Sometime around the 25th, a Delivery Dog arrives with the following
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justbeingknife
2018-12-21 03:32 am (UTC)(link)
[ A package of thick-cut bacon, rustic bread, and a block of cheese. Mysterious...
A note is attached: ]
I thought about getting ya something fancy, but I remembered what ya said about personal possessions. I figure even if ya can't use this, you could probably give it to someone else who can.
Hope ya do try it, though. It's pretty good.
-Majima
A note is attached: ]
I thought about getting ya something fancy, but I remembered what ya said about personal possessions. I figure even if ya can't use this, you could probably give it to someone else who can.
Hope ya do try it, though. It's pretty good.
-Majima
[There's a box on the doorstep. A box wrapped in bright red foil, a silky silver ribbon tied around it with a bow on top. Inside the box is an unlined notebook (gasp! real paper!) with a bundle of pens with inks of various colours. On top of the pile is a simple piece of white cardstock paper with elegant cursive words penned in red ink (notice a pattern?), as if written with a quill or a fountain pen.
Happy holidays
PS. Oh look, actual paper.
Who could have sent it? Well, all that red looks a lot like the red a certain someone likes to wear, right? Who has a quirky sense of humour.]
Happy holidays
PS. Oh look, actual paper.
Who could have sent it? Well, all that red looks a lot like the red a certain someone likes to wear, right? Who has a quirky sense of humour.]
[Merry late Christmas, Diarmuid. The mental image was too good to resist, once she saw it for sale.]
[ how? how? gwen feels like they had just been texting, but- maybe it had been a few days since he last responded to her. and she did leave a small group of symbiote spiders with him, but her spider-sense had been going off like crazy this whole time. maybe one of those was a warning that diarmuid was in danger, but she didn't realize. plus, he had been so insistent that he was okay, that she should keep helping out in the pit, and helping those in the tents.
she should have known. how the hell did she not see straight through that?
meanwhile, the symbiote's voice is in the back of her head, angry and distressed
HE'S RIGHT HERE. WE SEE HIM.
which is confusing, to say the least. she doesn't respond to the post because she has to go, has to see for herself. she's way past due for a shower and a nap, after being in and out of the pit trying to find the right components for a cure, but all of that seems like background noise now. what's the point, if her friend already died? what's the point.
it takes her a little while to get up the nerve to go, because for all she knows this is another stupid deerington trap. maybe she's the only one that can see that post. maybe everyone sees a post like that, but with someone they care about here. no, she doesn't feel like diarmuid's caretaker, that he even really needs one, but in this? maybe. yeah. she got him out, helped him with a brace to make his walk back home easier.
why didn't she just go with him? why wasn't she there for him?
she takes off with her webs as best as she can, though this town isn't exactly great for webswinging. she runs on rooftop, sprints, until she hits the woods and can get back to swinging. it's dark, but she can remember the way well enough. eventually she gets there, panicked and maybe a tiny bit hopeful, but she's trying so damn hard not to be.
HE'S HERE. HE'S ASLEEP.
who knew her symbiote could be so stubborn?
when she gets to his cabin, she hits the ground running, only slowing down because whether or not the post was real, it still warned of giant birds. so. maybe she won't burst in there. but she doesn't knock, she just pushes her way in, because yeah- let there be a monster, let there be some trap she can punch and tear her way through. it's better than the reality of things, at least.
it's dark in the cabin, as cold as it is outside, and there are those two birds. they look her way, but don't seem to care that she's there. her senses make it easy to find things in the dark, but she still finds a candle first, the book of matches next to it. which makes things creepy, sure, but whatever.
SEE? HE'S HERE.
sleeping, right? he said that he was just- ]
Shit!
[ the birds do startle at that, but. look. her symbiote doesn't seem to understand what's actually there, but gwen can make it out in the low light right away. that isn't him. it's a ghost.
a ghost that's curled up in bed, but still a ghost. it's got that glow.
not that she knows shit about ghosts, but she just- knows.
and she drops, right there next to the bed, because what the hell else can she do? there's nothing.
there's nothing because she failed. failed at protecting her friend from literally the worst of this whole mess.
he was just a kid.
the tears drop down her cheeks more than just slide, fat and angry and relentless. she wants to yell, and scream, and kill something, but she's just crying now, sitting cross-legged on the floor with blurred vision, watching the final moments of his life loop over and over and over again. and it doesn't help that the symbiote is just mad, confused, and feeling betrayed. it thought it understood. but gwen's guilt is reflected ten-fold in the voice in the back of her head, apologizing for not knowing better, for not understanding. gwen never thought she'd have to teach the thing what it looks like when someone is sick, and dying. her dad was in the hospital, but he woke up. it's never dealt with this before.
it's just... a lot.
mostly, she just hates herself for not knowing, for not being more attentive. she was so caught up in the bigger picture she lost track of just keeping in touch with the people she cares about here.
fuck.
why did it have to be him? he was supposed to go to school and make a million more friends and meet his favorite teacher and get his first bad grade and decide if he liked math or science or literature best, or maybe none of it. not- this.
she loses track of time, after a bit, but it's at least long enough for that initial rage to dissipate, which is good. she doesn't need to go back out into the world with that in her eyes, because it never brings out anything good. and she needs to get back out there, she needs to help. she needs to find this fucking cure so this kid didn't die alone for no fucking reason.
okay, maybe she's still a little mad.
but her eyes are dry by the time she stands up again, dusting off her clothes, and heading back out.
yeah, she needs to get back out there and help.
but first, she's physically checking in with every frickin' person she knows here. this isn't happening again. ever. it can't. she won't let it. ]
she should have known. how the hell did she not see straight through that?
meanwhile, the symbiote's voice is in the back of her head, angry and distressed
HE'S RIGHT HERE. WE SEE HIM.
which is confusing, to say the least. she doesn't respond to the post because she has to go, has to see for herself. she's way past due for a shower and a nap, after being in and out of the pit trying to find the right components for a cure, but all of that seems like background noise now. what's the point, if her friend already died? what's the point.
it takes her a little while to get up the nerve to go, because for all she knows this is another stupid deerington trap. maybe she's the only one that can see that post. maybe everyone sees a post like that, but with someone they care about here. no, she doesn't feel like diarmuid's caretaker, that he even really needs one, but in this? maybe. yeah. she got him out, helped him with a brace to make his walk back home easier.
why didn't she just go with him? why wasn't she there for him?
she takes off with her webs as best as she can, though this town isn't exactly great for webswinging. she runs on rooftop, sprints, until she hits the woods and can get back to swinging. it's dark, but she can remember the way well enough. eventually she gets there, panicked and maybe a tiny bit hopeful, but she's trying so damn hard not to be.
HE'S HERE. HE'S ASLEEP.
who knew her symbiote could be so stubborn?
when she gets to his cabin, she hits the ground running, only slowing down because whether or not the post was real, it still warned of giant birds. so. maybe she won't burst in there. but she doesn't knock, she just pushes her way in, because yeah- let there be a monster, let there be some trap she can punch and tear her way through. it's better than the reality of things, at least.
it's dark in the cabin, as cold as it is outside, and there are those two birds. they look her way, but don't seem to care that she's there. her senses make it easy to find things in the dark, but she still finds a candle first, the book of matches next to it. which makes things creepy, sure, but whatever.
SEE? HE'S HERE.
sleeping, right? he said that he was just- ]
Shit!
[ the birds do startle at that, but. look. her symbiote doesn't seem to understand what's actually there, but gwen can make it out in the low light right away. that isn't him. it's a ghost.
a ghost that's curled up in bed, but still a ghost. it's got that glow.
not that she knows shit about ghosts, but she just- knows.
and she drops, right there next to the bed, because what the hell else can she do? there's nothing.
there's nothing because she failed. failed at protecting her friend from literally the worst of this whole mess.
he was just a kid.
the tears drop down her cheeks more than just slide, fat and angry and relentless. she wants to yell, and scream, and kill something, but she's just crying now, sitting cross-legged on the floor with blurred vision, watching the final moments of his life loop over and over and over again. and it doesn't help that the symbiote is just mad, confused, and feeling betrayed. it thought it understood. but gwen's guilt is reflected ten-fold in the voice in the back of her head, apologizing for not knowing better, for not understanding. gwen never thought she'd have to teach the thing what it looks like when someone is sick, and dying. her dad was in the hospital, but he woke up. it's never dealt with this before.
it's just... a lot.
mostly, she just hates herself for not knowing, for not being more attentive. she was so caught up in the bigger picture she lost track of just keeping in touch with the people she cares about here.
fuck.
why did it have to be him? he was supposed to go to school and make a million more friends and meet his favorite teacher and get his first bad grade and decide if he liked math or science or literature best, or maybe none of it. not- this.
she loses track of time, after a bit, but it's at least long enough for that initial rage to dissipate, which is good. she doesn't need to go back out into the world with that in her eyes, because it never brings out anything good. and she needs to get back out there, she needs to help. she needs to find this fucking cure so this kid didn't die alone for no fucking reason.
okay, maybe she's still a little mad.
but her eyes are dry by the time she stands up again, dusting off her clothes, and heading back out.
yeah, she needs to get back out there and help.
but first, she's physically checking in with every frickin' person she knows here. this isn't happening again. ever. it can't. she won't let it. ]
[ There's a fairly decent sized wrapped box with his nam on it. Inside is a box of sparkly nail polish to help him keep up his theme of amazing nails, a bag of homemade cookies, this cutie, and an an extremely useful book.
There's also a bunch of handwritten coupons that say shit like "Good for ONE HUG" and "Get out of Lecture Free" cards.
Plus a note! ]
Happy Sweet 16, ya big nerd! Stuff your face with sweets and go do something special.
Unless you're a bear. In which case try not to eat anyone.
- Chloe
There's also a bunch of handwritten coupons that say shit like "Good for ONE HUG" and "Get out of Lecture Free" cards.
Plus a note! ]
Happy Sweet 16, ya big nerd! Stuff your face with sweets and go do something special.
Unless you're a bear. In which case try not to eat anyone.
- Chloe
[ Whatever house Diarmuid has been couch surfing at will have a backpack with a sticky note that says For Diarmuid, stuffed full of random packages of candy and canned foods that Wade thought he should try, enjoy the spam and Vienna sausages and God knows what else. He'll also find a notebook, the first page donning a note from Sir Deadpool himself:
So you don't have another Love Actually situation.
Is that supposed to mean something?
At the very bottom is a kid's book about a Postman Bunny trying the deliver the mail. However, throughout the book, Wade's drawn little doodles of him and Diarmuid interacting with the pictures and story. ]
So you don't have another Love Actually situation.
Is that supposed to mean something?
At the very bottom is a kid's book about a Postman Bunny trying the deliver the mail. However, throughout the book, Wade's drawn little doodles of him and Diarmuid interacting with the pictures and story. ]
[What's this? It looks like Diarmuid has a package! And inside the package is...
Grey...nailpolish? And a note.]
Applying this to all ten of your nails will temporarily cause you to become unnoticable to people and monsters. Use it wisely.
Grey...nailpolish? And a note.]
Applying this to all ten of your nails will temporarily cause you to become unnoticable to people and monsters. Use it wisely.
[ Quentin figures a letter would be more comforting than a text. Voice or video seemed trite, texts seemed too cold. He's got nothing but time on his hands after his death, and he needs something to do to keep his mind off of the aches and pains.
Plus, after his little breakdown, he realized the only way to move forward was to try to fix things. Mend them, just a little. His handwriting is messy, the type of chickenscratch that hurried authors use. ]
Diarmuid,
I really hope I'm spelling that right. There's no way to put this gently, so I'm going to treat you like I would a peer. I don't think it's fair to you if I try to be an adult, full stop. I'm away from the dome for the first time in a month, which means I can think a little clearer.
Here's the thing: I fucked up. Really, really badly. I'm supposed to be a teacher. A person older than you that helps and mentors and makes sure you go your own way. I didn't do that. I tried to kill you.
I know my words probably don't mean anything, but I've never tried to kill another person before, let alone a kid. I'm sorry. I don't think saying I'm sorry in a letter is enough, though, so I want to apologize in person.
It's okay if you don't want to meet me. I get it. It's okay if you want someone to come with you, too, and we can choose a public place. For what it's worth Eliot wants to come, but I said maybe one person at a time. I don't want it to seem like we're ganging up on you.
It's cool if you ignore this, by the way. I won't be insulted. I'll transfer you to another math classroom, too, if that's what you want.
I do hope you're well,
-Quentin Coldwater
Plus, after his little breakdown, he realized the only way to move forward was to try to fix things. Mend them, just a little. His handwriting is messy, the type of chickenscratch that hurried authors use. ]
Diarmuid,
I really hope I'm spelling that right. There's no way to put this gently, so I'm going to treat you like I would a peer. I don't think it's fair to you if I try to be an adult, full stop. I'm away from the dome for the first time in a month, which means I can think a little clearer.
Here's the thing: I fucked up. Really, really badly. I'm supposed to be a teacher. A person older than you that helps and mentors and makes sure you go your own way. I didn't do that. I tried to kill you.
I know my words probably don't mean anything, but I've never tried to kill another person before, let alone a kid. I'm sorry. I don't think saying I'm sorry in a letter is enough, though, so I want to apologize in person.
It's okay if you don't want to meet me. I get it. It's okay if you want someone to come with you, too, and we can choose a public place. For what it's worth Eliot wants to come, but I said maybe one person at a time. I don't want it to seem like we're ganging up on you.
It's cool if you ignore this, by the way. I won't be insulted. I'll transfer you to another math classroom, too, if that's what you want.
I do hope you're well,
-Quentin Coldwater
dropped off a few days after their lamp conversation--
deadboywalking
2019-12-01 04:34 am (UTC)(link)
[these are left on diarmuid's front porch, along with plenty of batteries for when they run low. there's a carefully-drawn little how-to guide, all pictures, for putting in the batteries and turning the lamps on and off, and it's signed with a little drawing of a rabbit.]
[ Left outside Diarmuid's door is a small, wooden crate filled with a variety of things. First, a few bottles of homemade eggnog. There is also a bundle of cinnamon sticks and whole nutmeg, attached to a tiny grater so you can add fresh spices to your festive drink. Tucked away in the crate is also a festive tin, filled with a variety of holiday cookies - shortbread, gingerbread, and sugar cookies.
It’s not all just food and drink. Safely concealed in a small, cloth bag, is a charm, along with a note: wear me for a little extra warmth!. And, just for Diarmuid, there's the second book (first edition) in the Fillory series.
A tag attached to the crate simply says: Happy holidays, from Q & Eliot. (PS the eggnog is non-alcoholic.). ]
It’s not all just food and drink. Safely concealed in a small, cloth bag, is a charm, along with a note: wear me for a little extra warmth!. And, just for Diarmuid, there's the second book (first edition) in the Fillory series.
A tag attached to the crate simply says: Happy holidays, from Q & Eliot. (PS the eggnog is non-alcoholic.). ]
[Diarmuid will get a delivery on Christmas morning, in forest wrapping paper. It contains a book and a pair of super cozy slippers. The card says, A view of home you might not have seen before. Love, Clara.]
[ On the morning of the 25th, Diarmuid might wake to find a package at his front step that includes a copy of whatever the universe equivalent is of The Hobbit, and a box of cookies. ]
[ Diarmuid will be waking up to having been the victim of a home invader -- which is probably alarming, if it weren't for the fact that all they did was decorate his place with ugly Christmas crafts and leave a bunch of wrapped presents, ranging from random kids toys, stuffed animals, kazoos, kitchen supplies and in a stocking hanging on the wall -- coal
FOR SASSIN' HIM.
What do you even get kids?
When all else fails, you grab whatever looks fun. Like that giant bubble wand. ]
FOR SASSIN' HIM.
What do you even get kids?
When all else fails, you grab whatever looks fun. Like that giant bubble wand. ]
[ As promised, Alice leaves a charm pendant pretend it's accurate, idk if it is in a cloth bag hanging from the doorknob of his front door. There is a handwritten note with it: ]
Protection talisman, inscribed with the Seal of Solomon. Inscribed using focused sunlight. Please be safe as you seek knowledge.
—AQ
Protection talisman, inscribed with the Seal of Solomon. Inscribed using focused sunlight. Please be safe as you seek knowledge.
—AQ
Edited 2019-12-26 19:29 (UTC)
[Just to prove herself, Rei has opted to send a video message first, before seeking out the young monk. The video opens with an image of Rei and her crows seated on a park bench, and she's holding up a hand written sign with the date on it.
Her words come slow, falteringly. As though she's ashamed of something.]
Diarmuid?
Chloe told me that you are still here.
Please send me a reply, let me know that you are. I hope that you are well. I am sorry that I was not here to help you, this last year.
Her words come slow, falteringly. As though she's ashamed of something.]
Diarmuid?
Chloe told me that you are still here.
Please send me a reply, let me know that you are. I hope that you are well. I am sorry that I was not here to help you, this last year.
Edited 2020-03-12 04:27 (UTC)
[look, he's not giving up. even if he has ended up sending images to more people than he can remember now.
WHAT IS THIS THOUGH??]
WHAT IS THIS THOUGH??]
[ Inside Diarmuid's mailbox, there is a nondescript white envelope with his name on it. Inside, there is a colorful pog, with a message written on the back in silver fine-tipped sharpie. There's no stamp on the envelope, implying that it was hand delivered rather than mailed. ]
it's been real.
it's been weird.
it's been real weird.
see you on the flip side!
– GP
[ The pog is enchanted with dream magic, so that it can be given as a gift, but cannot be lost, stolen, or destroyed. ]
it's been real.
it's been weird.
it's been real weird.
see you on the flip side!
– GP
[ The pog is enchanted with dream magic, so that it can be given as a gift, but cannot be lost, stolen, or destroyed. ]
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