Keep your voice small,” warned the captain with a pointed glance at the nearest large passerby, who could crush any of us with a single hoof. Not a species to insult carelessly, or even on purpose. Six limbs, two of which were sometimes arms, lots of muscle, and even antlers. Nobody had told me the species name yet, but I was privately calling them Space Moose.

“Fine, fine,” Zhee said, folding his pinchers grumpily and glaring up at the board.

Captain Sunlight looked up as well. “Is there anything on here that looks do-able?” she asked, addressing all three of us.

I studied the grid of job posts. The rest of our crew was busy getting supplies — I hoped we weren’t about to skim over something that another person would catch. But just as I thought it, my eyes fell on a posting from a human ship.

“Oh, someone lost a dog!” I exclaimed, pointing. “They couldn’t find it before they left. That’s so sad.”

“We can keep an eye out,” Captain Sunlight said. “Our ship doesn’t have any of the fancy bio-scanners for seeking out that sort of thing.”

I read the whole post, looking for details. A three-year-old husky, male, “exceptionally fluffy,” named Matt. Which was short for Mattress. I loved him already.

“How recent is the post?” Kavlae asked.

“Just two days ago,” I said. “I hope the dog is okay. It says they last saw him at the edge of town.”

“There is a thriving ecosystem here,” Captain Sunlight reminded me gently. “The animal can surely find its way.”

“But he’ll be lonely,” I said, forlorn. Poor Mattress.

Before I could whine about it further, Zhee laughed and pointed at a different post, tapping it with one of his little wrist fingers. “Look at this. Anyone fancy being an exorcist today?” At his tap, the post unfurled a map and a sound clip. He pressed play.

A very familiar yodeling howl filled the air. Unsettling, if you were an alien herbivore. A glance at my crewmates showed that none of them recognized it either.

I grinned. “You guys, we have to be exorcists today.”

* * *

“We saw it again just last night,” said the enormous space moose, his deep voice going high with nerves. “It actually went into our shed, and no one is ready to go see if it’s gone yet.”

“I will check for you,” I assured him. Captain Sunlight was letting me take point on this job, and Zhee was doing his best to keep his sarcasm to himself. Kavlae looked nervous.

“You don’t need anything else?” the space moose asked. “Armor, weapons?”

“No, I’m pretty sure this ghost is friendly,” I said, holding up the only two things I had brought: a sheet of fish jerky and a clip-rope from the cargo bay. “At least, he should be happy to see me. But you guys stay back, okay?”

The towering behemoth was more than ready to stay behind. Several other moosey faces peered through a long window in the house nearby. They hadn’t even come outside. Captain Sunlight told Zhee and Kavlae to stay where they were, and to give the human space to work.

I looped the rope over my shoulder and approached the shed on quiet feet. The post had said the dog wasn’t aggressive, but I knew full well how unpredictable fear could make an animal. (People too, really. All the more reason for the others to hang back.)

The shed was big, more what would pass for house-sized where I was from, and it just seemed to get bigger. Plain-looking otherwise. Flat beige walls and a slanted roof, no windows. A door that stood open. A spill of pellets all over the floor, which proved to be from the torn corner of a bag like I’d seen at the market.

Grain stuff, so hopefully okay for a dog’s system, I thought, hesitating outside the doorway. As long as he didn’t eat more than his stomach can hold. Here’s hoping it tastes bad.

I cleared my throat. “Ma-att,” I singsonged. “Matt! Mattress! Here, boy!”

A rustle and a thump was all the warning I got before a very large and exceptionally fluffy dog charged out and tackled me to the ground.

The moose bellowed in panic and my crewmates shouted. Mattress licked every inch of my face, prancing and whining while I did my level best to sit up.

“It’s okay!” I called out between licks. “He’s just happy! Here, boy, do you want a treat?” I scrabbled for the jerky that I’d dropped, and managed to redirect the dog’s attention without losing a finger. I got to my feet while he tore at the jerky, tail wagging at light speed. Good thing it was the soft kind of fish jerky. At this rate, he might have hurt himself on the stiff kind.

“Are you all right?” Captain Sunlight asked from where she stood.

“I’m fine!” I said with a wave.

She and the other two had stepped away from the space moose, who seemed to be making an effort to breathe his way through a panic attack. I didn’t blame them. The poor guy looked equally likely to pick fight over flight.

Better get everybody settled, I thought, turning back to Mattress and finding the rope where it had fallen. He had a collar, thankfully. While he finished gulping down the food, I clipped the rope to his collar and wrapped the end around my hand multiple times. Then I stroked that thick fur and murmured praises.

“Is it safe?” asked the space moose in a strained voice.

“Yes, just a moment,” I said as Mattress started prancing about again. “Matt, sit.”

He sat. Huzzah. I stroked his head, and his tail thumped the ground with gusto.

“Good dog.” I took a step and tugged the leash. “Heel.”

He sprang up and trotted after me, tail wagging and tongue lolling, though with slightly less chaos-gremlin energy.

“Good boy,” I said, then led him over to where everyone waited. I didn’t get too close. “Sit,” I repeated. He sat.

The space moose was calming down admirably, though his eyes were still a little wide. “You do seem to have it well under control,” he admitted. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” I told him. “This guy just wants to go home. We can handle that.”

“You have my gratitude,” the moose said. “And now, money. Extra for speed.”

Captain Sunlight handled that part, while I stroked Mattress in a subtle search for injuries or problems stuck in his fur. He returned the favor by licking my ear with far too much saliva. I tried not to grimace, and wiped it off with my sleeve. “Good dog.”

“All right, let’s get this animal to the ship,” Captain Sunlight said.

“I’ll call up the owners for you as soon as we get there,” Kavlae said, checking her pocket communicator for the phone number from the post. We’d all saved copies.

“I’m sure they will want to see their animal in the cameras,” Captain Sunlight said, turning to me. “I trust you can keep it calm inside the cabin?”

I assured her that I could. We said our goodbyes to the space moose and his family watching from the house, then headed back to the spaceport.

Mattress followed happily, though judging by the panting, he was thirsty. There probably hadn’t been much to drink in that shed, and the jerky on top of alien kibble was bound to make things worse.

“We’ll get you a bowl of water right away,” I promised him. “Okay, boy?”

Mattress looked up at me with alert ears and that particular doggy smile.

Captain Sunlight got out her own phone. “I’ll have Wio ready one for us. How big of a bowl do you need?”

“Um, just have her fill one of the smaller cookpots. He looks pretty thirsty.”

Kavlae asked from a fair distance away, “How can you tell?”

“He’s breathing hard,” I said. “With his tongue sticking out like that.”

Zhee was also giving the dog a wide berth. “Is that why it’s doing that?” he asked. “I assumed the animal was showing off its teeth for the benefit of anyone who might offer it harm.”

“No, he’s smiling!” I said. “Look at that; that’s a happy face. Just a little thirsty.”

Zhee muttered something disparaging about predators being allowed in close range. Kavlae laughed, and Captain Sunlight shook her head.

I looked from face to face. “You guys don’t keep pets, do you?” I asked. “None of you?”

“None like that,” Captain Sunlight said. “Nothing that could kill us, no.”

“He wouldn’t do that!” I said with an exaggerated ruffle of Mattress’s fur. “He’s a good dog! And look how fluffy! Such a nice soft pillow, he’d probably let you take a nap on him.”

“No thanks,” said Zhee. “I don’t see the appeal.”

“You don’t see the appeal? Do—” My smile slipped when I really looked at Zhee’s exoskeleton. “I don’t think you can fully appreciate the feel of soft fluffy things, can you?”

Zhee’s unimpressed scoffing confirmed my suspicions. I looked to Captain Sunlight, and her own scaly hands. “What about you? Not a big deal?” I didn’t wait for her answer before turning to Kavlae, the vaguely fishy humanoid with frills everywhere. “You have proper skin! Come pet this dog!”

She didn’t want to, but under my insistence and Mattress’s continued good behavior, she finally edged forward and brushed a hand across the copious floof.

“Oh, that is soft,” she said.

“See? And he is such a good boy.” I patted him some more, and he responded by licking both of us.

Kavlae yelped, pulling back.

“It’s okay,” I hurried to say. “That means he likes you.”

“Oh,” Kavlae said. She sniffed her hand, then retched. “Oh, he smells!”

I looked down at him and had to admit, “Yeah, that’s another thing dogs do.”

“To the ship!” Captain Sunlight announced. “For water, a phone call, and then a thorough cleansing! Which I’m sure our favorite animal expert can handle, yes?”

I sighed. “Yes. I won’t enjoy it, though.”

Zhee hissed a laugh. “Maybe you can take a nap on the creature afterward.”

“Maybe! Just you watch. Might have to tire him out a bit first though. I’m sure nobody would mind a game of fetch in the cargo bay, right?”

Captain Sunlight gave me a look, but she didn’t say no.

~~~

The ongoing adventures in backstory for this book! More to come.

#my writing #the Token Human #I got Mattress's name from that other post about names #a couple weeks ago #his humans absolutely have a cat named Missy too (Missile Launcher)#fun with names #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #haso #hfy #eiad #dogs #good dogs #in spaaace #space moose

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jennamacaroni · 2 months

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Deborah is always giving things to people, and people think because she is very rich and very capable, she doesn't need anyone to give things to her. But Ava gives her something. [you take over from here]

its been two and half years that i've been ruminating on this prompt and never have been able to figure out what this gift could be. this morning i finally found my answer. thank you for sending this prompt which i'm sure at this point you've long forgotten about <3 love u

The package arrives by courier the same evening that Deborah learns ‘My Bad’ is going to network television. After an obscene bidding war, the purchase price from NBC Universal’s deal will be more revenue for Deborah than all 2,500 Palmetto residency shows combined. It also happens that NBC has the Super Bowl next February, and network executives pitched the big game to Deborah’s team as the perfect lead-in to maximize viewership.

That’s how big Deborah Vance is in popular culture these days. Big enough to follow up the most-watched television program of the year.

It’s kind of stunning, Deborah thinks, as Marcus offers her the iPad with the contract pulled up, ready for her signature. Maybe in her wildest dreams she imagined this level of fame and brand recognition, but it was never all that realistic. Especially not at her age. It was impressive enough to sustain her Vegas residency as long as she did in a culture where even the most prolific actors are put out to pasture after age forty. But here she is, about to sign the biggest deal of her career, north of seventy years old.

Josefina interrupts them before she has the chance to sign, knocking softly on the doorframe to Deborah’s office, holding a small package wrapped in a recycled paper grocery bag. “Sorry to interrupt, Deborah, but this was just delivered.”

Deborah waves her off. “Leave it in the kitchen, I’ll get to it later.”

Josefina turns to follow Deborah’s instructions, but something changes her mind. She hovers instead in the entry to the office, a strange look on her face.

“What is it?” Deborah asks, studying Josefina’s frown, mind going back to Ava hovering in a similar doorway holding the envelope from Kathy back after Frank died. She shakes the memory away and stands, holding out her hand and beckoning Josefina forward and to get on with it. She thought this was finally over, that after nearly hitting her with the Rolls Kathy would have gotten the goddamn message.

Josefina enters but stops short of handing it over. She looks Deborah clear in the eye and says, “It’s from Ava.”

Ah.

Deborah isn’t sure if anyone on her staff is still in contact with her ex-writing partner, but it’s been six months since Deborah fired her on that Hollywood rooftop.

First came the denial: Ava teary eyed on a night that she should have been celebrating, not believing Deborah’s words. I can do three months severance and extend your health insurance for six. Then came the anger, weeks of indignant and resentful texts and voice messages, Ava at her worst poking at every tender part of Deborah she knew, which is just about all of them. Deborah never once wrote back. Then bargaining for her job back, even when Deborah knew she was doing just fine writing for television back in LA, that she was even becoming pretty successful. Then came the weeks where Deborah heard nothing at all, Ava’s messages stopping completely, no updates on any of her social media that Deborah most definitely didn’t keep checking, just to make sure. Ava’s name in the credits became the only way Deborah knew she was still out there, still okay, still working.

Deborah clears her throat, swallowing down the acute tightening, ignoring the quickening of her heart rate.

“I’ll take it,” she says, curtly, “give me a minute.”

“I already opened the champagne Jimmy sent,” Josefina explains, handing Deborah the box across the desk. This was a night for celebration, but Deborah suddenly feels like anything but.

“I said, give me a minute,” she snaps, more forceful this time. Her tone clearly hits the mark because Josefina and Marcus share a knowing look before seeing themselves out. The contract, Jimmy, the champagne, it can all wait.

She sits back in the opulent wing-backed chair and lets out a long exhale, holding the small wrapped package and measuring its weight. There’s not much to it really, just wrinkled paper, crooked lines of clear packing tape, and Ava’s chicken scratch with her name and address.

She unwraps it carefully, like she’s afraid of what might be inside. There’s a plain white envelope with Deborah’s name written small in the center and a box for a pair of noise canceling headphones. She slips her finger under the seam of the envelope, tearing it open. A piece of note paper is tri-folded inside, Ava Daniels in neat block printing stamped along the top of the personalized stationery. Deborah chuckles, thinking Ava has come so far from writing solely on post-its. The note is simple, Ava’s messy handwriting in black ink in the center of the page:

For your collection. - Ava

Deborah opens the box but there are no headphones inside, only a bunch of balled up paper surrounding an oblong taped up ball of bubble wrap. Contained within are two ceramic figures, an unlikely pair: it’s quintessential Deborah in her favorite updo wig, a pants suit dusted in golden glitter, complete with golden high heels and microphone in hand. The other is a slightly shorter and paler figure with short auburn hair, striped t-shirt, high waisted jeans, and thick black Doc Marten boots. The tiny Ava is holding a small black notebook. They’re both laughing, and if placed side by side, the salt and pepper shakers turn slightly into one another, like they’re leaning in and sharing a raucous joke.

Deborah tears up, staring down at them centered on the desktop, Ava the pepper to her salt. The other half of her pair. She misses her desperately then, and if she’s serious with herself, has been for the past half of a year, never letting herself truly sit in those feelings until now.

She picks up her phone, squints at the screen through tears, and pulls up Ava’s contact. Before she knows what she’s doing, Deborah hits the call button.

The phone rings twice, then is sent to voicemail.

The recorded message says, “It’s Ava, drop it like it’s hot.”

Deborah clears her throat. She has no idea what she even wants to say. I miss you. I’m living my dream, I’m famous as hell, about to be more rich than ever, but I’m not happy. Not without you. Please come back. None of it is worth it without you.

But that would be selfish. Ava is doing fine, thriving even, without Deborah. She needs to let her be. Instead, she says, “Hey, it’s um, it’s me. I got your package.” She sniffles, swallowing tears. “They’re perfect. Thank you.”

She hangs up.

After her hands stop shaking and she’s gathered herself, Deborah carries the shakers to the wall of china cabinets where her collection is fully lit and on display. She makes room right in the center one at eye-level and sets them together, close enough to touch, their heads leaning into one another.

A few moments later Deborah signs the contract and the house celebrates, Jimmy toasting Deborah and her accomplishments over the phone to a bottle of Dom Perignon, a vintage for 1976, the very year Deborah filmed the late night pilot and ended up starting her stand up career.

If anyone notices the new addition to the salt and pepper shaker collection, no one mentions it.

#hacks #hacks hbo #filling some prompts to get back into it #so if you remember sending one i never answered you might get lucky :)#ava x deborah

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finalgirleddiemunson · 2 years

Text

When I Write, Will You Answer? (Dream x Reader)

summary: you are a Messenger between realms. An eternity of sending messages to and from the Dreaming brings you closer to the King of Dreams. (wc 4.0k)

warnings: fem! reader (she/her pronouns), mentions of blood, a little bit angsty. let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: okay I know it’s not stranger things pls don’t murder me just look away. deeply inspired by @the-darklings ‘s series today i bury you in me which is truly one of the best pieces of fanfiction i’ve ever read. if you haven’t read it yet, please go and experience it.

masterlist

-----

When the first dialogue between beings was shared, you were there.

The universe unfolded you from her arms, realms lacing together to create you and those who would share your title.

The names shared by you and your siblings changed throughout history, over the many eons of your existence. Hermes, Iris, Mercury, Nesta, Nuncio, Couriers of the Planes, Bearers of Good and Bad Tidings- all titles bestowed upon you. From your first waking moment the whole of the universe whispered to you two words- first a name. Your truest name. The second your title. Messenger.

And so you were. So you are. A Messenger to all.

---

“Messenger,” The Dream Lord regards you with a coldness that is a far cry from his sister’s kind eyes. You like delivering Death’s messages- she always sends them with a smile.

You incline your head, a sign of respect. You have been the bridge between realms for too long to not understand the difference when formalities are a necessity and when you can relax. And in this moment you understand that the King of Dreams demands nothing short of perfection.

“I have a message to be given to Delirium.” Even as he speaks, grains of sand flit through his palm, swirling, until they form together. The individual specks become whole, a black envelope, sealed with wax.

The letter floats from his palm, as though guided by a gentle breeze, into your own hand. It does not escape your notice that he does not hand the note directly to you. The passing of objects from his hands to yours appears beneath him.

What first appeared as a wax stamp you now can see looks like a small snapshot of the universe. Galaxies swirl and stars shine in the small seal. You cannot help the miniscule smile that upturns the corners of your lips as you gaze down at it. You know Delirium will enjoy this small rendition of the night sky- more so, she will be happy to hear from her brother in any capacity.

“Does your job amuse you, Messenger?” The Dream Lord intones, eyebrows raised.

You choose your words carefully, not wanting to lie but also wanting to say as few words to the intimidating being as possible. “I am simply happy to have the opportunity to see Delirium once again.”

“Happy.” You imagine that he almost sounds amused.

But then the hem of his coat cuts through the air with a faint swish as he turns his back on you, going to ascend the staircase to his throne. You know a dismissal when you see it, so as quietly as you can, you make your way from the palace, placing the envelope into your bag for safe keeping. Off to deliver a message from brother to sister.

---

You do not sleep often.

It’s the nature of your job, you have to be ready and available when you are called upon- any moment’s notice could have you flitting between stars, sent to fulfill your purpose.

So when you do sleep, you revel in it.

Even more so when you dream.

A field, as far as your eyes can see, dotted with every flower underneath the sun. You sit beneath the shade of a large tree, the sprawling branches letting only pinpricks of light filter down to you.

“Messenger,” a familiar voice chills the air around you. “I see you are not here on business.” Dream’s black attire and pale skin cuts a striking image against the kaleidoscope background of colors in the field.

“No,” You blink slowly, taking in his sudden appearance. “It would appear I am not. Forgive me for the intrusion, Your Grace. I fell asleep.” You berate yourself slightly for the foolishness of the last sentence- of course the Ruler of the Dreaming knows that you’re asleep.

He scans the scenery around you. “This is your dream then. What you have chosen in the whole of the universe.” He says it as a fact, a certain scrutiny. Perhaps he is judging the stillness of the scene.

“A place to rest. Is that not a fitting dream for someone made to always move?”

He does not deign to give your observation a response. Instead his gaze settles down at you, something curious flashing behind his eyes. It’s gone before you can fully register it.

“Until the next time you are called upon, Messenger.” He inclines his head slightly and then as you blink, he’s gone. A whisper of golden sand in the wind is the only evidence that he was ever there to begin with.

You’re left with the sound of blades of grass gently rubbing against one another, the brush of the breeze through the flowers. You know enough about the Dreaming to know that a certain level of sentience runs through all of Dream’s creations, so as you lay back, the field a soft cushion against your back, you whisper to the flowers, “This is a lovely dream. Thank you for letting me rest here.”

From where your hand rests in the grass, the leaf of a flower wraps gently around your finger, its softness gently encasing the digit. As close to a hug as this particular Dream is able to give you. You close your eyes and rest a little longer.

---

“Are all Messengers like you?” There is an amused bite to the Dream Lord’s voice. You would not notice if you did not have many lifetimes of studying his tone to compare it to.

You huff, arms crossing over yourself as you meet his eyes- blue, the color of a cold winter’s morning. Your jaw sets stubbornly. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Well, you would look a bit fiercer if you did not also happen to be dangling upside down- caught in a human’s strange Nightmare about being caught and strangled by sentient trees.

You hadn’t meant to get distracted when you went to deliver the latest message to Prince of Nightmares, but the creak of wood and booming voices of the talking trees had piqued your curiosity.

“Return Messenger to her place on the ground so that she might fulfill her duties,” Dream calls out to the trees. They obey without hesitation, limbs for fingers depositing you without ceremony onto the ground. “It would do you well to not go seeking out trouble,” Dream advises, glancing you over.

You stand and brush yourself off, fighting the heat from your face at your disheveled appearance. “I did not go seeking trouble,” You grumble. “It has been many years since I’ve spoken to the trees and received a response. I wanted to see if these were very much like their counterparts in other realms. However, I’ve learned that your trees are not very good conversationalists.”

The quirk of his lip is there and gone in a flash, but you can’t help how victorious you feel at having seen it at all.

Dream turns his gaze to the Nightmares lingering behind the two of you. The air around all of you chills. “Messenger is a guest in the Dreaming. See to it that all Nightmares know that there will be consequences should they interfere with Messenger again.” Now this is the King of the Dreaming speaking. His words are law and offer no room for argument.

The trees nod their understanding, backing away to give you plenty of space as they lumber off past sight, apparently to spread the word.

“That’s not necessary,” You don’t mean for the words to slip out. Your heart travels to the base of your throat, lodges itself there. “I sought them out, they meant no harm other than their intended design.”

“They should know better,” Dream’s dry reply silences your wayward tongue. There is a moment of stillness between the two of you before Dream continues. “I would not have my best Messenger ripped apart by a rogue Nightmare. I do enjoy receiving my letters intact.” The lift of an eyebrow on his otherwise stoic expression gives away his teasing.

You can’t help it, you laugh. Your head throws back as you take in his words. “No, I don’t think I would enjoy that either,” you giggle, watching the Dream King as you shake your head. You remember your purpose, letting your laughter subside as you reach into your bag, presenting him with a letter. You let a small bit of magic carry it from your hand to his outstretched one.

He inclines his head, dark hair falling along his forehead. “I shall see you soon, Messenger.”

You're not sure why you do it. Why it is this moment. But you nod your own head back to the Endless before you and say one word in return. You give him the first name you ever received. Your name. Not Messenger.

Dream of the Endless studies you for so long you grow nervous. You wish to take it back, to snatch the name that so few know back to you. Hold it close to you where the horrendously intimidating being before you cannot judge it.

But instead of a scoff or a turn of his coat as he walks away from you, your name echoes back to you as Dream repeats it.

The twin stars of his eyes and the way he said your name burns you as you leave the Dreaming that day.

---

You sense him before you ever open your eyes.

“You know I love all of your creations, but this one is special- Don’t tell the others,” You hum, stretching in the sun of the Dreaming.

Fiddler’s Green truly is a masterpiece. Your favorite place in the Dreaming is beneath the shade of the trees here and making friends with the flowers.

“I wouldn’t dare,” Dream drawls, standing over you.

You squint up at him, shielding yourself from the sun so you can take him in.

“Would you sit with me, King of Dreams?” You ask because you expect a refusal, think that he will make a typical quip and leave you to return to his duties.

His pause shocks you to your core.

“Perhaps for a moment.” And then the King of this realm crouches down, settling against the base of the tree to sit beside you. He is close enough to touch, yet he is universes away. You feel the birth and the death of stars in the inches of space between the both of you.

You sit, side by side, in silence with Dream. The scent of wild lavender in the air. The edge of his coat brushing against your thigh.

You smile.

---

“You have been hurt.” There is an odd tone in Dream’s voice. One you have never heard before in your many centuries of knowing one another. It simmers in the air, leaving a bitter tang coating your tongue.

You frown, hand raising to the golden blood spilling from the cut along your arm. The cut itself is shallow but long, slicing through the skin of your bicep. You hadn’t even noticed it in the moment that it occurred, in your haste to simply get away.

“Ah,” you press your hand over the wound, knowing that soon the bleeding will cease and your skin will knit itself back together. The luxuries of quickened healing. “Well, you’ve heard the saying don’t shoot the messenger. Some people follow directions more closely than others,” your lighthearted tone does not mix well with the harsh lines of Dream’s brow.

“I would ask of you a name,” Dream says. You can’t help the confused tilt of your head at his response. He inclines his head to the blood like golden ink staining your fingertips. His request clicks in your mind- the name of those who drew their weapon upon you.

Your smile is soured, a brittleness to its edges. “My station prevents me from disclosing the names of those that I deliver and send messages to. Just as you would not want the words I deliver for you falling into unintended hands, I must maintain the privacy of others.”

A look of understanding passes over the Dream Lord. “I have often wondered what keeps the Messengers so…discrete.”

You nod just once, “Others before me tried to break our code. The realms were not kind to them.” The cut along your arm stings like fire as your skin knits itself back together slowly. You lower your voice, eyes falling to the marbled stone floor as you continue, your voice no louder than a whisper, “It is not that I wouldn’t tell you. And I probably have told you more than my order would care for. But, I…respect you too much to deny such a simple request without an explanation.”

You keep your eyes trained on his shoes as he steps closer to you. A square of black cloth, held delicately in pale fingers invades your vision. First, you think he is going to press the handkerchief into your open palm. You hold your breath, waiting for the brush of his fingertips against your hand.

Instead he simply holds the handkerchief between the two of you, his hands displayed openly.

“May I?” He asks.

“Of course,” you agree without thinking. You’re not even entirely sure of the question, only that you would let Dream of the Endless do just about anything.

The distance between the two of you becomes minute as Dream raises the cloth to your arm. His touch is a brand. He rewrites the atoms of your existence with the tips of his fingers against your skin.

He drags the square of fabric up, up, up, cleaning away your blood. He is delicate around the now-closed cut, treating your wound as something fragile.

How terrifying to be treated delicately.

With your skin now cleaned of the evidence of your hurt, Dream waves the fabric one through the air and it dissolves into sand, swirling and returning to the dream stuff that it was made from. His hands then settle on either sides of your arms.

“Thank you,” the words are caught in your throat. You force them out anyways.

“I would not see you hurt again. Should these patrons of yours trouble you again, know there is no order or law of the realms that would stop me from finding them.” Dream says the declaration as a fact, though his voice is low. His words are just for you.

There is no expression of adoration that could begin to encapsulate the feeling growing in you. It festers in you, significantly worse than any physical wound that could ever be inflicted on you.

You convince yourself it is the same wound in your heart that makes you imagine that Dream glances down at your lips before releasing you from his grasp.

---

The wound of caring for Dream of the Endless only grows when he disappears.

You have managed to quell your traitorous heart as well as you’re able. You have long accepted that you will take whatever part of Dream that you can get, and if that means letting your feelings live and die inside of you then so be it. For he is Endless, and you are just a Messenger.

You enter the Dreaming without a message, as you’ve taken to doing more and more often. The precious time that you have when not delivering letters is now spent here. Not always by Dream’s side, but it is rare to see one of you without the other when you are in the Dreaming.

Which is why it comes as a great shock when you enter the throne room and are stopped first by Lucienne rather than the low rumble of Dream’s usual greeting or the appearance of his outstretched hand, ready to lead you to his next destination.

The news of his disappearance brings you to your knees.

You don’t have the mind to remember all of what happened next, but there are tales in the Dreaming that your cries reached the shores of Nightmare.

---

A century later, the King returns to his kingdom with a crash and finds it much altered.

While the changes to the Dreaming cause a great turmoil in the Dream Lord, there is one alteration that gives him pause. A pile of letters, stacked neatly in the crumbling seat of his throne.

“They are from Messenger, my lord,” Lucienne tells him. Just hearing her voice again relieves him of some of his ache.

The envelopes are not recognizable. They contain no sigil or markings to distinguish them- nothing save golden wax, sealing the paper shut.

“And which of my siblings tried to contact me so often over the years?” Dream murmurs, most of his strength delegated to simply remaining standing.

“No, you misunderstand, sire. They are from Messenger.”

Dream stills. A living statue amongst the rubble.

Lucienne continues. “When she found out you were no longer in the Dreaming, she scoured the different planes for you. But, whatever magic had you… trapped shielded you from her. She started leaving these,” Lucienne gestures to the letters. “They are sealed with old magic. Only the intended reader may open them. I assume that is you.”

“My own subjects were convinced of my abandonment…but not Messenger…” Dream says, a confession to himself, as he sifts through them, finding the envelope that looks the oldest. He touches the paper. Indeed, old magic spills from it, rearing fangs as it feels his approach…and then stilling, recognizing the recipient, curling in on itself happily as the wax seal breaks beneath Dream’s touch. Your letter unfolds before him.

Lord of the Dreaming, King of the Nightmare Realms, Prince of Stories,

I hope one day you will forgive me for acting so informally as to write to you, Dream of the Endless. I am meant to be the deliverer of messages, not the creator.

But if one day I am able to ask your forgiveness, it will mean that I am seeing you once more- and for the opportunity to see you again I can not find it within myself to feel ashamed or embarrassed.

You are missed. Without diminishing the feelings of others, I dare say, by none so much as me-

Dream folds the letter, phantom pains clogging his throat. His eyes burn bright- two twin stars shining against the night. He cannot bring himself to finish it, not here, not now. He will take your words, gather them close to his chest and read them without onlookers, no matter how trusted they might be to him.

Something possessive, yet gentle claws at the base of his spine. If you sealed your words with old magic, you truly meant for none but him to ever read these words and he will respect your wishes.

“Thank you, Lucienne,” Dream finally calls over his shoulder, “For keeping these safe.”

“Of course, my lord,” Lucienne inclines her head, and knowing the Dream King far better than he would care to admit, she knows he must face this particular battle without her. She exits the room without further pageantry, leaving him with the fragments of yourself you wrote out for him.

Dream picks up a different letter- like the first, the magic recognizes him, greets him as an old friend.

Morpheus-

The sight of his name in your script nearly drains the last of his strength from him. His fingertips trace the curve of your letters. An involuntary exhale escapes him as he studies the shape of your handwriting.

-Morpheus. Morpheus. It was once believed to be within the power of Messengers to call upon others by simply writing their name. I know this to not be true. If it were, you would be here-

Dream tucks the letter into his coat. He will read no more of your words now- he cannot afford to. Even now, the Dreaming crumbles around him, reminding him of his weakness. No, he will not seek you out until he is something worthy of the words you penned. Worthy of you. But still the paper burns him, sears through his clothing.

And so Dream of the Endless goes in search of his tools. For the quicker he returns his realm and his power to their former glory, the sooner may he seek out his Messenger.

---

The air is different when you enter the Dreaming this time.

Many years ago, you stopped with the formalities of going through the gates upon every entrance, but this also means you encounter very few of the remaining residents as you make your way across the bridge to the palace.

You enter the throne room. “Lucienne?” You call, reaching within your bag to procure your latest writing. “I’m just stopping by, I can’t stay. I’ll just leave this with the rest-” You stop short. Your pile of letters, carefully placed and maintained by the librarian, are all gone.

“Messenger, you’ve returned,” Lucienne calls from the opposite side of the room. There’s a lightness to her voice that you have not heard in many years. It sinks in your stomach as though you’ve swallowed a stone.

“Lucienne,” You begin, measured. “Where are the letters?” You clutch the strap of your bag to quell the shaking of your hands.

“Lord Morpheus has returned,” she responds. A simple explanation. Her relief, her happiness, is palpable.

“I see.”

You hear her footsteps behind you, she touches your arm gently, steering you to face her. You are helpless but to follow her guiding hands- a leaf being thrown about by a gust of wind.

“Is that not a cause for celebration?” Lucienne asks, her voice hushed as she meets your eyes. The tears that well in your eyes are traitors.

“And is the Ruler of the Dreaming in the palace now? In this realm?” You know the answer. You want her confirmation. Lucienne’s gaze grows heavy at your question. You both know what you’re really asking. After all this time together, no one could understand more than the faithful librarian.

“No. He is not. He went in search of his tools shortly after his return.”

“But not after seeing what I wrote to him.” Despair has her hands on you now- the feeling sinks into the marrow of your bones. “He took the letters with him, I believe. I do not know-”

“He has read my words and not sought me out. Not even a formal declaration to suggest that I return to my usual work within his realm.” You laugh, but it is a broken, wet thing. “I have been very foolish indeed, Lucienne. I spent too much time here, and dreams and wishes have muddled my thoughts. I built something in my head that exists only to me. I will not make that mistake again.” You wipe away a single tear that dares to betray you further, straightening your shoulders as you gaze at Lucienne.

You see your own heartbreak reflected in the sadness of her eyes. “He was moved when he read your words- I saw it before he sent me away. He is much changed from his time away, he simply-”

“I would not ask you to make his excuses for him, my friend,” You interrupt Lucienne, no trace of harshness in your tone. “I forgot my place and overestimated our relationship. I must return to my duties.” You have seen the way the Prince of Nightmare can act when someone assumes more of his feelings than he is willing to acknowledge. You gently remove her hands from your arms, squeezing them once.

You flee from the palace. For the first time in the eons of your place as Messenger, a letter sits without intention of delivery in your bag. It is the first time you have failed in your job.

You convince yourself you must imagine the way it feels like the Dreaming stretches out to you as you leave. A cold brush to the back of your neck, the feeling of arms around your waist, trying to keep you there. Imagined things, surely.

For why would your unreciprocated affection be welcomed anywhere near Dream of the Endless.

#Dream x reader #morpheus x reader #the sandman x reader #the sandman fanfic #dream of the endless x reader #the final girl writes #not st babes

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bonnefeta · 5 months

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I recently saw a tiktok talking about which of the Fallout protagonists people most prefer, in light of the fact the Fallout show is coming out soon ish.

Perhaps unsurprisingly the most popular answer was the courier, which makes sense because New Vegas is a masterpiece, but also a lot of people talked about liking their backstory being less scripted.

Like compared to the lone wanderer or the sole survivor there isn’t like a cut scened backstory about your family or anything, the courier just pops up with a blank slate you can imagine however you want.

I totally get that, don’t get me wrong I love New Vegas, but having thought about it I do find the journey of the sole survivor and the lone wanderer effected me a lot more.

Especially the lone wanderer who I reckon is probably my favourite.

The characters I remember from New Vegas often have very little to do with my character. Like I remember the NPCs I met but the courier is basically just my eyes and ears, a much more blank slate.

With Fallout 3 I remember feeling gut punched by a lot of those moments, leaving the vault for the first time, finding your father and then loosing him, they really hit emotionally because I’m invested in the story of my player character.

But the main one I want to focus on is one of the moments I’ve found most impactful across all the games I’ve played,

Leaving the vault for the 2nd time.

Now not everyone might have done this quest, I’m pretty sure I missed it on my first playthrough, but if you haven’t ever done it you absolutely need too.

After your father dies if you return to Megaton you can pick up a distress frequency from the Vault where you hear Amata (your old bff and one of my favourite minor characters) asking for your help specifically. Something has gone wrong back home and you need to came back to fix it.

So you toddle off back home, and either help (or hinder) the vault get through a mini civil war. For the purposes of this post we’ll go with help.

So you save the vault, Amata is now in charge and everyone is safe and sound again, thanks to you. You’ve managed to save your home.

But you can’t stay.

Amata breaks the news to you that even after everything you’ve done there’s too much bad blood for you to stay. People blame you for the chaos, the change it’s brought. Amata can lead them into a better future but you can’t be at her side while it happens.

So you leave.

You walk out the vault door again, and as it closes behind you and you head back out into the wasteland you’re alone again.

The first time I played it (and honestly every time since) I was hit with such a strange grief. Like a hollow sad feeling I wasn’t expecting. Loosing your father is sad but this felt more impactful to me for some reason.

Maybe it’s the one-two punch of it, like lose your father and lose your home. But I for me it’s always reminds of the quote “you can never go home again” by Thomas Wolfe.

I don’t know exactly why this concept has always stuck with me, like it’s just stuck in my brain and it never really leaves. Maybe it’s from moving inter-state when I was a kid, and a few times since. But that idea of wishing to go back to a place where things were better, where you were happier, only to go there and realise it’s not how you remembered, and that you don’t belong any more, I guess it hits home.

You’ve been cast out into the wasteland, gone from your relatively comfortable and happy home into a world of violence and chaos and horror, only to lose your father. You fail, your defeated by the enclave, you’re starting again after a devastating setback, and when you’re at your lowest you get just a crumb of hope.

You get to go home, back to that place, but it’s not the same. Even when you ‘fix it’, you end the violence, there’s still no place for you there.

You just don’t fit any more.

And so you leave, you’re alone again. There’s no going back to when things were better, and the road ahead is more than hard, it’s probably impossible and even if you do succeed life will still probably never be easy.

But the vault door is sealed behind you, there’s no where to go but forward.

I know this is reading so deeply into a very minor side quest from a game from 15 years ago, but I honestly think it’s some of Bethesda’s best storytelling and kind of criminally overlooked in all the new Fallout talk.

#fallout #fallout 3 #the lone wanderer #fallout show #my brain cannot ever put this quest down #like a rabid dog with a bone #I’m also unbelievably excited about the show #Ella Purnell is a gift to humanity and I’m so excited to see her in it

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everydayyoulovemeless · 9 months

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Hello! I hope youre doing well and you're having a good day! I had quite a request but I'm not sure if you write stuff like that, What do you think of Joshua Graham with a male courier?

Considering Joshua is a mormon (We don't exacly know how christianity looks like in the wasteland or if its even simular to how it works now.) you whould Imagine he whould be more reserved(?) about it, or maybe even be somewhat against it. But then as strict as the legion was with homosexuality they still allowed it as long as the men in the relationship had children otherwise they whould be punished.

I'm interested what's your opinion on the matter or if you have any headcanons for it, whould Joshua be somewhat ashamed and maybe even slightly hide his relationship from people back in New Caanan (If he even returns there? Not sure) or whould he simply not care and maybe even base it slightly on his legion views that he claims he abandoned even if you can see in his actions in game that well he hasn't.

So sorry this ask is so long and I'm not too good at speaking english since it's not my first language, I'm always just really curious on this subject since everyone has a diffrent opinion on it!

Joshua Graham With A M!Courier

➼ Word Count » 0.7k ➼ Warnings » slight homophobia? ➼ Genre » Romantic ➼ A/N » This was so fun to write! Thank you for requesting it!

He definitely has some hesitance toward it. He was one of the ones who helped invent the anti-homosexuality rule in the Legion and still has a strong inner feeling of it being culturally wrong, although, he can't deny what he feels toward you.

It'll take him some time to warm up the idea. You'll notice that he goes off on his own a lot more than he usually would. It's mainly just so he can think as he walks around Zion, wanting to be alone in these moments of self-reflection.

Joshua is angry that he doesn't know how to feel about the matter. He wants to go against everything Ceasar used to preach about, but he's not sure how his family and the other natives would take it. Does God find it just? Would any of his loved ones agree with it? Does he even agree with it?

It won't take long before he makes his way straight to Daniel, with questions he never thought he'd have to ask.

Daniel would be a bit more forthcoming with his opinion, telling him that "the Lord only takes issue with those who harm his land and people".

He'd be a lot more private about your relationship than he would've been if you were a female. He doesn't mean for it to be rude, he's still just not entirely sure how he's religiously supposed to feel about the entire thing. No one in New Canan has ever explored the idea, so he's got no role model to follow in terms of what's expected of him in a situation like this.

One of his biggest qualms is deciding who does what. Joshua has always had the idea of a traditional marriage, but what's he supposed to do with a husband? Do you both provide? Or does one of you play the role of the "wife"? It's one of the things he'll want to work out with you as you both move forward.

Communication is big with him. He genuinely does want to try and make this work, but sometimes it feels like he's just stumbling in the dark. If you have any advice for him on how to feel less awkward around you romantically, please tell him, he wants to show he cares about you, but he can't if you don't tell him how.

Although he might not show very much PDA, you'll notice him being way more affectionate behind closed doors. Holding his hands over yours as you pray, rubbing circles into your shoulders, and even leaving small kisses over the palms of your hands. He tries not to do anything that would undermine you being a man, but he also desperately wants to show that he cares.

Religion will always play a big role in his life, nothing about that will ever change. Being new to this type of relationship, he wants to know more about your thoughts on Mormonism or how the two of you can better understand one another. Honesty is huge with him, just be upfront and tell him what you're looking for.

There'll be times when he refers to you as his 'friend' instead of his 'boyfriend', but it's mainly due to him still getting used to being open about your relationship. It scares him to think others might look down on him because of who he loves, and he doesn't want people to think any less of him than they might already.

He also might be a little pushier with you being a part of his religion, wanting you to get baptized as soon as possible if you're not already.

His heart races a lot when he and you are alone together. He always remembers the Legion and what they'd do to him if they ever found out. It makes your entire affair feel more exciting. Being with you makes him feel rebellious, a foreign feeling that he'll only accept for this particular situation.

If you both manage to make it to see your one-year anniversary, he'll carve a wooden cross out for you to wear as a necklace. (again, a little pushy with his religion, but he means well).

He ends up going to Daniel a lot for direction throughout the whole ordeal. He's constantly checking in to make sure God would be accepting of what he's doing, and Daniel's always there to reassure and talk him through it.

Out of a hatred for the Legion, and want to change, he'd be willing to try the relationship out and hope that God will lead him down his intended path. He prays for guidance in figuring out what is right for him and his future.

#fallout #fallout new vegas #fnv #courier six #courier 6 #fnv joshua #joshua fnv #fnv joshua graham #joshua graham fnv #joshua graham #joshua graham headcanons #joshua graham x courier 6 #joshua graham x courier six #m!reader #male!reader #male reader #fnv headcanons #fallout new vegas headcanons

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wishingforatypewriter · 6 months

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Mystery Man

Written for Lin Beifong's Week (Day 3: Gossip at the RCPD)

‘Mind your business, keep your job’ was a rule Mako had followed devoutly since his days running numbers for the Triple Threats as a child. But even he had to admit he was curious.

You see, on Monday morning, a courier delivered a bouquet of fire lilies to the station. The floral arrangement was walked right up to the chief’s office and remained on the side of her desk for the rest of the day.

This was truly significant because Chief Beifong’s office was markedly bare, devoid of the trinkets and family photos nearly all the cops left on their desks.

“Who do you think they’re from?” Meilin asked once she returned to the bullpen after submitting a report to the chief.

“That’s above my paygrade,” Mako said, barely glancing up from his paperwork. “Yours too.”

“You’re probably right,” she replied, leaning against his desk. “It’s strange, though, to imagine the chief with a boyfriend.”

On Tuesday, the flowers were gone, but when he went into Beifong’s office to get her approval to launch an investigation, the room smelled of expensive Fire Nation cigars. The scent was vaguely familiar, something from a lifetime ago. He felt his brow furrow as he tried to remember where he recognized it from.

“Is there something else you need, Mako?” she asked when he paused before leaving her space.

“Uh, no,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “I just didn’t know you smoked.”

“It’s a habit that keeps coming back.” The chief’s expression twitched into something like a smile, but it was gone as soon as he blinked. “My advice is never start.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, and then left, finally placing where he encountered the smell of those exact cigars when he sat down at his desk. It was back when he was learning to bend lightning on the rooftops and in the alleyways of the Dragon Flats.

On Wednesday, for the first time since Mako joined the force, Chief Beifong actually left work early.

“I have an appointment,” she said with a noncommittal wave as she made her way out. “Hold down the fort.”

“An appointment?” Meilin said, once the brass doors shut behind the chief. “More like a date.”

“I haven’t seen her like this since she was a rookie,” said Old Patel, the unit chief of the organized crime division, who’d been a cop since Toph Beifong led the force. “Wearing perfume, going on lunch dates.”

“Who has a lunch date?” Bolin asked as he and Opal approached.

“No one,” Mako said. “Why are you here?”

“Rude!” Bolin said. “After Opal and I came all this way to pick you up for Asami’s kickback.”

Mako sighed, rubbing his forehead. “That was today?”

“Yeah, now who’s on a lunch date?” he asked, feeding off of the potential for gossip, as always. “Anyone I know?”

“Chief Beifong and her mystery man,” Meilin said.

“Lin’s dating?” Bolin asked.

“We don’t know that,” Mako said.

“He sent her flowers on Monday, cigars on Tuesday, and now she left early for a lunch date,” Meilin said, counting off each clue on a finger.

“Ooh, this is getting good.” Bolin rubbed his hands together, grinning from ear to ear. “Hey, Opal, Lin’s your aunt. Did she say anything?”

The airbender simply inspected her nails instead of responding.

“Hey, no secrets!” Bolin said, pouting.

“It’s not my business to tell,” she replied.

Later that day, at Asami’s get together, Bolin made the whole friend group aware of Lin’s potential dating situation.

“Come on, we have a detective, a genius, and an avatar in the house. Someone’s got to be able to figure this out.”

“Trust me, you’ll never guess it,” Opal told him. “Not in a million years.”

Something in her inflection returned Mako’s mind to the cigars—expensive, imported. He’d only ever known one person who smoked them.

“You think he makes her happy?” Mako asked.

She smiled. “I definitely do.”

“That’s good enough for me,” he said. “Now can we please stop talking about this and go eat?”

#linbeifongsweek #lok mako #lok bolin #lin beifong #linzolt #opal beifong #day 3 #gossip at the rcpd

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datura-tea · 7 months

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i just realized something. my player characters with bethesda-mandated family (lone wanderer gwen and sole survivor sofia) are estranged from that family. meanwhile my couriers (moz, kiwi, and avery) have pretty good relationships with their families :) that's what happens when a backstory isn't forced to your character i guess!!

details under the cut

gwen and james, though stuck in close proximity in the vault for 19 years, are as distant as can be. james has his work, his projects. gwen has all the turbulent drama of childhood and teenage life. they have their moments, but otherwise? nothing much. except for lectures and reprimands, they don't really talk, especially post-james and ellen's divorce. gwen has more of a relationship with ellen and butch than james.

their relationship gets worse topside, when after all gwen has done to get to james is pushed to the side because all james can think of is project purity. so after he dies, what does gwen do? let his pet project die as well. she doesn't even know what the passcode number is, when sarah lyons asks her. how the fuck would she know? her father barely told her anything. she didn't know ellen deloria wasn't her biological mom until after james divorced ellen and told gwen the truth. she's not even sure if he loved her for herself, or if he just loved her the way a parent loves their child - as an extension of themself and their values. now that he's dead, she'll never know for sure.

sofia has a good relationship with her family back home in the philippines, all six siblings and both parents and both sets of grandparents, and countless uncles and aunts and cousins of them. the problem is nate. and shaun, eventually. the thing is, sofia never imagined herself marrying a foreigner, much less a blue-eyed american soldier. she never would have married nate if he hadn't gotten her pregnant. but with abortion being illegal in the philippines, and with nate being "a true gentleman" in his words, there was little else she could do.

in boston, a shotgun wedding. which turned into a loveless marriage pretty quick, once the honeymoon phase wore off. homesickness. morning sickness. anti-asian racist microagressions from neighbors who've never met a filipino before, even though america annexed the philippines decades ago. a miserable life, freshly post-partum and friendless and jobless, all alone in a big house with only a baby and a robot butler for company. who wouldn't fall into a deep depression?

and don't get me started on shaun. sofia placed all her hopes and dreams and joys on meeting her baby boy and watching him grow up, teaching him tagalog and sharing with him all her favorite meals and memories. can you imagine how sofia felt, when he got kidnapped? when she spent her first year in the post-apocalypse relentlessly trying to find him? when she killed kellogg in her rage and grief over him? when, finally, they meet and he isn't a baby but an old man, the leader of the group she's looking to dismantle, and she realizes that he came from her but he's not of her, he doesn't know her and she doesn't know him, and she hates everything he stands for, but still she's his mother and she loves him but she'll never like him? can you imagine???

meanwhile: moz and her big family with her mothers dalisay and philomena, her big brother lakan with his wife guadalupe and their eight kids (all adopted), and her husband ulysses and their child ree, plus everyone in the painted hairs, everyone in their town whom she calls tito and tita and ate and kuya and bunso and totoy and nene :) nothing but love and understanding there!!

kiwi and their family of butchers and tailors - grandmother, father, mother, and brothers, all adept with shiny sharp things. strict but loving, in the "i want what i think is best for you" kind of way. kiwi would have stayed if their father didn't keep forcing the butchershop and their straight marriage to a family friend's daughter on them. honestly if kiwi went home, they'd find their father a changed man - he only wants kiwi to be happy, really; if wearing sequins and being the right-hand man of mr house is the key to that happiness, then so be it!

avery is an only son, raised by a single mother after his ncr ranger father died. he and his mother will defend each other to death - which is why avery set fire to his mother's asshole (now ex-)boyfriend's house when he hurt avery's mom. on the run, avery still writes letters home. he never leaves a return address until after he gains amnesty for his arson charge. by then, his return address is the lucky 38. his mom sends him one hell of a letter. the first thing he does after winning the battle of hoover dam is go home to his mom :)

#this realllyy got away from me lol #shh peri shhh #gwen #sofia #moz #kiwi #avery

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rzyraffek · 2 years

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Fallout characters with shy!reader scared to ask for nuka-cola in bar

(Fallout3 4 and new vegas)(swf) (imagine s/o telling them that they are scared to ask for nukacola and if *insert character* can do it for them)

Fallout New Vegas

Benny:"so you telling me that u went all over mojave just to find me and you are scared to ask bartender for nukacola?" He will tease you for it, and be confused, like??? Curier is so strong and smart why are they so shy??? But Beni boi likes to talk so no problem he can easly talk to people if Coureir cant.

Arcade:"uhh sure?okay?" I feel like He was shy too when he was younger so he can relate. He probably still sometimes stresses before Talking to somone for first time, but its not that bad. He will probably think that Courier is scared of people due to past or something so he wont bring this topic up(even if they are just shy without reason)

Vuples:"if you are too scared to order a drink how are you going bring pride to Legion" if Courier gives him puppy eyes/accualy feel sad, he will loudly sign and order the drink for them. After that he will try to "train them out of this behiviour" (thats vulpes, dont expect anything wholesome) but if it really upsets Courier he will just silently hate it, but wont bring it into conversations

Raul:"yeah sure boss" he had younger sister okay, he knows how to behave like normal human being. He completly understands the idea of being too shy to do something. He will give them good words and support, but if somestuff really stressed them out hes not going to try to convince them. He would feel bad

Boone: "honey please its not that difficult" he will do it if Courier pays him in hugs later. In NCR military theres no people as shy as them. But its good becasue it makes Courier unique. Also how did Courier survive for such long time out in Mojave???(you'll never find out boone >:3)

Ulysses:"bruh you literally bombed whole City wym bestie"(for context when I played his dlc first time my English wasnt the best and I didnt completly understood what Ulysses was saing and I though that Courier bombed the Devide and Ulysses was his ex bf/Ex friend. And I know that Courier didnt really bomb anything but I stick to it because i found it funny lol). I feel like bartender would be spooked and give nukacola for free Just to get rid of Ulysses. He will say stuff like 'theese days you cant act like that, someone will use it aginst you' but thats all, he wont do anything about it really. Tbh he enjoys Courier looking like sad little puppy everytime they have to talk to anyone. (I need to do special post for my first theories/expirience with fnv its very funny)

Joshua:"sure love" this men will buy it in seconds. Hes impressed that after all this stuff Courier been thrue they are still smol shy bean.(but He will try to convert you to join his religon)

Fallout3

Butch:"loozer" he will make fun of Lone but He will order the drink for them. He will be like "soo is my little nerd too spooked to order some drinks??", he has Policy 'i can bully them but anyone else cant😎' so at least they have only one asshole that bullies other assholes

Charon:"okay" this men still has this weird mindset that he has to do everything Lone says to him:((( even if Lone is clearly treating him as normal human being. Give him some time his life was tough. He will probably find it cute that Lone is too shy to ask somone for drink even after all bs they been thrue. They still have this cute vibe from valut(at least thats what Charon says not me)

Fallout4

Paladin Danse:"soldier why you even want to drink that? Its full of sugar" hes more concerned about Sole drinking this fuild sugar than anything. I mean yeah sure He will help them but please drink water. :( (shut up dance nuka-cola good) Danse will find it silly how Sole is ready for anything but asking bartender for drink is too much

Preston:"sure thing babe! You want anything extra or only that?" So casual about that, doesnt even notice that Lone is shy. He notice only if Sole asks him that often. Wont do anything about it really, Lone wants to be shy and ask him for help? Then let be it, he is more than happy to help them out (he is the sweetest)

MacCready:"aww of course sweetie"just like Preston exept that this one is a big simp. And will do anything Sole asks him to do. And he will be very happy that they ask him for help💖💖💖makes him feel special and important

Gage:"uhh??sure okay?? But boss you have to act tought unless you want other gangs to make fun of ya" he finds it cute, but its sometimes annoying(hes lazy). But its not like He has choice here😈 Sole is his boss afterall. He will try to teach Sole how to be less shy but only because he doenst want other gangs to make fun of them lol (I swear gage is just nuka-cola world babysitter)

Mason:"awww bunny, you are afraid of some bartender??awwww" he is going to tease them, but please dont change, he is fulled with pride every time Sole asks him for help. Like from anyone they can ask for help, they choose him? How cute.

Request open!!

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pb-dot · 7 months

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Spooktober Sunday Special: The Clockwork Monster Part I

Good Spooky Season everybody. This fine October I'm doing a little something for my followers, mutuals, and anyone else who would like to get a load of the spooky proceedings. As you may be aware, I just finished a draft of my novel The Clockwork Boy, and particularly eager readers may also remember that I've toyed with making a horror AU for the story to try out some new ideas. Friends, today the first part of this AU sees the light of day, with the remaining parts being released on Sundays during October.

Some quick notes: I'm experimenting a bit with form here, so I apologize if some of this gets a bit wacky. As one might expect from an AU this isn't canon to The Clockwork Boy, but I may borrow world-building ideas that I come up with for this one later. Probably won't make 13 quite so... like he is in this one, but well, you never know.

Part 1 below the cut:

05.09.552 From the diary of Jake, Clockmaker Apprentice at Barker Automatics. Recovered after the incident.

Another dull gray day filled with moderately gainful employment. Mr Barker showed me how to disassemble a gear walker actuator today, and I got the chance to inspect some gears in the process. Not the most interesting thing, but considering how often the damn things break, at least there’s a living to be made in repair if I can stand the tedium of it.

After his brief bout of pedagogy, Barker set me to oversee the Apprentices. As usual, they’re a rude unruly lot, at least to me. I’m decently sure one or two are gunning for my position as Journeyman, but they’d have to kill me to get me away from this place before I deliver my Masterwork to certification. Some of them are likely to try, but I calm myself with the knowledge that there’d certainly be a fight, and one I'm likely to win at that.

As usual when I’m left herding Novices, it was dark by the time I could close up shop, and I hadn’t even gotten to work on my clockwork limb project. I was disappointed, but not enough to give my wards grief over it. Tomorrow will be a better day I'm sure. On my way home, a strange fright came over me, but I am sure it was merely the stress from dealing with the greenhorns.

06.09.552 From the diary of Jake, Clockmaker Apprentice at Barker Automatics. Recovered after the incident. Try as I might, I can’t shake the feeling that someone is watching me. I have no idea who it’d be. The novices wouldn’t mind catching me slipping up I’m sure, but I find it hard to imagine any of them have enough energy left after a long day of work to stalk me from the shadows. I know I didn’t back in the day.

To back up a step, the strange fright from last night subsided as I came home, yes, but it didn't go away. Instead, I found myself strangely paranoid as I left for work the following morning. In retrospect, I am reasonably certain I didn't stand out from the crowd, and fairly sure I wasn't followed by a tail of whispers and rumors through the crowd of commuting workers, but at the time it sure felt like it.

The feeling didn’t subside as I went to get some lunch from a corner cart, if anything it expanded. I no longer feared the people around me, which was a mercy I suppose, but the fear had, again, not disappeared. Someone out there was watching me, no, that's not quite it. Watching feels too passive, too neutral in tone. If anything, I'm sure I'm being Observed. Usually, there’s nothing that’ll tear my mind away from the taste of fresh-off-the-grill corncakes with spice paste, but the persistent cold weight of ill intent sure did it.

I’m not too proud to say I all but ran back to the workshop as soon as I had finished my meal. My phantom pursuer did not strike, but neither did its presence fade in any way as I hurried my way through the throngs of sweaty workshoppers and harried couriers. This, I surmised, could mean one of two things. Either, my pursuer is a subtle beast, able to keep pace with me through a crowd, or, more worryingly, he is so phantom as to be immaterial.

As much as this pains me, I’m going to have to go to the Enforcers with my concerns. They’ll probably listen to me because Mr. Baker’s boss is in The Spire, but odds are good they’ll just brutalize some street rat over it and call it a day. Still, getting some eyes and some truncheons on the situation must surely discourage my stalker, whoever they may be.

Tomorrow morning I’ll seek out the Enforcer Liaison Office and submit my concern. Mr. Barker won’t be thrilled about me calling in his clout to deal with this, but I figure he owes me for all the overtime I've been doing.

10.09.552? Recovered from Site A after the Incident. I have no idea what date it is. He keeps me somewhere underground. No daylight.

No idea if he'll notice me hiding this document under my blanket, but I have to risk it. I have to believe I’ll make it out of here, but even if I don’t, I have to make sure someone, anyone knows. He’s incredible. Terrible? Yes, but incredible.

My time draws short. He will be here soon. More tomorrow, if the fates will.

Tag List @ettawritesnstudies @mrbexwrites @teacupsandstarlight @anonymousfoz @wrenofthewords @sm-writes-chaos @dyrewrites @owlsandwich @olive-riggzey @athenswrites

If you want to be put on the Tag List for this project, please interact with my Tag List Post

#writing #hearts in clockwork #the clockwork boy #Spooktober Special #Horror AU

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finkinthisfrew · 8 months

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Anything (Pt.4)

A Matty Healy Fanfic

Chapter 4

The next morning I woke to the sound of a doorbell. I looked at my phone surprised to notice that I had slept past my alarm. I rubbed my eyes groggily as I threw on a hoodie to run downstairs and answer the door.

For the rest of the day yesterday, I nursed my now much-improved burn in between daydreaming about Matty. I'd say his name out loud and let the sound of it linger on my tongue, loving how it felt. I thought about the curls that fell across his forehead, the vision crystal clear, as if my heart had memorized his every hair. I felt giddy and inspired, drawing sketches late into the night of pieces I wanted to make that felt the way he had made me feel.

As I lay down in bed, ready for another couple hours of tossing and turning until I finally could fall asleep, I finally let the fear seep in- what if I was reading into things too deeply? What if I'd made it all up? Maybe he was just a friendly and kind man- that couldn't be too unreasonable to imagine. After all, there was a photo of him kissing the other man. What seemed more unreasonable was the idea that this man could be single- how could someone so sweet and handsome not have a partner? After ruminating on the thought, I finally accepted that I had probably let myself read into his body language too much- I must have imagined him leaning in. After all, I had been the one to lean into him for a kiss. He probably was just waiting for me to leave, not watching the montage of us falling in love as I had been.

The doorbell rang again as I yanked on Matty's hoodie and ran down the stairs in my socks. Skidding to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, I opened the door to find a postman holding a box. The man asked me to sign for the package, and I told him it must be a mistake- I hadn't ordered anything online since I first moved in, and I wasn't expecting any packages from my family or friends.

But I looked down and saw that it was addressed to Anna Burn Victim. I would have laughed if I hadn't been so shocked. My hands shook as I signed for the package and I forced myself to act casual until the door was safely locked behind me and I could bolt up the stairs to rip open the box.

Inside the heavy box were a second box and a small envelope that said Anna in charmingly messy handwriting. I opened the envelope to find a letter in the same handwriting.

Anna,

I hope you don't mind that I stole your address from my Uber history to mail you your apology gift. I know this isn't enough, but I hope it's a start. I also wanted to ask you if you'd like to meet me for a drink at Florence's- it's halfway between both our places. I can't see myself finding anything worth giving you that can even begin to make up for what I did to you, but I don't think a drink at an overpriced pretentious wine bar could hurt. Would tonight at 7 pm work for you? Here's my number: +4479754328967. Let me know.

x Matty

I sat down on my bed in complete shock. I couldn't believe what I had just read. I reread it once more, then again, and again. I let the words sink in, scanning for anything I could have missed that made me misinterpret his letter. When I couldn't find anything I stared out my window, stunned and in silence.

He wanted to see me again.

I immediately flipped over onto my bed, scrambling towards my phone, too distracted by my excitement to consider playing it cool and waiting a few hours to text him.

Hi Matty, you're just in luck. My burn victim's support group ends at 7 pm tomorrow night, so I'll be free to torture you a little longer with this joke 😘

I could see him start to type his response right away, thankful that he also wasn't interested in playing things cool.

Considering I've had to wait a full 24 minutes since the courier left my place to hear back from you, I think I might also do with joining a support group of sorts- do you know if they have any for lonely and impatient arsonists?

I giggled out loud and before I could type my response, he'd started typing again.

Btw, don't gorge yourself too much on your treats. Florence has the best charcuterie board in the city.

I scratched my head in confusion. "Oh!" I exclaimed, remembering finally about the box he'd sent with the letter.

I reached over to pick up the hefty box. Lifting the lid, I gasped at the contents.

There had to be at least 50 cookies from the coffee shop inside. The cookies I'd told him were my favourite. The same cookies that sell out early in the morning every day. The same cookies that the shop doesn't take bulk orders for.

After staring at the box for too long, I came to, remembering I hadn't responded yet to Matty's text.

WTF HOW DID YOU GET THESE?

I tapped my toe impatiently on the ground as I watched him type.

I have my connections 😉

Anyways, unfortunately, have to run off- my meeting got rescheduled to today and I should've left a few minutes ago for it. I'll see you tonight, and please make sure to grab me any burn-enthusiast's anonymous pamphlets you see. Enjoy the cookies x

I was so grateful I'd been sitting because my legs felt like jello. I fell backward onto my bed, my brain spinning. I couldn't wrap my head around what he'd done- what he'd said. This beautiful man had somehow gotten his hands on 50 of the most coveted cookies in all of London, written me a letter by hand, couriered it over to my house, and asked me out. The fact that he'd thought about me at all since yesterday was already enough to send me over without all the other things he'd done.

I lay like that trying to process everything for a long time before noticing that I was ten minutes into my booked studio time. I threw on some jeans, slipped on some splattered Crocs, and grabbed an old crewneck to replace Matty's hoodie with, not wanting to soil his sweater with the clay I'd be working with. I pulled the crewneck over my head and grabbed my keys to run out the door, lost in the thought of what I should wear to my date later that night.

#matty the 1975 #matty healy #the 1975 #at their very best #bfiafl #fanfiction #fanfic #matty 1975 #soulmates #lovers #love #tender #boyfriend #dating

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