#i’ve thought those thoughts exactly before but so long ago that the reasoning no longer registers as my own

[forever-rogue]

Howdy, friend. I’ve been stewing for months trying to think of a fluff request to send you, but I’ve come up short bc I generally have smut on the brain. But I think I did find something!

Eddie, not really knowing how to about telling you how he feels, does something extravagant for your birthday—the first birthday he’s been around for? 👀

AN | Eddie would absolutely plan the best birthday ever! Enjoy 🥰

Warnings | None

Pairing | Eddie x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 2.7k

Masterlist | Main, Eddie 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

"I can't believe you didn't tell me," you looked up from the book you were reading and found Eddie dramatically throwing himself onto the couch. He hadn't been bothered to knock before letting himself into your apartment. You loved that you were both on that level of friendship, "I thought what we had was special."

"Umm…hello to you too?" You bookmarked your page before tossing the book onto the coffee table, "what was it that I didn't tell you?"

"Your birthday," he hissed, lifting his head up and glaring at you from between his messy curls, "you didn't tell me it was next week!"

"I wasn't aware that I had to," you giggled at his dramatics as he scoffed at you. You known him for almost a year now but this was the first birthday of yours that you were spending together, "its not a big deal, Ed. I don't really do much for my birthday normally. It's just another day."

"Another day?" He sat up and clutched at his heart as he shook his head, "I can't believe you're saying that surviving another year of life is no big deal. It's like…a huge deal."

"Eddie," you got up from your comfy, overstuffed armchair and sat down next to him on the couch. He had such a big heart and always showed his love for those around him - it was one of the most endearing things about him, "you are so sweet and lovely, truly. But I don't need anything fancy. Just having you in my life is plenty."

He looked at you with a lopsided grin that was nothing short of magical. You put your hand on his knee and gave it a gentle squeeze. He sighed softly, nudging your side with his elbow and hoping you wouldn't notice the bubblegum hue of his cheeks, "I like having you in my life too, princess. A lot."

If only you knew just how very much.

"Good," you stood up and stretched, unaware of how closely he was watching your every move, "glad we're on the same page. Now come, I was gonna watch make hot chocolate and watch a scary movie. You in?"

"As if that was ever a question," he bounced to his feet and followed after you eagerly, "wait - do you have any mini marshmallows?"

"Duh. I'm not a monster."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Eddie wasn't exactly sure what he was going to going to do for your birthday but he knew he was going to do something. It would be something big and all out. He had to let you know how he felt, or at least strongly suggest. He wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to be just your friend.

Quite frankly, he'd fallen in love with you a long time ago. Probably when he'd met you that night at the bar. The two of you were strangers, both new to New York and without friends. He'd been the first man you'd met that hadn't made you feel uncomfortable and the two of you clicked instantly. You'd quickly become best friends.

But along with that, Eddie had learned about your past heartbreak, including the one that had left you unsure of ever wanting another relationship. That was largely the reason Eddie had made sure to keep things on a friendly level. He didn't want to push you away. 

Now though, he couldn't hold it back any longer. He longed to hold your hand, to kiss you and touch. Everything - all of it. He wanted it all with you.  Despite all the baggage you insisted you had, Eddie wanted you and only. He had lots of baggage too, that's what he always reminded you of. But it didn't matter - you had each other.

You could tell that he was up to something, he’d been acting weird. And that was saying a lot for Eddie. You tried to ask him a few times but he never admitted to anything, and kept insisting that everyone was fine and normal. Peachy. 

Internally, meanwhile, Eddie was anything but peachy. He was busy trying to plan the best birthday ever. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to do anything for your birthday, it just had never been  a big deal for you. As long as you were surrounded by the people you loved and cared about, all was well. This year, you’d realized, it would be different - you didn’t have a ton of friends in New York (save for Eddie of course) and your family was scattered. You didn’t really have any plans or intent to make any plans. You’d have been happy with heading home after work and enjoying some takeout or pizza from one of your favorite places and watching a movie. Preferably with Eddie, but you weren’t going to force anything on him. The last thing you would ever want to do would be to chase him away.

“Eddie?” you cut through his thoughts when you waved your hand in front of his face. The two of you were out at dinner, hitting up your usual weekend spot. He blinked a few times before properly looking at you, “you alright there, space cadet?”

“Mhmm,” he grabbed a big bite of his pasta and shoved it in his mouth, chewing carefully and thoughtfully in order to have a moment to think of what to say to you. You set your own fork down and picked up your beer, drinking the rest of it while staring Eddie down. He was not getting away with his odd little behavior any longer - not that you thought he had anything to hide of course. 

“Mhmm,” you repeated slowly as he swallowed thickly, “what’s up, Eddie? You’ve been acting so on edge this week. Did something happen?”

“No! No,” he calmed down, face warming up as you raised an eyebrow at him, “I was just thinking about your birthday.”

“My birthday,” you repeated as he nodded like you were the crazy one for not making a bigger deal out of your own birthday, “what about it?”

“I just wanted to know if you had any plans and if you didn’t if there was something you wanted to do,” your heart constricted at the sweet smile on his face as you blinked back the stinging at the back of your eyes. No one had ever been as considerate about Eddie, “I don’t want to intrude or just assume that you’d even want to hang out with me but yeah.”

“Of course I want to spend time with you, Eddie. I always want to spend time with you,” you reached across the table and put your hand on top of his and gave it a gentle squeeze, “but just to be clear, I don’t have any plans and I’d love to spend the day with you.”

“O-oh,” his doe eyes grew wide as he let what you had said sink in, “wow. Cool. Is there anything in particular you want to do? Any ideas or requests?”

“I don’t need anything special,” you shook your head sweetly, “just wanna spend time with you, that’s all.”

“Sweetheart,” he huffed dramatically in that very Eddie way that you adored. You laughed softly as he leaned in, “you realize that I’m not going to let that happen, right?”

“Yeah,” you leaned, so close that you could almost kiss him - and you wanted to. You really wanted to. But you couldn’t just go ahead and do that. Not now….but maybe one day, “I know, Eddie.”

“Good,” he reached up and gently booped your nose which only caused you to giggle. He loved that sound way too much - it always made you feel a certain type of way, “I shall plan the day’s festivities then and your only job will be to attend. If you would happen to be agreeable to this of course.”

“I am more than agreeable,” you promised. You had a feeling that somehow this was going to be the best birthday ever. Even just the sheer fact of getting to spend it with Eddie was more than enough. 

If only you knew that Eddie felt the exact same way. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

When Eddie had said that he had a great day planned for your birthday, he hadn’t been kidding. Since it was the weekend, you both had the entire day to spend together. It started early in the morning with Eddie coming over to your apartment to take you out to see the sunrise, followed by breakfast at your favorite brunch spot. Normally you wouldn’t have been such an early riser but you had to admit that there was something magical about being up early with only Eddie around and watching the beautiful colors shift and bloom on the horizon. 

After that it was a day of adventures with running around the city, trying to put together the puzzles of the scavenger hunt that Eddie had put together. Because of course he had - it was just a very Eddie thing to do. Eddie was thoroughly amused watching you run around and try to figure out his cryptic riddles. It was even better when your face lit up with each piece that you put together and all the treasures you found along the way.

The day ended up with the two of you outside of the city, at a small restaurant that had a perfect view of the sunset. It was such a sweet gesture and felt incredibly romantic and it definitely settled something within your soul. 

“I don’t think I could have imagined a better day than this, Eddie,” you whispered softly, his eyes reverent and tender as he looked you over. Truthfully, he couldn’t quite have imagined a better day either, “this was really wonderful. No one’s ever done anything this thoughtful for me before.”

A comfortable silence fell over the two of you as you ate in silence, exchanging shy glances every now and then. Something between the two of you had definitely shifted and while you weren’t quite sure what it was, it definitely felt good. After a little while, Eddie set down his fork and cleared his throat, capturing your attention.

“I have to get this out or I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do this,” your eyes widened in surprise as you tried to figure out what Eddie could possibly be referring to. Your mind immediately went to the worst and you were sure that he was going to find some way to end your friendship. You had no clue what you’d do without him - he’d become such a huge part of your life. Honestly, he was probably the singular most important part of your life. 

“Eddie?” your eyes started to tear up when he didn’t say anything for a few moments. He seemed to be looking anywhere but your eyes…until he finally found the courage to. It was hard to read what was in those pretty brown eyes, but you didn’t detect any malice. That was good at least, “what is it?”

“I…” he ran a hand through his curls and let out a low sigh, “I’m in love with you.”

Time seemed to stand still as his words rang around in your head over and over. You tested out every possible meaning of his words. But then it hit you that there was only one - and there was always only one - possible answer.

“Oh,” you blinked at him and his cheeks warmed up as he tried not to panic because of your lack of a full response, “oh.”

“I-I know that you said you have a lot of baggage and umm don’t necessarily want another relationship,” he stammered nervously, letting out a nervous chuckle, “and I’d never want to pressure you or anything to have a relationship or anything more, but I just wanted you to know. It felt wrong not to tell you, like I was being dishonest with you and myself.”

“Eddie-”

“I hope this doesn’t make things awkward between us,” he whispered. He was slowly starting to feel like this had been the wrong decision, “I, umm, you’re just so amazing and I love everything about you and I-I-”

“Eddie.”

“I know you say you have baggage and I have it too and I just…there’s no else I could imagine doing this with,” he was stammering so nervously now that it was nothing but endearing. It still felt like a bit of a wild dream - you’d always imagined that you’d be the one in his position, spilling your guts out to him, “I want to spend my life with you. I want to share all our baggage, no matter how heavy. I just…love you a lot.”

Your lips pulled into a pout before you let out a small sigh. Before you could say anything, you took his face in your hands, brushing your thumb over his cheek before pressing your lips to his and kissing him gently. When you pulled back he looked at you in pure shock and surprise. You couldn’t contain your little giggle of nervous excitement as he pulled himself back to reality. 

“So…umm,” he waved his hands around nervously as he had a tendency to do, “wow. Did you really do that? Did that happen?”

“Yes,” you laughed softly, resting your forehead on his shoulder, “that actually happened, Edward.”

“Does that mean that you might feel the same way? About me?” you lifted her head and pressed a few kisses along his jaw. You put your hand on his neck, gently ghosting your fingers along his soft skin. You felt him practically shiver at your touch; he was watching your every move with curious, soft eyes. 

“Yeah,” a wistful little sound escaped your lips, “I do, Eddie. More than you could ever know. You mean the world to me, you silly, wonderful, amazing man.”

“Wow,” he couldn’t help himself as he leaned in and pressed a soft, tentative kiss to your lips. He could feel your lips pulling into a smile and that made him feel something he couldn’t quite put into words, “will you say it again? Please?”

“I love you, Eddie Munson,” you beamed at him, stomach flipping in happy somersaults, “I want you and only you - every last little bit. I thought I never wanted another relationship again. Turns out, I just had to be patient and wait for the right person - you.”

“Sweetheart,” he never realized until that very moment just how much he needed to hear those words. No one had ever said anything like that to him before, no one had ever chosen him like that - no one had ever loved him like you did, “fuck - I am going to marry the hell out of you one day.”

Your mouth dropped open and pulled into a sugary sweet smile. Of course Eddie would make a declaration like that - but you also knew that he was being serious. In his very own Eddie way, he’d just made a promise that you both knew he would keep. 

“Well, I’ll look forward to that,” you bit the inside of your cheek, “I hope you intend on making good on that promise.”

“Oh I will,” he threw his arms around you in a tight squeeze, giving you what might have been the best hug of all time, “I will. Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

“Thank you, Eddie,” you burrowed yourself into him as much as possible, melting into his gentle touch and warmth, “this has been the best birthday ever.”

“For now - I’ll make it even better next year!”

“I love you, Eddie.”

“I love you, birthday girl.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson one shot #st #joseph quinn

[burnednotburied]

Chapter One

AO3 Link | Chapter Two Link

Pairing: Abby Anderson x fem!reader

Fic Synopsis: Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife.

Tags/CWs: angst; slow burn; enemies to friends to lovers; animosity between WLF and Seraphites; blood/injury; cutting (not to self, but still); religious/cult-like ideas

Note: So the idea for this started as a prequel to my first fic (linked here), but ended up turning into much more. It basically follows the plot of Abby’s Seattle Day 1, diverging from canon where necessary and using dialogue from the game wherever possible. I split this part into two chapters because it’s so long.

This is a lot of build-up (important to the story and hopefully enjoyable to read), but I promise romance is on the horizon!

Also, the idea of deadnaming or misgendering Lev—even in the flashback part where they’re little kids and wouldn’t have known otherwise—physically pains me, so we’re going to pretend that reader has been calling Lev “L” as a nickname for forever.

Hope you enjoy! :)

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April 2038

Abby knew as much about the Scars as any of her fellow WLF members.

She knew that the group was founded by a woman who claimed to have a vision after the initial outbreak of Cordyceps brain infection in 2013, and then started spouting some bullshit about how it was all just a punishment for the sins of humanity. Said that the way to move forward was to go back to the basics. Live off the land. Reject technology and progress and pretty much all the good things in life.

She knew that they live on the island but they wouldn’t fucking stay on it, and that there was once a truce but they broke it, forcing the WLF into an endless war.

She knew that they fought hard and killed brutally, without hesitation or remorse.

She knew that, especially now that Joel was taken care of, killing Scars was pretty much her life’s purpose.

And she knew that the woman who started all of this became known as The Prophet. And that Isaac gave the order to have her killed ten years ago.

It was for that reason that Abby thought Isaac must have misspoken when he opened with:

“The Prophet is on the move.”

He was standing over the large map of Seattle in the center of the room, hands braced on the table, head down in thought.

She didn’t know what to make of that. Or how to respond. A quick glance over at Manny confirmed that she wasn’t the only one who was confused.

One of them had to ask. It seemed Isaac wasn’t going to fill in the gaps unprompted.

“The Prophet?” Manny questioned hesitantly. “Sir… respectfully… She’s been dead for years. Died before we even joined.”

“Don’t you think I know that? I’m the one who killed her.” Isaac was always calm and measured, almost always spoke quietly. But sometimes there was something beneath his words, just below the surface. Something seething and kind of terrifying, although Abby would never admit that out loud. This was one of those times.

“My unwilling informants downstairs,” he said, referring to the captive Scars being held and interrogated on the building’s lower levels, “tell me that they have a new Prophet. One their Elders have been quietly grooming for the role for the last decade, maybe even longer.”

“Okay so… What does that mean?” Abby asked, finding her voice. This was not the conversation she was expecting to have when she heard that Isaac wanted to talk to them. She had hoped to get some answers about what was going on with Owen.

“There’s a reason why they’ve been more resilient lately. Bolder. Even more bat-shit than normal.” He clenched his fists on the table. “This… Neo-Prophet,” Isaac almost laughed, the words coated in venom, “is about to fully step into her role. She is of age now. Or so I’ve been told.”

Abby stared at Isaac, still waiting for him to tell her what all of this meant. And what exactly he wanted her to do about it.

Manny jumped in. “What? So the Scars are… celebrating? You’re saying that’s why they’ve been ballsier? Killing more of us. Pushing further inland.”

Abby let out a short laugh. “If this is what it looks like when they’re happy, I don’t want to see what happens when they’re mad.”

Isaac remained stoic. “They have a renewed sense of purpose. When we killed their first Prophet, the Scars were enraged. They fought hard for vengeance. But people will only fight on behalf of a dead woman for so long. Passion for the cause wanes without something tangible to fight for. They need that higher authority to look to. They need someone to honor and defend. Their Elders were smart enough to know that their people need a unifying symbol. A living one.”

“Right, and you said that unifying symbol was on the move so…” Abby said. “Want us to hunt her down? See what they’ll do when we take away their new favorite toy?”

“No,” Isaac said quickly. “She’s not our target. We’ll get to her in due time.”

“Then wha—”

He cut her off. “The Prophet will be leaving the island soon, for the first time. In fact, it’s possible she’s already here. One of our captives tells me there will be some sort of initiation for her. I don’t know what that entails, but I’m sure it will involve attempting to kill some of ours. I’ll spend some more time with our friends downstairs and see if I can’t get any more information on that. We’ll try to prevent it if we can, but that’s not our main focus right now.” Abby opened her mouth to protest, only to be cut off once again. “With the Prophet away and many of their best soldiers traveling with her, the island will be more vulnerable than ever.”

Manny gestured to the map, reinserting himself into the conversation. “Sir, we’ve tried attacking their island and—”

“Not like this,” Isaac said. “Not with everyone. There’s a big storm a few days out. We’re going to use it to mask our approach. And you two are going to lead the first wave. Pick your squads. Start prepping.”

“And the Prophet?” Abby asked.

“One battle at a time, Abby.”

“Are we sure it would be a battle?” she pressed. “Isaac, she’s just one girl.”

“You would be foolish to underestimate this unknown enemy. Besides the likelihood that the best of the Scars will be at her side, I don’t doubt that she will be a very skilled fighter in her own right.” Abby huffed. Isaac continued, “And if she’s anything like her predecessor, the greatest threat is in her words. Not her actions. I watched some of my most loyal soldiers abandon our cause for theirs after just one conversation with the one who came before her.”

At this, Abby raised her eyebrows, ready to argue. A look from Manny shut her up.

“We’ve only got one shot at this… And this is bigger than any of us.” Isaac pushed off the table, walking over to Abby and placing a hand on her arm. “I need you, Abby.”

She shifted uncomfortably before relenting, giving a curt nod. “Yeah, I get it.”

“Good.” He pulled away, heading toward the door. “Look over the plans and go through your rosters.”

“I want Owen,” she said. Abby thought Isaac could at least give her that.

When he denied her permission to go look for Owen, Abby went anyway.

----------------------------------------------------------------

March 2030 (8 Years Earlier)

The day of your scarring had been the first time Haven saw the sun in weeks.

Your mother said it was a sign. But your mother thought everything was a sign.

She told you that, no matter what, you were not to cry. That you, her only child, would not disgrace her by shedding tears during your ceremony.

You were to be brave. And strong.

The Prophet herself had ordained the act of scarring for all of her followers. A symbol of the innate imperfection of mankind. And so her people would never forget their own failings, even in the midst of their unending efforts towards perfection.

No one was meant to question the Prophet’s teachings, or the Elders who had taken on the responsibility of interpreting those teachings and carrying out Her will since Her death two years prior.

You could feel your mother’s breath against the back of your head as she huffed and decided that she was once again unsatisfied with your hair, roughly taking it down and beginning again for the fourth time.

While she worked, you sat still on the wooden stool in front of her and stared at yourself in the mirror, trying to memorize your features as they were now.

This was the last time you would see the face you knew. Next time you looked in the mirror, you would be different. Would you feel different?

You tried to picture yourself scarred, with two thin lines running from each of your ears to the corners of your mouth. Your eyes stung, tears threatening to fall at the thought.

But there will be no crying today.

Instead, you let your eyes wander to your mother’s reflection, hovering just behind and above yours in the mirror. You examined her face. Of course, you had never seen her without her scars, but you’d always thought your mother was beautiful.

Maybe the change in your appearance would not be so drastic. Maybe it was vain to care.

You were not supposed to be vain.

Once your mother was satisfied with the look of the braided crown of your hair, she gently placed her hands on your shoulders, meeting you gaze in the mirror.

“We are imperfect beings,” she recited. You joined your voice with hers for the second part, “And thus we make ourselves imperfect in Her eyes.”

She smiled softly, squeezing your arms lightly. “Good girl. I’m proud of you. I know you will do wonderfully today.” You tried to return her smile. “Now. Get dressed. I laid your clothes out on the bed.”

She turned to leave you, pausing in the doorway. “Remember what I said, child. No tears today. Do you understand?”

You nodded quickly. Obediently.

She seemed pleased as she left the room.

You changed quickly, wondering if she had been able to tell that you’d spent the whole night before crying. You hadn’t gotten a minute of sleep.

The stool squeaked as you sat back down, not sure what to do with yourself while you waited. You met your own eyes in the mirror once more, this time immediately averting your gaze. You felt sick. And close to tears. And so very scared.

On the other side of the door, you could hear Yara and her mom greeting your mother. The eight-year-old asked if she could come inside to see you. After just a moment of hesitation, your mother allowed it, and you could hear the slight creak of the door as she came in.

Yara said your name quietly, standing just inside the door. You turned to look at her. She smiled, happy to see you, just as always.

“Happy birthday!” she whispered excitedly, closing the distance between you and wrapping her arms around you tightly. You squeezed her back, holding her close for longer than usual. Yara, never one to be the first to break a hug, lingered for as long as you wanted her there.

You were neighbors, and your mothers had grown up together and always been close. And although Yara was four years younger than you, the two of you were close too. She and five-year-old baby L were your siblings, as far as you were concerned.

Yara was mature for her age, even more so than most of your other friends. You knew you could trust her, so with her you were honest.

“I’m really scared,” you said quietly into her hair, still not releasing her from the embrace.

“I know,” she whispered back, squeezing you even tighter. “You’re the bravest person ever though. I know you can do this.”

You finally let go, retreating back to your stool, but Yara stayed close by, rubbing your shoulder comfortingly with one hand.

“She will be with you through this, and for all the days of your life,” she said, earnest. “Our pain is Her pain, and Her pain is ours.”

You couldn’t help but make a mental note of the fact that the Prophet actually did not receive the same scars as all of her followers, so perhaps this one specific pain is one that was not, in fact, shared between to two of you.

But Yara’s comment was made with a level of sincerity that you couldn’t help but admire—and borderline envied—so you chose to keep your thoughts to yourself.

Her presence was always a comfort, so you allowed yourself to relish in it for a quiet minute before your mother reentered the room.

“It’s time to leave,” she said simply. Firmly.

Behind her, just outside the door, you could see Yara’s mom standing there, holding a quiet but curious little L’s hand. They would all be walking over with you to witness the ceremony.

You forced yourself to stand, brushed your hands down your thighs as if to clear some nonexistent dust and smooth the phantom wrinkles. For a moment, you considered taking one last look in the mirror, but ultimately deciding against it. It would feel strange to do so, now that everyone was watching you and waiting.

For the briefest moment, you thought about making a run for it. Stealing a boat or even attempting to make the swim to the mainland. You could survive on your own, or maybe even join the Wolves. You weren’t scarred yet. You could lie about where you came from, and they would probably take you in…

The hiss of your name from your mother’s mouth ripped you back into reality, along with a gentle nudge from Yara.

You took a deep breath and started walking.

Once the home of the Prophet herself, Sanctuary was one of your people’s primary places of worship, second only to Martyr’s Gate on the mainland. (You had never seen it – You’d never left the island – so Sanctuary was where you most often prayed.)

Scarring ceremonies were held there, always on a child’s twelfth birthday.

You had witnessed many friends receive their scars. It was customary to attend the ceremonies of those close to you. Family, friends.  

The process was always the same.

Elder Constance would lead all those gathered in a prayer, holding the ceremonial blade. You would recite a version of the Prophet’s Prayer. The blade would be blessed. Then Elder Duncan would make the incisions before welcoming you as an official member, a child of the Prophet.

It never took very long. Everyone had work to get back to, tasks to fulfill.

You would soon come to find that your ceremony would not be like any of those others.

The first indication of this was the sheer number of people who were gathered at Sanctuary. You had never seen this many people gathered in one place at one time, many of the faces you did not recognize.

As you approached the dais, the crowd silently parted for you, all eyes examining you carefully as if looking for something unseen. You couldn’t begin guess what it was.

You wanted to go home. You wanted to cry. To hold your mother’s hand. You wanted to not be here at all. Ever. For this to be a horrible nightmare.

Why were there so many people here?

Your eyes met Elder Constance’s. She was stiff and serious, as always, but there was a brightness in her eyes that you were not accustomed to seeing. A quick glance at Elder Duncan revealed a similar expression on his face.

The other five Elders also stood on the stage. Another thing that was unusual for a simple scarring ceremony.

Had you done something wrong? Were you in trouble?

You looked ahead, and your legs continued to carry you forward, despite your internal protestations.

When your feet were nearly touching the first step up, you stopped. And although your mind went blank, your body remembered what to do.

You bowed your head to each of the Elders, silently waiting to be greeted and invited onto the dais.

“Welcome, child, on this most joyous day!” Elder Constance’s voice boomed, carrying enough for everyone gathered to hear. “Come. Join us.”

You fought the urge to turn around and find your mother. You wanted to look at her face, to see if she knew what was happening.

But you knew that any moves you made in this moment other than exactly what was expected of you would be seen as hesitation, and therefore disgraceful. And you didn’t want your mother to be angry.

So you did as Elder Constance said, and you climbed the steps.

Your vision blurred. You tried to focus on your breathing.

“Two years ago, the ignoble Wolves took our beloved Prophet from us,” she began once you were standing center-stage. The reaction from the audience was instantaneous, full of outrage and despair. Elder Constance allowed this to continue for several moments before holding up her hand; and the noise stopped just a quickly as it began.

“But She is not dead! For the Prophet’s spirit cannot be killed by the evils of mankind.” The crowd hung on her every word as she continued, “She lives in all of us. In our actions and in our virtues. In Her teachings.”

“Here before you are all of your Elders, appointed to this honorable position by our Prophet, most wonderful and wise. She speaks to us, and it is our duty—our privilege—to share her words with you.”

“But today, She does not have words for us.” Elder Constance paused, the audience hushed, waiting for the reveal. “It is Her heavenly desire to give us a new source of hope. An advocate. A champion… A new Prophet.”

Elder Constance’s hands landed on your shoulders.

“Today, She has chosen Her successor.”

The crowd erupted in celebration.

You went completely numb and tuned them all out.

The Elders continued to speak, and the people continued to celebrate. All the while, your mind was reeling and your face was blank.

A new Prophet?

There can’t be a new Prophet.

What does that even mean?

There have never been any prophets except for THE Prophet.

And if there does need to be a new Prophet, why would it be you?

Why you?

Why you?

Why you?

It can’t be you.

If any of your questions were answered, you didn’t hear it above the ringing in your head.

Your attention was drawn to the blade that was now in Elder Constance’s hands, and you forced yourself to again begin to listen.

“…The Neo-Prophet will take on her full responsibilities when the time is right. But until then…” She continued on with familiar words, ones used in a typical scarring ceremony to bless the blade before it was used.

The knife was then passed down the line of Elders, each of them lifting it above their head and reciting the same words.

Your legs suddenly feel very weak.

Elder Duncan blessed the blade last and stepped forward, positioning himself just a couple feet away from you. You turned to him just as you knew you were supposed to.

This was the part in the ceremony when you would usually say a version of The Prophet’s Prayer. You weren’t sure if you were still meant to do that, given the circumstances, but you were operating solely on instincts now, so you began, “The world is not in balance, but I will do my part to right it.”

You weren’t speaking nearly as loud as the Elders had. You hoped you were loud enough. You hoped you were doing it right.

The pleased look on Elder Duncan’s face indicated that you had done well, but before you could go on with the next line, all of the Elders continued the prayer together:

“You will lead us through the storm May the current be calm May You guide us home.”

Their words had been slightly altered from the classic prayer, different than you would’ve said it if you had been given the chance. The strangest part was that they were speaking to you.

Almost like they were praying to you…

Elder Duncan took another step forward, gripping the knife.

You expected him to use his other hand to lift your face, to hold it at the best angle for the scarring. You’d seen him do the same to others many times before.

This was the part that you knew was coming. You had been at least attempting to prepare for it. You could handle it.

But you were thrown off once again when instead, he took your right wrist in his free hand and gently pressed your fingers down, making you form a fist. He then lifted your hand until it was by your ear, knuckles facing down, arm bent at the elbow. His own hand gripped your elbow, holding your arm in place.

You were frozen, with no choice but to watch as the knife met the outside of your forearm and sank in. A slow, straight line was carved from the top of your wrist all the way to your elbow.

You didn’t look away. You didn’t cry. You did as you were told.

You wanted to go home.

“We are imperfect beings. And thus, we make ourselves imperfect in Your eyes.” Elder Duncan said, meeting your gaze. “It is for this reason that we proudly wear our scars on our faces.”

When his work was done, he released your right elbow and moved on to the left, lifting that arm into the same position. “But the Prophet, in Her kindness, bears the weight of our imperfections, carrying all of us in her arms. This is why You will wear your scars here.”

“Remember that You are part of us, but set apart.” The blade pierced the skin of your left forearm, and a twin incision was formed. “We look to You, Prophet. May She guide you. May She protect you.” With that, he took a step back, lowering the knife.

You slowly lowered your arms to your sides and turned back to face the enraptured crowd.

Finally, you found your mother among them.

And she was crying.

“My friends,” Elder Constance declared, gesticulating dramatically, “Your Prophet!”

The cheers were deafening.

As you scanned the masses, you felt the blood ooze down your arms and curl around your fingers, pooling on the ground by your feet.

You found Yara, who was somehow clapping and cheering more enthusiastically than anyone else. And then you saw L, held up on their mother’s hip, face concerned, eyes wide and wary.

At least someone was as skeptical as you were.

You wondered if you would get to go home now.

But Elder Constance placed her hands on your shoulders again, this time turning you and leading you in the opposite direction, into the Prophet’s grand house. Into Sanctuary.

There, servants’ gentle hands carefully cleaned your stinging wounds, took down and brushed out your hair, and helped you change into a new white dress.

You would never live in your mother’s house again.

And it would be eight years before anyone addressed you by your name.

#abby anderson #abby anderson x fem!reader #abby anderson x reader #abby x fem!reader #abby x reader #abby tlou #tlou2 #abby anderson fanfic #abby anderson fic

[indie-summer]

unbelievable

for @cycleprompttuesday

prompt: lies

—

After almost a year, Tadej and Jonas meet again, this time in Florence.

It’s the eve of the first stage of the Tour de France. The teams presentation is loud, chaotic, fun. The air is buzzing around them with excitement from the fans, the journalists, the riders, the staff. It’s unplanned — and quite unlikely, considering the circumstances — but they still find themselves in a quiet corner behind a team bus. Not exactly alone, but not surrounded by a crowd, which in itself is almost unbelievable.

They assess each other for a second. Jonas’ hair is longer and Tadej has grown a mustache. Jonas’ eyes are still soft for Tadej and Tadej’s smile is still brighter around Jonas.

“It’s been forever, man,” Tadej says as a way of hello. He opens his arms, but Jonas goes for a fist bump and they chuckle awkwardly at themselves. They settle for a handshake and a pat on the back, and it feels like a compromise.

“Yeah, that’s the longest we’ve been without racing each other.”

“Oh, you’re right, I haven’t noticed.”

That is a lie. Since they became rivals, this has been the longest time they’ve spent without seeing each other, and Tadej definitely noticed.

One year ago, Tadej had his lips all over Jonas for what it felt like hours or just a few minutes. Jonas whispered sweet confessions in his ear, then proceeded to painfully list all the reasons why that could never happen again. The worst part was that Tadej agreed with all of them.

They never really talked about it, and now what’s left is small talk.

“Ready for another battle?” Jonas asks absentmindedly, looking around without meeting Tadej’s eyes.

“Sure, are you?”

Jonas finally looks straight at him and smiles. “Well, I don’t plan to make it easy for you.”

“I’ve been watching… you’re having the hell of a season so far, right?

“Yeah, it’s been a good couple of months.”

That’s a lie. All season long Jonas has been flying on the road, but never before he’d felt so shit about it.

It’s probably because he’s constantly aware that the price he paid for it was giving up Tadej, and everyday he wonders if it’s worth it. Most of the time, he thinks it’s not — but then there are those moments up the mountains or at finish lines, when everything is loud around him but somehow his mind is quiet, and he knows that, like a junkie, he can’t live without them.

“You’re not doing too bad either, are you now?” Jonas adds, playfully understating it. “I have to watch out for the Giro winner.”

“You can make it easier for yourself if you don’t sprint for mountain points,” Tadej suggests with a wink.

“Stop with the mind games,” Jonas tells him with a smile. “You know I won’t just let you have them.”

“You’re greedy and selfish,” Tadej complains mockingly, earning a laugh from Jonas.

“That’s on you,” Jonas says, with an amused gleam in his eyes. “When the best cyclist in the world calls you the best climber in the world, you kind of have to go for the polka dot jersey.”

Tadej grins. “Oh, you saw that interview.”

Jonas nods. “I’m sorry, I should’ve called you to say thanks.”

“Don’t worry, I didn’t expect you to.”

That’s a lie. If not well-thought, the interview was still a cry for attention, and the frustration at not getting any still stings.

For months after that fateful night, they kept talking, usually via text messages. The texts didn’t mean much — congratulations after Worlds, Vuelta and Lombardia; happy birthday wishes; pictures of bikes and landscapes; a photo of Tadej with a young fan who wore Jonas’ Jumbo jersey (I took it personally, Tadej joked); a short video of a goofy dog relentlessly chasing Jonas up a climb (She’s just like you, Jonas wrote). Still, the texting itself meant everything to Tadej. It meant Jonas was thinking about him, it meant he was not letting Tadej go.

Eventually, it came to an end.

But when Tadej recorded the shortest video ever to congratulate Jonas for a Danish prize he had never heard about, Jonas called.

The phone call was almost as short as the video. Thank you so much, Jonas said, to which Tadej replied, I meant every word, and that left Jonas without words for a few seconds. This is too hard, he finally muttered, then hung up.

Tadej was furious. He wanted to call Jonas back and yell at him for being such a coward. In the end, he was just as much of a coward, because despite his anger, he didn’t do anything.

After the interview, he still waited for a call that never came.

“You know why I didn’t, though,” Jonas murmurs, running his fingers through his own hair in what looked like a soothing gesture.

Men will do anything not to go to therapy, but that’s exactly what it took for Jonas to stop texting Tadej.

It was an act of self-care, he learned. All he needed was to stick to his decision and stop looking back. He knew he had his reasons — they had little to do with his sexuality, and everything to do with the fact that his job is to beat Tadej season after season. He has to discuss Merijn’s plans of cracking him, he has to come up with ideas to explore his weaknesses, he has to execute them on the road and watch what they do to Tadej. He can’t be sorry for his suffering, because that’s what it takes for him to win. He also knows he can never let his guard down, because it’s Tadej’s job to do the same.

He yearns for Tadej, but he doesn’t think he can be his executioner by day and his lover at night.

And yet. He can’t help but wonder.

Despite his better judgment, he now asks:

“Do you still think about it?”

Tadej doesn’t know how to answer the question without speaking the truth, and he doesn’t trust himself to do so without falling to his knees and begging Jonas to reconsider. So he doesn’t speak at all.

“It’s okay,” Jonas says with a sigh and a tired smile. He speaks more to himself than to Tadej when he adds: “We would never manage to make it work anyway.”

He believes his own words, but that is, obviously, a lie.

#cycling rpf #cycle prompt tuesday #prompt: lies #pogagaard #tadejonas #not beta read #i’m sorry this was self-indulgent #i wanted to make myself sad #it’s just one of those days

[hellfirenacht]

Can’t Be Unseen Chapter 7

Sal Fisher x Reader

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

AO3

Notes: We continue

The distant sound of cars echoed from under the overpass. It was dark, and snow glittered off the side of the road under the moonlight as you, Sal, Larry, and Ashley trudged your way through. The party that Ashley’s parents had been hosting had long since been abandoned in everyone’s plans, as it was made clear that the party was more for the parents than you all. Not that it mattered, the second someone suggested you ditch and celebrate somewhere else everyone had packed up the snacks, snuck a few bottles of wine, and bundled up to make the way down to anywhere else.

The overpass a few blocks down the road seemed like a good place to set up camp. You had just returned a few hours earlier, barely having the time to set your stuff down before hopping in the van with Sal and Larry to head off to Ashley’s parents house. You were tired, damn near exhausted after not having slept very well the previous night, but you wanted to see your friends.

And they had wanted to see you as well. Sal and Larry damn near tackled you to the ground with hugs when you stepped off the elevator into the basement of the apartments. They had been waiting for you all day, so worried you weren’t going to make it with all of the snow that had fallen over the past two weeks.

“It wasn’t the same here for Christmas without you.” Sal had said.

“We tried to watch some cheesy B-movies that had to do with the holidays, but without your zingers it didn’t feel right.” Larry had added. “We still ripped the movie to shreds, but it wasn’t as fun without you.”

Your heart melted at the comments from your two best friends. After two weeks away, having had time to sort out your thoughts, there was a relief in being home with them.

Of course, you still hadn’t had a chance to talk to Larry. But with the New Years party tonight, there wasn’t exactly a good time to bring up how the two of you made out before you left. You needed to talk about it.

‘Soon’ you told yourself.

Despite being the middle of winter, it wasn't as cold as it could have been. Everyone dumped their party bags next to the underpass slope. Ashley pulled out a bottle of wine and uncorked it, taking a sip and passing it to you, who took a sip and passed it to Sal, who reached into his bag and pulled out a crazy straw to stick in it.

It seemed like four lifetimes ago that you two won those at the festival. The memory no longer burned you, no longer made your stomach twist in knots with guilt. Now the site of him using that straw for some underage drinking just made you laugh. Sal turned to hand the bottle to Larry, but he was rifling through his bag.

“The booze is over here, Larry.” you called out.

“I’m looking for something else” he called back over his shoulder, elbow deep into his backpack. “Here it is!” Larry’s arm started shaking and a faint rattling sound echoed through the open tunnel. When he stood up he was holding a can of spray paint. “I’ve been meaning to try out a new medium.”

“Underage drinking, weed, and spray painting.” Ashley shook her head and laughed. “We’re gonna get in so much trouble if we get busted.”

“‘If’ being the key word.” you chimed in, taking the bottle back from Sal and taking a long sip. It wasn’t your first time drinking, your parents had let you have the occasional drink inside the apartment since you were sixteen. If you were honest, you were glad that the cabin never had any signal, as one night you had a bit more than you could reasonably handle and had considered sending some texts to your friends that probably would not have been the smartest. Your parents had only laughed at you slurred words and stumbling, gave you water and an Advil and sent you off to bed.

It was nice to have parents that trusted you and gave a shit.

“We’ve done more questionable things.” said Sal, taking the bottle back from you. You hadn’t even thought about it, but you had used his straw. Oops. If it bothered him, he didn’t say anything. “Remember that time we snuck into the principal's office to get back Larry’s confiscated ‘soda’ can?”

“That was not my fault!” Larry called out, sizing up the large empty slab of concrete in front of him. “I thought I grabbed a real soda that morning!”

Ashley laughed. “You were still high! You had detention and me and Sal had to get that fake can back before they realized what it actually was.”

“You saved my ass is what you did. Mom would have murdered me before I even got charged with possession.” Larry stepped forward and started in with the spray paint.

The four of you reminisce about the times of teenage rebellion over the past few years. So many wonderful memories about causing trouble, covering for each other, and fun memories about sneaking around. In a few months, those days would be behind you all. With Sal being the last of the group to turn 18, there were few things left to be sneaky about.

Soon you could do whatever you wanted, within reason, legally.

The bottle was back in your hands as you chatted, now over half gone. There was a pleasant buzz in the back of your head as you took another sip. Not enough to be sloppy, but enough to relax and remove some inhibitions.

“Larry, you want some of this?” You called out as he finished with his painting. It looked like it was a stylized version of his name, but it was hard to tell. Why did so many graffiti tags have to be nearly impossible to read?

“In a sec, I gotta clean my hands,” Larry said, setting down the can. “Then I definitely could use some of that”

“You want some wine too?” you teased with a wink that he couldn’t even see because his back was to you. It felt good to flirt again, even though there was a small part in the back of your brain that said that maybe you should talk to him first before acting like old times.

That piece of you could shut it.

“You’re flirty sober, so it shouldn’t surprise me that you’ll crank it up when you’re buzzed too.” Ashley said before Larry could respond.

“Who am I to deny that my friends are hot?” you giggled through the straw before Sal took it back taking his own sip.

Sal had been quiet for a bit now, and you could have  sworn that he had been staring at you tonight. It was hard to tell, as you had stayed on the side of him that had the fake eyeball. But through the night you could feel a gaze on you, and with Larry at the wall and Ashley looking you in the eyes it had to be Sal.

Music started playing. Larry had pulled out a small speaker from his bag and had hooked his phone up to it. Excitement filled you as you grabbed Ashley’s hand and spun her around, demanding that she join you in a dance. She only laughed and shook her head but let you lead her around the area under the bridge in a stumbling and silly dance. You attempted to dip her, but that did not go well for either of you as you both slipped and stumbled to the ground laughing.

“So, does this mean you’ve finally fallen for me, Ash?” you giggled as you both got to your feet, brushing off any dirt.

“If it wasn’t for Jamie, you’d have my heart” she laughed.

You gripped at your shirt above your heart. “Rejected again!” you fake sobbed. “My poor heart, how will I ever recover?”

“I’m sure you’ll live.” she clapped your shoulder, leading you back towards the boys who were jamming out to the music. The two of you hopped in, letting the music take control of your body and mind. The alcohol relaxed you, allowing your brain to calm and focus on just being here with the people you loved.

A familiar hand grasped onto yours and gave you a quick spin. Larry made sure you were kept steady as he spun you around and around and around by the hand. Your mind was swimming and dizzy but there was joy and comfort and safety here. When his hand slipped from yours, you stumbled back, thudding against something.

Sal had caught you, his arms wrapped around your waist and shoulders. He kept you steady as your brain caught up to the rest of you. “Thanks!” you said, panting slightly.

“No problem.” he said, making no move to let go. A few months ago this would have sent you heart pounding and your cheeks red. Okay, if you were being honest there was still a small part of you that was flushed from the gesture as well as the cold. It didn’t help that he just kept... looking at you. His expression was completely unreadable with the mask right then.

“What?” you giggled. “Something on my face?”

Sal shook his head, “No”

“Have Ashley take a picture, or subscribe to my private snapchat” you gave him a good old fashioned over dramatic wink.

“Maybe I should.” Was there... a slight stutter in his voice? Was it the cold? “You look really good. And hot.”

Your eyes widened and he quickly stood you back up fully, the tips of his ears bright red. You were in disbelief at the words. It seemed so unlike him to say that, say things like that. It had to be the wine. You decided, absolutely. He wouldn’t be so cruel as to flirt sincerely after everything, right?

“Why, Salamander Xavier Fisher, are you  flirting  with me?” You gave him a playful nudge.

The sound of a bag of chips immediately distracted you from the boy in front of you. Ashley and Larry had pulled out the snacks and you were starving. You hurried over to partake in the salty joy, Ashley cracking open a second bottle of wine that she was sharing between herself and Larry.

The four of you passed the bottles around and tore through the snacks like no one’s business. Laughter echoed off the concrete walls as you reminisced about the past year.

“I need to pee.” Sal said, standing up and walking outside of the ove pass to find a private spot. Larry watched him for a moment and stood up.

“Hey, come over here for a second.” Larry said to you, offering a hand. You took it, and he hauled you to your feet before leading you to the opposite side of the bridge. Ashley had pulled out her phone, making sure that no one was looking for all of you at the party you had originally been invited to.

“What’s up?” you asked, but you knew what was up. Being mildly intoxicated might not have been the best move for this conversation, but it was happening anyway.

“I just want to make sure we’re alright.” Larry said, seriously. “After the party we didn’t really get a chance to talk about what happened.”

You couldn’t stop the blush from rising up your cheeks as you remember that night on the couch, sobering you slightly.

“I want us to be alright. That night, I-” you closed your eyes to clear your head, but the fog of the buzz made it a bit difficult. “I don’t regret what happened. But I also don’t think I want to date right now.”

Larry’s shoulder sagged and you panicked, worried that you just broke your friend’s heart. But instead, he let out a relieved laugh. “Oh, thank fuck I was worried.” he admitted. “I didn’t want to lead you on. I don’t regret it either, and I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t ever want to do it again.”

“I don’t blame you, I  am  pretty irresistible.” you tossed your hair with a smirk. “I can’t keep people off me, too hot and charming for my own good, really.”

Larry pulled you into a hug and you wrapped your arms around his middle, relaxing. It felt good knowing that you didn’t screw anything up with him either. Sal had already been so hard to get over, if this had happened with Larry as well you wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself.

You make a mental note to not try and get with Ashley, that would be overboard. Not that you had any real interest in her, she was taken after all. Dating within the friend group was just too complicated, and your friendships with them were far too important.

You pulled Larry in and gave him a kiss on the cheek before the two of you made your way back towards Ashley and Sal who had rejoined the group. Sal was struggling to get the last dregs of some hand sanitizer out of the bottle.

“Just keep shaking and pumping it, and it’ll come out eventually” you teased. “That’s how it usually works, right?”

Sal just snorted. “Yeah, usually. Something like that.” He finally managed to get a satisfying amount on his hands before tossing the bottle in the grocery bag you all had decided to use for trash. Just because you all were breaking the law, didn’t mean you wanted to litter.

“So how much longer until midnight?” asked Larry.

Ashley checked her phone. “About a half hour”

“Well, I’m just drunk enough that I don’t want to be bringing in the new year underneath a bridge.” Larry decided. “Let’s find somewhere else to be.”

There were no objections from you or the others, though Ashley did stop in front of his tag to snap a picture. “Anything you want to say about this piece?” she asked.

“It’s our names.” Larry said, making everyone immediately turn around to get a closer look. Larry’s name had been obvious, with a stylised L and Y. Looking closer, you could each see that the letters twisted into each of your names as well. You had to be looking for it, looking closer to decipher the twists and turns of the paint but there you were- there you all were.

“Holy shit.” Sal breathed. “How long have you been working on that?”

“A few months now.” Larry shrugged. “I figured if I was gonna tag something, I wanted it to be something that would last as long as the art itself, so I picked us.”

“That’s the cheesiest thing you’ve ever said.” said Ashley as she looked over the tag one more time.

“That’s really fucking incredible.” You added. “You should be proud of yourself.”

“Oh don’t worry, I am.” he laughed. “Think of it as my holiday present to you guys.”

“Oh shit, presents!” you groaned. “I knew I was forgetting something. I have souvenirs for everyone back at home that I totally forgot about.”

Sal reached a hand out to rest it on your shoulder. “It’s okay.” he reassured you. “You being here in time for the new year is enough for us.”

There it was, that unreadable look in his eye again. The darkness of the overpass combined with his prosthetic was giving him... something. Fuck, you might have had a bit too much wine tonight. You were hardly thinking straight now, and it didn’t help that Sal’s good eye was shining with the reflection of the snow which contrasted with the intensity of the way he was looking at you, or the way his hair was a silvery blue in the moonlight-

“Ah.... thank you. Please excuse me.” you said, walking off to a nearby snowbank, grabbing a chunk of snow and pressing your warmed face against it.

“That’s where I peed.” Sal called out in a deadpan voice.

You replied with a shriek and immediately chucked it at him as he laughed and dodged. “I’m kidding!” he yelled as you threw another chunk of snow at him.

“Salvador Elizabeth Fisher, I’m gonna shove this snow down your throat- and  not in a sexy way!” you laughed, making your way back over to him. Larry and Ashley were busy packing up your goodies for the night and were wrapped up in their own conversation now, talking shop about art and photography probably.

Sal moved closer to you, your shoulders touching. “I thought everything you did was sexy.” he laughed. It was a different sort of laugh. Genuine, playful, but maybe a bit lower? He was tugging at his gloves, as if he couldn’t decide to keep them on or take them off. His ears were red, but it was so cold out.

“You... are drunk” you decided, nudging him. “Oh shit, all those meds you’re on- are you even allowed to be drinking?” Worry suddenly shot through you.

“Not really.” His shoulders relaxed slightly. “Pretty much every medication says to not mix with alcohol. I’ll be fine though, I didn’t drink a lot and it just means I can get drunk for cheaper. You were the one hogging the bottle.”

“You expect me to control myself with a bottle and a crazy straw?” you laughed. “Clearly, you don’t know me.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

Before you could respond to that very cryptic sentence, Larry and Ashley returned and handed you each a bag.

“Larry has decided that we are going to the park.” Ashley said.

“It’s not like there’s a lot of places we can hang out at this late at night.” Larry shrugged. “I figured it’d be better than finishing off the night here or at the other party.”

“No objections here.” Sal said, looking at you.

There was a question in your eyes, but Sal’s didn’t answer yours. “Yeah, yeah I’m good to go to the park.” you managed, turning to Ashley and Larry.

It wasn’t a long trek to the park. You walked down past Ashley’s house again where you all stopped to pee, make a polite appearance, and drop off your trash. Then it was another few blocks to an empty playground, where you all immediately climbed up to settle in for the next ten minutes.

“So, what do you want to do next year?” Sal asked the group while looking at you.

You thought about it. “I’m not sure. Honestly, I’m so used to moving around that I didn’t think I’d be here this long.” you admitted. “My parents want me to go to college next year, but I’m thinking of maybe a trade school instead.”

“I’m applying for art school.” Ashley piped in. “I’ve been working on my portfolio all semester, and I have a few schools in mind.”

“Mom wants me to keep going to school, but I doubt we’d have the money for it, and scholarships are out with my grades.” sighed Larry. “I’m happy to just get my diploma and get to work somewhere.”

“I haven’t decided what I want to do either.” Sal said. “I’m probably just going to try and find a job too. If anyone will hire me that is.”

“I’d hire you.” you said. “Don’t know what I’d hire you for, but I’d hire you.”

He snorted. “I’ll play you guitar every day and get you snacks.”

“You’re hired. Immediately. When can you start?”

Sal responded by pulling out a bag of cookies and handing it to you.

“Motherfucker, are you trying to make me fall in love or something?”  Again?! You accepted the bag, shoving a cookie into your mouth. Sal said something that you couldn't quite catch over the crunching of the snack and the swimming feeling in your head.

Talk continued between the 4 of you, with Ashley keeping an eye on the time. At some point you stopped responding, closing your eyes to just take in the night and the chill and the warmth of those you loved.

You felt Sal's warmth next to you as Larry began a countdown. Your eyes remained closed, breathing steady. Each second that counted down to your midnight weighing on you. Soon you'd be back home in bed and you'll be able to rest before school starts. You though of what was to come next; spring break, prom, graduation, and then the final summer vacation.

It was exciting to think about.

"3"

You never want to forget nights like this.

"2"

With the friends that stood by you, stayed with you, and never made you feel unwanted.

"1"  Click.

Something pressed against your cheek. It was soft, warm, and pleasant. So much so that you didn't open your eyes until it pulled away. Slowly you opened your eyes and turned just in time to see Sal readjusting the prosthetic to his face. from even under the light of the full moon you could see the misshapen jawline as he pressed everything back in place.

"Happy new year" Sal said, taking your hand. You smiled at him as Larry started blasting music again, echoing the cheers of distant parties and the fireworks that now were littering the skies.  

#sally face x reader #sal fisher x reader #sally face #sal fisher #cbu #nacht fic #nacht post

[cleoluvrr]

The Last Days of Summer X (Rafe Cameron x Heyward!OC)

Warnings: violence, underage drinking, drug use, verbal abuse, jealousy, forbidden relationship, enemies to lovers, gaslighting + manipulation  

Synopsis: Stuck in a situation she never dreamed of, Neriah Heyward blurs the line between Kook and Pogue; Rafe Cameron a witness.

masterlist

word count: 5k+

↠━ღ◆ღ━↞

“Neriah!” Londyn says the moment I pick up the phone, not giving me a chance to greet her. 

“Hello to you too.” 

I hadn’t left the house all day, the events of last night heavy on my mind. I was scared to face Rafe anytime soon, unsure of what would happen if I were to be alone with him again. I wasn’t worried about what he would do, but what I would do. If I would allow him to kiss me again, or If I would kiss him first. If he would turn my brain into a useless sack of neurons and somehow convince me to give him a real chance.

He only called me twice that day, once early that morning and another a few hours ago as I was getting ready for bed. I didn’t answer either time, not sure what exactly I would say if I did. I guess this was his version of giving me space, though I don’t think it will last very long given his past behavior. 

I didn’t tell Londyn about the incident, positive that she would have my head on a stick before I could even explain myself. And she would be right to do so, the bruises he left me had barely faded when I decided to go off into the night and kiss him. How would I even explain how I ended up in the car in the first place?

‘Yeah, he caught me off guard in a dark parking lot and put a hand over my mouth as he shoved me into the back of his truck. But he said he really likes me’? My friend would have more than a fit. 

I am snapped out of my thoughts by a familiar name followed by two words.

“John B is alive.” My heart stops immediately.

“Londyn are you playing some kind of sick joke on me right now?” I ask annoyedly, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. “Why would you call me at ten o’clock at night to say that to me-”

“I’m serious!” She exclaims into the speaker. “He’s alive, forreal. And he’s here.”

“There’s literally no way that’s possible, and you’re really pissing me off right now.”

“You need to listen to me, Neriah. I was at the club earlier and I overheard Kelce telling Rafe that he saw your brother with his friends buying beer from Geechie’s.” Londyn says. “Including John B. Very much alive.”

“Am I supposed to believe a word that comes out of Kelce’s mouth?” I rub a hand over my face tiredly. “I find it hard to believe a sixteen-year-old survived driving through a tropical storm on an open boat and pops up on Kildare out of nowhere after a fruitless search for his dead body.”

“Why would Kelce tell Rafe that his sister and John B are alive for no reason? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I don’t know why any of those people do the things they do, Londyn.” I sigh heavily, lying back down from my sitting position. 

“Why aren’t you more happy about this? “ She sounds confused at my lack of enthusiasm, and I exhale deeply again.

“I wish it were true, Londyn. More than anything.” I feel my heart aching for the boy again, the feelings I’ve been trying to bury climbing their way back up. “But it’s just not plausible. I’m not going to get my hopes up just to be disappointed.”

“But Neriah-” 

“Goodnight, Londyn.” I cut her off before she can finish, not in the mood to talk about it any longer. “I’ll see you later.”

With that I hung up the phone, allowing myself to drift back into a restless sleep.

I woke up the next morning to a commotion in the living room. I heard Pope’s voice for the first time in days, panickedly shouting at our parents before his footsteps retreated into his room. I exit my own quarters, curiously peeking around the hall to my parents standing in the living room with shocked faces, mouths agape. I approached them cautiously, not sure if my brother said something to anger them.

“What’s going on?” I ask. “Is Pope okay?”

“John B is alive.” My mother says after a moment of silence. “He’s alive.”

I don’t waste a second after the words come out of her mouth before speeding off to Pope’s room, ripping the door open without knocking. My brother paces around the room, hands running over his face in worry. He looks more stressed now than he did when we thought John B was dead. Stepping into the room and closing the door behind me, I approach the boy carefully so as not to set him off.

“Pope…” He stops his pacing abruptly, snapping his neck in the direction of my voice. “What happened?”

“John B got arrested.”  He says, sounding very on edge. “Sarah went to talk to her dad, and he called the cops after she left, and they followed her out there to us and they pulled- they pulled guns on us and jacked up John B!” He rushes out so many words at once that I can barely understand him.

“Pope, calm down.” I guess that was the wrong thing to say because it only made him more irate.

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” He shouts at me. I don’t snap back at him for it, it was an inappropriate thing to say to a boy whose dead best friend turned out to be alive and just got thrown in the slammer. “They took him, Neriah. They’re gonna throw the book at him; they think he’s a fucking cop killer!”

“They have to give him a trial first, Pope. And he’s a kid, I don’t think they’re going to-”

“That doesn’t matter to them!” He raises his voice more and begins to start his pacing again. “They’re gonna kill him! They’re gonna give him the death penalty!”

“Pope. Pope, stop.” I walk up to him and grab his arm, stopping the repeated path he takes as he walks back and forth across the room. “They aren’t going to give a minor the death penalty.”

“So what do you call life in prison? That sounds like death to me.” He says. He snatches his arm away from me, sitting down on his bed with his head in his hands.

I sigh and leave him alone in his room to give him space, unsure of how exactly to comfort him in this situation. I grab my phone off my own bed when I enter my own room across the hall, texting Londyn to tell her how she was right and I should have believed her before setting it onto my nightstand. 

I lie in bed for a while longer, allowing myself to fully process everything that has happened over the past few weeks. I went to Midsummers with Rafe, against my will no less, who then proceeded to confess his love to me after cornering me in a backroom with no witnesses. John B allegedly killed a sheriff and died at sea with Sarah Cameron. John B and Sarah come back to Kildare after being presumed dead, but the boy gets arrested and might rot in prison. I was put into a secluded space with Rafe Cameron once again, and then made out with him in the back of the same car he forced me into. 

None of this feels real anymore.

My phone rings on the nightstand beside me, the wooden furniture loudly vibrating beneath it. Groaning, I snatch it up, arms stretching across the bed to reach for the device. Rafe’s caller ID flashes across the screen and if I could roll my eyes any harder I would. I contemplate picking it up, but I don’t, opting to let it ring and ring until it stops on its own. Maybe he’d assume I’m still asleep and missed it by accident.

I wasn’t ready to talk to him. Not yet.

John B’s arraignment was the talk of the town, the courtroom filled to the brim with Kooks and Pouges alike. Everyone waiting to see the teen paraded into the room wearing the stereotypical bright orange jumpsuit that we’re accustomed to seeing only in movies. The building buzzes with a mixture of voices gossiping about the very limited possibilities that the boy faces in his trial, if he even gets one.

The number of whispers increase when John B is escorted into the room by a sheriff, disheveled and arms shackled together. He is all but shoved behind the defense desk by the officer that holds a clear bias against him considering what he's up for. The court is called to order when the judge arrives, the sheriff calling on us to rise for the woman taking a seat behind the raised bench before us.

I zone out for most of the arraignment process, staring at the back of John B’s head with an immense amount of anxiety for him running through my veins as the judge begins to speak.

“John Booker Routledge, pursuant to the North Carolina statute section fourteen,” the woman says, looking at the boy from over her thinly framed glasses, “you are charged with murder in the first degree with aggravated circumstances. If convicted, the maximum sentence will be the death penalty.”

The room erupts into louder murmurs this time, everyone looking around at each other in shock at the judge’s words.

Death penalty? But he’s a minor?

“Your honor, he’s seventeen!” JJ protests, standing up out of his seat. He says what I’m thinking out loud.

I assumed they would throw the book at him, but I didn’t think the needle would be on the table. Is that even legal?

The room begins clearing out after the judge exits, John B is escorted back out of the door he was brought through earlier. I rush after the Pogues, platform sandals clapping against the wooden panels of the floor. I spot the top of Kie’s head at the bottom of the steps, the Pogues backing her as she confronts the Camerons and the Kooks surrounding them. I push past the slow walking people in front of me to reach the group of angry teens.

“He shouldn’t even be in court!” Kiara shouts at Ward Cameron from a few yards away. His back is turned as he walks away from the courthouse with his wife. “You should, ‘cause you're a murderer.”

This captures the older man’s attention, the real estate mogul stopping dead in his tracks and turning to face Kiara as she points at him from where we stand. 

“You have a lot of nerve showing up to court.” Kie’s is livid, scrunched up as her voice shakes in anger.

“What is she talking about?” I ask JJ, the blonde too concerned about the girl confronting Ward to hear the question leave my mouth.

“I understand you’re upset, okay?” Ward approaches her cautiously, arm stuck out in front of him as either a form of defense or proof of his harmlessness. “I know he’s got you fooled. He’s got you all fooled.” He looks up at all of us, eyes showing what appears to be genuine concern.

Pope scoffs, rolling his eyes at the man. Shoup comes running down the stairs at the commotion, the short officer attempting to break everything up before it gets out of hand.

I don’t hear what comes out of Kie’s mouth before she lunges forward, the officers surrounding the courthouse and my brother moving to stop her from pouncing onto Ward Cameron.

Everyone is yelling over each other, bystanders watching the showdown between the Kook king and a bunch of teens. Sarah whispers into Kie’s ear, JJ yelling at Shoup as he points his finger at the retreating Cameron father. Sarah ushers the girl away from the scene, Pogues following behind them. I step out of the way, looking back and forth between the vastly different groups just mere feet from each other.

“It’s not a coincidence your daughter’s sitting with us!” Ward turns sharply in our direction again at Kiara’s words, the sound of photographers getting louder as they capture the scene in front of the courthouse.

I watch as both parties leave the premises from opposite sides, keeping my distance from the Pogues as I walk a few yards behind them.

“She called him a murderer to his face in front of everyone. I don’t know what she was talking about but I don’t think she would say that for no reason.” I tell Londyn over the phone. 

I wipe down the tables on the patio of the shop, lollipop in my mouth and sun shining down on my back as I work. The air is cooler than usual, light breeze refreshing on my warm skin.

“Well, they’re going to lock her best friend up for murder.” She says. “She’s mad, obviously.”

“Yeah, she’s mad, but I don’t think Kie’s the type of person to just say things like that.”

“Maybe she just wants someone to blame, Riah.” My friend sighs into the speaker tiredly, voice raspy with sleep. “Ward is a nice man and Kie, no offense, is herself. I wouldn’t put it past her to say something out of anger.”

I sigh as well, flopping down into one of the seats I’ve pulled out from under the table. I switch my phone to my right ear and lean against my free hand, elbow resting against the freshly cleaned table. My phone starts buzzing, the vibration interrupting my current call. 

Pulling it away from my face I check the ID, rolling my eyes in annoyance at the name that flashes across the screen. I ignore the call, silencing it as I continue my conversation again. The number called again a few minutes later and I declined it almost immediately. 

“Baby, can you go take this up the road for me sometime today?” I hear my mom say from behind me. “I told Ms. Parker I’d give her a couple pieces of this pie.” I nod my head, reaching out to take the plastic grocery bag carrying a tinfoil wrapped plate.

“Yeah, I can go right now.” I push the chair in as I stand up, taking the bag from my mother.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” She kisses my cheek before walking back into the shop.

I start the walk towards the house a few blocks away, phone in one hand and bag in the other. I drop the dessert off with my mother’s friend, politely waving goodbye as I step away from her porch. Londyn and I gossip with each other over the phone, the gentle breeze blowing against my bare legs not covered by the white tennis skirt the bottom half of my body. I don’t pay attention to the car rolling up behind me, too busy kicking at the rocks beneath my feet.

The car slows down to my pace and honks once. The sound startles me, the closeness of the noise making my ears ring a bit. I turn my head, spotting a familiar vehicle stopped next to me on the empty road. I avert my eyes and continue walking once I recognize the person inside the car, not in the mood to talk about whatever situation we have going on currently. 

“Neriah!” Rafe calls out from the window of his car.

“Is that who I think it is?” Londyn asks curiously.

I sigh heavily, stopping in my tracks and closing my eyes as I listen to the Cameron son halt as well. I suck my lips into my mouth, wetting them with my tongue. I hear the door open and close, feet crunching against the rocks beneath them as the boy approaches me. He places a hand on my shoulder and turns me around to face him completely.

“I don’t like when you ignore me.” He says. I pull the candy out of my mouth to speak, his eyes flickering to it for a moment before my own again.

“Londyn, I gotta go.”

I hang up the phone despite her protests and cross my arms as I look up at the man before me, device gripped tightly in my fingers. He pushes me towards his car and I oblige, yanking open the passenger side door and climbing in to join him. He pulls off before I can put on my seatbelt, the sudden movement jerking me backwards. I say nothing and shove the lock into place, the sound of it clicking filling the silent car.

We drove for a few minutes, passing Heyward’s and surrounding houses in the neighborhood. I stare at Rafe rather than watch the scenery fly by around us. His face is relaxed as well as his body language, though his hand grips the steering wheel so tight I think he just might crush it under his hold. He doesn’t look anxious at all, which is very unusual. And very worrying.

I start to feel even more worried as the drive gets longer and longer, houses gone and trees filling both sides of the road. 

“Are you planning to drive me out into the middle of the woods unwillingly everytime you want to talk to me?” I ask.

“Are you gonna keep ignoring my calls?”

I don’t answer, choosing to stay silent for the rest of the drive. We end up on Figure 8 and ride around residential neighborhoods that haven’t yet been filled. He pulls up to an empty house and gets out of the car, opening the passenger door for me to exit. I step out and he closes the door behind me, walking up to the front door of the vacant property. I stand by the car as I watch him pull out a key and open the door in confusion.

I cautiously walk towards the house, standing by the front door and peeking inside. Rafe looks at me expectantly.

“What are you waiting for?” He asks annoyedly. “An invitation?”

I open my mouth to respond but find no words. Pursing my lips, I step over the threshold. I follow him up the steps to the second floor, tennis shoes squeaking against the hardwood flooring as I walk. The property is filled with show furniture, the decorative paintings lining the wall and den filled with an untouched living room set. The floor turns soft beneath my feet for a moment, the shaggy white rug muffling the sound of my shoes.

He stops at a room at the end of the hall, pushing open the door and gesturing me inside. The bedroom looks straight out of a southern living catalog, the king bed pressed against the wall covered in a decoratively patterned blue and white duvet to match the color scheme of the room. The walls were just as white, the late afternoon sun peeking through the sheer curtains reflecting against the paint. A white Ikea desk sits across from the bed, a black rolling chair pushed beneath the piece of furniture.

“Why are we here?” I ask, standing awkwardly.

“To talk.”

“You had to drag me to the other side of town to talk?”

He answers with silence, hands stuffed in his pockets and circling around me with slow steps. He shrugs off his gray NorthFace jacket, throwing it onto the desk chair behind him before taking a seat in it. He spins it around in my direction, legs spread as he looks up at me. His tongue pokes through his cheek as he watches me.

“Y’know,” He starts, “It’s really not that hard to answer a call. Or text back.”

“It’s not that hard to take a hint either, Rafe.” I respond smartly. He chuckles, shaking his head at me.

“I’m not good with hints.” He says. 

“I’m aware.” I cross my arms again. “I’d really appreciate if you-”

“I like to be straight forward.” He cuts me off before I can finish. “I’d appreciate if you could be straightforward with me, too.”

“What do you want me to say, Rafe?”

“I don’t want you to say anything.” He leans back in the chair, hand rubbing at his chin.

“Why are you speaking in code with me?” I ask exasperatedly. “You just said you like being straightforward; so be straightforward.”

“I want you to say anything. I need you to answer me.” He says. “I need you to tell me what’s stopping you. If you’re still going to let your brother dictate what you do with your life. Whatever you need me to do, I’ll do it.”

“Rafe, I…I don’t…” I shake my head, wetting my lips with my tongue. I exhale audibly through my mouth.

“I’ll do anything, Neriah, please.” He stands out of his chair, voice pleading with me. “Just tell me. I’ll change, I’ll be better. I’ll do anything for you.”

“Rafe, I’m just really overwhelmed.” I say. “This is a lot for me and I really don’t know. I don’t know.”

He takes a few steps towards me and grabs my hands, his gold ring hard against my wrists as he grips them like I’ll disappear if he lets go. I hear him swallow dryly, eyes wide and desperate as he looks down at me in front of him.

“I poured my heart out to you, Neriah. This is me telling you that I will do anything it takes.”

I chew on my lip nervously, heart pounding against my ribcage.

I think about the night in the car. His apologies, his reasoning. The way he held me and looked at me. The way his eyes pleaded with me to find something inside of me soft enough to give him a chance. The way his lips felt against mine and the way my heart pumped just as strongly then as it is now.

“Rafe, you have to understand my hesitation to agree to do whatever this is.” I gesture between the two of us as the words fall out of my mouth. “You don't have the best track record for literally anything and I find it hard to believe anything that comes out of your mouth.”

“I understand! I do, I really do.” He exclaims. He clamps down tighter around my wrists and I wince. “There’s nothing I can say that will make how I’ve treated you go away. I beat myself up about it everyday. When I look at you I just- I think about how you deserve so much better than me. You shouldn't even want to look at me.”

“Rafe, please.”

“Nobody should want anything to do with me.” He continues, eyes welling up with tears. “I’m such a fuck up, Neriah. My dad hates me, Sarah hates me. I’m a terrible son, I’d hate me too. I can never do anything right. But it’s like- it’s like I can’t stop being such a fucking idiot. I just get so angry; I feel things so hard, so intense that I just…I bet everyone is surprised I haven’t OD’d yet; maybe I should.”

He releases me and moves behind me, taking a seat on the edge of the white bed. He puts his head in his hands, rocking back and forth to self-soothe.

“Rafe.” I called out. He doesn’t respond, still rocking with his elbows on his knees.

“I’m such a piece of shit. My mom would hate me too.” He starts hitting himself on the head with the heels of his hands.

“Rafe.” I try again and receive an answer of silence once again. “Rafe, stop! Stop. Look at me.” I grab his hands and knock them away from his head. 

I grab his face in my hands and tilt it upwards towards my face, forcing him to look into my eyes. I’d never seen him like this before, fat tears rolling down the hot, flushed skin of his face. I sigh heavily at the look on his face.

“Don’t say things like that.”  I scold, brows furrowed together as I look down at him.

“It’s true, Neriah.”

“No, it’s not.” I say. “Everyone has fucked up things about them, but that doesn’t make us fuck ups. It makes us human. You’re a human, Rafe.”

“Stop pity talking to me, Neriah.” His eyes are low and sad, head heavy in my hands.

“I’m not pitying anybody, Rafe. Look at me.” I step closer, leaning down closer to his face. “You are not a perfect person, and that’s okay. Nobody is. You want to be better, and that makes you even better than you were before. You can be an idiot sometimes, but so can I. So can everyone, and that’s okay.”

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

“Well this is me telling you it is.” I wipe his tears away with my thumbs. “I don’t know your mom, but I’m sure the only thing she would hate is the way you’re treating yourself. I hate the way you're treating yourself.”

“You’re too nice to me.” He says, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. I sigh and nod in agreement.

“Yeah, I am.” I push the blonde locks out of his eyes gently. “But that’s the kind of person I am.”

I don’t say anything after that for a moment, just wiping away the boy’s tears as we watch each other in the silence of the empty house.

“Rafe…” I start, not sure if I’ll regret what I’m about to say in the future.

“Yes?” He says dryly, voice thick with tears. He looks something like a heartbroken child and it pulls at my heartstrings.

“I need you to really try to change. I need you to actually be better.” I bite at my lip again. “I can’t give you chance after chance; I won’t.”

“I will change, I really will.” He reaches up and grabs my hands at the side of his face, his ring warm against my skin once again. “I promise. I’ll do anything for you.”

“Rafe, you cannot promise me anything. I’m not going to look stupid if you break something that you never intended on keeping.” I say. “I refuse to be that girl that believed she could change someone into a better person and end up looking like a dumbass.”

“You won’t, I won’t let that happen.” He shakes his head and stands up. “I’m gonna be so good for you, I will. I’m gonna get clean and everything, I promise.”

I sigh, blinking slowly as I look up at the tearstained boy in front of me. He opts to place both of hand onto one of mine, dropping my left and holding the right one against his cheek tightly. His eyes are so bright, brighter than I’ve ever seen them; face sweeter than it’s ever been. He looks so soft, so gentle.

I almost let myself forget the things he’s done completely, ready to give him a fresh slate to start over with me. Let myself have something to myself and not worry about my brother’s opinion on the matter. But the voice in the back of mind won’t let me, and maybe that’s for the best.

“Okay, Rafe…” 

“I need to hear you say it. Please.”

“I’ll give you a chance, Rafe.” He kisses my hand, smiling toothily against my palm.

“You’re gonna be mine?”

“You’re pushing it.” I say squinting my eyes at him. He kisses my hand again before pulling me close to him, wrapping his arms around my waist and pressing my body against his.

“You’re mine?” He tilts his head at me wearing a crooked smile on his face. I fight against the smile threatening to appear on my own face. “Say it for me, please. I need to hear it.”

“I’m not going to say that. Not right now.” He looks slightly disappointed with my response, pouting at me. “You’re gonna have to work for that.”

“I will.” He nods as he sways the two of us side to side. “Trust me.”

“And my brother can’t know. Not yet.” I say. He sighs, nodding his head at my request.

He kisses down my arm, stopping at my elbow before giving the same treatment to my face. He leaves pecks all over my nose, cheeks, and forehead, lips soft on my skin. I laugh, pushing my hand against his chest gently. He moves his hands to the nape of my neck, pulling me in to kiss my lips finally.

It’s just as sweet as the first time.

“You taste so good, princess.” He says as he pulls away. I smile softly, dropping my gaze from his eyes shyly.

“It was the candy.”

We stay there until the sun sets, Rafe holding me in his arms like I’ll crumble to dust if he lets go.

He dropped me off some time around nine that night, his dark truck parked outside my house as he walked me to my front door. He held my hand tightly, reluctant to let me disappear into my house and out of his sight. It took a lot of convincing for him to leave, but he drove off into the night eventually once I was safe inside my home.

“What are you smiling about?” My mom says, her voice startling me and knocking out of my daze. She’s in the living room watching some soap opera, seated on the couch with a cup of tea.

“Nothing!” I answer. I kiss her on the cheek, speeding past her into my bedroom. “Goodnight! Love you!” I called out before shutting the door behind me.

#rafe cameron #drew starkey #obx2 #outer banks #rafe cameron x kook!reader #obx1 #rafe cameron x oc #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #obx fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #obx3 #pope heyward #obx

[ashs-random-writing]

A haunting melody

1/2

Ao3

—

Roman has been playing the same song since the piano had been gifted to him all those years ago. It’s the most natural thing in the world to him.

Virgil wants to not hear ghosts playing piano in the middle of the night

—

(first chapter is first person , second won’t be)

The piano is old, almost as old as me, and yet, I can still see it as the pristine, perfect thing it once was. It had not been so in years.

The house that surrounds my piano is older, the walls cracked and crumbling, but I barely notice that. The piano holds my entire attention. I gingerly sit in front of it, as I have so many times before. I sigh, memories flooding my mind as I place my fingers into the correct positions.

Even now, decades after I’d first learned the song, it is as natural to me as it is for fish to swim.

I hear all other movement and noise in the house stop, and I smile wide. My melodies had always made people stop in their tracks (though not for the same reason as they stopped now).

I imagine that the music sounds exactly how it used to, perfect and beautiful, and not the distorted mess of sound it had become

It hadn’t been tuned in years. That wouldn’t stop me playing it. I imagine that the keys are the perfect white they used to be, and not the pale yellow they had become. I imagine that the piano itself was the same shiny black it was when I first got it, and not the dull, dark grey shape it had formed into. It was still perfect

It was the best piano that money could buy, I was ecstatic once I had been gifted it. I had sat right here, playing until my fingers bled and then some. I was drawn to it, and I could never stop playing for long. I would play through hunger pains, I would play instead of sleep. My piano was a part of me, and it still feels that way now, even after so long. The feeling had only ever grown

A sudden wrong note pulls me away from my thoughts. I stare at the dust covered piano, as though it was the one that slipped up, and not I.

I take a deep breath, despite how useless it is to do so, and start again. I don’t know how long I’ve been playing. It could be minutes, hours, or even days and I would be none the wiser. I haven’t been able to leave this room since my death.

Playing the piano is all I am good for anymore; it’s all I can touch. Many people have tried to live in my house in the decades since the incident, but they all leave rather quickly. My piano playing was charming when I was living, but now I simply scare people. It’s better that way. No one to take it away

Someone tried once, to take my piano. She wanted it out of the house so I wouldn’t play it. I had heard her talking about it. I don’t remember what happened when she came in.

I do know that there were new blood stains on the floor and I never saw her again. Perhaps that would be the only time I ever touch something that’s not the piano again. It is better this way. The piano is the only thing worth touching

I wish I was not as infatuated with my piano as I am, but I can’t help it. It’s all I can think about. I don’t think I’ve looked out of the window in years. Even if I try, it is probably so dirty that I would never have a chance

I have heard the rumours about my piano. Some claim it’s cursed. Some claim it’s haunted.

No one ever stops to consider the possibility of both.

To consider the possibility that I still linger here so long after my death because the piano was slowly stealing me away each time I played. Stealing my attention, more and more, as I played longer and longer, until I died on this very seat. I didn’t even notice at first. I carried on playing.

It wasn’t until I heard my mother scream behind me that I noticed my body on the floor. They moved soon after. Me and my piano stayed here. It’s better this way. They always interrupted my playing.

I can’t help but wonder if the curse would take hold on someone who isn’t me. After all, it’s my name etched into the side.

I sigh again, and the haunting melody doesn’t stop flowing through the halls. It’s better this way.

The piano is perfect.

—

@a-chilly-pepper

#sanders sides fic #sanders sides story #sanders sides au #sanders side fic #sanders sides #ghosts #pianos #Roman sanders #Virgil sanders

[askcannibalsaltbaker]

oh yeah i forgot about this

ANOTHER PRIEST SALTBAKER FIC AYOOO it's kinda lazy

The church was as dark as always, you had become a frequent visitor, frequent enough that the pastor and you were on a first name basis, and had been for a while already. As you came in through the front door, the priest was picking up the bible he had left at the altar, his last sermon of the day had finished a couple of minutes ago. It was late in the night after all, he didn’t expect company, and he definitely didn’t expect you of all people. Still, he welcomed you with open arms.

–“Oh, hello Y/N. What brings you here at these hours of the night? Please do not tell me you came here all by yourself…”

You didn’t know full well why you were there in the first place. You have been feeling quite down lately, having some thoughts, some ideas, not very good ones. That led you to think you were being possessed by a demon or something along those lines. Because you had never felt this bad before. Besides, he was comforting, you just wanted to be near someone you could trust.

–“Hi Gent… Look, I’m sorry for coming in this late, I really don’t mean to interrupt anything but… I think i need an exorcism”

The father’s eyes widened in surprise. Looking at you in confusion. –”May I ask what prompted this?”

You sighed before speaking –”I.. I’ve been dealing with certain feelings lately, father. I think.. Maybe a demon could be the reason why I've been feeling this bad. It’s… It’s never been like this before” You didn’t mean to tear up right there in front of the priest, you didn’t want him to see you like this but you couldn’t help it any longer

He walked closer to you, wiping a tear off your face, accidentally cupping your cheek in the process. God, how you missed this kind of touch. It almost made you cry harder, you really, really needed something like this. And you were especially happy it was coming from him. You leaned into his hand, your face trying to twist itself into a poor attempt of a smile. Said smile backfired on you as you just shed a couple more tears.

He didn’t say a word, he just pulled you in for a hug. He held you tight, so tight, as if he were trying to protect you from the supposed demon who was tormenting you. You reached for his blessume and lightly pulled on it in despair, bringing yourself closer to him, sobbing into his chest. He started humming to calm you down, in that low velvety tone his voice was always in. The vibrations from his chest shot directly into your ears, it was quite soothing, honestly. You could fall asleep right then and there if you weren’t crying so much. Eventually he stopped holding on so tight, his worried grasp turning into a softer one, with his arms just barely squeezing you anymore. He moved one of his hands from your back to your head, it now playing with your hair.

–“You should have come earlier, dear. I had no idea you felt this way.”

–“Is it really that bad…?” –You said, scared to hear the answer. He chuckled in response.

–“Dearest, you are not possessed. Believe me. You just seem stressed. I’m sorry I couldn't help you earlier.”

You were relieved to say the least –”It’s not just stress, I can handle that. It’s just- I guess… I miss love? I know it sounds silly-”

His eyes shot open, he pulled back from you. Honestly, he couldn’t believe someone like you felt this way. He had liked you for so long he just assumed you were already in a relationship. He laughed to himself, which confused you.

–”Hey I’m serious over here!” you also giggled, that smile of his was contagious.

–”Ah- I’m sorry dear! I just find it funny… I could have done something about this before if I had known!”

You stopped to think for a bit, wait does he- –”Now, what’s that supposed to mean?”

–”... I know one must not tempt, especially not me but.. I couldn’t help it, not with you around. I feel about the same way you do, honestly… I also miss love, touch. All that.”

Your heart sank. You couldn’t bear to think someone else was going through this, you knew exactly how much it hurts. You stood on the tips of your toes as you grabbed his face with both your hands. 

–”Well, you don’t have to worry about that either now! because- I love you.”

That look on his face. It was one of relief, astonishment, but over all, pure bliss. He leaned his head on your hands, immediately getting warmer. Now he was the one on brink of crying.

–”Oh, oh good.” He held your hand with both of his, kissing it –”I love you too.”

#chef saltbaker x reader #chef saltbaker #priest!saltbaker #cuphead dlc #cuphead

[axoxtxhxh]

Secret Admirer

Kuroo x GN Reader WC: 2k Summary: Valentine’s Day is coming up and all you want is a little bit of snow.

A/N: Yeah, I wrote this a while ago and finally edited haha so it’s completely out of season. Oh well.

“Did you hear about the weather on Friday?” You nudged your elbow into Kuroo’s ribs and he pushed your arm away from him.

You met Kuroo a couple months ago at work when you started a new position. He was always the most helpful and friendliest of all your co-workers and he didn’t even really work in your division which struck you as odd. Either way, quickly a friendship blossomed and you would never admit it to him, but you considered him one of your best friends.

“Do you actually think it’s going to snow?” He questioned with his eyebrow raised.

“You’re always so negative.” An annoyed pout played on your face as you crossed your arms and looked at the rest of the bus riders in front of you.

“I think you mean to say realist,” he corrected.

“No, you’re definitely a pessimist.” You shook your head defiantly at him and his hand went to his chest dramatically.

“The disrespect I withstand for this friendship.” He brushed his hair back theatrically and you had to hold back your laughter. “I’ve never…”

“Fine,” you admitted. “You’re a bit of a realist. Or whatever. But this behavior is exactly why I don’t tell people we’re friends.”

You pointed at him and narrowed your eyes, but he only smiled, holding your gaze shortly before turning to face the front of the bus.

“I need this win, Kuroo,” you said quietly.

“I know.” He nodded, even though you couldn’t see. “You haven’t gotten any more letters?”

“I would have shown you if I did.” You shrugged.

It was about a month before, you started getting small notes in your work locker. Never anything too telling, but it was someone at work that seemed to be interested in you but wasn’t sure how to say it. At first, you felt great about it! Who wouldn’t want to be admired? You would get a note every single day, sometimes twice a day. They would be encouraging and sweet, always putting you in a good mood, but for whatever reason, you hadn’t received any in the last week.

“This is us.” He nudged you and you stood up from the bus seat and made your way to the doors.

Kuroo stood behind you, leaning forward to ring the bell, but even after pushing the button, he stayed there. With his hand on your waist, you could almost feel him leaning forward, pressing himself against you. It was one of these weird moments you always seemed to have with Kuroo that made you question his feelings towards you and if he really only thought of you as his friend. These moments always brought up your own feelings that you then couldn’t shake from your head. Before you even realized it, he had already pulled away as the bus came to a stop and the doors opened for you to get off.

“I’m serious. Don’t get your hopes up about Friday,” he warned, about to separate from you to head to his side of the building.

“What does it matter to you anyway, I know you hate snow.” You laughed and he turned to face you, walking backwards.

“You know I hate seeing you disappointed.” He flashed you a smile and it remained slightly before he turned and left.

Sometimes, but only briefly, Kuroo would let something slip or his hand would linger a bit longer than needed or his gaze would hold and soften as he stared at you. It made you wonder if he was the secret admirer. You were friends before you started getting those notes though, and it didn’t really make sense that he wouldn’t just tell you so it didn’t take long for you to assume the little moments were just part of his personality. It never bothered you either way. Friend or not, you liked having Kuroo in your life.

But without the notes coming though, you were starting to feel bad. What if you had done something to make the admirer mad and stop admiring you? Or what if they moved on? Not the healthiest thoughts considering you really didn’t know who they were, but those notes always made your day a bit better and to be honest, they distracted you and reminded you that there were people out there that thought of you the way you wished Kuroo had.

Regardless of the notes, you really just wanted one day of snow and it was so hard not to get your hopes up when you thought there was a chance. As much as you loved snow, Kuroo was right. There hadn’t been snow on the ground for years. There was no reason for it to be any different than it had been.

Since you’re you though, you did get your hopes up and as Friday came, you waited and waited with nothing, not even rain.

“Don’t,” you warned Kuroo as you got on the bus next to him, finally time to go home. “Don’t say anything.”

“I wasn’t going to.” He laughed quietly. You rode in silence for most of the way until it was your stop and you stood up, but Kuroo didn’t.

“What are you doing? Aren’t we going?” You asked, ready to sit back down.

“You go home. I have something I need to take care of.” He pushed you so you’d walk towards the doors, but you only swatted his hand away.

“I thought we were going to watch a movie at my place tonight.”

“It’s only 4:30. I’ll be there later.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, knowing there was something he wasn’t telling you. He wasn’t very good at lying and you had a feeling if you pried a little, you’d be able to get it out of him.

“What is it that you have to do?” You sat back down, about ready to miss your stop for this information.

“Seriously? I have a life outside of you,” he sighed. He was joking and you knew it, but it still bothered you.

“If you have a date or whatever… I mean, I—I—I don’t, like… I don’t mind.” You stumbled over the words, never realizing how difficult that would have been to say to Kuroo.

“It’s not a date,” he explained and you looked up to see him smiling at you. “You’re going to miss your stop.”

He turned and quickly hit the button and the bus driver halted to a stop, nearly launching you to the doors. Kuroo waved and you stepped of the bus, walking home in a slight daze as you let your mind work through what you were feeling.

Kuroo didn’t like admitting he was wrong. He hated it and most of the time would do everything he could to avoid having to admit it. But this time, he had to admit just how wrong he was when it came to you.

Everything he had guessed about you was wrong. Your personality, your age, your interests, in every way, he was wrong. He was even wrong when it came to your division at work and he spent months pretending he was trying to help you when he honestly had no idea what your job even was. He never complained though because each time he was wrong, he was able to spend more time with you and it was worth it for that.

Except soon after, things changed and whether it happened overtime without him even realizing it or it happened the instant he laid eyes on you, he wasn’t sure. What he did know was that he was completely head over heels for you.

Little moments here and there would remind him of what an idiot he was and how perfect you were and he hated that he waited so long because he had no idea how to tell you or even if he should. Morning and evening bus rides with you were his favorite. Listening to you complain or gush about what had happened in the hours between seeing each other was his favorite way to spend his time before and after work.

As the holidays were approaching, he thought it was the perfect time to tell you how he felt, but things kept going wrong. That’s when he invented the secret admirer.

He would write little notes to you, always putting a small heart on the envelope the same way. Seeing you smile and excited to show him always made him happy. Even then, he got jealous of your excitement over the secret admirer, even though he knew it was him. That’s when he understood he had to tell you. And soon.

You waited in your room, not really sure what to do since you weren’t sure when Kuroo would be on his way over. He was acting weird, you were sure of that. It wasn’t like you expected him to not have other friends or other plans, but you both had been hanging out every Friday night since you met. It was strange that he would make plans on a Friday night knowing that.

You heard a knock at your door and looked at the clock. It was six-thirty. Kuroo definitely took his time finishing up whatever it was that he was doing and you shook your head as you walked to the door, ready to complain to him.

“I am docking your pay for being lat—” You pulled open your front door, but no one was there. Thinking maybe they got the wrong door, you were going to close it, but a note taped to the outside caught your eye.

A note from your secret admirer.

The thought of ‘how do they know where I live?’ should have crossed your mind, but it didn’t. You were too excited to see something to perk up your Friday night that you grabbed it from the wall and ran back to open it up.

Where you expected it to explain where they had been, it only had four words:

“Look outside your window.”

That’s when the thought of ‘how they know where I live’ did cross your mind and you looked to your window nervously, half-expecting someone to be there. You couldn’t really see the ground because you lived on the fourth floor, but you could see something. Something white and fluffy puffing from below.

You made your way to the window quickly and looked outside. A quiet gasp escaped your lips as your heart raced seeing Kuroo smiling next to a snow machine that was working hard to fill the small courtyard area of your apartment complex.

“Do you have a permit for that?” You asked after opening your window.

“Are you going to tell on me if I don’t?” He laughed.

“I’ll consider letting you off with a warning.”

“I appreciate that.” He smiled, biting his bottom lip. “Can you maybe come down here?”

For whatever reason, though you had an idea of what that reason was, you weren’t able to speak and you only nodded, backing away from the window and grabbing your coat. You knew what you were doing, but it was like your mind was in a fog. You were definitely excited and the realization that the secret admirer was Kuroo all along was so far from disappointing. You were grateful. More than grateful, you were relieved. It sounded bad, but in knowing that Kuroo had feelings for you, the fact that you also had feelings for him quickly rushed through your mind and you were happy. So happy that when you opened the doors to the courtyard and saw Kuroo waiting for you with a blanket of snow covering the ground, you were forced to take a deep breath before you could get yourself to walk to him.

Each step you took towards him, Kuroo could feel his heart beating faster and faster, the smile on your face making him worry that it might actually beat straight through his chest and he couldn’t help but laugh at your excitement of feeling the snow under your feet. You took one last step and stood in front of him and anything that Kuroo had rehearsed in saying to you had completely left his mind and all he could see was you.

“You have no idea how much I hoped it was you,” you whispered and Kuroo closed his eyes as you leaned forward and kissed him.

#Haikyuu fic #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x gn!reader #kuroo x y/n #Kuroo x reader #kuroo x you #kuroo x gn reader #kuroo tetsurō #Kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsuro oneshot #Kuroo tetsuro x you #Kuroo tetsuro x y/n #Kuroo tetsuro x gn reader #Kuroo fluff #Kuroo tetsuro fluff #Kuroo friends to lovers #Friends to lovers #Haikyuu friends to lovers #Kuroo tetsuro x reader fluff

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

I only have ten episodes left of The Bugle, which is not enough episodes. I realize that even once I finish them, they’ll continue putting out new ones most weeks, it’s not going away forever. But when I started it over a year ago now, there were hundreds of episodes, and it felt like an infinite supply. I am now on the precipice of having a single digit number of episodes before I run out.

I’m thinking I may start cutting them with episodes of the Comedian’s Comedian podcast, to make them last longer. I said I’d go back to that after I finish The Bugle, but I might throw a few in now.

I downloaded a bunch of episodes of that podcast last fall, and got through about half of them before I had a small hiccup in that plan and needed to not hear Stuart Goldsmith’s voice for a while. But I still have that second half of those initially downloaded episodes. Today, I went back and downloaded a few more episodes, with comedians in whom I’ve become more interested since last fall.

My list of comedians I have heard/want to hear on the Comedian’s Comedian podcast isn’t exactly the same as a list of my favourite comedians. There’s significant overlap between the two lists, but it’s not a perfect match. A few reasons for that: 1) There are some comedians whose comedy I really enjoy, but I’m not all that interested in hearing them pontificate on a podcast. 2) The Comedian’s Comedian podcast mainly talks about how they craft their stand-up shows, so even if I really like a comedian from TV and/or podcasts, if I’m not too familiar with their stand-up, I probably won't get much out of their Comedian’s Comedian episode. Some exceptions, though. There are a few people on that list whose stand-up I haven’t been able to find, but I’m still really interested in hearing them pontificate. 3) There are a few comedians I really like so I searched for their Comedian’s Comedian podcast episode, and they haven’t done one.

Having said that, with those exceptions, my downloaded episodes of that podcast is a pretty good list of the comedians I like best, and certainly find most interesting. A list of the comedians I most want to hear talk for an hour or more about their own writing/performing process and thoughts on comedy as an art and/or industry.

Episodes of the Comedian’s Comedian podcast I’ve already heard:

- Rhod Gilbert

- Susan Calman

- Ed Byrne

- David O’Doherty

- Andy Zaltzman

- Josie Long

- Nish Kumar

- Tim Key (x2)

- Mark Watson

- Dara O’Briain

- Mae Martin

- Isy Suttie

- Angela Barnes

- Joe Lycett

- Russell Howard

- Fern Brady

- Paul Chowdhry

- Stewart Lee

- Hannah Gadsby

- A few episodes that I hate-listened to out of morbid curiosity, but they don’t need to taint my actual list by being named

Episodes of the Comedian’s Comedian podcast I’ve downloaded but haven’t heard yet:

- Paul Sinha (x2)

- Claudia O’Doherty

- Bridget Christie

- Mark Steel

- Hari Kondabolu

- John Robins

- Tom Ballard

- Jo Brand

- Michael Legge

- Sarah Kendall

- Jen Brister

- Rose Matafeo

- Alice Fraser

- Chris Addison

- Ahir Shah

- Chris Flemming

- Desiree Burch

- Helen Zaltzman

- Jordan Brookes

- Rosie Jones

- Sarah Keyworth

Well, that’s a lot to be getting on with, so I guess it will be some time before I have to decide what other thing I’ll listen to next. If I worked through all these in a row, then by the time I finish, they’d have put enough new Bugle episodes so I wouldn’t be in as imminent danger of running out.

[tetsuwan-atom]

So after yesterday I feel like I should have a bit of real talk with y’all.

While I have not made any concrete decision, I’m contemplating about my future on Tumblr.

I’m not exactly a new spring chicken. I’ve been on this platform for over 10 years. That’s... a bloody long time. The amount of fun I’ve had with so, so many people is phenomenal. Roleplaying and writing on this platform in all the different scenarios and stories not only allowed me to develop my writing skills to levels I wouldn’t have considered when I started, but also allowed me to explore my imagination and create a story that not only I’m proud of, but something which has intrinsically become a part of me.

I’m pretty sure I’ve said before about back in the early days there was rarely any drama at all. There were moments here and there, some of those people left the platform ages ago. I’d say things really got bad from 2020 onwards. A lot of bad decisions, mostly trying to seek closure, getting ‘the last word’, things which on reflection are pretty pointless. Getting sidelined because of favoritism, along with one particular event which, six months or so later, eventually brought down an entire fandom and the joy that came with it, it’s kind of surprising that I’m still here to be honest, after everything that I’ve gone through and, well, after everything I’ve put others through.

Nowadays it’s hard to say whether the landscape has changed or if I’ve changed. Maybe it’s both. When I first came to Tumblr in 2012 I was unemployed with a lot of time up my sleeve. I could be active every day and get so much writing done. In 2015 I had my first proper experience of a job which lasted 8 months and even then, I still had time to roleplay.

In 2019 I ended up in the job which, after a change of company, I’m still carrying now. 2 days per week, but around 2021 I began to carry extra responsibilities in life. Every weekend is dedicated to something. Time on replies began to wane and I think there were quite a few instances where replies would be like.. a month or more late. I didn’t think about it as much as I do now that, my lack of activity may have affected my relevancy on this platform.

And as of 2022 I’ve taken on a project which, if I’m going to be honest, has taken priority over Tumblr. Roleplaying takes second fiddle to it. This project is giving me more joy than Tumblr right now. That is saying something.

But what is it saying? Is it saying that all the drama I’ve been though has affected how I feel about the place? Is it saying I’ve replaced Tumblr with something new and exciting?

I sometimes feel that the longer I’m inactive the less I feel relevant. I miss out on things, I don’t know what’s going on and catching up can be... hard, if not sometimes impossible. I really have become the definition of low activity, a snails pace on everything.

And in addition it’s like... the drive to write in this canon, to roleplay on this platform. It’s diminishing. For months I feel like I’m reaching the end of this chapter in my life, the end of this part of the story. I used to say I’ll quit tumblr when I turn 30. I’ve made it one year on, but now for different reasons I wonder if there’s much point to continue further.

The anger I felt yesterday at that group of people who, well, pretty much tossed me out like trash 2 years ago. It took me back to this dark place, this vindictive place that just made me want to get up on some theoretical podium and chant to the nines about how bad they are and how much they’ve hurt me. That this drama even years on just... hasn’t stopped, the thought that people really hate me so much they’ll tell others to avoid or block me just to make them feel safe. It might not even be the truth at all, but at the time it’s how I felt.

It made me think, just do it, you’re not really here anymore, you’ve got nothing to lose if you expose them for who you perceive them to be.

And yet, that’s not true, is it?

It was the post of someone I was keen to interact with who had seen that post that brought me back to reality, that indeed, you can potentially lose. An aggressive post about threatening a group of people not to fuck with you is a pretty shithouse impression, isn’t it? Despite the situation at hand, from an outsider’s perspective, I think even if I was looking in to someone else doing that, it’d make me think further on whether or not to interact.

Probably because I’ve been through it too much.

It’s put this whole talk to the forefront, really. If I left I wouldn’t even say things ended too early. I’ve had a bloody good run on this site. I’ve seen many good friends disappear on this platform, some without a trace. Tumblr nowadays is nowhere near the same platform as it was when I joined. Some things don’t change, like the problems with canon RP communities (this is widespread throughout many fandoms!), but the atmosphere as a whole, it just.... doesn’t feel the same.

I sometimes parrot on that nobody deserves to be left out or left behind but, in my inactivity and absence from this platform I’ve done that to myself.

Even after this wall of text it’s hard to put feelings into words. Back in the days there were grand plots, stories that I reckon could attest to the ages, threads that made me feel like I was writing at the peak of Tetsuwan ATOM. Now in this phase I feel like those days might have gone, without chance of return. In some ways it’s the lack of the drive, the absence of the big, multiverse-jeopardising plots that brought an actual story to the fold, once a landscape of so many plots and ideas, now all really just thoughts and memories.

I could make the decision now to retire Tetsuwan ATOM and leave Tumblr for good. Rolescape has been in alpha for a while and who knows when that would come online. Even then, would I have the drive to move over? With my baggage in this form, is it really a fresh start for this series? Some last glimmer of hope that everything will be okay, this struggle of holding out, for grass that may seem greener, but will it be by the time I come to plant?

I wonder if I’ve reached the end of this chapter.

Yet, not everything is finished.

There are plots and threads currently ongoing that I am very keen to see through and finish. Hell, even future threads with mutuals I’m looking forward to. Building more bonds, ships, reaching grand events, some I just feel like I’m on the cusp of, that years of plotting and writing are leading up to some incredible moments. Ideas for ships that I want to explore, some more radical than others.

I can’t be done with this platform while things are not finished. I’m not ready to let everything die just yet.

The decision to quit, while not ruled out completely, is not something I can consider without the input of others. I wouldn’t spring this on my friends, my mutuals, who have been with me over the years. If I were to quit, it would really just be quitting roleplaying on all internet platforms, like Tumblr, Rolescape, etc. In this event I’ll be switching to full time roleplays on Discord, which has greater benefits over Tumblr in many ways.

There is the thought of a hiatus, but for how long? How long is a piece of string? Is it even really worth going on a hiatus when nothing’s going to change IRL with projects, commitments and work? I’m inactive as is, it’s like accidental hiatuses every other week with the odd day of getting replies done.

There is also the thought of cutting back. No, I don’t mean dropping threads or partners or anything like that, but it’d be more that I won’t be seeking future partners myself. If anyone finds me and wants to follow me, I’ll still consider them like I do now, but I won’t be personally looking and dash-checking. In fact, in this option I might be considering ignoring my dashboard as a whole and focussing entirely on my activity feed, like I used to do in my early days of Tumblr. Downsides here are I may stop posting ask memes and I’d probably lose sight of everyone else posting ask memes, but it would allow me to focus entirely on my stuff with those I write with. In some ways going back to the bubble of just my threads, asks etc with others.

At this point in time I haven’t made any concrete decision about the future, but there is a lot to think about. Do I still have a place here? Would it be better to take everything I have with my moots to Discord? Would they all even follow me over? Despite the drive to retire I still want to finish things, build things, rekindle some old ships and the like. I can’t see myself as being done yet.

Could this be some sort of ‘Tumblr Existential Crisis’? I don’t know.

All I know is I don’t know what the future holds and if it’s best for me to stay here or go...

#OOC : KFC CHICKEN BUCKET #Negativity cw #Negativity tw #This post is about the future of this blog #Stuff I've had to think about.

[jacobwren]

"I’m the first to arrive at Voting For The Thing You Don’t Want. A circle of folding chairs in an otherwise empty room. I sit in one of the chairs and wait. There is so much to think about but instead I find myself barely thinking at all. It seems to make the time go more quickly, and I’m unsure how much time has passed before the first person arrives, who pauses at the doorway before asking me if I’m leading today’s workshop. I reply that I’m not, then ask them if they’re leading today’s workshop, which makes no sense. If they were leading today’s workshop they would have not asked me if I was. We immediately establish that neither of us is leading the workshop. They sit in a chair across from me, on the other side of the circle. We both sit in silence. It is awkward. It grows more awkward over time, as no one else arrives. After a while I check the time. We’ve been waiting for thirty minutes. They see me looking at my watch and, I suppose, for that reason or some other, decide to break the ice: “What do you think that means: Voting For The Thing You Don’t Want?” This is a perfectly reasonable question but I have to admit I haven’t given the matter much thought. If I were to take a literal approach, and consider what we might call a “normal election in a representative democracy,” it’s true that when I vote I always have the feeling that I’m voting for something I actually don’t want. But my first instinct is to interpret the title less literally. I start thinking about the difficulty of knowing what one wants, something that has always been a problem for me. By coming here, I was hoping to get away from mundane, everyday decisions. With those things taken care of, my hope was that I could then move on to more substantial questions. I was led to believe we have all come here with some sense of unspoken purpose. None of these thoughts feel like the right thing to say in this particular moment, so instead I decide to throw the question back at them: “I’m not sure. What do you think it means?” For a long moment I’m worried they’ll reply with ‘I don’t know, what do you think it means?’ but this anxiety is unfounded. Nonetheless, just as moments ago I made them wait, now it is their turn to make me wait. (This also draws attention to the fact that we are probably no longer waiting for anyone else to attend or lead this session.) Finally, they begin to speak, and to the best of my recollection this is more or less what they say: “I’ve been here for about three weeks now. It’s a strange place. I can’t quite figure it out. There’s a schedule of activities but only some of the activities actually seem to happen. Some of the others don’t seem to be real. But I’m not even sure about that. Because the two of us are here, which is a situation that has a certain reality to it. Perhaps whatever you and I end up discussing is now the activity. You and I are Voting For The Thing We Don’t Want. This discussion we’re having right now is it. But that’s just a whimsical idea. I’ve always believed in making the best of any difficult situation. But in the past I’ve always been able to more or less identify what the situation was. Here I can’t even tell what exactly it is that I’m trying to make the best of.” I admit to my companion that this is the first activity I’ve attended, so I have no point of comparison. I then recount the recent story of how I wasn’t participating in any of the activities, and was admonished by a staff member into doing so. So I speculate that perhaps many others here are also avoiding the activities, and the staff is concurrently working to rectify the situation. If one decides to come here, one is likely involved in a fairly high degree of despair and despair is not a state of mind that especially lends itself to participating in daily, poorly organized activities." - From my current novel-in-progress. Possible new working title: The House of Climate Grief.

#jacob wren #the house of climate grief #desire without expectation

[razieltwelve]

A Favour (? x Final Rose)

John closed his eyes. His wife’s shallow, laboured breathing was like thunder in the darkness of the hospital room. She was dying. She was dying, and there was nothing he could do about it.

But he knew someone who could.

An image of a gold coin with the visage of a laughing fox on it filled his mind. He’d received one years ago, but he’d been forced to cash it in to get out of... that world. If there was anyone who could save his wife... she could. The old, familiar sensation in the back of the mind told him this was the right thing to do, maybe the only thing he could do that might work.

It was time to put his old suit on.

X     X     X

“It’s been a long time, John.”

The smile on the fox Faunus’s lips was genuine enough, and she motioned for him to take a seat. One of her attendants came forward with two glasses and a bottle of peach brandy.

“I thought you were out, John.”

“I was out.” He sighed. “And you already know why I’m here.”

Vanille took a sip of her brandy. “It’s a terrible thing with your wife. You two have been very happy.”

“You’ve been keeping tabs on me?” John’s brows furrowed. He hadn’t noticed. Had he really gotten that rusty?

“Of course. You’re John Wick. In the world you left behind, there aren’t many people with your reputation.” Her lips curled. “I wasn’t going to do anything, mind you. I just wanted to make sure that nobody else got any ideas.” She nodded at him. “Call it a bit of help... for old time’s sake.”

“Thank you.” John peered into his glass and then looked up again. “I need your help.”

“With your wife, I assume.”

“Yes.” John reached into the bag he’d brought, and her attendants all pointed their weapons at him.

Vanille laughed and waved aside their concerns. “Relax. John and I are old friends, and he’s not the sort of person to go after an old friend without a very, very good reason.”

John handed her copies of his wife’s medical files. “The doctors tell me that there’s nothing they can do. I’ve called in what favours I have, but they all agree.” He paused. “But they’re not you. They can’t do what you can.”

Vanille took the files, and he waited patiently as she looked through them. She hummed thoughtfully and then set them aside.

“Can you save her?” John asked.

“I can, but it won’t be easy. We’re talking about specialist surgery that only I can perform combined with several treatments that are only in their prototype stages. I was hoping to... surprise my corporate rivals with those, so I’d be taking a substantial monetary hit if I revealed them early. And I would, John, have to reveal them early because we’re talking about long-term use, maybe for the rest of her life.”

“And how long would that life be?” John murmured.

“If everything goes well?” Vanille tapped the files with one hand. “At the very least, I can guarantee ten more years. With a bit of luck? Twenty, maybe even thirty more years. And they would be good years. You’d only be looking at a noticeable decline in the last few months.”

John closed his eyes. “I need a favour.”

“John...” Vanille’s voice was almost gentle. “You used all your favours with me to get out. I might have a seat at the High Table, but it cost me, John, it cost me a great deal to ensure that when you got out, you were well and truly out.” She patted his hand. “I’m sorry, but you don’t have any more favours to call in.”

John could have gotten angry. It would have been so easy. He could even have tried to lash out. It was tempting. But Vanille was... well... she was no slouch herself, and she was no longer alone either. Lumina was there, a pink-haired shadow that stood just over his left shoulder.

It was a courtesy, a reminder that the two of them had been friends before he’d gotten out. It was also a warning. Years ago, before he’d gotten out, he and Lumina had worked together quite often. He knew exactly how dangerous she was, and this was not a battle he would win, not with all of the attendants there, not with Vanille there, not with years of rust he’d yet to shake off.

“What do I need to do?” John asked.

Vanille flicked her wrist, and a golden coin with a laughing fox on it appeared in her hand. “I have a... protege. Her father has displeased me. Unfortunately, he is not a target even I can remove easily. Kill him, John, and you’ll get your favour. In fact, I’ll throw in a freebie for old time’s sake. Once you cash in your favour, you’ll be out again.”

John exhaled a breath he hadn’t realise he’d been holding. It was an almost impossibly generous offer. “Who do I need to kill?”

“Jacques Schnee.”

Hs eyes widened. “I was under the impression that he has a seat at the High Table.”

“He does. However, if you kill him, that seat goes to his daughter, Weiss. She has assured me that in the event of her father’s death, the ones responsible will not be pursued. Besides, I’m not the only member of the High Table to have grown... irritated by him. We cannot act against him openly, but we can handle the fallout of his death.”

“All right.” John got up. “I’ll do it. But...”

“I will personally see that your wife’s condition is stabilised. But, John, the sooner she gets that surgery and those treatments, the better.”

“I understand.”

“Jacques has business in New York next week. I suggest you make a booking at the Continental.”

#final rose #john wick #fanfiction #oerba dia vanille #lumina

[bebx]

hey!! i’m having a little dilemma and i’ve followed you for so long now that i trust your judgement and reasoning, so i was hoping you’d be able to help,, you’ve helped me before when i was too nervous to not be anonymous so i’m back again 😼

it’s nothing serious by any means!! i’m just a fic writer,, smut being my jam 😎 although i don’t get a lot of chance to write between the lack of ideas for the people i feel i “should” be writing for (you’ll see what i mean in a sec) and getting ready to finish a levels n start uni,, still, i enjoy writing when i can! but i’ve always thought i should only write about fictional characters because they’re exactly that, yanno? but lately i’ve had ideas for real “celebs” (youtubers especially, some musicians,, maybe some actors too?), and i wasn’t sure if that’s kinda immoral or creepy,,, i don’t really know any of their stances on being written about except for one youtuber group who has a series of reading and “acting out” smutty fan fictions written about them, and they just laugh it off, so i figure it can’t be so bad, right?

i know quite a few people on here write for actual people (i cannae recall if you have but i thought i remembered something about tom hiddleston back in the day? apologies if i’m mistaken!!) and i enjoy those when they pop up, although i don’t necessarily search for them anymore.. so i suppose what i’m asking is- what do you think about it? is it immoral or can it be justified? because at this point i may have to write it either way and just not publish it, cos i’ve got ideas for these guys dribbling from my littol brain and out my ears 😭👹

you’re wonderful btw, ty for being someone people feel like they can come to on this scary app 🫶🫶🫶

Hi, thank you for sticking around. I really appreciate it 💗

That being said, I’d like to start with a disclaimer that my opinions regarding this delicate topic are only opinions — they are not facts nor laws that have to be abided — and the answer I’m about to give is in no way to shame any person or to cause any negativity towards any person at all; here we go, the only time I’ve written about real people was when I was younger, back in my One Direction Wattpad era when I “didn’t know better” and I have taken all of my works about them on that site down because, looking back, I’m no longer comfortable having had written about them, since they’re real people and not fictional characters who I can shove my “headcanons” into and act like they’re my own project. Again, this is only how I personally feel about the matter as I’ve grown and am no longer the person I was years ago. No one harassed me into taking my works down, it’s only that my perspective on things has changed.

The only Tom Hiddleston related fics I’ve written about are about Loki and occasionally the other character he’s portrayed, sir Thomas Sharpe, but not Tom himself. And I don’t think I’ll ever write anything about Tom. One person’s reaction upon “being written about in a fanfic” cannot be applied to every other person and I don’t think it’s right to assume everyone would be comfortable being written about in a fanfic, even if they might not ever see it. It still feels to me like a violation in some way? Especially since they didn’t consent to be written about.

I’m all for “write whatever you want” but in my humble opinion, this applies to fictional characters, not real people.

I don’t know if this is the answer you were looking for, and I apologize if it’s not, but as to whether or not it’s morally acceptable or if it’s justifiable, I don’t think I can give you an answer for that, since 1.) I’m not the one being written about, so it’s not my place to assume or assure how the people who were written about would feel, whether or not they’d be comfortable about it and 2.) I don’t think it’s a good idea to rely solely on other people’s advice to determine whether or not something is morally acceptable or if it’s justifiable, because at the end of the day, the answer you’ll get will only be opinions of the person you’ve asked, and you might just get the complete opposite answer from another person, because there’s no “right or wrong” answer but only opinions and each person will have different opinions. I can give you advice, what my options on the matter are, but the only person you should trust the most is yourself.

Again, these are just how I personally feel. I know a lot of people on here also write about real people and all that, and I want to clarify again that this is not to “attack” or to “shame” anybody. We all have our reasons, and… yeah, you do you. I will never judge anybody based on this matter, because it’s not my place. My opinions are that; I’m personally not comfortable reading or writing fics about people who aren’t fictional, but if you are, I will not shame or attack you for it, and I will absolutely not “distant myself from you because I think I’m morally superior than you” — like I said, we all have our own reasoning behind our decisions, and I will never act like I’m “morally superior” than anyone. I hope you have a good time and I hope you’re comfortable with whatever decision you make. My little blog will always be a safe place for you.

#my inbox is open #fic #fanfic #writing #fandom discourse #ao3 #archive of our own #fanfic discourse #ao3 discourse #wattpad #fanfiction #fanfic writing #fanfic writer #fandom #fandoms

[raven-of-domain-kwaad]

Angstpril - Betrayal

54 ATC. Kelsa Kine (27) has been working for the Voidhound’s criminal empire as a pilot/freighter captain for a year. But there is no honor among thieves.

-

Kelsa had long ago learned to never trust people. People would disappoint you. It didn’t matter if you were connected by family, shared circumstance or negotiated agreement. Everyone was in this life for themselves.

So, it should have come as no surprise when she learned that the newest member of her crew, the person that the Voidhound and her wife asked Kelsa to take on, was in fact an undercover SIS agent. It shouldn’t have been a surprise and yet some small part of her had hoped that the Voidhound would be different.

She had heard stories of the twi’lek smuggler as a child. The criminal had been a legend, often taking the time to help out those that the Republic and Empire had trampled during their wars. The Alliance had even worked alongside the smuggler’s empire during their conflict with Zakuul. But it seemed that all of that was in the past and held no sway on the present or future.

Kelsa simply stared with cold grey eyes down the barrel of the blaster that the togruta agent was pointing at her.

“I’m sorry, Captain. But I have my orders.”

Letting out a mirthless bark of laughter, Kelsa shook her head. “You’re sorry? Sorry for what, exactly? For lying to me? For getting my crew killed? For planning to lock me away in a black site just because of who my parents were? What exactly are you sorry for, agent?”

An uncomfortable silence filled the air between them as the agent opened her mouth but quickly closed it. Really what could she possibly say? She had lied to the captain. She had also deliberately gotten the rest of the crew killed so that during this final confrontation, Kelsa would have no backup. And now she was going to send her off to a black site to be forgotten by the galaxy.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Kelsa sneered. “You’re just another Republic lackey.”

The togruta’s montrails twitched in annoyance at that. “The Republic is just doing what it thinks is best for the galaxy.”

As soon as she finished speaking, the temperature in the room suddenly dropped.

A shadow had fallen over Kelsa’s face as she glared at the agent with utter loathing. “What it thinks is best?” she said in a low and dangerous voice.

“Was it for the best when they did nothing to break Zakuul’s hold on the galaxy?” She demanded as she took a step forward.

“Was it for the best when they did nothing to help the Alliance in all of its humanitarian missions?”

The agent took a nervous step back as Kelsa continued to stalk forward.

“Was it for the best when they bombed my home?!” She shouted with eyes that were no longer grey but a blazing molten gold.

Fear spread through the agent at the sudden change to her target and she tried to pull the trigger on her blaster. But she suddenly found herself unable to move. Her body was frozen as if encased in carbonite.

“Not fun, is it?” Kelsa whispered as she circled the frozen agent like a predator with its prey. “Being utterly helpless and at the mercy of another?”

A not so small part of Kelsa delighted in the fear that she could feel radiating from the agent before her. It made her feel powerful and in control, feelings that she had sorely lacked in her life. But she couldn’t get too carried away. She had to make sure that the Republic got her message.

“I know a little something about being helpless. I’ve been helpless for most of my life.” She grabbed the togruta by the chin, forcing their eyes to meet. “No more,” she hissed. “I won’t be hunted like an animal anymore. Tell your Republic that if they leave me alone then they’ll have nothing to fear from me. I’ll keep my head down and continue to live quietly.”

Her eyes narrowed then and her grip on the agent tightened. “But if you continue to hunt me then I will give you and your Republic a real reason to fear me.”

Without warning, the invisible grip on the agent was released but before she could bring her blaster around, she let out a howl of pain and fell to the ground.

Kelsa merely stood impassively as the agent clutched at her broken leg but when she finally did speak it was with a deadly serious voice. “Give them that message, agent. And know that if we ever meet again, I’ll kill you.”

#swtor fanfiction #my writing #oc: kelsa kine #oc: zola teks #thinking that the sis effectively forced the voidhound's hand with this #either give up kine or deal with the agency working hard to dismantle everything you've built #it then gets into the voidhound being trapped within their empire #they can no longer care about individual ships when they have to care about the whole fleet #they have to focus on the big picture #and sadly that means sacrificing a single freighter to keep the rest of the fleet safe

[silentspaces]

in which I use this microblogging platform as an actual blog. there’s no rant, just rambling, because i just feel very out of sorts tonight for some reason. Very stream-of-consciousness, not really written for anyone to read. I’d put it on private, but then I’d lose it forever, just like the last couple of private posts I had made. XD

idk. sometimes you just don’t want to be at home--i guess tonight was one of those nights. i left in the late afternoon to go print and work on a last-minute editing job, but I ended up falling asleep in my car in front of the convenience store for 3 hours. maybe it was 3 hours. can’t be sure; the bright lights of the store interior erased all traces of time and my natural circadian rhythm. I then spent the next 4 hours in a diner, working while talking online, but even though it was hitting 11:30pm, I still didn’t feel ready to go home. one of the downsides of living in a countryside town is that almost everything closes at midnight, so I had to escape to either another convenience store or one of the 24-hour rice bowl places. I chose the former, opting to spend some time reading in my car, once again bathing in the white spotlight while reading a borrowed copy of Six of Crows. I haven’t read any other book in the series. As I read, I thought about how strange it felt to imagine a story where teenagers are the main characters--I work with teens every day, and let’s face it, they can be real dumbasses. There’s nothing like reality to break the illusion of fantasy. Even 3 years ago this kind of YA story wouldn’t have fazed me--in fact, I’m quite fond of the YA genre--but that was before I became intimately familiar with the high schooler psyche. I mourn the loss of my suspension of disbelief. Oh well, I won’t be in this job forever; maybe one day I’ll forget what teens are like, and I can slip back into YA fantasies without interrogating and criticizing its depiction of teenagers. Either that, or I’ve crossed some invisible threshold, and rather than some kind of loss of innocence, it’s a loss of connection to my own feelings as a teenager. Maybe it’s too far in my past for me to reach anymore. Maybe I’ve had to be the authority figure for too long, consciously separating myself from the idea of adolescence and performing adulthood, and I’ve become Robin William’s Peter Banning from Hook. Have I forgotten how to fly? It certainly feels that way sometimes---ever since my last job, it just feels like the part of me that experienced spontaneous wonder and joy got crushed beneath the heavy boot of workplace capitalism. The business world was not kind, and though I escaped, it feels more like my soul came back from a war, scarred and changed. Even my current job feels rote and routine, the city I live in feels like a narrow cage at times, and I no longer find myself randomly gazing happily at the morning light on my way to work. My sense of peace and serenity has disappeared in the last 5 years, replaced by...well, not a numbness, but just a continued state of being, punctured by deliberate excursions of fun and travel, like using a defibrillator on my life. Where’s the deeper meaning of it all? Why do I feel so disconnected from the universe? Sometimes I wonder if I should throw it all away and move back to the remote area I used to live in by the seaside. but would it be the same? could I find that spark for life again there? But the spark doesn’t originate from the place, it originates from the person, so if I can’t find it here, would it be pointless to move at all?

What do I want out of my life? Where do I see myself going? I can’t seem to hold onto this conversation with myself for more than 3 minutes. I just know that I don’t want here. But where do I want? And what do I want to be doing? Who do I want to be with? Is it loneliness that is eating away at me? Tonight, it felt like an Edward Hopper painting. That’s exactly what it felt like. After the second round in front of the convenience store, I went to Sukiya, a rice bowl place, and worked there for another hour or so. But the night felt empty, in limbo, but there was nothing to wait for. Both the restaurants I visited tonight had their fill of guests, and even the sky itself kept itself busy and alive for hours with silent lightning. But it didn’t quite seem to reach me, I a traveler in a reverse odyssey, trying to stay out of my home as long as I could. But as it reached 2am, I knew my time adrift in the liminal space was ending, and I finally drove home beneath the flashing darkness, past the mysterious red glow on the other side of the hills to my left, and the white haze to my right in the distance, a light that seemed as if it were being pressed down and contained by the night’s soft but firm hand of black. Everything was in a haze due to the remaining mist from the day’s rain; even the inside of my car kept a film of condensation all evening, only adding to the undefined and unformed quality of the space and time I experienced for the last few hours. Alas, I am home now, the crisp clacking of the keys and the faint chirp of the crickets outside bringing back definition to a very strange and vague night.

#my life

[chosen1poetry]

The Twin Flames

Have you heard the term,

One coined in 99’?

The phrase, “Twin Flames”?

And it’s meaning behind love and life?

A twin flame is someone you love,

But someone you’re destined to lose.

Someone comes into your life,

To teach you something you never knew.

Someone who will teach a life lesson,

One you’ll hold forever.

Even when they’ve left your life,

And the love is still there.

So let me tell you of a story,

One I heard not long ago.

From someone I love dearly,

My soulmate, if we must.

For the sake of today,

Lets call her V,

I’ll do my best to relate it,

Just as she told it to me.

There was this girl,

Who’s name is best left unsaid.

Someone before me,

Someone who once knew V best.

V told me of her love,

The one that got away.

A dear friend she was,

She misses her everyday.

“She taught me a lot,”

To love herself,

Her body and her mind,

“I think about her often, not a day goes by.”

You see, mixed feelings arised

When she told me this tale.

A pint of sadness,

That much I know she could tell.

But also something I can’t explain,

A feeling I don’t know.

A feeling I haven’t felt before,

Or at least, not in awhile.

V told me of the friend who once was,

The one who loved her at her best,

And even more at her worst.

The one who’s name sticks out among the rest.

She said this one was hers,

A great person, a great friend

But now V has nothing of her,

And she mourns for the past.

I try to understand,

But for me its quite hard.

Because I never knew anyone,

Who had such a good heart.

Not before V, at least,

But she’s here to stay.

I can’t speak for her,

But I know for her its not the same.

You see, I asked V for the truth,

I must know, I insisted,

I pleaded,

What am I to you?

I seemed to catch her off guard,

Her thoughts took awhile to collect,

And you see, my silly mind reached,

And expected all but the best.

I got an answer, for sure I did,

Not exactly one I wanted,

One I wished weren’t true,

But the truth was surely said.

She told me she loves me,

And I’m her favorite person,

But the words she spoke scared me,

And of it, I’m not sure what to take.

Of course her words hold truth,

Her actions speak louder than her tongue.

But when she speaks to me of this subject,

The fears and anxiety turn on.

But about me this is not,

For a ballad of V and her friendship gone,

I must remind her to focus on the now,

Mourn but do not fall.

Bad of course I feel,

For who am I to tell her?

Who she must cry for,

And the reason for her tears.

But we cannot change the past,

I would do it if I could.

I’ve come now to realize,

I’d do it for her.

But then again just maybe,

This friend is gone for a reason,

She’s paved the way for new friendships,

And taught V how to love.

V doesn’t know it,

She thinks her love was in vain,

But I think it happened for a reason,

Instead of hiding, she must learn to dance in the rain.

So I think in the end I have to thank her,

For letting V go.

She’s taught her sadness, and heartbreak alike,

But as well as those she taught her that the sun does shine.

After a lifetime, I found V,

Or perhaps she found me that day?

And it wouldn’t have happened,

Had they not lost their way.

Sad as it be,

And selfish as it sounds,

Their love came to an end,

And yet it lives on loud.

There was this girl.

Who’s name is best left unsaid,

Someone before me,

Someone who once knew V best.

A love gone, but not forgotten,

No longer held by chains,

A bond broken,

And turned to the twin flames.

#poems on tumblr #poetry #poem