⋆˚࿔ ciderpointhq task 002: cider point studio sessions !
as we approach our one year anniversary, we want to present you with OUR SECOND TASK ! and this task will be collaborative ! for this task, we ask you and your fellow muns to write some flashback threads for your cider sounds connections ! these wanted connections are the basis of our whole group, and we think it would be so incredibly fun to go back to how it all began ! so we can really understand the journey your connection has taken ! it can be the very beginning, or somewhere along the way !
if you choose to participate, we ask that you write these threads without gifs. we understand these connections may span over a wide length of time, and we want you to be able to write at any point on your connection's timeline that you and your fellow writers feel best ! we believe taking the gifs away will relieve some of that pressure of choosing !
this task is not required, but highly, highly encouraged !!! to deepen your muse’s lore and give us some insight into your character’s past ! since these connections carry our group, we find it very important to highlight them and their origin. should you choose to participate, please make sure to tag CIDERTASK / CIDERTASK002 so we can read them !! we’re so excited to see your origin threads, and we can’t wait to see the foundation of so many important connections ! ♡
Who: Tabitha Feldman @rainbowxsouls
Where: Cider Point Middle School library
When: late fall 2010, early afternoon
Billie Sterling had a mission: check the school library to see if they had gotten a copy of Night Whispers yet. She didn’t get a chance to check in the morning, so she scarfed down her lunch and got one of the teachers to write her a hall pass. She ran from the cafeteria to the library at the speed of a very fast sixth grader, arriving in record time. Right as she entered the library, she saw another girl looking very upset. Warrior Cats would have to wait. “What’s the matter?” she asked, keeping her volume low to abide by library rules.
Winnie’s feet dangled off the side of the fire escape. A New Year’s party raged on the rooftop above her, an invitation she only secured by nature of living in the same building. She was drunk enough that if she focused on her shoes too long, her stomach dropped, creating a brief moment of weightlessness, similar to missing a step on the staircase or dreaming of a fall. And, god, did it feel good to just float until she blinked back into her body, heart pounding and arms wrapped tightly around the thin metal bars keeping her on the escape.
It wasn’t uncommon for Winnie to end up on the outskirts of a party. Even back at home, she often needed space to breathe. The bodies became too much, the music too corrupted with other sounds. It didn’t feel so lonely, though, back at home. Someone always found her eventually.
Loneliness, in and of itself, was an emotion Winnie added to her repertoire shortly after arriving in New York. Something heavy that made a home in between her ribs; it pulled on her heartstrings, gnawed on her stomach. It grew lighter, in the brief moments spent at Bea’s side or on the phone with Stellan, but dragged her right back down any other time she stepped foot outside of her dorm room.
It took her a month and a half to name: loneliness. Winnie never felt lonely before.
Only now, a stack of divorce papers tucked between her mattress and her bed frame ( signed, sealed, and decorated with too many stamps ), and her feet dangling off the edge of the world, she’s worried it’s all she’ll ever feel.
She should’ve gone home; surrendered to the impulse to run all the way back with her tail tucked between her legs, swallowed her pride and faced the music left in her wake, but she was scared. Scared to return to a home that felt foreign, terrified to learn it remained unchanged to those who still inhabited it.
Above her, the voices of hundreds of drunk college kids started the countdown, and she blinked back into her body, arms wrapped tightly around metal railing, pulse racing. Her mouth moved along to the descending numbers, though her voice reached no one’s ears but her own. Instead of celebrating once they hit one, she pulled her feet up onto the escape, and closed her eyes against the cacophony of cheering, illegal fireworks, and an odd buzzing sound she could only assume was a result of her annoyance at the former two.
Except, the moment her eyes shut, she realized the buzzing emanated from her own pocket. Emotion poured out from her solitary rain cloud like summer rain, warming her to the bone when Stellan’s contact appeared. She answered it without thinking.
“Happy New Year, Stell.” The words choked out of her and she hoped he wouldn’t catch the way they wavered, but knew he would.
“Happy fuckin’ New Year, Win,” came his reply and Winnie curled into his voice like a cat napping in a patch of sun. “Thank fuck this one’s over.”
Laughter burst out of her and she brought a hand to her mouth to muffle the sound. “I don’t know,” she drawled, sarcasm dripping from the words, “thought it was our best yet. Was hoping to groundhog’s day it, personally.”
As Stellan’s own laughter crackled through the phone, Winnie laid back against the grated flooring, eyes wandering a starless sky. “Fuck that,” he answered once his laughter settled, but she could still hear the remnants of it tucked between his vowels. “Miss me yet?”
A question he asked every time they talked, without fail. One often met with a fond roll of her eyes and a quip, now followed by a long stretch of silence brought on by a wave of emotion that lodged in her throat. It wasn’t until her hand lifted to rub the wrinkle between her brows, pinky brushing against the stray tears rolling down her cheeks, that Winnie realized she was crying. She used her palm to catch them and swallowed hard in an attempt to steady her voice. “So fucking much.”
“Yeah,” he breathed, “me, too.”
The weight in her chest lightened as Winnie pulled the phone closer to her ear, as though pulling herself closer to Stellan, to home. So much had changed in the blink of an eye, between them, around them, but never this. She belonged to Stellan in a way she never belonged to anyone, in a way she could never find the words to explain. She always had and always would.
She didn’t feel so lonely, not anymore.
“Alright, let’s hear it.” His voice interrupted her thoughts, lighter than moments before. “What’re your resolutions?”
“Jesus.” The word escaped in a huff of humorless laughter, head shaking from side to side. In the past, Winnie had been…inisistent on resolutions, swearing that people worked harder when striving for a goal, demanding the boys picked some of their own. That changed, too, this year. The only goal she had in mind was to, “Survive?”
cider point, ma. new years eve, 2024 — 6:58pm
london, england. new years eve, 2024 — 11:58pm
The distance doesn't feel so large these days. It's been over three years since he came here, his fourth New Year's Eve on the boardwalk. Weekly calls just like this one close the gap, bridge the ocean between him and his parents when neither are able to make the journey themselves.
"Got a little nervous you weren't going to pick up in time." He admits, grin wide as his mother rolls her eyes. They both know him well enough to know he isn't kidding.
"We still have two minutes to go." She chastises as his father comes into frame, spare chair pulled up. He's been begging them to upgrade to a laptop at home for years, but they stubbornly continue to insist there's nothing wrong with the ten year old tower his father kicks every time he sits at the desk. Don't fix what isn't broken!
Nate taps at his watch. "One minute forty seven seconds, actually." Maybe he's a little more annoying around them, still their son even at thirty-one.
"What are you doing later? Are you going to the boardwalk again?" His father ignores his quip. Nate sighs, a sound so common, yet one that already lost its bite a long time ago.
"Yeah, both Danny and Theodora mentioned it, so I suppose I should show my face." He glances at his wrist, keen not to miss the turn of the hour, his first new year of the night. He'd made sure to resync his watch this morning just in case. "It's a nice night, but it's a bit noisy. Everyone's plastered by, like, half nine." Not that he doesn't enjoy a drink, but he can't see the point in staying up for midnight if you're going to be too far gone to remember it. "Did you guys do anything nice?"
His father is cut off. "No, we had to be home before midnight to call our grown son." She tuts, but Nate can see her hiding a smile behind her hand. (That, and he'd given them the opportunity not to make a tradition of this every year and she's always the one insisting otherwise.)
"Twenty seconds." He clears his throat. "And might I remind you, you could've taken this call on your phone, no requirement to rush home for your grown son. That, might I also remind you, lives across the world, and whom I'm sure you miss dearly and want to see when the stars align."
They both ignore him, watching the last five seconds tick away at the corner of their desktop, waiting for the fireworks to start pounding in the background. They're so loud Nate wonders if he could hear them all the way from here, call be damned.
They share a kiss before wishing him a, "happy first new year," as they do every year. In five hours, he'll message them a happy second new year to wake up to.
featuring ! marco windsor's new years eve; chicago, 2023.
o'hare has always been marco's least favorite airport. still, he's gone through the trouble of driving there and back, hauling each of his siblings back to his home ONE BY ONE. he's put months of planning and piles of money into his new year's eve party and as far as he can tell, everything is going without a hitch. he'd put on his happiest face, oliver managed to make it home twice so far ( a new record ! ), and none of his siblings had killed each other under his roof. he's clinging onto the hope this gives him with an iron fist, desperate to recreate the days that felt effortless.
rolling over in his bed marco reaches for his alarm clock, flat palm swatting at the button that would give him reprieve from the noise. hands raise to rub at bleary eyes, and as his hand falls back down, he realizes it's fallen into an empty space. the hope he'd felt is turned into the first seed of dread, shooting up and peering around the room. cardstock with a scribbled note left on oliver's pillow informs marco that he's become indisposed for the day. an emergency at the office, he's so sorry, he'll be back in time for the party. hand drags through tousled curls and over his face, letting out a deep sigh.
how many days can a man spend pretending, he wonders, slowing his racing thoughts as he hears the footsteps of his family gathering at the table. breakfast is spent under the cover of cheerful planning, assigning each of them a role for the night. elias greeting guests at the door, clark behind the bar, luke passing out appetizers, and lux curating the music. as their parents always taught them, the party must go on. unwanted questions from his siblings are carefully avoided, comments about how often he's checking his phone are brushed off. despite this, he takes note of the concern and contempt growing in each of their voices as the hours pass. before he knows it guests are pouring in, and with each person that greets him, he finds the limit of his disappointment.
10:13 p.m. and he's checking his phone again, sending a quick text to oliver this time. ARE YOU ON THE WAY YET ? 11:50 p.m. and lux has asked him what the fuck no less than ten times. 11:55 p.m. and clark has given him two flutes of champagne. 11:59 p.m. and luke has a pity in his eyes he never wants to see again. 12:00 a.m. and elias is the one throwing his arms around him. 12:18 p.m. and he's sending his husband of eleven years a text to ring in the new year. HAPPY NEW YEAR !
he can remember a time when the aftermath was spent in a honeymoon haze, blaring music and party games traded for stolen kisses and clattering dishes. now, he stands alone in his kitchen, gathering the last of the glasses and placing them haphazardly in the sink. it's just after 3:00 a.m. as he hears the door open, oliver stumbling into the kitchen with his BEST APOLOGY FACE already on. arms cross over his chest, and the seed of dread has rooted through all of his veins. he's not sure he recognizes the man in front of him as oliver pours over drunken excuses and the importance of team bonding after closing a deal. as oliver reaches for him, he pushes away, maintaining his silence. his only thoughts are of each of his siblings, asleep in their rooms after carrying him through the night. they once dreamed of a life full of love and a family of their own creation. eleven years in and he had nothing to show for it aside from a large, empty home. mustering up all of his courage, eyes meet oliver's, thumb nail picking at the skin on his index finger. with one deep breath and no time to let himself think, he blurts out, "I WANT A DIVORCE."
⋆˚࿔ ciderpointhq task 001: ghost of new years past !
to ease you all back into your characters after the holiday, we wanted to present you OUR FIRST TASK ! for this task, we ask you to write a self para about a new year that was especially important / impactful for your character ! perhaps we were so back, perhaps it was so over ... we want to see the good, the bad, the ugly ! you are not limited to just one, if the muse strikes you to write more !
this task is not required, but highly encouraged to deepen your muse's lore and give us some insight into your character's past ! should you choose to participate, please make sure to tag CIDERTASK / CIDERTASK001 so we can read them !! we're so excited to see your self paras, and we're ready to jump for joy or cry our hearts out along with your muses ! ♡
𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: marco's marital home - chicago, illinois c. summer 2024 / @ilovethismood
knuckles tapped at the cardboard box in front of him, breath hitched in his throat as he packed yet another piece of his life away. withdrawn eyes look over to rivan, one hand raising to ruffle through already tussled curls. his loved ones had been visiting on a REVOLVING BASIS the last few weeks, helping in their own ways as marco prepared for his move across the country. “how many boxes can one man have ?” a half hearted attempt at humor, sighing deeply as his arms cross over his chest. “we should take a break,” he nods, dusting his hands off in front of him. he's taken twenty breaks a day during this process, knows deep down he's stalling, holding onto any pieces of his marriage he can grasp. “ARE YOU HUNGRY ?”
The 3 o'clock parade was due to start in a half hour but Tabby was mainly focused on eating as many mini corndogs as Casey's Corner would allow her to. Vet school was kicking her ass and this trip was well deserved and needed. When her brothers had called asking to come down to Florida and celebrate Tabby demanded asked for a small trip to Disney instead of just a fancy dinner at a random restaurant. She had missed her brothers so much, missed everyone so much.
"I think all I need is one more ride on Space Mountain, and that'll crack my back enough to get these kinks out. I swear I'm going to end up permanently hunched from bending over lab tables all day." She joked, looking over at her brothers across the table.
