seen from Dominican Republic
seen from China
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Ireland
seen from Türkiye
seen from Türkiye
seen from Malta
seen from China
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seen from China
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seen from Malaysia
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unearthed
they’re under the bridge again. 4c’s drawing squiggles in the sand when he asks: do you think he’d look back? i mean. you know orpheus and eurydice? if i was his eurydice, do you think he’d look back?
katie’s known him for years and years on end, and then none at all. he’s not the kind of person to change easy, though. i don’t think he’d look back for either of us.
4c slumps, brightens, frowns. does that mean he loves us?
katie imagines the underworld, trailing after him in tunnels six feet under.
…yeah, she says. yeah, it does.
A chill on the back of his neck; he shivers, grips the book tight. He knows it's watching. There's nowhere to hide here, in the belly of the beast.
Dead end after dead end in the musty darkness. His torch flickers, and he spins around, casting the light far as it can reach. Still nothing, except for the shadows pooling in the corners. Cobwebs without a spider.
Even his footsteps don't echo now. He can feel it, his very essence draining away bit by bit. If he doesn't find a way out soon, he's going to vanish here, alone. Unknown.
wowee
i don't know how to promo fics on here sorry
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
There is a person-shaped hole in Oakhurst, and everyone builds around it.
so, pyro's digging a grave.
the woods are silent except for his shovelling, dig-dig-dig, and all the trees are watching him. his hands are blisteringly sore, but he doesn't (can't?) stop. dig, dig, dig. deeper, deeper, deeper. he's up to his knees now.
so, pyro's digging a grave.
it feels familiar, the motions, and his arms ache like he's been doing this for longer. he's just started, though. god, he must be low already.
even more reason to dig.
so, pyro's digging a grave.
it's not anyone's in particular. he just wants to. nevermind that it's just big enough to fit him lying down!
so—
pyro feels like he's killed someone.
it's not the czeslaw thing. shut up.
it's recent. it's exactly like the czeslaw thing, except he's sure of it this time. there's blood on his hands. there is. there is! it's here. just look.
he's killed someone. listen to him, okay?
good.
he knows he has. shelby stares at him oddly, now, that tilt to her head, that furrow in her brow. scott… well, scott's the same as always, but there's a glint in his eyes.
it's a good thing, okay? the murder thing. he's glad he did it. he's sure he enjoyed it. he just wishes he knows who. that's all.
so, pyro's digging a grave.
sometimes all u need to get rid of writer's block is writing on your econs worksheet with font colour white font size 1px. and also scott smajor i guess
mortality’s a funny thing, scott supposes, two bottles of wine deep and sinking further. old loves. flames that went out far too soon. / he’s never brought out the wine on a regular night like this, but it feels right. something’s shifted, he can tell. smell it in the air. sort of like old blood, really, like something rotten and dead. / scott glances at pyro. they look so tantalizing, bathed in falling moonlight. almost like the night he’d gotten a taste. pyro catches his eyes and jolts, cringes, plasters on a lovely smile. scott bares his teeth. / where was he? / the wine. right. / the wine itself isn’t that good. it just reminds him of someone. an old love, maybe. it feels new, the love, but time is a fickle thing. besides, it’s not like it’s pyro. he steals a glance, and notes that they're back to looking out the window, shoulder tense. / still. he’d been missing two bottles when he came down here. no one in the castle likes it. he'd made sure. / scott hums, and pyro perks up. they don’t say anything, though he can tell they want to, just scoot closer. scott lets them lean in, lets them rest their head on his shoulder, even though it doesn’t fit right. he knows — knew? — someone who could fill the space perfectly. he just can’t quite remember who. / no matter. scott’s a very adaptable person. he’ll work with what he’s given.
