#ghost!patrick

[chanyelle]

☕️ or 👻 please!

how about both?

☕- magical realism coffeeshop au

“Well, if you ever decide to start drinking specialty coffee drinks, or would like a fancy breakfast sandwich, I’ve got you covered.”

👻- basement ghost singing/ghost!Patrick (reminder, this is a rewrite so I may have previously shared something eerily similar)

He briefly considers the fact that he owns the place and can take a long lunch break should he feel like it, but then he reminds himself that he owns the place and if he loses business because of his late lunch, that’s money out of his own pocket.

Send me a symbol and I will write 5 sentences for the corresponding wip and share at least 1.

[geetrick]

So I made more pics with the Patrick AU's.

[chanyelle]

🚒🚒👻👻 please 💞🦛

My friend, you are a genius. This actually worked, and I finally have written words again!

🚒- new Buck/Tommy

Trying to get your attention has been kind of exhausting. He’d really said that. And hell, he’d probably be embarrassed if it hadn’t worked. If it hadn’t led to that moment.

👻-ghost!Patrick aka basement ghost singing

(this is a rewrite so apologies if this sounds familiar)

It had sounded as if it was coming from somewhere in the building, but he was the only occupant at the moment. He reassures himself that sounds can sometimes behave strangely and it was probably just the radio blaring from a car driving by before rushing out the door. Hunger wins over his need for investigation at the moment.

Send me a symbol and I will write 5 sentences for the corresponding wip and share at least 1.

[chanyelle]

wip wednesday

Thanks for tagging me @stereopticons and @tyfinn

Apparently there is a conspiracy to keep David from eating his lunch before he withers and dies from hunger (YES he’s being dramatic, but he’s hungry and his mother is Moira Rose, after all) and Twyla is happily recounting a story that doesn’t match the tone, from what he can hear. He manages to sneak a few french fries from his to-go container while he pretends to listen, effectively dulling the growling in his stomach to something allowing him to pick out a few words (did she say haunted bathroom?) that would be alarming if he cared about anything but getting his food back to the store and into his stomach. 

By the time he unlocks the store, he only has about fifteen minutes left before he should open again but his fries are nearly gone and he’s feeling much better already. He briefly considers the fact that he owns the place and can take a long lunch break if he feels like it, but then he reminds himself that he owns the place and if he loses business because of his late lunch, that’s money out of his own pocket.

So he rushes to the back and sets his take-out container on the desk and hurries to scarf down the turkey sandwich. He’s just about finished with the first half when he hears it again; a distinct voice, singing. He sets his sandwich down, having appeased his stomach enough to allow himself the distraction.

[chanyelle]

WIP Wednesday

Thanks for the tag, @treluna4!

Patrick rocked back and forth on the tiled floor. He knew it was probably cold, but he couldn’t feel it. He hadn’t been able to feel anything for days. Or was it weeks? Nothing made any sense anymore, particularly time. He wasn’t even sure where he was, or why he was there. He knew it was a bathroom; the toilets were a dead giveaway, but a bathroom where? It was clearly a public place, definitely not a residential bathroom, and the people that came and went ignored him as they made their way to the stalls. He was glad for it at first, but after a while he started to doubt there were any decent people left in this town of - oh, he doesn’t even remember what town he’s in. He remembers driving, away from Rachel, away from home and then, and then there’s a gap, and then he’s here in this bathroom. 

He pulls himself to his feet, wondering to himself why he’s still here. He walks to the door and reaches for the handle and - 

“What the fuck?” he says out loud to the empty bathroom. He’s starting to suspect that it wouldn’t matter if someone was in here, because his hand just went through the door. And it didn’t hurt. He remembers the tile that should be cold, the people that seemed cold, and maybe - no, he would know if he was dead, right?

He reaches out again, hesitantly, pulling back instinctually as soon as the tips of his fingers disappear into the door.

[chanyelle]

seven sentence sunday

Thanks for tagging me, @hippolotamus 💕

Patrick slams his trunk shut, hoping he hasn’t forgotten to pack anything important in his rush to get out of the house. He can’t be here anymore, this place is suffocating him. It’s not Rachel; it was never about Rachel, really, but he can’t be in the same room with her anymore. He can’t be in the same town with her, right now.

He needs to do some thinking, and he can’t do that here. Here is full of expectations. Here is full of people who think they know him, but how can they when he doesn’t even know himself?

tagging @tyfinn @rosedavid @treluna4 @legalgal421 @smblmn and anyone else that wants to share!

[chanyelle]

Me: I can't handle writing any more angst right now. I'm going to write something super light and fun.

Also me: this is a super light and fun fic, I swear. There's only a hint of crisis of sexuality followed by just a smidge of major character death. It's nothing, really. Super light. So fun. Very happy.