#lifeline fanfic

[catastrxblues]

i love ao3 but tumblr fanfics just hit different 😩😩

[indigosunsetao3]

Masterlist

Not many people choose to live in a tourist town. Aside from the busy summer months though, it’s mostly quiet which is exactly what the 141 needs. A secluded spot on an expansive lake to escape, somewhere to recover physically and emotionally. It seems they aren’t the only ones with this idea. A woman who keeps to herself lives in the small cottage next to them. Some locals whisper about the distance she maintains from everyone, assuming she prefers solitude or just doesn't like them. They don’t realize that she’s trying to piece herself together again after a loss; too hurt to let anyone in, too scared to be shattered again. The 141 realize. They see the exhausted shuffle of her steps, the vacant eyes that stare but don’t really see. They know it well. It’s the face of someone who’s seen battle, who’s fighting a war alone and barely surviving. So they try to help. Push against the barriers she’s built, offer a hand to lift her from the pit. It’s a fight, each step a struggle as they break down her walls. And as they help her, they realize she’s healing a part of them, too—a part they thought was long gone, too dead to bring back to life. But even in this small corner of the world, life doesn’t stop; war doesn’t wait. They’ll all be faced with a choice that will either break them further or make them whole again.

I dealt with a traumatic loss a year and a half ago. While I was very aware of what happened I didn’t actually fully accept it and the feelings. I was too busy keeping it together for the person who needed my support the most. But apparently, my brain has decided it's time to work through some of it. And what better way to do that than through writing? This story will be a thing between all my other writing. Updates for this will probably not be my usual 'regular' routine so expect slower than usual on this. Especially given that this is connected with RL situations/feelings...it's probably best I don’t solely focus on it to give myself space.

Chapter 1 It's always interesting when the new neighbor(s) move in. Chapter 2 Waging war over the trash bins Chapter 3 Biscuits and favors

[cjskribblez]

Something about a lonely astronaut, a radio, and the color red amiright folks

Au by @slashmagpie :)

[glassy-eyed-poet]

I just want to love someone who matches my level of pettiness (regulus and james in yeah my boyfriend's pretty cool (but not as cool as me) by paintmegry)

Currently kicking my feet and giggling at the sexual tension heehee

[dezyj1205]

5 Year Old Percy wanders into Atlantis

Percy: This is nice! Triton: A... child? Who... Who do you belong to? Percy: You're ARIEL!?!? Poseidon, slowly edging out of the room: ... Triton, used to the jokes his dad makes:... you belong to my father then. Only one of his halflings would have the guts to say something so horrible to a god. Percy: What's wrong? Did Ariel run away again? I'll help you find her! Triton, turning to his father: I'll kill this halfling one day. I already hate him

(The first meeting they should have had.)

[r-ando-m-w-rite-r]

Secrets Not So Kept

basic idea: you and rev have been secretly dating for a month or two and the others are starting to catch on

enjoy

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-the others were starting to get suspicious

-you could tell the little secret that you and rev were sharing was starting to become more public, and it seemed that he was fine with that

-you, however, weren’t so sure

-you loved him, but the idea of ajay, octavio, and all your other friends knowing that you dated a murderbot made you shudder

-whether it was the little things he did for you in game (aka going outside of the ring to save you when you got downed) or the fact that he literally went to paradise lounge with you the other night, it was becoming obvious, and elliott had been the first to point it out not only a day before

-you had been looting the deathbox of someone on a recently slaughtered team when he had approached you 

-“so...heyyy, question” he had said while fumbling with his wingman, drawing your attention

-he was unpredictable, so you had no idea what was about to come out of his mouth “what?”

-”wellll, not-i mean, well, not to offend you, dont get me wrong, but” he said nervously, eyes darting left to right 

-you raised an eyebrow as he continued “you and, well, you know-revenant” he spat the simulacrum’s name like it was the most disgusting word ever “seem to be up to something”

-you felt your face flush and you quickly turned away as he narrowed his eyes “listen, i dont really care-well, i do, but only if im involved in whatever you two are doing”

-the excessive color faded from your face as you realized where he was going with this; he thought you and rev were plotting something

-did everyone else think this? was this why the other legends gave you dirty looks when he would walk down the halls of the apex legends facility with you? or when he would sit with you on the dropship? this was news to you

-holding back your amusement, you turned back to him and played along “oh, well, you see, if you were involved, why would i tell you?” 

-elliott’s color drained from his face and his eyes went beserk as he said “w-w-well, because i-im your friend?”

-”even the best of friends dont always know the deepest of secrets” a familiar grating voice from somewhere above echoed down onto the two of you, and you watched as elliott froze

-looking to you desperately, he whispered “hes above me, isnt he?”

-”better get out of here before i add another kill to my count” with that comment from your less friendly teammate, elliott was gone

-”so everyones catching on, maybe not to the right things, but still” you said exasperately, sighing and hanging your head as you sat down on the floor of the building you were in

-you didnt know why you cared so much if people found out about you and him, but it was nerve-wrecking

-there was a thud as revenant landed behind you, and a cold claw slowly inched its way underneath your chin, turning it upward to display your face to the bot’s, which hovered over you

-his yellow LEDs bore into your eyes as he surveyed you with a look of possesion “and why exactly should i care? remind me, skinsuit”

-to outsiders, what he was doing may have looked like a threat, in fact, everything he did to you may look like a threat, but secretly you liked the protective nature of your lover; he made you warm inside

-that was when you came to your desicion; if anyone asked, they would walk away knowing you were dating a 300 year old serial killer

[moonsporemoth]

Caustic x Reader NSFW Headcanons

Caustic x GenderNeutral!Reader (and some extra bits at the end for trans men) Headcanons:Warning: NSFW, Food Kink (slight), Mention of possession, Mention of underwear stealing --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Caustic considered himself a man above simple things like desire. He simply didn't have the time nor interest for it.

*At least that's what he thought until he met you.

*You were also a contester in the games. A good-looking one at that. He was intrigued immediately when you introduced yourself to him as if he was an average Joe.

*Surely you had watched the Apex Games and seen him before? Why were you so nonchalant with him?

*At first, it infuriated him. You acted as if he wasn't this amazing man of great capabilities.

*Then it excited him, to his extreme surprise.

*He liked that you treated him like a normal man, not a psychopath like everyone else did.

*It started slow.

*At first, it was just simple, innocent thoughts about what you could be up to when he was alone. Were you preparing for a game? What did you do for fun when alone?

*Then it got a little less innocent. He thought about how you'd sound in bed. Were you breathy and quiet? Or gaspy and loud? Were you a screamer? Maybe if he did it right, you'd be.

*He wasn't ashamed of these thoughts, but surprised. He hadn't thought about sex in a while, with all the games and hiding he was doing.

*Sure people had made approaches. Usually, younger girls who liked the mysterious vibe he gave off (and the idea of a sugar daddy), but he always declined with disgust.

*But here he was, fantasizing about you the way those girls did him.

*It was awkward at first for him. He'd think about you and then have to work with you in a game. It was often harder (wink wink) to work when he wanted to just take you right then and there.

*Especially when you teased him.

*It was innocent enough. You making jokes at his expense about his stamina in game or how old he was. But it made him want to prove you wrong and fuck you sore right there in the abandoned building.

*Or when you cooked food on off times. It was a love language he found very enticing, especially when you hummed and wiggled your hips while cooking him something.

*It made him want to skip over the meal and have you instead. (Or integrate the meal into bed ;))

*Speaking of food, he loved when you ate in front of him. You weren't really messy, but you weren't careful in the slightest and he enjoyed watching you scarf down your favorite food after a rigorous match.

*It made him wonder (and jerk off to the thought of) how you'd go down on his dick.

*He often spent multiple nights fisting his cock at the thought of you bouncing on him.

*He often came to the thought of you riding him in one of his coats.

*He didn't know why, but he enjoyed "owning" you in some way.

*And don't even get him started on the idea of stealing your underwear.

*It's taken him all of his self-restraint some days to not grab a few pairs and stuff them in his pocket while you had him help with laundry.

(A few extra for my fellow trans men) *He's surprised.

*He didn't know he was attracted to men?

*He's pretty chill with it though, often telling you scientific proof that gender is a social construct to make you feel better if you're dysphoric.

*If you still have a pussy, he'll have you sit on his face for HOURS. He wants to make you feel good.

*Grab his hair while he eats you out and suddenly you're riding him?

*Like? How tf did that happen? Jk jk, he'll give you a warning (and see if you're okay with riding him when you're so sensitive)

*If you have top surgery, he'll trace your top scars with his tongue, looking up at you all the while. 🤤

*If you don't he'll just lick and suck at them like a starved man. (and look up at you ofc)

*He'll also suck you off (whether you have bottom surgery or not). He'll sit there are suck on your T-dick and afterward tell you how nice you taste.

A/N: I think I went a liiiiiiittle crazy with this one, (704 words for a list of headcanons kinda crazy) but to be fair I haven't written in like 4 or 5 months and I actually was able to write this without much trouble… (also this is my first time posting a fic on Tumblr so idk if this is good, but I might start posting here more)

Links: Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LV2Obsess Music: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X_WueKCrCs0&t=550s (don't ask idk)

[your-poetic-lifeline]

How the Legends Would React to A Confession

I don’t know, just a simple idea to start myself off! hopefully everyone’s in character or at least not too far off the mark.

characters included: lifeline, rampart, ash

consists of: the reader’s hypothetical confessions, some instances of rejection but nothing too harsh.

word count: 500

— • x • — • x • — • x • — • x • — • x • — • x • —

Lifeline

“Ha! You serious?”

Lifeline is quite amused, taking on a teasing tone while trying to see why you like her. She’s leaning in with her elbows propped on D.O.C. and definitely getting a kick out of your nervousness if you’re the type to get flustered. If she likes you back, that’s when her tone sweetens and she may even seem a tad shy herself while letting you know the feeling is reciprocated. Would likely plan an outing with you before you part ways.

If she doesn’t like you back though, she’s still just as caring while letting you down slowly. She really appreciates the honesty and it probably makes you closer friends.

“Chin up, eh? You’re still my friend. I’m still with you.” While patting your shoulder or hand with a warm smile.

Rampart

Actually, how likely is she to be attracted to someone? I feel like it’s rare for her. More people have probably liked her than she could even reciprocate?

Any confession she’s gotten, she’s brushed it off with a laugh and brash response.

“Really now? Somethin’ wrong with your head, mate?”

It probably takes her a moment to gauge how serious you are when you confess. Past confessions were from people who didn’t know what all they’d be getting into. Honestly, I think the most fitting reaction for her would be a rejection.

“Sorry, but you’re gonna have to find some other bloke to fancy. Got other things in my life to focus on.”

But let’s say she reciprocates. She goes a bit quiet, brows raised and blinking like an owl before she forms her words.

”Well… wow. Thanks… uh… wanna grab a pint?”

Ash

Maybe Ash is more likely to reject a confession as well? I just like the idea of her accepting it. Begrudgingly at that since she’s supposed to be apathetic and level headed in her idea of perfection.

“Unacceptable.”

Her tone is shocked, but adamant. If she likes you, this confession of yours shook up her steady process of ignoring her own feelings. But she has harbored a peculiar liking towards you, so a side of her finds it hard to say no. She finds your bravery somewhat commendable as well. It’s not everyday someone confesses to a murder bot.

After seeing the dejected look on your face at her initial reaction, it makes her feel something adjacent to guilt. That look alone convinces her to be more honest in her response. She’s not supposed to be feeling anything, but she does; and it’s because of you unfortunately.

Her back is towards you as she shakes her head with a troubled sigh. She walks off, and you think this is her rejecting you. But then she speaks again.

“Not a very ideal outcome…” Given that she usually doesn’t tolerate distractions to begin with, “But perhaps one i am fine with.”

— • x • — • x • — • x • — • x • — • x • — • x • —

banner source

[cryophase]

Since I almost never blog about my Apex fics, I thought I’d do a little masterpost of my longer ones, complete with some of the art I’ve had done for them. Read under the cut for the full list (:

All T-rated, all obscenely long. Art by the amazing Cam who you can follow here -> https://twitter.com/G0rlassar

In order of newest to oldest:

Midas’ Touch

Status: Ongoing, weekly updates

Ship: Maggie+Fuse are siblings basically, Rev/Fuse eventually

Summary: Pirate AU with a (Captain) Maggie and Fuse that never had a falling out, Revenant shows up at some point and does Revenant things.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43290174/chapters/108813273 Prisoners

Status: Complete, Sequel in the works

Ship: Ash/Maggie

Summary: Ash (eventually) falls for Maggie, grapples with the idea of breaking her out of prison

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39493293/chapters/98847018

Out of His Shell

Status: Complete

Ship: Revenant/Lifeline, poor attempts by Revenant to befriend everyone else

Summary: With Revenant’s source code destroyed, he can die any time he wants, but a newfound sense of purpose keeps him reluctantly alive. He struggles through generally existing and annoying the other Legends along the way, until it turns out his thousands of old bodies aren’t exactly a secret. Sequel to Humanity

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31457180/chapters/77808722

Humanity

Status: Complete

Ship: Revenant/Lifeline(eventually, starting from scratch)

Summary: Rough around the edges as this was my first Apex fic, but if you ever wanted to see Revenant get someone to help him out of his depression hole and also see that damn source code drama resolved, this is the fic for you. 

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29086824/chapters/71399841

[dilfluvr22]

Whoever invented ao3 needs the worlds best head bc idk what I'd do without it

[daylightdiaz]

| this might be a buddie fic but you can’t blame me for the soft!madney moment in the middle, can you? |

Buck starts to peel away at the label on the bottle of beer and looks towards the kitchen wanting to roll his eyes at Chimney spinning Maddie around as he distracts her from pouring a glass of wine but he can’t.

He can’t bring himself to feel anything other than bitterness rising through his throat, embarrassingly so.

Buck hears Maddie’s laughter from the kitchen, it’s light, loud, unrestrained, the type of laughter that Buck never thought he would get to hear from her again.

Every relationship, every single one of his exes had ended up leaving him and Buck is supposed to just move past that, take it and pretend like every breakup didn’t end up crushing his heart just a tiny bit more.

Maddie has given up on pouring a drink and is now dancing by the door with Chimney, letting him spin her around and bring her back into his arms so that he can hold her as they sway to the music that’s playing— a soft, vaguely festive piano playing through the speaker in the kitchen. The smile on his sister’s face is one that a few years ago, Buck would have begged and pleaded to be able to see again— bright and genuine but most of all, happy.

[indigosunsetao3]

Chapter 2

Waging war over the trash bins.

AO3 (Full list of tags/warnings. Please check them.) Masterlist 3.6k Words

“Damn it,” Celeste muttered as she came around the bend to her cottage. Standing on the road was her elderly neighbor, who had nothing better to do than to police the neighborhood. Street really, they weren’t in a community. There certainly was no governing body about how your house had to look. So this woman had decided it was her job to make sure everything looked prim and proper for the birds and deer.

Plastering a fake smile on her face, Celeste turned slowly into her driveway and watched as the woman hobbled down the gravel a bit. She wasn’t going to risk Celeste just running into the house to avoid her, which she was contemplating as she undid her seatbelt. The woman was waving at her with an equally forced smile, reaching out to rest her hand on the trunk to block Celeste from getting far unless she bowled her over. Still an option.

With a groan, Celeste let her seatbelt whack against the door before opening it and stepping out. She knew exactly what this was about, her eyes snapping up to where the bins should have been at the edge of her drive. She hadn’t brought them back in once again. By the time she remembered, trash day was only two days away. Why risk missing the pickup when she was so close?

But they weren’t there. Had the woman gone through with her empty threats finally?

“Good evening, Mrs. Nettles,” Celeste said as she bent back down and grabbed her purse and phone out of her car.  “Something I can help you with?”

“Oh, dear, I know you are terribly busy,” the woman started as she gave Celeste a once over. Her black apron was covered in powdered sugar, she had spilled coffee down her front, and errant receipts were sticking out of the front pockets. “But you are aware it’s Wednesday, right?”

“Is it?” Celeste asked, playing into the woman’s obvious dig at her. “Working all these hours, I just…lose track of the days.” A lie. Celeste was well aware of what day it was. Especially now that she was coming up on a year, the days ticking away so quickly as if they were mocking her.

“I’m sure. I hear you come and go at all hours,” the woman started. “Even in my old age, the slightest noise wakes me from a dead sleep. I guess my hearing is still intact,” she laughed. It wasn’t a joke; it was another dig at Celeste. She apparently slammed her doors shut too loudly or played her music a little too loud for the woman’s liking.

“Is there something you need?” Celeste asked as she shut her car door and made a show of finding her house key on her car keys. She had so many things on the keyring: old broken chains, keys to things she didn’t own anymore, a frayed lanyard, and a long empty bottle of hand sanitizer. All the while, she looked around casually for her stupid bins to see if they had fallen in a ditch or were across the street in the bushes. 

“Well, it is Wednesday, and rubbish pickup is on Fridays,” the woman said as she gestured behind her vaguely. “Your bins had been at the road since last week.”

“Ah, yeah,” Celeste answered with a small shrug, catching on the word had. This miserable woman did have them taken. “It’s been a rainy week, and I forgot about them. Coming and going all the time, working doubles,” she trailed off as movement caught her eye. A man was walking around the corner of her house, and she stiffened, turning her heel to glare at him. Who the hell was he, and why was he on her property?

“Can I help you?” Celeste snapped as she eyed him up and down. “You do know this private property.”

“Celeste,” Mrs. Nettles interfered, sounding scandalized at Celeste’s tone. “This is John, your new neighbor,” she introduced as John walked up to stand near them.

This man was different from the man she had seen last week in the sling. Maybe this was the person that would be renovating the place. He seemed rugged enough for the role: well-worn jeans, beat-up work boots, and solidly built. Aside from seeing lights on inside the cottage every night, and even in the early mornings when she was leaving at four in the morning, she had not physically seen anyone in days. They kept to themselves, and she did the same thing. Something Mrs. Nettles could learn.

“I stopped by his place to remind him about trash day. I didn’t realize his poor roommate just had surgery and couldn’t manage it,” Mrs. Nettles continued with a simpering tone that she never gave Celeste. “But he graciously offered to grab your bins for you while he was at it.”

Probably because Mrs. Nettles was bitching about her bins to him to garner sympathy, Celeste thought. And to manipulate him into helping her.

“I can handle my bins just fine,” Celeste answered as she looked over at John, eyes scanning up at the sizeable height difference between him and the older woman who looked like she was itching to take his elbow.

“But dear, you don’t. They are always at the road; when it’s windy, they blow all over. One was already knocked over when John grabbed them for you.” Mrs. Nettles praised as if he had just saved a child from a burning building. Celeste felt her eyes roll before she could stop them. The woman noticed.

“If you don’t start keeping up with them, I will have to call the town.” Mrs. Nettles said with a cold finality as she did, in fact, grab John’s elbow. Acting as if he were going to protect her from Celeste, whose eyes had widened with disbelief.

John shifted his feet a bit and glanced back toward his cottage. He clearly regretted letting this older woman rope him in to help. When Mrs. Nettles grabbed his elbow, he closed his eyes a beat too long for a blink and inhaled. Celeste could tell he was too polite to shake the woman off, but he wanted to be anywhere but here.

“I’ll bring my bins in when I remember to bring them in,” Celeste snapped at the woman. If this old bitty wanted to have a fight, they were going to fight.  “There isn’t a rule for how long they sit at the road,” she gestured angrily at the road so her keys jingled in her hands. “I can leave them out there all year round if I want. I can get three more and leave them all out there. Just for you to stare at them.” She was seething and was being obnoxious on purpose, but God, it felt good to just let some of the pent-up emotion out.

Mrs. Nettles mouthed at her like a fish out of water, eyes darting to John to back her up, but Celeste turned around and headed to her cottage. She stamped angrily to the door and shoved it open hard, not bothering to lift it as it scraped the stone entryway. Samson was waiting at the door, and she scooped him up before kicking it shut hard behind her.

“Nosey old bat,” Celeste groused, perhaps an octave too loud, as she flung her purse onto the bench in the entryway.

She wished she had the time and energy to worry about what her neighbors were doing, patrol the road, note everything out of place, and harass people for not following her made-up rules. Did it look better when bins weren’t on the road? Sure. Were the cottages prettier when the landscaping was kept up? Definitely. Did Celeste have the energy to do all that or care about it? Not in the least.

Celeste paced the living room for a bit, glancing out the big picture window to see John walk Mrs. Nettles back to her house. She narrowed her eyes, watching them go. The lead glass was too warped for them to see her glaring, but she could see them slowly walking down the road.

Mrs. Nettles had lived in her cottage with her late husband, Al, their whole married lives. Celeste’s husband grew up with them every summer and winter holiday. He said they had been just as fussy then as she was now, always worried about what everything looked like. He used to joke that they were concerned the royals would parade through town and condemn them for a flower out of place. Or would be disappointed that they weren’t following all the ‘royal rules’ about rubbish bins.  

It used to be a joke between Celeste and him, the royal curb police, but now it was just an annoyance. There was no one to roll her eyes with and laugh about it over dinner or to leave to fend for themselves as the other listened with a grin as they hid around the back of the house. Instead, she was stuck with the meddling woman who took it upon herself to pester everyone on the street.

Mrs. Nettles wasn’t friendly, she wasn’t pleasant. She was mean in her own backhanded way and was on a personal crusade against Celeste. All the neighbors knew how she was and did their best to avoid her. Many would go back inside the house when they saw her coming or just make their lawns magazine-worthy so she’d leave them alone. John was fresh meat and didn’t know just how petty the woman was. He’d learn soon enough; they all eventually saw the nasty, manipulative side of her and grew tired of it.

When Samson wriggled hard enough to ask to be let down, Celeste set him on the floor and followed him to the kitchen. He sat at the back door and looked pointedly back at her, asking to go outside. He had behaved that day and hadn’t tried to get out; it was the least she could. With a sigh, she opened the back door for him to scamper out, and she spotted the bins. They were propped up against the side of her detached garage, and a vicious flare of anger went through her.

Fuck Mrs. Nettles and her stupid rules.

Walking outside, Celeste grabbed the two bins, tilted them onto the wheels, then began walking back to the end of the driveway. They bumped into one another and caught the back of her heels, making her curse; she usually brought them up one at a time. But she had come this far, and she was pissed enough that she was going to be stubborn about it. So she dragged them jerkily over the gravel, muttering under her breath until she got to the edge of the drive.

She set them out prominently around the overgrown bush and stepped back to look at her work. The bright blue recycling bin stood out perfectly against the still half-dead landscaping. Celeste stepped forward and dragged the black bin a little more prominently when she snapped her head up. John was making his way back from Mrs. Nettles' house, and he eyed her as he walked, a smirk on his face.

“Antagonizing her isn’t going to get her to let up,” John said as he got a bit closer, stopping a few feet away.

“I hope it festers,” Celeste answered smugly as she wiped her hands absently on her apron. “I hope it drives her absolutely mad when she sees them out here again. And when she calls the town, and they tell her there is nothing they can do about it, I know she’ll have a little tantrum. I only wish I could see it.”

“I take it you two don’t exchange Christmas cards,” John answered. He glanced up the road toward the woman’s house before back to Celeste.

“Hardly. She’s been a thorn in everyone’s side for years,” Celeste answered before twisting to look at John’s cottage. “She’s just playing nice with you right now, hoping you’ll clean the place up. She’s been whining about the state of that cottage to anyone that will listen for a long while.”

“She’s going to be waiting,” John answered as he spotted Kyle walk out the front door, looking to see what was taking him so long. “I leave for work tomorrow, and Kyle isn’t exactly fit to be doing anything.”

“Tell him to just ignore her,” Celeste started, “avoid her, actually. Better for everyone.”

“He’s too nice for all that,” John answered as Kyle walked out to the car and leaned against the hood, watching them talk. “But I’ll give him a warning.”

“Being nice isn’t always the answer,” Celeste answered.

Before John could respond, she headed back to her cottage, abruptly ending the conversation. She had enough for the afternoon and was honestly afraid that the woman would pop out from behind the tree line to start up another fight. For acting so frail, she was spritely. And while Celeste wanted to antagonize her, she wasn’t ready to start arguing just yet.  

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

“Making friends?” Kyle asked as John walked back over, cutting through the thin tree line that dotted the property between their cottage and neighbor. He had watched the old woman corner John and didn’t do a damn thing to help him. He just smirked and gave him a snarky little wave as John glared at him when the woman practically dragged him along.

“Don’t start,” Price replied as he patted his pants down for the car keys. They weren’t there.

“Here,” Kyle answered as he held out the keys with his good hand, the keyring looped around a finger. He grinned a bit as John took them from him, his hand brushing over his and lingering a fraction too long to be completely casual. “What’s the neighbor's name?” He tacked on as he walked to the passenger's side and opened the door.

“Celeste,” John answered as he watched Kyle and waited patiently for him to buckle himself in. He knew helping him would be easier, but Kyle felt infantile enough as it was. “She’s looking to start a war with the self-imposed street police,” his voice was exasperated, but the slight twitch of his lips gave away the amusement.

“I thought we were coming here to avoid war,” Kyle stated as he finally got the seatbelt in place and twisted back with a huff.

“I highly doubt either of them are going to be lobbing tear gas over their fence,” John replied, his gaze lingering on where Celeste’s backdoor had opened again. He hesitated as he twiddled the wheel and watched her walk out across her lawn, her little orange cat on her heels, headed toward her dock.

“If we have to pick sides, I’m taking the old lady,” Kyle answered as he peered at John, then followed his eyeline toward Celeste. She was headed back out to that dock for the third night in a row. Kyle had spotted her the evening before, sitting in the light rain before she finally gave up as a downpour chased her inside. “Probably has some tricks up her sleeve from the Second World War,” he smirked.

“Don’t count Celeste out just yet,” John answered as he watched her a moment longer. She sat in the left chair as she always did and set a bottle of wine on the small table. The right chair remained empty; not even her cat jumped into it.

“Are you going to pick up another stray?” Kyle asked teasingly as John finally pulled out of the driveway, hand deftly shifting gears. “Johnny and Simon were territorial enough when you brought me home.”

“Should have left all three if you out in the rain,” John answered as Kyle laughed and settled back further into his leather seat.

They spent a good while in town. Kyle had found a small home goods store to pick up new sheets for the bed he had ordered, which was set to arrive in a few days. After spending one night on the twin bed and waking up with a spring lodged in his back, he had deemed it uninhabitable. Next, they made a quick stop at the liquor store to stock up on the "good stuff," as John put it. John only drank beer if there were no other options, dismissing it as ‘piss water’ until someone found him a decent Scotch.

Their final stop was the grocer, where they stocked up on more than just beer and prepackaged food to fill the fridge. John had groused over Kyle’s lack of proper food while he was supposed to be recovering, masking his concern for Kyle’s well-being with worry about the team being down a man. Kyle grinned to himself for the rest of the trip, glancing occasionally at John, who seemed to avoid eye contact at all costs. The dance they had been performing for a while was picking up tempo.

“Who knew the whole town would shut down at nine,” Kyle muttered as he shifted the styrofoam containers on his lap. They had planned on eating a proper meal in a restaurant, but everything was closing down for the evening. The waitress had given them a withering look when they asked for a table at eight-thirty and offered them takeaway instead.

“I’m sure it will change in the summer,” John answered as he flicked the high beams off. The mist on the road was thick, and the light was just reflecting back at him as he tried to navigate the winding roads.

Kyle didn’t answer as he popped open the lid of his box and reached in for a chip, but John cut his eyes over to him. They were supposed to sit and eat together, none of this rush shit that they did out in the field. Kyle quickly shut the lid and held his hand up in a surrender gesture, letting the boxes continue to warm his legs.

“She’s still out there,” John said a moment later as the car lights swung over Celeste’s property when they pulled in. He wasn’t exactly looking for her, but his eyes wandered in that direction nonetheless.

“She’s out there late most nights,” Kyle answered as he looked as well.

Neither of them grabbed their seatbelts, and John let the car run as they watched. Celeste didn’t react to the lights or the sound of the car, not even peering over her shoulder. John contemplated getting out to check on her when he saw her shift. It was subtle, but he saw her hand reach to the side before curling back in again. Grabbing her bottle of wine.

“Does she sleep out there?” John asked when he finally cut the engine and climbed out. He went for the groceries in the trunk while Kyle juggled the food, hipping his door shut.

“No, I keep an eye on her. Make sure she doesn’t fall in the lake,” Kyle answered. He caught the look John gave him. It was a curious one, perhaps a little too knowing, before he returned to gathering the bags.  “She wanders inside, eventually.”

“Now who’s looking for strays,” John taunted as he followed Kyle into the cottage.

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

Celeste rose from her chair, groaning as she stretched her stiff back and legs, her butt having gone numb some time ago. She stumbled slightly as she grabbed her blanket and the empty bottle of wine, catching herself on the back of the chair she had just left. The water had been calm that evening, with a mist dancing across the surface, shifting gently with the breeze. A few boats had drifted by, moving lazily, and Celeste had watched them come and go with a slightly vacant expression.

The lake was her sanctuary, a place where she could escape and let nature envelop her, becoming just another blip on the shore. On particularly tough evenings, when her thoughts refused to quiet, she brought wine along. Lately, she found she needed wine most nights. The approaching anniversary was making it increasingly difficult to silence her mind. That evening had been especially hard; she’d downed a whole bottle in one sitting without even getting up to eat.

Throwing her blanket over her shoulder, she carefully made her way down the dock, Samson trotting beside her and mewling for his dinner. She twirled the empty wine bottle between her fingers as she walked when a sound drew her attention. Glancing to the side, she spotted two figures on their back porch, small embers glowing in the dark as they smoked. Shit, she thought. Had they seen her stumble? She hoped they would dismiss it as the dock rocking with the movement of the lake.

She watched the figures for a few more seconds as she walked, concentrating on placing one foot carefully in front of the other to avoid tripping again. Her head was swimming, and she fumbled with the door handle twice before finally getting it open and slipping inside. The bright kitchen light made her flinch, so she quickly turned it off, relying on the dim light above the stove to feed Samson. She wasn’t hungry and didn’t think she could stomach anything anyway; just the thought of food made her feel ill.

The idea of climbing the steep stairs to bed was daunting. So, instead, she wandered to the couch and collapsed into it. Five am was going to come quickly, and as she drifted to sleep in her stupor, Celeste knew she was going to be pissed at herself when she woke up. A full bottle of wine on an empty stomach, paired with a poor night’s sleep, would result in a miserable hangover; her second one that week.

[cjskribblez]

Llau posting again 😔🤝

Fic/au by @slashmagpie

[glassy-eyed-poet]

I'll never get over that one time ao3 was down and I needed a fluffy jegulus reading session after sobbing to one of the most heart wrenching edits on tiktok. Like bffr 🙄.

[dezyj1205]

The Plan ™

Annabeth: This is my best plan Athena: Oh? Percy: Sure. Sure it was. Not like you left me to die. Annabeth: Oh, stop being so dramatic Poseidon, concerned: Die?!

(This is pretty much how it goes in chapter 11... if I can get the flow down 😭)

[the-krakens-bitch]

One of the reasons why I could never read ‘real person’ fanfic is the inability to construct and adapt the appropriate characteristics to each being within the media.

With fictional characters, there's an established understanding of what the audience (dramatic irony) and each character know about each other whether this was compiled through what the character says, how the other characters explain them, interactions, characters' past (either shown in a flashback or told) and or parallels between them and other situations/characters within the media.

Personally, one of the elements of fanfiction that I enjoy is seeing how other people perceive and understand the characters, as well as the characters' relationships with other characters and how they react to certain circumstances; either given by the narrative itself (canon events) or the audience's decision (fanfic).

As the audience, it is a privilege to insepct and examine the small and unique aspects of the characters to analyse and connect elements within the narrative to develop a deep understanding of them. However, this can’t happen with real people.

In real life, there is no story arch, there is no specific camera angles, no specifc lighting, no intentionly writing choices, no additonal codes and conventions that explore a story deeper into the text of reality.

Especially famous people, more specially youtubers; within an increasingly parasocial world, where the audiences are becoming progressively closer towards the artist, it is harder to seperate the audience's belief that they know that particular person/group.

I think this is most obvious within the One direction/5 seconds of summer phase of the early 2010s, but it has yet to decrease due to the prevelent evolution of what is considered the norm of social media interaction with the artist and the fan.

Therefore artist will present in the 'so called' suitable character that they want to present at a given time. Implying that in particular circumstance, either promoting new music or movie, playing a game, peforming and so on, they will display the appropriate characteristics to go with that aim.

The audience cannot take this and deem it as their personality, or decode that they are 'faking' or pretending in front of the camera. I think there's a belief that famous people, more specifically Youtubers will either be their 100% authentic selves or become a completely different person in front of a camera, but that is not true. They are becoming an alternative version of themself for a performance.

In summary, I think the idea of reading fanfic about real people exacerbates the parasocial relationship that social media is now normalizing. Such as depersonalizing public figures into caricatures of themself and placing them into fabricated renditions of what that particular audience desires from them.