#last time i updated it was like 2013 or some shit
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The Pilot and his girl - ch 11
Now we're getting into the fun part! 😋
The metaphorical shit is about to hit the fan as Frankie and our reader get ready for their one year anniversary on September 26, 2013.
I had a lot of "fun" writing this chapter and I hope you enjoy it even though I'm now taking a seriously hard left turn with this series, away from the fluffy little bubble I've wrapped us in.
The warnings will contain spoilers so I've put them in a separate post and will update them as I go: Warnings
Word count: 6.2 k
Chapter 12
Chapter 1, if you want to catch up from the beginning
Taglist: @pimosworld @i-own-loki @casa-boiardi @littlenosoul @stormseyer @mxtokko @javicstories
“Cariño! I’ve got to go now, come kiss me!” Frankie calls through the apartment as he pulls on his boots, hastily tying them up before he tugs on his jacket. “Carinooooooo!” he wails, “come kiss me goodbye, I can’t leave if you don’t kiss me!”
You spit out the toothpaste and rush to rinse your mouth, before opening the bathroom door, looking over at your baby of a boyfriend who’s currently standing by the door, bag in hand, making puppy eyes at you. “Cariñoooooo!" he wails impatiently while you pad over to him on bare feet, shaking your head.
“You’re such a baby, Francisco Morales,” you wrap your arms around his neck as he bends down and gives you a wet kiss on your lips before trailing more wet kisses down your throat.
“I can’t leave if you don’t kiss me,” he gives you a fake pout as he stands up. “You’re sure you’re ok to pack everything up on your own? I’ll be back as soon as possible so we can just load into the truck and go.”
“Yeah, it’s fine, I’ll do some laundry and pack the last of the food. Just ring me when you leave work and I’ll be ready to go when you’re back.”
“Ok, hermosa, mi amor, my gorgeous cariño, happy anniversary, my love,” Frankie captures your chin between his thumb and fingers and you smile up at him as he gives you another long kiss.
“Happy anniversary, Frankie, my love,” you mumble against his lips, giggling as he tries to push you up against the door, groping at your ass, “I thought you had to leave.”
“I do, fuck, but I don’t want to,” Frankie sighs, and plants a final kiss on your mouth before he opens the door and heads out, “I’ll see you this afternoon, hermosa,” he smiles, “te amo.”
“Love you too, Frankie.”
You lock up behind him and continue to get ready. The plan is to head out of the city and up to Denny’s cabin as soon as Frankie’s back from work. You’re working from home today to save some time, you’ve set aside manuscripts to read and that’s best done from home anyway.
Frankie had surprised you a couple of weeks ago by telling you he’d asked Denny if you two could borrow the cabin for your anniversary, have a little holiday together. Today was exactly one year since you met at The Outback Bar and it had been the best year of your life thanks to Frankie. A weekend escape, just the two of you at the cabin, sounded like the perfect way to celebrate.
To make matters even better you’d closed on a house just a few days ago, all the paperwork signed, you didn’t even have the keys yet, but you’d still spent the past three days mentally decorating the whole place. Frankie had sent Lucía pictures of the house and her room and she’d been over the moon to see the pictures of the pool outside. Now you were planning on throwing your very first Thanksgiving dinner at your new house together with Frankie and Lucía.
You allowed yourself to get lost in daydreams for a while as you finished your breakfast and cleared the kitchen, throwing a load of clothes in the washing machine. While it ran its cycle you sat down at your small home office and went over the manuscript.
Frankie called you just after lunch with bad news.
“I’m sorry, cariño, I think I’ll probably be later than I thought, things are fucking crazy today,” he sighed over the phone. “One of our choppers crashed, we can’t get hold of the pilot, I’m just fucking praying he’s ok, Denny’s on his way out there now.” You can hear him rub his hand over his face, rough against his scruffy beard, “And I’ve got to fly three doctors to different locations, apparently they’re swamped, all kinds of crazy shit happening, it’s like it’s a full moon night but it’s midday.”
“It’s fine, Frankie, just fly safe, you’ll get here when you get here and if it’s too late we’ll drive up tomorrow.”
“Yeah, but I wanted to be with you all weekend,” he huffs, “Fuck, I’ve got to go, Denny’s on the radio. Talk soon, cariño.” He hangs up before you have a chance to say goodbye.
By the time seven pm rolls around you have everything packed up for the trip to the cabin, you’ve been checking your phone for Frankie’s phone call for the past hour. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he said things were crazy today, you’d gone down to the corner store for some snacks for the road and found it closed, shutters down even though it was only five pm, the streets empty. And on your way back to the apartment you’d seen a police car crash into a small car. You’d started running over to the crash to see if you could help but a police man had stumbled from the cruiser and yelled at you to get back inside, to stay away. Something in his voice had scared you and you’d turned back straight away, running back to your building and up the stairs.
Once back in the apartment you’d locked the door and tried calling Frankie, but he didn’t pick up. That wasn’t unusual, he usually couldn’t answer when he was flying, if you really needed to get hold of him you’d call Denny and he’d patch you through on the radio. But you tried Denny too and there was no reply there either, not on his cell or the landline to the airfield.
So now it’s seven pm and you’re getting antsy. There are an extraordinary amount of police sirens outside, the news are talking about riots in the streets downtown, but the footage makes it look more like a warzone and the local news cuts the broadcast when someone attacks the camera man.
At nine you’re pacing the apartment, back and forth between the big window facing the street and the small window in the kitchen overlooking the parking lot. When your phone rings you jump, and relief floods your chest when you see that it’s Frankie.
“Frankie, where are you? Did you see the news?” you ask when you pick up, but you’re interrupted by him straight away.
“Cariño, where are you? Still at home?” He sounds stressed and he’s breathing hard.
“Yeah, I’m at home, waiting for you, of course. What’s going on, are you running?” You press your phone to your ear, trying to hear what’s going on around him, you can hear people shouting in the background.
“I was, I’m trying to get away from Washington Park, I…I got into some trouble,” he stutters, “some guy was beating up another guy and I pulled over to stop him, I had to pull him off the other guy but he was fucking crazy, like high on salts or something, never seen anything like it. He came after me and I had to…I’m sorry cariño, I had to…take him out.”
You hear the shame in his voice, you’ve only talked a couple of times about the guy in the bar Frankie beat up because he thought he’d hit you. He knew his skill at violence scared you and he’d done his utmost to prove to you that he wasn’t a violent person. But now he’d had to take this guy out, in self defence, and he was trying to explain it to you.
“Just get home, Frankie,” you say, “we can talk when you get here, just get home.”
“I’m trying, hermosa, but the police turned up and…fuck…hang on.”
You hear his heavy boots shuffling over broken glass and hard ground, he grunts as he seems to move through or over a structure, nearly dropping the phone.
“Ok, I have to keep moving, hermosa,” he pants, “the police turned up and…they thought I’d killed the guy, the didn’t see him beating up the other guy an-”
“You killed him!?” your eyes are wide, you’ve stopped dead in your tracks in front of the big window.
“I don’t know, cariño, the police came, they pulled their guns on me, I had to run and-”
“Frankie, why the fuck did you run from the police? You’re gonna get into so much more trouble now!”
“I couldn’t stay, something isn’t right, some weird shit is happening all over town.”
“And fucking running from the police after beating someone to death is the way to make it less weird, Frankie?” you spit out, you’ve been worried about him for hours but now your nervous energy shifts into anger at his stupidity. “Just get the fuck home and we’ll deal with this mess in the morning, or just maybe just turn yourself in, it’s gonna look so bad with you running from the scene.” You sigh, pushing your fingers through your hair, “Frankie, why’d you have to be so reckless?”
Frankie bristles, you can hear his anger, “You don’t understa-” he begins but suddenly your phone goes dead, cutting him off. You look down at the screen and curse, you have no reception, there are no bars, it looks like the service has overloaded or gone down.
“Fuck,” you say out loud, and turn it off, maybe a restart will help, but no luck. Your phone is still dead and when you try calling Frankie on your landline phone it goes straight to voicemail. You leave a message, telling him to just come home as soon as possible.
After that there’s not much to do except wait, you resume your path between the kitchen window and the living room window, stopping every now and then to flick through the news, all hell seems to be breaking out across the state, even the country. You try calling Frankie a few more times but it still goes straight to voicemail. The knot in your stomach is growing, making you feel nauseous with nerves.
You call Pope but there’s no reply so you call Will’s landline. Hannah picks up and she’s frantic with worry about Will, he’s not back from work and she can’t get hold of him either. Benny was meant to have dinner with them and he’s taken the car to try and go pick up Will at work but with the cell phone services down she can’t reach him either.
“I don’t know what the fuck is going on,” she almost cries, “I saw people running down the street just now and I don’t know if I should leave or what?”
“No, just stay put, Will or Benny will come back there so just lock up and wait,” you say, you can’t stop yourself from biting your nails, you feel panic rising in your throat.
You promise to keep in touch and update each other, when you hang up you feel sick to your stomach. You desperately want Frankie to come back, you need to see him and feel his arms around you, tell you it’ll be alright, but no matter how many times you call, you only get his voicemail. You ring a few extra times just to hear his voice repeat the same message.
“Hi, this is Francisco Morales, I can’t pick up right now, please leave a message.”
“Please, please, please, Frankie, come home, come home, baby,” you whisper into the phone as you listen to his voice again.
Night has fallen outside and it’s even worse, around the city fires have broken out and from your apartment you can see a couple of them burn out of control. Just after midnight the news channel stops broadcasting, suddenly, in the middle of an update. You flick through the channels but there’s only static on all of them.
You call Will’s place again but there’s no reply, you hope that means Benny has brought back Will to Hannah, and they can’t pick up right now, maybe they’re on their way here.
Just as you’ve put the phone down it rings again and you snatch it up.
“Frankie?” you almost cry down the receiver but instead you hear Pope’s worried voice.
“Is Frankie there?” he asks, you can hear the stress in his voice.
“No, he called at nine, he…he was in some trouble but I don’t know…he was on his way home, but he’s not here yet,” your words rush out, “Pope, what’s happening? I can’t get hold of Will or Benny either and I’m freaking out!”
“I don’t know, it’s a shit show, people are…listen, I’m not too far from you, I’ll try and make it over there. I’m on a military frequency so my phone’s still up, I’ll call you if anything. Just stay put inside, keep the door locked.”
“Yes, yeah, of course, I’m waiting for Frankie, I’m not going anywhere,” you say, double checking the lock and deadbolt on the front door.
“Do you have a weapon, a gun, baseball bat, knife, anything?” he asks, you can hear him jogging, his shoes drumming along whatever hard surface he is on.
“I don’t know, I don’t think we have a gun, we have a baseball bat, and the kitchen knives,” you frown, looking out the window again, “Pope, why do I need to arm myself, are people looting?”
“Yeah, they’re looting and it’s getting violent, so stay inside, and don’t open to anyone except me or Frankie. And don’t talk to anyone but me or Frankie, ok?”
“Ok, I’ll dig out the baseball bat straight away but…but just get here, please, Pope, I’m really scared.” You leave the window and go to the closet in the guest room where Frankie keeps his old bat.
“I know, I know, I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
“Hurry, please, and stay safe, Santi,” you say, you can feel tears gathering on your lashes as your voice starts to wobble.
“I need you to be strong, ok,” Pope’s voice is firm, as if he’s giving a soldier orders, “I need you to handle yourself, if someone tries to come through that door, you need to defend yourself, do you understand? Even kill them if it comes to that, do not let anyone attack you.”
“Santi…” you stumble, “I can’t..”
“I know, but you have to. This is serious, Frankie’s not around so I need to make sure you’re safe, and for you to be safe, you need to be ruthless now, do you understand?” His voice has a sharp edge, he’s breathing hard, moving fast trying to get to you, and the reality of what he’s saying hits you.
“I promise, Pope,” you whisper, “I’ll…I’ll try my best to defend myself, I’ll try.”
“Good, I’m about an hour away on foot, but it’s slow going. Give me two to three hours and I should be there.”
“Stay safe, Santi, please,” you beg, pressing the receiver of the phone to your ear, as if hearing the voice of your friend will keep him and you safe.
“I’ll try my best, and stay strong for me, and for Frankie, ok?”
“I will,” you promise.
…
When his phone dies, Frankie hears the click and then nothing. He had a feeling this would happen, it’s mayhem in the city and the system is bound to be overloaded, so the lack of reception is no surprise, but he still curses under his breath.
He was moving down narrow back alleys, jogging fast, staying off the main streets, avoiding people, especially any police, as he tried to get away from Washington Park. When he’d put some distance between himself and the park, he’d stopped to call home. He’d crouched down just behind a dumpster, keeping out of sight, while he talked to her. Now he stands up carefully, looking up and down the alley and considers his next move. The keys to his truck are in his pocket, it’s still where he left it by the park, he could maybe try to get back to it but the police are sure to be there.
But something, at the back of his head, tells him he needs to keep moving and get home as fast as possible. Things are not normal, the whole day has been a shit show, but now, now it’s getting out of control. The man he’d tried stopping beating up the other guy had been raging, he’d turned and attacked Frankie so fast he’d barely had time to react. Only his instincts from the army, slower now but still just under the surface, had saved him from getting bit, fucking bit!
The guy had actually tried biting him when Frankie sidestepped, and tripped him up, making him fall to the ground. He’d been on his feet in a flash and Frankie knew the guy was high on something when he saw his eyes, so he’d sidestepped again and swung an elbow to the guy’s head, hitting him in the temple. It had been harder than he’d intended but the sudden attack had his adrenaline running high, and the man had dropped to the ground and remained motionless.
As he started running, when the police pulled up, his only thought was to get away as fast as possible. But as he ran, as he put a couple of blocks between him and the park, he saw others starting to act strange. When a city bus crashed into a taxi he dodged into an alley, the passengers on the bus flailing about inside as if they were locked in battle with each other. Frankie’s gut was yelling at him that something was very wrong, this was not just a weird day, this was something else, but he couldn’t wrap his head around what was going on. So he’d stopped to call her, to hear her voice and make sure she was safe, and let her know he was trying to get home.
The way the call ended, when the phone network died, left a knot in his stomach that had nothing to do with the unfolding mayhem in the city. This weekend was meant to be about them, he wanted everything to be perfect, and now the last words between them had been anger. The small box in his jacket pocket represented everything he wanted for their future, and more than anything he needed to get back to her, to explain what had happened and get them out of the city for their anniversary. Whatever the fuck was going with everyone else, he needed to be with her, at the cabin, and ask her to be his wife. Everything else was secondary.
Frankie drew a deep breath and started moving back towards Washington Park. He needs his truck, it’s their best chance at getting out of the city. Hopefully the police had been called away on something else, letting paramedics deal with the guy he’d taken down, maybe he hadn’t actually killed him.
He stays on side streets and alleys, keeping low, staying out of sight. When he sees the door to a gun shop wide open, he pauses, considering the risk. A gun would make him feel safer, but looting one now, is pretty shitty behaviour. The thought stays with him for only a second, before he cautiously moves into the shop. The back of the shop is dark but quiet, broken glass crunches under his boots as he moves towards one of the display cases. There’s rifles on the wall but they’re too hard to hide, instead he quickly finds a Glock among the wreckage, the familiar gun feels solid in his hand.
There’s ammo behind the counter but when he steps around it, he sees the woman, splayed on the floor, face down. He stops in his tracks, staring down at her still form for a beat. She’s wearing a pink t-shirt and he can see the blood where it’s been ripped open over her shoulder. It doesn’t look like a significant amount of blood but he can’t see her face, can’t tell if she’s alive or not.
There’s a box of ammo near him and he quickly loads the gun, sliding a full magazine into the Glock. He doesn’t know why, maybe the way the day has been, but he keeps his gun trained on the woman, safety off, while he carefully moves towards her. There’s more ammo behind her and he wants to pick it up, but he also doesn’t want to leave her injured or dead without checking on her.
Gently he nudges the toe of his boot against her hand, shifting it slightly, and he hears a deep growl, inhuman. The sound makes him take a quick step back, more glass breaking under his feet with a loud crackle. The woman lifts her head and turns to look at him for a beat. All Frankie has time to think is that her eyes have the same rage as the man at the park, she scrambles to her feet and launches herself at him. He fires his gun on instinct, the bullet hitting her cheek, the close range making it explode out the back of her head.
She drops instantly as Frankie holds the gun trained at her. It takes a split second for his training to kick in, but then he moves. Stepping over her, he grabs two more boxes of ammo, stuffing them in his pockets, before he quickly throws himself over the counter and heads out the back door he came through, checking the street before he leaves. Walking fast, but not running, he puts the safety back on the gun and shoves into the back of his trousers, out of sight under his jacket. His breathing is normal but he can feel adrenaline pumping through his system, muscle memory makes him move through the city as if it’s hostile enemy territory.
What the fuck is going on? What was that? Bad batch of some drug on the streets?
As he moves back towards the truck he checks his phone, there’s still no reception. There are more people on the streets now, more cars too, all heading for the freeway. He sees a family hastily throw bags into a car, a cat in a travel cage stuffed into the back. Other cars speed past, full of stuff, people are packing up and leaving. The sight makes him anxious, he needs to do the same, get back home, get to her, and get the fuck out.
Screw the weekend, we need to get the fuck out of the city fast, whatever this is, it’s not gonna be over by Monday.
He finally spots his truck, parked where he left it, the man he’d knocked out nowhere in sight, and no police. Quickly scanning the area for signs of trouble, Frankie crosses the street and gets into the truck. He breathes a sigh of relief when he can lock the door and the engine rumbles to life. He can see traffic lining up on the other side of the park so he takes a side street, mapping the best route back home in his head as he tries to drive as fast as he can, people are running along the streets, cars speeding past and it gets worse the closer to downtown he gets. He tries to skirt around it but as he turns down a side street he finds it blocked by a truck that’s crashed into a building.
“Fuck,” he breathes under his breath, there’s fire under the truck and he can see people on the other side. Quickly he reverses back onto the main street and turns left, heading a few more blocks down. The traffic’s getting heavy and it’s getting harder to avoid getting stuck, up ahead he sees cars grinding to a halt and in a last second decision he pulls a hard right and turns down a narrow alley, he knows it connects to another big road after a couple of blocks but it will get him closer to home at least, almost all the way there if it’s clear. He barrels through the alley, slowing down only to take the sharp turn onto the main road, and speeding up as he sees the way ahead of him clear. The harsh headlights flooding the cabin of his truck is the only warning he has when the bus slams into the passenger side of the truck. The screech of metal and tyres is the last thing Frankie hears as the world outside the shattered windscreen goes spinning and turns to black.
…
Your body is telling you to sleep but you can’t, it’s almost three am and you’re on the couch, with a painful knot in your stomach. There’s sirens wailing outside, close by, and you’ve heard screams of terror and pain throughout the night. Frankie’s baseball bat is next to you on the couch, your hand shoots out to grab it whenever you hear a sound, your nerves on edge, the big kitchen knife on the coffee table. You’ve cried yourself dry with worry, Frankie’s not home, Pope hasn’t arrived either, you feel like you’re all alone in the world and every minute you’re fighting to keep the panic down. Pope’s words, keep strong for me and for Frankie, roll through your brain, it’s all you’ve got to keep you from falling over the edge.
A loud crack rings out somewhere in your building and you shoot up to your feet, it sounded close and it sounded like a gunshot. Straining your ears you try to hear more, but the wailing sirens from outside make it hard to make out anything. Slowly moving closer to the front door, you grip the bat in your hand. You stop in the hall, holding your breath and listen intently in the silence. Suddenly you hear a shoe scuffle against the floor outside your door and you bite down hard on your lip, your heart is thumping so loudly it’s deafening.
A soft tap on the door startles you enough to make you jump back into Frankie’s sneakers on the shoe rack.
“It’s me, Pope, open the door,” Santi’s familiar voice filters low through the front door and you almost cry with relief, stumbling forward to unlock it. He comes through it as soon as it’s open enough to let him in and he immediately closes it behind him, locking and sliding the deadbolt in place. When he turns to you, you throw your arms around him, and you feel him grab hold of you, squeezing you tight as he pulls you into the living room.
“Santi, I’m so scared,” you sob, fighting back tears, as he sets you down on the couch, “what’s happening?”
“I don’t know yet, Frankie isn’t back?” he asks, looking around the living room.
“N-No, I haven’t heard from him since the cell network went down,” tears well up in your eyes, “h-he said, he was coming back here. But that was six hours ago, Santi!” The tears spill over as fear overcomes you and he sits down next to you on the couch, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, gently shushing you.
“Deep breaths, hermana, you need to focus,” he turns you around, putting both hands on your shoulders, squeezing them as his eyes lock onto yours. “Listen, I need you to stay with me now, ok?”
You nod weakly as Pope wipes your cheek with the back of his hand, “We need to pack essentials and get out of here, there’s a couple of dirt bikes in the garage under your building, I’ve got the keys and-”
“I’m not leaving without Frankie,” you say immediately, leaning back from Pope instinctively. “I have to stay here until he comes back.”
“You can’t, it’s not safe, I have to keep you safe while Frankie’s not around,” Pope grabs your shoulders again, as if to press it into you but you baulk.
“If I leave, with the phones down, he won’t find me. He said he was coming back here and I said I’d stay until he came back,” you pull away from Pope and stand up, moving to the window to look down on the street again.
“Hermana, you haven’t seen the city, it’s chaos,” he’s stands up and comes after you, grabbing hold of your arm, “I don’t know what’s going on but people are unhinged, losing control and attacking each other,” his grip on your arm loosens a little but he’s turning you to look at him, “I don’t want to scare you more, but it’s bad out there, people are dying.” He falters, hesitating for a few seconds, “I’m sorry, this isn’t going away anytime soon, and Frankie might not make it back.”
“Don’t say that. Don’t fucking say that!” You feel panic rising in your chest and you push him away.
“I saw a woman…she was…she killed a child, it’s that bad out there,” Santi grabs you again, a pained look on his face, pleading, “I’m sorry, Frankie is a very capable soldier, one of the best, but it took all I had to make it here.”
You pull your arm from his hand, “He’s coming back here, I’m not leaving without him,” you spit out and step back into the living room, crossing your arms as you turn back to Pope, he’s looking at you from the window.
“I can’t leave you here, Frankie’s my best friend, my brother, and you’re the love of his life, I’ve got to keep you safe. For him, hermana.” He’s pleading with you but you shake your head even as tears well up in your eyes again.
“If you want to help Frankie, get to Lucía. Take one of the dirt bikes, get her and we’ll meet you at Denny’s cabin.” You’re staring at him, your jaw set, you know Pope can’t argue with that and he has no choice. As he drops his chin to his chest you know you’ve got your way.
“Ok,” he sighs, “I’ll go and get Lucía, but you have to promise me that if Frankie’s not back by Sunday morning, you take the other bike and come up to the cabin too,” he’s walked over to you again, looking down at you with dark eyes, “if he’s not back by Sunday morning, he’s not coming back. Take the bike, get to the cabin.”
“He’s coming back, Santi.”
“I really want you to be right, hermana,” he sighs as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you to his chest. You slump against him, you can feel your body shaking with the onslaught of nerves and adrenaline.
“He has to come back,” you whisper into his chest, “he has to, he has to, he has to,” you repeat as a mantra as Pope gently strokes your back.
You don’t notice when Pope carefully lays you down in your bed, pulling the blanket over you. Your exhausted body and mind shuts down for a few hours and lets you sleep without dreams. When you wake with a start, daylight is starting to creep through your window, and for a second it feels like a normal morning, until you see Frankie’s side of the bed, empty.
You push back the blanket and make your way out to the living room to find Santi on the couch, two guns and a rifle laid out in front of him.
“Morning,” he says, looking up at you. “I hope you managed to sleep some.”
You sit down next to him on the couch, watching his methodical movements with the weapons, “Did you sleep at all?”
“No, I kept watch, but it’s fine,” he adds as he sees your concerned look, “I’m still running on adrenaline and I’m used to it. Pulled plenty of all nighters in the army.”
“Did anything happen while I slept?” You move to the kitchen and open the fridge to pull out some breakfast, the inside of the fridge is dark.
“The electricity and the military phone network cut out about an hour ago,” Pope nods at the fridge. “Eat whatever might go bad first.” He stands up and grabs a backpack, you recognise it as Frankie’s spare one. “I’ve packed enough to keep me going for a few days, and I’ve done the same for you and Frankie,” he points to a bigger backpack, Frankie’s hiking pack. “I’m gonna try to get to Lucía now, you and Frankie head to the cabin as soon as possible. Get out of the city, that’ll be Frankie’s plan too.”
He comes over to you where you’re standing by the kitchen counter, frozen in your movements. “Remember what I said last night, hermana, I’m sorry, but if he’s not back by Sunday morning…” he pauses and grabs hold of your hand, squeezing it tight, “if he’s not back, you have to leave by yourself and get to the cabin. Promise me,” his dark eyes are bearing into you as his fingers wrap around your own.
“I promise, I’ll leave if he’s not back by Sunday morning,” you say, your voice barely over a whisper.
“Ok,” he gives your hand another squeeze and goes back to Frankie’s backpack. “I’m leaving a gun with you, and some ammo, it’s in the pack,” he shows you the boxes in an outside pocket. “This is your gun,” he picks up one of the handguns on the coffee table, “it’s easy enough to handle, I’ll show you.”
“Where did you get them?” you ask, “did you just happen to have two guns and a rifle on you yesterday?”
“No, I didn’t,” Santi looks at you, “I broke into a gunshop and took them.” He sees the way your eyes widen and holds up his hand, “Look out of the window, the world is falling apart, I don’t know what is happening, but looting three guns to protect myself and you, is the least of our worries right now.” He picks up the gun and motions you over and shows you how to hold it, “Grab it like this, both hands, keep it steady.”
The gun is heavy and cold in your hands, “You really think the world is falling apart?” Your voice is quiet as you adjust your grip as Pope moves your fingers.
“The first thing I heard yesterday was that something was going on in Indonesia, then Rotterdam. Here, put your thumb like this.” He moves your thumb to cross over your hand, “then there were news reports from all over the US. And if things are as bad there as they are here, then yeah, I think the world is falling apart.”
He steps back and looks at your grip on the gun, “That’s it, hold it like that and squeeze the trigger when you’re ready.”
You pull back on the trigger and the gun clicks. “So we get to the cabin and then what?” you ask, looking down the barrel of the gun, feeling the weight.
“We hold down the fort, wait it out, until it’s under control again.” Pope gently takes the gun from your hands and shows you how to load it, making you go through the motions several times. When he decides you’ve got a hang of it, he takes the gun and gives it to you, “Safety on, keep it within easy reach. I should’ve gotten you a holster but stick it in the back of your pants for now, keep it on you at all times, ok?”
“Ok,” you nod, doing as he says before looking up at him. “Do you think the others, Will and Benny, will come up to the cabin too?”
“If they can, yeah, it’s the most logical choice.”
He turns and grabs the smaller backpack and his jacket, “I’m leaving, I’ll get to Lucía, get her and her mom, if I can, back to the cabin. Sunday morning, ok?”
“Sunday morning I leave if he’s not back, yes, Santi.” You nod, your jaw tight.
“Ok. And listen, when you do leave, with or without Frankie, don’t trust anyone. People are attacking without warning, like animals.” Pope’s eyes are on you, imploring you to understand, “Anyone moves towards you, shoot them, aim for the torso to bring them down, then head shot, to kill. I know it’s not going to be easy, but if you want to survive, you have to. Get to the cabin, I’ll be there.” He pulls you in for a big hug, squeezing you tight and you hold on to him for as long as you can before he pulls away.
“Stay safe, Santi.”
“You too, hermana.”
You walk him to the front door and watch him as he listens through it for a couple a minute, the landing outside is silent. Carefully he opens the door, gun drawn, and peeks outside. Daylight is filtering through the windows, shining some light into the stairwell. With a final look at you he steps through the door and you close it behind him, locking it securely again.
Walking back to the living room, you sit down on the couch. Twenty four hours until Sunday morning.
All you can do now is wait.
Chapter 12
#frankie morales#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales x you#frankie morales fluff#pedro pascal character fanfiction#frankie morales fanfiction#frankie morales fanfic#frankie morales angst#the last of us#the last of us fanfic#the last of us fanfiction#the last of us fic#santiago garcia#the pilot and his girl#tlou fanfiction#tlou fandom
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what is up froods
lol i keep forgetting to like. actually write updates in my personal journal. i'm using this tumblr too much like a tumblr.
i went down a rabbit hole the other night in that i just opened my own archives and went back to 2013 and then realized i started this in 2011. i didn't say a lot, back then i definitely was still using my LJ for Big Personal Updates and Tumblr was exclusively for snappy shitposts, and then I abandoned the LJ and only blogged in snappy shitposts for a while, and I did some vagueblogging that I genuinely have no idea what it was about, and that's fun.
But there's some. Boy there's some real fossils in there. God everything stays the same but everything happens so much.
I know I've backed up this blog but IDK how much you can make it make sense, offline. Anyway. That's how it goes. I'm not in any kind of existential panic about the site I'm just reacting to the zeigeist here, it made me think of old times.
I go back to the farm in a couple of weeks-- just for a couple of weeks, but the Season is Starting. My physical therapist keeps giving me more exercises. She's right, my core strength is wretched, but when I said I'd tried to do crunches now and then, tried to stay a tiny bit fit but-- she was like omg no you can't do crunches, with that hip cartilage as it is, so I felt a little better. So she's teaching me what I *can* do, and the important thing is that she's like you cannot do this more than every other day or three times a week, you cannot rush this kind of thing, and it's wonderful advice contrary to all the other advice I've ever had in my life which was like every moment you're not doing more work you're being a lazy shit. So, that's nice. I'll cut because nothing else here is going to be interesting.
I'm not the youngest person at physical therapy but there's a lot of old people there. I haven't been masking, I've been being lazy and just using xylitol nose spray before I go, and it's been fine, but I know that's just luck. (I see no one but Dude, who sees almost no one but me, so the consequences of fucking up would be minor.) with a trip to the farm coming up, I'm going to go back to masking, at least in the lead-up to the trip-- because last time I had COVID I had almost no symptoms, and nowadays apparently the rapid tests aren't super useful. The way I'm coping is, I know, a logical fallacy-- since COVID wasn't bad the one time I had it, I'm just telling myself I'm resistant naturally and it won't hurt me, and I know this is not the truth at all but it helps me cope-- but I cannot stand the thought of spreading it to someone who would be more hurt by it, so I have convinced myself not to fear catching it but to fear spreading it. I figure it's effectively the same and lets me not just be fucking terrified all the time.
I also discovered that a former employee of the farm who's out here going to college is interested in carpooling, and we've already got a tentative date for him to ride back with me on my way back from the farm at the end of March, and this has lightened my spirits a great deal. It's such a long drive and it feels like such a waste of gas, and he does have a car but it's not actually that safe to drive on the Thruway. (He swears up and down it's perfectly safe but just not at sustained speeds over 60. I was like omg kid do NOT, I will drive, my car is brand fkn new. He's taking the train home and will ride back with me.)
Let's see. Oh I don't think I've kept up with posting about the kitchen painting. It's down to the last tiny fiddly details, and what I've got to do is do a half-stencil in the corner above the door, and I did one half yesterday and will finish the rest today. I had to custom cut out a copy of part of the stencil to make it work, and it's sort of janky and I am going to have to hand-paint it with a lot of masking tape, but it's such a small area that like, why not, I can be that fussy. It's fine.
Once I finish that, which if I do part in the morning and part in the afternoon I can do today, then I can FINALLY CLEAN UP AND PUT AWAY all the painting detritus. I can't tell you how excited I am to do that.
I've also been doing fabric dyeing, finally. I collected several of the muslin garments I'd finished and meant to do something with, and got out my dyes. I did a batch of ice dye solely because I forgot which ones I'd intended to use for that; now I have a pair of slightly ill-fitting homemade leggings that look like a clown threw up on them, and a cheerful sweatshirt to match. i then used the runoff to dye the cream-colored canvas work smock-- I sort of tie-dyed it because I pasted up a little bit of two of the component colors and poured that on a couple areas that I then rubberbanded, because I wanted tie-dye but did not want any white areas left. So it's a blue/purple/red smock now, and the rainbow stitching I constructed it with was polyester so it's still rainbow, huzzah. Subtle and understated and also I can smear it with filth and maybe it will still look intentional.
[image description: a canvas work smock with big pockets, hanging to dry, mostly a mucky dark purple but with some brighter splotches of red and dark blue, and some bits of paler purple.]
[image description: assorted garments draped over drying racks in a sunporch, in blotchy shades of red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, all kind of run together but not murky.]
And then I did another batch of ice dye, this time with the dyes I had bought that are supposed to work well for this because they split. That dress is still in the wash so I don't have pictures of how it turned out, but mostly it just looks splotchy green. LOL oh well. The point was, I made all these test garments in undyed fabric, but I don't have a lifestyle where I can wear a white dress, so now I have some non-white dresses I don't have to be precious about. Some of them I should now probably hem and like actually finish..........
I have one dress and one shirt left, and a pair of light-wash jeans I don't like wearing, and I'm thinking about trying like. Ombre or something. We'll see if I get around to that.
My sewing area is still a fuckin disaster and I don't want to think about it. But I'm cutting out a vest from scrap denim, I want a quilted abrasion-resistant washable work vest for farm work next week and I gotta get a move on. All I need now is to cut out the batting and get to it. So hopefully today.
I took photos, I might try writing up how-tos on the dyeing and on the repurposed denim stuff, but I also might not. If I was doing this again I would probably not bother with the ice, for the rainbow one. We'll see once the properly ice dyed dress comes out of this wash, I can hear the washer spinning but I'm trapped under Chita at the moment.
I missed this week's fic update because I'm progressing so slowly on both current active WIPs. I have a bunch written ahead in both, but each one has the back half of the current chapter just held up waiting for me to write them; I've overcome the structural decisions that delayed me, but I have to just sit and write them. And both of them are complicated scenes I've been waiting to write a long time, so I'm looking forward to writing them, and so like, paradoxically, can't make myself do it. Because once I've done it I'll have done it, see... anyway. Silly but there it is. I'll get through it once I decide I deserve that treat. I know! I know.
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strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader
during - part twenty
series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3
joel plans something amazing for you.
a/n: i’m late I know and I used the same joel pic in the last moodboard but there’s only so much pre-show plot joel I can get my hands on and fuck he just looks so good??? I had a lot of fuckin fun writing this, can’t wait to see what y’all think 🤍
word count: 7k
warnings: y’all know the drill by now, and nothing super heavy or explicit in this part.
✨@friskito-library for updates on new works/chapters✨
3 years later - 2013
“Wait, wait, wait.” Frank’s waving his hands, his eyes squeezed shut. “Tell me again. You what?”
You huff a laugh, hands wrapped around the cup of coffee resting on your thigh. It’s the good shit, from the tin that Frank hides even from Bill. You’re pretty sure he saves it only for your visits, namely ones like these where you two get to relax in the house, chatting away while Bill and Joel are off somewhere in town, fixing something or adjusting some measurement. You learned quickly to keep your distance when the two of them got to talking construction, opting to hide with Frank while your other halves did their thing.
“You know this,” you repeat, but reach into your collar, pulling at the chain around your neck until your ring pops out from your shirt. “It was one of the first things I ever told you, when we first met.”
“Bullshit,” Frank says, shaking his head. He crosses his arm over his chest, leaning back in his chair. “I would remember.”
“How old are you again?” you quip, lifting your coffee to your lips. “Maybe your memory’s going, old man.”
Frank’s jaw drops, and he reaches forward, batting at your hanging boot. “You little shit.”
You laugh, and he laughs with you.
“Okay, but really. Tell me again.”
It’s been a long three years.
Thankfully, things have stayed relatively the same in the QZ, and you’ve remastered the art of sneaking out. Joel is a magnet, glued to your side every time you set foot outside the walls, and while Tess has accompanied you more than once on your trips to Lincoln, she’s a little more content to stay in the QZ than before, and you can’t blame her.
Robin moved in with Tess, and has quickly become part of your little family. However, at Tess’s insistence, she knows nothing about your smuggling operation. As far as she knows, the three of you just take whatever jobs you can get from FEDRA, Joel keeping up his handyman position in your building, you keeping up appearances in the radio room.
You’ve curated your own little collection of radios. There’s the main one, still in your tiny room at Abe’s, but the radio in your apartment now plays the coded songs from Bill and Frank; sixties if there’s nothing new, seventies when you’re due for a visit, and eighties if there’s trouble. So far, there’s been no eighties, and you’re grateful. You’ve become pretty attached to the two older gentlemen living in the little town of Lincoln, and these days, Frank rivals Tess for the title of your closest confidant.
You’ve got a little handheld radio too, for the off-chance you’re out of Boston for an extended period of time, and not heading for Lincoln. Bill had supplied it after your fifth visit, handing it to you as you packed up your bag in the dining room.
“Here,” he said quietly, and you nearly jumped out of your skin, not hearing him approach. “This works on the same frequencies we’ve been communicating on. If you’re ever out of Boston, take it with you, and it’ll still play Frank’s songs.”
You’d stared at the bearded man for a long time, your hand slowly reaching out to take the device. “Thanks, Bill.”
He gave you a curt nod. “You’re welcome.”
You still can’t get a read on the guy, even three years later. Frank insists that you’re his favourite of your group, that he’s got a soft spot for you specifically, but is still wary of Joel. Though you know every conversation Joel and Bill have that revolves around construction and protection gets Joel an inch closer to Bill’s good side.
Since Tommy left, Joel has changed in some ways, stayed exactly the same in others. The day after your first visit to Lincoln, he was home early. Too early. Early enough that you hadn’t even really gotten out of bed yet when he was barging through the door, slamming it shut behind him. It made you flinch, lurching to your feet and calling his name.
He had his hands pressed to the door, his shoulders hunched, head hung between them. You crossed the apartment quickly, laid your hand in the middle of his back, and Joel’s entire body quaked beneath your touch.
“Baby, what happened?” you asked, your worry evident in your tone. “Where were you?”
“Tommy’s gone,” he murmured, and his voice snapped on his little brother’s name. “Fuckin’ Fireflies shipped him off to their base in Minneapolis. He’s gone, Liv. He left us.” Joel pushed off the door, turned slowly towards you, and the sadness in his face made your heart ache. “He left me.”
“Oh, Joel.”
Since that day, he’s become more stoic. More brutal, in ways. Smuggling has become a more common occupation in the QZ, and Joel’s been quick to let the competition know just who you are, and that you were here first. Robert — the head of a rival group with a penchant for taking your drops before you have the chance to reach them — has taken to calling Joel the attack dog. “And your wife’s the one holdin’ the leash,” Robert joked once. Joel gave you a sideways look, and you just nodded. He broke the fucker’s nose.
You’ve crossed paths with Marlene on more than one occasion since Joel’s encounter with her when Tommy first left. Unfortunately. You instantly didn’t like her, but the feeling seemed to be mutual. Every time she looked at you, you felt like you were walking on eggshells, and your mind always begged the question: did Tommy tell her you’re immune? She’s never come out and said it, never asked or alluded to it, but you can’t shake the feeling, the worry, the anxiety.
The radio info she gave Joel wasn’t bullshit, at least. You gave it a few days, like she said, and then found the frequency, called out to the Minneapolis base. The voice that first answered was one you didn’t recognize, but you asked for Tommy specifically, name-dropped Marlene — who you’d yet to meet, at that point — and a moment later, your brother-in-law’s voice floated through the headset.
“Hey, Liv.”
“You’re alive.”
Tommy chuckled. “Somethin’ like that. Guess you talked to Marlene, huh?”
“Joel did,” you answered. “I haven’t had the pleasure yet.”
“She’s a good person,” Tommy replied, and you stifled the urge to roll your eyes. “Lots of good people out here, too.”
“You know, I’ve never been to Minnesota,” you said, tapping your fingers against the radio table. “But I bet it’s not as nice as Boston.”
“Liv—”
“He wanted to apologize, Tommy,” you spat out, pressing your palm to your forehead. “When we got back from that run, the day before you left. He said he was gonna find you, and he was gonna fix it.”
The radio crackled with silence for a moment before, “Well, it’s a little late for that now, isn’t it?”
“Jesus Christ, Tommy. Can’t you just—”
“I’ll check in, when I can,” he said, ignoring you, cutting you off. “Let you know I’m alive, but I won’t…I won’t talk to Joel, all right? Not yet. I’ll leave messages with Abe, if I can’t get ahold of you, but I just…I don’t wanna talk to Joel. Okay?”
His tone told you there was no negotiating. Defeated, you leaned back in the chair, tugging on the headset cord. “Okay.”
Tommy’s refusal to speak to his brother didn’t exactly help Joel’s mood. In fact, he nearly put his boot through the fucking wall, reached for one of the stashed bottles of whiskey. When you tried to talk about it, all you got was, “Well, I don’t wanna fuckin’ talk to him either.”
Weeks passed, and neither of them would relent. You begged Tommy on multiple occasions, tried to talk Joel into coming with you to Abe’s, but they’re both stubborn asses. Joel even tried to use the same tactic he had before Tommy left Boston — literally fucking you into submission — but you didn’t let him get as far this time. In fact, you threatened to hold out on him completely.
Easier said than done, especially when he had his face in your throat, nipping that spot under your jaw that turned you into putty. “I know all your little places, Liv,” he mumbled into your skin, and you groaned. “I know you what gets you goin’. Always have.”
“So help me, Joel, I will go stay with Tess,” you threw back, and he’d pulled back almost instantly, something between shock and fear in his eyes. Something prickled in your chest, but you pushed past it. “You can’t bury your problems, baby. No matter how good it feels.”
He stared at you for a long moment, eyes searching yours, his lips softly parted. He swallowed so thickly you saw his throat bob, and then he leaned down slow, the tip of his nose just brushing yours. It was a soft kiss, softer than you were expecting, one hand adjusting to cup the back of your head. It wasn’t hungry, but gentle. An I love you pressed against your mouth.
“Tomorrow,” Joel murmured. “I’ll go with you. I’ll talk to him. I’ll try.” Something flashed in his eyes, that streak of Miller stubbornness returning. “But if he won’t talk to me, there’s nothin’ I can do.”
And those fuckers talked for hours.
There was a smug sense of accomplishment that came with watching Joel sitting at that tiny table, the headset pushing his hair in every direction, hunched over the microphone. You busied yourself with your notebook, half listening to their conversation. Joel grabbed you when you wandered close, hauled you into his lap as he said goodbye to his brother.
Once the radio was quiet, he yanked the headset off, dove his hand into your hair, and pulled your mouth down to his. You squeaked in surprise, letting your arms drape around his neck, one hand sneaking down the back of his collar. His palm cupped your jaw, kissing you soundly, and when he pulled back after a moment, his eyes were shining.
“Thank you.”
It’s continued, ever since you got them both to pull their heads out of their asses. Joel still has his days where he’s more mad at Tommy for leaving than anything else, occasions where he grumbles at you to just tell his brother he says hello when you tell him you’re heading for the radio. You make up excuses, tell Tommy that Joel’s working when he doesn’t come with you, and Tommy seems to believe it, for the most part. Your chats are scheduled, Tommy letting you know the next date and time he’ll check in before you say your goodbyes, and he’s stuck to every one since.
Neither you or Joel has asked what he’s doing in Minneapolis, why Marlene sent him, what the Fireflies have planned for Minnesota. You honestly don’t know if you want to know.
Visits to Lincoln have become a staple, and you’re grateful as hell. Twice a month, if you can manage it — most of the time, you visit even if the song that comes through on the radio is sixties (nothing new). You feel restless in the QZ, the imposing walls and the reminders of everything weighing on you more and more with every passing year.
You made a good call, with Frank. He’s exactly what you needed, exactly when you needed a friend like him.
A friend.
That’s what we are. Friends.
You sip your coffee as Frank gets up, heading towards the fridge. You’re perched on the kitchen counter, one boot swinging beneath you, cup resting on your leg. “I definitely told you we were married,” you say, lifting your brow as he opens the fridge, bending to fish something out.
“You definitely did not,” he replies, and as he straightens, your mouth drops open at the big bowl of strawberries in his hands. “I made good use of those seeds we traded for.”
You nearly fall over as he holds it towards you, letting you pick. The fruit is cold between your fingers, and when you sink your teeth into the strawberry, you feel like you could burst into tears. “Oh my god.”
“I know,” Frank replies, and sits back down at the small kitchen table, the strawberries between you. “Eat as many as you like; they’re growing like weeds out back.” His hand smacks against the table. “But I am telling you, Olivia, you never told me you and Joel were married!”
You nearly choke on the berry, wiping juice from the corner of your mouth with your thumb as you swallow it down. “Don’t you full name me,” you say with a laugh, knowing he’s joking. “Not like it was a real wedding or anything. We nearly died.”
Frank balks. “Pardon? No, you definitely never told me this.”
Reaching for another strawberry, you recount the story. Joel proposing, the FEDRA office, the car bombs, the Fireflies. How shaken you were. You can see the understanding on Frank’s face; you’ve told him about your time in Boston before Joel too, what happened on Outbreak Day, the days and weeks and months that followed.
You can feel your voice quaking slightly as you finish the tale, and Frank scoots his chair closer, reaching out and putting a hand on your leg. “I’m sorry, Liv.”
“Don’t be,” you say, staring down into your coffee cup, shaking your head. “We’re both alive.”
“But you never got the dress?” Frank asks, and you try to ignore the pang in your chest. “The first dance?”
“I have the ring,” you say, like it’s a consolation. “I’ve been trying to find one for Joel for forever, but how fucking morbid is that? Wearing some dead guy’s wedding ring? And Joel said the same thing, when he proposed, that it wasn’t the same, no big white dress, and I told him I didn’t care. I don’t care. If things were normal, I would have dragged his ass to Vegas the first chance I got. But…in retrospect, it just would have been nice to have my family there, say vows, something like that. Instead of some FEDRA thug telling me to sign on the dotted line.”
“I get it,” Frank says, squeezing your leg. “It’s okay, you know, to wish it was different. I think we try to push that away, to just accept the world like it is now, but it’s okay to miss the way things were. Tears have crawled up the back of your throat, and there’s a noise from outside, Bill calling Frank’s name. There’s no panic in it, and Frank leans to glance out the window. “I’ll be right back. Have some more coffee.”
You refill your cup, steal another few strawberries. You give it a few minutes, and when Frank doesn’t come back, you slide off the counter, coffee in hand, and wander the house. You’ve seen it a bunch of times, at this point. Frank even tried to teach you piano, and you both laughed until your sides hurt at how awful you were at it.
Your boots seem to move of their own accord, walking down the main hall towards the front door. The walls are lined with picture frames, a few on the tables near the foyer, and your eyes drag over each photo. There are lots of old photos, people you assume to be Bill’s family. Some look as old as the first World War, and you pick up one frame, confirming your suspicions when you see the back of the frame reads 1917.
A photo in the middle of the wall catches your eye. A man and a woman, standing outside a church. They both have stoic smiles on their faces, and the man looks so strikingly similar to Bill that you realize it must be his parents. His mother wears a white dress, a veil in her hair, gloves with little pearls around the wrist. His father wears a dark suit, a carnation flower pinned to his lapel, his hair neatly combed. His mother holds a small bouquet of flowers in her hand, her arm slipped through her new husband’s.
You swallow around the sudden lump in your throat. Fuck, how different things could have been…
What if you had never left Austin? You would have had two whole years of normalcy with Joel, in theory. You could have gotten to know Sarah better, you could have—
You cut the thought off abruptly, but every what if it branches into makes your chest ache. What if you had moved in? What if you had gotten married? What if you’d had a baby, made Sarah a big sister? What if…
The sound of the front door makes you flinch, and you hiss as coffee spills over the edge of your mug, hot liquid on your hand. “Fuck!”
“Oh, shit, hold on, baby,” Joel says, and disappears into the kitchen, reappearing at the other end of the hallway a moment later with a towel. He takes the cup from you, wiping the droplets from it before he’s reaching for your wrist, inspecting your hand. “You okay?”
You nod a little too enthusiastically, chewing at your lip. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
Joel stares at you for a moment, but hands you your coffee. “You about ready to go? Should start headin’ back soon.”
“Yeah, let’s go.”
+
A month later, and the first eighties song plays over the radio. You recognize it instantly; Every Little Thing She Does is Magic. Joel grabs the book Frank had supplied, confirms it’s 1981, and your heart drops into your toes.
“Joel, we have to go,” you say, your heart leaping into your throat, instantly looking around the apartment. Where’s your bag, where’s your bat, where’s—
Someone knocks at the door, and you sigh with relief when you see Tess on the other side. “Oh, thank god. We have to go.”
She squints at you. “What?”
You throw your hand in the direction of the radio, still playing The Police. “Eighties. Trouble.”
“Fuck,” she grits, and you just nod.
The entire trip has you on edge. Every time you have to stop for a moment, or hear the warning scream of an Infected, your toes are curling in your boots, fingers tapping against the handle of the bat. You’re terrified to think what you might find in Lincoln.
Joel keeps close to your side, his hand resting at the top of your spine as you walk. “It’ll be okay, baby,” he tells you, and you want to believe him, you really do, but the world hasn’t given you much reason to hope for the best.
When you take that final turn and Lincoln comes into view, you hold your breath. Everything looks the same, nothing’s on fire, you don’t see anybody bleeding in the street. As you approach the gate, your stomach is in knots.
And then Frank appears at end of the sidewalk, beaming at you as you approach, and you’re officially confused. “You’re here!” he calls, arms spread wide as he reaches the gate, punches in the code, letting the three of you inside. Tess closes the gate behind her once you’re all through, and just as you’re about to ask what the fuck is going on, Joel grabs your face, giving you a soft kiss before he’s disappearing, following Tess in the direction of the wine shop.
Frank gives you an innocent smile. “Do you trust me?”
“I did,” you say, your heart still stuttering as he puts his arm around your shoulders and starts to lead you away from the gate. “You played eighties! I thought something awful happened, you fuck!”
He laughs. “A cruel trick, I know,” he says, clucking his tongue. “But it’ll be worth it, I promise.”
“What are you—”
“Close your eyes.”
“Wha—”
“Just do it, Liv.”
With a heavy sigh, you just shake your head, lifting your hands and covering your eyes with them. “Joel and Tess are in on this too?”
“They are,” Frank answers, both hands gripping your shoulders, steering you in the direction he wants you to go. “It’s a good surprise, I swear to you. Just trust me.”
“You ever play eighties again, Frank, I will keep my ass in Boston.”
“Sure, you will.”
You huff, half-heartedly angry, but let him continue to lead you. You’re instantly turned around, no idea where Frank is leading you, and it’s not until you come to a stop and he releases you, tells you to open your eyes, and you see you’re standing in front of the clothing boutique.
“Inside!” Frank declares, yanking open the door. “Let’s go!”
He pulls the door shut as soon as you’re inside, the tinkling bells overhead ringing and echoing through the shop. You slide your hands into the back pockets of your jeans, looking around. “You really not gonna tell me what’s going on?” you ask as Frank brushes past you, heading towards the back of the boutique.
“Where’s the fun in that? C’mon!”
You’re less and less annoyed with every step. Frank tends to have that effect, and even though you’re still reeling from every awful thought you’d had on the trek from Boston to Lincoln, the smile he gives you as he comes to a stop in front of one of the mirrors at the back earns your forgiveness. There’s something in front of the mirror, what you assume to be a mannequin, draped with a dark sheet.
“I don’t think I’ve ever told you this,” he says, letting his hand skim over the fabric, “but my mother was a seamstress. She taught me a thing or two, and it’s surprisingly come in handy now, fixing Bill’s favourite shirts and what have you.” Your brow pinches with confusion, but Frank keeps talking. “And I know you’re mad, that we rang the alarm when there wasn’t a need, but I mean it, you just have to trust me, and this will be amazing.”
With a flourish, he pulls the sheet away, and your jaw drops.
It’s a dress. A white dress, made of silky-looking material. Floor-length, short sleeves, and flowers embroidered into the fabric everywhere you look. Pearly buttons line the side, and you can see it’s more like a satin slip underneath with the more filmy overlay that’s embroidered.
It’s a dress.
A wedding dress.
You clap your hand over your mouth, tears instantly filling your eyes. Is this…? What…?
“Joel?” is all you manage to squeak out, and Frank just nods.
“It was mostly his idea,” Frank admits with a shrug. You take a step closer to the dress, almost scared to touch it, worried there’s dirt or something on your hands that will stain the fabric. “When you were here about a month ago, he brought it up to Bill. He agreed, and I helped with the finer details.”
“Details?”
“The dress,” he says, jutting his chin towards the mannequin, “and a few other things. This is only the first part, Liv.”
The tears are in full force now, and Frank makes a little noise, coming to stand beside you, putting his arm around your shoulders. You drop your head against his shoulder and he lays his on top of yours. “You made this?” you ask, your voice quiet, swiping at the tears under your lashes before pointing to the dress. It’s literally so beautiful you could cry. You are crying.
“Hah, not exactly,” Frank replies, rubbing your shoulder. “I found it in the back of the shop. If I tried to make it myself, it’d probably end up looking more like Frankenstein’s monster than a wedding dress. But, put it on, we’ll see how it fits, and if you need any alterations, I’m your man.”
You feel like you’re in a dream, as he carefully pulls the dress off the mannequin. You take it with careful hands, heading for one of the dressing rooms and closing the door behind you. Laying the dress gently on the bench inside, you toe off your boots, shimmy out of your jeans, unbutton your shirt. Then you pause, frozen in place, staring at the dress.
It’s been more than a few minutes, you realize after a moment, and Frank calls your name. “You okay? Need any help?”
“I’m good,” you call back. In truth, you’re staring at yourself in the mirror. More specifically, the scar on your side. The bite. Frank calls your name again, and you cover it with your hand, pulse thumping through the mark. “I just need a sec.”
“Okay,” he replies, clearly unconvinced, but then the thought crosses your mind that if he tries to help, he’ll see the scar, and everything they’ve planned will go to shit.
Clearing your throat, you reach for the dress.
It fits like a fucking glove.
Almost sheepishly, you step out of the dressing room, and Frank gasps when you do, a giddy laugh reaching your ears as you feel them go hot. “Liv, you look beautiful.” He reaches for your hand. “I mean, you are beautiful, but oh, it’s perfect.” Before you can say anything, he all but pushes you back into the dressing room. “Change back, we have to go back to the house to get you ready.”
An hour later, and you’re standing in the spare bedroom of the house. The dress is laid out on the bed, your hair is freshly washed, and you feel so clean you almost want a nap. Frank had left some lavender-scented soap in the shower, and you can’t stop smelling your skin.
A knock at the door almost makes you flinch, and you call that it’s open. Tess steps through a moment later, and your breath catches at her dark red dress, her hair tucked behind her ear, a flower pinned with it. You both just start to giggle as she walks over to where you’re standing in front of the mirror. She stops behind you, her hands coming to rest on your shoulders, and you cover one with your own.
“Are you mad?”
“Mad?” you scoff, still laughing. “I should be, but I’m not.” You chew at your lip. “We’re having a wedding?”
She meets your eyes in the mirror, leaning her head against yours. “You’re having a wedding.”
It feels almost like you expect it would have, if the outbreak had never happened. Getting ready, laughing with one of your best friends. There’s no curling iron, but Tess puts little braids in your hair, flowers like the one behind her ear forming a crown on top of your hair. She gives you a tube of mascara and a lipstick, jokes with you that they’re probably well expired, but they’ll do the trick. “What’s life without a little risk?”
Frank appears at some point — looking well-put together in a dress shirt and jacket, his hair neatly combed — and offers you a little bouquet of daisies from the garden. Tess jokes that you should carry the bat instead, and you all laugh.
And then you’re ready.
“We’ll be waiting out back,” Frank says, and both he and Tess peck your cheeks before they’re gone.
It’s time.
You give yourself a few minutes, wait until you can’t hear your friends’ voices anymore, until it’s just you in the house. You go to walk out of the bedroom, you really do, but you find you can’t do it. You sink onto the edge of the bed, curling your hands into the fabric of the bedspread, forcing yourself not to cry.
It almost feels like you thought it would have, but there’s a glaring difference.
You only ever let yourself imagine this once, with Joel. After you left Austin, when you were back visiting for the Fourth of July. You let yourself think about what would happen, if you never went back to Boston. You let your fantasies run a little wild.
Anna would have been your maid of honour, Sarah would have been the flower girl. Your mother would have cried and your dad would have walked you down the aisle. You would have said your vows in the same church your grandparents had been married in.
You don’t know what’s waiting for you outside, and you have no doubt it’s wonderful and beautiful and far more than you deserve.
But…Anna. Sarah. Your parents.
You hear the door creak open downstairs, hear someone’s feet on the stairs. You’re expecting Frank, maybe even Joel.
You’re not expecting Bill. Same as Frank, he’s combed his hair, tucked it behind his ears, and while he doesn’t have a jacket, his button-up is tucked into his pants. “Olivia?”
He’s the only one who’s exclusively called you by your full name since…well, since your dad. With him, it was either honey or Olivia, no in-between. And while you’re pretty sure Bill didn’t say your name once on your first visit to Lincoln, he’s greeted you with a curt mumble of your name each time since.
“I’m coming,” you say, starting to get up, fanning your wet eyes. “I just needed a second.”
Bill pauses in the doorway, staring at you. “It’s okay, you know, if you need another one.”
You sink back down, feeling your chest go tight. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize,” Bill tells you, and slowly, he steps into the room, walking towards the bed and sinking down beside you. “Today is about you, after all.”
You swipe at your cheek. “I’m surprised you agreed to this,” you say, and Bill lets out a little chuckle. “Not the best resource management.”
“Y’know, you say something to Frank once and he never lets you forget it,” he grumbles, shaking his head, but there’s a rare smile on his face. “It was Joel’s idea, I’m sure Frank told you.” You nod. “And I…I’ve had a soft spot for you, Olivia, since you two first showed up here. And it took me a while, but I realized, it’s because you remind me of Frank, in a way. You’re both…” He squints, waving his hand in the air.
“Feisty?”
“Feisty,” he agrees, “and headstrong, and loyal. And while I might not like him very much, I know Joel’s done right by you. He’s a good man, and he loves you, so when he asked for my help with this, I said yes.”
Your breath shakes a little as you sigh, leaning over until your head is resting on Bill’s shoulder. “Thank you.”
“You haven’t even seen it yet.”
“I know, but I’m still grateful. I never could have imagined…” You trail off, feeling the tears crawling back up again, and Bill puts his arm around your shoulders slowly. “I just, I always thought that when I got married, my family would be there, that my dad would walk me down the aisle, and I just…” You shake your head, holding your breath and trying to force the tears down.
“I know it’s not much of a consolation,” Bill says quietly, and slowly gets up, offering you his hand, “but I’d be honoured to walk you down.”
+
It’s not what Joel had envisioned, when the idea had first come to him. At this point, he can’t even quite remember what he had pictured, because whatever it was, the end result is better.
It’s late in the day. You’d left Boston late morning, arrived mid-afternoon, and while Tess had hurried Joel through a shower and getting dressed, leading him the back way out of the house while you came in the front, everyone careful not to let you see each other, the sun is starting to set. But it’s perfect, golden light covering the grass, sunbeams filtering through the trees. He can hear birds, and as he stands there, fidgeting with his hands clasped in front of him, he’s struck by how truly grateful he is, how he never could have imagined any of this.
Whatever thoughts had once crossed his mind, this is better.
He had the idea the last time you were in Lincoln. Bill had called Frank outside to ask something about their stockpile in the bunker, which Frank had rolled his eyes at, and Joel had expected you to follow Frank out, but when you didn’t, he asked.
“She’s inside, enjoying her coffee,” Frank had replied with a little smile, waving his hand toward the house. “There’s extra; I’ll send you two back with a thermos full.”
Joel had waited for Bill’s protest, but it never came, and Joel just grumbled his thanks.
“Liv was just telling me about your wedding day,” Frank said, and Joel’s ears perked up. “Leave it to FEDRA to make something beautiful so impersonal.”
“Yeah,” Joel agreed, staring down at his boots. “It’s not the day I woulda given her, if I had the chance.”
And there it was, the first spark of something. He couldn’t give you the wedding you’d probably dreamed of as a little girl, but maybe he could give you something else.
“Say, could I ask y’all a favour?”
Frank was overjoyed at the thought, and Joel again waited for Bill’s protest, but again it never came. Frank promised to look after the details, Bill agreed to build something in the backyard to hold the ceremony, and the plan was hatched.
Joel had felt guilty when the radio started playing. The song had been his idea, and he’d done his best to feign surprise when the song came on. You were too busy worrying to really notice, thankfully, and he knows he’s sure to get an earful at some point or another.
It’s small, obviously, but it’s perfect. Between two tall oaks in the backyard of the main house, Bill constructed a wooden archway, a lattice pattern filling the gaps, and long vines of ivy twisted through. It’s painted white, matched to the few chairs set in front. There are flowers in matching vases either side of the arch, and there are stones that line the path from the house up to the arch, a makeshift aisle.
Tess stands in the middle of the archway, a few pieces of paper in her hands. She looks great, Joel’s told her as much, and she just laughed and thanked him and said, “Just wait til’ you see her.” Frank sits in one of the chairs, one beside him for Bill, another two set on the other side, one for Tess. He’d asked her if she wanted to bring Robin along, but her reluctance to involve her girlfriend in the more dangerous parts of your lives overshadowed her want to have her there.
Joel sees the back door of the house swing open, and Bill steps out first. He extends his hand back inside, and you reach out to take it, lifting the skirt of your dress as you take the two steps down onto the grass. Joel can’t help but chuckle when he sees you’re barefoot, but then his eyes move up your pretty white dress, the flowers in your hair, the giddy smile on your face, and he thinks he might topple over on the spot. He tugs at his tie — yeah, he’s wearing a fucking tie — and Tess must catch his slight sniffle as tears spring in his eyes, because she nudges his arm. “Told ya.”
Frank reaches beneath his chair, producing a small radio with a cassette player. You turn towards them all fully, and Joel can see the shock in your face just as Frank hits play. Bill offers you his arm just as the first chords start to play, and you’re smiling so big it makes Joel’s face ache just looking at you. He wants to kiss that grin, has to stop himself from running full tilt at you and doing it right then and there.
He sees the recognition in your face as you start to walk towards him, your hand tucked into the crook of Bill’s elbow.
If the sun refused to shine, I would still be lovin’ you.
Led Zeppelin. The same tape you once bought him for his truck back in Austin, the same one you played the night the two of you became the two of you once more.
When the mountains crumble to the sea, there will still be you and me.
He can’t take his eyes off you, as you get closer and closer. He’s committing every inch of you to memory, for the millionth time. He’s torn between wanting to rip that dress right off of you and wanting to keep you in it for the rest of your life. He’s so fucking in love with you, he can’t believe he has you, that he found you after so many years, that he’s managed to keep you still.
You reach the end of the aisle, maybe three feet from him, and Bill stops you, turns you toward him. He leans in and pecks your cheek, and then turns to Joel, shakes his hand. Joel takes a step forward and Bill places your hand in Joel’s, giving him a nod.
Kind a woman, I give you my all, kind a woman, nothin’ more.
You arrange yourselves in front of the arch, and you turn to hand your little bouquet of daisies to Frank before taking both of Joel’s hands, squeezing your warm fingers around his. “Holy shit.”
Everybody laughs, the song fades out, and Tess clears her throat.
“Well, this is about as close as we can get to traditional, I guess. It’s fitting, I think.”
Joel’s listening, he swears he is. He can hear every word Tess says, every chuckle from Frank and even Bill, every hitch in your breathing. He can hear the birds in the trees and the thump of his own heart. But he’s focused on you, the little twitch of your hands in his, the way you’re smiling at him.
God, he wishes Sarah were here. Her memory still carries a slice of pain — he knows it always will — and though it aches, all he can think of is how well the two of you would have got on. He can still remember your first accidental meeting so clearly, and the times that followed. His daughter was too smart not to see through your “I’m a good friend of your dad’s” introduction, and even after you left for Boston, she had asked after you more than once.
“I like her,” she’d said once, casually, over breakfast, like they were discussing the weather. “She makes you all…shiny.”
“Shiny?”
“Yeah,” she’d continued, poking at her eggs. “All bright and stuff. It’s a good thing.”
“Whatever you say, kiddo.”
And somehow, here you are again, making him feel all bright and shiny, even after the world ends.
“Joel?” Tess prompts, and Joel snaps out of his memory, Tess handing him a piece of paper. “You wanna go first?”
“Oh,” he grumbles, taking the paper from her, reluctantly letting go of your hands so he can see the words he’s written on the page. “Yeah.”
Your brow furrows slightly as he clears his throat, your jaw dropping slightly. “You jackass, you wrote something?”
Joel feels his cheeks go hot. “I did.”
You’re shaking your head, but you’re beaming. “You’re so lucky I love you.”
“Luckiest man on earth,” he agrees. Then he remembers the paper in his hands. “Now, let me read it to you.”
“Okay,” you say softly, your voice laced with your smile. “I’m listening.”
+
Ten years ago, on this exact day, I walked into a hardware store. I was just lookin’ for a drill bit, stopped in on my way to a job on the other side of Austin. Never in a million years did I think I’d walk down the paint aisle and find you standing there, the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, smilin’ at me like I’d won the damn lottery.
Didn’t know back then that I’d fall in love with you so hard. Didn’t know you’d break my heart and mend it all in one shot, that I’d lose you before I really had the chance to love you properly. Then I lost everything, we all did, and I just…
It wasn’t easy. It’s still not easy. I was a jackass, when I first found you again, and I know I haven’t been perfect since, but, goddamnit, Liv, I’ll never love another woman the way I’ve loved you. Not in a million years. Not until my heart stops beatin’, and maybe even after that.
I’m a lucky son of a bitch, being able to love you the way I do. Luckier still that you agreed to marry me. I know I’m not the easiest sometimes, I know none of this is, but I swear to always love you, protect you, with everything I have left. Forever.
+
You’ve been crying since you saw him standing beneath the arch. You’d given up on wiping the tears when Tess started talking, and then when Joel pulled out his vows, it was even worse, but you didn’t care.
He folds up the piece of paper, stuffs it in his pocket, and you have to hold back from launching yourself at him. Joel takes your hands again, rubbing his thumbs across your knuckles, and you take a deep breath. “So that’s why you played eighties,” you say, shooting Frank a look. He’s crying too. “Ten years ago, today?”
Joel nods, lifts your hands to his lips, dots kisses across your fingers. “To the day.”
You take another deep breath. “Well, I would have written something, if I’d known, but all I really want to say right now is that I love you, Joel Miller. You’re right, it’s not easy, but standing by your side, it makes it easier, makes it worth it. I’m the lucky one, to have found you even after all of this, and no matter what comes our way, I got you, baby. Forever.”
+
It’s a sweet kiss. It’s an I love you brushed across his mouth. It’s hands in his hair and your body pressed against his. He tries his best not to mess with the fabric of your dress too much, the material soft as anything against his palms. Faintly, he can hear Tess and Bill and Frank cheering, somebody whistling, and the birds are still singing.
It’s perfect.
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#my fics#strawberry wine#joel miller#joel miller fic#joel miller x you#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller fluff#joel miller angst#the last of uis#the last of us fic#the last of us spoilers#joel miller x oc#joel miller x liv stone
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Unrequited (Yandere! Ticci Toby x Reader)
Second Chapter is here: Part 2
The Other Chapters: Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9
Author’s Note: This is literally the first thing I’ve written in over 7 years? Possibly longer than 7? I don’t know. The point is, it’s been a long ass time so don’t judge too hard on my writing skills. I’m so out of practice lol.
I just had Toby on the brain and wrote this on a whim. I don’t know if it��s a one-shot or if I’ll write multiple parts. I guess I’ll figure it out later.
I first got into the fandom back in 2013 and kind of watched the fandom die and then come back again in recent years. And now I’m back in my creepypasta phase and I’m writing fanfiction. Whatever, cringe culture is dead. Here’s my writing I guess.
Cross-posted on my Ao3 account, which I update more frequently.
Warnings: Swearing. Some mentions of murder in passing I guess? The reader likes watching horror movies idk. Written in Toby’s perspective. (2,385 words).
******************
He honestly didn’t think it would go this far.
It started off as an innocent glance towards your face. Sure, Toby has seen plenty of people over the years he was attracted to, he was a person made of flesh and blood after all. He tried not to act on these needs though, and if he did, he would at least try to find others in his “line of work” who wouldn’t pry too much into his personal life and wouldn’t judge him (or run screaming) when they got to know him.
But you were different. You weren’t a killer or some kind of monster. You were just a person. A good-looking one, but a person, nonetheless. You were in no way a part of his world and for this reason, were out of Toby’s reach.
However, despite these complications Toby couldn’t bring himself to stay away. The rush he felt every time you so much as entered a mile radius of him was too much for him to handle. He was addicted to the euphoric feeling, the way his body burned and ached to touch yours, how his heartbeat pounded like a drum, and his breathing became heavy with desire. Even his tics would become more noticeable, his muscle spasms and cracking bones gaining the attention of anyone who happened to be around him. Usually it would bother him, even give him a reason to return to whatever shitty rundown place he was calling “home” that week. But he had become accustomed to the cold, monotonous, and unforgiving world that surrounded being a proxy. And he wanted that to change. He wanted you. From the first moment you two had met.
And he could still remember every detail of that day.
*****************
Toby had been out on a supply run at a gas station close to the proxy’s current base. He’d been looking in the chip aisle when the unmistakable sound of a bell chiming alerted the employee behind the register of a new customer.
Toby’s tired eyes briefly shot up to see who had entered. He was met with a cute little thing absolutely drenched from the rain, slightly out of breath from trying to find a dry place as quickly as possible.
Unfortunately for you, it didn’t matter how fast you had run, your clothes were already soaked. And fortunately for Toby, you’d decided on wearing a simple white t-shirt that day. It clung to your skin and was practically see through now. You were fumbling with the hem of your shirt trying to get it to stop sticking, trying to shrink yourself down to not catch any unwanted attention. But it was too late, Toby was already focused on you.
Watching you nervously look around for something, his dark eyes followed your every movement as you started to walk in his direction.
Wait, why were you walking towards him? Your eyes were definitely looking his way.
Were you going to talk to him? He felt his heart rate speed up as his mind starting reeling at the possibilities. What if you hit on him? He couldn’t remember the last time a pretty girl spoke to him. Or even gave him the time of day. When was the last time he even showered? Shit. He’d covered up the gash on the side of his face, right?
“Uh, excuse me?”
He was snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of your voice.
Toby blinked. “Y-yeah?” Fuck. His stutter. He tried to compose himself, his face involuntary grimacing and his body twitching despite his efforts. God he can only imagine what you were thinking right now.
“Could you please move so I can grab some (favorite snack)?” You were clearly trying your best to maintain a friendly smile. He could tell you were uncomfortable; he’d been staring far too long. Had you caught him looking at your…? Shit, he hoped you hadn’t noticed. Even though he hadn’t exactly been very subtle.
You cocked an eyebrow. “Or… I could grab a different snack… I guess?” You let out a nervous chuckle, attempting to lighten the mood, getting ready to retreat from the strange guy in front of you.
“No! That’s nuh-not necessary… luh-let me just…” He grabbed one of the bags containing your desired snack, and with a hand getting sweatier by the minute offered it to you.
“Here yuh-you go” He twitched, the corners of his mouth struggling to make any kind of face that would make him appear normal.
Your hand reached out to grab the food, fingers lightly grazing his own.
His whole body shivered with delight at the contact.
You muttered out a “Thank you” and quickly turned on your heels to scurry away towards the register.
You had picked out a (favorite color) umbrella from a bin and set your items on the counter to be scanned.
The cashier was looking you over, with just about the same amount of subtly as Toby. He was about Toby’s age, early to mid-20s, with messy blonde hair, light green eyes and a dusting of freckles across his face. The guy was good-looking, Toby had noted bitterly, and he continued to watch the two of you interact from afar, with an ever-increasing amount of jealousy.
“Did you find everything you were looking for?” The guy asked. There was a slight playfulness in his tone that you clearly picked up on.
“Uh… yeah? I mean yes.” You began stumbling over your words. “I did… I guess.”
Toby kept listening, still pretending to be invested in deciding what food to buy, all while smiling to himself. You may have understood the cashier was interested in you, but boy were you bad at dealing with it.
“Glad to hear it. And are you part of our rewards program….?” He trailed off expectantly. The cashier wanted to know your name, Toby realized, and he wanted to know too.
“(Y/N).” You replied hastily. “And no, I’m not.”
(Y/N). Toby repeated in his head. It suited you.
The cashier lifted his eyebrows and flashed a wide toothy grin. “That’s a pretty name.”
“Thanks, my mom gave it to me.” You blurted out. It was an awkward attempt to flirt back, failing to match the man’s laidback approach to flirting. Luckily for you, the guy didn’t seem to care, laughing at your small quip in spite of the poor delivery. And to Toby, your embarrassing display just made you more charming in his eyes.
He watched as your items were scanned and placed in a plastic bag. As soon as you finished paying you had grabbed your things while stuffing your wallet back in your pocket, obviously eager to leave so you wouldn’t humiliate yourself any further.
Rushing towards the door, the guy called out to you, “Have a nice day!”
Without thinking you answered, “No thank you!” And stopped, still facing the door, blinking at what you just said.
Eyes wide, you ran out the door and Toby watched your retreating form disappear into the rain.
You had even forgot to use the umbrella you just bought.
*******************
Afterwards, he kept replaying in his head that scene of you scrambling to leave the store after fucking up your conversation with the cashier. Toby had to stifle his laughter after he had witnessed it. It definitely brightened his day, something that pretty much never happens.
He wondered if it would be easy for him to get you that flustered, to be the cause of such a cute reaction instead of that jackass guy. To tease you and flirt with you. Were you always so nervous or was what he saw just a one-time thing, maybe you had just been caught off guard? Toby wanted to find out more about you, see if you could be the source of any more entertainment.
Plus, it definitely helped that he found you easy on the eyes. He could always just admire you from afar if you weren’t doing anything particularly interesting that day.
At least that’s what he had told himself at first. A crush that’s all it was, you were just his type. If his life hadn’t turned out the way it did, he probably would’ve ended up with someone like you. But that wasn’t possible now, he would just have to settle for following you around (stalking) for a couple more days, and then he’d get these feelings out of his system. Get bored.
And he kept thinking that. A couple more days, until he gets bored.
Of course, it never ended up being just a couple more days.
By now he knew almost everything about you. At first, he followed you home so he would know where you lived and could find you easily. Then he moved on to figuring out what your basic daily schedule looked like. Nothing too complicated for someone like him. It was standard procedure when a proxy was assigned a specific target.
However, at this point he knew everything from your favorite color to your bra size.
You were anything but another victim for him to eventually hack to death.
His initial assumptions were that you’d be an intensely anxious person, from what he’d gathered from his first impression he got at the convenience store. Although that wasn’t the case. You had a much more layered personality and Toby was dying peel it back like skin to see all the tendons and viscera underneath.
Sure, you were sometimes awkward, mostly when you were put into a social situation you were not expecting or prepared for. Which admittedly, happened more often for you than the average person. You were just more on the introverted side, not necessarily shy or timid.
He’s seen you hang out with a couple close friends, and with them you acted more natural. You definitely liked to be the funny one of the group, always quick with a joke or sarcastic remark.
At one point while catching up with a friend of yours, they had asked you if “you were seeing anybody” And without skipping a beat you responded with, “As in dating or hallucinations?” Before eventually informing your friend that you were not, in fact, in any kind of relationship (much to Toby’s relief).
You had lots of interests that fascinated him. His favorite by far being your love of horror. Watching you and your friends sit down to watch a scary movie at your place, seeing how you jokingly cheer on the killer while your friend playfully rolls their eyes. And how your face lights up with fascination when a scene shows a particularly gruesome amount of gore. It almost makes him feel like you and him have something in common. But he knows liking horror movies was a far cry from being able to stomach what he does on a regular basis.
But what was with your hesitation whenever your friends brought up your family? You said they were doing fine, but clearly you were hiding something. Did you have a difficult home life? If that was the case, you and him definitely had something in common. He’d have to find out more about that eventually. But with how guarded you tended to be, even with close friends, he doubted it’d be easy information to obtain. He’d have to get closer to you.
And eventually he did. Not by outright revealing himself to you. Although the thought had crossed his mind. Romantic scenarios of him ‘accidentally’ bumping into you in the street, maybe dropping a copy of a book or movie you like, and you’d excitedly tell him it was your favorite one. What a coincidence it’s his favorite as well. But no, he wasn’t ready for that yet.
Instead, he started to sneak (break) into your home while you were gone or when he was sure you were fast asleep. The smell of you on your bedsheets when you were away was enough to make his head swim. Using your stuff, like your shower and toothbrush made him feel like he was almost your live-in boyfriend. He’d also started to take small items he thinks you wouldn’t notice go missing (maybe a few pairs of underwear). Anything that reminded him of you. Unfortunately, he did look to see if you kept a journal or diary somewhere, something that could give him an idea of what really went on in that head of yours, but came up empty.
You had a laptop, one you used religiously and was often the cause of you staying up so damn late every night (like he’s one to talk), but you had a password on it, and he wasn’t about to ask BEN for any favors.
But this unrequited love (obsession) of his was going to have change soon.
You weren’t dumb, that much Toby knew, you were beginning to notice things. You were very observant, almost to a point of paranoia, an aspect about you Toby found rather challenging. He wondered where that came from, something to do with your past maybe?
He could tell you were suspecting someone was watching you and tampering with your possessions. You started to close the blinds on your windows, double check to see if everything was locked before you left during the day. He even saw you set up little traps around your home. Using thin, almost translucent wire you had taped them across different cabinets and doors in your home while you were away, checking to see if any had been moved or broken when you returned. A trick you had picked up from one those scary movies you enjoyed so much. And if Toby hadn’t seen you do it, he probably wouldn’t have even noticed the almost invisible strings. God you were smart.
And that was the problem.
He couldn’t stop, that much was for sure. He needed you now. Needed that feeling he got when he saw you, it was like he had gained a dependency on it and he wasn’t about to quit cold turkey.
You were going to have to see him again. This time for real. No awkward stuttering. No running away before he got a chance to introduce himself.
He had decided he was going to become a part of your life now.
Permanently.
#creepypasta#ticci toby#toby rogers#ticci toby x reader#x reader#yandere#toby rogers x reader#proxies#yandere creepypasta#yandere ticci toby#fanfiction#yandere creepypasta x reader#my writing
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as long as you stay here [14] ♥ kyle broflovski
pairing : kyle broflovski x reader
college AU - 18+
tags : strangers to friends to lovers, slow burn, fluff, angst, alcohol, afab reader, she/her pronouns, eventual smut
words : 2.2k
chapter 14
previous | next | alaysh masterlist
a/n - hot lord okay this is the last pre-written chapter... from here on out I will be writing and posting with nothing saved as backup which is terrifying to me 😭
I hope to keep updates as regular as possible, just won't be able to keep up the every day streak I had going 💕
“Are you sure you’re okay with being here?” Y/N asked for what was probably the 17th time in the 10 minutes they had been sitting outside of her mother’s house in Kyle’s car, waiting for the strength to go in. Sheila had sent them off with snacks for the trip and left Y/N with the contact details for everyone in the Broflovski family and added her to a new family group chat. She was officially inducted as one of them. It was bittersweet to have to leave them to see her real mother.
“I’m okay… are you?” Kyle sighed, looking over as Y/N sat there, staring ahead with a distant look. “Do you want me to do the talking?” He offered.
“No, I need to do this myself…” She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and straightened her back. “Come on, before I chicken out again.”
As they walked to the front door, Y/N grabbed Kyle’s hand, holding it tight. He squeezed hers back quickly to try and encourage her further as she hesitantly rang the doorbell. They waited for what felt like forever, but finally, the door swung open to reveal a woman with her hair messily tied back and a scowl that, judging by the lines on her face, was a permanently etched feature.
“Mother,” It was only one word, but Kyle had never heard Y/N’s voice in such a dull and emotionless tone. Her words were usually full of warmth, but this was cold and sent a chill down his spine. It was as though she had flipped a switch inside her that turned off her personality.
“Took you long enough,” The woman had a slightly southern drawl as she spoke. Kyle couldn’t quite place down where it originated from. She didn’t say anything else as she stepped aside and lazily waved her arm to usher them in.
“I’m collecting Henry’s shit for him,” Y/N announced as she walked through the crowded hall full of cardboard moving boxes. “I assume it’s all still in our room?”
“Ain’t touched a thing,” Y/N’s mother waved her arm. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Don’t talk to me.” She walked off, and Kyle’s eyes followed her, burning with rage. How could a parent talk to their child in such a way?
As he followed Y/N around a corner, his eyes caught a display case at the end of the hallway. It was full to the brim of trophies and ribbons. The walls were littered with pictures of a young girl dressed in glittery outfits and far too much makeup for someone so young. Despite all of that, he recognised her eyes. The little girl was Y/N.
“You won all of these?” His mouth was slightly agape as he tried to read some of the engravings on the trophies. “Bean Queen 2013?”
“Bean Queen 2011 and 2012, too,” She corrected, pointing at the adjacent trophies. “Henry still calls me that. Used to have to sit on a float in a parade surrounded by green beans while singing a song about a bountiful harvest. It was humiliating.”
“Are we packing up all of these?” He asked, gesturing at the awards and pictures.
“God no,” Y/N scoffed, shaking her head. “They may have my name on them, but they’re not mine. They’re all her’s.” He understood the implications immediately. She didn’t want them. She never wanted them. She only won them for her mom. “Let’s see what state this shithole is in.”
Y/N pushed open a door at the end of the hall. A room with a divider in the form of a curtain splitting it in two came into view. One half was covered in pink; the other was a dark grey. It was quite a stark contrast.
“It’s a four-bedroom house, but she turned one bedroom into a dance studio, one into a home gym, and kept one for herself, so Henry and I had to share a room,” She explained as Kyle looked around. “We’ll get Henry’s stuff over and done with first. That way, I can only pack what I really need of mine, depending on what fits.”
“We’re not leaving behind things if they don’t fit in the car,” Kyle immediately refused. “We’ll make two trips if we need to.”
“I have to consider what will fit in my apartment, though. You’ve seen the space I have,” She sighed, grabbing a box from Henry’s side of the room. His stuff was mostly packed up from when he had last been at home. She just needed to make sure the bits that Henry had highlighted as important were definitely there. “I mean, you’ve seen it, I can barely fit what I already have in my room as it is, and I have no idea when he’ll stop by and collect his stuff. I’ll probably have it for years, knowing him. Asshole never visits me. Why am I even helping him?” Despite her complaints, she didn’t stop.
“What about Wendy’s old room?” Kyle suggested. “It’s mostly empty, right?”
“Bebe has been talking about getting another roommate, one of her friends from class,” She held up some hockey boots, smiling briefly at them and putting them back in the box. “Really, we could do with the extra money for rent. Even with Clyde, we’re struggling. It would be nice to actually fix the stove and cook a proper meal again.” Kyle sat down next to her, opening another box to check the list of items Y/N had placed on the floor for reference.
“My room at home is unused,” He pointed out. “You saw it. My parents hadn’t touched it since I left. We can store things there.”
“I can’t just ask you-” She tried to protest, but he cut her off.
“We’ll figure this out,” He told her firmly. “I promise.”
“That’s everything of Henry’s,” Y/N groaned, stretching as the final box of Henry’s was jammed into Kyle’s trunk. The back seats were reserved for Y/N’s things, which were next on the list. However, it was 9pm, and they were exhausted and hungry. “I doubt she’s prepared food for us, and I don’t really want to talk to her… Wanna go to my old favourite takeout spot?”
“Sounds good!” Kyle nodded with a smile, happy that he would be able to get another little glimpse into Y/N’s life before he met her. “Should I start the car?”
“It’s only a 5-minute walk,” She shrugged. “I never hung out anywhere that I couldn’t walk to within 15 minutes because everyone who could drive was always too drunk to.”
“Lead the way,” He was slightly shocked when she looped her arm with his and started walking together. “What takeout is it?”
“You’ll have to bare with me because it sounds strange,” She laughed a little as she spoke. “It’s soup in a cup. They give you this giant cup bowl thing if you’re eating in, and it's just a big papery-plastic cup for takeout, but it is so good. They have bread that they bake themselves too, and it is just… pure perfection. Real comfort food.”
They walked and discussed the various options for five minutes until Y/N finally stopped in front of a small restaurant called ‘Coup de Soup’ where the U’s looked like little cups with steam coming out of them. Looking through the window, Kyle could see that there were a couple of small tables. Two of them were taken, but there was a free one where they could sit.
“No fucking way!” Y/N gasped, dragging Kyle through the door before he could process what was happening. “Who left you in charge of this place?” She spoke to the person working behind the counter, whose eyes widened in realisation.
“Well, look at what the cat dragged in!” They hopped over the counter. Y/N let go of Kyle’s arm as she was wrapped in a hug. “God, I missed you! What brings you back to town?... And who is your friend?”
“Mom bullshit,” Y/N didn’t elaborate more, but based on the expression on the other person’s face, they understood perfectly well. “Leaf, this is my friend Kyle! Kyle, this is Leaf, my best friend from high school.”
“Demoted to a best friend?” Leaf held a hand to their chest in mock hurt. “That’s rough.”
“We were technically only friends,” Y/N pointed out, sitting down at the spare table and motioning for Kyle to sit opposite as he watched the interaction. “Beneficial friends, but still just friends.” He tried desperately to suppress the jealousy that bubbled up in his chest. Y/N wasn’t his to be jealous over. Whoever she had or still did interact with on an intimate level was none of his business.
“So Kyle, are you a ‘beneficial friend’, as Y/N put it?” Leaf leaned on the table with a grin, looking at him. Their green hair barely poked out of the beanie they were wearing, which Kyle considered an odd choice with the rest of their uniform but didn’t care enough to point out.
“Just… regular friend,” Kyle mumbled, feeling more than a little awkward. He hoped his cheeks hadn’t turned pink, but he felt a little hotter than usual under the questioning.
“Kyle is the one I told you about,” Y/N added. Kyle couldn’t read the facial expressions that were passed between the two, but it was as though they were having an entire wordless conversation. He couldn’t help but feel out of the loop.
“Of course!” Leaf nodded, realisation dawning on their face. “Well, Kyle, it is great to meet you. Can I get you two anything?”
“Usual for me, please,” Y/N requested, looking over at Kyle. “How about you?”
“Oh, I’ll uh… Same for me, please?” He felt nervous and out of place. He wasn’t sure what Y/N’s usual was but hoped it would be something he could eat.
“On it!” Leaf winked at Y/N, who smiled back as they disappeared behind the counter to prepare the food.
“Are you okay?” Y/N suddenly turned her attention to Kyle, immediately picking up on his discomfort but not understanding why. “Do you need to step outside for some air? It’s a bit hot in here.”
“No, I’m… I’m fine,” Kyle put on his best convincing smile, hoping it would do the trick. She didn’t believe him but didn’t want to prompt any further discomfort by pushing him to tell her what was wrong. “What did you say about me to your friend?” It took a moment for it to register that he was referencing earlier when Y/N said that Kyle was the one she had told Leaf about.
“I told them the truth,” She shrugged, looking over at them while they bopped to the quiet music playing over the radio as they cut the bread into slices. “That you had taken their place as my favourite person.”
“What?” Kyle’s eyes widened a little as the words hit him. “I’m your favourite person?”
“Of course!” She smiled as though it were completely obvious. Before Kyle had the chance to respond, Leaf returned with two giant mugs of soup and a plate of the fluffiest bread Kyle had ever seen. “Thank you, Leaf!”
“No worries, babe,” Leaf blew her a kiss, which she jokingly caught and mimed, putting in her bra. Y/N turned to the table and started devouring the soup and bread as though it were her last meal. Kyle was about to do the same, but he was startled by Leaf whispering to him. “Treat her well.”
“You’ve done that before, haven’t you?” Kyle watched as Y/N shimmied her own bedroom window open. Her mom had locked them out while there were gone, which she had predicted would happen as they were walking home.
“Baby, I used the door more today than in my entire time living here,” The pet name caused Kyle to completely freeze up. He couldn’t move or breathe. It went straight to his heart. “Got it!” She cheered as the window popped open. “After you, good sir.” She grinned, waving her arm to usher him in through the window.
“Why, thank you!” Kyle played along once he had gotten a grip on his racing heartbeat. He awkwardly climbed in through the window, landing on Y/N’s childhood bed. She followed suit, landing on top of him. “Sorry, I didn’t move in time.”
“It’s fine! You broke my fall more than the bed usually does!” She laughed, not making any attempt of moving. “In fact, you’re much more comfy than my bed. I think I’ll stay like this.” There was no way for Kyle to hide how flustered he was by the position. She was lying on top of him, head nuzzled against his chest, legs and arms wrapped around him. When she didn’t move except to kick her shoes off, he realised she wasn’t joking.
“You’re actually staying like this?” He asked, slightly nervously. It wasn’t uncomfortable, at least not in the physical sense. He was paranoid he would do something wrong in his sleep, somehow throw her off of him. Or worse, wake up with morning wood.
“Are you okay with that?” She yawned, already closing her eyes. Despite the flood of bad things that could happen if they stayed like that, Kyle’s mouth moved without hesitation.
“Yes.”
a/n - send me an ask if you would like to be on the taglist for this fic 💕
current taglist - @n0tangeliccc @solana-central @charqing-qing @eiizabeth-torres @hand-writxen💕 @audiliah @cosmicbroenies @himoutolikesjojo @katnipkoffee @desertofdessert @inkedintothepaper @ky-uwu @quackyfae @marwvy @baubub @kiahapologist @novalforfeb @da-extroverted-introvert @welp030 @just-a-blue-nerd @neenieweenie @lacunaanonymoused
#alaysh#alaysh suddenlybambi#kyle broflovski#as long as you stay here#kyle broflovski fic#south park fanfiction#south park fic#south park kyle#kyle broflovski x reader#sp kyle x reader#kyle x reader
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Fave WIP Round-Up [Part 2]
Posted a list of my fave WIPs last night and realized I missed some, so here's Part 2 of my fave WIPs!
Find the rest of my WIP Recs here
is your light on? by @toburnup
Rated E | Chapters: 17/20 | Words: 196k
"Tell me a secret." Steve says and Eddie shakes his head.
"Why would I do that?"
"I'll tell you one."
Eddie looks intrigued, smirks in his direction. "A secret for a secret? Okay." He looks up. "You go first."
(Steve always noticed Eddie. He's been there on the peripheral, easy enough to ignore. Until he's standing right in front of him, unavoidable. And then they collide over, and over, and over)
Tell Me "Don't", So I Can Crawl Back In by kiaramgrey
Rated E | Chapters: 8/? | Words: 43k
When Steve finds himself alone and without friends, following his breakup with Nancy, he decides what he needs is a distraction. Maybe some new friends who don't remind him of the bullshit life he gave up. When he literally runs into Eddie Munson, school drug dealer and self proclaimed freak, an idea begins to form. Who better to show him what life outside popularity can be like, than someone who doesn't give a shit what anyone thinks?
And Eddie? Well, Eddie is just bracing for impact.
Reboot by @plutosrose [Now Complete]
Rated E | Chapters: 10/10 | Words: 38k
In 2012, Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson film a scene in the teen drama Normal Stuff that launches a popular ship on ao3.
By early 2013, they aren't speaking anymore.
In 2024, Robin calls Steve with an offer to reprise his role as Andy Hartley in a reboot of their old show, with one important update--his character gets together with Eddie's.
Lesson/Plan by @2btheanswertothequestion
Rated M | Chapters: 3/5 | Words: 7k
Eddie huffs. "I'm already 20 fucking years old. I don't want to wait any longer. I want to experience all the shit everyone else already has now."
"Everyone hasn't-"
"Steve, the 15-year-olds currently in this house have seen more action than I have."
"All right, okay, I hear you. We'll solve it for you."
"How."
"Well," Steve's tongue darts out to wet his lips, "if you just want to get it over with, then... I could kiss you?"
Eddie's never been kissed, so Steve offers to teach him. And then he teaches him some more, and some more, and some more.
Sleight of Hand by @flieslikeamoron
Rated E | Chapters: 17/19 | Words: 125k
Steve needs a weed dealer. He gets a bit more than that. (This is an AU set a couple months after the Snow Ball in season 2.)
PTA Shouldn't Stand for Pretty Tight Ass by @humanityinahandbag
& Invader_Sam | Rated M | Chapters: 14/? | Words 51k
Steve Harrington - ex local legend and fearsome bully, now single father of two - returns to Hawkins after the world spit him out. With a messy life to sort through, all he wanted was settle down and get his kids through seventh grade without any surprises.
Cue Mr. Eddie Munson, ex victim of one Steve Harrington, now Hawkins Middle School's favorite music teacher.
Or: What happens when your former high school bully raises two absolute nerds, joins the PTA, helps run the bake sale, makes the best cupcakes in Indiana, and may or may not be having a bisexual crisis.
Some Cupids Kill With Dice by @hawkinsheroes
Rated M | Chapters: 14/? | Words: 109k
Steve Harrington doesn't have time to date. In fact, between working multiple part-time jobs and raising two rambunctious and poorly-behaved preteens, he doesn't have time for much of anything. And it's fine. He's fine. He's having an absolutely awesome time slinging ice cream, sorting DVDs, and dodging questions from his friends and family about his love life.
That is, of course, until the twins come to him with a simple request: go to Parents Night and sign them up for Mr. Munson's Dungeons and Dragons club.
Or, the one where Steve is a tired and overworked DILF who may or may not be smitten with his kids' seventh grade English teacher. Featuring: busted old Hondas, milkshakes as an intricate mating ritual, twelve year-old wingmen, and the worst flirting you've ever seen in your life.
breathe out (so i can breathe you in) by @bttmbunk
Rated E | Chapters: 11/12 | Words: 91k
“You thinking of getting it for yourself?” The man continues, eyebrows raised, and that’s when Steve realises he’s just been staring, practically drooling over this stranger who's decided to strike up a conversation about a guitar. A part of him wishes that the floor would open up and swallow him whole.
“Oh, uh, no, actually.” He says, “It’s for my daughter.”
Something indecipherable flickers across the man’s face, there and gone again in an instant, “How sweet.”
“I don’t know what I’m looking for,” he admits, a little sheepish, “I’m not a musician, so…” he shrugs, “I have no way of knowing if this is a good guitar or not.”
There’s a hint of amusement in the man’s eyes as his mouth tilts into a more crooked grin, “Well, lucky for you, I can help.”
In one fluid motion, the man drops himself into a sweeping, dramatic bow. The suddenness of it startles a laugh out of Steve.
“Eddie Munson, guitarist, musician extraordinaire - at your service.”
His energy is infectious - Steve finds that he’s grinning, “Uh, Steve Harrington. Basketball coach, dad,” He tries to think of another good descriptor, but comes up short, “Totally at a loss, here.”
Trouble Looks Good On You by @steddielations
Rated E | Chapters: 3/5 | Words: 35k
It happens like a fever dream.
The first time Steve gives Eddie a swift smack on the ass, it’s obviously just an old jock habit that’s stuck with him. It wasn’t meant to have Eddie’s knees going weak, or turn his blood hot under his skin, or give him a brand in the shape of Steve Harrington’s hand, or— Nope, because Eddie’s not even into that.
But then, it happens again.
Or, Steve keeps accidentally awakening Eddie’s new kinks.
for this gift, I do feel blessed @wheatisstillwheat [Now Complete]
Rated E | Chapters: 19/19 | Words: 96k
Steve was supposed to be in Berlin with his best friend Robin, not wandering around looking for a coffee shop, not speaking a lick of German.
Steve definitely wasn't supposed to take the only open seat next to a beautiful, mysterious (sexy), and slightly pissed stranger at said coffee shop who cannot believe Steve wasn't angling for an autograph from him, which Steve definitely isn't, because Steve has no idea who he is...yet.
(OR Rock Star AU - in which Eddie Munson is a famous grunge/alt/metal band frontman and Steve is as clueless as we'd all expect. hi-jinx and love ensue.)
Edited May 7 to update chapter & word counts
Edited May 26 to note completed fics
Edited Aug 3 to update chapter & word counts
#WIP RECS#STEDDIE FIC RECS#STEDDIE FIC REC#STEDDIE WIP#STRANGER THINGS#STRANGER THINGS FIC REC#STEVE HARRINGTON#EDDIE MUNSON#STEDDIE#PUBLICLY OUTING MYSELF AS A SIMP FOR ALL THESE WRITERS#mojowitchcraft wip recs
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Ron/Chris prompt if you don’t mind. I’m in angsty mood so how about how they are when Jake gets hurt?
I absolutely don’t mind at all
They’re absolute wreaks.
-
It’s 2013, Jake’s been deployed in Afghanistan when Chris gets the call.
Jake is flying home for a surgery. Chris isn’t allowed to know details. He’s a civilian.
Chris has never driven to the base faster. He needs to get Ron. He doesn’t care that he’s supposed to be in meetings with Tom all day.
He runs straight through and skids to a stop in front of Ron’s secretary. “Betty where is he. Where’s Ron.”
She looks up at him. She blinks. DADT might be over but homophobia is never gone.
“Why. You don’t need him right now.”
Chris grips the back of the chair across from her tighter. “You don’t get to tell me when I need Ron you absolute goddamn fuckin-”
“Chris?”
He spins. Mav.
“It’s Jake. I need to see Ron. They won’t tell me anything. And fucking Betty here is being a homophobic hag and won’t tell me where he is.”
Mav blinks. He flips off Betty, grabs Chris’s wrist and takes off running.
Ron is sitting to the right of Tom like he always does. The door bursts open. Everyone’s heads turn.
Chris is standing a step behind Mav. He’s clearly been crying. Shit. Tom looks at them.
“Meeting over everyone out now.”
A younger man at the table looks at Mav in his flight suit and Chris in grease stained jeans and stolen Navy shirt. “Sir no offense but this meeting is time sensitive.”
Chris makes a choked sobbing sound. Tom stands with his hands flat, “are you seriously trying to tell me that? I said out now.”
Everyone scatters, as soon as the last person is out the door Chris bolts to Ron. “Jake. Somethings happened, they refused to tell me details. Only that he’s coming home for a surgery.” Chris is crying hard now. Ron is holding onto him also crying.
Tom picks up a phone and calls someone, Mav comes up behind him and touches his shoulder, they’re both thinking about Bradley. They can’t help it. But they are also both thinking about that baby they both held, Jake was so tiny. And now? This is just a reminder for all of them how fragile people are.
Time passes too fast yet slower then anything else they’ve lived through. Chris can’t hear anything, his ears are just ringing with the words that were said.
“We’re sorry, your son was in an incident, he’s flying back to the states now. You’ll be updated accordingly.”
Chris jerks when Ron pulls him onto his lap. Ron has been writing things on a note pad while Tom talked. Mav has been pacing back and forth.
Chris wipes the tears off of Ron’s face. He reads the note pad.
Shrapnel.
In legs got most out needed a specific surgeon to get one piece out
Non life threatening
Supposed to fly back out three weeks after recovery? See if Tom can make it 5
Scarring expected on legs
Chris inhales. Oh thank god. He curls somehow closer to Ron. He is destroyed by their son putting himself at such risk. He knows Jake is good at what he does. Wouldn’t of gotten the name Hangman if he wasn’t. But he’s so proud that Jake wanted to be like Ron.
Tom has hung up at some point during Chris’s panic.
He walks over to them. He touches the scar Ron has on his head. “He’ll be okay. They say he’s fine they’re just being cautious because they need him back so soon.”
Chris and Ron let out sighs they were holding. Thank god. Ron says a quick thank you to Goose just in case he was watching over Jake.
Mav looks at Ron, “in other news you need a new secretary that’s not homophobic.”
Ron blinks. “Betty?” Chris blushes. He lightly kisses Ron’s neck. “I uh might’ve called her some very justified names.” Mav nods, Tom laughs. He kisses the top of Ron’s head and then Chris’s cheek.
“Come over tonight and stay, you guys shouldn’t be alone.” Chris rubs his eyes. “We’ll be there don’t worry.”
Mav and Tom leave them there and pull the door closed behind them.
“I’m sorry he followed my steps.”
Chris laughs, he kisses Ron. “I’m not, he knew the risks, we knew them. We supported him the entire time.”
Ron sighs into his neck, “you’re right like always, come on let’s go to their place and then see our kid.”
Chris knows they got lucky. Knows it could be so much worse. It’ll be fine. They can protect Jake from a lot but this they can’t.
#ron slider kerner#chris seresin#ron slider kerner x chris seresin#slider x original male character#slider is Jake’s dad#jake hangman seresin#tom iceman kazansky#pete mitchell x tom kazansky#pete maverick mitchell#thanks for the ask !!#I love talking about them#top gun#it should be said I don’t know how the navy works#mac writes top gun
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i love how today has been a day of weird yet very normal internet experiences for me
weird: blazed post of spread pussy
normal: i put horny stuff on here all the time so fair enough except for the hypocrisy of tumblrs policy but also the hypocrisy is to be expected
weird: my college roommate who i last interacted with when we played among us in early covid just followed me on insta
normal: idk it’s not THAT weird but also why? like… sir we lived together in 2013 it’s been a while
weird: checked out a fanfic that hasn’t updated in a while, fic author linked to their twitter, figured i could find out if the fic is abandoned. author, who i’ve never interacted with before in my life, has my twitter blocked even tho i don’t say shit on twitter
normal: i checked their tumblr and they said “no antis allowed” so i guess somehow they found out i don’t like romanticized incest or some shit and blocked. but they didn’t block me on tumblr where i talk about that so ????
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update - tw in tags please read
I’ve been meaning to make a life/health/disability update the last week or so but those things don’t really matter to me right now.
My cat Isis, my soulmate if ever there was one, died in my arms on Thursday morning at 10:32 AM. It happened after I heard a long, mournful yell/groan from her at 10:25 AM. She was fine before, then dead in my arms in seven minutes. 11 years and 1 month old. No warning, no lead up.
To say I am devastated is an understatement. I genuinely don’t know how to live without my soulmate. She took half of me with her and my half, well... it’s circling the drain and has been for years. It’s why I’ve always said my cats and my mom are the only reasons I don’t unalive myself. My relationship with my mom is ruined and she won’t do family therapy, and my soulmate is gone.
I love all of my pets the same, give them the same love, but there is the once in a lifetime or very rare animal in a long line of them who is just different and that was Isis.
Tomorrow will be my third morning waking up and not seeing her come to greet me. She did that on the day she passed but I hung out in bed too long so she went to the bedroom. 10-12 minutes later and as I was getting up, I heard her cry.
After attempting CPR, I knew the second she died and the ER vet’s front desk told me sometimes they choose when to go as I wailed with agony. She didn’t fucking choose this. She’d choose to be home if she could. Warm and loved. Not fucking that.
I held her in my arms for 40 minutes. Then I held her on her favorite blanket on my lap for almost two hours. We wrapped her in another favorite blanket when we took her to the vet. We spoke with her vet, who is quite familiar with her, and he said it was likely a blood clot or sudden heart issue from what I described. Nothing to be done and no way I could have saved her. She felt pain and fear, but for a brief time she was aware that I was with her and I hope she was comforted by my presence in some way.
I’m getting her cremains and a paw print back and one day I’d like to commission art of her.
Right now, all I can think about is that I had not yet fully healed from the LP over a year ago so I could sit on the couch and she would lay on my chest and purr for an hour before falling asleep. What healing she’s given me for 10 years. Through some of the lowest points of my life, she has kept me going.
I adopted her on May 5th, 2013. I lost her on May 18th, 2023. She was 11 going on kitten.
Life is cruel and unfair. I wouldn’t wish going through those seven minutes of agony on anyone and I would turn back the clock to save her from the pain and fear, as she felt them both acutely. Life is so terrible to such innocent beings who have unconditional and insane amounts of love to give, as Isis did to anyone and everyone she knew longer than a day.
Everyone always told me how sweet she was. They were always so shocked at how loud her purr was, the very reason I adopted her. I cannot believe I am never going to hear it or feel it again. I don’t want to believe it.
She did everything with me and my morning routines are excruciating right now because she isn’t there. She went on most bathroom trips with me, we chatted up a storm every day, she laid in her designated second computer chair at my side, always always always laid at my side on the recliner or couch, and purred purred purred.
Isis was the funniest, sweetest, most talkative, comforting, attention-hogging, purring machine. She was orange and proud of it. An instigating little shit and also proud of it. She is with me and I am with her, I hope.
I’m still coming down from the shock of what happened but I don’t think this heavy grief will go away for a long time. The apartment has gotten too quiet and I’m lonelier than ever.
Lilly is my lovebug and honey bun and she is looking for Isis all the time. Not because they were friends, but Isis did not let her have a moment’s peace! lol But watching her look for her is still incredibly painful. She was fully aware something was happening to Isis, as I had to push her away twice during those seven minutes, but not the concept of death certainly. Still, it’s only been 2.5 days and Lilly is becoming more anxious and restless.
She spent today out in the living room with me. Almost all day. She is queen of the Queen Bed Kingdom and the bedroom is her territory (she and Isis had many words about it), so it was really unusual. Isis never really let her put her guard down out here and I hope she starts to. She will stop looking for Isis much sooner than I will.
I see her everywhere. I feel her against my leg. I hear her. I feel the touch of her soft fur, of her headbutts, her cold nose as she always tries to lick my chin and cheeks and forehead and nose. I feel as if I could simply say Isis and she’d brrp and be here again.
I don’t want to adopt another cat. I want to hang on for Lilly if I can. I want Isis with me again, even if it’s only her name on an urn and the fleeting touch of her paw in clay.
But how I long to go back and experience adopting her and having her for another decade at my side.
Maybe she’ll stop by my dreams and they’ll be kind ones instead. ☀️
#vtforpedro personal#tw animal death#tw pet death#tw poor mental health#i am not doing well#i was not prepared to say goodbye#not for many more years
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a bit of a vent/update (it’s heavy). I’ve always dreaded the ‘where do you see yourself in 5 years?’ question because I honestly have never been able to picture anything for myself that felt real and tangible and something that I could actually want and achieve in the future. I would be like ‘yeah I want to be dating my future girlfriend by then’ or ‘yeah I want to be working a job that I actually like’ or ‘yeah I want to feel like I’m doing something meaningful with my life by then’ but it was all very superficial in a way, it felt like I was saying rehearsed words and although those are still things that I want, there’s a lot more detail to them now. tbh since I finished high school (almost 10 years ago at this point..) that I’ve felt really behind in life compared to my friends, and other people in general, but at the same time it took me 14/15 years to actually figure out what happened to me when I was a pre-teen and why I spent 10+ years of my life crippled by depression, so all things considered I think I came out of all that pretty okay. I started therapy about 5 years ago and altho it was a slow progress, I can at least say that I’m not on the verge of feeling suicidal anymore. I think being a teen on tumblr in 2010-2013 definitely didn’t help much with that either, the romanticisation of depression and self harm back then was Real and the last thing I should have been exposed to at the time. it was to the point that I actually tried to kill myself when I was 16, right before a family trip. I can talk about this now, but I can tell you all as well, this was a root of deep shame for me until 2020, when I finally had the courage to tell my mom and siblings about it, because it made me feel so ungrateful, stupid and generally a shit person for not appreciating everything good that I had, while at the same time it made me hate myself for not actually going through it fully, to the point that I always thought that I would take this to my grave without letting anyone know. at this point, I’ve forgiven myself for it and acknowledged that, despite how hurtful it was, this is a common pain and, unfortunately, many people know it too. No matter how much I convinced myself of it back then, I was never alone in that pain. At the same time I made really great friends here (some I’ve been friends with for over 10 years now), even met some of them in real life, and it was overall the place that made me feel comfortable enough to consider (and accept) that maybe I wasn’t straight. so not everything was bad.
it was a few weeks into 2022 when I finally figured out what had happened to me, why most of who I was so deeply lost in shame, to the point that it felt like I had been drowning most of my life. there were several things that contributed to it like, giving up who I was out of pressure to please my family (until I was around 23 - constantly hearing ‘you should let your hair grow’, ‘you should dress more like a girl’ etc etc when you’re a 10 year old really does a number), giving up the things I loved in order to pass as “normal”, my father not being emotionally available (or simply available in general tbh - unfortunately too common as well), my mom having to take care of 4 kids and therefore not really being emotionally available either, dealing with womanhood, puberty and all those nice, not at all confusing and hard, things by myself because I thought that if I could just ignore it it would not be real (a nice not at all dumb trait I got from my father - thankfully I’m over that), consequently emotionally abandoning my closest friends bc of all that further isolating myself. and I could go on and on, but the reason why I’m saying all this is that maybe it can spark a light in someone else too. Until this year, I thought that nothing had happened to me, that I had no reason to feel the way I did back then, and it was suffocating to think that while the pain I felt was very real. and you may ask ‘okay, where does shame come into the picture here?’ so here’s a few that I could identify from the things I said above - shame for my sexuality (giving up things I loved to pass as “normal”), shame for being gender non conforming (pressure to please my family), shame for not feeling connected with my parents (having friends who do have good relationships with theirs), shame for not having the life they expect of me, shame for not having the life I think I’m supposed to have to “impress” my friends, therefore hiding away, isolating myself, further convincing myself that no one else was going through the same. until I realised that, of course, I would never find other people talking about how they felt the same, because we were all hiding away.
this isn’t a story about how suddenly I’m cured from depression or anything like that, there’s still days and days, but figuring out why I felt the way I did back then was a major step towards finding healing, and I feel like I’ve been changing very rapidly over the past 5 months because of it. recognizing that my self-criticism was doing more harm than good (I wouldn’t talk to my friends the same way I talk to myself sometimes..), that I can choose self-compassion instead, and the good-old exercising, journaling, reading, eating and sleeping well, really made major differences (as well as keep going to therapy of course, it was important to have someone trained to talk about the really heavy and more complicated stuff).
in the end, this has been a journey towards (re)finding myself, and I finally have an answer to the question that I found so dreadful ‘where do you see yourself in 5 years?’. and for the first time in my life, I’m not afraid to try, I’m not afraid to fail, I’m not afraid of the set backs I may face. for the first time in my life, I can actually picture a future for myself, and I’m actually excited to see myself getting there. I don’t have it all figured out, but I do know that I’m persistent. in the end, I think this is also a bit of a letter to everyone who’s lost in life, I’m currently 27 and I’m now figuring out a path that I might actually enjoy to take and that makes sense to me. If you’re like me, you probably also feel like you’ve run out of time and that there’s no way you can still turn your life around, but to be honest, who really knows how much time we have left? You make a little bit of time now, and deal with tomorrow, 3 months, 5 years from now, when it comes. I have no idea what turns life will still take and where I’ll end up after all, but I do know that recognizing my pain, owning up to the shameful feelings I had (and still have), accepting my feelings and thoughts as they are (failing a lot and trying again), definitely took me from a drowning person to a vivid swimmer. I’ve always liked to share my thoughts here, but recently having the number of followers increase on this blog has made it feel quite... intimidating to share pieces of my life like before. still, this was something I felt was important for me to share, even if just to say, feeling lost and behind in life is a normal part of the human experience.
#this is also why I haven't been around as much as before#I'm still keeping up with dc and stuff but creating content here is falling a bit on my priority list rn...#people following me for long now know how much time of my life I've dedicated to helping dc grow and succeed#and I don't regret any of it#in the end being their fan was and still is something that was really good for me and I'm sooooooooo thankful#but they're working towards their dreams and now I want to focus on working towards mine as well#will still make content every now and then ofc this isn't a goodbye or anything#but I won't be making like 3 gifsets per day or something like I used to before SKDFJH#anyway if you read all of this thank you and I hope you have a nice day <3#jt
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that crowd sounds amazing omg🥺🥺🥺 and THOSE INTERACTIONS HOLY SHIT you are literally their bestie now it’s official <3 also how did you survive polly jc2005gba and a dlid song aswell i bet that was insaneee
what was camping/queuing like? after hearing how good your show was i’m literally counting down the days until february lmaooo
-🪩
honestly, everyone’s amazing in this little community. From the band to the fans 💗💗💗 and it was so sweet to see all kinds of people from different age groups. Some moms even coming with their younger daughter and vibing in the seated area while their daughters were in GA hahahaha. of course they got to become carriers of jackets/ bags etc. even the more… ✨colorful ✨Twitter fans were there and they’re a lot less….umm… intense(shall we say?) in person. Like they’re not mean they just really like doing things a certain way and whatever if that makes you happy go off I guess hahahah.
camping was alright! As smooth as an experience like that could be. We checked things out, went and napped and got back at 3 am. But because (as matty made VERY clear from his jokes about dead bodies last night lmao) Baltimore is not a safe area at alllll the venue let us camp inside for the night. Where there was a security guard with us at all times. And thank god that was a thing cuz we did have some weird people stop by and try to come inside and cause drama.
BUT what I will say about camping is that you should find out who the line leader is and see if you have the option of getting your number registered and then leaving overnight to sleep for 7-8 hours then come back in the morning. Cuz apparently some people do this and we didn’t know.
the way it usually works is there are check-ins every 3 to four hours from the moment that the line begins until the day of the show. During those check-ins the line leaders will line everyone up in order of your number, take your name and initial to make sure that everyone who’s supposed to be there is in fact there, that nobody is taking anyone’s spot, cutting in line, or trying to be in GA line when they don’t have a ticket (cuz apparently people do try this and see if they can sneak in?). Then you get the official wristbands from Mark and/or Tim and get to go home and you just have to be back before doors open.
BUT some line leaders are chill and will say there are check ins every 3-4 hours until 10 pm. At 10 everyone is allowed to go home/ to a hotel and sleep as long as they come back for morning check in at 6 or 7 am when the 3 hour check ins resume for the day. So you don’t NEED to be camped outside the venue if your line leader has that as an option. You just get your number, leave at 10 pm, come back the next morning having slept, eaten, etc.
some line leaders are more intense though and won’t let you leave. That person who’s been a fan since 2013 that I mentioned in my last reply has experienced both: some super strict lines and some chill. So def check Twitter and see who the leader is and what the rules are. Fans usually make huge group chats on Twitter and discord for each individual show so that people in line can update and say “we just did our check In we are currently at this number” so I would super recommend that you try to get into these gcs if you can. That’s how we kept an eye on the numbers while at dinner and stuff.
just make sure to be back by the next check in time / wrist band line time because we did hear horror stories about fans for other shows going to get coffee, not knowing that wrsitbands were coming in 15 min, missing out on it and losing their spot. But that rarely happens if you come back by the time that you are supposed to. Like they give you 3-4 hours to do what you need to do. As long as you stick to that, it should be totally chill. we had a few people who were camping alone and they just joined us. Like a girl came up and said “mind if I sit with you?” And we were like yeah of course and she hung out. Then when doing check ins we got to meet the people who were directly before and after us cuz we lined up with them, and we made friends with them as well. So by the time that you actually get to the pit, you already know the people around you and you’ve bonded over freezing to death and being sleepy and discussing the band in great detail that everyone’s just so happy to share this experience together and sob and wail and scream about Ross being perfect and matty being a smol bean that the whole thing feels like a huge family. We literally referred to each other as a line family hahahah.
Okay I hope this wasn’t overwhelming and overboard. But the gist is YOU ARE GONNA HAVE SO MUCH FUN as tiring as the camping process is, it’s worth it.
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Today in things that scared the living shit out of me for a moment: fucking this.
It’s happened a couple of times before. I remember when I saw Russell Howard say this:
That scared me for about two seconds, before I remembered that all it meant was a writer on the show found a meme, probably didn’t even come across it in its original context, but worked out that it originated on Tumblr so they said that when they put it on the show. It’s fine. Russell Howard isn’t here.
When you go to David O’Doherty’s website and click on “future shows”, it leads here. By far, the thing that freaks me out the most about that is that it’s up to date. It was up to date the last time I checked it, and… yep, just checked it again, and it’s still up to date. His Tumblr account has one actual post from the beginning of the pandemic and besides that nothing since 2015, but he has been on here to update his tour dates. So that’s not great. I mean, I assume he goes straight to that page, updates it, and logs off. Probably. What the hell would he hang out Tumblr for?
When I first saw that DO’D had a Tumblr account, I did read all of his posts, and they’re quite entertaining, he threatened to buy a lion for someone in 2013. I almost hit “follow” because I’d like to see it if he makes another weird post, until I realized that would mean the next time he goes on there to update his tour shows, I’ll appear in his notifications. I would like to not do that, thank you. So obviously I didn’t, but it freaked me right out to realize how easily I could.
Chris Addison has a Tumblr account. He definitely doesn’t use it or anything, but it exists, and it also freaked me out when I discovered that.
I do not understand how people make posts about famous people on Twitter, knowing those actual people are on Twitter and might see the posts. I am on this website because the rest of the internet is under the impression that it died in about 2015. I use it to say things about famous people that they will never, ever see.
Anyway, the latest installment in my adventures of learning that Tumblr technically exists on the same internet that’s used by these famous people and it’s technically possible they could have been on it at some point – this latest installment might have freaked me more than any of the others. I know I said I was done with the Daniel Kitson radio episodes, but it turns out there was one episode I missed from his 2013 run. I wasn’t sure, at first, whether I had heard the episode and it was just mislabeled or deleted, or if I hadn’t heard it at all. I’m listening to it now, and can confirm that I have definitely never heard this one before. Because I would have fucking remembered that.
I don’t really know what the hell talking about in that clip, by the way. I’m pretty sure Tumblr was never a “.org” website. Obviously I checked to see if the account he mentioned is still there, and obviously it isn’t. Besides that, it’s a weird thing he discussed, but not that weird by his standards. Wanting to collect the sound of asthmatics’ breathing and thinking you could make music out of it sounds like a pretty standard Kitson thing.
I wasn’t that that freaked me out. Obviously that’s some shit he thought would be a good idea in the middle of the night in January 2013, and will have long since forgotten. He’s not still on here checking that account. It was just jarring to learn that he has ever heard of this website in any capacity. Because Daniel Kitson has a bunch of material about how much time he spends Googling himself, how he talks like he’s above social media because he doesn’t post on there, but he still searches his own name on Twitter all the time. Which is fine. You go right ahead and search your own name on Twitter, Daniel. Just don’t do it here. Because I have used Tumblr’s search function enough to know there are very few people on here who ever talk about him; if you search for Daniel Kitson’s name on this site, quite a few of the results are from my blog.
I’ll occasionally do a Google search for some niche Britcom-related thing that I want to know more about, and if it’s sufficiently niche, then the top few Google search results will include posts from my own blog. That always freaks me out too. Because what if the comedians suddenly start thinking about this niche thing that concerns them, and decide to Google it? What if David O’Doherty and Daniel Kitson do a Google search to see if that rap battle they did in 2003 is still on the internet, and learn that when you try to look that up, I am a significant part of the results? Because apparently, for some reason, not many other people are talking about the 2003 rap battle between David O’Doherty and Daniel Kitson.
I realize this is genuinely unlikely. I get a bit paranoid about it sometimes, and then I remember that there are thousands of people on Twitter actually wanting to get noticed by these people, and the vast majority of them will write Tweets that never get seen by the person in question. The internet is huge and no one is looking at this supposedly long-dead website. It’s fine. It’s all fine. I’m quite sure David O’Doherty is not actually going to search on Google in 2023 to see who’s talking about the Chocolate Milk Gang.
Seriously though, hearing the word “Tumblr” spoken in Daniel Kitson’s voice made my blood run cold for a moment. I prefer to imagine that Tumblr exists on an entirely different plane of reality from Daniel Kitson, that he uses a different internet where this does not exist. Go away, Daniel. There is nothing here for you. And if... I mean... in the extremely unlikely event that you somehow did manage to stumble upon... I mean... in the infinitesimal chance that... look, I can only apologize.
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entitled writers on tumblr: beg for notes 24/7, hold fics hostage and won’t continue until they get a certain amount of notes, complain about the like reblog ratio 24/7
also entitled writers on tumblr: only promote their own work, don’t support other writers and don’t look for other fics, don’t appreciate likes even though those are still notes, don’t update fics regularly, block urls they don’t recognize, block blogs that are too new as though we’re all supposed to have been here since 2013 or something, constantly insults the reader audience, get mad if people tell you they liked it so much they wanna part two, get mad if comments aren’t up to your exact specifications

let me go point by point to prove you’re a fucking idiot.
your entire first paragraph: writing takes a lot of effort, and the ratio has changed over the past few years, largely because of new users that don’t exactly understand how tumblr works. that’s fine, we learn, but listen to people who’ve been on this site for years. we are well within our rights to express disappointment and feel discouraged over low note count, especially when readers demand new work without showing appreciation for what’s there.
“only promote their own work, don’t support others, don’t look for fics” i have never seen a writer do that. i know several writers that have entire separate blogs for fanfic recs. i have one! and if you check the #fic tag on my blog, guess what you’ll see? comment after comment on fics i’ve read. and i don’t even read fic that often, like ppl i’m following definitely read more than i do and my dash is full of them reblogging fic with lengthy comments. i make it a point not to follow writers who don’t support their fellow writers. bc we all understand the struggle.
“don’t appreciate likes even though they’re notes” a like tells me exactly nothing. it tells me you SAW my work. i don’t give two shits about note count. i would take a 40 note fic where 38 of the notes are comments/reblogs over a 10k note fic where 9.8k of the notes are likes. many writers would.
“don’t update fics regularly” again. writing is hard. it takes effort. and we’re all fucking adults with college, jobs, family, illnesses, life in general outside this site. you as a reader are not entitled to scheduled updates, you are not entitled to fic period.
“blocks urls you don’t recognize etc.” blogs that get blocked are often A. ageless/minors or B. completely blank with the default icon + theme. they look like bots. i only block minors on sight, but blogs that block blank/ageless blogs are well in their right to do so.
“constantly insult the reader audience” if you’re insulted by posts encouraging reblogging, take a look at how you interact with fic. the call is coming from inside the house.
your entire last point about comments: demanding more content is not a compliment. if all you say is “when’s part two??” or some variation then you are putting unfair pressure and burden on a writer who delivered you something that took time, effort, and talent. a demand ≠ a comment. writers are happy with a simple keysmash, so i don’t even get your point about “exact specifications.”
to sum. writers owe you jack shit. and if you have neither the capability nor the willingness to write your own fucking fanfic, then you don’t have a voice in this conversation. sorry.
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Fanfiction would you rather?
Tagged by @radellama thanks man!! This was a lot of fun :’D now … good luck on the read through of this xD
Friends to lovers or enemies to lovers?
Oh easy. Friends to lovers I am SUCH a sucker for that tbh. It’s always awesome! It’s the BOND 😭
Tho enemies to lovers is also cool it’s got a good flare to it…. But I gotta agree I kinda don’t want that baggage attached to it xD can be frustrating if not done well.
Be forced to watch a terrible movie adaptation of your favorite fic or an amazing adaptation of your least favorite fic?
Ah oh my god this is so hard…. Idk my gut says to go with the terrible adaptation xD because then at least weeeellll if it sucks I still have my fave fic to go back to lol and if the sucky one gets a movie that rules? I would be too butthurt and stubborn to admit it xD plus at least I could also make fun of the terrible adaptation that’s a good pastime I spoooose
Read fanfic chapters backwards, last to first, or read them as parsed from google translate?
Ahm backwards I’ve tried the google translate with fics before and it’s seriously not great xD
Consume every fanfic as an audiobook read by a monotone narrator, or have to read every fanfic on a tiny printed piece of paper written in yellow highlighter?
Narrator, I’d never be able to read it with YELLOW HIGHLIGHTER that’s not even cool xD
Get a tattoo on your body of every fanfic title you read, or never read fanfic again?
Get a tattoo, not that I couldn’t live without fics, but like I’ve seen some damn epic titles that would work perfectly (plus some are lyrics and like cmon who wouldn’t want some lyrics from like SENTENCED (😉) on them!)
Vampire Au or Werewolf Au?
Ahmmmm I never really read either of these but werewolf. Werewolves are awesome xD 10/10 creatures
Get sold to a boy band, or be stuck in a time loop with your love interest?
TIME LOOP TIME LOOP!! Plus the boy band would return me xD
Kill your favorite character, or marry your least favorite character?
Oh marry. I would take that burden so my fave can live xD it’s what they deserve. And who knows maybe … I could learn to live with my least fave…..unfortunately I am already thinking of who that would be xD urgh not sure I could survive xD
Meet your love interest in a coffe shop AU or a college AU?
Ahmmmm college Au? Both aren’t much my cup of tea lol but I will give it a look
Have your fic history leaked, or never read another fanfic again?
Have it leaked lmao you guys can enjoy the epic thousand rereads xD
And honestly yea I agree I would absolutely LOVE to find some fics I read back in the day xD
Be able to read amazing fanfiction but it always has an mpreg plot twist, or only read bad fanfiction for the rest of your life?
……mpreg? I can deal with it sometimes … idk this one is tough cause I have some major gripes with mpreg. But I won’t get into that xD
Gay ships or straight ships?
Both??? If it’s an interesting dynamic Imma read it no matter what xD
Ship a rarepair with almost no content, or a pair with lots of content but almost all of it is cracky nightmare smut?
Ship a rare pair baby!!! Get yourself a lil rowboat and find your pal who will help you set sail with it xD that’s all ya need! Plus I don’t think I could mentally handle the cracky nightmare smut, well maybe I could xD
See your OTP shatter years after their happily ever after, or never have the happily ever after happen in the first place?
Never have had the happily ever after.
Because if they had that happily ever after? There would be no shattering they are that perfect xD
Read a poorly written but complete fanfic, or a literary masterpiece last updated June 2013?
Literary masterpiece. There was this one Star Trek writer? Their fic never got finished and like they haven’t been online in … almost a decade 😅 but let me tell you it was some of the best shit I had ever read in my life. The drama was perfect, the characters amazing!!! And even tho it wasn’t finished it had so much that I can just sorta forget that part xD
Read SSSS++++ tier smut with almost 11k words, or 70k words worth of fluff?
BOTH BOTH CMON BOTH
Read only alternate universe fanfics, or only canon fanfics?
Au’s??? I think???? I would wanna do some exploring since I already have the canon right there lol and I think it can be done really well. Sometimes tho yea absolutely it is 100% out of character and weird xD
Introduce fanfics to your normie friend with an ongoing smut fic with great writing, or a complete fluff fic with terrible writing?
Smut fic xD I’d be all yo dude look at this epicness and they would have to fall in love plain and simple.
Read your NOTP with all your favorite tropes and perfect characterization, or your OTP with tropes you despise and inconsistent characterization?
Notp, hell it could make me like them (unless it is a certain one I have in mind lmao)
But I don’t think my heart could take seeing HORRIBLE tropes and characterization to my faves 😅
Read a fic with an interesting concept but very poor writing, or read a fic with an uninteresting concept with really good writing?
Honestly yea, both, I could handle them xD
Have a major character death, or have a bed sharing scene but it's a ship you hate?
Major character death…… it can be done super well so even tho I was crying about it earlier xD I will read it xD
Read a fanfic that has consistent grammar and spelling mistakes, or one that the characters are wildly different than canon?
Grammar and spelling mistakes??? 😅
Every fanfic includes Jackson Wang, or every fanfic includes at least one NSFW moment?
Idk who the hell jackson wang is. But like cmon ain’t nothing wrong with nsfw moments so I would go for that in a heart beat xD
Read the most absolutely messed up dead dove with your most wholesome otp, or subject yourself to 100,000 words of your NOTP all written in a solid block with no punctuation and horrible grammar?
Dead dove? 😅
Have the power to read every fanfic in existence, or have the power to make any ship canon?
Make them canon baby!
Have your OTP get together in canon but one of them dies in a tragic way, or all members of your OTP survive but get together with other people?
Both are too painful and I’ve read both
I can’t choose this!! 😭😭😭
Read a cringy 70 chapter Harry Styles mafia AU, or a highschool Kpop AU y/n fic horrible grammar?
…. Kpop fic? Idk xD
Accidentally send your boss a super detailed smut fic, or read a super detailed smut fic about your boss?
Read it about my boss, it’s not like I would have to tell them I read it xD and then I could just burn it from my head xD plus if I sent them smut I might die
Read smut fanfic aloud to your parents, or submit fanfic to the employer of your dream job?
Fanfic to my parent…. Tho I don’t exactly have a dream job soooo Hrmm tough call here lol
Pine after an oblivious love interest, or be the oblivious love interest being pined after?
Be the one being pined after xD
Hanahaki disease, or your soulmates first words to you tattooed on your body (and they're really stupid)?
Idk what the hell hanahaki disease is xD so I’ll go soulmates
Be an Alpha, Beta, or Omega in omegaverse?
Oh cmon xD I don’t wanna answe- ALPHA!
Read a fanfic where the characters turn into furries, or a fanfic where the characters all get pregnant?
Furries…. I’m intrigued on what they would be and how that could be xD
Be able to resurrect dead fics, or have the power to create of plethora of new fics effortlessly?
The power to create! I have so many ideas but honestly I’m not a good writer at allll xD so it’s kind of a bummer!
Tagging .. @fonulyn @astarkey @tatsueli @welshbaes @mikey-putrid @kuukigajan …. I stg I’m forgetting everyone’s blog names now lmao it’s been so long since I’ve actually done a tag game 😅 BUT if I didn’t tag you and you wanna do this? Just go right on ahead and say I tagged ya 😘
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xXAmLuvsXx Summarized.
Keep in mind just like the Nadzarki situation/Summary I did, I am doing my best to simplify the information to key points. I might even forget some information, as it's a LOT.
(I do have the Doc links to both situations for others to read on, but let's keep this post an OVERLY UNDERSTATED summary!)
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-One, while yes, was at first given the ok to go to remake clockwork, something happened to make clockworks creator change their mind. Out of respect, one would be sad, upset, respect someone's wishes and stop. (like lets not forget clockworks creator has/had to deal with so much harassment for just having their oc shipped with toby. to the point they no longer can work on clockwork as it causes severe anxiety and panic attacks. Something I relate too.)
XxAmLuvsxX HOWEVER, Keeps going on with their remake, even stating they knew they were ripping off clockwork at this point and calling them "Time-lapse" .
-When xXAmLuvsXx went to update Time Lapse, they ended up being called out for stealing clockworks' updated design to remake Time Lapse. To the point where it was obvious that xXAmLuvsXx was purposely going out of their way to steal clockwork over all and "make her better" (rude.) Yet kept most of clockwork's story plots. so like..?
xXAmLuvsXx did admit on livestream to stealing this redesign as well.
-xXAmLuvsXx then lies about a friend dying of cancer to try to get well, sympathy while excusing them using that situation to write in TL's story.
-While we are at it, xXAmLuvsXx decides to also harass clockwork's creator but make this thing.
"Forcing Clockwork to bow." Again at this point, xXAmLuvsXx was actively ignoring Clockwork's creators wishes and was 100% fine with doing something like this to just add salt to the wound.
Not the only artwork like this, they made on where clockwork is beating xXAmLuvsXx up and her oc steps in to K**l her.
OH and another like this:
(Ok cool, I'm down to make AU ships but this is clearly just shitty behavior)
- xXAmLuvsXx Would also harass ANYONE who drew clockwork.
-and WAIT there is MORE:
Lets add, stealing another OC! This time a fan's child version of Toby. Yay!
-Toby's creator then, you know, not wanting this person to draw Toby since they were actively harassing their close friend. Of course xXAmLuvsXx doesn't care and won't listen. Ironic because Toby's creator actually reached out to help out xXAmLuvsXx when they were going through personal ab**sse but xXAmLuvsXx couldn't be bothered.
-after getting called out(first time), xXAmLuvsXx tried to play "this drama is too much, cant we be friends?" Including making ship art of clockwork and time lapse.
-Moving on, She makes a black oc, who is trans then also called them a d/y/k/e, using many black stereotypes to make this oc, INCLUDING using the HARD R N-word. I remember seeing those, but I don't think anyone had time to grab SS.
-Oh and is she done ab*ssing Clockwork? NOPE. Draws her OC getting R**ped by Clockwork. (the picture is also my header tho MEME'd) She then Laughs off people getting rightfully upset over this drawing.
-xXAmLuvsXx MADE a hate Instagram account and attacked others OCs HARSHLY!! Just full on hate account. Think 2013 "ranting community"
-Clockworks creator isn't the only one harassed, she also harassed another calling her things like "Bimbo" "Bimbopasta" etc
Incase at this point you are wonder. "Wow this is shit but where does this end up?"
WELP NOW I must get into the harder topics. Again i'm doing my best to summarize and i'm fully need to state that this IS being under explained by me.
-xXAmLuvsXx Starts sending P**rn to minors! YEP. Time Lapse and Toby p**n Art, to a minor. ALSO flitting with said minor while at it but "Respecting the fact you aren't into woman" She then sends a picture of a P*rnstar to this same minor. (who for that time is 12 years old and lasted years)
-She makes this same (at the time 13 year old) send her money to GO to a concert. of course not for free. It would be a commission, where xXAmLuvsXx instant suggested a NSFW commission.
-At some point, xXAmLuvsXx got n*des from another person (not a minor) and threated to leak them if they didn't do what she wanted. (Which was PERSONAL information)
-Then xXAmLuvsXx sends more NSFW to minors. (one being a 16 year old, who asked her to stop.)
-Back to the 13 year old, xXAmLuvsXx tries to gaslight, and emotionally manipulate them "I thought they where a friend I could trust :( "
-xXAmLuvsXx had also a private NSFW insta, that she TAGGED a minor (rping as clockwork) in. ONCE AGAIN, also of R**pe art with NO warnings for those sensitive to said topics.
-THen sends stuff to a group chat filled with minors (14-17). Srsly WOMAN you are an ADULT! Find ADULT friends! Though you are an danger to minors and have proven you DON'T care.
- MY GOD, This WOMAN! Then starts FAKING (proven) Game ending, and weaponizing S*lf H*rm. (She would use both repeatedly to keep friends under her control) One image she sent of her SH was off of google images.
Then TRIES to blame the minor she groomer for her game ending! Or attempted to frame it this way.
-This:
This time she also posted pictures with a knife and more threats of Selfdeletion... oh, and threatens to harm friends who try to reach out to help (even after all this shit)
-weaponizes her own ab*se, stating "even though im a survivor of ___ and ab___." To try to avoid accountability.
-She also started to steal (rather lie) money, and states she would need it for food, but in reality it was for cosplays or concerts! (also once again some of these ppl being minors)
There is A LOT MORE! But honestly going through this again to write this all down (AND YET STILL ALOT, im sorry) There is SOOO many things, too much for me to list. I'm already feeling mentally drained thing and revisiting all this.
TLDR: xXAmLuvsXx is a narssistic abuser, not ashamed of gr**ming Minors, Threaten, harassing and ab*sing anyone. Does NOT respect boundaries. and will weaponize SelfH*rm, Self deletion and their Ab*se and r*pe to avoid accountability. Is fine using slur like the hard N-word, F-Slur, etc.
#creepypasta#TRIGGER WARNING#FOR THE LOVE OF GOD#r*pe tw#Gr**ming TW#Self H TW#xXAmLuvsXx#clockwork#time lapse#creepypasta fandom
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NAWW GIRL. I’m pulling like my childhood friend has a crush on me frfr!! i used to have a crush on him when we were younger for like 5 yrs cause its one of those crushes that come back when u see them?? he’s older than me so we dont rlly get to hangout a lotttt but its fine when we doooo he’s so funny LIKE IDK HOW I DIDNT SEE IT HES SO OBVIOUS
like he be looking at my lips LMFAOO and me?? and my thighs hes so obsessed ! next time ill ask him for his snap . I kind like flirted yk i was battin my eyesss n shit and like being extra touchy like mans was like 🫣 like we went to some city here where i live in february i think? and he kept staring at my ass and my thighs and at me and he like one moment looked at me and we made eyecontact and he smiled like dayummm didn’t know u liked me this bad😭😭 he used to have a crush on my friend she’s like 5 yrs older when we were in elementary and we r kinda similar like physically she's just shorter and skinnier than me but she was kind of tall in that moment it was like idek like 2013 or smth and bigger when he had a crush on her he has a type LMFAOOO but honestly would see myself dating him fr
And he was looking at me a lot and i said "why r u looking at me😭😭” he was like u the only one that gets me bc his cousins gf and his cousin were being like romantic and his cousin slapped her ass yk?? and he looked at me and pretended to be cringed out and i was like looking into his eyes and i could see he wanted it with me like i’m 80% sure he has a crush on nme?? he pretends hes so hot yk and like he was semi hard again bc like last time i saw him he was semi hard and i was the only girl there and his brother and cousin were there so they weren’t the reason 😭😭😭 and my ma be like if u guys start dating youll be so cute bc she knows his family and shes like u gonna have 2 bfs omll bc i still like the other guy but WHEN I WAS YOUNGER THIS WAS MY FUTURE HUSBAND LMFAOO he’s like my first ever ykyk so i’ll be like thinking of him my whole life but then my guy my flaco is <333 also i slightly mentioned the guy i like it was more his cousin (ill call them my cousins too except for him bc I NEVERRR saw him as my cousin, like we aren’t relatedddd we good.). AND HE WAS JEALOUSSSS??? i gotta flirt more frfr im pulling broooooo
AND HIS YOUNGER BROTHER SAID I HOPE U GET A GIRLFRIEND BEFORE U FINISJ HIGHSCHOOL AND MF LOOKED AT ME LIKE??? fuckkk i would date him frfr !! hes not ugly actually and hes taller than me?? and when i was younger he’d grab my waist a lot like tjats my weak spot bae🫠🫠 i like stuttered one moment and he looked and me so lovingly like slayy oksy and in his eyes he was like reassuring me
this was long but like IM JUST SO FLABBERGASTED??? Like now idk if i want him or flaco??? Ima dream abt this watch😭😭 but like he fr hot i just like cute guys more but he the exception like we used to play minecraft together he was my minecraft pet LMFAOO i’ll update u
THALIESE BAE THATS SO CUTE?? wtf I can't imagine meeting your childhood crush and then the both of you end up together 😭😭😭 BUT LIKE, THAT MANS THIRSTY AS FUCK WHAT THE HELL I think it's cute that he's looking at your lips like that but he better back off bcs there won't be any lip smooching happening in this Christian household 🤺🤺🤺😤😤
GIRL THAT MANS LOOKING AT YOU LIKE HE WANTS TO EAT YOU WHAT THE FUCK IDK WHETHER TO BE CRINGED OUT (RESPECTFULLY!! BCS HE AINT DOIN IT TO ME) BUT I SURE AM HAPPY FOR YOU LMFAO
OH MY GOD I HAD LIKE A MINO HEART ATTACK THERE I THOUGHT HE WAS YOUR COUSIN GIRL LRFMOWKDWK I don't blame u for having a crush on your cousin in the past thooo some family members to be pretty hot ngl
OK BUT THE FLACO GUY 👀 👀 HIS NAME AINT IT BUT HE CUTE TOO cause girl if someone grabbed me by my waist and starts hugging me from the back or some typa touchy shit I WOULD MELT tell me what ur current crushes name tho, its honestly just down to that which guy I'd pick LMFAO
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