#pebble writes

[heart-shaped-pebble]

Material Love is being written, I swear it is!! I've written 10k words in two days, the ending is so close I feel emotional 😭 [currently at 16k words]

Usual snippets because it's taking me long to have the last(sob)chapter out 🫶

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enjoy max being unable to read social cues and yuki making fun of him

(from different parts of the chapter)

[pebbledrat]

Still thinking about questions 4 and 5

It's about the inevitability of being a liar, of being caught and seen and known in your hypocrisy no matter what you answer. They're both true. Neither is true. Schrodinger's guilt and Schrodinger's brother. You cared too much. You didn't care enough. The contradictions of a once-president left desolate. Thirteen years is a long time to be alone with your thoughts, and they never stop, do they? They run and run and run ragged and there's never a moment of silence in this godforsaken place. You were always too clever for your own good, so quick-witted (alas, I admit it), and if you thought that the presidential office echoed with the thoughts of your own unworthiness, then the train station is cavernous, ringing with your failures until there's never a second of respite, never an escape, never a way out. You were terrible for what you did, but it was the only thing you ever did right. Everything was clear for a single, perfect instant, after weeks of framing and reframing it all in your mind, and then you came here and nothing has been clear since.

Do you love your brother? You don't even know. (And isn't that pitiful? Not knowing?) None of this would have happened if you'd loved him, surely. But what was all of it, any of it, if you never cared for him? You loved him, (used him (needed him (needed him gone))) you think. You think a lot of things. Do you feel guilty? It's hard to feel guilty at the inevitable, to cry over a story you've heard once too often. Thirteen years is a long time to be alone with your thoughts, and you're fickle (capricious, mercurial, impulsive, and other words too. words like volitile and unstable). One day it's guilt and the next it's anger. You'll think you've moved completely into apathy, acceptance of your wretched fate, and then you'll be overwhelmed all over again by loneliness and heartbreak. Despair and bitterness at the hand fate dealt you, at the story you wrote yourself. Thirteen years is a long time to be alone with your thoughts and the only thing that's ever been reliable about you is that you never change, that you never shut up. You've been over every scenario a dozen times, felt every emotion and invented new ones, looked through different lenses to make yourself a hero, a villain, a puppet, a savior. All of this inevitable and all of this before noon because your mind didn't stop racing when your heart stopped and thirteen years is so, so long to be alone with your thoughts.

Thirteen years to ask the important questions (without people (who don't understand anything) interrupting)(without the polluting effects of affection to color your lens), and you still can't say whether you love him or not. Is he even your brother? Either answer feels like a lie and rots and festers in your skin until you cry for anything, anyone to save you, distract you, keep you from your thoughts for even a second.

Your mind is your greatest strength and greatest enemy, and you've been trapped here with it for thirteen years. You wonder what sunlight feels like.

[gerardwaymywife]

Forgiveness

Word Count: 1090. Angst to fluff. Proofread? No

TW// Bit of blood, knife used, sad, derealisation, drowning. (I swear, this makes it sound so much worse than I wanted it to, the ending is fluff, I promise.)

Jackie stared into the pond at it's still, silver surface, that thought itself a mirror, seeing his watery expression glare back at him.

"Who are you to complain?" His reflection seemed to whisper.

"It still happened." He murmured to it weakly.

"It's over now, isn't it?" It hissed back.

"It should be." He thought. But he didn't have the heart to utter it aloud.

The chill of the air in that underground cave seemed to seep into Jackie's very soul, the temperature curling around him, sinking it's claws in and holding him fast.

He felt his mind in a daze, nothing fully clear, all a bit blurred at the edges, but filling up his consciousness nonetheless.

The smell of the lily pads, fresh and clean, but so, so faint, the ghost of their scent just reaching his nose.

The mud under his shoes, squelching and seeping in, sticking his feet to the cobbled stone of the bridge. He dimly pondered where the mud was coming from, what with the stone being so clean and bare, but he gave it no more thought.

The way the low, gently swinging lantern light cast his shadow wildly across the room, sometimes it was running, another dancing, perhaps kneeling with a dagger in its palms.

Ran's voice was gentle at first.

"What did you want to talk about?"

Jackie tried desperately to get his thoughts to line up with each other.

"You know that I love you." He said, his voice desperate to get across that he wants mad at all, not really.

"Yes." Ran didn't say it back. That should have been the first sign.

" And I forgive you, I do, but…"

"But?"

"It… it still happened."

"What did?" That didn't quite sound like Ran anymore.

Jackie felt himself grow a little irritable. "Don't fucking make me say it."

Ran tilted his head in confusion. "Say what?"

Jackie wanted to hit him, but his limbs felt to slow and too weak. When did that happen?

"You tried to kill me, Ran," Jackie ground out, his nails slowly digging into his palms.

"But you just said you forgive me, didn't you?" Ran smiled, something that usually brought joy to Jackie's heart, was now quite flavourless.

Jackie faltered in his steps. When had he stepped forward?

"Well, yes." But that's not the point, he thought desperately.

"Well, it's all water under the bridge now, isn't it?" Ran replied, a humourless laugh escaping his lips, his hand motioning down to the pond below them.

Eyes betraying him Jackie's gaze lingered on the now shivering body of water, and he locked on to their reflections.

Jackie, shaking in the cold, apprehensive, a little scared.

Ran, still, emotionless, looking how he had the first time they had met.

The water rippled, and they changed.

Jackie's breath hitched, his hackles raised, and his nails leaving crescent shapes in his skin.

They were on the balcony. It was that night. Ran, looking handsome as ever, his mind still a mystery then to Jackie. Himself, feeling like an absolute flustered mess on the inside, but he supposed he had looked collected enough to Ran's standards.

He saw the knife in Ran's sleeve. He wished he didn't.

It all played out just the same.

Jackie really didn't know why he expected any different.

He turned to look away when the knife slipped from Ran's sleeve.

His head wouldn't move.

He averted his eyes, but they couldn't stop watching.

The knife didn't stop either.

The Jackie of the past seemed to accept his fate.

Crimson bloomed across his back as red dusted his cheeks.

His hands fell slack from shock, his back went slack in the pain.

His breath left his choking lungs as he gave his last one to the tall, handsome, bastard of an Enderman he loved.

The Ran in the pond simply stood as Jackie crashed to the ground, and removed the blade from his victims back, his eyes not bothering to meet Jackie's pained stare.

Ran wiped the blood of the blade off on his shirt before he walked away, leaving Jackie cold, bleeding out and alone.

The pond had returned to normal, but Jackie couldn't tell.

"The council has given me one very, very last chance" he heard Ran say faintly, but he couldn't really hear him.

That, that hadn't been real. He was still alive, it didn't make sense.

The emptiness of the cave made the ringing of his ears echo on endlessly.

Ran didn't do that, wouldn't do that.

His lungs were filling up with the foggy, damp air, trying to kill from the inside before anyone could get to him first.

Would he?

His brain was stuffed with cotton wool, fuzzy and confused.

He felt a hand on his back.

"This is my chance to really make things right, love."

The name didn't fit Ran's mouth.

There was a push, and he was toppling forward.

Jackie didn't remember the pond being this deep.

Why were his limbs so heavy?

Why was he such a weak swimmer?

Why were Ran's eyes purple?

"Why are you still dreaming?"

Jackie jolted awake, his eyes blown wide and palms stinging. There were arms around him and he fought to get them off, before reality slowly sunk in.

What an awful dream, he thought. Really, that was absolute shit.

"Jackie?" Ran.

"Are we still going to the cave today?" Ran asked his voice thick with sleep.

Jackie froze again.

"Do you want to?" He managed to get out.

Ran nuzzled into Jackie's neck. "I don't really mind. I just wanna spend the day with you."

"This isn't a dream," Jackie told himself. "It isn't."

The voice of his reflection whispered back,

"And how do you know that?"

"Oh fuck off," he thought, "I'll prove it."

Jackie turned, his nose brushing his lover's. Blue eyes met green, skin met skin, and Jackie pressed kiss after kiss onto Ran's flushed face.

"What- what are you doing?" Ran stammered, his eyes roaming over Jackie's face, his long arms still wrapped around the shorter's body.

"Ran, I love you." Jackie said, pressing his forehead into the other's and closing his eyes tight.

He waited a moment. A beat more. Jackie felt scared for a second, before he opened his eyes and saw the bright green complexion of Ran.

He burst out laughing, earning a grumble from Ran.

"It's far too early in the morning for this," Ran grumped.

"... I love you too."

He fell off the bed when Jackie tried to kiss him again.

@girlbossjackie

A/N. Hello! I woke up this morning, opened Tumblr to see this, and my motivation finally, finally went "Aw yiss, time to write again." I think I got it done in about 50 minutes on my phone, and considering I haven't written in months that's pretty funky. Had so much fun writing this and am happy to say that with the title being the word "Forgiveness" I have used all but one of the prompt words B). Hope you enjoyed!

[honestpebble]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: Haikyuu!! Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Atsumu & Miya Osamu, Miya Atsumu & Suna Rintarou, Bokuto Koutarou & Miya Atsumu, Hinata Shouyou & Miya Atsumu, Minor or Background Relationship(s)

Characters: Miya Atsumu, Sakusa Kiyoomi, Miya Osamu, Suna Rintarou, Bokuto Koutarou, Hinata Shouyou, MSBY Black Jackals

Additional Tags: Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst, Fluff, Falling In Love, Rated T for swearing, Minor Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Minor Miya Osamu/Suna Rintarou, Author Apparently Can't Write An Atsumu Fic Without Giving Him A Bad Past Experience, Volleyball, Minor Injuries, Sakusa Kiyoomi is Bad at Feelings, Panic Attacks, Post-Time Skip, Hurt/Comfort, A lot - Freeform, very hurt and then comfort, self deprecating thoughts, Bokuto Koutarou is a Good Friend, Sickfic, Sort Of, Miya Osamu is a Good Sibling, Interviews, Alcohol, check notes for content warnings, Knitting, Atsumu Knits, lol

Summary:

Saito nods and taps a finger to her chin. “Ah, so, we’ve got Bokuto Koutarou, devoted to a life with an unnamed individual, Hinata Shoyo, who loves everyone but has his heart set on someone from his past, Sakusa Kiyoomi, who currently cares only for volleyball, and Miya Atsumu, adored by all but loved by none. How interesting! You definitely are a wild bunch of very different people when it comes to love!” Atsumu’s breath hitches in his throat, and her comment kind of pisses him off, but he tries his best to smile and laugh it off. She says that like he’s unlovable, and ‘Sakusa Kiyoomi, who currently cares only for volleyball’? That seems pretty rude too, he thinks. It’s not like Sakusa’s heartless, even if he is all reserved and stuff. He doesn’t really listen to much else of what she has to say after that, deciding that he doesn’t really like her that much, and balls his hands into fists in his pockets.

‘Miya Atsumu, adored by all but loved by none.’

Oh, the memories that brings back.

I HAVE RETURNED WITH ANOTHER SAKUATSU FIC :oooooo

[heart-shaped-pebble]

I was listening to Hamilton the other day (as one does), and Story Of Tonight reprise made me think about gax (also as one does).

In this song they're all out to celebrate Alexander Hamilton's wedding, when suddenly Aaron Burr arrives joining them and reveals he's in a relationship with a woman married to a british officer. So I thought, giving my own twist to it:

A non-drivers au where George, Lando and Alex are out to celebrate that Alex gets married in one week, and during it George ends up revealing he's been seeing this guy (Max) for almost four months now. But but but! Max is married, to Charles, and George is aware of this just doesn't seem to care apparently... wow... the guilt of it all...

I've already written 2k words of this so lol ?? idk if anyone would be interested in me posting this but I might so stay tuned ig

(talking about this is the main reason why i changed accout LOL)

[lyrics that inspired this kinda]

[pebbledrat]

L'manberg as a fertility god

Osiris

You're killed and chopped into a thousand pieces and it hurt every part of the world that knew you You died and it was winter. You died and they wondered if they could ever feel the warmth of the sun again You died but they remembered you, cared for you, and maybe you aren't as dead as they thought

You died but you never left You died but you came back, you became something different The spring came and the seeds sprung up and you came back but you could never rejoin the land of the living Your children are all that's left, you've become something new Something untouchable There’s nothing left the living could do to you, you’re beyond their reach

The seasons turned and now you watch your children grow old You died in the autumn and they faced the winter alone But the dead don't stay dead, not here, not forever They killed you and you went away, but the promise of winter is that spring comes after

[pebbledrat]

a poem

L’manberg, L’manberg, I’d cry myself to sleep  A thousand tears for a thousand lost causes once breathing  “It was meant to be better than this,” “It was meant to be different,” “It was meant to-” The intentions lay buried in the ashes Maybe it was never meant to be.

[pebbledrat]

I wanted to join the Coalition of People Who Are Insane About Saal!Beeduo And Write Ficlets About It, so here’s this!! a little something set between saal and knack. I did get baited into this, so blame @deadpatrol for this one

.

His freckles weren’t the same anymore. 

The car ride was long, too long maybe, and it was a silly detail to be so focused on. Tubbo was a little squished beneath the weight of Ranboo leaning against him, fast asleep. The weight was comfortable, comforting in the way few things had been since the reset. It was bone deep knowledge, the feeling of here, here, safe. 

Ranboo was here, resting, and hopefully himself. Drista had said it would be okay. Or at least, she said that intervention would mean getting XD involved, which was to say, things would have to be okay. Whatever happened, Tubbo would make it okay; would reframe his expectations and his plans until Ranboo was taken care of and watched and loved. Ranboo was going to be okay because Tubbo wasn’t certain he could bear anything else. 

It was a little thing to get caught on, the freckles, but with Ranboo’s eyes closed and the sunlight cast on his face, Tubbo couldn’t help looking. He looked peaceful in a way he rarely did when awake, worry smoothed away, if only for a few moments. 

He was different now. Both of them were. Tubbo was missing his horns, his hooves, and he was left clumsy and fumbling without any real steadiness in the new world. Likewise, Ranboo had been made anew. His skin was pale and warm. Not the smooth, white and black expanse Tubbo had come to know, but something pinker. Softer. 

Ranboo was human now, like everyone else, and he had no claws to defend himself, no tail to wrap around ankles with a friendly possessiveness. Tubbo barely recognized him. 

And yet… 

But he was Ranboo. Still, somehow, he had that Ranboo crinkle to his eyes when he smiled, and that nervous twist to his hands when he spoke couldn’t be anyone else. The awkward laugh or the ridiculous, stupid wordplay that only came out once he got comfortable. There was no question about it, Tubbo had found him. Again. Tubbo had found him, and he was still Ranboo.

And yet. 

His freckles had changed. Tubbo didn’t know what he’d imagined, if he thought somehow that he’d find Ranboo, his Ranboo, with the same sprinkling of freckles across his nose and the same sharp-toothed grin. Not… this Ranboo, whoever he was. 

Tubbo craned his neck, trying to get a better angle on Ranboo. 

Tommy was still rambling away in the front seat, the timbre of his voice fading into the white noise of the car rolling across the countryside. Ranboo had slept through it all, but the movement must have disturbed him, because he shifted, muttering something indiscernible to himself. 

For a long moment, Tubbo froze, wondering if Ranboo was going to wake again, if he did, which memories he might have. Finally, Ranboo settled and Tubbo released a heavy breath. 

If nothing else, the venture had secured Tubbo a better view. 

Ranboo’s new freckles were fainter, more subtle than before. They were still there, but in all the wrong places. Instead of the distinctive black and white, they’re just sort of… brown. It feels wrong. It feels different and so, so wrong all of the sudden that Tubbo can hardly bear it.

When Tubbo had woken up in the new world, he’d found the night sky had changed. It had felt like choking, for a moment; like forgetting how to breathe. The stars were all wrong, duller somehow, with no familiar constellations to light his path. It had shaken him badly, but he’d set off to find more familiar things.

This Ranboo isn’t Tubbo’s minutes man. He can’t be, shouldn’t be. He isn’t meant to be, and that was rather the point, wasn’t it?

It would’ve been easier, Tubbo decided, if Ranboo had no freckles at all this time around. It would’ve been an adjustment at first, certainly, but maybe then Tubbo wouldn’t be left looking for constellations in skies and faces that didn’t exist anymore.