#tadprompts

[ohyangchon]

I like writing weird what-ifs with Secret Forest.

[ohyangchon]

8am - take meds, first meal of the day.

Same as it ever was. There really wasn't any need to rock that boat, Hyunyoung had mused when she'd sat at the table by herself while clicking her syringe in place before flushing it with water to get herself started.

If anything, having this routine fit snugly in between parts of her work day helped with keeping her alert and ready to tackle whatever she needed to. Keeping the schedule the way it was since her conception seemed almost second-nature by this point - an unfortunate reality for someone who needed specific timings to eat, but something she'd taken into stride.

At least she hadn't had to drain the poison sacs on both sides of her neck as much as she used to anymore: whatever had happened in recent times seemed to have calmed the spasms and secretions she often was forced to drain and bottle away, and she could finally focus on having some more energy that wasn't spent on worrying about her throat abruptly closing up on her or having black spots at the corner of her vision.

Jiyoon had woken up at around the same time as she'd begun her bolus feed, having casually rested the tube within reach on a makeshift stand the others had given her so her arm wouldn't have to be forced to stay in a certain, uncomfortable space.

"Mmm, morning," mumbled Jiyoon before Hyunyoung could get a word in, "I don't know how you manage to do it, but you always seem to beat me to being awake when you only have to go to the office at 10...how do you do it?"

"Being hungry helps a lot," quipped Hyunyoung, topping the syringe she was using off with more feed and letting it drain into herself, "My body works like clockwork. It demands the magic liquids that doesn't make it try to poison me twice a day, and then the other magic liquids that makes it stop growling four times a day."

She'd however made an effort to walk towards the kitchen where Jiyoon was preparing...something. It was easier to communicate with her girlfriend when she could see her mouth moving, and if Jiyoon was going the extra mile for her, she didn't see herself being unable to do the same.

Even then, everything just seemed so...messy and distant to her - food.

Breakfast.

Nutrition.

Something, for sure.

The complexity and effort needed to make things that were eventually going to disappear into her mouth seemed like such an abstract and frankly silly concept to Hyunyoung, but seeing people around her enjoying it had brought up a distant wistfulness she didn't think she had in her.

She'd never thought about it - as far as she was concerned, "meals" were two cans of nutrition formula administered into her tube, and while she had sniffed them, she had never taken them directly via mouth. Sure, she drank water regularly and had the very occasional coffee as a treat, but the notion of having to chew and swallow seemed almost like the plot of a horror movie.

At this point, she had noted to herself that eating seemed to be more a social activity than one for sustenance. Jiyoon and her family enjoyed their meals, and Hyunyoung often sat with them at the dinner table, taking her formula while listening to the din of their chatter throughout. They had been curious, but not unkind about it, and she eventually felt comfortable enough to sit with them while they took their meals, just in a different way she did.

As it were, Jiyoon had finished her sandwich, and offered Hyunyoung some of the leftover crust. "Just peanut butter and jelly for today, I'm too lazy for anything else," she complained, before gesturing to the kitchen, "If you want to try making something to blend into your tube, you can just tell me. We can figure something out!"

"That requires bringing the blender out. Short-notice? A bit too much effort," Hyunyoung had scoffed back, topping off her syringe a final time while she strode to the dinner table with Jiyoon, "Besides, wouldn't it defeat the purpose of having the motions done if I just pushed it into my tube like I would with formula? May as well just stick to my balanced diet."

Jiyoon scowled, pulling the empty bottle towards herself and reading the label. "Smells like vanilla," she diagnosed, before putting it away to take a bite from her sandwich, "I feel like if I kept eating the same thing over and over, I'd lose my mind - oh, sorry, that's probably really insensitive for me to say..."

At her fluster, Hyunyoung managed a shrug. "If I could taste them, I'd be more upset. It's just sustenance, nothing crazy - the only way I could make this more exciting is to add snack foods through it instead," she chuckled, though she seemed focused by Jiyoon munching away while having her phone in her free hand (the way people could multitask fascinated her, really).

"Just sustenance," Jiyoon repeated, but shrugged before she said something insensitive, resolving to put her phone away in her pocket, "Whenever you come around to it, then...if anything, you look way better than when you first moved in, so that means I must be doing something right."

"Hard not to feel and look better when there's never a dull moment in this household," Hyunyoung leant forward as much as the stand she was still tethered to would allow, brushing her thumb against Jiyoon's lips, "To be loved is to be changed, haven't you heard?"

Jiyoon rested her hand on Hyunyoung's wrist, the glint in her eyes dancing in delight, "Change does involve at least trying out the things I suggested," she teased, before taking Hyunyoung's hands into hers, "I wish I could kiss you - but instead, I'll settle for this."

Hyunyoung watched Jiyoon tiptoe to the trach tube around her neck, giving it a gentle peck before tilting her head up tauntingly at her, victorious. They could never directly kiss on the lips, not without Hyunyoung unwittingly poisoning Jiyoon in the process, but it seemed Jiyoon had found her middle ground.

"You're going to dirty my speaking valve," Hyunyoung couldn't help but whine, resting her hands now on Jiyoon's shoulders and unable to hide her widening grin, "Aren't you supposed to be going to work?"

Jiyoon adjusted her cap, hiding most of her hair (and cochlear implants) under it. "You're too distracting. How dare you be so pretty," she huffed, lips now upturned in a pout, "Maybe if you weren't so commanding..."

Hyunyoung now had proceeded to turn her girlfriend around to lead her out. "Whatever you say, I don't argue with beautiful women," she had squeaked out, ensuring that Jiyoon couldn't lipread her before finally chucking her outside, "Enjoy work!"

[ohyangchon]

The quartet slept in their shared bed, sprawled out and in all kinds of postures from their late nights.

Jangil, who usually tiptoed into bed after late nights, had been curled to his left side - he'd always rested on his left side to avoid placing pressure on his stump, and he slept with his head on the inner part of his left arm, an unfortunate habit carried over from power naps during long prosecution investigations. Even then, he was peaceful, seemingly for once devoid of his usual schemes.

Dankyung was the first to stir, as always, having kept a rigid schedule since her childhood. She had the choice to gravitate towards Jangil or Jooyoung for warmth, and Jooyoung had been chosen as she untangled herself from the other woman's tangle of limbs before sitting up and giving a stretch from the bed. She slept lightly (being a tactician of an army meant she did not rest often), but she did try, for the sake of her spouses, to avoid disturbing them.

Jooyoung clung to her giant seal plushie, whimpering the moment Dankyung removed herself from her. She had been tightly swaddled into the blanket, squirming slightly while moved before finally settling back in, clearly enjoying her time in her fortress of softness. Out of the lot, she had had the worst time adjusting to sleeping properly, but even while resting, her right hand rested under her pillow where she had a dagger clutched in, almost never able to rest without having some form of resistance available to her.

Separated by a cushioned partition laid Jinhee, who rested with arms to his sides and staring up at the ceiling - while this might seem a deeply uncomfortable way to rest, it had been something he had been very used to, and even as he continued to sleep, the breathing tube in his neck moved rhythmically up and down slightly with a minor wheeze between every breath. Even then, he was made comfortable in the unique medical bed he slept in, with additional pillows cushioning most of his body.

Dankyung often was the first to rise, and she carefully tucked Jooyoung back in before gently moving her away to start her day. She knew how long the bed was from muscle memory, and crawling forward to hop off from it took minimal effort. It hadn't taken her much time to make her way to the kitchen, a room or two away, and start preparing breakfast.

Jooyoung had spent that time patting the empty space to her left and scowling at having no spouse to cuddle. The next best option was Jangil, and she had effortlessly absorbed him into a shared blanket without resistance. They all understood why she did the things she did, and so the others continued to rest while Dankyung spent some quiet time preparing various food she'd retrieved from the fridge.

It hadn't taken long for Jangil too to get up, sliding his leg over to the side of the bed before pulling his cane closer to himself so he could hobble over towards the bathroom to start washing up. Jooyoung, now bereft of her snuggle target, rolled over to start fighting one of the cushioned partitions separating her from Jinhee instead. It was obvious she was clearly unwilling to give up on sleep without a fight.

"Morning," Jangil had wrapped his free arm around Dankyung's waist, "And what is on the menu this morning, beside my beautiful wife?"

"My painfully average husband, if you don't let go," Dankyung did not resist against the firm grip despite her snark, "I just pulled out a few things in the fridge - the Braille label dispenser is really putting in overtime. Some leftover bacon and toast, maybe a few eggs."

"I do like eggs," Jangil kissed her on the neck before finally pulling away, "Let me go wake the others."

He'd retreated to the bedroom again, gently tugging at Jooyoung's seal plush (the only way, they'd learnt, would wake her). Jooyoung whined, clinging tighter to the toy as Jangil continued to tug at it gently to dislodge it from her grasp. "Come on, you gotta wake up," Jangil had sighed, resorting to pushing the plush into her so he could try to retrieve it, "There's eggs and bacon."

"Nuh," Jooyoung pulled away from Jangil, though it was obvious now she was clearly just being petulant, "I want my eggs and bacon in bed. Don't touch my seal, or else I'll bite you."

"I might be into it," Jangil continued to harass the plush, all while avoiding the snapping jaws of his wife trying to find purchase despite her eyes still being closed, "Don't threaten me with a good time."

The quiet puffing across them stopped abruptly, and the far end of the bed contorted to allow Jinhee to sit up. "You all are making such a fuss," he rasped, resting his arms over the cushioned partition as he watched the duo fight in amusement, "Is breakfast ready?"

"Almost!" wafted Dankyung's voice from the kitchen, and Jooyoung tried once again to roll over.

"Morning, handsome," cooed Jangil softly, casually squishing Jooyoung's plush while he leant in, "What brings you here this fine day? Couldn't stop thinking about me, I see."

"Your wife welded my medical bed to yours. I'm being held prisoner within this household," Jinhee frowned, though he rubbed noses with Jangil with quiet amusement, "At least you all feed and clothe me, I could not imagine being trapped here otherwise."

Jangil released Jinhee as he shuffled off to the bathroom on his walker, before once again trying to remove Jooyoung's seal from her - this resulted in her curling further into a ball, cupping her seal inside her doing so. After being snuffled (in which she erupted into bubbles of cheery giggles), Jooyoung too had finally woken up, brushing her hair sleepily while sitting crosslegged in bed.

The quartet eventually gathered for breakfast, exchanging chatter and relaxed discussion on the day ahead. Eventually, everyone went their separate ways - to work, sunbathe or wash the dishes.

[ohyangchon]

For an artist, Jangil could not remember how he had looked like even though he looked at himself daily in the mirror to get dressed for work. He created many works for his adopted family, illustrations of an idyllic life he envisioned, but not once had he been able to craft a self-portrait since he had first picked up that piece of charcoal in therapy so many years ago.

Nobody had really forced him to create it - though it had been admittedly alarming when he had scribbled over any attempt at drawing his own face, frustrated and seemingly struggling to reconcile his adult appearance with his current self. Even now, resting his hand on the canvas, he shut his eyes and tried to sculpt the image from fragmented descriptions and fleeting glances.

Another year had flown by without him noticing. This time, however, he'd moved out of the Lees' estate into a comfortable ground-floor apartment with his two spouses and it had been his first year being somewhat independent since his attempt (had it been twelve years already?), which he relished. He let the quiet scratching of the charcoal against the sheet guide him, not once opening his eyes while his hand flew across the canvas effortlessly.

---

He recalled what Dankyung had said of him when she had carefully touched his face, taking in his features through her hands. "Painfully average," she had snarked to him when he had asked if she found him handsome, but when she had once again traced his features with her fingers patiently, he gained a sudden clarity on how he was presented to her, a jolt he hadn't quite felt before.

Your chin is so sharp, it frames your face surprisingly nicely. Not terribly bushy brows, and your eyes are probably large - double-lids, I reckon. Not a particularly big nose...or mouth, for that matter.

There then came the part where Jooyoung came over to tug at his cheeks, curious at the thought experiment that had been taking place. She had been trying to form a smile, pushing his cheek up with her hands with the same bright stare he remembered falling for the first time they'd met.

It's not that sharp when I squish it like this! Besides, he always smirks, having that neutral look just isn't accurate. You have to smirk at us like you do when you watch us across the room! That way Dankyung can take in your shit-eating grin and know that's how you look at us.

He pulled away, threading his hands into Jooyoung's to stop her from manipulating his face as he once again leant into Dankyung's waiting arms. "Hey now, I'm not taking suggestions at the moment," he remembered scoffing to them then, "This face is priceless, and solely for you both only. Do you know how many employees from Hangjo's marketing department beg me to endorse the products we make on a regular basis? Drink it up. Nobody else gets to be this close to the goods, ok."

----

When he lifted his hand from the canvas, there was a moment's hesitation as he opened his eyes to take in what he had created.

Sure enough, an image of himself was reflected upon it - head slightly arched, eyes closed with a smile that seemed radiant and for once genuinely free. He startled, taking this in for a moment before carefully cleaning up the rest of the sketch almost reverently, as if worried that he would ruin the piece.

A moment or two passed, and then he finally leant back to admire what he'd created, incredulous for a moment before he allowed himself to bury his face into his hands and begin sobbing in relief at his own creation. He felt the warm embrace of his spouses envelope him almost immediately, leaning in at their touch while he curled up deeper with the charcoal to his chest, unable to stop himself from accepting the fact of reconciling himself any further.

[ohyangchon]

He sits in silence, an observer in these family festivities.

It wasn't like Jinhee had a point of reference about Chuseok. His family, scattered to the winds due to their niche being coveted in museums around the world, never made a point to celebrate. After he emancipated himself and left to Korea, he'd never gotten occasions to observe it either - in truth, the last time he'd gone for a Chuseok gathering was more a showing of solidarity on Woojin's suggestion, one he accepted.

Seeing the others playing board games (all the laughing, shouting, the chaos, it warmed him, but also hurt his brain with the volume) made him want to participate less. An unreliable body that tingled constantly with muted pain did not lend well to festivities, he'd found, and a miserable man h like him did not need to encroach on their happiness.

Nevermind that he'd been invited. Setting foot again in the Lees' mansion after so many years was surreal, what with all the adjustments the chairwoman had made for her once-again-living husband - it'd been at least a decade and a half since he'd been a part of their gatherings on that woman's insistence, shadowing her husband and mingling with high society.

He would find himself getting lost in the montage of family photographs that led further up the house - the stern, familiar figure of Lee Changjoon, the smiling visage of Lee Yeonjae, and their daughter Soojung, who seemed chipper despite the weight of what she carried - until a quiet squeak indicated a door had opened near him.

Jinhee raised a brow, accepting the invitation and meeting face to face with the young mistress of the house, seemingly also avoiding such festivities.

"Assemblyman Seok," she greeted, a smile upon her face even as her gaze subtly drifted towards his nosebridge, "It's been a long time since you last visited. What brings you here?"

Not even a mention of how much he'd changed - how pitiful and craven he'd become. He forces a smile at the title, glancing around the comfortable bedroom as he took a seat and put his crutches away. "Associate-- Jangil, he invited me here. He's my boyfriend." A light remark, the truth, drifted from his lips, and Soojung nods without resistance.

"That means aunt Jooyoung and aunt Dankyung are your girlfriends," Soojung inferred, slightly jealously but with a tone that clearly indicated she meant none of that malice, "It means you're Uncle Jinhee again. I remember your stories about your archaeological trips when you came by. Do you still go?"

It's an innocent enough question, but he bristled visibly at it. A retort tore at the base of his throat where the trach (a haunting sign of his failure to end it all) rested - in which world did you think I can still go, but he held his tongue. Why feud with a child? "No. Not after I returned from the last trip," he responded instead, looking to change the subject, "You've grown so big now. The last I saw you, you were barely about to start school."

"I wasn't that small, but you're right," Soojung had strode away to start browsing through some cups to find one with a ear, "I'm happy to see you again, uncle Jinhee. Do you need a cup for your drink? You've been nursing that soju bottle for a long while now."

He startled, looking down at the bottle in his hand - it was true that he'd absently been shuffling around the house, avoiding most of the celebration even despite the drink he'd picked up. He nodded silently, and watched Soojung dispense ice from the cooler in her room to slide it over to him.

"What are you up to now, then? Still studying?" he ventured, before grimacing to himself (gods, he really was getting old, and if it didn't highlight how he was as old as her father, this would've), "I'd assume you'd be inheriting Hangjo once you were of age."

"Nuh-uh," Soojung had sat back down, propping a sketchbook on her lap as she pulled her legs up to hug her knees to start drawing, "Graduated, but teaching art at a small art studio for now. Umma said that I can do whatever I wanted, and that's fine by me."

Interesting. Did they never bring up inheritance? "Your grandfather seemed to beg to differ. Though I suspect he never expected the daughter he looked down on to inherit," he admitted, relaxing slightly knowing he was talking to someone who understood what she meant, "He did enjoy his parties. It was a show of force, to remind people who truly were in control of the government."

"They were loud and boring," Soojung shrugged, even as her eyes followed the papers she was working on, "Do you still do woodworking? I know what happened - I think it would be sad to give up on your craft."

"Life doesn't give you a choice," Jinhee's response was bitter - but when her earnest stare fell upon him once again, he sighed and rested his hands on the cup's side, "I could try. What are you looking for? I should try to get my hands busy too."

"A penguin," Soojung's reply was thoughtless, all while she continued to sketch something unseen.

"Still?" Jinhee scoffed, reaching into his pouch to pull out some whittling tools and a small block of wood, "I should say that I'm surprised here, but I really shouldn't be."

"You've changed, but not really," Soojung's tone remained quiet, almost a nonsequitor punctured by the quiet scratching of her piece of charcoal against the canvas, "There was always a sadness in your eyes. It grew more profound - like appa's did when he began to get depressed - but I see hope in them too now."

Jinhee stiffened, abruptly straightening his posture at the incisive comment. Truly she was Lee Changjoon's crotch spawn, being able to so quickly read people without being entirely offensive doing so. At his silence, Soojung sighed dramatically and dusted the canvas off with her hand, reaching for her eraser to make some edits.

Partway through his whittling, Jinhee had abruptly realised that he'd been roped into an impromptu art trade. Crafty bitch, he'd muttered to himself (was this Lee Yeonjae's handicraft, having a child that seemed almost childishly innocent but trapped people into doing what she wanted?), but he'd by then made a basic shape of a bird, and there was no way he could turn the wood back into a block.

His hands ached and whined, unable to do the complex motions he'd once been so used to. Even then, he persisted, unwilling to transmute a perfect penguin figurine for this woman - if she had to work her part of the trade out, he would too. It had been some time before he had made a crude image of the penguin she was looking for, and once he was done refining the rough edges, Soojung had returned bearing her sketchbook in front of her chest.

"Yay," she cheered, plucking the figurine out of his hands, "I'm going to paint them with acrylics and lacquer. They can live with the rest of my penguins on a shelf, I'd be sure to let them know who made them! Also, here you go."

The paper held his own face - staring off to the side, with every detail clearly outlined despite the stylisation. Even the beaded sections of the strings holding his glasses in place had been carefully added, and he hid a quiet smile to himself. How vile, the way he seemed like now, but who was he to refuse a gift he'd been suckered into accepting?

"Thank you," he managed, rolling the paper up gently with his stiff hands, "I didn't know you enjoyed art trades."

"No, thank you," Soojung returned, placing the penguin on her desk, "I haven't gotten a wooden penguin yet, so I'm happy to receive one! Maybe one day I can make my own penguins through crafting. I've been trying out clay, but that hasn't been working out."

"I work with clay very often. If you want to come by, I can probably show you how to mold a basic one," he found himself offering, before Soojung turned towards the door at the knock.

He watched her exchange conversation with an unseen person before leaving the room - and from the ajar door stood Lee Yeonjae, though visibly dressed down for the quiet occasion and seeming quietly relaxed seeing him.

"Yeonjae," managed Jinhee, eyeing her with curiosity as he continued to sit with the paper in his hands.

"Jinhee," Yeonjae's reply was clipped but seemed almost relieved in some way, "Thanks for keeping Soojung company. I was concerned about what she was up to."

She trotted over, casually pushing one of the penguin cushions aside to take a seat. "When Jangil mentioned inviting you, I was surprised. I didn't think you'd come," admitted Yeonjae, almost in an act of vulnerability, "Happy Chuseok. I hope I've been a good host."

The unspoken apology hung in that balance. "What would Woojin think of me sitting here, cordially chatting with you after everything," he quipped, immediately on the defensive, "Life is fleeting. I've wasted enough time - and you two aren't the subject of my anger. You know why I resent her."

"She's still my friend," Yeonjae sighed, almost like he was forcing her into making a choice, "Don't worry - we've done our house-hopping this year. This is a quiet gathering meant for Soojung primarily, since she doesn't like the ones Father used to host. Better for us anyway."

Jinhee didn't pursue the matter. It was Chuseok after all. "Thank you for inviting me," he managed stiffly, glancing around the room, "I'm...at least relieved Prosecutor-General Lee is unscathed. It always remains refreshing to cross swords with you both in an official capacity."

Yeonjae seemed to relax at this, like a load had been eased from her shoulders. "I'm glad you're not bringing professional hostility into this. And...welcome to the family, if you intend to stay on," she continued, though the gossamer smile she had hid an edge of malice, "I won't abide by anything that befalls Jangil. You should know that."

"I don't intend to," Jinhee smiled a secret smile to himself, quietly victorious despite the threat, "I however intend to make myself comfortable - so, thank you for welcoming me in."

"Great," Yeonjae's smile did not waver as she gestured to them to both leave, "I hope you find what you need here with us then."

An implicit threat - he would never be freed from Hangjo no matter where he fled. He understood now why Young Iljae's daughter had appeared here, and with a sneer, he joined her.

[ohyangchon]

20 Questions

From @cupofteaandstars, thank you!

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 133

2. What's your total AO3 word count? 617,873

What fandoms do you write for?

Gacha games, Pogeymanz but also Kdramas lol

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Offerings to the Adepti, my one Ganqing cuz I wanted disaster platonic lesbians

Blank Space, Ingo-centric fic about him grappling with returning

Migratory, where modern AU Scara gets his ass dribbled by kindness

Rebirth, Ingo again with egg cloning

Moraxcon, my first ever Genshin fic with goofy chill vibes about Keqing hosting a con for her god

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Usually yeah, I want to ensure people have seen it

What is a fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Soon(tm), don't threaten me with a good time

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Anything in Where the Sea Sleeps because Changjae needs to be happy dangit

Do you get hate on fics?

Had someone tag ship hate repeatedly into the Hosplay tag I frequented :)

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Not for anyone's eyes lol

Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Sure, I've done a Secret Forest/Designated Survivor fic, a Secret Forest/Into the Ring fic and a Secret Forest/Equator Man universe. I think Into the Ring (Zoology) was the hardest XD

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yeah and they made it not ace, hate it here

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yeah! My Chisong was translated to Vietnamese :D Loved it

What's your all-time favorite ship?

Changjae, who devastate and complete me constantly. My doomed demis who cannot see anyone else as theirs

What's a wip you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I usually strive to finish my fics but probably Deeper, Deeper, my Chasm-centric Genshin fic I ran out of steam for

What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue and speed! I write fast and have very engaging dialogue choices cuz I love talking and love writing people babble

What are your writing weaknesses?

Proofreading. No beta we die like men

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I've mixed Chinese and Korean into my fics liberally since some things don't translate easily. That's fine as long as it's clear what the meaning is and they aren't code-switching while speaking

First fandom you wrote for?

Pokemon, always and forever

Favorite fic you've written?

I don't pick favourite children cuz I'm a smug asshole who takes pride in everything I write but if I had to choose Sandglass and Sleeping Dogs are tied :)

[ohyangchon]

death comes.

Cross-posted on Ao3 but for the convenience of people who can't use it, I reposted it here.

Stellaron Hunters fluff.

He hadn't been able to feel his left hand for the longest time since the incident. 

Yes, self-healing, or as he argued, "being infected by life", was aggressively helpful, but it also meant that he'd never touched his smithing tools again. 

Once upon a time, he'd been an artisan providing custom weaponry for those who sought to fight the Denizens of Abundance. Dim memories were left of him poring over blueprints, carving prototypes out of wood and testing the weight in his hand, measuring children and adults alike with a gleam that indicated he knew exactly what they would enjoy most. 

After the war, he'd been cast out - or perhaps he himself walked away - and wandered aimlessly until the group named the "Stellaron Hunters" had found him. Thus, here he was in an oversized graphic T-shirt and no pants on, silently eating from a tub of ice-cream in his right hand as he stared at the flashing screen that the girl who only wanted to be called 'Silver Wolf' had dragged him into watching. 

It was a good day with slightly less Mara influence and manageable pain levels, so he'd raided the fridge to bring Wolf her ice-cream, but when she declined ("I need both hands for the boss fight! Or maybe an extra hand for the side console if you really want to be helpful"), he'd resolved to just stare mindlessly at the screen while sitting beside her like a specter. 

"Hey," Wolf had plucked the tin from his hand, "Credit for your thoughts?" 

Children were so nosey. "The usual," he replied listlessly, the gleam of his orange stare falling on the much-smaller woman, "What else do you need to know?" 

"Oh, you know. I was just going through some of the Luofu archives while you and Kafka were busy getting captured," Wolf had began spooning the ice-cream, pulling her knees up to her chest while cupping the tin in between her legs, "Found some stuff about you. Do you want to hear it? Or still a bad subject?" 

His brow raised at this, only a slight and imperceptible tilt of his head indicating his surprise. Trust Wolf to find stuff that were encrypted and buried some hundreds of years back. "Surprise me," he commented lightly, keeping his voice even, "Give me the tin while you look through your phone for details." 

"Mmm, so...a long time ago, your name was--" Wolf had tapped it open and pulled the tin away from him, but when his stare returned to her that indicated it was clearly not what he was looking for, she scrolled down further, "Ah, yes. You made weapons. You were an artisan before you were a swordsman. Famously made a bunch of stuff that even the current General continues to use to this day." 

"Jingyuan," corrected the nameless man, rolling the name off his tongue like acid that lingered a little too long, "He knew everything and stood by instead. Couldn't risk his cushy position in government now for a friend, could he." 

"Sorry for your divorce," Wolf continued to scroll without looking up. 

"It was not--" he found himself raising his voice abruptly, a strange heat that had formed in his ears which seemed almost distant and unfamiliar these days. Wolf glanced over, tilting her head in sarcastic judgment, and he sagged, realising he might have shared too much. 

"Anyway, there were four famous weapons that were out and about, and still see use to this day. A bow, a spear, a glaive and a sword," she continued to add on, ignoring the mild bluster of her companion (or perhaps relishing the rise she got out of him), "So this polycule of yours really got around, huh? And you gave them weapons you made to woo them? That's kind of sexy. Can you make me, Sam and Kafka weapons if we're super friends now? Or do we have to S-rank you to get there?" 

The nameless man attempted to formulate an argument that this was clearly no polycule - all that was left was betrayal and resentment, but he recognised that in order to hate, one had to love first and love deeply. He opted, for the remaining shreds of his dignity and sanity, to remain resolutely silent. 

Even then, his mind lingered on "making the others weapons". "I've discarded that a long time ago. By studying the blade and how it functioned, I became absorbed into being one myself," he attempted to salvage the situation, but watched Wolf tuck her phone back into her coat before...she burst out laughing, curling over her tin so she wouldn't spill it on herself. 

"Oh my aeons. You are sooooo corny about this. Straight out of an IPC soap drama, I swear - no wonder the Xianzhou dramas are always on the old-people rerun slots. Would just admitting that you don't take commissions anymore hurt you more than your chronic pain or something?" she mocked, leaning over to drape one arm over the couch as she turned towards him, "Come on. Show us! It's so boring that you clearly have some sort of super-secret fancy tech squirrelled up your bandages and you're not sharing. You know Kafka and I inside out! Pleaseeeee? Just a little peek?" 

He leant back heavily, squaring his shoulders as he closed his eyes, trying to reach deep into whatever memories he had remaining to formulate a good enough response. "I cannot," he replied, settling on a more straightforward answer, "Not that I hid it. I can no longer do so." 

Wolf almost seemed sad on his behalf, lowering her head towards the tin as she held it with both hands. "Sorry," she managed, suddenly looking chastised, "Like...I'd be bummed if I couldn't hack anymore, either. We can figure something out, right? Technology's so advanced these days. I'm sure if you drew the diagrams and I aether-edited the foundationals, we could make something super cool and amazing!" 

The nameless man scoffed at this. Of course her first thought was to just print weapons out cheaply like they were using a photocopier. "You insult me," he commented, feeling a prick of pride that he knew he hadn't felt in a long time, "If the Shard Blade could be simply replicated through your parlor trick, it would not have survived this many combats by my side." 

"No offense but your Shard Blade is literally a bunch of shards stuck together by superglue," Wolf rolled her eyes, plucking the tin from her legs and getting up, "I'm gonna go do some stretches and download myself into the IPC's shopping branch to lift a couple necessities. You want anything? New buttons for your huge moobs to hold your coat together, painkillers, magazines?" 

At his shrug, she gave a dramatic stretch and walked back into her room. He watched her door close behind her, and leant back heavily on the couch, closing his eyes. 

In his mind's eye, he was back at the Artisanal Commission. The roar of the forge, the tinkering of various rare ores, the shouting of the shifus who were working with their apprentices...the sounds and sights seemed almost like yesterday. 

The hollowness in his chest tightened again. Was it how it felt to miss something so achingly, so much, but be aware it would never be the same again? 

-----

He didn't know how long he'd been sitting alone in the dark until a gentle hand roused him. 

The familiar voice dug into his mind, allowing him some clarity. "Listen to me," Kafka's words wafted through him, "...no, on second thought, cancel that command. Why have you been sitting here without your pants on in the dark? Did you and Wolfie bicker again?" 

"I don't engage in 'bickers'. That is a child. It would be awfully petty of me," He opened an eye, noticing Kafka hang her coat before she turned the lights on, "My pants were in the dryer. Couldn't be bothered to put them on." 

"Couldn't be bothered, or was in too much pain to lift your feet up to do so?" Kafka shook her head, almost like she was admonishing a small child, "My, my. If I wasn't used to you being in various states of undress, I'd be horrified at how ungentlemanly you're acting." 

He offered her a humorless snicker as Kafka brought him a set of shorts, tossing it gently into his face. "I was looking around for some extra ammunition at the discount aisle. Are you sure you don't want a gun on the side as backup? As much as I trust that sword of yours, it really does seem it's seen better days," she commented gently, already pulling his feet out one by one to slide the shorts under them and pull them up to where he could reach. 

"I need no such thing as 'guns'. What a gun does, my blade is swifter," he huffed, having his poor Shard Blade's efficiency questioned for the second time that day, "You and the Wolf both - and to think you dual wield katanas." 

Kafka picked up the magazines strewn across the floor, tutting softly as she tidied the place with her back turned to him. "Having a better pain day than usual, I see," she continued without skipping a beat, "I always thought you seemed very invested in the maintenance of my blades above my firearms. I suppose Wolfie told you why?" 

"Mmm. She found archives she shouldn't have snooped into. Besides, she was wrong. The Shard Blade was never mine to begin with. I crafted it for another...it returned to my hand," he corrected, his memory finally spitting out the piece of information he'd held in, "Surely she already knew who it previously belonged to." 

To that, Kafka shrugged, all while he tugged the shorts on with one hand. "Your left hand. I've hardly if ever seen you use it," she commented in seemingly a nonsequitor, "You should probably get it looked at. Considering how quickly everything else in you seems to reset, it makes no sense that you're still struggling with that section. Don't make me command you to go for another round of medical checkups, because it'll only take a word for Wolfie to make me that appointment under an alias." 

"It'll iron itself out eventually. Give or take a few centuries, probably," He lifted his left arm with his right, letting it flop limply to his side, "Even if I cut it off, it would regrow itself in a few moments. ...perhaps, if I'm desperate enough, I should consider it."

"Aeons. If you keep up with your physical therapy, it should realign itself just fine. I maintain what I said the last time we went for the routine checkups - you hardly take care of yourself, and that's why even despite your self-healing, your body remains in shambles. I needn't remind you that Elio wants us in good condition for when his vision gets realised," Kafka shook her head, mildly amused, "Either way, I thought you might want to try this out now that we're here." 

His eyes trailed to the flat box she carried out, removing what appeared to be some sort of complex-looking brace on it. "What is it," he asked flatly, though his brow remained staunchly raised in wary curiosity at whatever plan Kafka had in mind, "Maybe it's that vacuum cleaner Wolf wanted. She wouldn't shut up about printing her own." 

"Like that would stop her from just illegally downloading a copy for her own use," Kafka measured the brace against his side, "...ah, the measurements are perfect. They advertised it to me as some sort of mobility aid. It'll only allow for some basic movements - lifting your arm up and down, no major exertion or fine motor movements, but it acts as a bridge for physical therapy. Try it." 

"I need not such ingenium technology," he sighed, "It would fail. I thought that was established." 

Kafka sighed again. "Don't make me compel you to put it on," she threatened, though her tone remained friendly, "If it fails, I'll just sue them for an exorbitant profit. You know I just love warranty fraud after all."

"Give me the brace," He reached out his right hand, and Kafka helpfully attached the brace to his left arm, "...hm. Perhaps you can commit some fraud after all." 

"I haven't turned it on, A-ren," scoffed Kafka, tightening the straps before pressing a button and reaching her hand towards him like she was asking a dog to do tricks for her, "Alright, try using your left arm to reach towards me." 

"It isn't going to work," the nameless man grumbled, slapping her hand away with his left hand almost reflexively. 

Silence fell over the room. Kafka stared, almost disappointed that she couldn't claim fraud before brightening visibly seeing progress. "Awesome, that means that you should keep using it!" she chirped, more enthused about finally getting some success, "Once we strengthen it a bit further, we can work on your fingers next." 

He pulled his left arm back, studying his heavily-bandaged digits without having to lift it with his other arm for the first time since his injury. This was clearly some sort of placebo effect, he'd mentally rationalised to himself, before pulling at the straps with his right hand and loosening the brace immediately. 

It was impossible for a husk like him to become this greedy. Simply put, a sinner couldn't dream. 

-----

There was a forge at the basement of the place they usually stayed out of (transitionary, really, moving planet to planet at Elio's orders), or rather some semblence of it. 

He liked to train there at the dead of night where nobody was manning it. Throwing a few coals into the furnace and igniting it, letting it crackle with every stroke of his blade, helped to keep the mara at bay and him to focus. Now, however, it seemed he had something different in mind. 

After Kafka had shown him the brace, he'd brought out some sketching paper - while he was still lucid, he needed to - and began sketching with his right hand, using his left as a paperweight to hold the paper down.

It hadn't taken long for the first prototypes to take form on it, the forms of both their receipents clear in his mind as he finally laid the pencil down and rested his head on its surface. 

A set of katanas, and an armblade that could be easily slipped into a hand-held cannon. 

Yingxing would be toiling at the forge, already gathering the materials needed, taking measurements, cheerfully shaping each blade without much thought and imbuing it with a personal touch that would resonate solely with its wielder. It would have been masterwork (he couldn't settle for less), and more than likely outlast their owners. Eventually, he would have to lay these blades too to rest at their final position, and quietly hope that his blade would find its way there when it finally crept up to him. 

For now, though, the nameless man - Ren - could dream. Even in the deepest throes of his pain, even when his memories dimmed and brightened day after day, perhaps there was something worth holding on. 

He could be selfish. He'd always been rather selfish, he found. Just this once.

[ohyangchon]

For whatever character(s) you want an excuse to talk about:

5. What's the first song that comes to mind when you think about them?

13. What's an emoji, an emoticon and/or any symbol that reminds you of this character or you think the character would use a lot?

23. Favorite picture of this character?

Time to talk about Myron again cuz that's all I ever talk about

What's the first song that comes to mind when you think about them?

Operation Pine Soot from Life Begins and MSR comes to mind because she is a stunted child soldier escapee who lost all semblence of personality in favor of molding herself into whatever she needs to be. She was my challenge in exploring what happens when a wizardly character pursues their discipline at an age where their mind cannot comprehend it (in her case, illusion), and so she's a horrifically depersonalised child that is only really starting to grow up in a safe place now that she's become stronger and unlearning a lot of really poor habits

What's an emoji, an emoticon and/or any symbol that reminds you of this character or you think the character would use a lot?

Considering she does have a modern verse, Myron likes anything that has ":3" in them because she thinks it looks mischievous. She wants to be :3 at people all the time since she's a cat that feels that it is a high honor to be given the :3 emote from her

Favorite picture of this character?

This commission from Niou (yellow_fugitive) I've been very satisfied with! Just a happy person vibing with sweets :D

[ohyangchon]

Desire and Heartbreak for Eury!

What's one thing your OC wants more than anything in the world? Are they open with that desire? Why or why not? What would they do to fulfill it?

Eury's open and honest desire is to solve the ongoing famine in their planet, where no more organic food grows and everything is printed from a food printer or MREs. The concept of such ready-made, low-sustenance food disgusts them gravely, and as an agricultural botanist, they also see their inability to fully solve this crisis as a personal failing on their part. As a pioneer of most if not all plants on their planet, they've been converting other Ferragon to their diet of mushrooms and rearing crops to sustain themselves infinitely, but this has drawn the ire of the other two factions in the planet that see food as something that can be monetised and taxed.

Have they ever had a relationship that ended badly? Experienced some other kind of heartbreak? What happened?

Considering Eury's advanced age, they have had multiple relationships, and even their relationship with Verric had not ended particularly badly - but their biggest loss would have been the Searing, the firestorm that erased all life on the surface of Ferros's surface, cutting them off from their lovers and children completely. Even to this day, Eury had no clue whether their children persist or were all eradicated, something they lack closure over and resent the scientific faction of Citadel for sanctioning this genocide to this day.

[ohyangchon]

Another off-Tumblr ask!

What's one secret your OC never wants anyone to know about them?

Myron's biggest and most damning secret (outside of her being a topaz dragon at this point) is that she still toys a lot with the concept of dying, quietly, away from the people who care about her and want her around. She doesn't believe she's worth the investment, she's in constant pain and everything to her feels far too good to be true.

It could be a trauma response, something she acknowledges even from time to time, but really, in truth she's completed most of what she'd set out to do and "death" to her in other universes outside of her own is rarely if ever permanent. She just gets reset to Faerun, and even when she dies in Faerun, she's so fucking rich and useful there was no reason she wouldn't be brought back to life. It's the concept of living because everyone else needs you, not living because you finally found something worth looking forward to

She devotes her life and time to her children, siblings and spouses because she doesn't see herself as someone with any type of future - she'd rather leave a good legacy as penance for everything she'd done up to that point than die knowing she'd changed nothing in the trajectory of people who desperately need it. There's just this quiet, almost muffled nihilism in the way she carries herself because at this point there just stopped being any stakes in dying

[ohyangchon]

Answered off-Tumblr on request:

Has your OC ever been betrayed by someone they thought they could trust? Has your OC ever betrayed someone who trusted them?

Myron consistently betrayed people she built trust with once she got information out of them. She needed to leave, because she was a shadow never meant to invest emotion in anyone else she wasn't instructed to get close to. She…doesn't dwell on those people, considering to her most if not all adults are made of moving "want something from me" parts and thus has next to nobody she truly invests herself into. Only until now that she's like "nope I don't want now!" and stopped

As for being betrayed by someone she thought she could trust, it would actually be her sister Muirin albeit unwittingly. Muirin is…messed up in the sense that she doesn't understand people and just kept pushing help on Myron when Myron was trying very hard to avoid asking her for help and that it just got suffocating. There's also an underlying sense of betrayal from Myron even though they both were horrifically messed up from imprisonment and suffered - because Muirin was "adopted" after being assaulted in a prosperous city and was able to bury her past, and Myron never truly did.

Their relationship is strained at best because Myron admits she just doesn't recognise her twin anymore. She doesn't know who she even is speaking to sometimes when she sees Muirin, like looking at a funny mirror with her own face on it. It's a mess

[ohyangchon]

guilt and alone for an oc of ur choosing!

What is your OC guilty about? How do they handle their guilt? Do they try to avoid guilt, or do they accept it?

Myron is guilty about a lot of things - she views her existence as something worth being guilty over because as a (now-ex) Red Wizard of Thay her existence is all about bringing suffering and fear to others. She thinks anything befalling her friends or family is inevitably her fault, and usually (perhaps unfortunately) she is right, so she works very hard to keep everyone she loves safe and comfortable as much as possible - and people like her adopted brother Haruuc have caught onto her overwork and intense need for control so they swaddle her aggressively in blankets and plushies to stop her from driving herself into the ground over and over for it :P

How does your OC deal with loneliness? Have they ever been completely alone before? How do they act when there's no one around to see them?

Due to past isolation and trauma, Myron cannot stand being completely alone. She can ignore others and parallel play in the same room as someone without talking to them, but if left completely alone with no way to summon anyone to herself, she begins to crack and eventually becomes instantly suicidal from the crushing helplessness she starts having from being unable to receive human connection. Being tortured in an anti-magic field where she was kept alone and disconnected doesn't help :x

Myron's true self is almost childlike, stripped of all her personas and "conforming to society" masks. She never was allowed to truly form a personality since her past job required her to be completely malleable to suit her superiors, so now at the young, young age of 32 human years, she's finally in a safe enough space to be able to learn how to person and so all her neurodivergence designed around masking perfectly have dropped and she is now a mischievous and sneaky little woman who loves soft plushies and a nice long cuddle with her spouses.

[ohyangchon]

Morgan "Lite" Altea is someone with a weight resting on her shoulders that she really shouldn't have at her age.

Her fathers were good people, if not slightly eccentric - Chrom was sweet, patient and charismatic, a businessman who commanded the attention of so much that one would argue he was a prince. Robin was quiet and awkward, a military man who had worked closely with Chrom when they'd both served briefly during the second World War, and when they had finally gotten together, they had three wonderful children.

What was strange was that they were all named "Morgan", perhaps due to Robin's past and his need to escape his controlling prophet of a father - the ramblings of "truth" and "power" however followed the family despite this deliberate muddling, and Lite found herself leaving to serve in the Afghanistan War, applying her tactician wit to good use inheriting that from her father.

The war came and went. Lite would remain haunted by the lives she had marched to their deaths, and the lives she held in her hands throughout this, and when she had returned, her eyes damaged supposedly beyond repair, she had gotten news of the death of both her brothers, seemingly torn up by an unspeakably horrific beast that had whirlwinded through their family apartment.

By this time, Robin was no longer the father she remembered. He'd shattered from the death of both his sons, and Chrom, as much as he adored his remaining daughter, retired to devote all his time to ensuring Robin didn't run off attempting to seek whatever "truth" he'd glimpsed that fateful night.

Lite exited again, keeping her fathers out of her private life. Her hands, once skilled with a gun, now turned to working with flowers, and she became a florist instead with her pension, discreetly serving poisons to those she despised and those she determined were the root of her family's misery.

Meeting Kieran during mandatory grief counselling was really just the tip of their ill-fated iceberg. They grew closer, then tighter, and finally were irrevocably intertwined as Kieran offered her sight once more - on the account that she marry him to bury the scandal of his past resurfacing. With nothing left to lose, Lite agreed.

Even in her quiet time with Kieran, then Myron, Lite recognised the darkness pursuing all three of them. She understood Myron's unusual survival, and the way Kieran's arms would bleed ichor if he so much as thought of physically harming another with intent, were unusual occurrances. She keeps her sunglasses on, uncertain of what she might confront taking them off.

Lite escapes into the night. She needed answers - and it was time to stop avoiding her questions.

[ohyangchon]

Last Line Tag

Tagged by @theaggresivepacifist, thank you!

Kieran had much to think about after Alex's commitment. It could've been him. Why though? The Fortiers weren't necessarily troubled but he had a reputation to uphold for them. At all costs.

(from an AU of Jangil I’m playing in a tabletop named KULT)

Tagging @rain-hat and whoever wants to do this~

[ohyangchon]

He hadn't been able to walk this steadily, without aid, for years.

It felt like he was compelled to go somewhere, and as he followed the path towards the bright light, he felt almost like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Had he died? It would've been a relief for him if that were true. The warmth that he felt had been so similar to when he'd been lying like a broken marionette on the rubble so long ago. Staring up at the sky overhead, he had then believed that he had broken the chains on himself - before being consumed by sadness once again knowing what he'd callously cast behind.

The light receded, allowing him some clarity at last. The white dragon hunched her back, her blue eyes staring at him as she lowered her snout to his level. She always studied him clinically, with an eye that could only be described as "critical". Perhaps it fascinated her, how often he'd simply walked away from that prophecy, even as she'd consumed his dreams day after day.

It had taken him some time to decide on the matter, in truth. He had always meticulously laid out his plans, moved people into place and ensured that it would run smoothly - whether his presence was needed or not. This, he understood, was an unusual and grave undertaking, something he would not be able to untangle himself from through death.

There was a patience from the wyrm he recognised, something he reckoned came from millenia of existence. Here he was being visited by the embodiment of justice, despite his wretchedness. Perhaps she had been watching his fall from grace this entire time from a distance, unwilling to intervene or fully aware of his control over the matter.

A bitterness bubbled beneath his passive surface at this - he'd never placed faith in divinity, for they seemed to never been watching or protecting those they needed. Even to the end, his master plan had changed nothing. The prosecution remained in its corrupt, broken state, and his supposed death had left him nothing more than a forgotten pariah who'd cracked under its oppressive pressure.

Now though, he'd been offered power. A power to put things right his way. All his years spent toiling away at the bar, working within the confines of what he'd been given yielded barely any results. Perhaps it was true that he had to commit to something more drastic.

It did make him wonder why she hadn't arrived sooner - maybe to the gods, they needed to see someone with his back metaphorically up against the wall to decide to intervene. He clenched his fist, before at last reaching his free hand towards the dragon's snout, resting it onto it as if to tell her his answer.

The transformation was instantaneous, a soul-sundering pain reserved for only the most sinful beings alive as the wyrm greedily consumed him in blue flames. He stood firm at this (he had endured far more pain than this, it was almost laughable), and when the dragon had finally turned into a wisp that slipped into his chest, all that was left in his hands was a humming white orb - one he cradled when he'd jolted awake to reality, still feeling the last prickles of the flames fade from his skin.

He exhaled, feeling the harmless blue wisps exit his mouth before the orb vanished in his hands, sealing his ascension once and for all. Once again, the sky beckoned, the fluffy dusk clouds in the horizon shrouding an otherwise-setting sun.

The specter laughed drily to himself. Once again, he'd discarded his identity to become something bigger than himself - only this time, he had no other path left beyond enforcing justice his own way.

[ohyangchon]

Alistair,

It’s Joel again. Th’ Duke’s goons got their hands on ya, and I was movin’ our shit outta our usual spot ta somewhere less infested - by the time I got there, your place had been trashed and I found ya out like a light in our bedroom.

Navezgane’s finally gone ta hell. I’m settin’ ya up with a doctor pal o’ mine, Jen, th’ next town over and she’d be helpin’ ya relearn th’ ropes while ya recover. I’ve still got crap ta settle - maybe start trackin’ down whoever did this ta ya and teach ‘em a lesson they ain’t ‘bout ta forget. When all this is said and done, I’m ridin’ up on my 4x4 and bringin’ ya home like th’ bride ya deserve ta be. No more fightin’ zombies and runnin’ ‘round like a headless chicken doin’ these dangerous jobs.

P.S. I donated all th’ stuff ya said ta donate ta some o’ th’ survivors that were helpin’ me with errands. Only thing I couldn’t bear ta throw out was that black spear ya so loved. That one’s framed up in my office. Whenever this whole crisis with th’ Duke tides over, feel free ta come pick it up again. It’ll always be yours. ---- The new town was about as quiet as I’d expected it to be.

I’d set up shop next to Jen’s place, considering her interest in seeing my recovery. Learning to reuse the spear again was the first on my agenda (everything seemed scrambled in my head, and I’d pieced together crafting some basic tools through the magazines she’d been providing me), and the comfortable if not smaller grocery store beside her stronghold had been my base of choice.

Even so, occasionally tracing the drops of rain from the attic, I couldn’t help but think of the cabin from time to time.

Alistair’s Cabin. Joel had jokingly named it that, merging my name and the cabin’s together. It had been a little out of the way, but it had been our home. This “Moe’s Grocery” was comfortable enough, but there was just a spark of joy in the place that felt woefully missing without Joel sneaking over through the balcony to tease me about future work.

Of course, I was probably just counting my eggs a little before they hatched. Settling in to the place hadn’t taken much effort, with my scavenging across the mall strip a short walk away yielding well in starting myself off. Jen was a fair employer in what she offered me, and I was certainly relieved to avoid any bears in the vicinity for the time being, yet the emptiness remained.

At the very least, the sleepy town was more forgiving that Navezgane had been. Travelling at night for a quick scavenge saw a few loose zombies but nothing particularly threatening. The most harassment I received these days were the occasional vulture, and perhaps some snakes that lived in the area - more meat wasn’t something I complained about, I’d mused over the grill with Jen one night.

“You’re pretty special, I think,” Jen admitted, dropping off the crafting magazines in my mailbox with a grin, “I’ve never seen Joel stick his head out so much for a survivor like he did for you. He’d rather die than part with his money, but he was rushing you to me promising his entire fortune to keep you safe.”

“I wooed him with shepard’s pie,” I’d joked back, trying to keep matters cool, “Once I gather the ingredients for it, I could probably make you some. Only if you want to visit and take a break from treating people. Take it as thanks for saving me.”

Jen shrugged. “Least I could do. You were one of the best runners in Navezgane. Sadly, a doctor’s duty is never done,” she replied, already leaving as she tossed me a backwards glance, “If you really wanted to help, start donating your extra food tins to us instead. You’ve been growing a robust garden in your backyard - surely you could spare some crops.”

I reddened as she returned, glancing out towards the garden. It was true that I’d started developing a green thumb after coming to town, and the sprawling farm plot of various vegetables and hops were a testament to it. Once upon a time, I’d brewed an almost endless supply of beer, and now I’d been struggling to set up the chemistry station I once had to work the same way it did back inside the cabin. Not that I was lacking time, really.

Gardening took away some of the anxiety I had about how alone the nights stretched on, even if the place hardly attracted attention. While sitting at home waiting for night to pass, I’d taken to reading the various crafting magazines in the area and teaching myself the recipes to recreate some of the machinery I’d left behind in the cabin. It was either that or demolishing cars for spare parts (why were springs so scarce here?) or checking the dew collectors for a fresh water supply to brew drinks with.

For a moment, I could forget the place was less forgiving than Navezgane.