secret, secret, i got a secret.

[cons]

ACCIDENTAL MESSAGE MEME
Ever write a note or a text or an IM that you never meant to let anyone ever see, but somehow, someway,
it was discovered? Maybe it was a love confession, or a brutally honest opinion, or your well-written plan to kill off your much hated boss. Either way, it's been found! And read! The horrors!!!

Well, this exact thing just happened to your character.

RULES:
1. post a blank comment with your character's name/fandom in the subject line.
2. bop around to other people's threads, leaving just the message you never intended them (or anyone!) to see.
(include somewhere if it's a letter/email/IM/text/etc.)
3. original thread-poster: write out your character finding the note/their reaction! and let the insanity ensue.

NOTES:
- HERE is a link to a post-it note generator, if you're into that.
- notes don't have to be relevant to anything, even weird/random confessions could be fun to play out. just tag around!
- if you want, include what sort of interactions you're looking for in the subject line (positive, negative, romantic, etc.), that might give new taggers ideas for notes that your character should find.
- HAVE FUN. >:]

Comments

wesley fucking gibson | wanted

[bloodofakiller]

[cons]

[ Nope, nah. No. Writing it down didn't make it sound any less stupid in her head. It's just this thing she came up with, you know, like when you get a song stuck in your head... If you sing it all the way through, it'll get unstuck? Well, she was hoping writing this down would be like saying it out loud, and would go away, with that. Maybe.

Whatever, she's crumpling it and tossing it in the general direction of the garbage can anyway, walking out of the office and pretending this never happened. Hmf.]

[bloodofakiller]

( wesley's in there later, going over maps with a pen in his mouth. for all his huddling in enormous libraries and plotting their course on bedspreads, he will begrudgingly admit -- inside, where no one can hear -- it's nice to have a fucking desk to write on top of for once. when the route he's taking down leads right through a major city, he scraps that plan, crumpling the paper in his hand and throwing the ball in the garbage -- as in actually in it, which is a weird, minor accomplishment considering he missed most of the time at his old job (barry often mocked him for his aim, which did nothing to motivate him to improve it). then he notices the yellow scrap on the ground, inarguably a post-it. he hates those little yellow bastards. janice, when she wasn't reminding her employees of their duties by running her fat mouth and clicking her fucking stapler, would stick notes to computer monitors as her irritating envoys.

funny thing is, this place was damn tidy when they got here. whoever once owned this office even had time to take the trash out before they died: the bin is empty except for the wrinkled white paper he's just thrown in. it's a morbid curiosity, but he kind of wonders what the last important thing the former resident had to jot down. buy milk? buy shotgun? oh shit there's a zombie in the room?

wesley scoops it up. might as well find out before he makes another perfect shot. he pulls at the corner until it resembles the shape of a square again, intends to skim it in a split second and crush it back up, but he halts because the writing's familiar. it's wichita's. and what it says --

a long moment passes in which he just looks at it. then, realising he hasn't, he exhales at length, air blowing out his cheeks. the note disappears in his fist; his elbow rests on the desk and he presses his curled fingers to his mouth. shit. hooooooly shit. )

[cons]

[It's not long before Wichita's looking for him again, because throwing knives at makeshift targets gets boring after a while, though luckily the house isn't big enough to make the search for him difficult. But she didn't hear him head for the bathroom and he wasn't in the kitchen, so maybe he's taking a nap? What the hell. She's just gonna call down the hallway as she walks;]

Hey, asshole, I thought we were gonna go over the--

[wwwwwhhhhoookay, he's in the office. At least, she thinks that was him she saw sitting in the desk chair when she walked by. So she backtracks, her face paling a bit almost immediately because she really is that paranoid, and he can't be in the same room that she wrote that note in, even if it was garbage now.

It was in the garbage still, right?

had it even made it into the garbage can oh god why was he in here why.

She feels nearly dizzy from embarrassment and she doesn't even know if he's seen or read anything at all.]

--maps.

[She swallows, uncharacteristically fidgety now as she shifts from one foot to the other.]

What's wrong? [Like she doesn't know. Like she's not shifting back on her heels like she's about two seconds from bolting right out of there.]

[bloodofakiller]

( getting wichita to talk about her feelings is the surest way to start a fight and, odds are, send her running, and wesley's not so in touch with his emotional side either. so he just clenches his fist a bit tighter, then turns the swivel chair towards her with his best bullshitting face on. )

We're gonna have to double-back if we don't want to drive through the rotting, walking heart of Cheyenne.

( which is true, given the road around is closed for some heavy duty construction that will never be completed, the signs on the way here so helpfully informed them. wesley stands up, sticks his hands in his pockets, and walks towards her -- and past her, through the doorway. )

You want a beer?

( or ten? )

[cons]

Yeah. Beer's good. [She feels a little lightheaded by the time he's brushing past her, and she turns to watch him walk out the door, shutting her eyes and trying to remember how to breathe. The next moment she's walking over to the garbage can to determine for a fact that no, the note wasn't in there, and no, it wasn't anywhere around it, which meant yes, Wesley now had it and had likely read it because why else would he keep the balled up little yellow note?

Her lips press into a tight line to keep herself from shouting a few choice obscenities, and she finds herself stuffing the small pad of post-its and a pen in the back pocket of her jeans before making her way to the kitchen.]

We should- [SIGH. Breathe.] We could head straight north? Denver's not gonna be any deader. And it's likely better than going back the way we came, wasting the gas.