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brucesterling · 1 year

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Yukihiro Takahashi has died. He may have been the most intelligent drummer in the history of rock and roll. Quite the techie braniac.

For this early solo record he imported some side-men from Roxy Music, halfway round the world. That lonesome saxophone and weird guitar sound like arrivals from another planet. The English-language lyrics are also quite cryptic and astral.

Forty years later and it sounds more like a philosophy statement than a pop album.

#Yukihiro Takahashi #Yellow Magic Orchestra #synthetic drums #Neuromantic

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beatrix-quinn · 4 months

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hi @blongus64! thank you for your question. and no apologies necessary; Very Long Posts are kind of my specialty. :B

i really appreciated the comparison you drew between making visual art and making music, and i want to bring your attention first to that piece, because you gave some very interesting examples:

"i want a harsh… almost parasitic implication, so i'll use lurid, sickly colors and haphazard lines." "i'll use soft, dull blues, because that's what winter looks like."

the question i want you to ask yourself is this: "where did i learn the idea that This emotion looks That way?"

your art comparison reminded me of a conversation i recently had with someone dear to me who illustrates. they brought up an idea they've picked up from various art instructors over the years, which i'll paraphrase to the best of my recollection:

when you try to draw an apple, you're not just thinking about the object that's right in front of you. you're thinking about the idea of An Apple. that idea is shaped by every apple you've ever seen or eaten—the places and people and feelings attached to those experiences. so when you're drawing from a reference, you have to set all those associations aside and learn how to look at what's in front of you so you can recreate it accurately.

as you mention drawing still life in your ask, no doubt you've practiced this skill already. but what about when you draw a scene from your imagination, or paint something wholly abstract? when it comes to representing certain ideas in your art, the reality is that how you depict them is a choice formed by association. you choose soft, dull blues for a melancholy winter, because those are the colors you see when you look with your mind's eye.

but for me, i associate melancholy winter most with dark greys, and rusty pinks from light pollution in the night sky. someone else might picture the dizzying white reflection of sunlight on snow. these can all be "correct" ways of evoking this feeling you've given as an example, so long as it's true to the artist's subjective experience.

my point is this: just as you can choose to represent one idea visually in a myriad of ways depending on how you look, you can choose to represent an emotion through music in a myriad of ways as well. and that means this:

if representing an image requires learning how to look, then representing a sound requires learning how to listen.

the simplest and most immediate way you can start doing this is to critically listen to the music that evokes the feelings you are trying to capture.

say you have a favorite song that really captures the feeling of melancholy for you. listen to it very carefully. what choices does it make musically? consider this an incomplete list of questions you might explore while listening:

what are the tempo and rhythm like? how do they contribute to the song's feel?

is the arrangement sparse or layered, bombastic or subtle?

what kinds of instruments are being played, and when? which ones take the lead and which ones stay in the background?

how would you describe the music's texture and atmosphere? dark, bright? spacious, intimate? electric, acoustic, synthetic? what elements contribute to that?

how does this song relate back to music history and tradition? can you identify any of its musical and cultural influences? does it fit firmly into a genre, or does it blend different genre elements? does it attempt to defy convention altogether? (does it succeed?)

what is notably absent? how does excluding certain elements serve the song's intended feeling? (after all, landslide would be a very different song if it had drums and bass.)

you might notice these questions are generally not rooted in music theory. make no mistake: music theory analysis is useful, and if you wish to build your musical vocabulary, it's worth practicing it when you can. but that kind of practice only gives you colors for your palette. it will not teach you how to paint what you feel.

if you want to learn how to use those colors, first you must really think about the music that embodies the feeling you want your music to embody. what about This song makes you feel That emotion? think about the sounds around you in everyday life. what sounds make you smile? what sounds evoke boredom, fear, anger, sorrow?

idiophones sound tender to me, so i might reach for a kalimba or music box when scoring an emotionally intimate scene. a I major chord followed by a bVII dominant is dripping with wistfulness to me, so i like using it for bittersweet moments. jagged synths and metallic noises make me uneasy, so i employ them liberally when i want to elicit dread or panic.

these are just a few colors from my own palette. just like my idea of An Apple, they are informed by my experiences, my culture, and all the music i've ever heard. these are the associations that the body forms over a lifetime; you've lived a different life, so you may have different associations for these sounds. and that's okay! what matters is that you pay attention to what sounds make you feel, and stay true in your attempts to represent those feelings.

i should also mention that i didn't figure out how to use my palette overnight. i rarely get it right on the first try. music, like any creative endeavor, is equal parts work and play, and it's the lessons learned from play that serve the work later on. with exploration and practice, you will get better.

so listen carefully. figure out which sounds correspond to different emotional responses for you. this will become your palette. as you experiment, you will learn which sounds are your melancholy blues and which are your haphazard lines. it simply takes mindfulness, a careful ear, and time.

i realize this is only a first step, but i hope you find it helpful. if it isn't, let me know, and maybe i'll do better next time. i'm still learning too. :)

with care, bee 🐦

#asks #blongus64 #shop talk

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ddarker-dreams · 10 months

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Imagine yan!Scara's darling openly simping for Arlecchino 👀 (because I would... Hottest harbinger after Scara fr)

we must be on the same wavelength because i was thinking something similar 👁👁

scaramouche is seething yet he can't do anything about arlecchino's flirtations aside from exchanging thinly veiled insults. it boils his synthetic blood to no end. who does this attempted home wrecker think she is? his fatui underlings are useless. if arlecchino stops by, saying she wishes to speak with you, they can't very well deny her. she fawns over you even more when scara is away on business. she'll sigh, lamenting over how utterly tragic it is a precious thing like you is forced to deal with such a greedy doll. that if it were her— (she cuts herself off here, knowing that there is indeed a line she may not cross, though the implication isn't lost on you).

she'll smile, then place a pointer finger to her lips, as if swearing you into a secret. the walls in scaramouche's estate may have ears but this motion is for your eyes alone.

scaramouche lets you say a total of One nice thing about her before he's cutting you off, his fingers drumming against a nearby surface. he's not having it. you're told outright that he'll have no discussion of this 'wretched woman' and that her true nature would sicken you. he'll heave a humorless laugh, saying that at least with him, there's no guesswork. he doesn't temper his nature to be more palatable for you. (he scowls when you immediately agree to this point).

"the same can't be said for that wench," he'll muse. "she says i'm greedy? she'd practically devour you if given the chance. consider yourself lucky that i got to you first."

since scaramouche can't kill a fellow harbinger, he satiates his bloodlust by ruining any non-fatui related schemes arlecchino is cooking up. to which arlecchino taunts him by commenting you look miserable in his presence, like a wilted flower. on and on the cycle goes with you unfortunately serving as the focal point.

#this idea is about to live in my head for the next week #i can tell #yandere scaramouche x reader #yandere arlecchino x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #concepts #answered #scaranya

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katiexpunk · 7 months

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Crying Over Spilt Detergent | Joel Miller x f!reader

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Word count: ~3K Warnings: A bit of an unrealistic fuck, emotions, cheating, fingering, unprotected p in v, soft!Joel, feelings, crying, praise kink, size kink. There are no physical descriptions of reader apart from clothing and reference to a “red line” in her palm from holding a laundry basket. Read on AO3 A/N: Well, this was a surprise. Had a pretty shitty day :( and just needed to write to get out of my head so I decided to do a one shot. This fandom always makes me smile, and I hope you all enjoy this. Still new to writing for Joel, and fics in general, so please be kind. If you like it, consider liking, commenting or reblogging -- really helps encourage me to keep going, and tbh, it would be a welcome distraction. Thanks hunnie bunnies, ilysm.

The laundry basket wedged onto your hip is starting to get uncomfortable, heavy from the clothes you’ve neglected the past few weeks. Your grip on the plastic edge is beginning to leave a red line in the crease of your fingers.

The laundromat wasn’t a far walk, but it wasn’t particularly short, either – the distance just enough to be a bit of a burden.

You don’t mind.

You need to clear your head after the shitty day you’ve just had.

After what you’ve just learned.

The sun dips below the horizon, and the typical Americana summer night rolls in.

You amble down the narrow sidewalk, taking the town in for what it is – what it’s always been.

The air was thick with the sweet smell of barbecue smoke from the nearby grill. The yellow street lights started to flicker on, staining the darkening streets with their harsh, synthetic glow. The sound of cold beers being toasted rings out from the nearby bar.

The asphalt, still warm from the summer sun, hums beneath your feet. The aging brick buildings, with their chipped paint and well-worn charm, watch over the streets like silent sentinels, their windows reflecting the moonlight.

You pause to move the basket to your other hip, and that’s when you see it.

Sometimes the smallest towns hold the biggest secrets.

The title of the book reflects back at you through the glass pane of the bookstore window.

You smirk.

It’s not the town.

It’s the people.

You should know. X X X

The bright red LAUNDROMAT sign lights the night sky. The OPEN sign hangs in the window.

You step through the threshold, relieved to finally have some respite from the stickiness of the humidity.

You walk toward the washing machines, and release your now-aching grip on the basket onto the counter in front of you.

As you gaze around, you’re grateful to find that nobody is there.

Not that you expected anyone to be there – not at this hour, anyway.

The worn-out linoleum, the rhythmic hum of the old machines, the scent of detergent and bleach – as weird as it is, you’ve come to appreciate it.

You like doing your laundry at night.

Alone in your solitude.

Alone in your mind.

With your laundry now loaded into the drum, you’re fumbling with the oversized detergent bottle.

Damn thing.

Before you know it, it slips from your grasp.

The cap pops open and a cascade of neon-blue liquid spills onto the floor beneath you.

Shit.

God damn it.

Holding the now-empty detergent bottle, your heart lurches, the weight of the accident pressing down on you, compounding everything that’s already happened today.

The detergent puddle expands slowly, seeping into the grooves between the tiles, lacing the air with an overpowering scent of artificial freshness.

You clumsily step back, your sneakers slip on the slick surface and you fall to the floor.

The overwhelming scent of the detergent fills your senses, and the now literal pain in your ass exacerbates the sudden sting of tears welling up in your eyes.

Great. This is just what you need.

You sit there, head down, covered in goo, your face warm and your cheeks wet, when the familiar ring of the bell above the door catches your attention.

A man steps through.

His boots thud softly against the ground and the door swings shut behind him.

Through your blurry gaze, you look up and are surprised at who you see.

Joel Miller.

You’ve never talked to him before, and only know his name because…well, people talk.

Not many people come into this town, and especially not people that look like him.

All you know about him is that he’s new in town, here for a few months to oversee the construction job of the new hospital. He’s single. Lives with his teenage daughter, Sarah.

Apart from that, he’s a total stranger.

While you haven’t actually spoken with him, you’ve definitely stolen a few glances at him around town – at the hardware store up the street in the paint section; in the frozen section of the grocery store with a Hungry-Man in his hand; nursing a glass of whiskey at the bar after a long day.

Joel pauses at the entrance of the laundromat and stares at you and the soap-painted canvas you’ve turned the floor into.

“Shit, honey. Are you alright?” he asks with delicate caution, voice low, as he walks towards you.

Even in your state, you pause to notice the sweetness of his southern drawl.

He crouches down, facing you, and the tread of his boots grazes the puddle of detergent.

You look up at him, eyes red and swollen from the torrent of tears that had moments before been cascading down your cheeks. The harsh fluorescent light overhead reflects off your glistening tears, playing across your distraught features like a lachrymose prism.

"Yeah, I'm fine..." your voice cracks, the lie too heavy on your trembling lips.

For a moment, silence claims the laundromat, before you drop the act entirely.

"No…no, I'm not," you admit, your voice shattering the quiet.

He’s only just met you, but the visible pain in your eyes causes his heart to hurt.

“C’mere, let’s get you off this floor,” he says as he offers you his large palm.

You place your hand in his.

With a gentle pull, he helps you up from the cold, hard ground. As you rise, you slightly stumble, and he instinctively pulls you into a comforting embrace.

His kindness, his warmth, catch you by surprise.

You find refuge in his arms, your body sinking into his as he wraps you in a protective hug.

You notice a faint, distinctive scent swirling around him - a mix of woodsmoke, fresh laundry - although that’s probably you - and an underlying hint of pine and aftershave. It's a comforting, welcoming smell, a smell that somehow feels like home.

Nestled in his strong arms, you find unexpected solace to the harsh reality of your pain.

“So, ‘m guessin’ you’re not just cryin’ over spilt detergent,” he says. Joel Miller is an observant man.

You release your grip around him, and take a step back, now painfully aware that you don’t actually know him, but you could have stayed in his embrace for hours.

“No, I…um. No. It’s not about the detergent,” you pause to lock eyes with him. “It’s just, I’ve had a no good, really awful fucking day, and now,” you pause to take a breath, your arms lifting and falling by your sides in exasperation “...this.”

Joel looks around at the mess, at you, and places both of his hands on his hips. He wants to ask you what’s wrong, about your day, but he doesn’t want to pry.

Instead, he simply says, “Yeah, I’d say this is quite the mess you’ve got yourself into here, sweetheart.”

He has no idea.

“C’mere, I’ll help you clean it up,” he offers as his head tilts to the janitor's closet in the back.

You normally wouldn’t be so quick to accept a stranger's help, but you’d be there until the morning if you had to clean up the mess yourself.

It's not like you wanted to go home anyway, not after what happened, but you don't particularly want to spend all night in the laundromat, either.

In the closet, you find an old mop and bucket and a handful of extra towels.

You grab them, walk back to the sea of soap, and you both drop to your knees to begin to clean up the mess.

While the floor gets cleaner, you both get dirtier – wet and soapy from the mundane and repetitive task of swiping the detergent off the floor, rinsing it in the water in the bucket, and bringing it back to the floor.

You don’t speak.

Halfway through your cleanup job, Joel is the first to break the silence.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asks gently, his voice soft yet inviting, sincerity and genuine concern reflected in his tone.

You stop cleaning.

“My boyfriend – he, um. He’s cheating on me,” you cough out, feeling the tears begin to well in your eyes once more.

You go back to cleaning to distract yourself, noticing the scuffs from countless footsteps etched into the tiles.

“With my sister,” your confession hangs in the air.

Joel inhales sharply, his heart aching for you once more.

“I guess it’s been going on for a while now,” you continue.

“I came home from work today to find a note on our kitchen table –”

“He told me –” You trail off, and you’re full-on crying again, unable to keep your tears at bay, the droplets falling to the ground create little soap bubbles as they mingle with the detergent and the friction of the towel.

“He told me it’s over. He packed his stuff and he left.”

“Seven years and the fucker couldn’t even tell me in person.”

Your sadness was starting to be replaced with something else, something grittier and darker – rage.

You furiously begin cleaning the floor – there’s hardly any detergent left, yet, you scrub.

Mid-sweep of the rag, Joel places his palm over the top of your hand to stop the movement.

His touch is warm and reassuring.

"Damn…’m really sorry, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. It's a simple response, stripped of any pretense. “You don’t deserve that.”

As he looks you directly in your eyes, you can’t help but notice the flecks of amber in his gaze.

It stirs something low in your belly.

Joel admires the soft features of your face as you stare back at his. Your beautiful, somewhat bloodshot eyes – your swollen and pillowy lips.

Fuck.

He knows you’re sad, but did you have to look so hot like this?

Joel knows it’s wrong, he knows he just met you, but for some inexplicable reason, he just wants to make you feel good.

He pauses, swallowing the lump in his throat, and edges closer to you on his knees so your knees straddle the empty space between him and his thigh.

Gently, he lifts his hand, the calloused palm coming to rest against your soft, tear-streaked cheek.

The world around you seems to fade away as he brushes away the remnants of your tears with his thumb, his touch as light as a feather.

Your eyes meet, and a silent exchange of emotions begins to swirl in your depths.

Joel watches your breathing hitch, your eyes reflecting surprise. Slowly, cautiously, he moves his thumb down to trace the contour of your trembling lips.

He pauses, waiting for you to pull away.

You don’t. You’re not really sure why.

The anticipation builds as he leans in, your faces only inches apart.

Your breaths mingle together momentarily, and then he plants a soft kiss on your lips.

You hum in delight at the feeling of his lips.

You happily accept his eager tongue and swoon when you notice he tastes like mint toothpaste. It’s intoxicating.

Joel pulls away, realizing that what he’s doing probably isn’t a good idea.

You’re sad, and you’ve just had the worst day ever, and he doesn’t even know your name for christs sake.

“I – shit, sorry. I don’t know what came over me there…I just realized I don’t even know your name,” he says, brow creased in concern and the starting looks of regret.

“You’ve had a bad day, and you’re sad. I don’t wan –” you interrupt him, lips crashing fiercely into his.

Still on your knees, you put your arms around his neck and intertwine your fingers through his hair.

This whole day has felt like a living nightmare. Completely out of your control.

But this? This you can control.

You’ve just met him, but god, you’ve never wanted someone so fucking bad.

Joel holds you by the waist close to his chest, and you can feel his hard cock beginning to strain against you in his jeans.

Your lips part with his briefly and you lean forward to whisper your name in his ear.

He groans in response. Learning your name, shit, even the sound of your name causes more blood to flow to his already hard dick.

With one hand on your waist, you start to feel the other one slowly inching down the curve of your ass, around your hip, and into the space between your two bodies.

The tips of his fingers find the elastic waistband of your cotton shorts and thin underwear you’re wearing. His hand slips below both, and his fingers quickly find the soft skin between your legs.

He begins to spread your folds, feeling your stickiness.

You’re wet. You’re so fucking wet.

He slowly pushes a finger into you.

“Gonna make you feel you feel real good, sweetheart, just like you deserve,” he says.

With his finger inside you, he watches you closely – he drinks in the way you hold your breath as he fills you.

He adds a second finger and scissors them in and out until your breathing is ragged and you’re limp against his chest.

His fingers retreat from your tight hole, and he begins to draw circles over your clit, finally giving you the friction you need.

His fingers remain relentless, and the rising heat of your orgasm quickly approaches.

“Joel, mmmm,” your breathless moans echo in his ear, and your face goes tight, then unravels into a rush of sticky sweet release.

“That’s it, baby. Look so beautiful like this,” he praises.

Joel removes his hand and raises his glistening fingers up to his lips, and licks them clean of you.

“Need to fuck you, sweetheart,” he says as he palms at his length.

You both rise to stand, and he lifts you up on top of the washer.

You quickly reach out to unbuckle his belt and release him from his jeans.

Shit.

He’s so big.

He takes himself in hand and swipes his length a few times, using his pre-cum as lube.

As if to know what you were thinking, Joel says, “It’s okay, I think we’ll make it fit.”

Joel positions himself between your legs and then notches his heavy cock and its red weeping tip at your entrance and begins to push himself inside you.

You gasp.

“Fuck –”

“So tight, such a sweet little cunt,” he says during his pause, letting you adjust to the size of him before he starts to move.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and tug at the fabric of his shirt, and he pulls you closer into him with each thrust of his hips.

You’re dripping for him, practically gushing – his thick member glides in and out of you with ease, and you savor each thrust he gives you.

You just met, but by the way he fucks in and out out of you, you could have sworn your bodies were made to be connected.

He can feel his release starting to build, but he wants to get you there before him.

He snakes a hand to your core, rubbing tight circles against your throbbing clit and he thrusts into you harder.

“Good girl,” thrust, “such a good girl,” thrust.

It’s almost enough, his praise. You’re almost there.

Your fingernails dig little crescents into his back, and he coos, “Want you to come for me again, baby. Come on my cock –”

His voice and the command he gives you are enough to send you over the edge.

Your mind goes blank for the second time tonight as your orgasm ripples through you.

Your tight walls clamp down on him.

He watches as you throw your head back, moans spilling from your lips as your body releases subtle shakes.

“Fuck, that was pretty,” Joel growls. “Gonna cum, need to cum,” he pants.

He gives you a few more rolls of his hips before he quickly pulls out, and shoots his hot milky load onto your belly.

Both of your breaths come to a slow, and he looks at you affectionately, “you okay?”

You nod. “Yes,” and for the first time today, you actually are.

“Looks like we have another mess to clean up,” Joel quips as a smile washes over his face.

He helps you off the washer, and helps you clean yourself off.

You both finish what you entered the laundromat to do – laundry.

You talk while your clothes dry.

He helps you fold yours. You help him fold his.

Once done, you walk out of the laundromat together, unsure of where to go from here.

“Come on, I’ll give you a ride,” Joel says, as he nods towards his truck.

You accept his offer, no longer needing a walk to clear your head.

Both on the passenger side of the truck, Joel pauses as it suddenly dawns on him that he never told you his name.

“How’d you know my name?” he asks.

“It’s a small town,” you say, “everyone talks.”

And has their secrets.

END

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller one shot #pedro pascal #joel miller x female reader #tlou smut #tlou fanfiction

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natashasgrl · 6 months

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A Web Of Love - Peter Parker

Peter Parker had always been a friendly, approachable guy, known for his dorky charm and unwavering sense of responsibility as Spider-Man. But there was one secret he'd been keeping for quite some time, something even the ever-watchful Tony Stark had failed to uncover. Peter was head over heels in love with Y/N Stark, Tony's brilliant and beautiful daughter.

Y/N had inherited her father's genius and her mother's grace, making her a formidable presence at the Avengers compound. She was not only a tech whiz but also a kind-hearted, down-to-earth soul, a quality that had caught Peter's attention the moment he met her.

One sunny Saturday afternoon, Peter nervously made his way to Y/N's room. He had thought about this moment for weeks, and he had finally decided that he couldn't hide his feelings any longer. With a bouquet of daisies and a heart full of hope, he knocked on her door.

"Come in," Y/N's melodious voice called.

Peter entered, his heart pounding like a drum. "Hey, Y/N," he stammered, holding out the flowers. "I, uh, got these for you. I thought they'd brighten up your room."

Y/N smiled, taking the flowers from him. "Peter, you're the sweetest," she said, her eyes twinkling.

As they chatted, Peter realized that he didn't have to be Spider-Man to feel like a superhero. Just being around Y/N made him feel invincible.

Little did Peter and Y/N know that they weren't as discreet as they thought. Vision, with his ever-watchful gaze, had noticed the way their interactions had been changing. He approached Wanda, who was flipping through a book in the compound's library.

"Wanda, have you noticed anything... unusual about Peter and Y/N lately?" Vision asked, his synthetic eyebrows furrowing in concern.

Wanda glanced up from her book, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Are you talking about the fact that they've been spending a lot of time together in Y/N's room, cuddling, and whispering sweet nothings?"

Vision nodded. "Yes, precisely that."

Wanda chuckled softly, lowering her book. "I think we have a love story in the making, Vision."

Tony Stark, the genius billionaire, had built an empire out of technology, but he was oblivious to the growing bond between his daughter and his friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. That was until Vision and Wanda decided to intervene.

One evening, as the Avengers gathered in the common area, Wanda couldn't help but tease Tony about his daughter's new romance. "So, Tony, did you know Peter and Y/N have been... close lately?"

Tony's eyes darted around the room as he processed the information. "What do you mean close? Like working on a project together?"

Wanda exchanged a knowing look with Vision. "No, Tony, they've been very close, emotionally," she said with a sly grin.

Tony's face turned several shades of red as he connected the dots. He stormed off toward Y/N's room, his heart pounding with a mix of anger and concern.

Tony burst into Y/N's room, where he found Peter and Y/N laughing and sharing stories. Startled, they quickly separated and looked at Tony, their faces turning bright red.

"Tony, we can explain," Peter stammered, his voice shaky.

Tony crossed his arms, his stern expression softened by a hint of sadness. "You two... dating?"

Y/N nodded, her voice trembling. "Dad, we wanted to tell you, but we were scared of how you'd react."

Tony took a deep breath and sighed. "I'm not going to lie; I'm not thrilled about this. But I can't control your feelings, and I trust Peter."

In the days that followed, Tony couldn't help but observe how Peter and Y/N's relationship blossomed. He saw the way they cared for each other, supported each other's dreams, and brought out the best in one another.

One evening, he called them into his lab. "I've thought about this," he began, "and I can see how happy you make each other. Peter, you're a good kid, and I know you'll take care of my little girl."

Peter let out a sigh of relief, and Y/N beamed with happiness. Tony, though still cautious, couldn't help but smile. "You have my blessing," he said, "but one condition: if you hurt my daughter, there's no place on this planet or any other where you can hide from me, got it?"

Peter nodded vigorously. "Understood, Mr. Stark."

As Tony watched the two young lovers leave his lab, he couldn't help but reflect on how love had a way of surprising even the most brilliant minds. In the end, he was just another dad, hoping that his daughter's heart would be safe in the hands of a boy who had proven to be a hero in more ways than one.

A/N: sorry this ones a little long. :)

#tom holland x fem!reader #peter parker #peter parker x reader #mcu fanfiction #marvel #peter parker x y/n #avengers #avengers endgame #tony stark #peter parker x stark!reader

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tiktaalic · 2 years

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Imagine creating a religion thousands of years ago about how your actions good and bad have consequences on your life force forever and in 2022 a blonde woman from Pennsylvania sings karma is my boyfriend over synthetic drums . Scary isn’t it

#etxt #who. let this happen .#tswift

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thunderjackal · 9 days

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are we just going to ignore that 'when the drumbot misses his first beat' COULD BE ABOUT HIS HEART?? NOT HIS DRUMS????

had this revalation and had to write something about it immediantly, this is just the intro the rest is on a03

The drumbot knows exactly what it means when he pauses for a moment, breath hitched in synthetic lungs. He knows exactly what it means when he realises the absence of the ever present beat in his chest, the only thing really keeping him tied to his soul. It is only a beat, one beat, one second. Yet it is one beat that is missed. He knows he is dying, that his heart will slow, and in the end? He'll be left a metal husk, no longer even a shell of the man he once was, for he'd lost that long ago. It was only a matter of time really, all things must end. A heart can only take so much.

He considered the violent and fiery deaths that would become of those he called friends, their mechanisms failing them once and for all. Engineered lungs scorched by blackened fumes, wires ripped and torn from cybernetic wings, biomechanical heart pierced straight through, robotic eyes shattered, synthetic brain deprived of its precious oxygen, bionic arm ripped from its socket, wooden body abandoned by the soul.

All pointless, all inevitable. All deaths that amounted to nothing, and he was sure his would be the same.

#the mechanisms #the mechanisms band #the mechs #drumbot brian #death to the mechanisms #the mechanisms fanfic #TJ writes stuff

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writingsfromhome · 4 months

Text

Red Rose II

A/N: Did some more work on this series. It’s one of the first fics I ever posted here (2020!?!) but felt writer’s block every time I tried to continue. The story is finally shaping up in my head though. It deals with fantastical elements. I’d say it’s not exactly my average fic…

Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4

—————————

My head is pounding like a bass drum when I wake up, the room I’m in is too dark to see but the sliver of light coming from below the curtains gives the day away. I try to make out the room around me, the night comes back to me in bits.

I must be at the handsome bloke’s-Harry it was. I remember, Harry offered to let me crash at his. I gently turn to stare at the spot next to me but it looks made. He slept somewhere else—he really was a gentleman.

My body creaks as I pivot off the bed and onto the plush carpet. With the softness of the covers and the quality of the carpet, I figured Harry was well off. Compared to my Ikea flat, and synthetic rugs, this was a castle.

I find the light switch and the brightness assaults my sensitive eyes, but I make out a bathroom off to the side. Sweet.

I looked horrible; as hard as I’d done myself up last night I had undone myself in the hours following. And looking at my puffy face and raccoon eyes, I could barely believe Harry wasn’t more afraid of me. Maybe he just pitied me.

By the time I walk back into the room, the curtains have been pushed open, the bed made, and a plain black tee and palazzo pants in my size lay on the bed. It looks exactly like something I would wear on my day off. A glass of water and two painkillers sit on the sidetable. There was no way Harry did all this, how did he find clothes in my size? And why would he make my bed?

I leave the questions for later and take the painkillers (after double checking the label), take the clothes back into the shower and wash the weird night away. It’s not hard finding the kitchen from the smell of coffee and baked goods.

I find Harry sitting in a robe on the balcony off to an open concept kitchen. Two women prepare breakfast, in uniform—so they definitely weren’t family, and another man in uniform stands outside. He definitely didn’t make my bed. I quietly head out to Harry.

“Once I can, that’s all she needs to know.” Harry sips a coffee with his back to me. The man outside only nods to me before going back in.

“Rose,” Harry says. I jump, how did he know I was here. “I can see your reflection in the glass.”

“Do you read minds or something?” I ask as I walk into his view and settle into the chair opposite him.

“Or something,” he smiles. From what I remember from yesterday, he was big and bold and broody but this morning his face is lit from below and he doesn’t seem as intimidating—it holds a kindness that was missing yesterday. At an angle, he looks almost harmless. Almost.

“Thanks for...well for everything.” I wasn’t sure how to approach his kindness. I knew everything came with a price, Harry was being really nice, he’d kept to his word and left me to recover, but I didn’t know why. That made me uneasy. As I think it, Harry fixes me with a stare, waiting for me to continue but I don’t know what to say so I babble. “I usually don’t do this, follow strangers home. But last night was kind of really awful and-shit, Jeremy! I..”

I pat my pockets out of habit but of course my phone isn’t there. I look up and my phone is on the table. I grab it, and look up, Harry continues to stare as if he was watching a rat in a maze he’d constructed and a chill goes down my spine.

Leave it up to me to make things weird.

My train of thoughts freak me out so I just excuse myself and go inside, my screen isn’t cracked anymore. I run my finger over the screen to make sure but it’s entirely smooth. Was I hallucinating yesterday?

“Y/N, why are you calling so bloody early?” Jeremy’s sleepy voice answers the phone. I check the room and spot the time on the fridge. 8:44.

“Sorry, must be the jet lag. I just want you to know I’m okay.”

“What? Why wouldn’t you be?” I hear him shuffling.

“I...” I realise he knew absolutely nothing from yesterday. I never called him-he probably thinks I’m still at my ex’s! “I’m sorry Jer go back to bed. I’ll explain later.”

He grumbles something but he sounds half-asleep already. I tuck my phone into my pocket and go back outside. The women have disappeared and a buffet is laid out in front of Harry. He points to my seat and I take it.

“Wow,” I was at a loss for words. But I ask, “Did you fix my phone?”

“It fell out of your pocket when I was helping you to bed.” Harry says. “I cracked the screen so I fixed it. Brought it out here for when you had breakfast.”

“Oh no, I um, I actually broke it last night!” I pull it out with a nervous laugh. How did he fix it? “I got angry and sort of...yeah, anyway, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s done for me. I really...I’m actually overwhelmed with how nice you’re being.” My laugh comes out in a rush of air, I’m trying to figure this man out. He didn’t feel threatening but there were all these red flags that made it seem so.

He finally cracks a smile back and nods. “This is how a woman like yourself should be treated. Let’s just enjoy the feast, and enjoy the morning.”

I smile as he pours me coffee. Something in the back of my head wants to analyze everything about the man in front of me, his good looks and his good manners. But also the cold way he observes me versus the short bursts of sunshine in his laugh. His hand keeps brushing mine, and he makes me blush with his compliments. But he continues to call me Rose, he doesn’t even ask for my name again. So I don’t offer it.

“So do you do this often?” I ask. “Invite a stranger from a pub and take care of her?”

“I’ve been visiting The Good Folk for decades and I’ve never met a woman like you.”

My heart skips a beat, not at the compliment. He said decades, but he had less wrinkles than I did and I wasn’t even 30. How old was he?

“I bet you say that to all the women you take home,” I say.

“Yes,” he admits and I look up from my toast. He seems unfazed by his admission but he notices my expression, “What?”

“You just admitted to saying that to all the women you take home.”

“Yes?” He stares. “This is the first time I’ve taken a woman home from there.”

It sounds like a lie or a technicality but he’s entirely honest. And I don’t know how I know that.

The uniformed man suddenly appears and says something to Harry who excuses himself and leaves. Was he like Mr. Alfred, butler to a billionaire type? Harry sure was mysterious enough to have one.

I use the time alone to look around, the view showed an expanse of green fields and in the distance the skyline of London. I’d lived here all my life yet I couldn’t figure where exactly we were.

I look back inside, the place is spotless. Harry must be richer than I thought if he could afford a place like this and hire help. He was a gentleman with a streak of odd, I conclude.

I wanted to figure the odd bit out.

“Are you done with breakfast?” I jump when one of the women from earlier appears beside me. But on a closer look, she was a lot younger than me. Maybe around 15?

“I’m done. You’re quite young. What’s your name?”

She giggles and looks back to where the other women is watering the outdoor plants. When she turns at the sound of the giggles, I realise she was just as young. Was this even legal?

“I’m called Dot, that’s Oona.”

“Nice to meet you Dot.” I watch as she picks up a stack of plates. She was stronger than she looked but still I ask, “Do you need help?”

She just giggles again as if what I asked was absurd and simply carries the large stack inside. I decide to help anyway, feeling unusual if I sat while they cleared the table. It wasn’t something I was used to.

I drop the coffee cups off on the counter when Harry appears and pulls me away.

“What are you doing?” He demands.

“I’m just helping clear...” I turn to point to the girls but they stare at us. It reminds me of the weird motorcycle guy yesterday who offered to give me a ride home. They have the same look in their eyes and when I turn to Harry I can see why. His features are set in an aggressive expression. I didn’t know what I’d done except to help out, and I didn’t want the two girls to get in trouble.

“Harry I...” I touch his arm. “They didn’t ask or nothing, I was just sitting there and thought I could help. I’m not usually waited on...especially by girls younger than me so it was just weird to just sit there.”

His eyes slide from the two behind me to me, his expression softens ever so slightly. “We all have our roles. Let them do theirs. They’ve been in my employment for many years.”

“Okay,” I agree quickly. I wanted to move away from the tense room and shift Harry’s attention away from Dot and Oona. I would have to apologise later, I didn’t mean to get them in trouble. And maybe ask what their skin care tips were—there was no way Harry hired children so they must have amazing genetics.

“Did you have any plans today? I know you people usually go to work during the day,” Harry leads me to a large room that must be an office. I’m taken aback by his bluntness saying “my people”.

“We’re not all rich unfortunately,” I say passively. I couldn’t figure out if Harry was a good guy or not. One second he was kindly hosting me and the next he looks ready to throw his help out the window because I helped them.

“What do riches have to do with your plans?” Harry looks genuinely confused. He played aloof really well.

“My people?” I remind him.

“Yes, what do you do during the day?”

I shake my head. He was so confusing. “I usually have work but I’m off for the week. I thought I would spend today with...my ex. But after yesterday-“

“You deserve better. He doesn’t hold a candle to you.”

I laugh, slightly nervous having all his attention so close. “Right. That’s nice of you to say. But I seem to have a bad history with men, I don’t think I even know what I deserve at this point.”

“I thought it was human nature to follow your hearts?” Harry stops fiddling with the book in his hands and moves towards me. “Love makes the world go round or something like that?” Harry drags his fingers up and down my arm and I feel it in the pit of my stomach. “How can you not know what you deserve.”

“I...” words leave my mind as I lean in towards him. His touch empties me of thought and I just want more of him. But as I lean into him it’s like he realises what was happening. He jumps back, letting go of me and I straighten up.

“Uh,” Harry clears his throat, “I can’t-“ he looks to the door just as it creaks open, I immediately feel the familiar burn of embarassment that came with rejection. What was wrong with me? He kept making it clear he was just being nice, he wasn’t interested like that. Why did I react to him so strongly?

“What is it?” Harry sounds annoyed at whoever’s at the door. When I finally look, it’s the man from earlier. His Alfred.

“Your presence is needed at...” he glances at me and back at Harry.

“I told you, tell her I’ll get back to her once I can-“

“It’s quite urgent,” his butler’s eyes continue flicking between the both of us.

I check the time on my phone and the movement catches Harry’s attention. I avoid looking directly at him, “I should head back home now anyway. You’re obviously busy.”

“You don’t have to,” he says in a low voice. “You can stay as long as you need.”

“I’m pretty recovered from last night,” I smile. “I think I just have some of my things in the room I stayed in.”

“Dot will get it for you,” Harry puts his hand on my back as I walk to the door. His butler continues staring at us as he moves aside and follows us out.

Dot suddenly appears with my wallet and clothes from yesterday, laundered and smelling amazing.

“Wow,” I take them from her, scanning her face to be sure she was alright. She just gives me a bright smile contrasting her icy hands. “Thank you.” I tell her and turn back to Harry, “I can’t thank you enough for last night. I was a mess and...you helped. I seriously owe you one.”

Harry’s sharp gaze settles on me and I hear a gasp from Dot. It’s like the air was sucked out of the room, I glance back at Dot and her eyes are wide. His butler also looks startled. Were they okay?

“You don’t need to,” Harry finally says. “Consider it a kindness, not a favour.”

“No no,” I walk with Harry towards the front. His house was like a maze. “Nobody is ever this kind for no reason, I’ll make it up to you.” If there was anything life taught me, strangers didn’t do things out of pure kindness. I didn’t want strings down the road. I would rather just let him know I would return the favour and have that sit between us.

His expression is unreadable as he opens the door, a woman already stands outside with a car idling on the road. Woah.

“I accept,” Harry says. I raise my eyebrow, he had an odd way of talking. That’s what made him more intriguing.

On impulse, I go to press a quick kiss to his cheek but he jerks back. I back away, my cheeks aflame, and walk out with my things in hand. The woman opens my door for me and as hard as I try, I still glance back at Harry before I get in and give him a lame wave. His gaze never leaves mine, even after I sit in. He really did just do this to help me out, I read too much into it. He obviously didn’t feel the attraction I felt.

***

“You know that sounds completely made up? I’ve never even heard of The Good Folk.”

It’s late afternoon and I’m catching Jeremy up on last night’s adventure. I didn’t think his eyes could get bigger than they already were but with each part of the story they grow wider.

“As if you know every single pub in London,” I roll my eyes at my best friend.

“If the pub was lit at 1am it must be popular enough-I would know. Where does this guy live?”

“I...” I try to remember the route we took back to my flat but it’s foggy. Maybe I was too preoccupied with getting over being rejected multiple times. But I do remember we arrived at my flat within half hour. “Right outside London but I wasn’t really paying attention.”

“Doesn’t sound like you,” Jeremy nudges me. “Does somebody have a new special somebody in their life already?”

“I wish!” I really did. “He was mostly distant, nothing happened! He didn’t even let me kiss him goodbye. Plus, I just broke up with you know who.”

“We all knew that chapter was coming to a close,” Jer huffs. “You weren’t even in love with him.”

“Well,” I don’t have much to say to that. Jeremy was right, the relationship was getting colder. And after a warm bath and a meal, I could see clear enough. I was angry yesterday for letting it get to the point I was cheated on. I never had the balls to end it myself. As strong as I made myself on the outside, I hadn’t been strong enough inside to admit it and just end it.

Mostly I was scared to be alone again.

“Well,” Jeremy pulls me into a hug and kisses my forehead. “I’m going to start some dinner for us. You can go through the mail that’s been piling up for you.”

I reach for the stack he drops down beside me. Most of the bills I paid online, I put those aside. Junk, pamphlets, which just left two to actually look at. The first is a postcard from my foster sister, she was doing her gap year and made sure to send me a postcard from each country even though I’d seen her while I was away. The other is unmarked, thin. I open it and inside is just a note.

The Good Folk, tonight. 10:30pm.

Did Harry send this? I flip the paper over but it’s blank, until it catches the light and I realize the faint shimmer of a logo. It’s a spiral in the palest silver but there’s nothing else written anywhere. Maybe Harry did send it, he didn’t have my number but he did know where I lived. Maybe I was seeing him again tonight, maybe Jer was right. Butterflies take over my nervous system but I tell them not to get their hopes up. They don’t listen.

“What are you grinning at?” Jeremy calls from the kitchen—the open concept allowed him to see me.

“I might have a date tonight, half past ten,” I hold up the paper. “Harry.”

“Ooh,” he grins before it morphs into concern. “That’s late...you don’t think?”

“We’ll see,” I skim my fingers over the writing. Maybe he just wanted to talk, but if a guy wanted to see you twice in a day that usually meant something right? Even though he looked afraid everytime I went in for a kiss. I sigh. We’ll see.

***

I look back at the shops around me. I swear this was where I was last night. But the place where The Good Folk should have stood was just a Gregg’s. A Google search didn’t turn up anything so all I had to rely on was memory and even that was shoddy.

I ask a couple passing by but nobody knows what I’m talking about. Great, Harry would probably think I stood him up.

I decide to wander, maybe I’ll stumble on it again. I don’t even try to think, hoping my memory will lead me. The dark streets remind me of my near meltdown last night. It was late, if I didn’t find it in the next five minutes I was driving back.

Just as I think it, I see a familiar sign. The Good Folk. But it’s on a street corner and it was most definitely not on a corner last night. Definitely weird.

When I walk in, it’s past 10:30 and I hope Harry wouldn’t mind. I walk to the bar, even more people staring tonight than last. I definitely didn’t look how I did last night, was it just because I wasn’t a regular?

“Surprised you’re back,” the barkeep actually acknowledges me today. He has a petite woman working the counter too.

“Just meeting someone,” I say. Harry was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he was late too.

“A woman like you should be careful,” he sets a drink in front of me.

“I didn’t order th-“

“I did,” a soft voice says to my left. I look at the source, and am surprised to see a blonde guy who definitely was not Harry. He did look familiar. Then I remember, I saw him last night.

“I know you. You were here yesterday-or rather this morning right?” He has kind eyes when he smiles at my question.

“Yes, I saw you come and go. I never got the chance to speak with you.”

I take a seat, may as well while I waited. As I do I remember more; he was glaring at Harry when we left. “Now’s your chance!” I smile at him and take a sip. “Woah, this is amazing.”

“I thought you might like it,” he watches me drink more. I wasn’t even halfway through and I already wanted a second. “Wild elderberry cocktail.”

“I have to remember that,” I say and make a mental note as I gulp down more.

“I never caught your name...”

“Oh, I didn’t even introduce myself how rude of-“

“Rose,” my back straightens as Harry’s familiar voice rings across the bar. What was up with him interrupting my conversations here?

“Rose,” the blonde nods, ignoring the fact that Harry had answered his question. I open my mouth to correct him, to give my real name but he gives me his. “Elliot.”

I can’t even respond because Harry suddenly crowds me. There’s a fiery heat emanating from him towards Elliot. Maybe there was something between them, and the way they glare at each other, I don’t want to find out.

“Took you long enough,” I tell Harry. But the pub is so silent you can hear a pin drop. I look around and everyone is staring at us, this must be one of those places where everyone knew everyone else. And the vibes were telling me these two must have a history.

“What are you talking about?” Harry asks. “Why are you here?”

“Um, you invited me? The letter?”

“What letter,” he finally tears his eyes from Elliot and he looks fierce. My stomach drops and my eyes sting. I was such an idiot, of course he didn’t send it. Why was I so obsessed with the idea that I could mean something to this man I just met. Why was I acting like a hormonal teenager about this!?

“I got a letter to be here at 10:30...I just thought it was you I-“

“It was me,” Elliot interrupts. I look to him, his face is a breath of fresh air compared to Harry’s fiery storm.

“How did you know where I lived?” I ask but it doesn’t matter because Harry’s put his body between Elliot and I.

“You stay out of this. Leave her alone.” Harry’s words are threatening.

“She’s not yours,” Elliot says lazily. “She came of her own free will.”

“Free will? She came on an invite. By you.”

“An invite is just that. Her choice.”

“Stay away toadstool, if you touch a single-“

“Hey!” I use my hands to pry them apart. “I’m sitting right here! And I don’t need a knight in shining bloody armour. You,” I turn to Harry. “Don’t need to worry about me. It’s not like you want me. Elliot invited me out, I’m here for him. Not you.”

If I thought it was silent before, it was void of even a breath now. Harry looks like steam could be coming out of him and just like a switch, he backs away and straightens out. His face falls into neutral as he nods.

“As you wish.” He turns, with a last cold look at Elliot, he walks out. Everyone watches him go and as soon as he does there’s a burst of excited chatter.

“What was that about,” I turn to Elliot.

“The past.” He says vaguely before ordering me a second drink. I didn’t even realise I stress drank the first one.

The bartender eyes me as he hands me over the drink.

“Thanks,” I slide it closer to me.

“Remember what I said,” he mumbles as he glances at Elliot and walks away. Did everyone have something against Elliot? But when I look at him he looks too sweet to have ever done something bad enough to hold a grudge. Everything but his eyes, there’s an icy glint to them that wasn’t there before Harry interrupted. The past must be something formidable.

“Let’s go to my table,” Elliot gestures to where he was sitting yesterday. I follow with mixed feelings. Eventually, I decide I was just here for fun. It wasn’t that serious.

***

Dawn creeps on the horizon, and I’m surprised to see it as Elliot helps me into my coat.

“How has it been hours?” I ask as I slip my hands in. “We’ve been talking for so long!”

“I guess so,” Elliot lets go of the jacket and I untuck my hair from underneath. Tonight was...so different than any I’ve ever had. Elliot and I had just talked all night, I barely remember about what. He was funny too. And The Good Folk stayed open with people in and out all night. “It was nice to get to know you.”

“This place is busy as ever, does it ever close?” I glance at the patrons. Some of them don’t even hide their open stare. I was starting to get used to it.

“Closes at sunrise.” Elliot stares.

“Sunrise? It must open late then. That’s an odd schedule.” I think about what Jer said. A place like this would be infamous in London, why had nobody heard of it?

“It’s open sunset to sunrise.”

“Interesting.” I follow Elliot out into the street. The sky is brightening, the midnight black turning into a deep sea blue.

“This is where we part ways Rose.” He says Rose like an enchantment, and my body wants to move closer but I stay where I am. He continues studying me the way he had been all night. I had been studying him too.

“It was really nice. Tonight.”

“I enjoyed myself. Despite the nuisance from early on.”

“Nuisance?” I ask. “Oh. Harry?”

“Harry,” his lip curls. The boyish sweetness bitters before washing away again. “Don’t mind him.”

“Oh I don’t. He helped me out in a pinch yesterday but otherwise I barely know him.”

“In a…pinch?”

“Yeah. It was pretty bad but,” I shrug. “Anyway. I should get home. My friend might start to worry.”

“Of course Rose,” Elliot says. He eyes me for a moment. His brow tightens and he continues, “Maybe I’ll see you again?”

“Maybe,” my heart picks up its pace. “We’ll see.”

His smile stretches his lips, he seemed amused.

With a nod he walks away and turns the corner. I stand there even after I’m unable to see him, and smile into my scarf. I just had an all nighter date with a cute guy who seemed interested in me.

When I tell Jer this he just scoffs.

“Be careful,” he reminds me. “Firstly I’ve never heard of this bar. Secondly how the fuck did this Elliot guy get your address? And thirdly, you don’t get involved with two guys with history. Trust me.”

“Jer,” I roll my eyes. “Okay. The address thing is weird, maybe I said it out loud when I was trying to get a ride home?”

“Still creepy! Hold on-“ he picks up his ringing phone and I wait.

Aside from the address thing, sure. It was a big weird. But Elliot did not give off creepy vibes. I just had to do some more digging if I was interested.

Was I interested? I think of Elliot’s amused blue eyes and blonde hair, his laugh, and the way he made most of the night about me. He didn’t try to kiss me or take me home. We just talked. It was nice.

My mind wanders to Harry. He had taken me home, taken care of everything. Was respectful. But he was kind of overprotective, and aloof. I didn’t care for that.

Elliot was open whereas Harry was hard to read-

“Are you even listening,” Jeremy snaps his fingers in front of my face.

“Huh?” I look up and in the time I had gotten lost in my thoughts, Jeremy had changed into his parka and his boyfriend stands beside him ready to leave.

“Y/N get some rest. I’m worried about you. You can’t just go from one relationship—even if it was a dying one, and hop into a love triangle.”

“Love triangles are messy,” Bryce comments.

“I know! Promise me you’ll take a break. Process your last relationship before you jump into anything new?”

He was right. Of course he was. It had just been such a long time since I felt wanted that I was letting it fuck me up like I was a teen madly in love. I barely knew them. And I’d forgotten all about my cheating ex. On one hand it was good, but I couldn’t slide into anything new.

“Okay. Promise.”

“Good.” Jer sighs. “We’ll be out of your hair by tonight so don’t make me worry about you.”

“What? Why? You two stay the week like I promised!”

“No we need to head back north. He misses the countryside,” Jer points back to his partner.

“The cow shite can wait Bryce, please? Keep me company longer?!”

Jer hugs me against him. “We’ll do lunch today before we’re off okay? Get some sleep though.”

I’ve known Jeremy since I was 11 and he was 10. I had just been placed in a new foster home, the third one I’d been in since I was 6. Jeremy had arrived a month before me, he’d been in the system since he was 9. He had given me the downlow on who to avoid and who was nice, in return I’d stuck up for him when he was picked on. He was a tiny thing then, scrawny and wide-eyed. I had been weathered by the system and didn’t care who was nice and who you had to avoid. I learned after my first home you had to become the person to avoid, and then leave everyone else alone.

We were separated a few years later and found each other on the streets when I was 17 and he was 16. When I turned 18, saved enough money to rent a shitty flat with another girl, I let him crash with me until he could afford his own rent.

We always looked out for each other. He was one of 3 people I considered family. So when he gives me advice, I take it.

***

“No I’m telling you she works at Boots and she complimented my eyeliner.” Jer bangs the table. We’re sat at lunch, a couple day drinks in. “I was like bitch you spat on me when we were 12 and called me ten different kind of slurs!”

“Shut up!” I cover my mouth. “I need to see it for myself.”

“Tomorrow. Visit her. I wonder if she’ll recognize you.”

“Probably not. I look pretty different.” These days I dyed my hair a triage of browns and blondes and grew out of my baby face.

“True. She might compliment your hair.”

“She better not. She used to make fun of how frizzy it got-“

“Until you woke her up with scissors over her hair one night.”

“Shh,” I laugh. “Don’t say my crazy so publicly.”

“It’s not your crazy,” Jer grabs my hand. “It’s what kept you alive. Us.”

We grow quiet as the heavier bits of the memories sink in.

“It was tiring,” I slip my hand away. “Always being switched on. Even now, I can’t help it.”

“Until it comes to men. Then my good friend y/n goes poof and this stranger appears.”

I sigh, I had issues. “I can’t help being fucked up. It’s just like, when I sense they want me something inside me lights up. And I tell myself to calm down but all rational thought disappears!”

“Girl trust me I get it. Until I met Bryce, I was sharing beds with so many people.”

“I remember.” Back then it was me picking him up from random parts of town after being kicked out by a spouse home too early, or a partner back from out of town.

“What’s that bloke’s name? Harry was it? He didn’t want you-“

“Ouch! I know!”

“No not like that!” Jer says. “You seemed into him the first night you came back. Even though he wasn’t into you.”

“Yeah. Maybe just cuz he was nice. Why is finding love so hard? I feel like I’m not cut out for it!”

“You want a love that transcends everything because you read too much romance.”

“Stop being dramatic,” I roll my eyes. But it was true, romance novels were my vice. I couldn’t help but believe in true love.

The one thing I knew about my parents is that my mum died in childbirth and my dad died when I was 3 from heartbreak. He loved her more than he could love the sum of the two of them. He left me behind for her. That was true love.

I had a whole of 2 pictures from my life. One of my mum pregnant with me. Another of my mum and dad before they got pregnant I think. The way they looked at each other—I just want a slice of that. I always believed true love existed simply because I knew the story of my parents.

“Okay. Bryce is texting me nonstop let me see what he wants.” Jer leaves me at the table. I sigh and sip my wine, wishing I wasn’t such a hopeless romantic.

It was the part of me that always got hurt. Every other part I had learned to grow armour on but the part of me that yearned never learned how to.

My chest aches as I think about the love I don’t have. I feel it in the air around me as it quivers with something that feels akin to mourning.

“What are you doing?” I hear from the table next to me. There was a couple seated after us, Jer and I guessed they were colleagues. It was a game we liked to play—guessing the lives of people around us. We’d done it as long as we could remember.

The woman slides her hand up the man’s arm. He’s the one that asked the question. He doesn’t seem into it.

“Sorry,” Jer says, sitting back down just as the woman jerks back.

“I uh-“ she pushes her chair back. “Sorry I don’t know what-“

“Uh oh,” I look at Jer. “They just blurred some coworker lines.”

“No it’s okay. Mags wait-“ the guy manages to her back in her seat and they talk too low to hear.

“Juicy,” we eye them for a few seconds.

“Bryce is picking me up in 15, we need to start heading back otherwise we’ll be driving in traffic.”

“I wish you stayed the week.” I pout.

“Your 1.5 bedroom flat isn’t big enough for all of us. Call me when you finally get that promotion and buy a bigger flat.”

“You’ll be the first person I call. You know that.”

“I know that.” He smiles.

“When will you be in town next?”

“Not for a while unless my best friend decides to do something stupid.”

“I won’t,” I promise him. “Maybe I’ll come up to you in November.”

“Open invitation.” Jer reminds me.

I go home to an emptier flat, it makes me feel more lonely than I should. I never had a lot of people in my life, I’d grown accustomed to being alone. To loneliness.

But as an adult, the pangs dug in just as deep.

I soothe it by falling asleep early.

All I remember of my dreams are intense colours and emotions, vibrant landscapes and a looming sense of dread. I wake up drenched in sweat, the second time that week that my dreams were that intense. Maybe I should be visiting a doctor.

***

I feel like I’m wasting potential as I sit in my flat on a Friday night. I had been laying on my couch for the last two hours, first scrolling through my phone, then being jumpscared by a post from my ex, then zoning out to a movie, before going back on my phone.

The cycle is vicious. And all I can think of is Elliot. No. I couldn’t think of Elliot.

Maybe I should join one of those dating apps. Hopeless romantic looking for true love, but also dtf to fill the time.

God. I was miserable.

Something inside me is drawn to go back to the pub. To the patrons that loved to stare. To the pair of eyes I didn’t mind stared.

“Jer said no.” I say out loud. Well, he didn’t say no. Just not to do anything rash. To process my emotions. “Fine.”

I continue laying on my couch. Let my ex flit through my mind. I thought I loved him. I think I just liked the idea of him. After the initial lover phase, we were really in two different places all the time.

I sink deeper into the couch. Who have I loved? Have I ever lover anyone romantically?

I remember a guy I dated when I was 24. It lasted 8 months and 14 days. Jer had had to sleep on the couch for a week because the day I was broken up with I’d found my way to his flat, crashed on his bed, and stayed glued onto his mattress.

Until he had to physically carry me into a shower and spray me with water. But that’s another story.

He was the closes thing I felt to love. To loved. He moved to Mexico. I remember he told me it was wrong timing. I remember thinking I was cursed.

I sink further and further into the couch.

I was 28 and never really loved anyone. How pathetic was that?

Suddenly I can’t breathe. It feels like the couch was drowning me whole like quicksand.

Even pulling myself out feels like quicksand, I use all my strength to sit up and only then do my lungs inflate with a deep breath.

“Holy fuck.” I gasp.

What the fuck was that!?

I look back at my couch but it looks back the exact same. It felt like it was swallowing me moment earlier. What the fuck!

I had to get out of here.

That’s how I find myself at the local corner store buying junk, and browsing the crisps.

“Sweet tooth?”

“Huh?” I nearly jump at the sight of Elliot. “Wha-Elliot?”

“Rose.”

“What are you…are you stalking me?”

“Stalking?”

“What are you doing here?”

He tucks his hands in his pockets, that’s when I note how casual he was dressed. Slacks and a half-zip.

“I was at a party nearby,” his eyes flicker over the items in my hand.

“Weird coincidence.” He knew my address, I knew that.

“It might appear that way. What are you doing now?”

“Um…” I glance down at my hands. “Buying…stuff.”

“Want to join us? The party’s by the water.”

If it was a fake party he wouldn’t be inviting me. Unless he was going to take me to a second location to do something worse.

“I’m busy so…”

“Oh. My apologies.” He gets formal very quickly but his eyes crinkle with a smile, the blueish grey drawing me in. “I’ll let you get on.”

“Well,” he wasn’t pushy. Maybe I should see this party. See the people he hung out with. “Maybe I can drop by for a little bit? It’s nearby?”

“10 minute by walking.”

“I don’t need this then,” I pool my items onto a random shelf. “We can go when you want.”

He goes to the front with his items and at the last second I buy a pack of cigarettes. I tried to drop the habit many times but ever since I got back from my vacation I’d picked it up again. I tried not to blame my ex.

“Those aren’t very good for you.” Elliot eyes the pack as I slip them into my pocket.

“You’re telling me you’ve never smoked a cigarette in your life?”

“I have. It doesn’t taste very good.”

“I don’t think they’re supposed to taste good,” I can’t help but laugh.

“So what are they good for?” He asks and it’s so bizarre because he seemed genuinely curious about it.

“Um? Stress relief? Comfort?”

“Sounds like something a lover should offer.”

I nearly walk into traffic when he says it. So bluntly. Kind of like how Harry spoke. I wonder if they just grew up so rich they were from another world.

“Sure if you have one. Lovers are fleeting and temporary. Cigarettes—they’re permanent. Until I guess…you fuck your lungs up so much you become fleeting and temporary. Shit sorry.”

Elliot looks at me with confusion, like I was speaking an alien language. Maybe he didn’t get the joke. I dunno. I grow quiet instead.

“So what exactly is it you do?” I ask after a bout of silence. I can’t remember if he’s told me this in our conversation the other night.

“What do you mean I do?”

“Like in life? To earn money and all that?”

“In life? I lead.”

I glance up at him after the douchey answer. Oh he was serious.

“Cool so you’re like, upper management at your company or like you own the business?”

He cocks his head, “I manage my company yes. But I don’t own anything yet. I report to someone above me.”

“Right.” He was being very literal. And it sounded like nepotism. I didn’t want the headache of knowing what his company did so I don’t bother with more questions.

He leads me down a set of steps and to the canal. People sit along the grassy bank and I’m a bit surprised to see them.

“Elliot my man!” Someone shouts. “Did you bring the beer?”

Elliot holds up a hand holding two cases. I think back, I don’t remember him buying two. But I could have been too busy checking out his backside. I needed help.

“So Rose,” Elliot says after handing the drinks over. “I would like to see you again. Talk some more. Maybe come clean about all this.”

“All what?” I ask.

“The truth of your parents, how you came to The Good Folk-“

“My parents?” What did he know about my parents?

“Yes. You spoke about them the other night.”

“I did?” I blink to clear the cobwebs but I have a hard time recalling exactly what Elliot and I discussed. Mostly just that it was a nice time.

“Rose,” Elliot gets out in front of me and places a hand on my shoulder. His eyes are intense as they bore into me. “I’m not a threat. I was only curious.”

What a weird fucking thing to say.

I pull my cigarettes out. “I need a smoke.”

“Need?” He lets go of my shoulder, eyebrow raised. “Is it all consuming?”

“Sure?” I just needed to step away. There were too many people around for this not to be safe but I wanted space from Elliot. He was being weird.

“Understood.” He backs away. “I’ll wait until the need is satisfied.”

“Thanks?” I mutter. I step away and as soon as I do at least 3 women replace me and tug at him to join their group. His eyes linger on mine as he walks away with them and I look away.

I move further away from the group, closer to the underpass of a small bridge.

I take out a cigarette and place it in my mouth before I pat my pockets, and realize I had no lighter.

Shite.

I note a few people sitting around, a bright dot hovering around their faces. People had lighters. I could ask one of them.

But the more I look at everyone, the more I want to stay in the shadows. What was I doing here? Jer would kill me if he found out. Maybe I should text him. No, he’d freak out. Fuck!

I lean against the stone wall, pressing my lips against the cigarette still dangling in my mouth. The paper glides smoothly between my lips, the familiar smell of tobacco drifting up to my nose.

The air around me grows cooler and I close my eyes, tilting my head back. Trying to ground myself. The stone is uneven behind my head but it doesn’t matter. I feel cloaked in the dark, embraced by it. I feel safe.

I take a few deep breaths, the joint between my lips a prop for the time being.

As my body relaxes and my mind wanders, Harry’s face materializes before me; if I wasn’t so relaxed it might have scared me.

His green eyes search mine like they’d done before. He leans in closer, the darkness surrounding him. The only light comes from a smoke between his own lips. It throws shadows on his cheekbones, making him look like he was carved from marble.

We’re locked in a staring contest but it doesn’t feel weird. He’s part of the darkness, staring into his eyes keeps me grounded.

He leans down, closer to me. The orange tip of his cigarette touches mine and I can even feel the heat of it, smell the smoky air around us.

I inhale slowly, its an intimate gesture—him giving me light. My smoke catches fire and he leans away with a small smirk, away until the darkness swallows him and I’m alone again.

I take in a deep breath to sigh but smoke shoots down my throat.

I throw my eyes wide open as I cough. The cigarette goes flying out of my mouth and my eyes water.

“What the fuck?” I cough out uncontrollably.

My cigarette lies on the ground in front of me, dying embers on its tip.

What. I crouch down and it really is mine. How could that be?

I hold it to my lips and inhale. Exhale.

It was lit.

I whip my head around, was Harry here? Did I not imagine that?

But the closest person is making out with someone else on the other side of the bridge. No one had been here. Unless they’d lit it while I had my eyes closed and walked away.

A chill goes up my spine.

I had to go home. This was getting weird.

When I tell Elliot I was going to go home he’s flanked by half a dozen girls. They look at me with disdain but I ignore it. I was used to looks like that.

“You had your cigarette?” Elliot asks.

“Yeah. Oh. Sorry I didn’t offer one. Did you want-“

“That’s not my smoking preference,” he smiles and he’s the man in the pub again. Kind eyes and an infectious smile. “Meet me at the pub one of these nights Rose?”

“I can’t promise anything,” I play with the pack in my pocket, eager to leave.

“I don’t expect you to,” Elliot says seriously.

“Okay. Well. I’ll try to make it.”

“Great.”

I leave behind a weary smile and hitch it back home.

***

I wake up again drenched in sweat. This whole week I’d been having intense dreams, but all I remember when I wake up is how chaotic it was. The rest slips away like sand in the breeze. It’s frustrating because they feel similar, like I should be remembering what they’re saying.

“Have you been smoking pot?” Lydia asks. I’m back at work that Monday and I’m detailing to my friend who’s serving me my coffee.

Lydia and I met in uni when we were 19. Like all people, I’d been wary and guarded with her back then. But she’d been persistent and earned my trust somehow. We’d been best friends since. I’d watched her come up with and execute this idea of owning her own cafe all on her own. It was London’s top 5 book cafes. And even though it was out of my way I tried to come here most days for coffee.

“No, but it’s making me sleep so shitty.” I complain. “I wish I could just pop a nyquil and call it quits for the night.”

“I can hook you up with magnesium? It’s supposed to be superb.”

I grab my cup from her, “I’ll get super drunk tonight. Blackout for free.”

“Not alone,” she comes around the counter and hugs me. “You were mia this last week. I’m coming over with wine tonight and you catch me up on it.”

I sigh and agree. It would be a lot to cover.

The work day is lost in the bustle of catching up and meetings. By the time I see Lydia again I feel like someone could tip me over and I’d crash. But after putting on some face masks and pouring a generous helping of wine I settle in and tell her all about it.

“So mysterious,” she says when I’m done. Obviously I leave out the weird parts, like the pub moving physically and having my cig light up on its own because I’m not even entirely sure it happened. “The Harry guy seems like a gentleman. The other bloke seems a bit too coincidental to not be creepy.”

“But Harry was being so possessive.”

“Pink flag?” Lydia asks.

“Maybe. Jer said to stay away from it all. Honestly I need a man break? I think after my last relationship I just need to be alone again. I’ve been trying to fill the hole of loneliness with who I can date next. It’s gross.”

“It’s not gross,” she nudges me. “It’s human. Wanting connection.”

“Yeah,” I think on it. “I guess it is. Lord knows I didn’t get enough of it as a child.”

“There you go. We can’t help it. But maybe I agree with Jer? Lay off the relationships. Doesn’t mean you can’t do the horizontal mambo with whoever you want.”

“Dee!” I laugh. “Why do you have the worst names.”

She smirks behind her wine glass, probably considering it a win for making me laugh.

She stops herself early since she had to get back home and I carry the remains of the bottle to bed. Wine made me sleepy and just the same I knock out shortly after. And I don’t wake with a fright the next morning but as my dreams drift away I know they were crazy. This time I remember something about sticks. Random but I remember.

As I ride the tube to work I try to keep a reign on my hangover. I’d had plenty of water last night and popped some painkillers this morning yet my vision is blurry and everyone looks hazy around the edges.

I look to the woman sitting in front of me. She looked pleasant enough but there’s a ring of gray around her that bleeds into the pink of a little boy sitting next to her. His feet don’t quite hit the ground and they swish back and forth. It’s mesmerizing actually and I nearly miss my stop.

You’d think it gets better but the haziness stays the whole day. I should book an eye doctor too, I think somewhere in my brain. Whatever Lydia brought over last night was strong.

On Friday night Lydia invites me over to her place. She had a few friends over that was part of her couple group—her and partner Damon. And I hung out with them occasionally. With not much else to do I join them.

The week had been taxing and I’d had random bursts of feeling off throughout but I never got sick. Googling anything just told me I should rest, that I should expect a migraine after seeing these bursts of colours, that maybe I had a tumour. But nothing pans out.

“Ouch,” Damon says when he opens the door to me.

“That’s rude.” I shove the bottle I brought in his chest and move past him. I hear Lydia humming in her room and head straight to it.

“Something fucked up happened in the flat nex-“ She gasps when she sees me. “Y/N! Love are you alright!?”

“I’m fine—no I’m not. I think I’m going mad. Like proper mad.”

“No sit. Sit!” She pats her bed and kneels in front of me. “Damo can you get Y/N some water!?”

“Sorry. I wasn’t going to show. But I thought sitting in my flat would be worse-“

“Are you sick?” She lays a hand on my forehead. “Your temp’s alright.”

“I’m not sick! The doctor’s won’t prescribe me anything because I’m not anything! I’ve just had the shittiest sleep of my life the last week, I keep getting these weird migraine symptoms without the migraines, and I keep thinking I see something in the corner of my eye and I don’t! Nothing’s there!”

That was something that was new yesterday. Shapes moving around me but when I look everything is normal and still.

“Fuck!” Damon walks into the room just as the glass he’s holding breaks. “What the-“

“Nobody move!” Lydia screeches and I am so on edge I nearly scream at her to quiet down. “Damon what the actual fuck!?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t drop it it literally combusted in my hand.”

“You were probably squeezing it!” Dee accuses him.

“It was probably after getting one look at her,” Damon points to me. I flip him off and lay back onto the bed. I couldn’t even offer any help to pick up the glass.

I take a deep breath in, and out. In. And out.

I drift off, I imagine myself in the clouds, drifting through the air. I imagine a clean gust of air flowing into my lungs. And then out.

When I finally come back to reality Damo is emptying the glass into the bin and Lydia is dragging a wet rag across the floor.

“I’m sorry,” I sit up. “I should help.”

“No.” Damon holds his hand up at the same time Lydia does. “Just go to sleep if you need it. Just don’t worry about this. Or the party. Seriously y/n.”

“Yeah,” Dee puts her hands on her hips. “We’re worried about you. Just take it easy.”

“I feel a bit better. I just needed a moment. Riding the tube had been sensory overload lately.”

“Stay in our guest bed tonight,” Dee offers, glancing at Damon who nods. “Change of scenery.”

As Lydia’s friends arrive I take my spot amongst them. I engage in light catching up, I wasn’t against socializing but tonight I mostly listen.

I try to ignore the way the room changes around the people who talk. Sometimes it feels comforting and orange and other times the temperature drops and it feels like everything is metallic. It sounded mental but that’s how it felt.

The more I drink the more the colours come back.

Lydia’s is like a sunset and as the night goes on it deepens. Damon’s is like Christmas lights, red bleeding into a deep green.

A few friends have similar colours, others complement each other’s. I wonder for a brief moment if anything I ate had pot but nobody says anything.

As the company loosens, I step outside for a smoke.

Halfway through one, I hear the door open behind me and close.

“Doing that again?”

I turn to the familiar face. Sean, I’d known him since final year at uni. We’d been casual friends but with him being Damon’s brother we interacted frequently enough it was more than casual with how much we knew about each other but we weren’t friends enough to ever hang out alone. He’s actually how Damon and Dee met.

“I’m gonna stop.”

“Like always.”

“If you followed me out here to judge me I’m good.”

“I didn’t. I just got here and I saw you alone outside.” He walks up next to me. He brings with him warmth and even though it’s not too cold outside I can’t help but savour it.

“You got here late.” I comment. “You want one?”

“I quit last year y/n.” He reminds me.

“So did I,” I say wryly. He cracks a smile, it’s toothy. The same smile he’s always had.

“One of my friends had a kid a few weeks ago. I was dropping some food off, ended up staying too long.”

“Wow. A kid huh?” I knew people my age—hell, people younger than me, were settled with children. I just couldn’t imagine it.

“Yeah.” He blows air out of his cheeks. “When he first told me he was pregnant I actually said What are you gonna do?!”

“Oh shit,” I look at him. “Was he upset?”

“He thought it was funny,” he glances back to me. “I forget we’re closer to 30 than 20 these days.”

“Tell me about it.”

Sean brushes his hair back, he tended to grow it out and then surprise everyone and shave it every so often. I wondered when the next surprise would be.

The longer I look at him the more his edges light up. It’s a deep blue, it blends into the night but when he steps back against the balcony doors it’s easier to see. It spreads outwards into a purple.

Sean glances back into the house and back to me.

“Are you thinking it’ll be those two next?”

“Huh?” I realize it looks like I was looking inside rather than around him. “Oh. Those two? Maybe not next but soon.”

“She keeps pushing the wedding date. Settling on one I mean.” Sean says. I raise my brow and he explains. “My brother told me. What’s up with that?”

A ripple of something flows through me. It aches a little. I step back to a chair and sit down.

I think about everything I knew about Lydia. I knew why. We all had childhood problems—her mum was trapped in her relationship with Dee’s dad and the Lydia I knew told me she would never sign a contract to keep a relationship. It had surprised the hell out of me when she said yes a couple years ago. But I guess she was now coming around to realizing she would have to give up the one thing she swore she’d never do.

“Damon probably knows about Dee’s parents,” I say. “Maybe tell him to jog his brain a little. Put the pieces together.”

Sean chokes out a laugh. “Okay. Whatever that means. Hey what about you? What happened to office guy?”

“That’s over,” I say.

“Shit. I’m gonna grab a drink first. Then I want to hear about it.”

“There’s nothing to…” Sean’s gone before he can hear me out. I sigh. I came out here to be alone.

I look out to the view, I would never get tired of this city. Its streets ran through me like my veins. I loved it here.

I can see the train going past and I think of the people on it. People with so many different colours.

I hear sniffling and look to the door but Sean’s still not back.

I turn to the divider behind me. It sounded like it was coming from there. I inch back and it’s distinct. Someone on the other side of this balcony was crying.

“Hello?” I call out. But they don’t respond. Oh god, what was neighbourly etiquette? Do i acknowledge it or ignore it?

Wait. I wasn’t even a neighbour here.

I walk to the edge and lean over so I can get a look into the balcony. I was right. A woman with cropped hair and a pantsuit on cries into her hand.

“Hey, sorry I don’t mean to intrude but-“

I gasp when she looks up at me. So does she. Her eyes are pools of black. Or it looks that way in the light. She swivels her head behind her but there’s nobody there. She looks back to me and points to herself.

“Yeah! You!” I laugh. “What’s wrong? Are you alright? Are you safe?”

“I-“ she takes a step back. “Who-“

“I don’t live here. Sorry i know I’m being nosey,” I let her know. “I just heard you crying and-“

“I’m not okay,” the woman has a thick accent. It sound Baltic. “How do you see me?”

“Uhh,” I try to make sense of her question and answer, hoping I didn’t lose it in her translation. “You look sad. You’re crying obviously you’re sad I just-“

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispers.

“What do you mean?”

“I stay here or I move on. I’m scared.”

“Oh. Move on like move out? Where are you moving?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know

“Well where are the people you love? Who love you?” I always imagined leaving this city, this country. Build a life far away. But every time it came back to being close to the few I loved or not. And every time I chose them.

“Here.” She sniffles. “In the end I wanted to stay.”

“If it matters to you, I’d vote stay. But I also don’t know your life so-“

“Y/n?”

“Huh?” I whip my head to the sound of my name. Sean closes the door behind him, two beers in hand, concern etched into his face.

“Are you…talking to someone?”

“Oh yeah,” I whisper. “The woman there seemed upset.”

I lean over again to apologize but she’s gone. Damnit.

“Nevermind. She left.”

“Are you fucking with me? There was a woman there?” Sean asks.

“Yeah! I just wanted to make sure she was alright.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

“Didn’t you hear? About next door?”

“What?”

“The woman next door attempted…yknow. To end her life. But since we’re on the second floor it…she’s like, in the hospital now. On life support.”

“What?” My heart sinks. Lydia was saying something fucked up when I walked in. Is that what it was? “Maybe that was her sister crying? Or her lover?”

“No it’s empty. It’s got tape all over it until police clear it.”

My heart sinks even lower. I feel it like a lead weight. Who was the woman I was talking to?

“Anyway tell me about your tragedy,” Sean hands me a beer and I take it, my mind still reeling from the news.

“Um. It’s not really one. The relationship fizzled out.”

“Really? That’s it?”

“Well what about you? Last Christmas I heard you were dating a hot goth?”

“Who said that? Damo?”

“Maybe? So?”

“No! I brought her to a party but it wasn’t serious. And she wasn’t a goth. Just wore all black jeez.”

I laugh and the colours on the edge of Sean melt into pink. It’s a pretty sight even if it’s just in my head.

“I haven’t been all that lucky in love,” Sean sighs. He glances back inside. “But I look at my brother and think if he can find it I can too.”

It makes me laugh. Sean and I have always teamed up to shit on Damo for no other reason than it was fun. I never had siblings growing up and the dynamic, I imagine, felt like one.

“Do you see kids in the future?” He asks out of nowhere.

“Woah. Um. I don’t know. I can’t imagine it honestly, with the childhood I had…”

Sean nods. “I think you’d actually understand exactly what a child would need. I think you’d be good raising a child.”

“Maybe,” I shrug. “I think I’m also going insane so right now it’s a no.”

He chuckles. “Was that part of your insane bit? Talking to a ghost next door?”

When he says the G word a shiver travels down my spine. I remember the stranger seemed surprised I was talking to her.

No. It couldn’t be. I didn’t even believe in ghosts. The police must have lifted the tape. It was her relative or something.

“I think I’m a little drunk.” I change the subject.

“How are you getting home?” Sean asks.

“Might crash here. I…I think I’m actually going inside now.”

“Oh-oh yeah okay,” Sean steps aside so I can walk past him. He was like a human furnace with how warm he was. I leave him outside and head straight to the guest room. I couldn’t stay here. I didn’t want to worry my friends or do something crazy. The woman next door freaked me out too much.

I grab my jacket and purse and sneak out, texting Lydia an apology once I start walking home.

I thought about taking the train but I couldn’t handle the people. If I walked for a half hour there was a bus that was 10 minutes to my flat.

So I walk in the quiet night, interrupted by the occasional car or group of friends. I spot a fox as I walk and keep to my side of the street. I watch the silhouettes of the trees move gently in the light breeze, I watch as squares of light flick on or off as its inhabitants live their lives. I feel apart of it and outside of it.

I’ve always viewed the world this. I always feel I was this way—apart of something bigger but also on the periphery. Maybe it was growing up in the foster system, or simply always wearing my armour in order to survive. All I ever wanted was people. People to call all my own. Where I was so deep into something bigger that I never questioned where I stood.

Nearly to the bus stop I hear a familiar tune in the air. My palms go clammy as I follow it. I know where I was going to end up. But I was in a completely different part of town. So it was actually impossible.

And there it is. The Good Folk.

What the fuck was this sorcery.

The cherry on top: standing outside arguing with a woman was Harry.

My feet lead me without a single thought in my head.

44 notes · View notes

silvereternitywrites · 9 months

Text

Don’t let your (Human!!!) Mechanic make Mixtapes

Writing Prompt: A pirate ship boards, the human crewmate uses the coms to blast music trough the ship as a terror tactic.

Prompt Source: user fire-sword; subreddit Humans Are Space Orcs

The Captain had listened to this remix exactly once in its entirety and labeled it a terroristic weapon of mass morale destruction before locking it in a drawer.

To be honest, the human crewmate was perhaps a touch more thrilled than she strictly should have been to be given permission to actually use it.

It was horror-rock, falling into that delightful "creep" tune category with synthetic violins that wailed between high and low notes and a bass strumming heartbeat that artificially raised the pulse rate of the listening parties. Aliens... well, she'd found out aliens responded to that unconscious cue WAY more than humans did.

The fact that she knew every beat and bounce and hitch of it, well, that was where the morale destruction came in.

The pirates had boarded in a specific hallway- and they had been subtly guided to this door for a reason.

It was the maintenance crew hallway. The entire floor had holes big enough to reach through or climb through, and the human crewmate? She fit through them, being lanky, tall, and double-jointed. The ceiling had the same grates on either side of the walkway, to allow for access when the gravity was turned off, making it a catwalk surrounded by bolt holes.

The voice was soft at first- only someone who knew the song would know the words. But Human Jazz played them out perfectly to make the Pirates regret ever trying to raid this ship.

The first set of verses were about "burying" something, and every time it said "buried it" Jazz dropped uninterrupted from the ceiling to the floor. Just at the edge of vision, without touching the holes or making a sound, timing her catch of the bars below to the thump of the drum.

And once they were good and spooked, on edge...

She added her voice to the ship speakers, a roar that made the walkway vibrate under their feet for the chorus.

"RUN! AWAY! RUN FOR YOUR LIFE, BEFORE THE MONSTER- MONSTER IS INSIDE! THOUGHT IT WAS DEAD! AND GONE! BUT YOU WERE SO WRONG! HASN'T BEEN SO LONG; YOU NEVER THOUGHT YOU'D SEE- SEE, SEE THE DEAD WALK!"

Screaming from above and plasma lighting up the walls told her it was working.

What a shame for them- the pursuit would continue until morale improved. Her morale, or course. All that light would make this more troublesome until it cooled.

The next verse was about what had been buried coming back to bury the singer- it was time to change tactics anyway.

Now her hands reached up through the tiny holes and grates throughout the verse, grabbing and yanking on legs, tentacles, weapon barrels, whatever was in reach, heedless of the burns she was getting or the catch of nails on fabric and skin. Her fake-claw nails were just acrylics, she'd replace them after this, and some bloodstains from a ripped cuticle or two would really sell the idea that something dead and gross was trying to get at them on top of the “detached fingertips”.

As they were coming up on the second chorus, she pulled both hands back down and put them on a panel instead, directing one of the repair-bots with their dozens of arms to dance to the tune, the lyrics printed on it's glowing screen that loomed up out of the dark.

She already knew what she was going to do with the bridge- it talked about disease and parasites, so she was going to yank body parts under the grate and "bite" them with needles full of weak general anesthetics from the first aid kit. She didn't need to actually like, poison or paralyze them, the imagery from the song would make their minds do that for her.

Except-- the thunder of movement, out of sync with the music, headed back up the catwalk at an honestly dizzying speed, and suddenly it was absolutely quiet except her, the repairbot who had now started the fix the plasma damage to the walls, and the music on the ship speakers.

Poking her head up from the nearest access hole, the pirates were gone- with the exception of one, who'd been hog-tied with their own tentacles and blinded with their Captain's hat. Left as a sacrificial offering to the monster for leading their crew into a deathtrap, probably. Well, Jazz didn't want them to think they were too hasty and come back...

She bared all her teeth in the widest, meanest grin, including her sharper-than-normal canines, and whipped the pirate's hat off, the light of the repairbot's torch illuminating her from behind in only brief flashes.

"Buried what I thought would die, don't got no alibi, I buried it," she sang at the alien's horrified face, "I FUCKING BURIED IT!"

The pirate's scream was a noise she couldn't have replicated in a million years. Yeah, driving it home was a good idea.

"RUN! AWAY! RUN FOR YOUR LIFE, THE MONSTER'S ALREADY INSIDE! THOUGHT IT WAS DEAD! AND GONE! BUT I WAS SO WRONG cuz it had been so long and life went on thought it was done I never thought I'd live to see THE DEAD WALK!"

‐-------------------------------------

"I still don't think you needed to render the enemy so terrified they entered an involuntary coma state," the Captain scowled at the human crewmate, who was slung sideways in her work chair. Again.

"It's not like I knew their species can even DO that, Cap! Besides, it was a bloodless battle that successfully repelled the enemy, right? And we haven't been bothered by pirates in that entire sector since!"

The Captain squinted angrily with all their eyes.

"We're a terror-tale in that sector now," they replied flatly.

"Wait, shit, did I accidentally Flying Dutchman our ship?! Aw fuck, Captain, I’m sorry."

The Captain sighed- finally, she understood the gravity of the iss--

"If I'd known that was gonna happen I'd have picked a better song! Dead Walk is kinda underground, how are other ships supposed to lean on the legend with an obscure Earth song?"

The Captain gave up and left to go drink their 400-year old heirloom spirits. They had never worried they were going to be the Onelle to finish off the 'drink in case of headache-inducing disaster' bottle but it looked more likely by the day.

Song: Dead Walk by RedHook Note: the remix featured here doesn't actually exist because I can't make it. Will update and link if that ever changes!

#aliens #pirate raid #terror #fear tactics #sonic warfare #silvawrites #prompt inspired #humans are space orcs #nobody dies I swear #The Ferret #Really who let The Ferret have run of the repair bay's bolt holes #It's clearly all the Captain's fault

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wraithsoutlaws · 10 months

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"I can see the stars…" Dagger tells him, eyes unwavering, studying hard the seven points of light that make up Dum Dum's optics. He's close enough to burn out his own retinas, which only stands to amuse the 'borg as the elevator doors rattle shut. This is becoming a habit; spend the night at Totentanz sharing hits until the very foundations of reality crumble around them. Dagger reaches their destination much quicker, another quirk that serves to amuse. "You're skezzed. 'Ganic ass lightweight, keep looking and you'll go blind." He feigns annoyance, but the smile across his lips betrays him. "On second thought, go ahead. The Maelstrom suite might fix that ugly mug of yours—" He hardly has the words out before Dagger's fingertip dances over his lenses, tapping between the edge of scarred skin and chrome. He draws a line up from nose to eye, down and across, then around again, as if he knows exactly what he sees. The touch is gentle. Delicate. Unfamiliar and disarming; as lethal as any kill. Dum Dum doesn't move, lost in the cold determination of that gaze reflected seven times. "It's a constellation…see? They make a pentagram, your eyes…" Despite that haze of synthetic euphoria, there's a genuine awe in Dagger's voice, a reverence reserved only for the divine. A sound Dum Dum has never encountered. The drawl that follows is a hum, a melody as haunting as it is beautiful. "My little devil." He tries to shake it off. A crack of static in his throat. "Sweet fucking talker, huh?" But the drumming of his electric heart is an orchestra within the quiet walls of the elevator, their chariot to Hell.

#cyberpunk 2077 #oc: dagger #dum dum #cyberpunk photomode #x: perfect drug

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7grandmel · 15 days

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Todays rip: 13/04/2024

Locked In The Underground

Season 4 Episode 2 Featured on: SiIvaGunner's Highest Quality Rips: Volume C

Ripped by Jamangar

youtube

Whaaat? More Undertale?? Say it ain't so!!

Look, I lamented it a bit over on Logan Paul's Shop, and its something you can even see for yourself by viewing the Undertale tag on the blog archive. In terms of games to have been featured on the blog one way or another, Undertale/Deltarune are leagues ahead of the competition. And I am torn on this, still. Like on the one hand, I want the blog to cast a wide net of rips, to not just cover my personal favorites, but to cover as much of SiIvaGunner's history and growth. But on the other hand...Undertale IS a huge part of that history and growth, it has been since the very beginning, and as I discussed in Your Best Nightmario and Shiny Smily TALE the game's very DNA and themes is just a perfect fit for everything that SiIvaGunner stands for. Well, there's that - and there's how rippers like Jamangar just keep absolutely outdoing themselves with how much leverage they can get from this 9-year old game's soundscape. Its rips like Locked In The Underground that remind me of WHY Undertale rips are so prevalent on here.

If you've been reading for a while or just kept up with SiIvaGunner in general to the degree I have (or are from the team!! hi team!!), you may well recognize Jamangar's name. Much like ShonicTH with Trial of the Heart and many others on the channel, Jamangar has carved out her own very specific niche in terms of what she contributes with. That niche is the same one you'll hear in World Out There and Story of Undertale: There are few SiIvaGunner contributors who have as much expertise in ripping Undertale as Jamangar. Yet all of these three rips feel quite different from one another - Story of Undertale is a magnificent journey throughout just about the entire Undertale campaign with instruments changing along the way, wheras World Out There was an incredibly resonant mashup/melodyswap, a full-on shot of nostalgia on all the senses. Indeed, Locked In The Underground follows their footsteps in quality, yet is excellent in a subtly different way - its just a flat-out banger.

I don't know what it is about Bruno Mars' music that makes it work so incredibly well in mashups. Perhaps I have BotanicSage to thank, with Pokemon GSC Is What I Like and 16BIT Magic both permanently etched into my soul ever since I first heard them - but Locked In The Underground takes on the very same challenge, and in my eyes passes with absolutely flying colors. I mean, it only takes a few seconds for the rip to sell you - as soon as you hear Mars' "oh-yeah-yeahs" followed by Undertale SFX playing to the beat, you KNOW Jamangar's made far more than a mere mashup here. It helps, of course, that CORE is already one of the most stand-out songs in the game, much like Colress' battle theme was to Pokémon Black & White's soundtrack in Light! (Potentialseeker Colress) - its hard NOT to get excited seeing a CORE rip knowing just how distinct of a sound any take on the track will have, due to the pure quality of the track underneath.

So much is done to have Locked In The Underground truly fit together. The melodyswap is fantastic on its own, having CORE's lead instrument play in tune with Mars' vocals yet rising high in volume to the song's chorus, and CORE's synthetic backing paired with the drums of Locked Out Of Heaven create such a unique soundscape to boot. But beyond that, there are tons of little flourishes - small segments where CORE's original melody peeks through in the backing, Undertale sound effects sprinkled in to censor expletives or punctuate key moments of the song...like Semi-Charmed All Star, you get the impression that Jamangar GETS both of the songs used, that she's "studied" how Locked Out Of Heaven works in order to have the mashup work so perfectly.

Really - Locked In The Underground is the kind of rip that just feels like a shoe-in for the blog, as one of the most popular rips made during 2020. Funny enough, beyond the obvious combination of Locked Out Of Heaven and Undertale, you could even read the rip's title itself to be referencing the feeling all of us had during the pandemic - sort of reframing its pleas and shouts, in a way. But then Locked In The Underground also isn't the kind of rip where I'm desperate to know more about its possible lore and inner workings: I know Bruno Mars, I know Undertale, I know Jamangar, and she made one of the season's cleanest bangers by doing what she does best. That's awesome.

#todays siivagunner #season 4 episode 2 #siivagunner #siiva #Jamangar #Youtube #Bandcamp #undertale #deltarune #utdr #bruno mars #locked out of heaven #pop music #mashups #mashup #toby fox #undertale music #undertale ost

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messenger-of-stupidity · 16 days

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James stared at the android. The far away gaze and the gentle click of their gears as their jaw clenched. They weren't present, not really. Not in the way he needed them to be.

He wasn't a man that was often wrong. Even as a kid, he was able to properly guess variables and calculations. He was smart. He wouldn't have this job if he wasn't. He probably would have become some desk jockey working in the Department's main building.

This job that was tearing apart the only thing he cared about. The only person he cared about. This job that was sitting in front of him with their eyes glued to the clock. Counting down the moments until they could get back to that technician that was ruining everything. He was assisting in the end of the world as every physical organism knew it, and for what?

To cure loneliness? To have someone to love? Someone to pleasure?

James drummed his fingers along his desk, his lips tightening. Here he was, staring at a possible failure because of a technician who couldn't get over his emotions, a team of people - himself included - that allowed this to continue. Meanwhile, they were back home, trying to pretend like everything was fine to their friends while not having heard back from James in over a month.

"Osmium undone." He said quietly. He watched their synthetic expression slacken, their shoulders relax. He wasn't going to let this be for nothing. He wasn't going to let this job that was risking his relationship with the only person he had cared so deeply for, fucking fail.

#I have James brainrot right now #idek why #But something about him though #redacted asmr #redacted audio #redactedverse #redacted james #redacted spouse #redacted love #redacted asset #redacted android #redacted marcus #redacted project meridian

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two-red-lungs · 2 years

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Sing, Child, Sing (Eddie x Fem!Reader Fluff)

The trailer was rocking. Shaking rhythmically, and that wasn’t even including the way Eddie’s bassy speakers were rattling the metal walls loud enough to deafen a man.

Wayne huffed from his seat on the couch and slapped his magazine down, running a hand down his face. “Damn. Warned him, didn’t I?” He justified to himself in a grumbling voice, easing himself to his feet.

He told Eddie before. Many times. Music was fine, just keep it at an appropriate level. But more importantly, no girls while he was home. There were just some things Wayne didn’t want to have to hear.

Like this, now. The trailer home’s walls squeaking, the thump thump thumping coming rhythmically through the door. The muffled, loud voices he couldn’t quite make out.

He had to lay down the law. At the very least, to give himself peace of mind. He wasn’t too keen on playing host to an unexpected high-school pregnancy.

Wayne wandered down the short hall and rapped at the door. The sound of knuckles on wood was swallowed by the screaming guitar bleeding through the cheap synthetic wood.

“Eddie. Eddie!” He shouted as loud as he could.

Dio continued to rage through the speakers, vibrating the door knob under his hand. Even over the drums he could hear the mattress squeaking.

“Christ. It’s too goddamn early for this. Alright.” With a grumble and his free hand shielding his eyes, Wayne opened the door and leaned into the doorway, an I’m not looking perched on his lips and ready to be deployed.

He dropped his fingers when he heard you and Eddie.

“…LIKE A RAINBOW IN THE DAAAARK!” You scream-sang at each other, grinning. Eddie was frantically mining the chords on an invisible air guitar, hair swaying as he jammed.

You were jumping up and down on his bed, head nearly brushing the ceiling, a barrel of cheese balls in one hand that you were eating in-between screaming each line.

Both of you sweatily, exuberantly rocking out to the music. Two metal-heads. Two idiots, smiling up a storm, acting like children.

Eddie threw his head back, crowing out the next lines and dramatically turning, nearly slamming chest-to-chest with his uncle and shutting his mouth with a clack. You stopped jumping, wide-eyed.

“Uh, hey.” Eddie said loudly over the music. “… We too loud?”

Eddie’s face was pink from exertion. He was enjoying himself: with a friend that wasn’t a nerdy freshmen, no less. How could Wayne bring himself to ruin that?

“No. I’m heading out early. There’s sandwich stuff in the fridge, if you two want it.” He excused himself out of the doorway.

Even as he was pulling the door closed, he could see you and Eddie glance at each other, snort, and then scream-sing the next line with over-performative, dramatic hand gestures, like you were on stage in front of thousands.

The trailer walls were still rattling. Wayne decided he could live with it.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things s4 #my writing

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