#(well. three but one's been on the backburner for a really long time)

[catsharky]

Are we still gonna get more of the Rolan comic?

I've gotten a couple of asks about this, so sorry to the other people who asked previously and didn't get a reply!

There is absolutely going to be more! The rest of the Rolan comic is completely written and partly roughed out, and I do intend to see it through to the end. Unfortunately this has been a pretty accurate depiction of how 2024 has been treating me:

It's been Flat Stanley-ing my ass.

I will get back to it, it's just been a case where something had to give and unfortunately my comics wound up being the thing I had to put on the backburner 😭

If anyone is curious, I rambled about what's been up under the cut:

The long and short of it is that early this year my partner and I very suddenly and stressfully went from being part-time to full-time parents, in a house that is not big enough to have a family of 4 living in it full time. We also gained 2 additional pets at the same time, bringing us up to a total of 4 (2 cats, 1 snake and 1 hamster).

While that would make it cramped enough, my partner and I have lost a combined total of 5 family members in the past 3 years, and ignoring the emotional toll, we wound up being responsible for the belongings of three of them. Every time we manage to get our house a little bit cleared out, another person dies and we have to find room for another house's worth of stuff!!!

So I have been hanging on to my sanity by a thread cause it's hard to concentrate on comics when I am stuck working in a room where Fortnite or Minecraft youtubers or worse are all but constantly playing in the background.

On top of all that, all of the windows in our house had to be replaced because they hadn't been updated or well maintained since the place was built and the frames were rotting and growing mold. So we got to spend a couple of months trying to tetris our house into a state where the window company could have room to work last week.

And if that wasn't all enough, my little old man of a cat (who is my baby and largely my responsibility) developed keratitis- which despite all efforts continued to worsen over the last several months-, was diagnosed with diabetes, and finally had to have his eye removed this week. I've discovered new stress responses I didn't even know I had thanks to that, and I've been sick with a hellcold during both this and the window replacement 🙃

I've also been unemployed since December, which is both a blessing and a curse because on one hand I think I probably would have had an actual mental breakdown by now if I'd had to deal with all this while working full time, but on the other hand we can't move until I have a job again ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

So basically this year has been very AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA and I would really love it if whoever is controlling the game of the sims I'm living in would stop putting me in the torment nexus right about now, please and thank you.

Joke's on them though because I'm both a creature of spite and incapable of giving up, so in the words of Disco Elysium, 'Life gets hard but we go on' and we do!!! 😤

[cupcakeslushie]

In the EW comic (which I'm loving btw) splinter says "I never got the chance to tell you boys" when telling Leo about donatello. Boys plural? Do none of them know about him??? Or just Leo and Mikey. Raph probably knows how they were created at least but did splinter maybe keep the detail of Donatello on the dl if he doesn't want to add to any survivor's guilt he's already experiencing. I imagine it's possible he might want to put it on the backburner while Raph is really young until it's just been long enough there's no real way to bring it up. But the other brothers obviously come up so maybe Donnie would come up when that's the discussion, if Splinter wants to discourage him doing anything reckless because he's the last of four

When in the timeline do each of them learn about having the fourth (third) brother and how do they react and feel about it?

When they were all together, it was something Splinter was leaving for the future, when the boys were grown. He thought Donnie was dead, and that’s not really something easy to tell kids.

And then, there was no way Splinter was planning to tell Raph when it was only the two of them. Raph was already dealing with the loss of two brothers. It would be cruel to tell him that he’d had another one that died as well.

Mikey finds out about Donnie at the same time Raph does. Donnie and he never actually met. Three only ever dealt with Big Mama and kept watch over Mikey from a distance, by doing what little he could to assure Mikey’s safety in the Nexus.

Leo is the only one who’s met Three before the others. He and Splinter will basically tell the rest of the family together.

[the-universal-sun]

fiddleford being gentle with little stan when he first finds him after ford goes through the portal? maybe he comes to yell at ford and finds stan with a burned shoulder trying to work through being little to get his brother back? ❤️

Hey guys and the anon who requested this, I’m so sorry it’s so late, life got away from me, has been hectic, and I wanted to really put my focus into writing this request. If there are any missing “I” in a word, deeply apologies, my keyboard “i” cover broke halfway through writing this. There are some mentions of infections and medical treatment for Stan’s burn, just to warn you if any of that skeeves you out! If this seems way better than my previous work, it’s because I took about a week to write it! I really hope you enjoy this piece, and I hope the anon who requested it is still here! Please let me know if I've captured your vision!!!  

As always, I’m open for helpful advice on my writing/execution!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

     “Ford! Stanford Pines you come out here right now! I demand we talk!” Fiddleford H. McGucket was mad. Fuming. Pissed beyond all belief. He had just remembered some snippets of the portal incident and he knows his old partner (and little) was still working on it for that devil! He needs to make that man see some sense. Thankfully, Stanford hadn’t changed his locks or the passcode to the basement, so he’s able to stop down three flights of stairs to the bottom floor of the lab to confront him.

     “Stanford! I know you can hear me! Come out here right-now?” He stops short at the sight before him. The portal is broken down, machinery and wiring everywhere, broken and sparking. That’s not what makes him stop, no, it’s the figure in front of the control center. He looks…he looks ragged, haggard, even. His hair long and greasy, his skin looks dirty and sweaty, and he looks almost exactly like Stanford. Except gruffer. It hasn’t been that long since Fiddleford has seen his old partner, has it? He can’t have changed this much in just a few months. It’s when he gets a glimpse at the hands that it clicks in his mind. That’s not Stanford. He tries to think rationally before he freaks out and starts attacking the stranger, he’s gotten arrested for that a couple times already. He looks like Stanford, just rounder and greasier and with five fingers instead of six…He vaguely remembers a discussion him and Stanford had back in college, they were celebrating finishing their first set of finals with some well earned and homemade Hooch courtesy of you-know-who when the man had started muttering and was on the verge of sobbing about a “Lee”, and when FIddleford asked who that was, all Stanford could manage to get out before passing out was “M’ Twin”. And they never spoke of that incident again, Fiddleford putting that memory on a backburner until now. 

     So this must be that Lee fella, Stanford’s twin. Something must have happened if he’s here in that state and Stanford is nowhere to be seen. Something bad. This fills him with panic instead of anger, worry for his Bookworm his friend overpowering his negative emotions towards him. He walks quickly towards Lee, his steps slowing down as he gets the full view of this man, his ears picking up his intelligible muttering. He looks more than greasy and unwashed, he looks sick. He can see gauze on his shoulder, stained with pink and a different color, one he can’t quite make out in the poor lighting of the lab, but it twists his stomach nonetheless.

     “H-hey, Lee? Um-what happ-are you okay? Is F-Ford-” Fiddleford doesn’t quite know what to say to this man, who looks both so much like Ford but so different. Who looks sick. He makes the mistake of putting his hand on the man’s shoulder, flinching back as he turns around violently with a fist raised promising a world of pain. Fiddleford shrinks into himself with a small and terrified squeal. Lee stumbles back, though, eyes glossy and distant, the defensive act just muscle memory at this point. He seems like he’s about to slide against the console and fall, soFiddleford reaches out to help steady him, thankful for all the pig wrangling and calf birthing he’s had to do in his life back on the farm, Lee is heavier than Ford was is. He gets a better look at Lee’s face and feels his own pale, blood rapidly draining and leaving him feeling cold. Whatever injury he has on his shoulder has to be inflected, the man is burning up and sweating something fierce, low and intelligible mumbles spilling from his mouth, his bangs sticking to his forehead, the slight smell of sickness wafting over him. They’re both lucky Ford was able to synthesize and stock high grade antibiotics in case they ever needed them, because he needs them, that or a hospital, and he doesn’t know anything about Ford’s twin, not even enough to explain what had happened to him. 

     Propping Lee up against the console and making sure he wouldn’t fall, he quickly managed to run to a storage room to the right, temperature controlled to keep cool. He finds the medical supplies very diminished, but most of the antibiotics were there. Both worrying and relieving him. Ford had gotten injured so much to deplete their medical supplies this much? They were essentially prepared for an apocalypse. But the relief is that Ford never needed these hospital grade antibiotics, only to be used for serious infection. He collects the medicine, bandages, and any other thing he can think of, putting them in an empty first aid bag and slinging it around his shoulder, making his way back to Lee as fast as he could manage. Fiddleford hauls him up and leans him against his side, stumbling his way to the elevator that he could never bring himself to trust. He has to now, he can’t carry this man up all the flights of stairs that lead into the house. 

     Fiddleford breathes in deeply, glancing over at Lee from the corner of his eye, releasing his breath when he sees he’d hardly even registered change in surroundings or the fact that he had moved, his eyes gazing distantly down onto the floor. Fiddleford resolutely moves him into the open elevator, propping him against the wall and quickly pressing the buttons needed to bring them back up to the main part of the house. Lee stumbles as the elevator moves, an almost frightened whimper escaping him as the elevator creaks and groans, chugging slowly along, his hands finally moving on their own to grasp onto Fiddleford in a move that puts the skinny man almost in front of him. Something deep inside him tightened at the sight; Lee looked more like a lost child than a grown man. "Stay with me, Lee," Fiddleford murmured, his voice steadier than he felt. "We’re gonna get you sorted out. Just hang in there, okay?" A low whimper escaped Lee's lips, eliciting a rush of empathy from Fiddleford. It was clear that Stanford's twin had been through an ordeal far beyond what he could comprehend. The least he could do was ensure that Lee would be safe for the time being. 

     As the elevator doors dinged open, Fiddleford slowly moved with Lee out into the dark room, just registering how cold it was-is the heating even on? Was the bill paid or was all the power just directed to that damn portal room? Fiddleford glanced around, his mind racing. “I need to get you to a bathroom and a bed,” he decided. He gently helped Lee step out of the elevator, the man leaning heavily against him. He maneuvered him toward the stairs, taking them one step at a time and going very slowly, Fiddleford may be tall but Lee was bulkier than he was, he didn’t want to risk Lee toppling over and falling down the stairs, injuring both himself further and the one currently helping him walk. They stumble their way upstairs, Fiddleford having to haul Lee up again when he started to slump too closely to the side, and towards the extra bathroom on the second floor-Fiddleford remembers this one having better lighting and not being as cramped as the downstairs bathroom. He gently deposits Lee on the toilet, worrying about his lack of response to the movements and light being turned on-at least the power still works up here-ever present. Setting the first aid bag on the coffee table, he knelt beside Lee, anxiety gnawing at him. “Okay… let’s see what we’re dealin’ with here.” Fiddleford pulled back the gauze on Lee’s shoulder, and his breath caught in his throat. The shoulder was inflamed, swollen with an angry red hue, the bandaging far too stained for comfort. He can’t even tell what was burned into his shoulder from how bad it was. Lee’s eyes fluttered open slightly, revealing a hint of recognition. 

     “Wha—who…” Lee’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper, and he couldn’t manage to say full words. Fiddleford didn’t know how much he knew about Ford’s work, meaning he doesn’t know if Lee even knows about him, but, with how out of it he is he figures some small trickery shouldn’t be too bad, people tend to respond better to help by people they know, or well, are told they know.

     “It’s just me, Lee, your good ol’ pal, Fidds. You remember, right? We’re great friends, you n’ I.” He holds his breath as Lee just nods along, the fever and infection ravaging his body obviously making it difficult to properly think back on his words. 

     “For…” Lee trails off, his word soft and incomplete, but Fiddleford knows what he was trying to say and felt a pang of heartbreak at the mention of Stanford.

      “He’s… he’s not here right now. But I’m gonna take care of you, alright? Just focus on me.” He carefully began cleaning the wound, glancing up to gauge Lee’s reaction. Lee sniffled, biting his lip, but didn’t pull away, his eyes still hazy and glazed over. Fiddleford doesn’t think he’ll be lucid for a while now. Each moment that passed seemed to drag on, filled with Lee’s fragile breaths and the quiet sounds of their surroundings. What was supposed to be a simple act of care felt monumental. Fiddleford bandaged the injury carefully, relying on the knowledge they had accumulated over the years. “You’re gonna be alright, Lee. Just gotta get the antibiotics into ya, and you’ll start feeling better in no time.” He goes and pulls out the bottles of antibiotics, some IV fluids to help with Lee’s obvious dehydration, and the collapsible IV pole that he’d made-maybe a bit overkill for the time but it was perfect for now. He rounds Lee, finding his eyes already on him. “Heya, Lee, can I see your arm? I need ta’ give ya’ some antibiotics to help with your infection.” But the man made no movement or noise indicating he understood what Fiddleford was saying. He took his arm in gentle hands, swabbing and cleaning the inner elbow before inserting the butterfly needle-hushing Lee when he made strangled whimpering noises, seeing a glimmer of tears come to his eyes. He pats Lee’s head, unconsciously cooing to him as he leans his head into Fiddleford’s touches, a soft sigh and hum passing through his lips.

     “Let’s getcha up now, need to get you in some clothes, though m’ afraid no shirts for a little while, you need as little as possible on that burn o’ yours.” Fiddleford stood up, stumbling in surprise as Lee’s hand grasped his, standing up with him and still staring, more clarity in his eyes, but still nothing indicative of being fully present. Fiddleford took a steadying breath, trying to calm the rising tide of worry threatening to overwhelm him. As they shuffled into the small, dimly lit hallway, Lee's gaze began to clear a bit, though it still flickered with confusion and fear. Fiddleford was grateful for the flicker of awareness and desperately hoped that Lee would be able to grasp even a thread of comfort in this chaos. “C’mon, Lee. Let’s get you settled, alright?” he murmured. The soft squeeze of Lee’s hand around his reassured him that the man could understand him to an extent, enough for his body to respond, at the very least. He makes his way to an open door, peering inside to see if it was acceptable enough for Lee to sleep in. It seems that this was the room he was staying in, though, if the clothes thrown about and rustled blankets on a small bed were of any indication. Steadily, they hobble into the room, Fiddleford holding Lee’s hand and steadying him as they walk, keeping an eye on the IV to make sure it doesn’t get snagged or trip over anything. He sets Lee down on the edge of the bed, making sure he won’t fall over, before searching around the room for some soft and hopefully clean pants, only finding some faded sweats. They didn’t seem too filthy, so Fiddleford deemed them as okay for now and turned around before stopping dead center, eyes assessing the scene before him. Lee had, from somewhere, grabbed a teddy bear-one with a remarkable similarity to Stanford-and was grasping it tightly, his body hunching over to bury his face in the soft cloth. He could see the slight trembling in Lee’s shoulders as he held the toy, hiding behind its plush form. An epiphany struck Fiddleford…it’s possible that Ford and Lee were more similar than just in looks. 

     “Hey, buddy,” Fiddleford spoke softly, moving closer, careful not to startle Lee. “That’s a nice bear you’ve got there…” as he came closer, he saw a blanket strewn on the bed behind Lee, a large quilt with what looked to be some crudely sewn Teddy Bears on it. Fiddleford’s heart ached at the sight of Lee clutching the teddy bear, drawn into its warmth and softness as he huddled over it, the blanket behind him just solidifying his thoughts. The plush creature and quilt seemed to offer a sense of security amid all this chaos and confusion. He knelt beside the bed, keeping his voice soft and calm. “Hey there, Lee. Let’s get ya’ some pants, alright? Just something comfortable for now.” Lee remained silent, his gaze still fixed on the bear. Fiddleford moved quickly to the small dresser, pulling out the faded sweats he had spotted earlier. He returned to Lee, who hadn't shifted from his position, burying his face against the bear's plush fur. “Hang tight, ‘right?” Fiddleford said, moving in front of Lee. He carefully helped him remove the old, dirty pants, mindful of Lee’s discomfort. With each movement, he offered gentle reassurances, softening the air with his presence. “We’re almost done.” He knows the other man can’t understand him, not fully, but Fiddleford knows from experience that talking to a kid or someone in this mindset can help keep them calm, and calm is what Lee needs right now. 

     “How’s about we lay back down now, okay?  Rest yer’ head on that pillow and just breathe in, ‘kay? Some quiet time.” Lee absentmindedly nodded, his grip on the bear tightening momentarily before loosening again. He leaned back, still looking dazed and feverish, but more comfortable now that he was semi-clean and dressed with fluid running into him. Fiddleford decided to remain quiet for a little while, too, letting the soft sounds of the house settle around them. The air was a little chilly, but Fiddleford figured they could tackle that issue soon enough. He slowly brings his hand towards Lee’s head, watching for any signs of flinching or cowering before he lowers it and softly begins to stroke his hair, cooing softly as Lee’s eye fluttered closed, his head leaning into the hand gently caressing him, soft murmurs escaping his lips. Fiddleford, with one practiced hand, pulls the blankets over Lee, the thinner ones first, the thicker comforter that was piled on the floor, and finally, Lee’s well-loved quilt, tucking them around the gentle creature before him, keeping his IV arms out of most of the layers besides to top quilt.

     Fiddleford's heart warmed at the sight of Lee nestled under the blankets, the calming rhythm of his breathing creating a peaceful atmosphere in the room, he felt a swell of protective instinct for the man beside him. “Just like that, Lee. Nice n’ comfy n’ cozy,” he murmured softly, continuing to thread his fingers through Lee’s hair, taking care to avoid any tug on the IV line. Lee seemed to lean further into Fiddleford’s touch, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he began to relax into the layers of warmth wrapped around him. As Fiddleford settled into a rhythm, the gentle motion of his hand seemed to draw Lee deeper into a state of comfort-deeper into his headspace if Lee’s soft chewing of the bear’s ear before Fiddleford removed it was anything to go by. The world around them faded into the background, the cold chill of the air outside kept at bay by the cocoon of blankets. The sound of breathing filled the room—the steady rise and fall of Lee’s chest mixed with Fiddleford’s quieter, more measured breaths.

     “Y’know, I used to do this for your brother, too,” Fiddleford’s voice cut through the silence, “When he felt younger-smaller-the world feeling too big for him. I was there to help him and take care of him. I wouldn’t mind being that person for you, neither. I don’t know what happened with our Ford, but I hope you’ll tell me.” Fiddleford breathes into the silence, just staring at Lee, who’s dozing off surrounded by his teddy and warmth of the blankets. “I want to take care of you, I’ve missed takin’ care of someone, actually. N’ I have more than enough room in my heart to add another person.” Lee made a soft, indistinct noise, his eyes still closed, as if he somehow understood the intent behind Fiddleford's words. Fiddleford smiled softly, hoping that the weight of his sincerity could reach Lee’s subconscious, anchoring him in a sea of uncertainty.

     Closing his eyes for just a moment, Fiddleford let the sounds of the house mingle with Lee's breathing, the gentle cadences a soft lullaby. He found his own fatigue creeping in, but he fought it off for the sake of his friend. Lee needed someone to hold firm and steady in this chaotic world, and he was more than willing to take on that role. After some time, Fiddleford felt the room grow quieter—Lee's breathing became more even, deeper. He risked glancing at Lee's face, noticing the way his features had relaxed under the quilt, the tension that had gripped him slowly dissipating as he found solace in sleep. There was something reassuring about seeing him at peace like this, a small flicker of hope sparking in Fiddleford’s heart.

     “Just keep resting,” Fiddleford whispered, pulling gently at the edges of the blankets around Lee, tucking him in a bit more snugly. “I’ll be here.” The rest of the night was full of soft snuffles and easy sighs, this little corner-their little corner-of the world tucked away for a few hours, peace falling around them

[cdragons]

can we please have more headcanons on being friends with rob, jon and theon plz!!!

A/N: There are no words to describe how sorry I am for how long this took. I had so many incomplete fics on the backburner and finals are the WORST. But I hope this makes up for it!

This takes place in the same universe where the reader is Luwin's apprentice and grew up with the boys!

-> It was a well-known fact to the smallfolk residents of Winter Town that one of their own had managed to rise to the station of being an apprentice for THE Starks' one and only maester. Since then, you became a very popular figure for them.

-> If you weren't at the Winterfell Library or studying with Maester Luwin, you could often be found wandering around WInter Town and getting to know the townsfolk on a more personal level than the Starks. You were especially popular with mothers and children. You took special care to teach them how to gather special herbs for simple home remedies instead of medicine they cannot afford.

-> For the smallfolk children, you were used to them after years of being around the Starks when they were young, so you knew exactly how to handle them. As you became more competent and reliable, Luwin gave you more responsibilities and much more free time than when you first began. As a result, when a child would scrape their knee or get a cold, you were the first person people looked for help.

-> You soon became known as the 'Winter Fairy' to the smallfolk because you were always willing to help them with their troubles.

-> You even got money for your services to the Winter Town brothel. The girls adored you. You had herbs and remedies that made their lives so much easier: herbs to prevent pregnancies, remedies to quickly heal bruises and dark spots from a rough patron, poultices and ointments for rashes and sores, teas to reduce fevers and flush out illness - you were a gem!

-> Luwin didn't love that you were getting money for your help, but he supposed that since you were still just an apprentice, you needed to find a way to get money for more personal reasons. The Starks would pay you a fair wage when you became a full-time healer, and Luwin offered you a few coins as an allowance - but you refused to take his money. THis seemed like a much better manner of business to you.

-> The only ones who didn't seem to know of your services were the Stark Children and Theon. And you preferred it that way. Robb, Jon, and Theon were your best friends, but they could be so possessive of your time.

-> It seemed that the older you all grew, the more they expected that your time and your life be readily available for them and only them.

-> Theon was easily the worst of the three. He would find you wandering Winter Town on your own and would outright demand to know what you were skipping your duties - as if he wasn't doing the same thing. He would grab your arm and drag you all the way back. You could have been screaming, kicking, and throwing the worst tantrum a child could imagine - he would still put you in your place.

-> It was really bad when he found you at the brothel after he had spent some well-spent money on Ros, only to find you at the entrance in a thick cloak. He barked out your name, and you quickly tried to leave with your things before he could catch you. But you were much too slow, and he all-to-easily wrapped his hand around your wrist and led you out of the establishment.

"How can you be so stupid," he barked while dragging you. "You're a girl, alone, walking into a brothel like that? What would've happened if I wasn't there?" You struggled against him. "It's not like I was doin' anything bad or illegal," you snarled. "I was just selling herbs and teas for them! Maester Luwin said I could!" But Theon didn't hear any of it. "What if a man thought you were a new girl, huh? He would've paid for you and took you while you were cryin' and screaming without a care for your tears." "Nothing would've happened," you protested. "The madam of the place likes me! So do the girls - they wouldn't let anything happen to me!" "Stupid girl," Theon muttered while shaking his head. "From now on, you're not allowed to leave without me, Robb, or Jon with you. Gods know you can't be trusted on your own."

-> Robb was almost as bad as Theon. He would've been much, much worse if he hadn't been so busy with his duties as the first son and heir. He does place a great deal of trust in you. After all, you were approved by his father AND Luwin, and you were the smartest person he'd ever met, so he knows he can trust you on your own.

-> That is until when you become more lovely and beautiful as you grow older, and more men begin to notice you. Specifically, men who were allowed to flirt and court you because they were of similar stations to you. Knights, stableboys, stewards, and valets would come to you for the most minor things as an excuse to be near you, and it infuriated Robb to the point where he asked his father to order Luwin to order you to exclusively treat women and children.

-> To say you were furious was an understatement.

"How dare you?!" you demanded. You had returned from treating one of the sick children in Winter Town when you were ordered to meet with your mentor. "You had no right!" "Love," Robb sighed while pinching the bridge between his eyes. "What exactly d'you think I did?" "Do not take me for a fool, Robb Stark!" you snarled. "Asking Lord Stark to tell Luwin that I can only treat women and children is a gross insult to me and my skills!" "You're not qualified to treat knights and men!" Robb protested. "I'm saving you more trouble in the end!" Robb knew what he was saying wasn't true. You were more qualified - years after treating him, Jon, and Theon for their mishaps in the courtyard proved that. But what mattered was him convincing you to think you weren't qualified. It was of the utmost importance that you not be near anyone who could flirt and woo you. It was petty and childish, but Robb didn't care. "How can you be so mean?" you whimpered. You wanted to cry. "I know I'm good enough! You're lucky that Lord Stark laughed it off as a joke when I came to him!" "He what?!" Robb balked. "That's right," you nodded. "And if you ever pull something like this again, I won't ever help you if you get hurt in the courtyard again!"

-> Jon was a different beast altogether. Like the other two, he got unreasonably jealous when men would flirt with you - even if it wasn't serious. But he knew better than to insult your character or question your skills and professionalism. He understood that it was your job to care for those men, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Especially when he sees how oblivious you are to how much those men stare and long for you the same way he does.

-> He hated it because it reminded him how his status as a bastard meant he had nothing to offer you. Those men weren't good enough for you - none of them were. But they could provide for you, unlike him. But instead of pissing you off by getting angry with you, he'd just distance and brood to himself. He wouldn't be near you and instead would order Ghost to follow you around in his stead - which, if anything, pissed you off even more.

"Well?" Jon looked up from his sword to see you standing before him with your hands placed on your hips. You looked absolutely enraged at him, and Jon had a slight inkling why. "Umm," he cleared his throat. "I dunno what you mean, my lady." He stood and tried to walk away. "I think I hear Robb callin' for me, so I best be off." "I didn't hear Robb call your name," you growled. You shifted from your spot to block his path. "I don't hear anyone - everyone's in the Great Hall." "Yes, the Great Hall," Jon murmured. "Which is where I believe you're supposed to be as well." You stomped down your foot in frustration. "Don't act smart with me, Lord Jon," you ordered. "I can see you trying to avoid me. Every time I try to talk to you, you pretend you have something to do, or someone's calling for you when I know you didn't have chores or duties to do at any of those times." Jon looked down at his feet. "I dunno what you're on about," he muttered. "I've been busy, that's all. Even if I'm just a bastard, I still have duties to this house." "UGH! You're so infuriating!" you groaned. "I don't care that you're a bastard, y'hear me? You're my best friend, and that's all that matters to me! Who the fuck cares what anyone else thinks?!" When Jon tried to respond, you cut him off. "And before you try any of that 'it's not good for you to be seen with me' sheep dung, may I remind you that I was a smallfolk girl who ran away from home? If anything, I'm lower than you, and you don't see me caring." You walked closer to him. "And neither should you." Jon couldn't do anything but dumbly nod. His silent response made you smile. "Good," you held out your hand. "C'mon now, I'm starving, and I know you are too. And you should really reward Ghost better. He's been putting in an awful lot of work following me around and scaring my patients - 'specially my male ones." "Attaboy, Ghost," Jon thought to himself.

Let me know what you think in the comments and if you wanna be tagged for more GOT, HOTD, and/or ASOIAF content! If you have any ideas or suggestions, please drop an ask in my ask box!

[hxney-lemcn]

From the Start — Abyss Razor x gn! reader

summary: reader and Abyss finally make plans for a first date

tw: light angst (this is fluffy tho I swear)

a/n: I'm on a roll, this has turned into a mini series. ^gif is literally Abyss to reader

wc: 1.1k

Master List | Part One | Part Two | Part Three

You didn’t have a chance to say a word. By the time the words had left the blue haired man’s lips, he had run like his life depended on it. You were left flabbergasted, standing with your jaw slack in the garden. It felt like your soul left your body. Did that really happen? Were you hallucinating? What were you supposed to do now?

All you could do was walk back to your dorm, contemplating the absurd events that had happened just moments prior. Did his feelings really run deep enough to propose so soon? Or had it been a reaction to your confession? It was clear he didn’t think of himself as worthy for anyone, so did your heartfelt emotions overwhelm him?

You entered your dorm with a muddled mind, unaware of your roommate's curious gaze, “What’s got you thinking so hard?”

“I think I’m getting married,” You tried to joke, but your heart thumped faster as you recalled Abyss’ sincere gaze as he spoke the words. Obviously you weren’t actually planning on marrying him…not yet at least, but the fact that Abyss was willing to think of a future with you caused butterflies to line your stomach. 

“Can I give a speech?” They asked, unphased by the sudden turn of events. 

“I know I said that jokingly but I was literally just proposed to,” You emphasized the truth to your earlier statement.

“By pretty boy?” They asked with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

“By pretty boy,” You confirmed, plopping onto your bed. You had confided in them about your feelings for Abyss. They had deemed him a pretty boy after they saw you two walking down the corridor. 

It felt like eons before you saw Abyss again. You’d run into Finn, who greeted you warmly. You asked him if he’d seen or heard from Abyss recently and he sweatdropped. 

“He’s really embarrassed,” Finn confessed, scratching his cheek. “I overheard what happened when he told Mash, but when I advised him to just talk to you he almost passed out.”

Blinking in surprise, you replied, “Oh.”

In the meantime, you had caught up with your younger friend. Helping him with his homework and giving him tips on how to get through his first year. It was nice to put your worries on the backburner. It was also satisfying to watch Finn’s face light up as you helped him finish a project of his that he’d forgotten. Everything felt normal again…until your problem walked through the door to the library. His eyes had landed on you almost right away, and before you could even blink he had disappeared. It seemed that if you wanted to confront him, it would take more effort than last time. 

Abyss was mortified at how carelessly he let his feelings slip. He felt pathetic that your confession sparked such a fervid emotion in him that he couldn’t even control his mouth. You, alongside Abel, were a shining star in his dull world. Where he was ruthlessly mocked, berated, and nearly killed for his existence, you had bestowed nothing but kindness. You were an angel in his eyes, sent from the heavens and somehow managed to stumble upon his wretched form. Your warmth had seeped into his heart and tainted it as yours. You may not have seen your actions as praise worthy, but they were everything to him. 

Abel was important to him as well, but his feelings towards you were different, fiercer. Your presence alone made him feel content. He didn’t need anything as long as you graced him with your smile. He’d be content to be on the sidelines, as long as you were happy. So why did he have to ruin it with his foolish feelings? Let alone something as drastic as marriage? He hadn’t even courted you properly! He couldn’t bear to handle what you possibly thought of him now. 

He could avoid you easily enough. His personal magic was perfect for this exact situation, but the longer he spent time away from you, the bigger the ache in his heart grew. He had already been connecting random things to you, but it had grown worse in your absence. You would’ve loved to see that flower. You would’ve loved to see that strange bug. You might need to know this fact that he had learned for your shared class. Everything seemed to lead back to you.

He missed the sound of your voice. The warmth that encapsulated him when you directed your smile towards him. He missed the way you’d light up and ramble about topics you loved. He missed when you sat close to him in your excitement to show him something. He missed you. 

You were surprised when Abyss had approached you. It had only been a week since the incident. You were half expecting to have been forced to come up with an elaborate plan to get to speak with Abyss. Looking back, it was just a silly incident, it wasn’t a big deal. He had professed his feelings for you in his own way. It was endearing really. What wasn’t silly was him avoiding you like the plague. 

“I apologize for my impulsive behavior-”

You cut off his apology by enveloping him into a hug. Comfort washed over you as you finally got to hold the silly man. He wrapped his arms around you slowly, hiding his face into your neck. You both felt a sense of peace in the other's warmth. Resting your head on his shoulder, a pout suddenly formed on your lips.

“You know, you can’t just ask me to marry you and then just disappear,” You huffed, squeezing him to let him know you weren’t really angry. You were just glad that he was back. He stiffened in your hold, pulling you closer so you couldn’t witness his embarrassment. You continued before he could apologize further, “Although it’s a bit soon for us to marry, I’m open to dating.”

Abyss let out a squeak, pulling away to hide his face behind his hands. Even though both of your feelings have been out in the open for quite a bit, you still felt a rush of anxiety fill your veins, hoping that he wouldn’t find a way to reject you. 

“I-I w-would be h-honored to a-accompany you on a d-d-date,” Abyss muttered, bowing before you.

You felt your face heat up at the scene, but it did little to quench the giddiness that consumed you, “Are you free this weekend?”

[total-drama-brainrot]

This Alenoaheather AU is bringing me an unholy amount of serotonin and I love it- I’m still just now discovering it and I wish I knew about it sooner😭😭 But question if I may!

So, by the time Noah gets eliminated, where would you say his relationship lies with Alejandro and Heather? Like, does he leave the competition like, “You both tried to play each other, but I ended up playing the both of you, L” Like does he just think that Alejandro and Heather only romantically like each other, and he was just their attempt at emotionally manipulating one another, or does he at least have an idea that they potentially may feel romantically towards him? Honestly I’m just curious about how his elimination would play out between the three of them-

I'm glad other people are enjoying this AU as much as I am. Me and Perp are slowly spreading our Alenoaheather propaganda and it's working.

It's been established that Noah's elimination in this AU will take place at some point in the early post-merge game, probably either China or the Serengeti (though Niagara Falls might work too. We haven't exactly touched on how each challenge can/will play out since this whole concept has been put on the backburner), which gives his dynamic with Heather and Alejandro time to blossom from the initial double fake dating ploy into something more genuine.

Well before his elimination, Noah's been caught in his double-crossing ways; or to be more accurate triple-crossing, since Noah initially decided to play along with both Heather and Alejandro's schemes with the intention of throwing them both under the bus (or at least reaping all of the benefits for himself). But, by the time his ploy is figured out, the three of them have developed genuine feelings for each other.

As such, Heather and Alejandro are hesitant to have him eliminated; sure Noah somehow managing to pull the wool over their eyes for as long as he did was infuriating, but it was also impressive. Like recognises like, and the two biggest schemers in the game can appreciate when they've been outplayed, aggravating as it is, especially when the person who bested them essentially used their own trickery against them. Also, though the two of them would never admit it, both Heather and Alejandro know that they'd honestly miss Noah's caustic company.

Of course, at this point in the competition Heather and Alejandro are still deep in their "rivalry" phase, so it takes the two of them a very convoluted and overcomplicated conversation to figure out that they both share the same sentiment concerning a certain cynic- since every encounter they have with each other is practically a game of backhanded compliments and dancing around the true meaning of their words. It takes even longer for them to come to an agreement, given how stubborn the both of them can be, but eventually they manage to co-operate.

Which is what leads to The Confrontation, the point in the story where the two fake dating plots merge into Heather and Alejandro putting aside their differences to rule the game together, utilizing Noah as their shared right hand man since he's shown a knack for strategy and subterfuge. After all, why would they want to get rid of the one person on the jet who's able to go toe-to-toe with them in terms of scheming, when they can instead keep him around as an accomplice?

At least, that's the excuse they both use. But the two of them internally can't deny that, even if it was all pretend, Noah wasn't a bad "boyfriend" by any means, and they genuinely enjoy his company. In turn, Noah's accepted that neither Heather nor Alejandro are as insufferable as he initially assumed, and that playing along with their grand plots is actually really fun. (And maybe he also likes the two of them, but Noah would never admit that.)

But there's a a whole cast's worth of people on the jet who the trio also have to consider in their plans; it would be super suspicious of all three of them if the flirting and Aleheather's animosity suddenly ceased. No matter how oblivious the rest of the competitors are, a sudden public change in their dynamic would be the equivalent of waving a huge red flag and screaming "hey, we're in an alliance, vote us out!" Very counterintuitive to their goal of winning the competition.

So the three of them resolve to act as they have been during challenges, and sneak off to the confessional when it's most convenient/feasible to do so, where they can plot and scheme away from the rest of the cast.

This means that, at least to everyone else in the game, Noah's still in this weird grey area where he's actively flirting with both Heather and Alejandro. Or, well, "flirting", since I imagine most of the advances would be initiated by the other party and Noah would play the part of the blushing damsel- or more accurately the begrudging but highly amused recipient, since I just can't conceptualise snarky, stoic Noah being the type to get flustered easily.

I imagine The Confrontation would happen somewhere around London timeline wise (it just feels like the most appropriate place to have a major shift in the plot happen, for obvious reasons), which would give the initial fake dating aspect of the AU time to run it's course without getting stale, and allow the three of them to establish their dynamic as a trio before the merge hits. It'd give Alenoaheather around five or six episodes worth of time to grow closer as a trio (from Greece's Pieces to Niagara Brawls, at least) and have their feelings grow and develop at a natural pace, to the point where they acknowledge that, perhaps, not all of the romantic tension between them is fake.

And then, of course, the Fake Cheating Arc happens. Noah's elimination is the catalyst for this section of the plot, which Perp and myself touched on pretty heavily in one of our reblog chains, and at this point in the story Alenoaheather are in a sort of vague kind-of-dating situation; the three of them know there's feelings there, but they're all more invested in the competition (and their manipulation of such) than trying to figure out what exactly is going on between them. Plus, World Tour takes place in 2010- concepts like polyamory weren't exactly common knowledge back then, so the three of them wouldn't have any basis of comparison for what their dynamic is/would be.

That, and the three of them are all fairly emotionally closed off, so getting them to admit genuine feelings for each other and show vulnerableness to anyone would be like pulling teeth. As it stands, they're fairly content to continue acting as a Trickster Trio, contented to leave whatever's going on between them unlabelled for the time being in favour of focusing their time and energy on winning the million. There's an unspoken understanding between the three of them; what they have is special, inconceptual and indescribable by mere words... which is mostly just an excuse for the three of them not to breach the subject, since they have the collective emotional intelligence of a spork.

That doesn't mean they don't love each other. Because they do, even if some of them (Heather and Alejandro) aren't exactly familiar with concepts like "unconditional love" and "loyalty/compassion for someone besides yourself" and "lowering your emotional walls and being the most genuine version of yourself in front of the people who care about you". It's a steep learning curve, but they're doing their best.

But that's besides the point; at this point in the plot, the trio are essentially a throuple in all but name at the point of Noah's elimination.

That's why his suggestion of playing off of his "cheating" is initially met with hesitance on Aleheather's part- they don't want the one person on the jet (besides each other) they actually care about to risk his reputation, but they also know that it's a strategically sound idea. There's a conflict of interest between their desire to win the competition by any means necessary, and the budding sense of empathy they've both began to develop as a result of their situationship.

Of course, they eventually agree to his plan, and then the whole Cheating Arc plays out as it's been explored previously.

Which means Noah's actual elimination ceremony is a very tense affair.

He's intentionally playing himself up as kind of a scumbag during it, since he wants both Heather and Alejandro to appear as sympathetic as possible to the remaining competitors, so the three of them stage an altercation during that day's challenge where Noah's caught out in his "cheating", and consequently "admits" that he's been playing the two of them and it's all ingenuine on his part, to direct the majority vote against him. It'd kill two birds with one stone that way; Noah gets himself eliminated without having to do much out of the ordinary, since he's already kind of an asshole so all he really has to do is play up that aspect of himself a little and lie about manipulating his partners, meanwhile Heather and Alejandro can reap the benefits of whatever brownie points they gain from being his "victims" by using their own manipulative prowess to adopt the role of the ex-villains, redeemed by their shared heartbreak. Or something equally melodramatic.

Noah doesn't really care about the specifics of it, he'll be long gone before his partners can start playing up their "betrayal and heartbreak", and then soon enough one of them will win the competition. And spoil him rotten with their money.

So, during the actual ceremony, Noah becomes persona non grata. No one wants to sit anywhere near him on the benches, and the remaining cast members form a protective wall between him and a distraught Heather, who sniffles back quiet tears every time her eyes wander too close to the cynic's slouching, impassive frame, and Alejandro who's sat eerily still and taut with disgraced fury, who's fiery green eyes haven't strayed from the burning glare he's shooting towards the bookworm.

Not that Noah's a stranger to receiving glares; the rest of the cast are also shooting him some downright murderous looks. Though he is impressed by his partners' acting abilities. He's also physically biting back pearls of laughter- the gritting of his teeth only serves to make him look unapologetically indignant, and thus more irredeemable in the eyes of their company- because every time Alejandro knows that no one's focus is on him, he sends his cerebral partner a cheeky wink and a smirk. The smug bastard.

Unsurprisingly, the vote is fairly unanimous. Chris doesn't even bother trying to raise suspense or tension by counting the votes, since the result is inevitable. That, and the atmosphere is already so tense and dramatic, the host is revelling in it. Chris even goes so far as complimenting Noah for outshining Duncan's cheating fiasco, showing the audience "what real relationship drama looks like", and maybe even congratulating Noah on almost being as heartless as he is.

He's escorted to the Drop of Shame, parachute backpack in tow, but before he can take the plunge he glances back at his audience. A raging sea of hostility greets him, but within the depths of animosity two shining beacons of light greet him. Alejandro and Heather shoot him a fleeting wave, the ghosts of smiles flickering across their features before they continue their flawless acts, but it's enough to reassure Noah that everything will be fine.

(Spoiler alert, things don't end up being fine for Noah.)

Of course this is all just an idea I'm spewing out. Nothing in this AU is set in concrete and it's always open to peer review or change. That's the beauty of public AUs; you can do whatever you want with them!

[nkn0va]

Chie, Wagner, and Orie with an s/o who swears like a sailor?

I am so sorry for disappearing for so long. I'm on my training arc right now so writing has been put on the backburner

-Chie was used to people her age being a bit more on the reserved side, not really speaking their minds as much as she does. Which is why she's rather taken aback the first time she meets you.

-You have a short fuse, and you are not shy in letting people know when it's run out. The poor person on the receiving end is not leaving that encounter the same.

-She started to sort of take it upon herself to try and keep you from exploding like that when you two eventually started dating. It's not easy, but her optimistic attitude does seem to have an effect on your for the better.

-Although she wouldn't admit it aloud, she does find it funny when you get sassy, having to stifle a laugh when you say something so unexpected it's somehow amusing.

-She's learned insults she never could've imagined before. While she might not be using any of them, it's fun to see what you can come up with.

-You left quite the first impression on the Fourth Executor to say the least. She'd just transferred to your school and the first time she sees you is chewing out some idiot who thought it'd be a good idea to try and bully you.

-Wagner's first reaction was to think rather lowly of you, letting your temper get the best of you like that. However, it wasn't like she didn't have her moments like that too, quite the opposite actually.

-Yes you seemed to impulsively swear...a lot, but you were a normal person with normal human emotions, albeit with a short fuse. When you weren't exploding you could be surprisingly entertaining.

-That's probably the main reason she entered a relationship with you. You were a much needed refreshing change from the monotonous life she was forced to live in a country of people that seemed hesitant to speak their minds. You were no such person.

-She knows damn well her family wouldn't be the most fond of someone like you, but she can cross that bridge when she gets to it.

-Of the three, Orie is by far the most taken aback by your language when she meets you for the first time. A sheltered life in the Licht Kreis meant growing up around well-spoken polite people.

-Clearly this was not the case for you. You wore your mind on your sleeve. Whether that was for better or worse was up to interpretation, but you certainly didn't hide what you thought at any given moment.

-You were one of the last people Orie ever expected to catch feelings, for, let alone actually enter a relationship with. It was far different than she was expecting, though maybe that was for the better.

-She went in expecting constant pressure to keep you happy and be careful to not offend you, especially considering your temperament. She was pleasantly surprised to realize that you were more than willing to put in work and show that you appreciated her as well, even if your ways in doing so were a bit...on the nose at times.

-Knowing someone whose as honest and straightforward as you has her back is a comforting feeling, one that she doesn't know how she went her entire life without.

[corishadowfang]

2025 Writing Goals

...Did I do one of these last year?? I...genuinely can't remember. But! I'm doing one this year--mostly to organize my own thoughts, haha, but I guess also to give people some updates, if anyone's interested in that?

But, uh, 2024 was...a year. The long and the short of it is: I am very burnt out. Most of that is due to my job, but other things have factored into it, too. (There were. So many animal emergencies this past year.) Because of that, I'm going to try to tailor my goals to be...a bit gentler. In theory.

As for the individual stories...

The Age of Fairytales (And Other Assorted Myths)

This is...probably officially going on hiatus, unfortunately. I don't particularly want it to, but I think it probably needs to. I've been struggling to write chapters a lot more than expected, and have been stressed about getting things out in a timely fashion, which is. Not particularly how I want to interact with fandom, and I don't want the story to suffer because of it. Some of this I think is due to the writing style (the myths specifically, which are different from my normal style), but most of it is from the aforementioned burnout. I don't think I was actually ready to have a regularly updated fic again, even if I thought I was (How was three months not enough time?? has been running circles around my head.), and probably should've stuck with my original plan of trying to write everything out, and then starting to post it.

That said, there's a reason it's going on hiatus, and isn't cancelled or anything, and it's because I still really like the idea. So for the moment, it might be going on the backburner, but hopefully I'll be able to bring it out and do more with it in the future.

(Also, like. Feel free to ask me about any lore stuff? Because I really, really want to talk about it, I'm just currently finding it difficult to put it into story format.

...I suppose I could also just make a lot of general worldbuilding posts in the meantime, too, which would be. Significantly easier. ...I'll have to see on that one.)

On My Heart

I really want to get back to working on this one; it's probably going to be my main "traditional" story. That said, I don't have a set goal for this; basically, I just want to make "decent progress" on it, haha. I'm going to try and take it easy and hopefully get at least some content that I'm happy with! (The beginning I already have, at least, feels pretty solid; now I just have to build onto that.)

One-Shots

I have four one-shots that have been sitting half-completed in my documents that I'd really like to finish at some point, which are:

coda: A Fallen Stars one-shot, covering the first year after the end of the story.

Children of Ozymandias: An AU where the Union Leaders (plus Player and Elrena) all remain together after the fall of Daybreak Town, examined through the eyes of people who don't have much relation to Keyblade wielders.

Touch of Midas: Hoder character study.

Ghosts of All We've Known: Ven-centric story looking at his connection to Scala, his buried memories of Daybreak Town, and his complicated thoughts about Eraqus and Xehanort and their past in Scala.

Of these, "Ghosts of All We've Known" is the one I most want to complete; I really like both the idea and what I've written so far, so hopefully I'll be able to finish that one this year, at least. "coda" also has a pretty good chance of being completed, just because, like...that's what I tend to work on when I'm feeling stressed, haha. So we'll see which of those two gets finished first!

(I would like to finish the other two sometime, as well, but...we'll stick with easy goals for now, and see how I'm feeling once those are done.)

And, uh...those are basically my plans for this year! I'm going to try very hard to just...kind of take things a bit easier. Keyword: try.

[rhymeswithchronic]

pssssttt… psssstttt…. Do we have any design ideas on what bast and her foster parents look like… specifically from circle maker…

also please yap more about circle maker

I have a drawing of Golden and a Minecraft skin of Bast lol!

I haven’t done Snipes yet mostly because I’m scared of drawing bird.

I apologize in advance for the absolute thought dump about to happen below. When given the excuse to yap I yap a lot

Bast does have fox ears but they’re hard to see in her skin. She also has the long off-white hair and the random patches of fur on her body. I do plan on actually drawing her but I haven’t gotten around to it and thought it’d be fun to make the Minecraft OC in Minecraft lol

Snipes, while not shown, is named after the snipe as in like, the bird, so she is heavily based on a bird, and though she is a distant descendant of Parrot (avian features were not native to Parkour Civilization so anyone with those features, barring the Parkour God Himself, is in one way or another a descendant of him, fun fact for Mercy!) her features are more crane-like than anything else

She’s specifically designed to look like Golden’s opposite, actually! She is almost entirely feathered but her feathers are very sharp in appearance (soft to the touch) and while Golden has a round muzzle and paws, Snipes has a thin, sharp beak and completely avian legs- not in the same way that Evbo’s boots turn into talons, but in that the entirety of her legs are distinctly bird, crane or stork-like. She’s also a vibrant Royal blue color as opposed to Golden’s soft yellow

Snipes is also transfemme! She and Golden met and fell in love before her transition and Golden was her biggest supporter the entire time. I talked about it a bit in the last chapter of Circle Maker but they had always wanted kids but couldn’t have them due not to Snipes, but due to Golden being barren.

The Parkour God is extremely particular about when children are brought to his safe haven, about who are assigned as their foster parents or whether they are given fosters at all. Nobody is forced to take a child and he normally knows way ahead of time who wants the opportunity to foster or adopt. Thats probably why Snipes and Golden were immediately in love with Bast when she was brought to them. They had wanted it for a long, long, *long* time, but were kept kind of in the backburner while the Parkour God waited for someone who really needed them. Enter Bast

Golden’s full name is xXGolden_EyesXx and Snipes’ is __Snipes__Hunter__

Which brings up another bit of worldbuilding I’ve always wanted to rant about: the naming system

Because let’s be honest what the HELL are Minecraft usernames

So here’s the way I’ve kind of been writing it (drum roll please)

Names and Usernames in the Mercy for the Lamb series!

Gonna use a few different characters as examples, but I think the best ones are actually Bast and Seawatt (stay with me)

All players have a minimum of 2 names

One of these is their username, a full name typically making little sense, sometimes including weird or random letters or symbols or words. This is the name that is tied to their code, which is essentially the equivalent of their *soul*.

For example, SeaWattgaming and BastraLight. Also Evbo_, or xXGolden_EyesXx

These names work essentially like Minecraft usernames as well, which is why they are so weird. *Duplicate names cannot exist*. There cannot be two players with the same name, even if one died three thousand years ago

(An exception lies with players who have been so thoroughly erased that there is not longer anything left of their existence. These are players that cannot be revived even by the Parkour God, and it includes every Fighter who died between the fall of the Fighter Layer and the reintegration of it. People like Seawatt’s parents are completely erased from existence, and as such their names would technically be able to be used again. The Champion is capable of fully erasing player data, as is the Parkour God, but once it is erased, it cannot be brought back.)

Because of this duplicate name problem, full names have evolved like Xbox or Minecraft usernames. They include weird strings of letters or symbols sometimes to make the name work

These names are very rarely known by anyone other than the player themselves, their parents (if they are naturally born), and the Parkour God. The Champion also has access to these names though whether they use them or not changed from Champion to Champion. It’s also not rare for romantic partners to share their full names as part of their wedding vows, as it is a very deep and private part of their identity. It can also be shared between adoptive children and parents as another show of trust (Bast notwithstanding, but she is a different story)

The other name is the name the player uses in day to day life. This is the name they introduce themselves as and call themselves. This includes Seawatt, Bast, Evbo, Golden, etc.

There is nothing really special about these names, this is just the names they tend to associate themselves with more than anything. Seawatt never calls himself Seawattgaming, but if Evbo wants to look up his name in the player data, he has to use that full name.

EMF is also one of these names. It does stand for something in Mercy. I do not know what it stands for. I hide behind refusing to give his full name to pretend like I actually have a full name for him when I do not. It is not Evbo’s Master Friend

Now, there is an inconsistency here. Namely, Bast and this scene

Bast does not hesitate to give her full username to Golden when prompted for her name.

This is *extremely* unusual for players to do, but there is a reason for it

To put it simply: Bast was never given a gauge on what is considered intimate information like her full name.

Bast was not born to really *exist* in Parkour Civilization. She was specifically born because of her older sister, Dais, being the Champion, which is still considered a holy position even if the Parkour God is long gone. As such, anyone in the direct line of the Champion is also considered holy.

Bast was born to sacrifice. She was born for the express purpose of sacrificing to the Parkour God. Her entire existence is based on the idea of sacrificing a holy figure.

Because of this, she did not receive the same kind of psychological education as she would have received if she was intended to live past her teen years. Nobody ever cared to really teach her nuanced topics like the privacy of her full username. In fact, she was raised the *opposite*. If the whole world knew of BastraLight, then surely sacrificing her would mean that much more. Therefore, she was taught to always give her full username when asked, alongside her chosen name. She is simply a sacrifice waiting to be put on the block

She is not the only one who has gone through this process. Just the most recent

Despite the Parkour God knowing her full name, him ignoring the main happenings of Parkour Civilization means he had no idea who Bast was before she was sacrificed. He only realized what she was meant to do when she gave her full name upon being asked, because no player meant to live would have given up their name like that

If you’ve read this far, congratulations! You are now just as brain rotted as me.

Keep an eye on the journal entries at the beginning of each chapter. They are the most obvious hints to what is happening in the story :3

[rrtfs-official-blog]

Well Well Well...

It's been a long long time since I put anything on this blog! Mostly because well, I'd sorta forgotten about it. With no activity to remind me that hey, people wanna see this stuff it kinda fell into the background. That and well, I've been busy lately! And although it's been what? Around five months since I last posted anything here, I oughta give some updates. Because believe me, the series is still being worked on and ongoing! And thank you to @marsmarvel02 who gave me a notification here, maybe I should post the link to this on my other blogs, I just keep forgetting.

Firstly, where have I been? I've been busy. Real life stuff mostly, just little things that eat away at my time. PLUS, well, the series! I've been working on it almost religiously! Writing shorts, proofreading and editing finished ones, coming up with titles, plotlines, fleshing out old characters, and making new ones! Plus working on the general worldbuilding and mechanics as well. All has been going well! With ups and downs as per usual, and short bursts of a million things being done at once and then long periods of little to nothing. But I assure you progress is sure and steady! In the time that I've been missing, about three months, a lot has happened! Three shorts have been finished, and are awaiting proofread and the proper date to go public! Those shorts are "The Engine Under Church Hill.", "The Brakeman.", and last but not least, "Whistles And Thistles."! The two last ones I just mentioned are rather new shorts! devised and written entirely in my absence from this blog, apologies! I've mentioned "The Engine Under Churchill." Before, and it took me a while to get it done, but it's done! And probably the longest short I have! There's also two work in progress shorts that are really on the backburner, and from the looks of it going to be very very long as well! Those I'm working with my co-writer Speedy to finish! He plays at least one character in each, and they're rather main characters to the story so work is slow going simply because we don't always have time to work. Those shorts are "Silver Rails And Second Chances." and "Trans-Con Comet." I've mentioned the first of those here before, the second was started in my absence, so apologies for that! Those two are... Well we're hoping to get "Trans-Con Comet" done this summer, and we might, but we're looking more at fall or winter depending honestly considering little to no work has been done on either short. I blame busy schedules but I do have a few things in the meantime while the bigger heftier shorts are written! I also plan to start a third one in the meantime to keep me writing and so I don't run out of things to post anytime soon! Now some dates that are coming up that I'm going to be posting things. Well, hopefully within the next five days "Whistles And Thistles." will be going public! It will be the tenth short to be finished completely! Now once again I have not posted the link to the series yet, but I'm willing! I just want someone to show genuine interest before I do! And another day to mark is October 2nd of this year! That's when "The Engine Under Churchill." will be public! The first short of the second half of season one! That one will be on a new document in comparison to the previous shorts. That brings me into my next thing. I don't know if I've ever talked about this. But the series is broken up into seasons, or will be anyway. Each season should end up being about twenty shorts long. And it will be split into part 1 and 2, each one containing ten shorts. All the docs will have links to each other so you can finish one part of a season and move onto the next! So be on the lookout for new seasons and parts as time goes on! I'm still going really strong with the series and am in no way looking to abandon or drop it anytime soon! Here's to hoping for many more years of RRTFS! Then comes another thing. I actually did post a short in the time I disappeared. That one being "The Broadway Zephyr." There's a promo image for it and everything! I just... never announced or posted it here! That's going to change though! Hopefully in a few minutes after this post goes up! I should get to that, as it's the second to last short for the first half of season one and it's one I really enjoyed writing. Based partially on real events and then just nonsense. You know how it is sometimes!

[fayedartmouth]

Well since it’s okay please share some info about your upcoming projects sorry but im too curious and excited for my own good and i genuinely love your work read every single one in only a week

Well, in truth, I have like 20+ fics that are technically WIPs, all in various stages of development and completion.  I tend to get way more plot bunnies than I can write, and my WIPs range from rough concepts to like 30k words or more.  So it's just a wide range.

As per usual, I can't shut up, so the details are below.

For the record, some of those WIPs I really really love.  Like I have a whole series of Shoupe and preseries JJ that I'm super excited about (their first meeting, the first time Shoupe realizes JJ's getting beaten, JJ taking all of Luke's pills as a teenager, and a few more).  I have one very well developed with a preseries JJ getting kidnapped by one of Luke's associates and Luke blowing off the ransom (spoiler alert: it goes badly for JJ).  And I have a few now completely AU takes post S3, one with Rafe getting revenge on the Pogues by going after JJ (forcing him to take an overdose of drugs, and it's so convincing that almost everyone believes he did it himself) and a Sarah and JJ as siblings fic.  That's just a sampling.  There are so many more that I can't even remember them all.

One idea that just got hold of me this week is an AU with JJ and John B in the military.  There are a few other takes on this on AO3 that intrigued me, and the brothers in arms thing could be so fun to play out with those two.  And I mean, the whump. I may have wrote a few scenes....

However, the fics that I'm actively writing right now.  I'd say there are four (beyond the car accident fic I'm posting snippets of and the town council AU I did a snippet of last weekend).

1. Best of a Bad Deal part three.  This one is still in the works though technically kind of on my backburner.  I have completed quite a bit of this fic, which spans five-six years after JJ goes into remission.  I think I have a cohesive narrative at least through the third year with a lot of bits and pieces completed after that -- including the ending, which I really love.

2. My long fix-it.  I have been actively plotting this with woudsohfiv and currently have probably 70k done.  It starts around the mid point of S4 and maintains everything we see in canon -- but adds a secondary plot that manages to subvert it completely.  LOL, I don't want to spoil too much, but it heavily involves Luke.  The Pogues will still (mostly) think JJ is dead while JJ hits absolute rock bottom.  This fic is planned to be the first of a series.  We've been a little ambitious with our plotting and have sketched out plots for three additional fics.  The second one will really dig into JJ facing his trauma and dealing with his family heritage and Goat Island.  I'm really excited about this one!

3. I write fics for my friends for Christmas, and this year, I have two friends getting JJ fics.  The first one is for woudsohfiv, and she requested an AU of the S1 ep where Barry robs the Pogues.  IIn this take, JJ goes for the gun and gets shot for his trouble -- and the Pogues are faced with the reality of what they were willing to risk.  My goal is to make it eventually fit back into canon, however.  It's probably 15k in and is maybe half done.  It will (hopefully!) be done for Christmas.

4. For my other friend, I'm going on one of her favorite tropes:  seizures.  It's a fic set in that happy 18 months of Poguelandia 2.0 where the Pogues get sick -- and JJ ends up getting very, very ill.  This one is a pretty simple straight up sick fic where the Pogues have to confront that they're not quite as together as they thought they were, and wherein John B and Kiara have to face the reality that JJ isn't really as okay as he seems to be most of the time. Again, my goal is to finish this by Christmas, and I think I can pull it off. This should be relatively short hopefully in the 10k range.

Feel free to ask more questions or specifics! I'd even post snippets if you wanted. I only do completed fics on AO3 but I'm a lot looser here.

[blessphemy]

2024 ao3 wrapped [writer's edition]

original prompt post link

How many words (of fanfic) have you written this year? 234,231 words. all murderbot. shut up. This was my second biggest year. I'd like to thank the time on my hands, posting a longfic I had in the works for a while, and participating in a Big Bang. (2021 was my biggest. I'll thank back pain and unemployment for that one lol.)

How many works did you publish this year? 42 fanfics.

What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)? Networks VOID + Networks VITAL. Took me over two years to write and I finally finished it and punted it into the universe this year. fucking monster roller-coaster of a fic capping off a monster roller-coaster of a series. probably the most technically challenging thing I've written to date, by merit of all the balls in motion and all the emotional beats crammed in over the course of 99k words, with the majority of the action taking place during ~48 in-universe hours. i'm so proud of it. it deserves all the love it's gotten LoL thanks everybody!!

What work of yours has the most hits? Via Solitude is a perennial crowd pleaser. Wide audience appeal. Slow and long-running multi-chapter slice of life. ("Slice of life" whilst stranded and surviving alien wilderness.)

What work of yours got more feedback than you expected? idk I'm honestly pleasantly surprised every time people comment at all. but I guess SecUnit Feet got hella reactions, for a borderline gag fic for April fools.

Favorite title you used Stranger (manic pixie dream killing machine) ^ honestly i've peaked with this one

If you use song lyrics, which artist’s songs did you pull from the most? I don't.

Pairing you wrote the most for this year? I don't really write much as far as pairings go. The REAL talk is that I posted another entry for my niche obsession: re-writing the Exit Strategy Dock Showdown from the point of view of "Hostile One" the Combat SecUnit. Surrender/Please is my fourth one in this microgenre, and does it just as fresh and fun and different from the preceding three. ^_^

Favorite pairing you wrote for this year? Well I did write one ship fic: Stranger (manic pixie dream killing machine). In which 2 characters that never interact in canon suck face. It's pretty good makeouts if you're into that. Honestly I do love this fic I did a good job on it. Took me a long time to iron it out. Alternatively, if you stretch the definition of "pairing" to mean "self-destructive murdercule" there's the squad from Networks VOID/VITAL being patently insane. Together. Heart Emoji.

What work was the quickest to write? Funny you should ask. I gave myself 30-minute limits to write the daily Febuwhump prompts and timed myself. equivalent exchange took me 11.25 minutes, and it's not bad considering the time crunch. Mensah POV of killing that SecUnit in All Systems Red :)

What work took you the longest to write? Aforementioned Networks VOID/VITAL. I cannot overstate how insane I was making myself writing this thang for 2 years before posting it to the internets.

How many WIP’s do you have in your docs for next year? I think I made a list of some ideas I've had knocking around, but they've been backburnered a bit since I've been noodling other writing stuff lately. (I say, while succumbing to banging out random fics for a prompt event during December -_-)

What’s your longest work of the year? Networks VITAL again, at 99.8k. Maybe I should edit in a couple hundred more words to bring it up to a clean 100k. that would be funny. maybe. eh.

What’s your shortest work of the year? I've written a few drabbles. (drabble = 100 words.) 🦎 herping 🐍, Handoff, Sugar

What WIP are you taking into next year with you? Via Solitude. She marches on.

What’s your most common “Additional Tags” tag? I'll do top 3 since the top 2 are tied to a prompt event: Febuwhump 2024 (18), Whump (12), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence (6)

Your favorite character to write this year? Take a Wild Fucking Guess (*uses my foot to push 29 fics tagged #Murderbot (Murderbot Diaries) under the bed*)

The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year? I find ART kinda challenging. It's a multifaceted lil gremlin. But really everyone is fun to write.

What’s one pairing you want to explore next year? idk. maybe i'll make 2 bots make out again.

Which work of yours have you reread the most? again Networks VITAL. like just from the editing process alone.

Which work has the most comments? Via Solitude again. She's killing pretty much every popularity stat.

Did you do any collaborative works this year? Wrote a meta with ArtemisTheHuntress: [Meta] Name Dropping about the ways Muderbot refers to other bots in the series. Surprising little nuggets of realization such as: Murderbot only refers to bot pilots generically or with nicknames, and the only named ships are A) Holism the supership and B) Lalow, which has no bot pilot. Also participated in a big bang with every_eye_evermore to create Plastic Plague. I did the writing, every_eye_evermore did the awesome illustrations and helped me work out the kinks. If Networks VITAL hadn't stolen the show in terms of the man-hours and heart I put in, I think I'd have named Plastic Plague as my pride and joy. Kind of surprised myself with how fast I wrote it given its length. But also it's one of those fics that's like 2 degrees removed from being a whole ass original novella. lol. If you're interested in getting your heart broken and then pulled back together, come check out this post-apocalyptic pandemic fic. owo.

Did you write any gifts this year? Yeah! The yearly gift exchange let me create a pretty fun one: HELP WANTED: decryption key needed before half my brain gets locked behind a paywall #paid #ManticSoft #semi-urgent And the lil fluff of🦎 herping 🐍 for musicofthespheres :3

Did you receive any gifts this year? Also yeah! Once again the gift exchange gave me a fic I Adore thank you isilee: what to do when your friend is a victim of organ harvesting. pod AU. i love pod AU. and more??? everyone is being so nice to me. The Great Slug Migration and debugged [comic] by musicofthespheres. and Sing Your Feelings by ArtemisTheHuntress

What’s your most common category? Gen. I'm a 97% gen household lmao.

What do you listen to while writing? Bathroom fan white noise. Neighbors noise. Sometimes noise muffling headphones. I usually can't listen To Stuff and write at the same time, there's barely enough space in my head to have 1 full thought per second. It's like 0.6-0.8 tps in here.

Favorite work you wrote this year? I couldn't POSSIBLY pick a favorite out of all my precious children. I would never. I love them all equally. 🏆 Networks VOID/VITAL 🏆

Favorite line/passage you wrote this year? Listen I wrote 234,231 words worth of bangers. Girl I forget. I'm not rereading all that to find my fave passage. Here’s one from Surrender/Please: “I’m chasing you, my mental crosshairs locked on you, which is how it’s supposed to be, but something is so wrong, so wrong, so wrong with you, so wrong with me. The ghost of your presence in my feed digs its ethereal fingers into the back of my neck, where my data-port is, and just above that, wedged within the shriveled heart of a stripped-down medulla, is my governor module.” Here’s one from false pulse, ComfortUnit POV: “I want to cut the mimic heart out of my torso, that lying little device in the center of my chest put there for the sole purpose of broadcasting a false pulse to a sentimental human audience, that races loudly now, unbidden.” From Suns Out Guns Out: ““SecUnit. Where are your arms?” SecUnit shrugged its armless shoulders. The gesture made its empty sleeves flop a bit. “Planetary customs has them. I’ll pick them back up when I go up the elevator.”” From illucid: “The systems swerve uncertainty, the missile misses its mark, the mote floats free.” Also I think spousal privilege does a great job burying the lede. But I won’t paste the whole thing here.

Biggest surprise while writing this year? How did I write so many bangers? uwu. (Actually I spent a month or two having forgotten how to write good because I went outside and touched too much grass. (Read: went backpacking for a while and didn’t have access to writing.) It was a little agonizing. Then Surrender/Please knocked the cork loose and I was able to write again everyone say thank you Surrender/Please.) At this point writing is kind of a near-daily compulsion for me.

[zanarkandfayth]

Hey there!

Hope I’m not too late for the ask thing yet. If so, please just ignore this!

Otherwise I’d be super interested in three of the wips. Aftermath and horizon road sound super intriguing and state of mind also calls out to me 👀😊

Hope you’re having a great day and thanks for sharing all your wonderful stories and ideas!!

hey! no worries :)

aftermath is my current wip that I've been killing myself over since 2019. it started as a nanowrimo project one week into nano and I had no intentions of posting it, so I didn't put much thought into plotting it, but I ended up writing nearly 100K words for it by the end of the month and then kept going. currently it's at 650K and I'm having to rewrite the existing chapters due to said lack of thought with plotting...

anyways it's a trauma aftermath fic for ffxv, I give sixteen year old noct trauma and I let it destroy him and then I work on slowly putting him back together lmao. very, very slowly. it's 650K so far because it's super in-depth and also covers a year of timeline, right now I'm about six months in. chapters are stupid long and though there's ignoct and they get together within the first 12ish chapters, nothing serious really starts happening with their relationship until chapter... 51? 52? somewhere around there. so whenever I finally have it posted, I would not recommend anyone read it solely for the relationship 🤣 it's not a slowburn though, it's just. put on the backburner for such a long time thanks to the trauma.

I'm trying not to post it until it's fully done but who knows when that will be.

the other two fics you mentioned are both ffx fics, horizon road is actually posted and abandoned, and technically it could work as a finished fic if one was okay with unhappy endings. it's an auron/tidus fic where they have a mutual attraction and tidus is the one coming on to auron while they're still in zanarkand (and thus underage a bit), and auron tries and eventually fails to resist. I wrote the first three chapters when I was 19, but like many of my earlier fics, I didn't have a plan and so I didn't know what to really do with it. I had some vague ideas but I was also dumb enough to not write them down so I have no clue what I was hoping to do with the rest of the fic, other than that I meant it to go into game canon and them having a VERY tense (not romantic/sexual) relationship for awhile.

I also realised many many years later that it was very dubcon, which is fine, but it meant I had even less idea what to do with it or how to end it positively (which is what I had wanted). and it didn't help that when I originally wrote chapter three, my word program corrupted the file and I lost it and had to rewrite it and hated it. I did actually go back and redo chapter three in 2016, but though I tried, I never got anywhere with chapter 4. so it's gonna remain forever unfinished, rip.

state of mind is... interesting. I love it and I actually would still like to finish it one day if I can. it's... well, it involves the fayth, because I love them and took my name from them, and it also involves alternate realities. basically tidus finding himself in a series of alternate realities, but they're not true alternate realities, they're just possibilities of some. fayth dreams, showing him things that could come to pass. there's a point to them showing him, but imma be so honest, it's flimsy, because I really just wanted an excuse to write a bit of a fayth character study fic in a really fucky way.

right now it has seven chapters done with the eighth started, not sure how long it'd be though I do have notes on all the realities I want to happen, and there's a little under 20K total written for it. I also started this somewhere around 2006 or 2007 maybe and then actually came back to it for a bit in 2016 and wrote a couple chapters, but at this point my writing style has gotten so much more wordy that finishing it will probably take some rewriting. and I'm more focused on my ffxv fics. so who knows. maybe.

anyways thank you for the ask and the kind words :) hope your day is great as well! <3

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

Amor Fati: Chapter 15--Granulation

Paul and Maelyn have been trying to keep their relationship under wraps, but it all comes out. Caveat: Neither is their imprint. How long can smooth sailing go on?

Paul Lahote x Black!Fem!OC.

Series Masterlist

Complete Masterlist

The airport isn’t as busy as Maelyn expected. A byproduct she’s sure of the recession, though things are at a tortoise’s pace as things crawl back upwards. Her conversations with her father have all been focused on how his health is doing, and the fears surrounding his ability to maintain employment. Thankfully, now the meds are working well along with his lifestyle changes, so her father’s managed to maintain his work. Even the deli’s seen more than its fair share of slow days, shifts that are spent mostly studying for Maelyn than they are serving. There’s just enough money from kids who clearly are well off to keep Maelyn on and for that she’s beyond grateful. 

Alasie managed to keep her job at the local bookstore, but getting into a school for teaching experience has been a dream placed onto the backburner. Right now, there’s only survival. For now they are surviving. Even if it feels precarious, they are alive. Alive leaves Maelyn here, scanning the faces of the rather thin crowd in the Austin airport. That is until something raises up into the air and Maelyn spots the postcard she sent nearly two and a half years ago. 

Leah grins as she picks up her stride, not a full on sprint though even her jog is quick paced. Maelyn continues on, up the waiting area with a laugh bubbling from her chest. The two meet in the middle, Leah dropping her hold on the suitcase to wrap Maelyn up in a hug. Maelyn hoists Leah up, laughing as she does. Much too long, though they talked semi-regularly, Maelyn’s happy to have a tiny piece of home back, to see Leah in the flesh. 

“It’s not the same,” Leah offers softly after being put back down. “With you gone, it’s not the same.”

“Move here,” Maelyn returns. 

“Don’t tempt me with a good time.” 

The trip is only for three, almost four days--Maelyn’s spring break is a week, but with the anticipation of possibly a mild influx, she the majority of her shifts on the weekend, so Leah agreed to come on a Monday and stay until Thursday, where she had an evening flight back to Washington. A trip long time coming, but Leah took Maelyn’s advice and started at Shannon’s while Seth finished up his last year of high school. Life dictated that Leah would stay a little bit longer on the rez. The monotony is broken up by work to help pay for courses in her goals to earn a certificate and start with Medical Billing and Coding as a full time career. It could take Leah far from the rez, if she wanted, and Maelyn’s hopeful that soon the opportunity does open for Leah to move on, go where she wants. 

“So, where to first?” Leah asks, settled into the passenger seat of Maelyn’s car. The drive to the apartment isn’t terribly long but the traffic is still thick around them. 

“Anywhere you want to go really. There’s a mall not too far. We can take a walk around the campus. There’s some art museums too.” 

There’s a grumbling, a deep guttural sound and Maelyn laughs at the sound from Leah’s stomach. “Or maybe food, if you don’t mind,” Leah laughs. 

“Never. I made some fried fish last night. If you’re okay with leftovers.”

“Is it Mom’s recipe?”

“It might be,” Maelyn laughs. 

“Good, Mom hasn’t made it in a while. I’ll be the judge on if you’ve perfected it or not. “No pressure or anything,” Maelyn snorts. 

“None. Why would there be pressure?”

The apartment is still and quiet when the girls return. There’s a note on the fridge, held up by one of the magnets from a local art museum. Leah pads back to the front of the apartment, after ducking into the bathroom to find Maelyn holding the piece of notebook paper out to her. Leah takes it with a laugh. 

“ ‘Dear Leah,’ ” Leah starts, reading through Alasie’s note. The handwriting is distinctly tiny and nearly all caps, though a few letters are lowercase--a mixture that Leah knows is not Maelyn’s in the slightest. “Sorry to miss your arrival. Duty calls and bills must be paid. Maelyn’s been excited about your visit. Please accept whatever’s in the fridge. We’re happy to host you. Be prepared. Tonight, you see what makes Austin the best place on earth. Love, Alasie.” Her laughter is soft. “This is so cute.”

“I managed a halfway decent roommate,” Maelyn teases as she plates the remaining leftovers out. It’s much more than that. Alasise’s a great friend, someone Maelyn’s glad to have landed with amongst the craze of the cosmos. 

“Now, the truth will still be revealed about what Austin holds in store for us though. Alasie has a lot of faith.”

“She always does,” Maelyn laughs. A trait that Maelyn’s glad someone has amongst them. “But you’ll love Austin, I think. It may be misplaced faith though, so trust Alasie more.”

The apartment lights up with the smell of the fish fry and Maelyn watches Leah’s first forkful with intent. The recipe tastes good to Maelyn, tastes as close to Sue’s as she can recall it. But memory it a fault thing. It’s warped by time and distance and with the two years and four months between Maelyn and home, she’s sure she’s lost something in the stretch, that somewhere along the way she’ll imperfectly recall the measurements of something. 

Leah’s chew is slow, but her hum is thoroughly pleased. “If I had them side by side, I don’t think I could tell them apart. But of course, there’s still the chance that I do.”

Maelyn doesn’t expect anything less. However, it’s the kind of compliment that Maelyn knows few people would be graced with, so she takes it in stride, while she knows the truth underneath.  “You’d always be able to tell your mom’s cooking apart.” 

Because that’s what mother’s do--leave the behind pieces, impressions that cannot be erased or overridden. Maelyn can only hope, now, here in the kitchen of her own apartment that her mother is proud of her, that in all the life Maelyn has lived after her mother’s death that there is something good and great in it and to come. 

Leah and Maelyn venture to the campus after their lunch. Maelyn shows Leah all the lecture halls, points out where she sits in her classes this semester and the girl’s laughter trail behind them over the sidewalks. The campus can feel a bit big at times, when Maelyn has to get from one end to the next in the limited ten minutes she has on her days where she has back to back classes. But now the stroll is leisurely and slow. There’s a briskness to the March air that promises of a warm summer. A long awaited summer at that too. 

“Any idea where we’re going tonight?” Leah asks after they pause and rest under a shaded tree. 

“Sixth Street most likely. A friend of ours is off tonight, so we’re going somewhere new that I’ve never been before,” Maelyn answers. 

“Is this person nice?”

“Brenda’s a ride, but she’s cool.”

“I don’t know if I’d trust anyone with the name Brenda.”

The disgruntled scrunch of Leah’s nose causes a fit of laughter, a bubbling echoing sound. “I swear she’s nice,” Maelyn promises. 

The thing Maelyn can’t predict for is just where her promise lands her. Brenda promised to meet the trio at Maelyn’s and Alasie’s apartment, considering she lived a little bit past them and would have to pass by the complex on the way to the bars anyway. From the first crack of the door, to now under the thunderous bass of the music around them, Leah’s seemingly thick and immediate distrust has all but melted away. Not in a way that makes Maelyn think Leah’s imprinted, because Maelyn is sure if Leah had, the look would be less coy, less like a minx attempting to lure in it’s not victim. 

But Brenda and Leah sway together on the dance floor, the hold Brenda has on Leah’s waist is firm without seeming overbearing. A possessive hold, but laxed, like Brenda’s more than sure Leah won’t be going where, like she’d have everything she could ever want in Brenda. Maelyn’s not left watching though. In her grasp in some twenty something box dyed red head Maelyn can’t lie and say the girl’s not gorgeous. She’s all legs and her soft brown skin looks sun kissed. Her eyes are a soft brown, hooded over in a way that Maelyn knows she shouldn’t get sucked in by. Maelyn doesn’t have this girl’s name, doesn’t truly care to get it, just takes hold of her hips and lets the music guide her. Though it is fun, it is not by any means permanent. But none of them need permanency anyway. In the game of survival, permanent does not mean much of anything. 

“Want a shot?” 

It’s Alasie’s voice pressed right up against Maelyn’s ear. Alcohol doesn’t do much. Can’t even create a buzz without an excess amount of it. A fact that Maelyn’s learned months ago and though she watches her other friends and these strangers take their drinks and lose themselves in the self described buzz, Maelyn’s not incredibly keen on herself. She likes a drink, won’t turn it down but never tries to push her boundaries lest she have to explain to some poor bartender why she’s multiple shots deep and not even the slightest tipsy. 

“Sure,” Maelyn calls back, body still working in time with the back thrusts of the girl she’s dancing with. 

“Single or double.”

“Oh, you rich now?” Maelyn laughs. 

“Fuck you. Double it is.”

It’s most likely the only thing Maelyn will drink tonight and though she did agree to pay for Leah’s drink Brenda’s been all too happy to pick up the short tab herself. The night passes in a blur of sweat and bodies. Maelyn’s redhead bounces away with an empty promise to return. Not that Maelyn’s upset by it. Because the second she leaves, another girl slides in. And then another, and then another. And Maelyn dances with them all, takes each one of them gently into her hands and allows herself to bob and sway until she spins herself around and around back to Alasie.

Alasie shimmies herself out of the hold of her dance partner into Maelyn, arms slipping around Maelyn’s neck. “I think your friend’s been thoroughly hypnotized.”

Maelyn looks over to see Leah and Brenda still locked in, kissing now rather than just dancing. Maelyn lets out a whistle, a sound that no one but Leah and Alasie will hear. It earns her a middle finger but the amusement is thick and bubbles up warm in Maelyn’s chest. “I think we should be more worried for Brenda. Leah’s a bit of a hurricane when she wants to be.”

The four of them stay out well past the original anticipated time--all the last calls have been called, all the bars are shut down. There’s nothing left but the thinning streets, the last remnants of drunk rambles and shambly walks. The four girls are well and upright, arms linked in pairs--Maelyn and Alasie, Leah and Brenda--so no one gets left behind. 

“I’d love to see you again,” Brenda remarks, at the door of Maelyn and Alasie’s door, to Leah. 

“I know we don’t have a solid plan tomorrow. Would you be free?”

“A picnic for lunch?”

“See you then.”

It’s more luck than Maelyn’s had, but Leah’s shy smile tells Maelyn all she needs to know--that Leah’s needed something like this for a while now. And it is rather endearing to watch them. How they smile at each other with a kind of unabashed excitement. The kind of look that Maelyn’s going to get lost in if she watches too much, for too long. 

Brenda’s kiss to Leah’s cheek is swift and they finally unlink arms. “Sleep well,” Brenda whispers and then carries on, her black jeans and white muscle tank a beacon in the dark night. 

“I thought you wouldn’t trust anyone named Brenda,” Maelyn teases now that the front door is closed. 

“I trust one Brenda, just one.”

“So a picnic date? Let’s see what outfits you’ve got,” Alasie suggests. 

“Oh, fuck,” Leah groans. “I do not have much to wear.”

“Borrow something of mine if it fits,” Maelyn suggests. “Boutique de Maelyn is always open and happy to serve our most loyal customers.”

“And then after the picnic we go to that museum you were talking about, that’s close by the piercing shop?” Leah offers up, referring to their earlier discussion of what to do tomorrow. Maelyn continued to go back and forth on the idea of a nose piercing. But the crash changed her tune and instead she focused on saving for Leah’s trip and keeping herself alive. The idea never left; it was only placed further and further onto the back burner, further and further pushed so that the essentials were taken care of. Maelyn assumed if she wanted long enough, she’d manage to talk herself out of such an idea, that it was a bit of a bridge too far. 

Yet the idea remained, circling and circling. Much like Paul did. A new theme in her life, Maelyn starts to notice. 

“And all the while, I demand the details of your date, in tedious and microscopic fashion. Every second.”

“You’re actually worse than my mother,” Leah laughs, but nods at the request. 

****************

He doesn’t need the boxes just yet. Paul knows that. That doesn’t stop him though, when he manages to spot a box big enough to move with and sturdy enough to handle the drive, he pulls it aside, breaks it down on his lunch and then places it into the truck. It’s just preparation, the kind of thing that gives Paul just enough motivation to see it all the way through. But habit enough now that his name rings out at least twice a week. He answers the call each time and there, with a wave or jerky point, a colleague or his mentor will point out some box they’ve shoved into some corner. “That the right size?”

So Paul always looks, inspects the box thoroughly and if deemed appropriate nods. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Of course. Not going to be the same once you leave.”

“I’ll visit,” Paul returns, knowing that it is a promise he intends to keep. He does want to visit, and he will. 

He just has to follow first. 

“Come see me before you leave today.” 

The warning falls short and with a hint of something like sadness, but not true sadness dipped in beneath it from Paul’s boss. Paul nods. “Understood.”

And the exchange ends there, with Paul trekking back to his assignment, the toolbelt tapping against his thighs with his careful steps. The budding fall only means one thing--November will come before Paul can really blink. November 7th etched into his memory like a tattoo, a date that he can’t forget, won’t let himself forget it really. It still feels too far away to be real, but it’s only six weeks away. Only six weeks away but there’s still much to be done until then. 

He doesn’t linger on that thought though. He returns to the wires, and grounds, and focuses on the tasks at hand. Until the day ends and Paul takes himself back to the office, knocks on the wooden door to gain the attention of the older man behind the desk. His graying beard gives away his age, but the man holds only a few wrinkles on his white skin. “Said you wanted to see him,” Paul offers up when his boss looks at him. 

“Yeah, take a seat.”

Only once Paul’s crossed over the threshold does he start to worry if it’s bad news. Paul can’t recall being in trouble recently. His mentor checked over all his work, and had to give a few pointers and remainders, but that’d been months ago--things that Paul is sure he can do now in his sleep. He settles into the seat though, fingers winding around the fabric of the chair and prays that it’s not something bad. 

“So, I got word back from Texas. Your transfer’s approved and finalized. Your first day will be November 9th.” Paperwork slides across the desk and Paul reaches out for it with an exhale. “You’ll notice that your take home will change--different tax laws and such. It ain’t much but there’s a twenty-five cent pay differential too. Wanted to give you more since you're a great employee and I had to fight hard just for that. Economy and all. Finish up strong during this apprenticeship and then I do recommend moving on from where you’re placed. You can find better work, and hopefully by the time you’re done things will have bounced back a little bit more.”

“Thank you, sir. That means a lot.”

“Oh, don’t go thanking me. If I had my way, you’d be staying here,” he laughs. “The address is at the top there, on the first page. You shouldn’t have to do much besides bring that packet in for your first day. A lot of the other stuff is handled or will be handled on your first day. But your last day is already logged too--on the 23rd of October--so all you have to do now is just keep showing up.”

“The easy part,” Paul laughs. Because it is easy. He likes the work. The classes and theory are all good to have, he knows that. But there’s nothing like him using his own hands to do it for everything to click. So far, each day is better and better. It’s easier to recall the information he needs, the steps and the order they go in. Doing the work feels right to Paul now. 

“Good luck out there. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders. You’ll go far out there, kid. You will. I’m proud of you.”

The words sting--not in the way that it hurts because it’s mean spirited, but in the way that Paul’s never heard them lately. He knows people care about him--it’s why Emily still cuts his hair when he asks, mostly to trim up the ends. It’s why Embry and him go to the movies. It’s why Tyler invites him to hang out. It’s why Sam checks in on Paul if there’s been a couple weeks since the last time he’s shown up at the house. There are plenty of people that care about Paul. 

But there are only a select few, not even a full hand of them, that have said they’re proud of him. Paul’s not even sure the last time he’s heard that from his father--even though his father had wanted to see him do well, there hadn’t been the utterance of the phrase, I’m proud of you. The sting of the tears is immediate and rather than telling himself not to feel this, rather than locking down and tightening the bolts of how good it feels to be seen, Paul nods instead. He lets the wave of emotion--heavy and sudden-crash over him and exhales. 

“Thank you. That means a lot,” Paul whispers. 

“Shit, if you start crying, I’ll start crying.” The laughter doesn’t hide the shakes. The laughter doesn’t hide that both of them reach for the box of tissues on the desk. The laughter doesn’t hide the swift hug. 

Paul’s proud of himself too. He can hear the soft voice in the back of his mind--Maelyn’s voice he knows by the cadence--that tells him he should be proud of himself, that above the approval of others, Paul should be seeking the approval of himself. Yet, the external validation still helps. It still means a lot to hear it from someone else. 

He keeps collecting boxes though and takes his days off to go to the library, and there, when he searches through various ads for housing leads, and goes to work when he’s supposed to. But all the while Paul is watching as his father dives deeper and deeper into bottles. A push further and further away, but it still hurts. They can’t keep living like this, hardly talking, but rather than being angry at his father, now all Paul has is sadness. 

There’d been no resolution on Paul’s theory--if this is just a tactic to make Paul leave faster or if it’s his father’s actual attempts to take his own life one sip at a time. But this is not the way he’d want his father to. He’d rather his father clean up his act, get his life together. The can falls into the trash behind him with a clink, hitting the other cans already resting inside. Paul doesn’t turn to the sound. Paul only has two weeks left before he sets out. His room is a haunting hole--his bed and his sheets left, his work clothes, the bare necessities that remain. 

“Dad,” Paul starts, still running the block of cheese over the grater to coat the stuffed peppers waiting to go into the oven. “If you’re trying to kill yourself, there’s faster ways to do it.”

“I take it you’re still going. To Texas.” The words are slurred, but they almost always are now. 

“Yes.” Either his father didn’t hear him or has elected to ignore him and Paul wonders which one of those realities is best. 

“People been saying you’re good at that electrician stuff. Ran into your boss the other day--or was it Tuesday? What day is it?”

“Thursday,” Paul answers. 

“One of ‘em days. He said I should be proud of you and the good work you do. And I told him I already was and already had been. And that you was leaving anyway.”

It’s not the same, but it’s pretty damn close, to have the implied proud. But the slurry speech and half finished thoughts that come and go as his father speaks undermine the spark of joy that Paul has. Because he’s not sure how much his father is aware of what he’s saying. If his father truly means the context of those words, or even understands them. 

The oven beeps to signal it’s finished pre-heated stage and Paul slips the two dishes of peppers inside. He winds the chicken shaped timer and sets it down once the steady ticking echoes. When Paul turns, Paul finds his father splayed out in the chair, bones liquid and muscles too drunk to contract and hold him upright. One of these days Paul figures he’s going to get a call about his father turned over in a ditch somewhere, truck flipped over. It will leave him wondering if Paul could’ve done more or should’ve done more to save his father. 

But how does Paul help a man that doesn’t seemingly want help?

Paul pushes off the kitchen counter and walks to the small dining room table. His father lifts his head at Paul’s approach, eyes dancing. Paul takes his father’s face in his hands, praying that the words will actually stick, that they’ll actually make it through the muffle of the alcohol.  “I want to be proud of you, Dad. When I come back to visit, I want to be shocked that you’ve got your life together, that you’re sober, you’ve put weight back on, that you go to the doctor regularly. But I know that when I come back it’ll be for your funeral. Because you didn’t get your act together. Because you flipped your truck, or hit something, or maybe because you fell asleep one night and didn’t wake back up or maybe you choked on your own vomit with no one else around to help in enough time. I need you to prove me wrong. Prove me wrong, got it? Because when I leave, there won’t be anyone else but you left.”

But his father’s gaze is too unfocused, eyes blinking close before snapping open again and Paul knows that’s probably no real use. He waits though for a few more seconds, but no intelligible answer comes. So Paul turns, heads back to his room to collect the last remnants of his laundry so that Friday after work he can do laundry. The peppers still have about twenty minutes so that the cheese on top is thoroughly melted. Paul just hopes his father’s managed to catch even the faintest fraction of what Paul is asking for, that there’s enough lucidity that something manages to get through. 

Paul wants to tell his father about the going away party that Sam and Emily have put together on Paul’s behalf. But that might not be worth it either. There may be no actually getting through to his father until his father faced the consequences. Until Paul’s not there anymore to keep everything from falling apart. It hurts, knowing that his father’s fate could be coming at any second and he didn’t seem to care to stop it. 

Paul pauses his hurried clear when the old gray towel swirls in vision and he hears now the ragged breaths he keeps trying to pull in, but his chest is too tight. Would his own desire be pulling the pin on his father’s death? Would it be his father’s blood on Paul’s hands?

Would the answer ever be enough to stop Paul? The question floors him and Paul sits on the bathroom floor, listening to his own wheezy breaths, only broken twice by the shaking sob that cracks through his chest until the kitchen timer shrills through the air of the house. All his tried and true breathing techniques do nothing to stop the truth, the crumbling reality around them now. 

There’s nothing left to stop Paul. And there’s certainly nothing left to stop his father’s own demise. There are immovable forces that have not found their unstoppable objects. 

 It’s a shockingly clear day on the Saturday Paul sets out for this drive. The last of his truck is packed up, with Sam, Embry, Jared, and Emily standing around him. There’s a gentle breeze, but no rain and plenty of sun breaking in through the passing clouds. What his father decides to do or not do won’t stop Paul. He still has a life to live. Paul’s father would have to want to get better himself and though Sam asked--or more like volunteered to keep an eye on his dad--Paul wanted to tell Sam to spend his time more wisely. Instead Paul thanked Sam, but did ensure to tell Sam to not put in more effort than was being shown in return. 

“Call us when you stop along the way for the nights, okay?” Emily breaks through the silence first. She smiles as she makes her request, but it’s wobbly. 

“Em, I will call each time I stop for the night,” Paul returns in a promise. “Don’t worry about me. I turn into a literal wolf.”

“Yeah, but a wolf won’t stop a mechanical problem. Or a wrong turn.”

“I’ve got a map. I studied this route,” Paul reassures before motioning for a hug. Her hug is tight and she shakes, but Paul holds tighter, tries to press into her bones just how safe he will be on this journey.  This isn’t the kind of reaction he anticipated, but Paul knows it’s because she cares. “Now Sam will have to be the first to try all your new recipes, so take it easy on him, alright?”

Emily nods. “When you see her, tell her we love her, okay?”

“I’ll let Maelyn know.”

Paul doesn’t let go until Emily does and when she peels herself away, wiping at her cheeks as she goes, Sam’s there to collect her. Sam looks to Paul, a hand soothing over Emily’s back as he warns, “Take your time on the road. You’ve got a heavy load.”

“I plan to. Thanks.” The bed of the truck is pretty full, but it’s strapped down well, thanks to the makeshift topper they were able to put together with some help of some welders that Tyler knows. Paul has extra straps in his backpack in the cab. He hopes though that he doesn’t need them. 

Embry’s slap against his back isn’t hard, but it’s just enough. “I’ll miss you, man. I’ll have to come visit.”

“That would be nice,” Paul agrees, slipping into Embry’s embrace for a quick hug. 

Jared sends him off with a wave. “Tell us how big the world is. Or at least the states you’ll be crossing,” Jared laughs. 

Paul keeps his word, when he pulls into the motel lots and gets a room, the first thing he does is dial Sam’s and Emily’s. She always answers with his name, like she knows it’s him, or maybe it’s a prayer and thankfully Paul answers. He calls from Portland, Boise, Twin Falls, Salt Lake City, Moab, Albuquerque, Lubbock, and on the last day, when he pulls finally into the parking lot of his apartment on the East side of Austin, with his keys in his hands for his unit, he dials one last time from his cellphone--acquired just a couple days before he took on the week long drive. The call rings once, then twice. 

“Paul?”

“It’s me, Em. I made it to my apartment.” 

“Good, that’s good. I’m sure you’re tired. Have you been able to shop around for a bed yet?”

“I just got the keys. I’m going to take a look around inside, drop off the valuable stuff and clear the bed out then do some shopping around. It’ll come together.” He doesn’t have much time to make it come together. His first day is in a week. But it wouldn’t have to come together all the way. He’d need to take it room by room. Get his bedroom settled first and the kitchen. Then piece together what he can for the living room. 

“If you ever need anything just call us, okay?”

“Will do.”

Paul had a feeling when he called in to inquire about the studio apartment that it probably wasn’t on the best side of town. But there’s an odd comfort watching the hodgepodge, people sitting on their stoops, the blasting of music from the opened window. Sure Paul would keep his wits about him, make sure he wasn’t being taken advantage of, but there’s some pieces of anonymity that would find him here amongst the mixture. 

He secures the ponytail again, his hair still long and confirms the number to his apartment written inside of the folder he was handed after he signed copies of the lease. The two teenage boys scoot just enough for Paul to take the steps up, nodding at his approach. Paul returns the gesture and then carries on up to the end of the first second floor walkway to find his apartment near the back. There isn’t a lot to it. A fridge, the stove, minimal counter space, a microwave. But it’s all Paul’s so that’s the only thing that matters. Paul is here, in Texas, the purple gemstone and all her cards and letters folded up neatly inside of the box--that he’s going to return to Maelyn. 

It takes Paul too many trips, though the two teen boys offer to help Paul, to get the boxes into the apartment. It’s not hard work, but takes coordination to get up the steps given how high Paul makes the stacks. But when the bed is clear, Paul exhales and takes in a survey of the area he has left for the mattress, where and how he can section off the sleeping quarters. Right now Paul does sort of wish he had someone to help him. But perhaps the pieces would all come together once he started getting the furniture. 

Just as Paul figures he could survive on a twin for a little bit longer, given that he already has the sheets for one, a soft knock rings out against his door. It strikes him odd, but he pushes onward and takes a peek out through the peephole. He can just barely see the top of the person’s head, the hair a grayed and white mixture. He cracks open the door and an older woman smiles at him, her face tanned in a way that Paul knows only sun can do. 

“Welcome,” she states. The housecoat is a light blue. Her white sneakers are well worn. Paul should respond but he’s a little shocked by her greeting, as if she waited for his arrival. Her face widens though. “Oh, lo siento,” she starts and then the words fall in rapid succession that Paul understands is in Spanish but he can’t understand what the individual meanings, can’t dissect what she might be attempting to convey to him. He’d barely passed the class in high school and certainly his rudimentary understanding would not ever keep up with her rapid pace--clearly her native tongue. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m not--I don’t speak Spanish. You just shocked me, I’m sorry, ma’am.”

She laughs, the kind of sound that shouldn’t strike Paul’s chest like it does, but he wonders if which apartment is hers, if she has grandkids that will be around. “No, no, no, it’s okay. I just wanted to welcome you. I saw you moving boxes. Figured you were moving in. I’m Gina.”

“Paul,” he returns and then steps aside out of habit. Then he laughs, the action finally catching up with him. “I-I just started to offer a spot inside but I don’t have a spot.”

“Oh, it’s okay. I appreciate it. I’m two doors down from you,” she points and Paul follows the direction for a brief second before nodding. “Now, tell me, if I brought you something, would you eat it? You look healthy, strong, but oh I don’t want to impose you know.”

“I would, but don’t feel like you have. It’s really okay. I appreciate you just here, now, knocking at my door.”

She waves at Paul, laughing again as if he’s somehow lost all his marbles to suggest such a thing. “No, no, don’t flatter me. I’ll be back tomorrow with a little something. Poke me if you need anything okay?”

“Thanks, Mrs. Gina. And I’m supposed to be offering if you need something to get me.”

Gina taps at his forearm, another laugh falling from her. “Handsome devil and polite. Don’t open that box if you don’t mean it. I’ll be knocking.”

“I mean it, so knock. Anytime.”

“Hmm, we’ll see how long that lasts. Now, before I go, you’re not allergic to anything, right?”

Paul shakes his head. “No, no allergies.”

“Good, good. I’ll be seeing you Paul. Tomorrow.”

Paul knows where Maelyn lives at least, in West Austin, relatively close to the campus, and he’s made sure in the week he’s been in town to avoid that side of town as much as possible. Classes are in session that much he knows, but still, during the day when he can, he tries not to be over there if he can’t help it. It helps though that most of this day is spent driving from thrift store to thrift store to furniture store to help get the items he needs. 

He even spends his evenings in Mrs. Gina’s apartment, taking in the photographs she has splayed over her wall--the Virgin Mary and other religious iconography also thrown into the mixture. He spends most evenings helping her with small projects around her apartment, dusting the high to reach shelves and areas for her, pulling out and putting back the tubs of various decor and family heirloom items. Paul learns, as he hangs and rehangs, and rehangs pictures about her only daughter who married and set out behind the husband due to his constant relocations during his extended contract with the Air Force. With them, Mrs. Gina shares, the children go too. So her time with her family is limited, but clearly cherished as she works now to get everything that she needs out for Thanksgiving though it’s still weeks away. Her husband passed away a couple years ago, so now it just leaves her in the apartment. 

“You’re quieter than usual, Paul. Everything okay?”

He has his own countdown, the realization that tomorrow he’ll have to breach the invisible barrier he’s had up for the last eight days now. “You know how you asked why I moved and I told you for a job?”

“Sí, sí, I remember.”

“There’s also someone I moved for, Maelyn. And I’m supposed to meet her tomorrow.”

“Oh, oh,” the understanding dawns and she shuffles over to him, urging him away from his work at the top of her cabinets bringing down the good plates down that she requested and doing a swap so the non essential drinkware and plates are up and out of the way. “Tell me about her, hijo. What is she like?”

The thing about it is that Paul doesn’t know what she’s like now, only knows what Maelyn was like before. “It’s been a while since I’ve actually seen her. But she’s incredible and I’m hoping things go well.”

“They will. They will. Show up with flowers. That’s always a good trick.”

Flowers aren’t a bad idea. Paul marinates on the idea well after he finished helping Mrs. Gina, laying on his full sized bed, staring up at the ceiling, and contemplates the whole night. He had more space than he thought and opted for the full which then needed new sheets, but Mrs. Gina, being the ever present angel in his life, found an old set of full size black and gold ornate bedding she intended to give away and Paul was the perfect candidate. He’d use it for the time being. It may not be his ideal set, but with only the costs of him receiving another two mason jars of pozole and helping with the wobbly dining room table Paul would readily take the bedding. 

By wee early hours of the morning, Paul has a plan: he’ll go for his usual morning run, return home to shower, grab the box, find a floral shop in West Austin, and somewhere in all of that actually eat something too. He’d heard about a deli on that sound of town from a couple of his neighbors, who Paul managed to small chat with when bringing in groceries one day. The deli’s only a few minutes from Maelyn’s apartment, so he could eat and then head to her--enough time to help him build his confidence, but so close that he wouldn’t be able to chicken out at the last minute. Especially if he went to the floral shop first. 

But a late morning start sends Paul spiraling, in all his time contemplating, he watches nearly every hour on the clock pass. By the time he’s up with enough sleep to make him functional, his plan feels like it’s crumbling. It’s still only 9, plenty of time. But Paul rushes to get up and get out of the door for his run. There’s no time limit. Maelyn never said it had to be early in the morning or late at night. She just agreed on the 7th of November. But in Paul’s head, he’d planned to be up early, possibly even call Maelyn before showing up so that they could make a solid plan and make sure that she was actually home and actually still in Texas and still wanted Paul. 

All of which can still happen, but now he feels like he’s scrambling. He calls it quits on his run sooner than normal, but 2.5 miles is better than no miles. Now that panic’s settled in, Paul wonders if he should even go to the floral shop. Not until he at least calls Maelyn, gets confirmation that she’s free to meet today and wants to meet him. He’ll call from the deli, after he’s eaten or while he eats to help him make up for lost time. Because Paul can’t back out now. 

He cannot back out now. So, the plan must change, but that wouldn’t ruin it at all. Changed plans aren’t ruined plans, Paul tells himself. At the light, he feels for the box and it’s still wrapped up in the orange flannel shirt, still there and this can all still happen. 

****************

Maelyn never intended to be working today. She’d instead wanted to be off, be near her phone in case Paul called, if he’d call. But in the midst of her early wake and before delving into her studies, the assistant manager of the deli called--not who she wanted to hear--and asked her to please cover a shift. Megan called out sick and with the impending lunch boom they couldn’t really afford to be short staffed. Though she shouldn’t have gotten the call, Maelyn’s still relatively grateful she did. 

It’s painstaking to sit at her job and watch the clock. But at home she knows she would’ve absolutely gotten no work done. With Alasie gone most of the days on the weekend, still taking any and all shifts at the bookstore, Maelyn’s ability to have distractions would’ve been zero. No distractions would’ve driven her mad, would’ve sent her up the walls of her apartment. So at the very least, here at the deli’s there’s still work--orders to take, orders to serve, customers to greet. 

It’s not as busy as a Saturday can get, but it’s still busy nonetheless. The 8 top is the biggest table yet that Maelyn’s seen or witnessed, but the day is still relatively early, just a little past 11 now. “Hi, my name is Maelyn and I’ll be your server for today,” she greets, pulling out the well practiced smile from all her years of food service. “Can I get you all started on drinks? Or do we still need a minute?”

The drink orders come--lemonade, iced tea, iced tea, water, iced tea, Coke, Sprite, iced tea-- and Maelyn nods. “I’ll be right back with those drinks.”

The iced teas are common and she’s not shocked it’s the majority but as she waits, filling cups with ice, pulling at the drink tabs, she wonders if her phone’s rang. If somewhere in the break room, Paul’s called her and she’s been here, waiting on her third cup of ice tea to fill. With the number of drinks, Maelyn loads up the serving disc, working it up onto her shoulder with ease. “Behind,” she calls out, not wanting to chance for a single second that someone else thinks they’re clear to take that step back and she is directly behind them. 

The front of the house is lively as ever, a chatter that she drowns out, weaving in and around the chairs and people to get to her table. There’s little thought as she slips the tray onto the empty table behind them and starts placing drinks down. She goes in the order in which they rattled them off--lemonade, iced tea, iced tea, water, iced tea, Coke, Sprite, iced tea--so she doesn’t miss anyone and doesn’t mix them up. 

The parking lot’s growing though, when she hazards a glance out of the window. And when she does, he’s there, slipping out of the truck--the same lightly rusted blue one he’s had since Paul got the title signed over to him. Maelyn blinks, once, then twice, a third time. And each time she does, Paul doesn’t disappear from the parking lot. 

Instead he grows closer. 

But she has her table. 

But Paul’s there in the parking lot. 

The orange flannel she reworked for him slipped over his arms. Fits him better now somehow than it did when she first gave it to him. His hair is longer, pulled back now from his face. There’s a scruffy start to a beard decorating his jaw. He looks good, but still like Paul. 

But she has her table. 

“Are-are you ready to order?” Maelyn questions to her table, still glancing out of the window. There’s a grumbled exchange, a mixture of yes’ and no’s. Maelyn can’t believe Paul’s here in Texas. “I can give a few more minutes, would that help?”

There’s a larger consensus yes and the second the group agrees to the extra time, Maelyn nods, sliding the black tray onto the empty table and takes off for the front door. Paul is here, in Texas. He followed just like he said he would. Chosen again, but more than that, more than Paul following through what Maelyn wants is to choose him. Take him back. Because it’s always been Paul. 

“Where are you going?” Charles calls out. 

“Just give me two minutes,” Maelyn hollers back. “Two minutes I swear!”

Just two minutes that’s all she needs. Just two minutes and she takes off into a sprint around the corner, hoping she can beat Paul to the punch. Because he fucking came, traveled all the way from Washington to Texas just for her, and for the life of her, Maelyn can say without a doubt that maybe beyond the imprint there is something more, something better. 

**************

“You have something I’ve been looking for.”

Paul knows that voice anywhere. The voice that’s been playing in the back of his mind for the last three years, but never presently. The same voice he hears when he reads through the cards. The same voice that used to make his innards melt. And still does, even now, three years later. He looks up from the rather crowded insides of the deli, part of him cursing his late start yet again. 

And there’s Maelyn. 

Maelyn looks the same, roughly. The cascading waves of her hair are still short, though the ends are dyed a bright copper color like Shannon used to do. Her nose is pierced, a thin gold hoop hugging her left nostril now. But she still looks like she always did. The same umber brown skin, the sharp eyes. the same. The nose ring fits her face, it’s not too large that it overpowers and it’s not too small that it disappears either. The black t-shirt sports the deli’s logo over the breast pocket. The black apron around her waists tells Paul she is definitely still working, but she’s standing there, in front of him. 

“You came and I really hope you have the thing I’m looking for,” she laughs. 

“I told you I would,” Paul returns, reaching into the pocket of his jeans--the good pair of jeans that he owns, not his work pants that are dusty and worse for wear. His hands shake, as he opens the box, to prove that he’d meant it when he begged to have permission to follow behind her. 

Paul imagined that he’d have to find her, convince Maelyn to meet with him again. But like magic, she materialized. She rounded that corner. She appeared in front of him. She’d asked him about the gemstone. Chosen--that’s what it is. She’s chosen him, even though it may not be perfect or may not always be perfect in the future. 

Maelyn’s chosen his back. 

The gem rattles in the box but Paul finally get the top free and there still resting like it has been for the last three years-save for the times Paul’s polished it--is the amethyst gemstone. “Can I?” he asks, gesturing to the chain still around her neck. 

Maelyn nods, slipping the chain off. Paul doesn’t miss the ice cream charm still hanging. Though, he’s not shocked that it hasn’t changed. Jacob would always be important to Maelyn in respects that Paul would never be jealous of, not anymore. Paul threads the gem back through, careful to make sure the moon will face the right way on her once it’s on again.

She even smells the same--that freshly cut grass smell low underneath the smell of the oil from the food cooked around her. Maelyn spins back around to face him--the two of them nearly perfectly matched in height--Paul’s boots give him an inch of advantage but none of that seemingly matters when Maelyn closes the gap, runs her palm over his cheek and laughs. Paul’s knees nearly give out at the touch. 

Before it’d felt off, not complete in the way Paul knew it used to feel. But now Paul can’t imagine how that might’ve happened. It’s still different, not like it used to be, but it’s comforting. It strikes at Paul’s core in a way so familiar that words like right and wrong, or complete or not complete are inadequate. Maelyn’s touch feels like a return to home. He feels cradled in the caressed, loved for in a way that’s about him and not what he can do for the other person. It’s love that's not about some sort of genetic code. It’s love out of choice. “That’s a new look.”

Paul rolls his eyes. “Pot meet kettle. I noticed the nose ring and the hair is still short and now dyed. You can’t hide from me.” Because he would always see. He’d always choose to see Maelyn. 

“Fair,” Maelyn laughs. “Fair.” She runs her hand down his chest, as if touching him will keep him from disappearing, but Paul has nowhere else to go. “I have to get back. To work and all, but stay. Eat something. Just please stay. I promise to tell you those stories.”

“Don’t get fired because of me, okay? I’ll stay. For however long you want me to.” Paul doesn’t just mean at the deli, but he can start there. He can start there and together they can build up to something more. 

She takes only a step and then pauses. “Thanks for bringing this back.”

“Always,” Paul returns. “Now, again, do not get fired because of me. I am still too young to be a sugar daddy.”

Her grin is sharp and devious. “But I’m just young enough to be a sugar baby.”

It doesn’t really matter that she’s older, Paul’s unable to hold back the hearty laugh as she leads them both back inside. 

“Mae, you can worry about your love life off the clock.” The man’s shorter than them both, a thick mustache on his upper lip. Paul glances down to the nametag: Charles, Assistant Manager. “And that was longer than two minutes!”

“Please do not have a cow, Charles.” There’s one last squeeze to Paul’s hand before she pulls away. “Put him in my section please, Anna,” Maelyn calls out, going back for a black tray and turns to the rather large table of people with a sincere apology on her face. “So sorry about that. Let me wash my hands and I’ll be right back to get your orders.”

“Do not sit him in her section,” Charles retorts. “No love on the clock.”

Anna, the short woman at the entrance, smiles up at Paul. “Maelyn’s section only has a booth right now, but I like her. So just for one?”

“Uh,” Paul laughs. “Yeah, just me.”

“Excellent. Follow me.”

“This isn’t going to cause trouble now is it?” Paul follows behind Anna, not a full stride so he’s not ahead of her, given the drastic height difference between the two of them. 

“We all give Charles a hard time. Do not fret,” she returns, pushing up the glasses on the bridge of her nose. “He loves us anyhow.” She waves to the booth, slipping the menu onto the tabletop. “Maelyn will be with you shortly.”

Paul slips into the booth. It’s soft and more modern than the booths at Shannon’s diner. He’s not worried about the wait. Maelyn could take as long as she needed. This could take as long as it needed. Time means nothing now. Maelyn returns, pen poised to take orders and Paul finds himself only watching, relieved to spot the purple stone tapping at her chest, matching yet again to the tiger’s eye resting beneath his black t-shirt. 

[mushr00mfriend]

hi!! i have a question about how you have the motivation to write? ive been trying to write my own slenderverse fic and sometimes i just find myself feeling so discouraged because the fandom isnt as active anymore, and i was wondering if youve ever felt that way and how you actively get the motivation to write?

Hello! This is a fantastic question; I'm going to preface my answer by saying that this is my own outlook/opinion as well as mindset, and that it may not work for everyone. Take what you need and leave what you don't.

(also, this got incredibly long. If there's anything I love to do, it's ramble- thus, a readmore)

For direct motivation, here's a few things I do to get in the groove:

- Chapter summaries. Write a paragraph (4-6 sentences) about what you want to see happen in a chapter. Character interactions, thematic elements, foreshadowing, plot movement, etc. Don't go over a paragraph, however, or you'll end up feeling like you've already written it without, you know, writing it. If there's something tasty, reference it rather than write it all out. You'll remember it each time you read the reference and it'll make you want to get it out in its entirety.

- Bounce around. Write some of the first chapter, some of the twentieth. Finish the sixth before the fourth. Don't feel like you have to write it in the order it's gonna be read in; you have all the power as the author to do whatever you want. If you want to write the ending before you've even got the beginning penned, do it.

- Make a list of 'delicious scenes'. These are scenes that are incredibly vivid in your mind, the ones that you really really want to see in your story. Write them down and think about them often. When you feel de-motivated, start on them. 

- In that vein, daydream about what's not being shown in a chapter, or imagine the characters in different situations. They're blorbo from your shows!! Play with them like dolls!! Make em kiss!

- Keep a project on the backburner. When I feel like I don't want to write for one project, I turn to another and work on that one for a bit instead. It keeps me from burning out entirely, but also keeps me writing, which is the most important thing.

You are correct in saying that the fandom isn't super active anymore. It was already simmering down when I had been working through the legacy draft of Delirium, and compared to the monolith it had once been, the community can seem nonexistent in this day and age. I definitely can relate to the discouragement you're feeling - I felt it all the way up until I was just under three-quarters of the way through Delirium, when there were enough consistent readers that I felt I had finally gotten somewhere, carved out my little niche of a community. Looking at the numbers now, you probably wouldn't believe that I suffered a lot with discouragement and de-motivation...

But I did, especially because I tied my self-worth and confidence in my story to how many views and comments it got. I still feel this, especially with other projects, and especially especially if they don't stack up to Delirium. If I were in the same mindset I was at the beginning, I'd even wonder if making Delusion was really a thing I should do, because there's definitely readers who won't be interested in it anymore.

But the thing is, I'm not making it for the readers. I'm making it for me. 

Delirium started out as an homage to the Creepypasta fics I read as a teen, and somewhere along the way became a way for me to vent my frustrations and trauma regarding my personal experiences with the fandom. The most important part of the story is why you're writing it- what are you trying to say? What are you trying to impart? Who are you trying to reach, and what are you trying to tell them?

You have to sit with yourself, and with the concept of the story in your head, and you have to know that you can't make it for anyone but yourself, because you are the most important part of it. You, your feelings about the setting, the characters, the themes and motifs. Your personal reflection of the situations, opinions about the arcs and plot. And yeah, not everyone will vibe with it, but making yourself palatable to everyone will make your work tasteless and unsatisfying. Even if you write for yourself, there will be other's who appreciate it. I promise. The Creepypasta community is diminished, but not gone. Take a scroll through the tags, follow a bunch of creators. There's still people drawing, people writing, and people reading. Your dash will fill up with others who still like it.

If there's one thing I can say right now, if there's one thing you take away from my words, it's that there isn't a number that will make you feel fulfilled. I promise you that the mental ceiling will only increase. You will not find a love for the story in the views, in the favourites, nor in the comments. You need to love the story first- you need to believe in it first. No one else can write the story you want to tell, and no one can write it the way you will.

I'd also say sit with it for a looooooong while. Like, figure out how it ends, find the major plot beats, bullet point the snippets you really want to see, write it halfway, sit on that for a month, then reread and edit it. Delirium is- I just checked it, over eight years in the making, including that legacy draft (which was more of a false start, if anything). You don't necessarily have to take that long- I'm just slow- but make sure you have 80% of it figured out before you go on and post it. If there's anything that kills motivation, it's internalized deadlines when you have no backlog to fall back on. Several of the months-long hiatus' between chapters were because of this. It's also the reason why Delusion isn't being published until next year.

Anyway, this got ramble-y, but I also want you to know that you got this!! I believe in you!! And if/when you ever publish it, please give me a link, I'd love to read it :]

[pantoneyoongi]

the sun & the stars | 03 | kth

title ; the sun & the stars pairing ; taehyung x you

word count ; 5.6k

masterlist | part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | epilogue

description ; 

taehyung’s known you almost his whole life - his sister’s best friend, the girl who invades his home and his life on the daily. you’re the one who gave his sister the nickname ‘sky’ to begin with - and also the one who relented when he whined about it at age five and said okay, you can be the stars, then. 

it’s funny, because to him, you’re just the petty, mischievous neighbor from across the street with a penchant for stealing his snacks. but over the years, you’ve somehow landed yourself a reputation that stretches beyond the 1.5 year age gap he has with you - for someone who generally likes to keep things low key, you sure have a way of drawing attention. 

sky’s friendly, teasing best friend is known for being cold, impassive, and immovable. which is weird, because when he’s around you, all he sees are unabashed grins and terrible jokes. until he realizes maybe he doesn’t know you like he thought he did. maybe they’re right - it just so happens that the walls you throw up around him look a little different from the walls you throw up around everyone else. 

tracklist ; willow - taylor swift, give me your forever - zack tabudlo ft. billkin, limbo - keshi

tags ; college!au, best friend’s little brother!au, childhood friends to lovers, angst, fluff, mentions of absent parents and financial instability, bestie jinyoung!, brief mentions of infidelity, there is tiny tiger!tae support in this but let it be known i am team bear ok 

you’re not sleeping well. 

you hate to admit it, but it’s true. you’d think after working yourself into the goddamn ground you would knock out as soon as you hit the bed, but no. your brain has other plans for you, including ensuring you get no rest even when you do fall asleep. the nightmares don’t even make any sense, they just make you tired by the time your alarm goes off in the morning. 

you know your friends worry about you. they always do. but you can usually keep them at bay, distracted by a grin and a well placed, overly chaotic story told entirely out of proportion to what actually happened. but you must sincerely be starting to look like shit, considering the number of times taehyung has both texted you and told you to your face that people need eight hours of sleep to function, sun. 

yeah, yeah, yeah. hours, shmours. sleep is for the financially stable. 

“jesus christ, y/n!” jinyoung smacks your hand away before you can burn yourself on the boiler. you haven’t been paying attention and you startle at his voice. “are you kidding me?” 

jinyoung’s worry usually comes out as mild aggression. it starts off with sass and ends with frustration, so if he’s halfway to yelling at you, then you’ve already gone too far and will be inevitably subject to jinyoung’s line of questioning. for now, he just stares you down with a pinched expression, like you’ve annoyed him for being too obviously distracted. 

“sorry,” you mutter, rubbing your forehead. you really don’t have much to say for yourself. 

he gives you a long look before tossing you a towel. “we’re talking about this later. finish cleaning up, closing’s in twenty.” 

you don’t argue. with a sigh, you lower your head and start to clean up, wiping down counters and restocking sauces. when you’re done, you find jinyoung leaning against the wall outside the back door, waiting for you. 

in a lot of ways, jinyoung’s a lot like you. not just in the live-to-work, work-to-live sort of way. he’s resilient, from years of having to fend for himself. reclusive, from learning to put his own wants on the backburner just so he can survive. like you, jinyoung puts everyone around him first, and himself last. 

while your childhood friends know that you work probably one job too many, you don’t tell them much about what that really means for you. you don’t tell them about the empty house you went home to as a kid, or the way it feels to look out into a crowd during school events and know your parents won’t be there. you don’t tell them the stress that weighs on you when it comes to managing your finances, how nothing ever feels like it’ll be enough. that the degree you’re studying isn’t because you enjoy it, but because you need it. you need the security it’ll offer you once you have the diploma in your hands. 

sky, taehyung, and jimin’s lives feel so pretty. they glitter, like something out of a movie. you don’t want to disturb the waters. you like the way the light reflects off them. if they know how deep you’re drowning, the glass will shatter, and you think maybe you will, too. 

jinyoung’s different. like you, jinyoung doesn’t live in a romantic movie montage. he’s as cynical as you pretend not to be, but while you live your life in constant states of escapism, jinyoung faces reality head-on. for him, it is what it is. and because he’s a good friend, he forces you to face it too. 

“i heard a rumor,” jinyoung interrupts the silence the two of you have been walking in. you stiffen. jinyoung presses forward. “sounds like namjoon and sky have been getting close these days.” 

jinyoung is one of few people you’ve ever let your guard down around. he knows about your parents, he knows about seokjin, he knows almost everything, and vice versa. it’s easy to rely on each other when the foundation feels like common ground. 

you shrug. “that doesn’t have anything to do with me, jinyoung. i’m her friend, not her keeper.” 

“sure,” jinyoung says agreeably. “but you haven’t said anything about it yet, which means sky didn’t tell you, did she?” 

you really hate that jinyoung knows you so well. 

you purse your lips. “she has every right not to.” 

jinyoung pauses, making you stop beside him. you make the mistake of looking at him, when he says, “you know seokjin wasn’t your fault, right?” 

of course you know. you know, but also, you very much don’t. every logical part of you agrees that seokjin wasn’t your fault, but the guilt caving in on you says otherwise. 

sky didn’t tell you about namjoon. she didn’t tell you, and you get why. it stings a little - it stings a lot - but you understand. you’d want to keep namjoon a secret from yourself too, if you were sky. 

all things considered, you think you got the better end of the seokjin shitshow. which is kind of a pathetic sentence, but it’s also the truth. if two best friends were going to fall for the same dirtbag anyway, you’d argue that the one who got to hold his hand and call him her boyfriend for at least a short stint probably got the lesser of two evils. especially if the other option was having your feelings played perfectly like a puppet on strings. 

seokjin was unfair. unfair to you, but truly, devastatingly unfair to sky. you know he left her with insecurities and you resent that you played a part in it. you hate that he made her feel like she was less than you, somehow. as if sky isn’t the best part of you. 

he made her feel special, just not special enough. he made her feel seen, just not worth being seen with. and he made her feel like the worst kind of friend, for helplessly falling for someone that belonged to somebody else. 

you have no interest in namjoon. it’s not about that. but because of seokjin, some part of sky is still hiding, still scared that she’s not interesting enough. that she’s not worth holding onto, that no one will choose her. 

that they’ll always choose you instead. 

you don’t consider yourself all that special. you’re not nearly as interesting as the rumors make you out to be. and you would never interfere in sky’s relationship, not if he’s good to her. but there’s a reason sky chose not to tell you, and you feel like you can only blame yourself. 

“she’ll tell you,” jinyoung’s gentle, for once. can see the way you’re shaking, scared of losing your best friend because you played a part in making her feel like she wasn’t enough. “hey. she will, sun. on her own time. she’ll tell you everything.” 

you try to smile back. you do. but you really don’t want to fuck this up. sky likes namjoon, and you’re terrified of getting in the way again. 

worse, something more selfish tries to push through the cracks. something that looks a lot like the empty house you used to return to, with all the lights off, and no one to greet you. 

.

.

.

whoever invents teleportation can have your firstborn child. trudging around campus in this weather is starting to get real old, real fast. 

you’re tired. tired enough that your head hangs a little as you walk, dragging your feet down the sidewalk. you should’ve stayed home, skipped lecture. but this professor takes attendance, so you unfortunately don’t have much of a choice. 

you come abruptly to a stop when someone steps in front of you, halting yourself just in time before you can bump into them. you’re about to mouth off at whoever walked directly into your path, but the glare on your face melts right off as soon as you see taehyung’s familiar face before you. 

“oh,” your shoulders lower back down. “tae.” 

he stares at you, long enough that you start to fidget a little under his gaze. taehyung’s always been on the quieter side, preferring to sit on the sidelines and watch rather than be in the midst of it all. so you’ve always filled the space, but the longer he stares at you, the less you seem to know what to say. 

he can tell you’re hesitating. struggling to find something to say to him, looking uncomfortable in your own skin. like you feel bad about something. his gaze softens, and he unwinds his scarf from around his neck, which prompts you back into action. 

“what are you doing?” you ask, taken aback when he wraps the scarf around you instead, fluffing it up so it covers your ears, too. “taehyung?” your voice gets muffled from behind his scarf, and he smiles at that while you blink back at him. 

“keeping you warm,” he says simply, and he can’t see your mouth behind the scarf, but he knows you’re frowning, can tell by the crease you get in your forehead. 

“what about you?” 

he shrugs. “heat rises up.” 

immediately, the tension breaks. you straighten up at his nonsensical answer, “you calling me short?” 

he smirks, and you forget anything that just came out of your mouth. what? what were you yelling at him about? when he bends down to meet your height, you also forget how to breathe. 

“am i wrong?” 

he’s so close that you lose all functioning thought. which is odd, because this is taehyung. but your heart is pounding in your chest and you swallow hard, but you refuse to back down, even when you can feel your cheeks heat up from the way he’s looking at you. 

taehyung doesn’t get like this often. but sometimes he’s cheeky, invades your personal space, reciprocates your affection for him with more than just acknowledging grunts and soft smiles. you might be fine laying your head in his lap, but taehyung usually keeps his hands to himself. on the rare occasions that he doesn’t, you entirely forget how to act. 

sometimes, you forget that taehyung is twenty, and not three anymore. 

a grin escapes him when you have nothing to retort, rendered silent by the quick pace of your heart. he likes that your cheeks are pink and you still look a little defensive but you’re too flustered to say anything. 

he rises back to height, patting you on the head. “you looked cold. keep the scarf, sun. i’ll see you later.”

he wanders off like nothing’s happened, while you try to re-regulate your heart rate. you try to convince yourself that you like the typical taehyung more, the one you can bounce around and annoy and he’ll just stand there, fondly exasperated. 

but the occasional confidence that emerges out of taehyung is the only one that makes your heart stumble in your chest, inexplicably. it’s the taehyung that you’re scared of, but can’t help wanting more of. 

head buzzing with thoughts that never quite take full form in your head, you make your way to class, dazed. 

a faint smile lingers on your face the whole way. 

.

.

.

jinyoung is a good friend. a good guy, in general, which you typically find far and few between. he’s loyal, he’s honest, and he’s genuine. 

“you should just talk to her.” 

he’s also really annoying. 

“i do talk to her.” you move to the next table, setting down the plates and napkins. jinyoung trails after you, setting down utensils. 

“your group chat doesn’t count, sun.” 

you fix him with an unamused look. “i’m just busy. finals are coming up.” 

“and yet somehow, you can still find time to eat with her little brother. how interesting,” jinyoung deadpans, and the nerves run up your spine so fast you don’t have time to hide the flush that goes up your neck to the tip of your ears. 

“that’s different. he’s just a kid,” you argue, and decidedly don’t look at jinyoung, who you’re sure is giving you the don’t bullshit me look. taehyung is just a kid. he’s sky’s kid. kid brother. who is twenty years old. 

exactly. a kid. 

a kid with a really warm scarf that smells nice. like him. like home. 

jinyoung sighs, waving you off. “you know what? we’ll unpack that later. one thing at a time.” 

you try not to feel too relieved that he’s dropping it. feeling relieved means there is something there to think about, and you’d rather literally anything else. 

jinyoung stops you at the next table, dropping his handful of utensils onto its surface. “i’m serious, sun. you know sky. she’s not gonna approach you first, and she’s probably feeling just as bad as you do. do you really wanna drag this out?” 

you chew on your lip. he raises his eyebrows. “sun,” he looks at you pointedly. “exactly how well did that go over for the both of you, last time?” 

(spoiler: poorly. it went very poorly.) 

you slowly narrow your eyes at him. you hand him the plates you’re carrying, and he takes them silently, still waiting for your answer. 

then you throw your hands in the air, stomping your feet away and throwing your head back, grumbling loudly, “fine! i’ll talk to her! i’ll communicate, like the grown adult you keep telling me i have to be!” 

he smiles. 

jinyoung is so annoying. 

.

.

.

you resent jinyoung for having perfectly sound logic. you hate confrontation. 

does it still count as confrontation if you and sky are just laying on the floor, side by side, staring at the ceiling saying nothing? 

for hardwood, your floor is surprisingly comfortable to lay on. both you and sky have pillows tucked under your heads, feet propped up against your bed. you’re both lost deep in your own thoughts, neither of you having said a word since sky got here. 

you wonder which of you will cave first. usually, it’s you. but you feel tongue tied, and no order of words that you rearrange in your head sound right when you think about asking her about namjoon. they all feel accusatory, even when they’re not meant to be. 

but then, as if hearing your thoughts, sky breaks the silence. 

“he’s a good guy, sun.” 

you try not to visibly react. “namjoon?” 

“namjoon,” she confirms. “i’m sorry i didn’t tell you about him.”

this makes you turn your head towards her. she’s still looking up at the ceiling, lower lip drawn into her mouth. she looks nervous, and it tugs at your heartstrings. 

“you’re not obligated to tell me everything, sky.” 

“i know,” she says, finally turning to look at you. “but i do. i tell you everything. but it… it felt good for a little bit. that he was my secret.” 

you stare back at her, trying to understand her. sky’s your every exception. everyone knows it. she’s your best friend. you would give up the world for her, let her get away with anything and everything. because no one’s been there for you like sky has. no one lets you escape the world the way she does, lets you slip into her life and offer everything she has out to you. 

you met sky when you were five. five’s too young an age for your parents not to be home, but that was simply your reality. it was scary to be home alone, but you got used to it eventually. it’s less scary to come home to an empty house if you know you can always walk over to sky’s. 

you never explicitly told her that your parents weren’t ever really home. that they were too busy working, which meant you were often left at sky’s place with your house key slung around your neck. but sky could fit the pieces together eventually, or maybe her parents explained it to her. that sometimes some kids just live life a little differently. some houses don’t glow with the same lights. 

you don’t know. you didn’t ask. it was just mutually understood between the two of you that you were never going to have dinner on the table with both your parents the way sky always did. 

her home was always lit up. warm. there was always life in it, her mom bustling around the house, or her dad grilling something in the backyard. or there was taehyung, trailing after his sister, begging to be a part of your games and play-pretends. 

sky’s never minded sharing. she shared her toys, her stories, her home, her family. with you. you could forget how lonely it was to say good night by yourself because in the mornings you went running over to sky’s. they say you would do anything for sky, but it’s really sky who would give anything for you. without question. 

in high school, that meant hiding how she felt about seokjin because you were too enamored with him to notice. but you’re not in high school anymore. years have passed since seokjin happened, but even healed wounds can still leave scars. 

you and sky are still best friends, but it’s still you who is the reason she has scars to begin with. 

you turn away from her, facing back to the ceiling. “he seems nice, sky.” 

she gives a wry smile. “you met him for two seconds.” 

you make a noise that admittedly sounds uncannily like a wince. “he had good vibes.” 

sky hums. “he does have good vibes.” 

“and he’s very tall.” 

“very tall.” 

“could probably throw me.” 

she laughs. “and me. at the same time.” 

you both burst into laughter at that, sky turning her head back to you again. “i think i like him, sun.” 

you glance at her, see the sincerity in her eyes when she says it. the mix of hope and excitement, the slightest touch of hesitance that comes with a crush, overwhelmed by the exhilaration. she likes him, a lot. it makes you smile. “yeah?” 

she smiles back. “yeah.” 

.

.

.

it’s not something you say out loud, but it is something that’s always been obvious to you: you owe sky everything. you could only get this close to a normal childhood because you had sky. the least you can do is protect her so she doesn’t get hurt. 

the rumors say you’re overprotective, that you don’t let anyone near her, but it’s not true. you know sky lives her own life, that you can’t shield her from everything, but what you can do is keep the persistent, unwanted ones away. you can give your opinion on whether you think the people in sky’s life are genuinely there for her, or to abuse her kindness. but sky’s always made the final decision. whether she keeps someone around or gives you free reign to get creative in keeping someone out of her life, it’s her choice. 

you know what it is you’re really afraid of. of course you want sky and namjoon to work out, to be happy. her entire demeanor shifts when she talks about him, when she so much as thinks of him. it speaks a lot to how safe he makes her feel, how kind he is to her. 

what you’re afraid of anymore isn’t that namjoon will hurt her. what you’re afraid of honestly isn’t even that you’ll cause problems, because you would sooner remove yourself from sky’s life than ruin her happiness. 

which is exactly the issue, isn’t it? 

your mind thunders. 

selfish, selfish, selfish. 

your heart aches. 

lonely, lonely, lonely.

.

.

.

with finals rolling in, your days somehow simultaneously get longer and shorter. you’re up later, you wake earlier, and there’s still not nearly enough hours in the day. 

if the exhaustion was obvious before, you are now currently the definition of it. you feel like you almost constantly have a headache, and you’re so fucking tired you could probably fall asleep walking if you didn’t make enough of an effort to stay awake. 

you haven’t seen any of your friends in days. not sky, not taehyung, not even jimin has popped in to check in in person, and he’s the most likely to actually leave his apartment. everyone is too busy drowning in their own educational misfortunes, though the group chat does ping every so often: 

jimin: do u think i could make it as a stripper

tae: is that not ur current occupation

tae: do u know how many people have told me about seeing your ass

jimin: omg u think im pretty enough to be a stripper? 

tae: campus does 

you: don’t encourage him 

jimin: it’s good money

you: when you develop the coordination to sit in a chair without falling over, lmk 

sky: jimin you can be a stripper on the side. how good are you at biochemistry 

jimin: are u srsly asking the business major how good i am at biochemistry 

but for the most part, it’s silent. maybe distantly you can hear the aggrieved sound jimin makes whenever he opens a textbook, although it’s more likely it’s just the same sound that comes out of your mouth as you trudge out from your closing shift, wishing someone would just carry you home so at least you could take a nap on the trip back. 

your wishes manifest in the shape of one kim taehyung, who has apparently developed the habit of quietly appearing in front of you, without any form of announcement. you’re too tired to care that he seems to be insistent on letting you walk straight into him instead of just informing you of his presence, mumbling a vague apology before you look up and realize that it’s him. “star?” 

you don’t often use the old nickname, but sometimes it just slips out. you do think it suits him. taehyung isn’t really the type to be described as ‘bright’, but you’ve seen the way his eyes light up, and you’ve felt the warmth of his care. he shines in the dark, gentle and comforting. 

you have his scarf wrapped around your neck, and he smiles at the sight. you never gave it back - using the excuse that you didn’t have time to, or that you forgot to bring it every time you saw him - but now that he’s in front of you, you just don’t want to. you like having it with you. 

“hi y/n,” he says, voice a little deeper than usual. it is relatively late at night, and the later it gets, the lower taehyung’s voice seems to get, too. you’ve heard his voice gravely in the mornings, dropping octaves whenever he’s tired, and it startles you every time, especially when it’s your name coming out of his mouth. 

“since when do you use my government name?” you scrunch your nose.

he raises an eyebrow. he looks amused. “am i not supposed to?” 

you deflect, because you don’t actually have a good answer to that. it’s just weird that he didn’t call you sun, and you’re not entirely sure how you feel about the way your name sounds on his lips all of a sudden. “what are you doing here?” 

he shrugs. “was just passing by.” 

you forget the whole your-name-in-his-deep-voice thing. “passing by? here? at 11:30? taehyung, you literally only leave your apartment for class, the library, and if jimin threatens you.” 

he makes a noncommittal noise. “i also leave for food.” 

you wave him off. “whatever.” 

“i can’t just be a good friend and come see you?” 

“not in this weather,” you mutter, shoving your hands into your pockets. the deeper into finals seasons you get, the colder the wind picks up. 

“you do it all the time for sky. i’m just picking up some good habits.” 

you snort. “sky’s my best friend.” 

“what am i?” 

your steps pause. you look at him, and he stops with you, head tilted as he stares back at you. you don’t know what game taehyung’s playing at, but it makes your heart squeeze in your chest. taehyung’s always looked kinda harmless - unruly hair, innocent eyes, open expression. even if he doesn’t smile altogether that often, he doesn’t come off as particularly intimidating. although maybe that has more to do with the fact that you’ve known him your entire life and have witnessed taehyung in a tiger onesie before. 

there’s really nothing less intimidating than a teenaged kim taehyung in a onesie that he trips over because it’s slightly too big. 

but you look at him now, and you give yourself a chance to wonder. wonder when things started to change, when he got taller, broader, more handsome. you’ve noticed it before, of course - the way taehyung can reach the things you can’t, how he hovers over you, how he always feels safe and warm whenever you go in for the occasional hug. 

then there’s the moments when sometimes he leans in a little extra close, the times when his smiles get playful in a way that makes your heart stutter. how he tends to drop by when you’re working, or just before or after so he can walk with you, and you’ve never told him to stop, because you like his company. you like having him nearby, the back of his hand brushing yours. 

but it felt weird to admit it. so you didn’t. you don’t. 

it’s not like you don’t know. taehyung thinks he’s secretive, but you’ve caught the small smiles, the lifted corners of his lips, the way his eyes linger on you a little longer. you know, you just don’t want to. knowing is dangerous. getting close like that is dangerous. letting yourself entertain the thought is dangerous. 

it’s not just that he’s sky’s little brother. that in and of itself is playing with fire; the fallout if things don’t work out between you and taehyung is probably the only thing you want even less to think about than just the idea of falling into him in the first place. 

but you don’t do well with the concept. half of you is too used to relying on yourself; the other half of you knows that you’ve spent a lifetime relying on him. his family. you’ve wormed your way in with the kims, pretending to play house with a family that isn’t yours. no matter how the kims welcome you in as one of their own, you know it isn’t real. it’s all illusion. smoke and mirrors. 

taehyung takes care of you quietly, and the comfort is so relieving you feel like you could sink right into it, safe and sound. the weight on your shoulders lightens so much, you could cry from the lack of pressure. then you return to your world, and reality rips you right out of that safety net. suddenly his constant warmth is a threat, and he’s no longer a hearth, he’s a wildfire, uncontrollable and destructive. 

well, no. taehyung isn’t the destructive one. 

you are. 

so you try your best not to fall into him. not to slip, let him carry you. to not rely on him more than you already have, to not do more than what you can reason off as acceptable. 

you look away from him. “you’re taehyung,” you say lamely, after a too-long pause. you redirect instead. “what are you doing here, for real?” 

he keeps his hands in his coat pockets as the two of you start walking again. he shrugs a little. “you said you were closing today.” he glances around. “it’s dark out.” 

“i can walk myself home, you know.” 

he hums in return. 

the two of you lapse into silence. you find yourself quiet around taehyung more and more often these days, failing to fill the space with aimless stories and light jokes. but you’re tired from work and it’s cold and somehow taehyung makes it feel comfortable. like the silence doesn’t imply loneliness. 

but the thoughts that have been knocking around your head for the past few weeks get louder now that your surroundings are at peace. you don’t know what wills you to say it out loud, but you do. “sky didn’t tell me about namjoon.” 

if taehyung’s surprised you’re telling him this, he does a good job not showing it. he’s quiet for a minute. then, “i know.” 

you stare at the ground. you feel like you should explain yourself, as if there’s something you need to defend. “well, she told me eventually. just not at first.” 

taehyung pauses. you stop with him, a little nervous, though you’re not sure what for. he’s not looking at you at first, but then his gaze slides over to you, unreadable. but his eyes soften, and gently, he repeats, “i know.” 

you hold his gaze. you mull over your thoughts, at the idea of letting him in. letting him hear what it is you want to say. 

you don’t usually tell anyone what you’re thinking. honestly, you don’t even usually let yourself get far enough to have the kind of thoughts worth spilling out to someone like this. maybe if you had a therapist they’d unpack that for you, but you don’t exactly have time for therapy in between the jobs and the not-failing-out-of-college thing. 

taehyung waits patiently. like his sister, he’s always listened to you, no matter how outrageous your commentary gets. but while sky tends to laugh at your excessive monologues, taehyung either stays silent or offers up quick, witty remarks, or quiet, supportive commentary. even when he says nothing, he seems to understand you, just from the way he looks at you. 

you wonder. when, in all the years taehyung has been beside you, did he learn to understand you? 

and when, in all the years you’ve been beside him, did you start to want to let him? 

letting yourself mold and blend into taehyung and sky’s world was one thing. but letting taehyung seep into yours, where the colors dull and gray out, and the lights dim and flicker, is something else entirely. you keep him and all your childhood friends on the other side of the fence. where it’s safe. where things are good. 

but it’s hard to climb back to the side with the weeds, the overgrowth, alone. you get splinters every time, and you peer between the pickets wondering when the fence will be taken down. when you’ll be able to sweep away the imaginary lines you’ve drawn for yourself, when you’ll allow yourself to stand on the side where the grass is greener. 

but even if it’s hard to be alone, it’s harder still to let taehyung step into your world. it’s terrifying. you open your mouth to speak but you keep coming up empty, the words dying on your tongue whenever you exhale. how can you let him carry your burdens? how can you let him see what it’s like on this side of the fence, when he’s always lived across the street? 

everything you want to say keeps fizzling out. you can’t do it. you’ve conditioned yourself to keep quiet. 

but taehyung sees the lost look on your face and softens. he sees the panic start to creep in, your defensive instincts rising back up, and he leans down towards you. “should we follow them around?” 

you blink at him once. twice. then splutter, shoving him back by the shoulder. “what?” 

the amused twinkle in his eyes doesn’t slip by you, or your rapidly weakening heart. “yeah,” he shrugs, dark eyes lit with humor. “hide in the bushes, all that. figure out if he’s a good guy.” 

you scoff, helpless grin spreading across your face. the tension melts off your shoulders just like that. “didn’t take you for that kind of brother, kim taehyung.” 

he glances at you, observes the way you’ve relaxed again, stress erased from your features, if temporarily. he makes a sound in the back of his throat, swaying from side to side. “she’s still my sister,” he says airily, and you bump against his side, smiling affectionately up at him. 

“you’re a good kid, taehyung.” 

he frowns at that. after a half-minute of contemplation, he finally mumbles out, “i’m not a kid,” knowing full well that it makes him sound exactly like a kid. you snort. 

“how long have you been holding that in for?” 

he gives you a sour look. you chuckle, deciding to let him off easy. “you’re a good brother, tae,” you correct. he seems satisfied with your amendment, and you bite your cheek to try and dampen your smile. 

when he drops you off outside your building, you lean up to ruffle his hair and thank him for taking you back. he leans down a little to make it easier for you to reach, but his eyes remain on you, and for a second, your breath escapes you. slowly, you lower your hand back down to your side, fingers curling in shyly. you hold his gaze, unable to look away. 

he doesn’t straighten back up even though you’ve pulled away, just letting the silence sit between you. you’re supposed to say something, anything, but taehyung’s mesmerizing, and you forget all of the supposed-to’s in favor of simply staring back at him, time coming to a momentary standstill. 

distantly, you think it’s odd, but you don’t mind it. you don’t mind staying in this moment, where it’s quiet and peaceful and you don’t have to think about much of anything at all, all your worries winding down when taehyung is around. he smiles at you and your brain kinda just shuts off, focusing only on the pretty curve of his lips. 

“call me whenever you’re working late,” he says, bringing you out of your reverie. “i’ll always walk you home, sun.” 

the words fit into your chest like missing pieces of a puzzle. that’s what being around taehyung feels like, like he’s patching all the holes inside you, slowly building back up the things you thought had worn down beyond repair after years of pressure on your back. he fixes up the lights, repaints the walls, redecorates the shelves. 

that’s why he’s your star, you think. even in the dark, he makes it easy to find your way home. 

masterlist | part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | epilogue