#this reminds me when i was in a group call in this one server

[reinabeestudio]

god i've been laughing so much today i got a headache now

[mischievousmoony]

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚑𝚒𝚛𝚎

𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟷 ⟡ 𝚠𝚎𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚗

⟢ james potter x fem!reader

⟢ summary: modern restaurant au; it's your first day on the job and james is your trainer . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ 2.4k

⟢ warnings/tags: is profanity a tw pls lmk actually, coworker!james, coworker!marauders, accidentally wrote an anxious!reader, trying out that headcannon where remus is a bit of a hothead, only lightly grammar checking this series bc i just wanna have fun w it

⟢ the new hire masterlist ⟡ main masterlist

note: here, bc i gotta chill and write something light for once. i think this will be an ongoing fic. also im not beating the mentioning tea in ever fic allegations anytime soon how does this always happen.

“Welcome in! How many in your party?”

“Oh! No, I’m Y/N. It’s my first day.” Your fingers pitter patter nervously on the host stand.

“You’re the new waitress!” the bubbly hostess exclaims, “I’m Mary! It’s so nice to meet you. Stay right there, I’ll go get the manager.”

She disappears into the busy restaurant, leaving you rocking back and forth on your heels nervously.

Mary, you repeat the name in your mind, recalling what she looked like so that you wouldn’t forget who the name belongs to. You had a thing with learning names—you just hated forgetting them. It felt so humiliating to have to ask someone to remind you of their name. One time, you worked with someone for months and their name lived on the tip of your tongue the entire time. Luckily, they quit before it ever came up.

“There she is! Ready for day one?” The manager, Nate, greeted as he followed Mary back to the host stand.

Not in the slightest. You always hated first days, with all the pressure to make a good impression. Not to mention it’s only the start to the slow climb over the learning curve. You hold out hope that everyone will be as nice as Mary seemed, it would make today a lot easier.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you say, straightening out your black shirt. The dress code for this job was essentially the color black from head to toe. You used the lack of a formal uniform to your advantage, expressing your personal style as much as you could within the confines of business casual.

Nate clapped his hand together, “Right, first up is a tour and introductions. I have all your paperwork already, right? So, after that we’ll get you in an apron and find someone for you to shadow.”

“Sounds good,” you try sounding cheery and excited, only for you to start worrying about whether or not you sound too eager.

“So, front of house is up first. You’ve already met Mary, our lovely hostess—“

Marry wiggles her fingers at you as a playful wave while she takes a phone call, “Yes, we do takeout!”

“You don’t need to worry about the host stand, but I’ll show you the book so you can get a feel for the sections and how we operate. We’ll only give you a small group of tables at first…”

You try to commit everything Nate says to memory, wanting to do well here. You really need this job. Rent isn’t cheap, especially without roommates. And you really don’t want a roommate. Plus this place pays their servers well, so you want to be good at it. You really really need to listen to Nate if you’re gonna be good at this.

But, jeez, Nate seems like he loves to talk. He’s going on and on and on and you’re fighting back a yawn when Mary swoops in like a hero, telling Nate she needs the book back to make a reservation.

“Sure, I think you’ve got the idea of it anyway, right?” Nate asks.

You blink, “Oh, yeah. Sure do!”

Shit, you think. You totally zoned out.

“Great, let me show you to the bar,” Nate says, already walking away.

Another reason why you really want to work here was for the ambiance. It’s a contemporary place with a grungy interior, all while remaining slightly upscale for restaurants in this area. Another upside was the live music. If you’re gonna be working, at least let it be somewhere nice with good music.

“Sirius! New server’s here,” Nate interrupts the bartender who’s in the process of mixing up a cocktail. You introduce yourself with a shy smile as you study him, trying to make a permanent link between his name and face in your mind.

Sirius the bartender—mischievous gray eyes and long black hair. He wears half of it tied up in the back of his head, surly to avoid having it fall in his face while he mixes drinks.

He puts the shaker down and rolls up the sleeves of his satin black dress shirt, “Hey there, doll, y’alright? Natey not being too boring for ya?”

“Alright, back to work, Sirius.” Nate says, sounding snappy.

You follow Nate to the back of the restaurant.

“This is the kitchen—“

“Who the fuck rang in scallops? We’ve been 86 scallops all fucking day.”

“Don’t look at me! Was probably James, the bloody dolt.”

“This seems like a bad time,” Nate spins on his heels and ushers you out of the kitchen quickly, “Whoever trains you will get you acclimated to the kitchen later. That’s Remus, just so you know, head chef.”

You nod, not having anything else to say as you begin to worry everyone won’t be as nice as Mary.

You want to take a moment to commit Remus’ name to memory like you had Sirius and Mary’s, but you only caught a glimpse of him. Still, you were sure you wouldn’t forget who the name belonged to now that you’ve had such a lovely first impression.

Next, Nate takes you down a hall, past the bathrooms, to show you his office and the staff area complete with a rickety table for breaks and some lockers. In the corner are two plastic bins with fading sharpie scrawled across the front of them: CLEAN and DIRTY. Nate reaches into the “clean” bin and picks out a slate gray apron.

He hands it to you, and you try to tie it the way the server in the kitchen had it. Nate starts leading you back out into the dining room as you continue to fiddle with the ties.

As you dart around the restaurant, the “fast-paced environment” detail from the job listing is really starting to materialize, and this was only the tour.

“Right, now where are my bloody servers.” Nate mutters under his breath, “Slacking off by the host stand, of course.”

There’s two servers at the host stand: a girl with red hair hanging in two braids on either side of her face and a tall boy with glasses. They’re huddled with Mary, looking like they’re sharing hot gossip.

You and Nate make it to the host stand at the same time as the other server from the kitchen.

“Hey, team!” Nate says, but it falls on deaf ears.

“Chef’s fuckin’ pissed at you,” she says to Glasses.

“What I do!?” He asks, whipping his body out of the huddle. Mary and the red-haired girl keep talking without him.

“Thinks you rang in some scallops,” she shrugs, blowing a strand of blonde hair out of her face.

“Why would I do that? We’re 86.”

“Yeah, but I forgot,” she says nonchalantly, leaning her back against the host stand.

“And you let him think it was me!?”

“Oh yeah, obviously. Anyway, I should probably go tell my table they’re not getting their scallops.”

“Servers!” Nate interrupts loudly, finally making your four new coworkers quiet down. You feel all eyes suddenly train on you. You smile through the uncomfortable sensation of your stomach lurching.

“We have a new member joining our team today. Please give a warm welcome to Y/N.”

“Hi,” you flash a smile to the new faces in front of you.

“Welcome!” The red-haired girl returns a bright smile of her own, “I’m Lily, I love your earrings.”

“Marlene,” the blonde says plainly.

And finally—

“Hiya, Love. I’m James,” the one with glasses says coolly as he rests an elbow on the host stand. He exudes confidence, and it makes you want to shrink into yourself.

You try to study the three of them to commit names to faces.

Lily—fiery red hair, kind eyes, and a fair complexion with a sprinkling of freckles.

Marlene—you like the way her blonde hair is cut into a shag. She also kind of intimidates you, so you really want to remember her name.

James—glasses, tousled dark hair, very attractive. That last part probably wasn’t a necessary attribute to help you remember his name, but it was true. He has a tall, toned frame that would’ve made him seem intimidating if not for the way his eyes transformed into the physical embodiment of sunshine when he smiled. Were your hands getting sweaty?

“Alright, great. Introductions are done, now I need someone to be a trainer.” Nate claps his hands together, waiting for a volunteer.

“I have to go give a table bad news, so-”

Nate cuts Marlene off before she can hastily run away, “Wasn’t gonna ask you anyway.”

James is eyeing you, sizing you up it seems, when he pipes up, “I’ll do it.”

Marlene snorts. “Weren’t you saying an hour ago that Nate better not dump the-”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Marls,” James says through clenched teeth, glaring sideways at her.

You felt like quitting on the spot, thinking that you were obviously a burden on these people. Being a burden to James, specifically, felt particularly embarrassing. It had your face heating up.

“Great! Thanks James,” Nate says, “Y/N, you’re in good hands. I’ll be in the office if you need anything. The rest of you, get back to work!”

With a reluctant groan from Marlene and a “nice to meet you” from Lily, the small crowd disperses. All except for you and James.

“I’m sorry you got saddled with training me.”

“Aw man, no! Marlene was just-” James cuts himself off with a sigh, “Fine, I didn’t think I’d want to train today. But I changed my mind, so don’t feel like you’re a burden or something, alright?”

James seems pretty genuine, so you digress. Not without a joke first, though.

“Just remember you asked for it later when you get tired of me.”

“I have a feeling that’s not gonna happen,” James says, a certain playfulness dancing in his eyes.

As a new party walks into the restaurant, James leads you toward a nearby order station so that you’ll be out of the way.

“So, you’re gonna wanna forget everything Nate told you,” he says as you walk, “I’m gonna show you how we actually run this place.” He shoots a boyish smirk over his shoulder.

“That shouldn’t be very hard, I don’t think I was awake for any of it,” you admit with a chuckle.

“Ooh, I’m gonna like you!” James swings his body around when you reach the order station, “We love Nate slander here. Behind his back of course.”

“That’s worrisome,” you say, trying to find a comfortable way to lean against the terminal. You end up just standing up straight, “He seemed kind of nice.”

“You ever work in a restaurant before?” James leans toward you, looking coy, and you do your best not to shrink away from him.

“Yeah, I was a hostess.”

“You ever been friends with any of your old managers?”

You think about it for a minute, “No.”

“Exactly,” James leans back and you feel your shoulders relax at once. “He’s alright, but he’s still the boss. Plus, it’s good for server morale to have a common enemy.”

James earns a laugh from you, and he smiles brightly as if it’s the biggest honor.

“So, when do you get off?”

“I’m closing, I think.”

“Nate has you closing on your first shift? Diiiiick move.”

“He asked first and I told him I could handle it.”

“He shouldn’t have asked.” James insists, then he waves it off as if deciding what’s done is done, “That’s alright, you’ll be able to stick with me. But in light of that, I’ll make today easy for you. You can watch while I take orders, and I’ll show you how I ring them all in here,” James pats the POS terminal, “And you can help me get bread and refills out to tables mostly. I won’t make you take orders today ‘coz it’s a bit rowdy in here, but maybe if we’re sat with an easy table we’ll see how you’re feeling.”

You nod along, not having anything to say, not that you had the chance. James is a fast talker and you’re beginning to notice how full of energy he is. It’s a tad amusing, and it’s beginning to show on your face.

“What?” James asks, eyes flicking down to your growing smile.

With a slight shake of your head, you say, “You a big coffee drinker?”

“Y’know, I get that a lot,” James reaches into the underside of the order station, and pulls out a canned beverage, “But I’m partial to these.”

Your face scrunches up as James takes a sip of what you like to call battery acid in a can.

James makes a big show of acting refreshed, emitting a long sigh when the can leaves his lips, “Not your cup of tea, I take it?” James raises an eyebrow.

“My cup of tea would be actual tea. Or coffee-“

“Coffee’s any better?”

“A million times, yes.”

“I beg to differ.”

“You can’t be serious.”

James’ eyes light up like you’ve just handed him a prize, “You’re right, that’s the bartender. ‘Ave you met him?”

It takes you a moment to register what he means, and then you’re rolling your eyes, “Oh, I’m gonna hear that joke a lot from you aren’t I?”

“You’re gonna hear that joke all day from everyone, Love, it’s a house favorite.”

As you’re about to quip back, Lily squeezes between you two to ring in some food.

“James, enough flirting. Some of your tables are starting to look pissed,” she says, tapping on the screen quickly to get the order in.

“I’m not flirting,” James protests, but the wink he shoots you begs to differ.

Lily takes a break from noting modifications for a sandwich order to look at you, “James is always flirting, you’ll learn to ignore him.”

James is looking at you over her shoulder, shaking his head and swirling his index finger by the side of hers, mouthing “she’s crazy.”

As Lily resumes removing tomatoes from the order, she catches James in the act and swats his hand away, “Seriously, James, they’re starting to flag me down because they haven’t seen you in ages.”

James clutches his hand close to his chest. His eyes flit between you and Lily, a mock-horrified look on his face that communicates “see, I told you she’s crazy!”

“Who?” he asks.

“Your tables, you dunce,” Lily hisses, but there are notes of humor in her voice.

James bares his teeth as grimaces and checks his wrist for a watch that doesn’t exist, “Bollocks, look at the time. Come Y/N, I’ll show you how to turn an angry table into a happy one.”

You have to stifle a laugh as you follow James to his tables, mentally adding him to the list of reasons why you really want to work here.

[shikai-the-storyteller]

Who is Vegetta?

Had to wait until my hands stopped shaking for this one, I love Vegetta so much. He was recently — miraculously — announced for the QSMP, so here's a rundown for English fans of both who he is and his lore. 

Vegetta777 is a Spanish Youtuber who is one of, if not THE biggest pillar of the Spanish community. He's been doing content for over 15 years now.

He's the creator of the Karmaland series, which he started when he was around Quackity's age.

I cannot emphasize enough: Vegetta doesn't do series or events or tournaments EVER, so him accepting the invitation is a huge deal. This was his exact commentary on it:

Vegetta: Quackity me invitó hace tiempo y le dije que no suelo entrar a series que yo puedo controlar, pero le he dado ese voto de confianza, además le pregunté como sería la serie porque no quería nada competitivo y quackity me dijo que no me preocupara por nada. [...] Si yo confíe en quackity y él confío en mi para Karmaland pues yo le doy ese voto de confianza para esta serie que está haciendo y además se le veía emocionado al chaval, si te soy sincero, Quackity el hijo de Rubius de cierto modo Translation: Quackity invited me a while ago and I told him that I don't usually enter series that I can't control, but I have given him that vote of confidence, I also asked him how the series would be because I didn't want anything competitive, and Quackity told me not to worry about anything (does this confirm QSMP is an RP server? 🤔) [...] If I trust Quackity and he trusts me for Karmaland, well, I give him that vote of confidence for this series he's doing. And also the boy looked excited, if I'm honest, Quackity's the son of Rubius in a certain way. (🥺💕)

Vegetta is very fond of Quackity after interacting with him in Karmaland 5, and he's spoken multiple times about how much Quackity's impressed him. He also said Quackity will be bigger than him someday :') He's very supportive of the new generation, and he spoke highly of Spreen today too.

Vegetta is one of the most talented Minecraft builders out there, and he's fast

While most of the other Karmaland boys were still living in basic houses, Vegetta built a CASTLE within a super short time

Vegetta loves cats. In Karmaland he had an entire cat rescue with 50+ cats (and yes, he’s named every single one of them). IRL, he shares lots of adorable cat photos and videos. 

His skin, like his name, is based on the Dragon Ball character Vegeta. Vegetta777 is basically the yassified version of Vegeta (just like Phil is the yassified version of Uruhara).

In Karmaland 5, Vegetta was a bit of a wizard, and he had a flock of crows / ravens (remind you of anyone?) 

Vegetta is sometimes called "the father of Minecraft", so many people (myself included) are ESPECIALLY excited to see him and Phil interact because they have a lot of similarities.

Vegetta is one of the heroes of Karmaland and the unofficial leader of their group. In terms of lore, he's essentially a demigod / minor god, though it's not as direct as Sapo  Peta's contact with them.

Vegetta is typically a staunch rule-follower, however, since he's not in control of the series, he said: "I feel like Rubius: 'Let's see what I can do to destroy everything, let's look for all the legal loopholes,' get ready Quackity, I'm the new Rubius!" (LMAO)

Vegetta’s the king of “stay in your own lane” he never gets into drama or gets involved in controversies, he just watches the dumpster fires from the sidelines like the rest of us

He almost never wears a shirt in the series (and honestly? Good for him)

His character is also, canonically, absolutely shredded

It's impossible to talk about Vegetta's lore without also talking about Rubius, so buckle in because this one's a doozy. I can't cover everything without this post becoming longer than it already is, but I'll do my best to summarize what I can:

Starting with Karmaland 4 and continuing into Karmaland 5 and beyond, Rubius and Vegetta have created the world's most torturous slow-burn telenovela-esque love story.

Rubegetta (Rubius x Vegetta) is the most popular Karmaland ship that, to some extent, has become an inside joke between the boys and the community. I'll elaborate on this more in Rubius' post.

To simplify years and years of lore and drama, Rubius and Vegetta love each other, but they are incapable of being in an actual relationship. I've talked about it in depth before, but Vegetta said it best in this metaphor-filled exchange with Sapo Peta and Willy: Sapo Peta: I wanted to ask you about your relationship with that Rubius guy. Vegetta: Oh, yes well Rubius likes to be with me a lot, but at the same time he likes to snack everywhere, and he never finishes eating the morcilla (blood sausage). Sapo Peta: So he rejects you? Vegetta: It's not that he rejects me, it's that it doesn't finish clearing up, you know? We could say that our relationship is like a hamburger. WiIIy: You prepare it and he doesn't eat it. Vegetta: Exactly, he doesn't finish you know?

Or, as another person phrased it:

The fault doesn't just lie with Rubius however; Vegetta himself can be pretty oblivious.

In Karmaland 4, despite the fact Rubius and Vegetta had a kid together and got married, it still didn't resolve anything. As soon as the vows were said and they were married, Rubius revealed it was all just a ploy to get Vegetta's diamonds and immediately asked for a divorce.

You can watch a translated animation of the entire wedding here.

In Karmaland 5, after deciding he'd had enough of Rubius' BS, Vegetta decided to marry someone else (Lolito), but Rubius burst in at the last moment to stop the wedding. We all thought he'd finally confess his love and stop being so emotionally constipated, but instead he proposed to Lolito solely so Vegetta would remain single. (They're a mess, what can I say)

To quote a meme shared by another Spanish fan, Vegetta's reaction to that was basically: “You don’t want me to be with you, and you don’t want me to be with someone else. How miserable do I have to be for you to be happy?”

I do want to emphasize that even though Rubius and Vegetta sometimes have relationship issues / communication issues, it doesn’t diminish their friendship in the slightest. Even after both wedding disasters, they were back to speaking to each other the next week, being flirty and laughing together. Yes, they have issues, but their love for each other remains – despite everything.

(I should also note here that, even while engaged to Lolito, Vegetta was still flirty with Rubius).

Vegetta is very close friends with Luzu, who supported him during the fallout from both failed marriages.

In Karmaland 4, Rubius and Vegetta had a son named Brayan Dobluque (a mix of both their names).

There's too much Rubegetta lore for me to cover everything, but Glay has a massive thread of translated Rubegetta clips I highly recommend watching if you'd like more context.

One clip I recommend is the Meteor date, which is one of the few instances where Rubius is honest vis-à-vis his emotions with Vegetta.

As a whole, their friendship / relationship is a romcom novela for sure, but sometimes they'll catch you off-guard with some romantic BS that'll make your heart ache. They really do love each other; they just don't know how to commit.

Vegetta is bi! (Both real life Vegetta and character Vegetta). Pretty much every single character in Karmaland is on the ‘ol rainbow spectrum somewhere.

Lore aside, I feel like Vegetta, and pretty much all the Karmaland boys in general, have the least machismo (toxic masculinity) I've ever seen. They're all genuinely sweet guys who aren't afraid to be flirty and play gay characters in their queer little telenovela Minecraft series. (With the exception of Willy, who we like to joke is the "token straight friend"). Vegetta's a cool guy, and he's a great addition to the QSMP. I'm excited for you all to meet him!

Other info posts:

Who is Sapo Peta? | Who is Luzu? | Who is Spreen?

[abibliophobiaa]

right where you left me;

chapter two: can i be close to you?

summary: steve harrington is unlucky when it comes to matters of the heart. for years he’s been in love with his best friend, but circumstances have made it impossible for him to make his feelings known. fate seems to have other plans, when you ask him to help you escape your wedding day, with nothing but his hand to hold and a car to drive off in. you suddenly find yourself headed back to hawkins, back to the place that feels so unfamiliar now — back to the place where you first fell in love.

warnings: 18+; smut in later chapters; alcohol mentions; class differences; financial insecurities; purposeful vignette-like/short scenes to cover a larger span of time in this mini-series (11k words).

steve harrington x f!inexperienced!reader || best friends to lovers, mutual pining, second chance romance with the town handyman who lives in a cabin in the woods.

masterlist | previous chapter

——

Those first few days pass in a blur.

You wake, often in Steve’s arms, your bodies coming together like moths to a flame. Like magnets. Neither of you says anything on the matter, merely brushing it off as the typical nature of your friendship.

He readies for the day, you watch him dress and go, and you take it upon yourself to clean up around the cabin in the woods. It’s odd, being that it’s the first time in a few years you have responsibilities like this. If you can call them that. Really, you only want to feel like you’re contributing something to the place you’re currently staying at.

Steve’s been kind enough to uproot his life for you, so it’s the least you can do. And when he comes home later in the evening, he cooks and you sit on the kitchen countertops, talking to him about his day. Soaking up the fact you can spend all this time with him now, without the societal pressures, parties, and social events to weigh you down.

About a week in you decide you want to contribute something. A fact which Steve laughs at, reminding you, “If you’ve forgotten, I want you here. Don’t feel like you need to do that.”

Both of you walk side by side on the sidewalk, him in a sweater and jeans, and you in a pair of newly purchased jeans and a dark knitted sweater. Wind prickles against your cheeks, the puffer vest you’re wearing doing very little to block out the cold. Leaves crunch as you walk, dancing along the streets as people pass on by, kicking them up as they go.

The Hideout comes into view, dim lighting highlighting the ‘Now Hiring’ posted hanging in one of the windows. “It’s like the universe is sending me a sign!” You giggle brightly, hand wrapping around Steve’s wrist like a bracelet, dragging him into the restaurant behind you.

It’s different than you remember. Still that darker interior — all wooden floors, wooden bar, wooden walls. Against the side wall is a sprawling bar top, with steel stools full of patrons sipping on drinks. There are some bent low in conversation, others looking like they’re on first dates, all blushing cheeks and bashful smiles. Others are cheering, wearing jerseys of whatever team they support, likely coming home from a football game.

The dining area is different than you remember too. Wooden chairs around wooden tables, beautiful lighting hanging from above, the room cast in an ethereal glow. From where you're standing you can see families and couples, friend groups and bachelorette celebrations occupying the spaces. Smiling servers and wait staff weave in and out of the aisles, before your gaze swivels to the hostess at the front booth, asking how many in your party.

“Two, please!” you say, leaning into Steve’s shoulder excitedly, giving his hand a squeeze as the woman leads you toward a table near the back of the restaurant, your mind still whirling a bit at how successful Eddie’s place has become. Once seated, you whisper, “This restaurant is insane. Can’t believe this is the same bar.”

Steve nods. “He really did a great job with the place —”

“Says the guy who put together a good chunk of the furniture here,” Eddie teases, placing menus on the table in front of you both. “Fancy seeing you two here. Thought you’d still be holed up in the love shack. Rob's going crazy.”

“I could only take off a few days for the wedding,” Steve reminds him, shoving the older man lightly. “We’re seeing her tomorrow, if you must know.”

“Good, because she’s been parked on my couch the past few nights and Abi and I haven’t had any alone time,” Eddie says with a grumble, but you know there’s no malice there. “Get whatever you want — it’s on the house. My ‘welcome back to Hawkins treat.’”

Eddie moves to leave, but you stop him with a hasty, “The door. It says you’re hiring.”

The man in question turns back around, arms crossing over his chest. His eyes travel up and down your form, a question burgeoning in his gaze, “Yeah, I’m in need of waitresses for the busy season. You keep your tips. Why? Do you need a job?”

You swallow. “I don’t want to mooch off of Steve the whole time I’m here. And I don’t really know what I want to do long term, but I figure I need money to do anything. So…yeah?”

“Then you’re hired.”

Steve grins, but you shake your head. “No, no. I don’t want you to just give me a job. I want an interview, just like anyone else.”

“Okay…” Eddie glances Steve’s way briefly. His best friend only shrugs. “Do you have any customer service experience?”

“I worked at a clothing store in Starcourt?” Before it burned down, obviously.

“How long was that for?” Eddie asks, pulling out a free chair and settling in front of you.

“Few months,” you tell him, and then blurt out, “I also babysat for the Sinclair’s for a bit!”

“You babysat the younger Sinclair?”

“Yeah,” you say, a little quieter this time, not quite sure what he’s getting at.

Erica had been nothing but lovely to you in all the time you babysat her; if not quite a bit sarcastic and oftentimes blunt, but given you’ve spent years in the company of Steve Harrington and Dustin Henderson, it was never anything you couldn’t handle.

“And survived?” Eddie asks.

Steve nods rapidly. “She —”

“Quiet, she’s interviewing.” Eddie raises a hand to silence Steve.

“I…survived…” Your words are quiet, and Eddie leans backward against the frame of the chair, contemplative.

“Abi makes the schedule on Sunday usually.” Tomorrow, then. “I’ll ask her to put you on for Monday, and then we’ll go from there. How does that sound?”

You swallow, a little miffed, brows knit high on your forehead. “That’s…that’s great. Yeah. Monday is good.”

He claps you on the shoulder and ruffles Steve’s hair, grinning at a server that passes by as he shoves his chair back into place with a loud screech against wooden floors. And then he’s off, leaving you to stare across the table at Steve, trying to hide the smile that creeps along your lips at the realization of what just happened seconds ago.

“So…” Steve takes a sip of his drink, grinning ruefully, “that happened. How are you feeling? First job in a few years, yeah?”

“I…I have a job.” Steve bursts out laughing as you nearly topple over the table in pursuit of wrapping your arms around his next. “I have a job!”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he chuckles, sliding a hand over the small of your back, grinning into your cheek. “I'm so proud of you. Think we should order a bottle of wine and celebrate a bit?”

That’s exactly what you end up doing.

——

In the mornings, you and Steve share coffee and breakfast. You’ll take turns cooking. Some days he’ll wake you with coffee in bed, Garfield lounging across your thighs. Others, he’ll stumble into the kitchen, eyes bleary and in search of the coffee pot, while chocolate pancakes cook on the stove.

Those mornings are your favorites, because you’ll often hear him murmuring to himself how much he loves you — and you try to deflect that feeling that crawls up from deep within you, the part of you that craves for him to mean it in the sense that he’s in love with you.

Later, he parts for work and you ready yourself for shifts at Eddie’s restaurant. Which is a learning curve, to say the least. Abi, Eddie’s soon-to-be wife, only laughs as you drop another plate filled with water cups in the back, landing on your butt in the process. A huff pours out of you, just as some of the cooks grin your way, offering condolences for your likely bruised tailbone, and Eddie’s head pops into view, all the dark curls that resist staying put in an elastic spilling around his face. He’s grinning but you’re frustrated, on day seven of utterly making a mess of things.

“It’s really not that bad,” Abi reassures you later that afternoon, your apron draped over your shoulder, punched out for the day. There’s a glass of wine in front of you, but you haven’t really had any of it. “It takes time. You’ll get it.”

“It shouldn’t be this hard.”

And yet it is. For years you’ve lived a life of luxury, shuttered away from society. Work was some lofty idea, left behind after you fled Hawkins. You want to pick up on things, want to be good at them, to make Steve proud. Yet you still struggle, still find yourself doubting your capabilities, wondering what it is Eddie saw in you when he hired you.

That night, Steve and you sit around the coffee table in his living room. You’re wearing a pair of cozy sweatpants and an equally comfortable hoodie and he’s there in that yellow sweater of his you told him to never get rid of. The one that has some holes in it now around the edges, but looks great on him all the same. A puzzle rests on the table in front of you both, the pieces scattered all around the wooden surface. Garfield snoozes on Steve’s lap, curled up onto a tight ball, his purring mixing with the crackling of the burning fire mere feet away.

“I’m proud of you,” Steve says, sipping at the beer on a coaster in front of him. The label is long scratched off, condensation dribbling down in little rivulets against the glass. Confusion pricking, your head tips to the side. “Eddie says you’re doing well at the Hideout.”

“He’s lying to you,” you deadpan, pushing another edge piece into place. “I’m struggling. But Abi says it just takes time. It’s definitely not like working at my old clothing store over at Starcourt.”

An edge of darkness flitters across Steve’s features at the mere mention. It shudders and ripples in the spaces between the two of you. Neither really talks about it all that much, especially now that he and you both had been in extensive therapy for it. And even then, the remembrance stings a bit. The reminder of what that day meant for your friend group. Hadn't then at all really to your detriments, when everything happened as it had. Instead you’d both pushed it away and hopped into Steve’s car some days later, with nothing but a map and some money pooled between the two of you.

But it had been enough. It had been everything. The road. The warmth of summer. The escape. The boy.

Steve’s not a boy now. Hasn’t been for a while, you realize, sitting there and peering into those hazel eyes that almost look like molten honey when the fire dances within their swirling depths. Your fingers reach over and twine with his. Just as they have countless other times, just as they always do. Seeking him. Craving the nearness of him. Comforting him, but also yourself.

A cheek of his twitches. Curls a bit with the softest of smiles. Steve Harrington’s smiles are your favorite. Have always been. They’re the kind that a picture can’t capture, an artist can’t form the likeness of. The only way to contain them is to see them, to bottle them up, to store them away in your heart. Sometimes, when you were younger, you imagined they were special. Meant only for you.

Still do now, if you’re being honest with yourself.

“Nothing is quite like working at Starcourt,” he teases, diverting to humor. You wince a bit at it, fingers around his twitching lightly. “Not everyday someone gets possessed, and you get abducted by Russians, huh? Bet the Hideout will feel like a walk in the park soon in comparison.”

“I hope so,” you mutter, more to yourself than anyone else. “I just don’t want to sit around while I’m staying here. Maybe I’ll…start saving up for my own place? For the time being, at least.”

“Or you could just stay here,” Steve says evenly, free hand stroking over Garfield’s fuzzy head, “I did say you could stay as long as you like. I didn’t just say that to say it. I like having you here. It feels…normal. It feels good. Really good.”

There’s a little rasp to his voice. A brokenness that clings to the edges of his speech. Your fingers tighten further, crawling up onto your knees to settle down at his side, shoulder bumping his as you reach over to place another puzzle piece down in the proper position. He leans his head against your shoulder, forehead shaking back and forth against the fabric of your clothing, and you just know he’s smiling without even seeing his face.

“Okay, okay. But the moment you get sick of me I’m giving you permission to kick me out —”

“Won’t happen,” he assures you, chuckling a bit.

“How can you be so sure?”

“For one, I’ve known you for years already. You clean up after yourself. You’re crazy loud, but we match each other in that, so it’s fine. You’re not bad to share a bed with — although you go all starfish on me in your sleep —”

“I do not!” you exclaim shrilly, cheeks burning up at the notion.

“You do,” he laughs, dragging you closer to him with an arm around your shoulders, “woke up with your drool on my chest the other day.”

“Yeah, because you’re a human furnace!”

“Doesn’t seem like you mind, seeing as you end up on top of m —” He pauses, the puzzle piece you playfully threw at him bouncing off of his cheek and onto the floor with a clatter. Garfield scampers off to eat, likely rolling his eyes at your antics as he goes, the sound of his collar bell jingling drowning out the silence in the room. “You just threw a puzzle piece at me.”

“I did just throw a puzzle piece at you,” you repeat slowly, bursting out into loud, shrieking laughter as Steve rolls you over onto the blankets scattered beneath him on the floor, body caging yours in place.

His fingers twitch along your sides, your body writhing and rolling beneath him, a frantic jostle of your stomach that has his face crashing into your shoulder, his smile warm against the skin of your collarbone.

You’re children again, you think, as your fingers slip under his sweater and pinch at his sides, earning a loud howl from the man. “Geez, not the pinchy fingers.”

“Mercy?”

“Mercy,” he pleads, his fingers pinning your hands at your sides, chest rising and falling rapidly in a direct mirror to your own.

“You look different from this angle.”

As in, your blood heats with it. Heart clangs at the proximity of your hips in relation to his. The way your mind itches and races to know what he’d feel like if he lowered himself a bit, the cradle of your thighs a home to him. He’s breathing heavy, his laughter joyful on your ears, eyes dark as they clash with yours.

“Different how?”

“Not a bad ‘different.’”

Not at all. He looks older now — is older now. His clothes fit differently now. He’s always been fit from basketball and baseball throughout the years. But he fills out his shirts and sweaters differently now. His chest broader, the stitching on his sweater hugging his biceps as they ripple around you — as you’ve seen them in the days since you’ve come back to Hawkins. Working as a carpenter seems to have had its benefits, and you try to not dwell on the fact you’re reaping them now.

His hazel eyes slide over your form searchingly. His chest still rising and falling as your fingers pinch in the yellow sleeve of his sweater, pulling at a thread that spills free from a stitched seam. The sudden shift of your form has your back flaring, right in the middle of your shoulder blades, a wince crossing your features before you can mask it. Worriedly, Steve rolls over onto his side, asking, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

No. Never. “No. Just…not used to carrying as much as I have the past few days, it seems. Pretty sad, isn’t it?”

He rolls his eyes at your self-deprecating remark. Sits up against the couch so his back is against it and pats the ground between his thighs. “Come here.”

“What…?”

“Come here,” he repeats, a little impatiently.

You return his eye roll with one of your own, clambering up and off the ground and into the space between his thighs. There’s little time to worry about the proximity of your spine to the muscular wall of his chest before his fingers are pressing into the curves of your shoulders, rubbing at the tensely corded muscles there.

It’s easy to relax like this. Can’t really think of a time when you last felt so relaxed. Usually you’re under the judgemental stares of dozens of eyes. Those who think they know you, understand you, and yet don’t. Defined by a name you had no name of being born to. It was only by circumstance. But you’ve always felt like yourself around Steve. No need to put on airs, to hold yourself to a certain standard, to lift your head a certain way or say all the right things.

He’s only ever wanted the fullest version of yourself. Probably has been one of the only people to ever understand you in the way you wished others did as well. For years you wondered if people knew you, really knew you, they wouldn’t like what they saw. But sitting here, in this cabin, with this man? You realize you don’t even care. Throw away the rest of the world, and leave Steve behind, and you’d have everything you ever wanted.

“Does this hurt?” he asks, thumb swiping along the top of your spine, right at the dip below your skull, before swiping in an arch along each curve of your shoulders. “I’ll stop if it does.”

“N-no,” you sigh, languid against his frame. “Although, I’m feeling mildly jealous of all those who may have benefited from a massage by Steve Harrington.”

A chuckle rumbles against your back. “Only you, really. In case you forgot, Eddie got me a cat to keep me company.”

A part of you, a very selfish part, rejoices inwardly over his confession. A little victory dance, sending giddy sparks throughout your bloodstream. That giddiness burns molten as Steve pushes the neck of your oversized hoodie down a bit, fingers wrapping around the fullness of your shoulder, tips of them dipping below your collarbone.

It’s a not at all sensual touch — and yet it has heat pooling between your thighs, has you biting back a quiet moan that inches up your throat, reminding you of the mere fact that it’s been a couple of years since being with anyone sexually coupled with the fact you’ve spent the past few days pressed up against the only one you’ve ever been in love with at night.

That’s all it is. The only thing that has you melting further against him, humming pleasantly as elusive sleep tugs you closer and closer into its comforting embrace. After a while, you’re not sure how long really, Steve’s arms start to slide around your waist, his chin against your shoulder, the sound of his comforting breathing a welcoming metronome against your ear. Your fingers reach up and slide into the holes of his sweater, brushing along the dark hairs you know line his forearms, lulling you and him into further rest. To anyone else, you know what the scene looks like: two people, intimately knowing one another, cuddling. Broken away from the rest of the world and into one of their own. To you, you know it’s another normal afternoon with the man.

And yet, your eyes lock with the dying embers crackling in the fireplace, wondering if it could ever be different. If only one of you were brave enough to broach the conversation, to see if the feelings are reciprocated, if now is finally the time to take a chance. A leap. To dare to dream a little. A silly, childhood dream that seems so insurmountable. Still, you crave it more than anything else.

You breathe in deeply, Steve’s arms tightening around your waist. His heavy, rhythmic breathing lets you know he’s fallen asleep now. Your fingers stroke along his arm again, a comfort to him but also you, and you finally close your eyes.

You rest, that question in your mind dying with the firelight.

——

“Monster Mash” blares from a speaker somewhere in the distance. Drowns out the chatter of those downstairs as you put on the finishing touches of yours, El’s and Max’s Halloween costume.

“Wednesday Addams again?” Max muses, pointing to the costume you managed to put together in a couple of hours, not knowing until the last minute you were going to a party to begin with. You’d also been Wednesday the last time you’d been living in Hawkins for the holiday.

You’re presently smudging red lines near the bottom of her jaw, adding little droplets of blood when and where needed. El is beside her, looking very much like a mummy.

“Hey?” Steve appears in the doorway. The hottest Danny Zuko you’d ever seen. You’d never admit that, though. “I don’t mean to interrupt but, uh —”

“Just finishing up,” you tell him softly, smiling appreciatively at the way his eyes roam your form swathed in black, “we’ll be down in a minute.”

Steve smiles and jogs down the stairs, leaving you standing in the bathroom once more with the girls, chewing on your bottom lip and likely smudging the dark lipstick you’d slapped on.

“I guess some things never change,” Max adds, beaming mischievously when your fingers stutter over her jaw, “still pining over Harrington.”

“I do not pine!”

“You pine,” Max giggles, blue eyes sparkling in her mirth as they glances to El for support, “She pines, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah,” El mutters, a bit more shyly than her best friend, “you pine.”

“Well I didn’t take Max Mayfield and El Hopper to be gossips,” you snark, dabbing a little red lipstick on Max’s pouty lips, voice taking on a higher pitch.

“It’s been, what? Almost ten years of you pining after him?” Max wiggles her shoulders, smirking when you glare at her.

“You were practically an infant then,” you balk, cheeks burning along with your chest, “not even in Hawkins.”

“Yeah…but…” El begins, tucking a hair behind her ears, “it’s kind of…obvious?”

“You two are lucky you’re my favorites of the children.” Though now, with them graduating this year, it feels weird to call them that.

“He pines too,” Max adds. “Right?”

El grins. “Definitely.”

“Is that so…?” You grin, a little rueful, hope blooming in your chest. “Tell me m —”

“Well look at this little band of creepy folk,” Argyle drawls from the doorway, shiny hair falling down around him in a halo, his Michael Myers mask dangling from his hand. “Don’t wanna interrupt this little gathering, but you know…”

——

As the Halloween buzz dies down around work and town, the frigid streets become full of the changing seasons. Leaves fall everywhere you go. Bursts of orange, yellow, red and gold swirl around busy side streets, packed with those investigating local farmer’s markets and slipping in and out of family owned businesses to purchase gifts to get ahead of the holiday season.

The Hideout becomes busier in those weeks. Countless patrons fill your stations, back screaming and head spinning by the time you end your shifts. That day in particular, you stand behind the bar with Abi, chugging down a glass of water she poured you before stripping your apron from around your hips.

“Did well in tips, it looks like,” she points out, gesturing to the wad of cash you promptly stuff into the pocket of your jeans. “Told you you’d get better.”

It also helps that you had multiple larger parties that evening, all of which were more than happy to pay a little extra once they’d gotten a second and third round of beer in them. Though you didn’t really appreciate the way one in particular had slipped his phone number, writing ‘for a good time call.’ You’d chucked that into the garbage with a huff, making sure to toss a wide grin over your shoulder as they later slipped out of the restaurant and he waggled his fingers near his ear in the shape of a telephone, as though you were going to run home and reach out.

“I told Steve I was going to make us dinner since he’s working late on a job, so I’m going to head out.” You huff out a breath, staring up at the clock that reads seven. “Though I think I’m going to need to grab caffeine. I don’t think I sat down once today.”

“Get out of here!” Eddie shouts, sneaking over to loop an arm around Abi’s shoulder, pressing a kiss to her temple. Something like longing bubbles up in your stomach at the sight, the craving for what they have simmering with it. “Or else you’re fired. You’ve worked late every day this week. If you get sick, that’s on you.”

“Fine!” Your hands wave in front of you in defeat, waving to the two of them as you slip out the front doors of the restaurant and onto the sidewalk.

At this time of evening, those wandering the streets are quieter. Bags full of goodies from their excursions. You tug your jacket tighter to yourself as you slip on by, waving to those who have started to become normal faces once more over the weeks in Hawkins. They wave back, grinning like they used to. Greeting you like you hadn’t been gone for three years.

It's strange to think of being gone now.

Strange to think of leaving again.

You find you don’t want to leave again.

And fortunately, no one from home has tried to make an effort to bring you back to the city kicking and screaming. Part of that is by design — leaving no way for them to contact you in the first place. No one knows you’re staying with Steve. No one really even knows where Steve is these days, given he’s not been in contact with his family since they left in 1986 as it is.

You want to keep it that way.

Smiling to yourself, you slip in through the front door of Hawkin’s Brew, a little family run coffee shop that sits a few doors down from your job, smelling like cinnamon and spices, and the freshly brewed coffee you can see percolating over the countertop.

A new barista lifts her head up over the counter. All wavy blonde hair that reminds you of a mermaid and sparkling green eyes around a pair of thick lashes anyone would die for. Gorgeous, she’s absolutely gorgeous and you definitely would have remembered her face if she’d been there before.

“Hiya!” she greets, beaming widely, revealing a glowing set of white teeth that flash in your vision. “You look confused. My mom, Mary Jo, is usually here with my dad. But mom wasn’t feeling well, and I’d finished up at the preschool, so I’m here to help. I don’t think I’ve seen you around. I’m Lucy!”

You offer your name and a soft ‘hi,’ still a little startled by the exuberant greeting. “Nice to meet you, Lucy. Sorry to hear about Mary Jo. I hope she starts to feel better soon.”

Lucy leans her elbow against the counter, and you can’t help but admire the cream colored chunky knit sweater she’s wearing with a flowing skirt to finish off the look. It looks effortless on her.

“What can I get you today?”

“A hot coffee, cream two sugars please,” you tell her, and she gets to work behind the counter.

Out of the corner of your eye you notice Steve’s truck he uses for work, the back full of leftover lumber.

“Oh, Steve’s here?” Lucy says, sounding a little faraway. Contrast to the ball of excitement she’s been since you walked in. “You know, he’s a confusing one, that guy.”

“Is he?” You laugh, watching as he rummages around his front passenger seat.

“Ever since the earthquake, he’s been giving up so much of himself. Charity, taking up the basketball team at the high school, helping out around town. Did you know he helped my parents build a shed last summer? By hand?” Her voice trails off, and that smile of hers grows once more, like she’s stuck in a far off memory. “And he’s handsome. Single. Yet he doesn’t date. Not really. It’s so…strange? But whoever he marries — they’re gonna be a lucky one.”

“Yeah…” Your brows furrow at her words.

Steve, your Steve, is something of a hero to these people. He’s your hero too, but it twinges in your chest hearing it from someone else. For so long he’d been yours, but now, it seems, he’s needed around here. Admired. Loved. And you’ve missed so much of it in running away. Time you’ll never get back.

He’s changed. You just never realized how much. An ache builds in your heart, wondering if maybe you’re too different now from who you both were years ago.

The man in question hops out of the vehicle, fingers carding through his hair as he gazes into the coffee shop, immediately lighting up when he sees you.

“Do you know him?” Lucy asks, voice raising in pitch as she hands you your coffee and you toss your bills onto the counter.

“Yeah,” you say, sipping at the coffee, “he’s been my best friend for years. I’m staying with him for the time being, actually.”

“Oh!” Lucy perks up, chewing her bottom lip. “So you’re the one he’s so —”

As your mouth opens to ask what Lucy means, Steve walks in. He immediately commands the attention of the shop, both yours and Lucy’s stares drawn to him as he slides an arm around your waist and tugs you against his side, oblivious to what he’s interrupted.

“I was going to grab you some coffee,” he says, fingers squeezing a bit at your side. He notices Lucy then. “Hey, Luce.”

Luce.

Familiar.

Jealousy burns. You try to tamper it down, to pretend the unspoken words between them don’t matter to you. But there are a thousand new questions that burn in your mind, with no words or standing to ask them.

Lucy waves in greeting, those pretty green eyes of hers glimmering in the moonlight spilling in through the front windows of the shop. “Always good to see you, Steve.”

“You too,” he agrees, head lowering closer to yours as he then asks, “Ready to head out?”

He’s leading you to the door, and you spare a glance over your shoulder to the woman you’ve just met moments ago. There’s a look you can’t quite place on her features, a furrow of her brows, a slight downturn to her softly parted lips.

You wave your goodbye, and try to push all of whatever that might have been into the depths of your mind.

——

Steve tosses and turns behind you. A fitful rest that has you rolling over onto your side, fingers brushing along the clenched planes of his cheeks. You can practically hear his molars smashing against one another, can feel the rapid thump of his heart in his chest as your fingers splay against his sternum.

At the touch, his face softens in the slightest. A low moan pours from him, a whine of ‘no, don’t’ cleaving your heart right down the middle.

“Steve?” It’s a whisper. A plea for him to come back to you in the waking world. He reaches out in his sleep and clutches at your tee shirt, clutching the fabric tight. Another whine. A whimper of a cry. “Steve, I’m here. I’m here.”

Sweat pools along his skin, despite the chill in the air. The tips of your fingers press to his forehead, running along the wrinkles forming high up on the skin there. His name is a whisper over and over again on your lips, a soft beckoning into wherever his dreams have taken him — a tether for him to grip onto, if only so you can reel him back in.

You’re no stranger to nightmares. They plague you, too. Dark, weaving things that sneak into your mind at night, tendrils clinging to the innermost workings of your mind. That day at the mall, watching as that monster loomed, dark and imposing in a colorful explosion of light. Billy, being ripped into over and over again. The spray of black blood, the cries of Max. The moments that came after, where Steve practically demanded an EMT to look over your ribs, despite the fact there was nothing one could do if they were broken anyway. And then there had been those images on the news — of classmates fallen to Vecna. Memories of the splintered down, the gaping holes in the earth, the spaces where many had disappeared into. Endless faces of the lost, declared dead or missing.

So much turmoil. More than some kids and teenagers were ever meant to see in a lifetime.

“Let go!” Steve shouts into the night, rolling over again so his back faces you.

“Steve,” you whisper, running a hand along his spine, “it’s me. Come back to me. I’m here.”

He rolls over again and his eyes open, locking on your features. Broad palms come up to cup your face, forehead descending upon yours. He mutters your name a little brokenly, moving to press his head into the space beneath your chin, arms looping low around your waist.

“I’m here, Steve,” you remind him.

There for one another, as you’ve always been.

In a world where people come and go, where you can’t rely on anyone, he is your rock and you are his.

“Shhh.” Your fingers thread into his hair, smoothing the messiness left in the wake of his endless tossing and turning. His breathing tapers off. Slows. Starts to deepen. “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

But you fear the day he may no longer need you.

——

Steve’s…liked by most. Sought after. Desired. He’s popular, in a way that you’ll never be. With his friends, with his teachers, with women. Though he was your first kiss, you’re not even delusional enough to believe he’s only saving his lips for you.

He doesn’t do relationships often. He goes on dates and you watch him from afar. Can see the glow of his bedroom window, the hurt that burns like a knife when he sneaks a girl in while his parents are gone. Your curtains always shut when they kiss, when things start to feel like a betrayal to the foolish unrequited feelings you harbor.

It becomes a thing. Wishing and wanting your best friend as he loves everyone else around you.

Luckily, they’re always short dalliances. Flings. Dates that lead nowhere. And even though it hurts, there’s some comfort in the fact these things never last long.

That is, until Nancy Wheeler steps in. And you make yourself scarce. She’s smart and lovely and beautiful. She’s everything you could ever want for Steve — and she’s not you.

Just like everyone else he sneaks into his bedroom.

Because why would Steve Harrington ever look your way like he does theirs?

And therein lies the problem.

——

A month. You’ve been in town nearly a month and things are more or less exactly as they’ve always been. Platonic and full of yearning. At least, on his part. He’s not quite sure what to make of your feelings lately — and he’s never been one to push the envelope with you.

He needs a sign. A sign from up above or something just to show him that all his efforts have not been in vain.

It comes that afternoon. Sweat pools along his chest and stomach. Along his back as it ripples with each swing of the ax, splitting piece of wood after piece of wood. The plaid shirt he wears is long unbuttoned, stomach fully on display as he pauses a moment to reach down and sip some of his water set on a wooden stool nearby.

Thwack.

Thwack.

Thwack.

He’s so caught up in the monotony of the task, the methodical way he swings down and splits the wood, that he fails to hear your arrival. Only notices your form out of the corner of his eye, hiding behind a tree.

Or, at least, it looks like you think you’re hidden.

He can see the way your chest rises and falls rapidly, your fingers covering your heart, like you’re terrified he’ll hear it. The boots on your feet are pinched tight together, likely having stopped abruptly once you noticed you could potentially be caught.

And there’s that bottom lip of yours, tucked between your teeth. Biting back any noises that might slip out.

He doesn’t miss the way your eyes trail along his abdomen. How they linger on the newer muscles there, hewn by countless hours spent working as a carpenter. You look downright guilty — like a child with their hand caught in the cookie jar.

He adores it.

“I don’t mind if I have an audience, you know?” He muses, grin growing wider as you stumble a bit in the leafy pile at your feet.

His amusement grows as you tilt your head up to the sky, as if searching for something. Unfortunately for you, it’s a cloudy day, and there is nothing to see up above other than an endless gray sea.

“Steve…” you warn, still not meeting his eyes.

You’ve always been endearing. Sweet, in a way he finds adorable. And this sudden shyness when you’re typically so sure? It reminds him of those moments when he first kissed you, all those years ago. Your heart was like a hummingbird’s wings against his chest that evening, fingers trembling against him, unsure of what to do with yourself.

“Here,” he chuckles, walking over to curl a hand around your wrist and putting you out of your misery. He walks you over to where he’s splitting wood, “wanna try?”

“I mean, sure. How hard could it be?” you tease, back stiffening as he slips in behind you, sweat-slicked skin pressing against the curve of your spine before relaxing into him.

He’s already placed a new log on the block, the rest of his split pieces lying on a rack near the side of his home. Wide palms come to wrap around your hands, sliding them into place on the handle of the ax. One near the top for grip, another near the bottom for powering through the stroke. “Grip it nice and tight. Both hands.”

“Okay, like this?” you ask, looking over your shoulder at him, and his breath immediately hitches. Throat cleaning, he gives your shoulder a quick squeeze and steps back a little.

“Spread your legs a little. Shoulder width apart. Yeah — just like that.”

You’re a little sheepish as he steps over to the side, trying to put enough distance between you and him to feel safe enough. A cold breath puffs out of his lungs, the cloud billowing in the air before him as you glance down at where your hands are firmly grasping the handle, deep breaths to center yourself echoing in the forest.

“Now you’re going to pick a point on the wood and focus on it, raise the ax and strike through, focusing on that spot.”

“Sounds easy enough,” you nervously murmur, doing exactly as he instructed, the ax rising above your head.

As you swing downward, the ax wedges into the wood, and you stumble to the ground, kicking up leaves as your bottom slams against the forest floor. Steve stumbles forward to check if you’re okay, but when your sides start trembling with uncontrollable laughter, his face breaks out into a grin.

He loves you, and he aches with it. More — now that you’re living with him.

“Guess you don’t want me helping you on any jobs, huh?”

A couple days later, however, you do exactly that.

Mr. Gerry Jones is an older man in town, and in desperate need of a new paint job for his living room before he tries to sell his home. Steve agreed to help weeks ago, and when his partner comes down with the flu, decides to ask you if you want to come along. He finds you laying on the couch that morning with a book, and he hardly expects you to say yes with the amount of hours you’ve been working at the Hideout, but you quickly jump to attention with a nearly shouted ‘yes.’

Now you sit beside him on the floor, admiring the freshly painted wall, taking a moment to breathe before starting the next one. You’re wearing a pair of overalls, a ratty old tee shirt tied up beneath, revealing the curve of your side, a patch of skin that Steve’s been trying to not stare at for the past few hours.

His heart clenches as your head tips over your shoulder, a little splatter of olive colored paint across your cheek. Reaching out, he cups your cheek and wipes it away, warming as you lean a bit into his touch.

Neither of you dares to acknowledge the tension burning in the room. The way it feels like time seems to slow to a halt when you’re there, shuffling up onto your feet, moving over to the next wall. Steve only talks. Begins prattling on about anything and everything, trying to keep himself distracted from the feeling swirling in his gut — the desire that has only grown every day to see what might happen if he just dared to try. To close the gap between your lips and put to bed all the questions.

But he doesn’t. Instead he gazes ahead, mouth dropping open when he asks about what your relationship with Clark was like — in what feels like an attempt to torture himself — and you utter that you’d never really done anything with him.

“Or anyone…for that matter,” you add slowly, your bottom lip pushing between your teeth, voice a little quiet.

“Like…?”

“I’m not a virgin, Steve,” you bark out, eyes rolling a bit in your skull. “But I’ve really only been with one guy. And it wasn’t even good or anything.”

“You’re joking.”

“Steve.”

“I’m not making fun. I’m just…”

“Shocked at how pathetic I am?” you drawl, taking a step backward. Away from him.

“No — I just —”

“It’s not like the movies either. All of the explosions and fireworks.” You frown, and Steve grimaces at your words. At the sadness lining your features. “I just — I don’t know. It wasn’t like how you’d always talked about it. We barely even kissed during it and I didn’t…”

“Honey…” he sighs, taking a step forward. “Clearly, he wasn’t the right guy. The right guy would have made it extra special, because you’re special, and definitely would have made sure you finished before he did. And I’m sorry but he didn’t deserve you, because you deserve all the explosions and fireworks.”

“Yeah?” You sound so hopeful, eyes a little narrowed, mouth parting softly.

“I mean…hypothetically…” he steps a little closer.

He catches your slow swallow. The way your chest heaves on a breath, eyes trailing his form. Heat burns in the atmosphere as your eyes narrow a bit, staring at him like you had in the woods. Appreciatively, and not at all like a friend. How long had he missed those looks? How long had he not noticed the slow simmering desire beneath the surface? Suddenly he’s back in that closet and a teenager again, only now instead of your jean shorts, his finger curls into the pocket of your overalls, chest brushing yours. Cornered, your back bumps against the presently dry wall behind you.

“If it were me —” He stops. Thinks better of it.

“N-no,” you splutter out, voice a rasp, breath puffing, “go on. Hypothetically, obviously.”

“Well, for starters, I’d start by getting down on my kne —”

“Hey, kids!” Mr. Jones calls into the room, and you both jump like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t be. “Could one of you help me sort through some boxes? I don’t want to be a bother, but my back just isn’t what it was, you know?”

You throw a hand up in the air. “I’ve got it.”

Steve inwardly groans, his jeans suddenly a little too tight at what he’d been imagining doing to you only moments before — what he’d been imagining doing to you for years, if he was being honest.

You glance away, rushing over to Gerry, embarrassment rolling off your form.

And you’re gone, following the older man from where he came.

Conversation…over.

——

The window next door glows with lamplight. It’s after the earthquake that you see it. The earthquake that has you hiding in the doorway, holding onto the frame as the earth shudders and groans beneath you, pictures of your family now shattered frames scattered into a million pieces on the ground.

You grab a few things. Bandages, clothes, some water bottles. You can’t really tell how many people are over there, so you grab a pack. And when you ring the doorbell and Robin answers, looking stricken and covered in an inch of dirt, your heart groans too, because the look on her face is grim.

Steve throws his arms around you when you enter his bedroom, a whisper of, “You’re safe,” against your head. Reverently. Like he can’t quite believe it, like he wasn’t sure what he would find when he came back.

Your hands slide up and along his back, his body jolting at the contact, your fingers coming back a little stained with what looks to be fresh blood. “Steve, you’re hurt. I brought bandages.”

“He’s worse,” Steve utters through gritted teeth, “take care of him first.”

And there on the bed is Eddie Munson, with Nancy Wheeler there to rest a cloth against his head, whispering to the man under her breath. Soothing him, soothing those wrinkles that line his forehead — deep set in his pain.

With Nancy’s help, you get to work. Trying to cut him out of his clothes, careful to not agitate the wounds any further, apologizing for every whimper. Every broken sob of the man who fought to save a town that would have killed him on their own had they been given the change.

And later, after you’ve scrubbed your arms raw to try and rid yourself of the remnants of Eddie’s blood, Steve slides in beside you in the bathroom. Curls a hand around your head and tugs you against him, kissing your temple. Whispering something against your skull that you can’t quite make out. Steve’s not religious, but you swear he thanks someone for keeping you safe.

“You’re next,” you mutter, wiggling out of his hold, peering up at the dirty face of the man you love. “Strip.”

“See, in a different context, those words coming from your lips —”

“I’m not joking,” you sing-song, tugging at the bloodied shirt he’s wearing. “Off with it.”

“I can’t,” he winces.

“You’re getting modest with me now? I’ve seen you half naked more times —”

“I think it’s a little stuck,” he groans, turning around and peeling off the outer jacket. It falls to the ground and you can see what he’s talking about. The injuries, freshly reopened, cling to the fabric like a second skin.

You whistle on an exhale, and he laughs darkly. “It’s not so bad. Just looks like one area got a little angry. If you get in the shower, I can run a little water on it to loosen it up.” You lift the edge of his shirt a bit, noting the swath of bandages around his waist. “Who did these? They look pretty good.”

“Nancy.”

“Good,” you say, a little softly, “now into the shower, Harrington.”

You’re trying. Trying to make light of a terrible night. But you can see the pain in his form that runs deeper than the scratches on the surface. Can see it in the tension on his form as he slips out of his jeans and climbs into the tub with nothing but a pair of boxers.

Neither of you speaks for a while. As you turn on the water and try to soak his shirt. As you eventually peel the shirt away and whisper you’re sorry over and over when he hisses and bites back against the pain. Nor as you run a damp towel over the wounds to clean them, careful to not agitate his mangled flesh further.

But then you hear it. The sniffle. The shudder of breath.

“Steve,” you whisper, threading your fingers in his hair, feeling him tremble against your touch, “what happened tonight?”

He cries. Folds his face into his hands and cries.

You toss the cloth aside and climb in to hold him, because you’ve known physical pain, but this pain hits differently. Twists in you like a knife. You can handle your own pain, but seeing Steve break, seeing your hero crumble, is a pain that cuts to your marrow. Shatters and scatters your heart into a million pieces.

But you have to stay strong.

For him. For all the times he’s done the same for you.

He clings to you, fingers fisted into your shirt, and you don’t let go.

——

You don’t talk about that moment in Mr. Jones’ home. Neither of you bring it up for days. And yet — it’s all you can think about. The way he looked your way, the timbre of his words, the way heat had crawled up your spine. How it also pooled low, throbbed in your core in a way that was unfamiliar to you.

Was this passion? Desire? Lust? All feelings that seem so foreign, and yet you don’t fear them. You just ponder the new questions that arise. The curiosity of what this might mean — if it could lead to more.

On that particular day, both of you were off of work. Decided with Thanksgiving swiftly approaching, it was about time you went pumpkin picking. Pumpkin picking turned into a whole day event, where you and Steve took turns arguing over which pumpkins were suitable for the front of his porch, and which were suitable for decoration for the potluck gathering with some friends that upcoming weekend.

And after spending half the day drinking warm apple cider, sharing donuts on a hayride while bundled up in comfortable clothing, and racing each other through a corn maze, you’d decided the last thing on your itinerary for the “full Hawkin’s experience” was to carve pumpkins.

“In case you didn’t know,” Steve jokes, his knife poking out a hole for an eye in his pumpkin, “Halloween was a few weeks ago.”

“So what? We were busy and didn’t get to do this sooner,” you bemoan, cutting open the top of yours and moving to stick your hand inside.

“You’re just going in like that — bare hand and all?”

“What’s a little guts, Steve?”

“It’s gross,” he says plainly, eyes narrowing, “and messy.”

“What’s wrong with a little bit of mess?” Your tongue pushes out between your lips as you get to work, pulling out handful after handful of pumpkin guts into the garbage pail you set up beside the table the two of you worked on.

“I happen to not mind a little mess,” he teases, coming to stand over your shoulder, the heat of his chest at your back. “What are you making?”

“A Garfield pumpkin,” you tell him, scooping more of the inside out into a trash can. “I happen to be quite fond of your kitten. Maybe more than you.”

“Really?” he asks playfully, stepping a little closer to hook his chin over your shoulder.

“Are you jealous?” you muse, circling around.

Like this, your chests nearly brush, his palms come up to rest beside your hips, caging you in against the table. Heat pools low again at the look on his face. The firm line of his lips, the curve of his jaw, the round depths of his hazel eyes. There’s a look in them you can’t quite place — a look you’ve never seen in Steve’s eyes, or anyone’s for that matter. But you know you like it, thighs bumping a bit off of the table as you crawl up onto it, legs swinging beneath you.

Fingers come up to curve along your cheek, Steve’s thumb brushing the line of your jaw with a pinky. Delicately, like you’re precious. Like you might break. “You got a little something on your face.”

“Oh,” you whisper out, swallowing as he leans in closer, as his hips slide into the space between yours. “Steve…”

He steps closer once more. Hips brushing against the cradle of yours. There’s a heat from him that seeps into you. Grows as his forehead rests against yours and you both breathe in the same space, neither of you speaking, because there’s nothing this moment requires other than a nearness. His nose glides down the side of yours, one hand of his coming to curl around your hip, squeezing the curve of it. Your mind screams at you he’s going to kiss you, and your heart leaps because you want it.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, and it’s a loaded question.

You’re thinking you want to erase the space between the two of you. You’re thinking there’s a chance this doesn’t quite mean to him what this means to you. You’re thinking that you’re scared to allow Steve to see inside the part of you that you’ve kept from him all these years. But you’re also thinking if you’re going to play with fire, there’s a knowing chance you may get burned.

“I’m thinking…” you exhale, chest pushing further into his as your back arches a bit, propping yourself up onto your hands. Only, as soon as you do so, pain flares in the center of your palm, gasping breath coming out with a, “Shit!”

Steve’s there in a flash, fingers curling around your offended wrist that you show him. Blood pools up from the wound, the bloodied knife skittering beside it onto the forest floor when he shoves it out of the way. You hadn’t even remembered it was there, too caught up in the moment.

“Honey…” he sighs, thumb brushing along the curve of your wrist, glancing down at the cut, “let’s get you inside. You might need stitches.”

“No hospital,” you tell him, pinching your bottom lip between your teeth, “you’ve patched enough people up. This should be a walk in the park, right?”

“Yeah but this is you,” he says, and before you can ask him what he means by that, he’s helping you off of the table and steadying you when you land on the leaves below.

The bathroom is dimly lit by this time of day, even with Steve flicking the light on as soon as you enter. The edge of the tub is cool against your leggings, chilling your skin even through the fabric, as Steve rummages around in his cabinets for a first aid kid. And then he gets to work, sitting across from you on the toilet seat, making sure to irrigate your wound before dressing it.

“Not deep,” he says finally, inspecting the shallow cut that slices the center of your palm, “gonna disinfect it.”

A hiss pours from you as he does, pain flaring in the wound. Your free hand whips out to clutch at his pant leg, pinching the denim tight in your fingertips until the burning ebbs into a throbbing sting that beats in tandem with your heart.

“What did you mean before?” you ask as he starts to dress the wound, winding a bandage around and around your palm. “The whole ‘but this is you.’”

Steve pulls out a piece of medical tape and presses it to the end of the wrapping around your palm, his thumb rubbing along the inside of your wrist. “I can handle my pain, but I could never handle yours.”

You swallow, because you understand. You know first hand what he means — have experienced it yourself. Watching the man you love throw himself into harm's way and injure himself in the process. Having to mend his wounds, to see him hurting without a way to stop it, when all you wanted was to ease the pain.

“There you go,” he whispers, fingertips teasing along yours, before letting your hand fall back against your thigh. “No more pumpkin carving for you.”

“Thank you.” Your lip twitches as you climb off the lip of the bathtub, following him down the stairs.

“Steve, back there, I…”

“Come on, let me cook us dinner.” He pauses, stopping himself once you both realize you speak at the same time. “Wait — what were you going to say?”

You swallow thickly, the nervousness choking your words and drying them in your throat where they live and die instantaneously.

Not the time.

“N-nothing.”

——

“Don’t think I didn’t see how the two of you walked in together.” Robin twirls her drink around in front of her, brows arching as a smirk creeps along her features.

You sip your red wine, smiling to yourself over the rim. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Although you do. You arrived at Jonathan and Nancy’s new home with a freshly baked apple pie in hand, and Steve’s hand against your lower back, keeping you close to him. Clearly it hadn’t gone unnoticed, the evidence apparent in the look Robin was sending your way.

Out of the corner of your eye you notice Lucy struggling to open a wine bottle in the kitchen, and excuse yourself from Robin’s side to greet the woman. She’s beautiful today, in a pair of black jeans, and a brick red sweater. Effortless again, with endless wavy hair and those glowing eyes of hers.

“Here — let me,” you offer, helping her to get the cork out of the bottle.

Once it’s open, you pour the two of you new glasses of wine and clink your glass with her’s, peering out over the kitchen island to take in the sights around you.

Nancy and Jonathan went all out. They lined up multiple tables around the kitchen, making room for friends and family alike. Their parents sit at one table, while Steve, Robin, Eddie, Abi and Argyle talk amongst themselves. Holiday music filters in through the radio, as Nancy and Jonathan carve into the giant turkey resting against the table covered in Thanksgiving themed plate wear.

It’s been a long time since you’ve had a holiday like this. This is warm and inviting. Back in the city your parents would rent out restaurants and have wait staff take care of your evening. You’d always resented the thought that, while you spent time in a cold environment under the guise of “Thanksgiving,” those employees missed out on time they could spend with their own loved ones.

And when Steve looks over, you almost feel like you could fit in here. Almost allow yourself to dream big — to imagine a world where when he lifted his hand and waved as he is now, it would be full of love, full of the newness of relationship.

“So you and Steve…?” you can’t help but to ask, turning so your back rests against the kitchen counter, offering Lucy a soft smile.

She returns it a little tightly. “We…dated for a bit.”

“Oh.”

You weren’t expecting that. Had witnessed a little something passing along their features when you’d bumped into her weeks ago, but never thought to chalk it up to them dating. On paper it makes sense. She’s a teacher, they work together, she’s gorgeous, vibrant, bubbly, interesting. She’s here. She’s been here. And she belongs here.

And you — you don’t know what you’re doing most days. You’re living with Steve, but for how long? You want to stay, or think you want to, but what does that entail? There’s also the lingering doubt. The fear that you don’t quite belong as you once did. Can see it in the looks from people as you pass. Those who haven’t seen you in years now regard you as a stranger.

“Yeah, we’d gone on a few dates. He was always such a gentleman…but it just…” she exhales, and you watch as her eyes trail his form, “he always seemed kind of…detached? He didn’t want to commit. Sometimes we’d be spending time together and he just…didn’t seem all there? But it all made sense when I saw you two at the coffee shop that one day.”

“What?” you splutter, red wine dribbling down your chin at the suddenness.

“He lit up when he saw you. I’d never seen him look at me that way,” she admits softly, sipping her own wine. “I kind of wanted to hate you for it, but you were so nice and he deserves to be happy.”

“Oh — we’re not — it’s not —”

“Not yet,” she teases, giving you a little eye roll. “He’s happy. And he’s present. Both are things that have changed within him since you’ve been here. I don’t think that’s mere coincidence.”

Her words settle within you as you later join Steve at the dinner table, leaning into his shoulder as he scoops your requested dinner options onto your plate. They linger even as the kids arrive for dessert and the group ends up playing endless card games, laughter lyrical and swirling around the room, growing louder as the drinks continue to pour into awaiting cups.

And later, as you sit on Steve’s couch in no more than a pair of leggings, a comfy hoodie, and knitted socks you ponder Lucy’s words again while a fire crackles in the fireplace.

“What’s on your mind?” Steve asks, fingers kneading into the arch of your foot, your head against the armrest, eyes closed in contentment.

“Lucy is really pretty…”

“She is,” Steve agrees, his fingers pushing in again, drawing a deep sigh from within you.

“She works with kids, she’s bubbly, she’s established. All things that you’d normally go for.”

“Okay…”

“I’m just…I’m — I guess I'm trying to figure out why you two didn’t work out then.”

Steve pauses in his ministrations, shifting a bit on the couch to look at you. “Honey…you know why.”

“No,” you retort, feeling anxiety bubble up within you, “I really don’t.”

“There’s always been someone else.”

“I’m not understanding…”

With a sigh, Steve scoots closer. Tugs you up and onto his lap to get you even closer, your knees thumping onto the couch cushion at each side of his hips. He grips your hips and stares up into your eyes. There’s an unspoken question. A whisper behind his stare. Begs for you to look deeper, to see him, to see his heart.

“No.” You shake your head, anger welling. Replacing that anxiety. “I’ve looked at you my whole life and you never noticed. Now? Now you decide you —”

“It’s always been.” His strangled voice breaks your heart.

“Then why didn’t you say anything? All this time, all these years —”

“I tried,” he interjects, fingers winding tighter around your hips.

“When?”

“First time I visited you after you moved away.” He sounds somber. Heartbroken in a way that’s foreign to you. “You’d gone inside and your dad and I had a drink out back. Remember?”

You nod, swallowing thickly, fingers running along the hair at his temple. He gives you a little squeeze, forehead resting against yours.

“He…I told him about my feelings for you. And he…well, he wasn’t supportive.” He exhales a wobbly breath. “He had his points. I had no money. He was right about that. I worked at a dead end job and was going nowhere. I had nothing to offer you. He…painted a picture of us in a few years from now. Asked me how I’d be able to keep you happy…keep our family happy. And I thought maybe he was right.”

“Bullshit. Everything he said to you is bullshit,” you snap, climbing off of his lap. “I never wanted any of that. If I had you, Steve, then I would have everything.”

“I know that,” he cries, jumping to his own feet, looping an arm around your hips. “I know that now. I’ve seen you here the past few weeks and you fit here. With me in my life. I want to stop wasting time pretending you’re just my best friend because that’s all I ever thought you could be. I want you here. I want you in my bed every morning and night, I want to touch you and, I don’t know, hold you while we cook dinner together. I want to kiss you just because I can. I want to hold your hand. I want all of that.”

He tugs you close, your chests thumping. His heart throbs against your sternum and you raise a palm to settle there, to push him back, but you find you can’t. He sucks the air out of the room when he’s that close — when his mouth is mere centimeters from yours, and all you want is to close the distance.

“I never felt good enough for you,” he breathes against your lips, his breath a shaky exhale. Lips graze against lips, your fingers slide up further, along his chest, over the curve of his neck, the slope of his jaw.

“You’ve always been good enough for me, Steve,” you whisper back, forehead nuzzling forehead. “I don't need all the money. I don’t want fancy dinners or cars, I don’t need the newest clothes, shoes, pocketbooks. I’ve only ever wanted you.”

He slides a palm up against your cheek. A thumb draws a soft line across the curve of your jaw. “And now? What do you want right now?”

“I want you to kiss me.”

——

sorry about the delay. i’ve basically been sick since july, and wasn’t planning on having so many of my ‘bad’ days the past couple of weeks. the next chapter will be long, and i mean long. can’t wait to hear about what you think about this one! likes, comments, reblogs — all of that is such an encouragement to creators and means the world, so please consider 🤍

[sunlit-skycat]

Pale by Wildbow shill post

“The practice, as we call it, is best summed up as an ongoing contract. By pledging to make your word inviolable, forces in this world will start listening. Routine, ritual, and expectation have formed the grooves and determined how best to communicate with those forces. Diagrams, symbols, knowing who and what to appeal to. Many, many things become possible. If your word is inviolable.” [...]

“Something terrible happened, of a scale that words cannot easily convey. We need you to look into it,” Matthew said. “No need to solve it. Simply… look into it.”

Overview

Pale is an urban fantasy web serial about three girls Awakened into a world of magic in order to solve the murder of a Judge, a supreme being that oversees magic in an area. Soon, however, they discover that the very roots of magic are built off of systemic injustice, and that outside forces want to destroy the meager sanctuary that they have been charged to protect.

Why you should read it

Pale has a huge meta-system that tries to provide an explanation for how all fairy tale type of magic works. When one Awakens, they give up their ability to lie, but that doesn't stop Practitioners from trying to mislead everyone around them. Nothing comes for free. The easiest way to deal with the costs of Practice is to pass them off to someone else, which over the years has led old Practitioner families to exploit magical creatures and each other to do their bidding.

In a way, Pale really reminds me of the Harry Potter fandom, particularly the newer fics that try to examine all the unexamined issues that Rowling put into the worldbuilding and never explored. It tackles subjects of imperialism, child abuse, community building, and justice. There's a lot of fun things to discuss about it, including whether the protagonists ultimately got it right at the end.

Many of the characters in Pale are marginalized in some way. Of the main characters, Lucy is the only black girl in a rural Canadian town and sick of it, Avery is a lesbian and doesn't know how to come out to her dubiously tolerant family, and Verona's single father is an abusive emotional black hole that wants to drag her down with him. Overall, there are a lot of well-realized female characters who are allowed to let their sharp edges cut others in the story.

The fandom

Pale had an earlier prequel work set in the same universe called Pact, which features different characters and settings but has roughly the same magic system. Because of that, it's most useful to think of the fandom as an being composed of an umbrella group, called Otherverse or P-verse by different places, and then subcategories of Pale, Pact, and OC focused works.

The main cast runs young, so shipping isn't big in the fandom, but if you like f/f potential Pale is pretty decent for it. The OC fic tends to have a lot of queer main characters as well.

On Dreamwidth, I run sister communities at blueheronteanook for canon character based fic and meta, and hillsgladehouselibrary for OC fics. There also is a discord server for these communities, the Blue Heron Tea Nook.

You can read Pale fic on Ao3 here.

Where to read it

Pale can be read online here: palewebserial.wordpress.com/

There also is a fanmade audiobook that goes up to arc 10, about 1/3 of the story. It's on Spotify and Podchaser.

[cubitodragon-moved]

Yesterday Mike added more fuel to my “Tubbo is bugged” theory and it’s making me extra worried about what’s going to happen this week LOL.

This post is rambly and long, so I’m sticking things behind a cut!

Mike’s memories of the last 3+ weeks are scrambled and foggy; an interrupted El Quackity treatment? Unclear. But between saying he doesn’t remember anything and then spouting off pro-Federation propaganda (something his anarchist ass would never willingly do!) and fiercely trying to pin blame to Fit as a traitor, a comment by him during one of the questioning sessions stood out to me.

When Fit asked who told him his janitor duties were fake/a front, that he couldn’t be trusted, he said Cucurucho.

We and FitMC know that the Feds are sus of Fit, but they’ve had no actual concrete evidence that he’s been misusing his position to obtain information. And yet now Cucurucho, supposedly, is informing Mike of this so called betrayal?

If we think back to the prison cleanup in August, there was a room that had a chess board map on the wall. Only two pieces were present: a queen and a pawn. And the pawn was positioned on a clear way to indicate it’s meant to represent Fit. A warning - possibly to Fit from the ghost entity in the Prison (or someone in a neighbouring pocket dimension, if recent ruminations and theories on the server have any legs) that aided Pac and Mike, OR the Federation itself, reminding him of who has the power and who is always watching.

But they have yet to take any action. And always praised his work when completed.

Enter: Tubbo. Who arrived on the Island as part of a group rescued from a mysterious location. One with lots of strange blocks, code-eggs, frozen floors and who himself was frozen away. Shortly after, Mike and Pac ventured back to that location to explore, and when he entered the tower, the floor vanished and Mike fell. Fell down into a pool of water at the bottom of a trap lined in black concrete, and then frozen.

During Mike’s absence, Tubbo has gotten to know the “morning crew”, has gotten up in everyone’s business. I’ve outlined some highlights in another post. But more recently, every time he talks to Fit about his cleaning job, he’s picked at it again and again. Freaks out over the badge and keycard - especially over the keycard. (This feels important, for more than just Tubbo’s excuses of it being bugged, but I can’t put my finger on why, yet.). Tubbo whines when Fit won’t give him direct insight, or tell him detailed specifics on what he’s found on the job. Fit has made it clear he will not jeopardise his position to satisfy Tubbo’s need to meta-game win over the system to know everything, resulting in accusations, and Tubbo commenting privately to his own chat that this makes Fit untrustworthy in his eyes. Tubbo has been careless with some of his questions. They’ve been asked topside, sideways comments uttered with side eye. He wants to KNOW what Fit is after.

And Fit did spill to Tubbo that he’s not just there for the obvious. Yes, He IS looking for something. Yeah, he IS trying to find things out about the Codes, the Eggs, and the Federation - he wants his beautiful baby boy (made in Heaven by God Himself) back home safe and sound.

But this has not been successful, never mind the long absence of any work in the last few weeks..and we the viewers know that things he has found have been incomplete, or need more time to cook before he goes to others with evidence. Fit is meticulous, his life on 2B2T trained this into him in order to survive. You don’t last 10 years in an anarchy wasteland without being prepared. Better and safer to leave things unsaid than having to walk them back later. And there’s no point in sharing what isn’t relevant to the matter at hand.

And now Mike - who Fit calls friend, who he bonded with, who he swore to help locate Walter Bob with - said Cucurucho told him that Fit was a traitor, and wasn’t looking for what he said he was, even point blank accused him of lying yesterday about what he’s looking for. And when pressed about what he’d found so far when on janitor duty, Fit had to admit that no, he hadn’t found anything related to the Eggs or the Code.

Mike seemed to take that as proof of his lying about what he’s doing. That what he was told was right. But admitting to a lack of success doesn’t make one a liar. And Fit telling him he found nothing is also a smart play - lose lips sink ships, and better to be thought incompetent. Especially if the Federation are now trying to flush you - and perhaps your ties to your employer, outside the island - out into the open.

The Federation did not know about Ramón’s furnaces until Tubbo did. And they didn’t know Fit was in it for more than the obvious until he spoke with Tubbo. They can’t get Tubbo to take on Fit, but they can use a different pawn they have on the board instead.

I may well be completely off base. And I’ll be delighted if I am. It’s been so much fun to theorise about the lore on QSMP! But mark my words, we need to pay much more attention over the next 48 hours. And who knows what everyone will come back to in a week’s time?

[yuurei20]

I had been wondering about this since the friend thing was brought up, but Idia says “not all of these people are our friends,” which suggests that he considers at least some or one of the people present to be a friend. Since he follows it up by stating that, “Ramshackle dorm isn’t the prefect’s house,” in response to Ortho declaring they’ve visited a ‘friend’s house’—add in the whole yobiste moment with the prefect in the Glorious Masquerade, which occurs after Book 6–could it be that Idia actually considers the prefect to be a friend?

I could be wrong about these two moments on the EN server, since I don’t think he really uses the word ‘friend’ in the Ceremonial Robes quote and even on EN I can’t be certain about whether or not he’s solely referring to Grim when the Ramshackle duo or added to the Glorious Masquerade trip and he says “AND valuable emotional support,” or if he even mentioned it in JP. But they seem to lend credence to the idea that Idia considers the prefect a friend or at least more than an acquaintance.

Hello hello!! Thank you so much for this question! 

This is a very good point!! When Ortho points out that they have "traveled to the residence of an acquaintance" Idia responds, "not all of these people are our friends," and one interpretation could be that there is at least one person who counts as a friend present at the time! 👀 (another interpretation may be, "It's not like we're all friends.")

(While Ortho does say "we've experienced hanging out at a friend's house" at first, he then corrects himself to call the prefect "an acquaintance." Referring to other students as Idia's friends despite Idia's and/or others' protests is something Ortho has done before!)

Idia himself says that he has no friends at NRC, but the characters having a less-than-accurate understanding of their own interpersonal relationships is a running theme! (Re: Idia and Azul)

As you say, one of the rare interactions between Idia and the prefect involved Idia not using an honorific during Glorious Masquerade, but this was revealed to be a proof-reading error:

The re-release of Glorious Masquerade in 2023 added "-shi" to Idia's dialogue when he is speaking with the prefect ^^ (This was actually on my posting schedule to share today! You have amazing timing!)

You are also very right about Idia's ceremonial robe's voice line! He does not use the word "friend," but he does say that he trusts the prefect as a fellow introvert!

While looking for the best way to describe the word Idia actually uses (仲間) I found an interesting explanation on the One Piece wikipedia!

(It reminded me of these screenshots from the American drama Firefly!)

The person explains, "The word simply means '(part of a) group' you use it to refer to members a group or members of a group of friends just as you would also refer to your coworkers as your 'nakama' in Japanese, even the ones you hate, because they're part of the same group as you," and I agree ^^ (EN translating the word 仲間 as "friend" is not unusual!)

Concerning Idia's comment early in Glorious Masquerade, I think you are right again and he might have been commenting on the emotional support that Grim provides as a cat!*

*We do not yet know whether or not Grim is technically a cat 👀

Overall I am not sure that we have seen enough of Idia and the prefect interacting on-screen together to be able to say that they are objectively, officially and canonically more than acquaintances, and this is likely by design: the game seems to be going to great lengths to leave as much up to interpretation as possible so that it as many different people as possible can enjoy it.

That said, up until now the pattern has largely been "the prefect teams up with the main character of the previous story in order to solve the issue of the current story," re: teaming up with Riddle in Book 2, Leona in Book 3, Azul in Book 4, Jamil (and others) in Book 5 and Vil in Book 6, so it is possible that we may see more of Idia and the prefect moving forward!

And there is of course no harm in someone going in the direction of "maybe the prefect and Idia are friends" for something like fanfic purposes, for example, if they so wish ^^ It is all a part of the fun! But I might not call it canon just yet :>

[one-piece-aus]

Whumptober Day 5

Sabo x Reader

TW: Home invasion

[y/c] = your city

"Weakness." You punched Sabo into the lava and watched him burn to death.

"[Y/n] I was in the middle of collecting quartz," Sabo whined and respawned back at his base.

"Karma's a bitch," you laughed.

You were playing Minecraft with your online friend Sabo, who you've been playing online games with for the past 10 years. Started ever since you got Minecraft as a kid and played on servers, after playing a few mini-games you friended him, and eventually, you exchanged Discord users (when it became a thing). Yeah, yeah, the internet is a dangerous place, blah blah blah, Sabo was cool though, you trusted him, you've already done video calls with him, and honestly he's been there for you more than anyone else.

There were countless late nights where you two stayed up, gaming while discussing some deep topics. Sometimes they were philosophical nonsense, other times they were about struggles going on in life, you both cried over call during those kinds of nights. Safe to say you and Sabo's friendship was real, you just wished he lived near you so he could visit-

"Oh now I'm not going to share the surprise I was going to tell you," Sabo said when he teleported back to the nether.

"Surprise? What surprise?" You crouched your Minecraft character in front of him.

"Nooooo, I'm not going to say." Sabo walked around you and begun mining quartz once again.

"Come onnnnn, Sabo."

"Surprises are for nice spouses."

Ah, that's right, I forgot to mention your married Sabo in Minecraft, for "XP benefits" of course.

"I'll give you golden apples."

"Mhmmmmm."

"And... a three stacks of cookies."

"Well why didn't you just say so!" Sabo spun around and picked up the items you dropped for him before going on his merry way.

"Okay, now tell me," you said following after him.

"So you remember how I said my brothers and I planning to go on a trip over Christmas?" Sabo asked as he started to build a bridge over lava.

"Yeah, kinda sucks since that means you won't be able to play online," you grumble as you slowly crept behind him as he placed blocks. Playing with Sabo was all you looked forward to these days so him reminding you that you wouldn't be able to play with him during that time, you felt your mood deflate.

"Well guess where we're going."

"Uhhhh Tim Buck Two."

"No, we're going to [y/c]."

"Really!?" Your demeanour spun a 180, your excitement pulled a shiny smile across your face.

"I knew you'd be happy but I didn't think you'd get the same energy when you see your favourite blorbos on screen," Sabo laughed as the two of you were now bridging over a group of piglins on the ground.

"Because you are one of my little blorbo husbandos," you cooed knowing it'd fluster him.

"...I'd like to see you say that to me in person."

"You say that like I won't."

"[Y/n], you can barely ask an employee for help at the grocery store."

"Shush." You hit Sabo off the bridge and watched him fall to his doom, or so you thought. He placed a water block on the ground, in the nether. "Are you using your hacks again!?"

"You better move before I get back up and knock you off," Sabo warned.

"You won't dare."

"Or I would-" Sabo cut himself off when he heard something loud thud over on your end. "What was that?"

"Hm?" You were playing music in the background, talking to Sabo, and listening to Minecraft sounds with your noise-cancelling headphones so you didn't hear it.

"Something heavy fell over on your end."

"You're not messing with me are you?"

"Ace does that trick, not me."

"I wouldn't put it past you to use one of your brother's tricks."

"Okay, I'll stop building up-" Sabo ceased stacking blocks and looked up at your character. "You pause your game and check what fell over."

"Fine." You pause your game and start to take your headphones off.

"Wait!"

"Whaaaat?"

"Turn your camera on."

"Why?"

"It's... I just got a bad feeling."

"Okay..." You shrugged off Sabo's uneasiness and turned on your camera before taking off your headphones and started looking around your room to see what fell.

"Must've fell outside," you muttered heading toward your bedroom door and opening it.

Sabo couldn't see what was outside your door, whatever stood out there made you slam your shut and scramble to push your dresser in front of the door. Goosebumps crawled over his skin as realization hit him that shit is hitting the fan. He fumbled on his end to grab his phone and rapidly tapped buttons.

"Sabo..." You were now back in front of the computer, the dresser completely blocking the door. "Call the cops."

"Way ahead of you," Sabo said as the phone began ringing. "What's going on?"

"There's...there's a guy in...in my house." You could hardly pull your words together since your brain is currently spinning around to find the way for you to survive. "He...he's throwing things around... I think...I think he saw me." You started typing your address to Sabo so he could tell the cops where to go, you sent it before but it'd take too long for him to scroll up to find it. 

Sabo muted himself, probably so he wouldn't be heard talking to the cops. You backed away from the computer again, this time grabbing your bookshelf full of manga and pushing it in front of your door. Once that also blocked the door, you glanced around for more things to push in front of the door but the only heavy stuff left was your bed and desk which could be hiding places that the intruder could look around, and any few seconds he wasn't finding you was a second more of survival.

You picked up your headset and put it back on, Sabo was still muted. You clicked on the Minecraft tab so it'd cover your screen and he- if the invader came into your room- wouldn't know your camera was on with a witness. You took your phone just in case, making sure it was on silent and hid in the closet, making sure no sound came when you closed the door. You climbed into your laundry basket, burying yourself under your dirty clothes, for once grateful you forgot to do laundry.

"Okay, the cops are on their way- [Y/N]?? Where are you [Y/n]???" Sabo felt his heart drop.

"i'm in the closet," you whispered.

"Why didn't you climb out your window?"

"don't you remember that i told you the lock is broken? i live on the 10th, that's suicide," you whisper-shouted.

"Just stay on call, okay, police will be there soon."

"...okay."

Your meek voice squeezed Sabo's heart, his wish he was there to deal with the guy himself, or at this to be there to reassure you everything is going to be okay. Alas, all he could do was sit there on the other end of the screen, helpless as you both listened to something banging on your door.

Tag: @bookandyarndragon @roseoftrafalgar

[dice-wizard]

My dear ADHD siblings,

There is one very crucial thing you must learn a coping mechanism for, if you want to navigate through life as an adult.

Don't miss appointments or fuck off from commitments.

I don't really care how you figure out how to make this happen, but it is ✨ essential ✨ that you figure it out somehow.

I am WILDLY aware that meetings, appointments, deadlines etc are so so easy to forget about but in order to not be That Asshole you have truly gotta figure out a method that works best for you, so you remember more often than not.

I also promise you that if you fuck this up every now and again, that's fine. Your friends don't hate you. Your doctor, therapist, dentist, etc will simply reschedule you. Deadlines can be adjusted. It's when you do this constantly that you become, inadvertently, a huge asshole that no one will invite to things or hire on time sensitive projects. Unideal! Also, totally preventable.

Here are some things I've done that have ensured I don't miss an important commitment or appointment:

Written that shit down in ink on my hand. Can't lose my hand or forget I have a phone interview at 3 pm if I'm constantly looking down and seeing PHONE INTERVIEW 3PM! on my hand

Put the appointment in my calendar IMMEDIATELY. Your friend group has agreed to play D&D in Friday from 7-10? Calendar. Immediately. Don't wait. "I'll remember later" is a lie the ADHD demon whispers sweetly to all of us.

I have a giant sticky white board covering one of my walls and colorful markers where I write things like SCHEDULE EPISODE RECORDING or FREELANCE ASSIGNMENT DUE FRIDAY or CALL DOCTOR TOMORROW in huge letters in a place I frequent. You can buy one here

Make a Discord server containing you, a "Things I need to remember" channel and a reminder bot. I spend all my time on Discord anyway, I may as well store necessary details in a place I'm already checking.

Say no to things I'm not all that interested in or excited by. I'm way more likely to fuck off from something that bores me, so I try to avoid being That Person Who Never Shows Up by politely declining in the first place. This one is hard, especially if friends might be bummed that you aren't interested in a particular game, movie, etc.

In general, reduce friction between yourself and the reminder. Do more than one reminder if that's helpful. It is so important that you don't miss commitments. Once you leave people hanging enough times, they'll stop inviting you to stuff and stop counting on you because they know you can't be trusted. That sucks especially because you're not doing it on purpose!

If this is something you struggle with, take the time to work on it. You absolutely can find a way to minimize how often you flake out on people - not doing that is important to personal and professional relationships.

I believe in you!

[seralyra]

I've found it curious how a lot of people are theorizing about why Grian is isolating himself this season. And while it's a great, fertile ground for some real good angsty takes, I don't really see it as isolation, yet.

Sure Grian doesn't have a special alliance yet, but he's still around Mumbo, Scar and BigB a lot. He constantly seeks them out and he tends to hang around bigger, random groups. It's so different from how Pearl was treated in Double Life, too. He's not being shunned or ignored. He's invited along, called "Light of the Server" and is just overall present. He just hasn't attached himself to anyone yet.

And he's not the only one! Scar has been reluctant to really settle down with a group. Jimmy had ended his first session alone (haven't been able to watch his second episode yet). Joel, while technically part of the Mounders/Moles, has set up camp rather far away and is mostly doing his own thing. Lizzy as well. And Martyn has been running around the server like a feral rat searching for scraps. Not to forget BigB being a huge cryptid.

This season just feels fundamentally different. It's slower on the losing life's front and the tasks force people to interact with each other in ridiculous ways. The connections feel looser, because everyone has to traverse the whole server to get their tasks done. Which means that they are constantly on the move and interact with people they usually aren't around so much.

They've also learned from every game they are in. Cleo, Scar and Grian have learned a different thing than Pearl, for example. While Pearl is making sure to get into a secure group ever since Double Life, Cleo, Scar and Grian all are wary of alliances. Especially first day alliances. They play with a different strategy. They are setting up and waiting until they've got a good feel for everyone. They are done attaching themselves to the first person they end up with. Remember that had been Grians plan in Limited Life, too! Only Joel and Jimmy were able to rope him into the Bad Boy club with their silly charm.

It also feels to me that Grian is more of a leader and admin this season. He moderates more and is on higher alert when people are about to fail their tasks. There's more check ins and reminders from him. And at every end of the session he makes sure that judgement is bestowed upon the ones who failed.

Everything about this season is so intriguing to me! From BigB and Grian being cryptids and having a weird, manipulative, confusing relationship again. (BigB what do you mean you hope your interactions with Grian are going to get weirder?!) To all the funny random interactions and the potential lore. It's going to be such a wild ride!

[just-illegal]

AITA for lying to my friend about owning a frog?

Friend- friend is dubious.

Ok, so: I (M) was painting some frogs onto the tower I share with my roommate P (20-something or 30-something?, F), when - we'll call him J (can't be older than 20, M) - walked over to me and asked if we had any frogs. I gave him a vague answer, to see what he'd say, and he seemed to think we did... and he got super excited at the concept of frogs. He even offered a lifetime supply of food for it! Now, we didn't have any, but I did know a group of wild frogs with prophetic powers (long story), and I brought him to them, kind of killed one in front of him, and gave him the grandmaster frog (1537 and 2 months, M) as a sign of peace.

However, from the moment I gave it to him, I knew he was gonna kill it. Just felt it in my bones, you know?

I confessed to P what I had done, and she scolded me, reminding me that frogs were our thing and no one else on the server was supposed to have them. I knew I had messed up, but I told her that we could always just steal it back.

The next time we saw J, not soon after actually, we threatened him and asked where he had hid the frog. He was confused, I told P he had taken it from me, he told her about the food thing, and she started asking me all sorts of questions like I was the one who did something wrong! Asking me why I didn't tell her about the food offer, asking me why I would even take that offer up because we can steal from them so easily... We then got back to threatening him about the location of the frog, and he got super cryptic about it! Saying we didn't need to know, but that the frog was safe, and that he had renamed it.

After our talk with J, P and I started looking for the frog. She was gonna act as distraction as I went through their house, but it had been burned down a bit ago (long story) and I sort of wimped out and walked up to J and his friend instead. J said I had double crossed him for some reason, and when I made an offer he said he was tired of my deals?

I went and apologized to the frogs afterwards, don't you worry. They forgave me, but I knew I would have to make things right.

Will update you guys on developments, but I just wanted to post this now because I want to know if I'm really in the wrong or not.

Edit 1: I got the perfect opportunity today, so I decided to just steal it. I had to tell the frogs first, and picked one to act as a decoy.

I did manage to save it, and I brought it back home and hid it in a wall in the basement stairwell. Next, there was only one thing left to do: ask J to let us see the frog. He was a bit apprehensive, but I reminded him that we're great friends, and he promised to think it over.

He did make up his mind and let me see the frog eventually, but it turned out to be a ploy to kidnap me in an obsidian box! P did save me, don't worry! I still can't believe he would trick me like that, though...

He did later find the frog missing, and got super mad at me, like I'd done anything wrong!

By the way, I showed P the frog, safe and sound, and she was super proud of me!

Also, people have been asking for elaboration on the stuff I've said were long stories, but... they're long stories, and this post is already getting super long. Maybe I'll elaborate someday.

[nothingmatters-everythingmatters]

Hi hi! It's ya girrrlll

So I read your rant (delightful BTW, I'm a nosey hater at heart lol) and am here to ramble too! :3

Firstly though, I'm really sorry for the situation you're in and hope it gets better. I'm lucky enough to have an accepting family (my parents and sister at the very least) and to have recently moved to western Europe where it's pretty progressive(?) in terms of lgbt stuff (ignore the fascists and right wingers behind me trying to access the governments), but I can imagine how isolating your experiences might feel. Hang in there, there are better things in store, I'm sure!

Now for the rest of your rant, I found that you've raised some interesting points, notably about how amabs can easily take on the lesbian label while some afabs have yet to claim it for themselves due to the homophobia they mightve endured and amabs probably haven't thus far (they probably dealt with transphobia as transfems, which I'm not gonna diminish no matter my views on transgenderism, but they probably haven't really dealt with lesbo/homophobia especially if they're pre-transition). Afterall, lesbian transfems were probably straight guys before, and their orientation is sure as hell not condemned by the wider society.

It kind of reminds me of this one lesbian transgirl ik who I met on a server on discord and formed a group of online friends there which included her. I knew her before she came out/identified as trans and I remember at that time she'd sometimes mention how she'd listen to lewd asmr of girls and such. She also talked about how she wished she was lesbian. So I, being the lesbian debator I am, basically said that that's not a great thing to say (I refrained from saying it sounds fetishy), but she replied with basically saying that I don't understand and that lesbian love or whatever is so "pure" unlike hetero love or something. So guess how I felt when she started identifying as a lesbian trans girl and later found out it's something observable in a portion of the online transbian community (not saying every transbian is like this, but still). (Oh yh she also (sort of?) cheated on her gf so there's that but I don't think it's related.)

I think I feel a similar sentiment as you in the sense that while I can sympathise with some of the struggles transfems may face, I find it irritating at times when people seem to go above and beyond to label/treat them as "the most sapphic and lesbian ever" as you put it, most of the time in an effort to validate their identity and place in the sapphic and wider lgbt community, when they probably never had to face the struggles afab sapphics were faced with since forever and more importantly some say some... Questionable things about their orientation and attraction to women. Not all obviously, but still. Am I making any sense lol?

I definetely don't think transbians have 0 place in the sapphic community, I think it's a complicated matter and there can be some gray areas (I also have grown increasingly distant from the (at least online) lgbt/lesbian community the past year so idrc about most discourse ig), but I kind of wish this was all treated more "normally" if that makes sense and that afab lesbians or sapphic could talk about certain things related to their orientation without constantly being scrutinised to make sure they're including trans folk in everything ever. I also kind of wish we could call out problematic behaviour in trans people without being called transphobic, but I think this applies to specific cases mostly.

Anyway I think I was mostly nonsensical here, apologies, but feel free to reply to whatever you managed to latch onto here lol.

Also, if you ever feel the need to vent and don't feel comfortable airing those issues on tumblr.com for whatever reason, my dms are always open, I check into this hellsite daily <3

~🪼

(wow retroactive preface I go on a long ass ramble about semantics in this I apologize in advance for how many times you might have to read the word "definition" lmao)

hey!! so happy to keep seeing you here around these parts (my inbox, that is) and I'm glad you especially do get some enjoyment out of my far less polished vent posts :p I always feel bad when I post something so singularly interesting to me and me alone because it is just a full on personal blog moment, but to be fair to myself this entire blog is an exercise in actually voicing my own opinions and feelings for the sake of learning to express myself better, and it is nice to know even in the least poignant or least thought out posts, it isn't just fully self-beneficial lmao

I also (of course, as always) appreciated your response! honestly, I admire how level-headed and nuanced you can be with these topics, I myself often feel like I swing wildly from being harsher with my words and trying desperately to be as passive as possible to appease everyone, and I do have to say it is an ongoing challenge for me sometimes to strike that perfect balance between understanding but still standing by my convictions and not solely focused on people pleasing. it's a bit of a weird life, in my private time I do feel like I tend to be highly cynical and sort of an asshole lolol, especially towards other people, but in public I would never dare say any of the things I think because at the end of the day, I do still feel as if preserving friendly atmospheres among peers is paramount to being a productive part of a society. I'm like the opposite of the asshole with a heart of gold trope, in a way. gold with the heart of an asshole lmao

all that to say, I think you make some really astute observations that are still compassionate to trans women who identify as lesbian, while still pointing out the objective faults of their common language and behavior! I really think this (like so many issues whose current is pushed most strongly by the english speaking west) is a matter of semantics for the most part. labels, communities based on labels, and their inherent flaws I guess. because I really have no problem with someone identifying as a trans woman and also having a sexuality surrounding liking women, or if they want to talk about it or even if they want to define it separately than heterosexual attraction. it's their attraction, and I'm not the ceo of how people choose to define their own sexuality (and I wouldn't want to be, that sounds like a headache job lmao). for me, I think the issue really comes with when personal definitions of sexuality are enforced upon others, and when suddenly, highly personal definitions become community-defining ones. the term "sapphic" is such a great example of this weird treatment of labels and their definitions. the term "sapphic" can mean a lot of different things to different people, despite the fact that it is, at its core, a term held together by a single definition. in our society people will ideologically define every single word in a definition differently (ex. what does love mean? what does a woman mean (lol)?) and so even a fairly universal term can be personal based on one's own framework of thinking. BUT the thing is, a lot of transbians/people who identify as queer/tra positive/whatever you want to call the current hegemonic popular opinions of the lgbtq+ have taken to a personal definition of words like lesbian and sapphic, and have decided to supplant the originally fairly universal term and replace it with something that does kind of inadvertently alienate a lot of people who identify with the most "neutral" and non-ideological version of the definition (women who love/are attracted to women). instead, the basic definition has essentially shifted in its meta, though the words stay the same, the meaning is pushed to imply these terms can be understood as "someone who identifies as a woman who loves/are attracted to people who they identify as women" and that's just both too broad and too specific at the same time, excluding those who don't agree with the notion of identifying into what was previously understood as a sex class, and including people who wouldn't have even met the original definitional criteria to begin with. this, in turn, creates a vacuum in meaning, allowing for "aesthetic" to take over as the primary meaning of the term. I think that's where that "weirdness" comes in.

it's hard to find community with people who are coming at the definition of what the community is built on from a completely different direction. when I think of being "sapphic" (other than the brainrotting pop culture/online/algorithmically driven stereotypes) I simply think of being attracted to my same sex, that being female, and that being women. but, I would assume for transfems, they obviously don't have the simple way of just relying on same sex attraction as a definition, because they don't see the world in that way definitionally, and must apply more effort to justify why their attraction to women deserves to distinctively be defined from regular opposite sex attraction. that's where we get the strange insistence on sapphic love being more "pure" or making their entire personality curated towards "sapphic culture". in a way, though on the surface I am still pretty jealous that they get the privilege to express these thoughts and be backed up so strongly by people I know who would care less about me, I do feel bad that they must subconsciously feel the need to "prove" they meet the criteria for these labels because for them, there is no easy, biologically material fitting of the definition. I personally will have never have to care that much about fitting lesbian stereotypes or involving my life in sapphic culture. in fact, I basically can't not be sapphic. it's just the only way my future looks. it's the only way my attraction manifests. people will see me as a lesbian (well, that or a nerdy disheveled teenage boy at first glance lmao) just based on how I don't present in a way that centers men. it's the only way I fall in love.

and yeah, it really would be nice if there was space for a community where we could discuss that reality, openly, in mainstream progressive spaces! but for reasons that would be pretty bleak if we unraveled them, people would much rather play these games of labels and proving your place in them than creating avenues for people to congregate in spaces that actually bring them community and cater to their needs.

as always after these really really tangled word threads I slowly begin to run out of steam so I'll just wrap this up and say you made excellent points dear anon! maybe one day we can all just accept that sometimes definitions should be exclusive in that they exclude people who don't fit them, and not exclusive in the way that they exclude people who do fit them, and that afab women, and especially afab sapphics, deserve the right to preserve spaces for themselves without having to worry about appeasing men or anyone they don't want to!

and wow holy shit this is a whole lot of words trying to pick apart the way words can mean other words sometimes I would not blame anyone if they skim most of it lmao.

tl;dr the meta of labels and their definitions are kinda dumb and I'm maybe more dumb for spending so much time thinking about them

and lastly, thank you for the kind offer of your dm space as an area for venting! perhaps...I will take you up on that offer...it is inevitable I will be struck by another petty urge to vent about people in my life because I continue to work with people who are essentially the most fascinating but headache inducing parts of tumblr and twitter personified and I do still primarily have very "gendery" friends irl! we'll see if I end up having anything interesting to say about it though first, or if I can bear to actually talk to someone online once instead of passively yelling into the digital void!

[mrprettywhenhecries]

all in [trust fund cole/oc]

01. Making Waves

Trust Fund Cole ✘ Win Lewis (ofc)

♠︎ w.c. 3.5k words ♦︎ tags/warning(s). canon x oc pairing, f!oc, alcohol, smoking, nothing much this chapter, it’s pretty tame ♣︎ a/n. This is super self indulgent and I’m sure it’ll be pretty niche, but hopefully enjoyable for a handful of others besides myself lol. I’ve just had Cole in my head since watching Molly’s game, and one of my favourite things about minor characters is fleshing them out and making them my own while still feeling true to the crumbs canon gave us. ♥︎ Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! ❤️

“Win Lewis, right?”

At the sound of her name, Win looked up from the glass she’d been polishing.  A woman in a glittering black dress stood before her, her long red hair cascading in sleek waves over her shoulder and Win was sure she would’ve remembered her had she seen her before.

“That’s me, what can I do for you?” she asked, the redhead’s calculating gaze leaving Win feeling weighed and measured.

“My name is Molly Bloom,” the woman said, pulling a card from her clutch and sliding it across the bar, “and I’m putting together an exclusive high stakes weekly poker game.”

Win frowned in confusion.  “I’m afraid I don’t follow.  I don’t really know anything about poker.”

Molly’s lips twitched in amusement.  “I’m recruiting only the best, most qualified team of servers, dealers, and bartenders, which brings me to you.”

“I don’t know if I would call myself one of the best,” Win replied slowly, looking over Molly’s card, her eyes flicking back up to her face, meeting her level gaze.  “But I’m pretty damn good.”

Molly wanted her first New York poker game to make waves.  Apparently she wanted to rub her new success in someone’s face back in L.A., but Win didn’t know much about that.  When she arrived at the Plaza a half hour before the game was to begin, she had no idea what exactly she was walking into.

The suite Molly had booked was the definition of opulence.  Candles flickered in decorative glass votives scattered throughout the space, their warm rich scent permeated the air — a scent which Win learned later had been specifically designed to alleviate anxiety and make players more likely to place higher bets, throwing caution to the wind.  Elegant chairs and couches were arranged around the edges of the room, decorated with plush, gold embroidered throw pillows and set next to polished end tables with lamps that illuminated the room in a warm golden light.

The dark mahogany bar was stocked with the highest quality liquor money could buy, along with an array of mixers and garnishes for Win to mix any drink the players might ask for, but it was the pristine, green felted oval poker table in the center of the room that drew the eye.  Around it, spaced exactly twelve inches apart were ten high backed chairs.  Molly had even had gold embossed custom cards and chips made.  It seemed she really knew what she was doing.  

Before the players arrived, she gathered the staff, laying out the rules and reminding everyone of their duties and expectations for the night, as well as making sure everyone was informed of each player’s name, for a more intimate experience.

Win took her spot behind the bar, smoothing her hands over her sleek black cocktail dress to keep from fidgeting and wishing she had something a little flashier to wear, feeling a little plain next to some of the other women Molly had recruited, all gorgeous, and all in low cut glamorous gowns.

“Alright, show time,” Molly announced, crossing the room to throw open the double doors to admit the players waiting outside.

The group of men sauntered into the room, chatting amongst themselves.  Several smiled and nodded to Win and the other servers, while others paid them no mind, already focused on the game ahead as they took their seats.  But there was one that stood out from the rest of the group, younger than the others, his appearance meticulously crafted to give off a devil may care nonchalance with his wave of chestnut hair pushed effortlessly out of his face, and his silver dress shirt beneath his open blazer unbuttoned just far enough to show a glimpse of dark chest hair.  

On Molly’s list of players for the evening, he’d been marked as ‘Trust Fund Cole’, and the moniker fit, though Win wondered if he was aware of it.

As he passed, his eyes caught hers and a smirk curved his lips as his gaze lingered appraisingly.

Win kept her expression as smooth as possible, but her eyes followed him to the table, his chair the closest to the bar.  From what she could tell, he appeared to be in his mid-twenties, about the same age as her, probably Ivy league educated, and destined to inherit daddy’s millions one day.  Despite his good looks, he was just another spoiled rich boy, playing with the money he never had to work for.

Pushing down the wave of contempt at the thought, Win began preparing the players’ drinks as the servers returned with their orders, her muscle memory taking over and sweeping away the remainder of her nerves.  Most of the orders were merely liquor neat or over ice, with the occasional martini or old fashioned thrown in. 

As she was busy shaking the final cocktail, she noticed Cole’s drink of choice had been the scotch on the rocks she’d poured second.  He nodded to the server as she placed the glass at his elbow and he laid a chip on her serving tray by way of tip.

The first game began and Win leaned against the bar to watch.  She wasn’t overly familiar with the ins and outs of poker, but she was a quick study, and soon had a loose understanding of the rules and which hands were better to have.  But it was the players themselves she found the most fascinating, studying each of them to determine their tells, if they had any.

Though her eyes traveled the room, they kept returning to one player in particular; Cole’s striking profile entirely too distracting.  Each time she caught herself staring, tracing the sharp slant of his nose or the square curve of his jaw, she quickly tore her gaze away, though it would inevitably return.

It was during a break between games, while the dealers were switching places, that Win felt eyes on her, finding Cole watching her, a thoughtful expression on his face.  When their eyes met, his lips twitched and he lifted his empty glass, giving it a small shake, beckoning her over.

“I got it,” Win murmured to the server lounging at the far end of the bar as she moved to stand.

“Can I get a refill, please?  Scotch on the rocks,” Cole said, handing her the glass.

“I remember,” Win murmured, heading back to the bar to refresh his drink.

As he waited, Cole rubbed idly at his lips, hazel eyes following her every movement, and when she returned, carrying his drink on a small round tray, he smiled up at her as he took it, placing an orange chip in her hand, their fingers brushing for a brief second before he lifted his drink to his lips, watching her over the rim of his glass as he took a sip, his adam’s apple bobbing slowly.

“Thanks,” he murmured, holding Win’s gaze a moment longer and she gave herself a small shake, her brows climbing as she realized he’d given her a thousand dollar chip.

“My pleasure,” she breathed, quickly schooling her expression before hurrying back to the bar, wondering how much he’d given the other girl – though, at a quarter million buy in, a grand was probably pennies to him.

One of the other girls Molly had brought on, sidled closer, giving Win a look she didn’t quite care for.

“You know, when I approached him about joining the game, he seemed more interested in the chance to meet attractive women here than playing,” she murmured, nodding toward Cole, who had just called, leaning in to throw a couple red chips in.

When Win didn’t respond, the woman gave her long golden hair a toss, annoyance leaching into her smooth features.  “Just don’t forget that players are off limits.”

Win flashed the girl a tight smile that only lasted a moment before it slipped away, not appreciating the passive aggressive warning behind her words.

“I’m aware.  Besides, spoiled rich boys aren’t exactly my type.”

The other woman rolled her eyes, pushing away from the bar and Win was glad to see her go.

A little after four hours in, halfway through Win’s shift, they convened for a short break, giving the players a chance to stretch their legs and take care of any business they needed to see to.

Win slipped out to the balcony for a smoke, pulling a slender black cigarette from her bronze cigarette case and placing it between her lips as she snapped the case shut.

“Need a light?”

Startled, she spun toward the voice, only to find Cole leaning against the railing next to her, lighter already in hand.

“Thanks,” she murmured, her eyes flicking from the outstretched lighter to his face before leaning toward the small flickering flame, taking a drag as the end of her cigarette burned to life.  Pulling back, she blew the stream of clove scented smoke away while Cole lit his own cigarette and pocketed the lighter.

“I’m Cole, by the way,” he said, offering her his hand.

Win stared at it for a moment before taking it, noting how soft it was, as if he’d never had to work with his hands a day in his life.

“I know,” she said, a hint of a smile ghosting over her lips and Cole’s brows raised before furrowing in thought.

“Have we met before?  I’m sure I would’ve remembered a girl like you,” he insisted and Win let out a soft snort.

“No, Molly had us all memorize the names of each of player tonight,” she explained.

Cole nodded.  “Makes sense,” he mused, watching Win with interested.  “Though, I’m afraid that puts me at a disadvantage, and I don’t like that.”

“And how’s that?”

“You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

Win briefly considered dodging the question just to spite him, but she figured that might land her in trouble if he complained to Molly about her attitude.

“It’s Win,” she said, realizing her hand was still in his, grateful for the cover of darkness that hid the flush that rose to her face.

“Win,” he echoed, finally releasing her hand and she pulled back, quickly tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her palm still tingling from his touch.  

“Sounds like what I’d like to do tonight,” he chuckled, grinning as he brought his cigarette back to his lips, watching her as his cherry burned brighter.  “Maybe I’ll get lucky tonight,” he murmured, smoke curling from his lips.

“I hope you mean at poker,” Win replied, throwing him a wry look at the suggestion behind his words and Cole held his hands up, a boyish grin splitting his face.

“Of course, what else would I mean?”

Win turned back to the railing, rolling her eyes skyward as she took one last drag on her cigarette before snubbing it out on the crystal ash tray by her elbow.

“What time do you get off?” Cole asked, flicking the rest of his spent cigarette over the side of the balcony.

“Why, so you can get lucky?”  Win asked, giving him a side eye, a note of scorn in her voice.

“No,” Cole answered quickly, running a hand through his hair.  “Thought we could get a drink.  Talk.  That’s all,” he insisted, lifting his shoulder in a shrug, a look of apprehension crossing his face.

Win studied him.  At first glance he was certainly charming, seemingly cool and collected, but there was still a boyish innocence there, hidden beneath the manicured surface, trying to be something he wasn’t.  “I’m not supposed to fraternize with players.  Molly’s rule,” she said, surprised at the pang of regret that twisted her gut.

“But–!” Cole spluttered, quickly composing himself, adjusting his collar.  “It’s just one harmless drink.  Molly doesn’t have to know.”

Win chewed her lip, glancing back toward the door, weighing the risk.  “Not that it’s any of your business, but my shift ends at three,” she said, grabbing her cigarette case and turning to head back inside, giving him a pointed look over her shoulder. “Three, huh?” Cole murmured, checking the time on his watch, a grin stretching his face.  “I’ll meet you at the hotel bar.”

Win didn’t respond, heading back to her spot behind the bar and taking a sip from her water glass, smoothing her expression as the dealer called the players to return to the table.

Shortly before three, Cole checked his watch and rapped his knuckles against the table.  “Think I’m gunna cash out and call it a night, fellas,” he said, pushing his chair back and standing to stretch.  

He’d won a fair amount of money despite losing some, but there would be other games.  “I’ll see you gentlemen next week,” he said, grabbing his suit coat from the back of his chair and shrugging it on.

“See you next week, Cole.  Thank you for playing,” Molly said, giving him a wave as he headed for the door.

He nodded to her, his eyes slipping to Win for a moment as he paused by the door before pushing it open and stepping into the hallway and out of sight. 

A couple other men got up to leave, calling it a night as well, as the dealers switched places and new staff came in to relieve Win and the others.

“Stop by my apartment sometime tomorrow and I’ll have your checks,” Molly said.

Win nodded, gathering her things and slipping out behind the other girls, looking forward to getting out of her dress and heels once she got home.

Opting to take the next elevator, she checked her phone as she waited, letting out a relieved sigh when the shiny elevator doors slid open and she had the elevator car to herself.  Letting her eyes slip shut, she leaned against the wall as she descended.  When the door opened with a ding, she opened her eyes and stepped out, pausing at the sight of the hotel lounge off to her left.

She knew she should keep straight, head to the front doors and catch a cab home.  Her feet ached and her stomach rumbled hollowly, besides, Molly had been clear with her rules.

But something tugged at her, curiosity, maybe.  Or maybe she just wanted a drink.  At least, that’s what she told herself as she found herself heading to the lounge.

Cole sat at the bar, a drink sitting in front of him.  He looked up as Win took the stool next to him.

“I was half expecting you not to show,” he said, waving the bartender over.  At this hour, there weren’t many others in the lounge, but it wasn’t called the city that never slept for no reason.

“I was half planning on not coming,” Win said wryly as she reached down to massage her sore ankles.

Cole wore a smug smirk as he looked her up and down.  “What’s your poison?” he asked and Win straightened.

“Whiskey cola,” she answered and Cole turned back to the bartender.

“Whisky cola for the lady.”

The bartender nodded and turned to make her drink, sliding it in front of her on a tiny napkin.  Win murmured her thanks and picked it up, swirling the dark fizzing liquid in her glass before taking a sip.

“So, tell me about yourself,” Cole prompted, taking a sip of the amber liquid from his glass – Win wondering briefly if he was still drinking scotch or if he’d switched it up.

“Like what?”

“Like… what do you do when you’re not bartending?” Cole said with a shrug.

Win chewed her lip, trying to decide how much she wanted to tell him.  “Oh, you know, hang out with friends, binge watch Netflix, play guitar sometimes,” she said, taking a drink and setting her glass back down, the ice clinking against the glass.  “Nothing near as exciting as playing high stakes poker with a bunch of millionaires,” she joked dryly.

Cole grinned, looking rather pleased with himself.  “I suppose you could say my life’s pretty exciting,” he boasted, leaning back in the high backed stool, threading his fingers together behind his head.  “Just got another new car, thinking about taking it for a spin when my family heads down to the Vinyard this summer, Martha’s Vinyard, that is,” he clarified with a smirk. 

“Oh yeah?  And how many does that make your total?” 

“Cars?  Three now, but I’ve picked out the fourth, just trying to decide which colour I want,” Cole answered, his voice dripping pride, completely oblivious to the sarcasm in Win’s tone.  “Oh, and you should see my dad’s new boat.  It’s top of the line in luxury.  A real beaut–”

“Is that supposed to impress me?” Win asked, cutting him off.

Cole gaped at her, her response taking him off guard.  “Well… yeah.  Doesn’t it?”

“What?  Not used to that reaction?” Win asked, letting out a dry laugh at the confused look on his face.  “So, I’m curious,” she said, not giving him time to respond.

“Yeah?” he prompted, taking a sip, his eyes trained on Win, definitely not pouting, his ego definitely not bruised.

“You clearly already have more money than you could ever need.  What’s the point in gambling?  Especially if you lose, seems like a waste,” she muttered, thinking about how much even a fraction of that money could make such a difference in her life.

Cole’s lips twitched.  “Well, it’s not really about the money,” he replied, as if that were obvious.  “It’s about the thrill, the risk.  It’s about being the best at the table.”

“Mmm,” Win hummed sarcastically.  “So, you’re just a bored little rich boy?”

“Hey now!” Cole exclaimed lightly, his mouth falling open in mock offense.  “There’s more to me than that!”

“Oh?  Like what?” Win asked, amusement dancing in her stormy grey eyes.

“I could show you,” Cole replied, dropping his voice and leaning in.  “If you let me.”

Win wet her lips, the sweet taste of whiskey still on them.  “And what makes you think I want that?” she asked, her eyes searching his.

“On please, you couldn’t take your eyes off me all night.  Don’t try to deny it, sweetheart.”

Win didn’t answer, merely bringing her glass to her lips, downing the rest of the drink and setting the empty glass on the bar with a soft thunk.  She let the silence stretch, deciding not to acknowledge Cole’s words, knowing he was right, she couldn’t deny it.

Holding his gaze, her lips stretched into a serene smile.  “Thanks for the drink,” she said, slipping off the bar stool and pulling on her coat, shaking out her short white-blonde hair.

Cole gaped after her.  “Wait!  Can I see you again?” he exclaimed, throwing back the rest of his drink and slapping a bill on the bar before hurrying after her into the lobby.

Win paused with her hands on the front door, just shy of pushing it open, and turned to look at him, amusement flashing in her grey eyes.  “I’ll see you at next week’s game,” she said, relishing the expression on his face–that incredulous half grin–as she pushed the door open to hail a cab.

“That’s not what I meant!” Cole called after her, stepping out onto the sidewalk behind her, but she merely smiled at him as she slipped into the backseat of the waiting cab, leaving him wanting more.

Watching the cab pull away from the curb and disappear into traffic, Cole shook his head.

Guess he was coming to the next game after all.

@whimsicalwadewinstonwilson @super-unpredictable98 @sailorskunk @rattkween86

[i-still-mask-because]

hello! im trying to start masking again, but my family is anti-mask and anti-covid vaccine. theyre not hostile or forceful abt it and i love them regardless but i still get questioned whenever i try to wear one.

to make matters worse i have executive functioning issues that makes it hard to remember so uh. im following u so that i can be reminded to do so more frequently. i really wish i could convince my parents without getting into an argument though.

sry for dumping this on u you dont need to respond if u dont want to

Hey! Thank you for sharing 💛

I'm really sorry to hear you're lacking support from your family. I'm experiencing similar circumstances where my family may not overtly or forcefully try to keep me away from masking, but I can 100% tell they don't think it's reasonable & some may try to debate me about it or try to coerce me out of it. Familial support is so important, so I 100% understand how alienating and rough it can be to be the only one still committed to taking covid safety measures & precautions.

I recommend finding online spaces with other covid-cautious people you can connect with, get support from, and find access to tools & resources (be it through Facebook groups, Discord servers, IG communities, Tumblr communities, etc.). I suggest those especially because they've personally been tremendously helpful for me feeling a sense of community and connection. Bonus if the space is tailored to be a safe space for your specific demographic.

Also, there's this page called How To Talk To Your Loved Ones About Covid, and it's very insightful and thorough. I totally understand how stressful it can be to be put on the spot to as your loved ones' personal public health expert (especially if you can tell they may not be very receptive), so I hope this could give you some useful tips on what you can say when talking to your folks.

If anyone has any additional suggestions or supportive words, feel free to share!

Wishing the best for you anon 😷💛

[theflippedpages]

The Chiseled Catastrophe - 0 (EtN + MCYT)

(This is the start of my new hyperfixation fanfiction. Blocky YouTubers are stuffed into a death-game escape room and have to try and escape while their friends die around them. How fun. :D)

(Also, if there's any other old fics ya'll want me to update, let me know! I got nothing else to do but write this summer break, so I might as well!)

-----------

Episode 0 - The Wax Seal

-----------

"Hello?"

"Hey, Tim," Grian's familiar voice crackled on the other side of the line, "I know you're busy with real-life duties, but I thought I should mention…" 

"Yeah?"

"...Tumble Town blew up.” And quickly added, “It’s not a joke, I swear on my life." 

Jimmy had been planning to take a couple of days off from Empires, but never once had he opened up Minecraft so fast. 

Before he could click onto the world, he spotted his web camera clutching the edge of his monitor, and he was instantly reminded of his duty as a content creator. Running a hand through his slightly damp hair and ruffling it to partially dampen his bedhead, he pulled up his recording software and sighed. 

"I was honestly planning to take a couple of days off of Minecraft to get creativity again, but," he raised his phone, "one of my friends just gave me quite a call… telling me that Tumble Town… blew up." He forced a chuckle as he began to record his screen. "Now, this could all be another bad prank to get me back into Empires… or all my months of work are actually gone."

Jimmy didn't force an emotion for a camera this time as his eyes shifted to the small sheriff plushie sitting on his desk. His heart was racing much more than usual, and he couldn't stop his eyes from blurring. He bit down on his cheek. It's just a game, Jimmy. It's just a game. He told himself, his mouse once again hovering over the 'Empires SMP' slot. It's not life or death. It's just something you do for fun. It's not actually life-threatening. In fact, this would be a great thumbnail and title. 

Blowing out his held-up breath, he clicked in and logged on. The world spawned in little sections as the white sky –wait, white?– filled his screen. Loading in doesn't usually take long… there must've been a ton to update. While he waited for it to load, he paused his recording and casually checked who was online. Some of the Empires' creators were there; himself, Joey, Scott, Marytn, Lizzie, and Joel; as well as some of the Hermitcraft players from the concluded crossover; Grian, Mumbo, Tango, and Ren. Though they had stopped recording about the ‘rift between the two servers’, the players were still interested and intrigued by the buildings and often came to visit off-camera. That's why he hadn't found it strange that Grian had been the one to call him, as he and Scar usually helped tidy and terraform the place when Jimmy was off recording 'lore' with the members of Empires. 

The name tags were less of his worry as he saw a new one join. 'Time_Is_Up joined the game.' He glanced over at his recording software, making sure it was paused. The worst thing I could do is ruin the magic of someone else's lore by showing a camera account. He looked back at the game, noticing the chat light up. 

SmallishBeans: who's that? Smajor1995: I thought it was a camera acc. InTheLittleWood: same here!

Jimmy's eyes narrowed. Was this also part of the story? No.. Someone usually mentions if they're adding an account in our group chat…

SolidarityGaming: you mean this isn't any of ours? LDShadowLady: nope, not mine Mumbo: I thought it belonged to one of the Empires members. Grian: I don't have an account named like that SolidarityGaming: Surely this isn't another ‘Xornoth’ thing, is it, Scott Smajor1995: it's not me this time, I swear!

Either someone is playing a strange prank or… wait, my empire!  He dragged his mouse down to check on the progress of his chunks loading in, reaching over to continue the recording and slipping in his headphones. Once he saw Tumble Town fully come into view Jimmy's heart nearly stopped. 

The once-thriving Wild West town now lay in ruins, its wooden structures engulfed in roaring flames that billowed smoke into the air, and deep craters dug into the red sand below. This town, which had once epitomized the rugged spirit of the frontier, was now a ghostly landscape of destruction. And to his surprise, the sky was still white…

Jimmy, the ‘Sheriff’ who had dedicated months to building up the town and establishing law and order, walked through the chaos with heavy steps. His heart weighed as heavily as the town's buildings, now reduced to smoldering piles of debris. The saloon, wagon, and jail that had once echoed with lively chatter and the jokes of his friends were reduced to ash and charred wood.

Jimmy remembered the countless evenings he'd spent on the top of the sandy crater, looking out over Tumble Town with a sense of pride. He recalled the laughter of Scott as he flirted with him, Joel playing by the TNT wagon, and the harmony that had thrived in this rustic settlement. As he walked, he stumbled upon the charred remains of the large train Scar had built, the ornate timepiece forever frozen in time at the very moment when chaos erupted. The destruction was surreal and heart-wrenching.

“Jimmy!” He instantly recognized the voice as it loudened with each yell. “Jim!” A pair of wings were flying above him, pulling back to land. “Jimmy, what happened here?” It was Scott. “Did your stash of TNT go off? Did someone…” His head moved in a circle as he took in the immense amount of damage. “...Spawn 10 Withers here? Why is Tumble Town so destroyed?” 

“I… I don’t know.” Jimmy admitted, turning to face him. “Grian called me, saying Tumble Town blew up. So I logged in… and…” He looked back into the mesa. “It’s all… gone.” The tragedy left Jimmy with a profound sense of loss. His duties as sheriff had been rendered powerless against the unstoppable flames that devoured the wooden structures. He couldn't help but feel responsible, wondering if there was more he could have done to prevent this disaster.

Smajor1995: Grian, could you come to Tumble Town pls Grian: sure

Jimmy heard the yelling of his fellow Britishman as the brunette landed beside him and Scott. “Grian, how did you know Tumble Town was destroyed?” Scott began asking before Jimmy could even say hello. “Did you see anyone or anything that blew up?” 

“No, no,” Grian shook his head, “I was actually here to steal some gunpowder for fireworks. But when I came by… your TNT wagon was lit up, and it caused a bit of a large crater. I thought it was just a silly mistake, and I turned to leave with my two stacks, but I heard more explosions…” He sighed. “And when I looked back again… there was TNT everywhere, and it was flying, and there was just… so much smoke.” 

“Could you catch any name tag?” 

“Yeah, actually, I think I saw-” Grian’s voice withered as he checked the chat. The messages flew quickly in succession.

Tango: Guys, I got a letter Grian: What letter?  Mumbo: I got one too Smajor1995: you mean, your internet bill?  Tango: no, no, like an invitation Tango: It’s like Minecraft themed RenDog: as I as well

“If you’d like, Sheriff, you could stay in my Inn back in Chromia for now,” Scott flirted, hoping to lighten the mood. Jimmy would usually push the woo away with a laugh and an assurance he’d do it on his own, but now, accepted it with a kind nod. 

“That would actually be very nice, Scott. The more I look at this, the more I feel absolutely enraged.” Jimmy tried to keep his eyes away from the destruction and toward the chat, but the flames and smoke distracted him quickly. “I’m just going to diffuse the fire… I don’t want it to expand and destroy more than it already has.” The blonde slowly trudged toward the fire as Grian monitored the lines on the screen, curious about the conversation.

Mumbo: I thought it was something from Mojang Tango: That’s what I’m thinking Grian: ooh, if it's from Mojang, have fun Mumbo: Grian, check if you got one too, the letter says 10 members Tango: 10 members from ALL over Minecraft, i don’t think they’d invite all from hermitcraft  RenDog: the letter doesn’t say ‘all’ though Mumbo: Wait, it says we shouldn’t talk about this… Tango: oh RenDog: pretend this never happened, guys. there was no letter.

Grian laughed. 

Grian: Letter? What letter? 

And the chat fell silent again as a few people began to sign off. 

Smajor1995: Btw, Jimmy’s place has been blown up, does anyone know who did it? LDShadowLady: like, in roleplay, or actuality?  Grian: Tumble Town was absolutely destroyed  JoeyGraceffa: no way

Grian frowned. 

LDShadowLady: oh my, Jimmy do you need resources to rebuild? SmallishBeans: we’d love to help, Jim Smajor1995: I’m gonna get him to stay in Chromia for now InTheLittleWood: who would do such a thing?

〰〰〰〰〰

Grian's room was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the glow of his computer screen. The sounds of the faraway flicker of fire from the destroyed Tumble Town was an eerie, yet peaceful sound to listen to, paired with the quiet hum of the Minecraft soundtrack. But then, amidst the digital noise, he heard it – a gentle chime, like a distant doorbell. His head snapped up, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Nobody ever rang his doorbell while he was gaming, and he wasn't expecting any visitors.

Pushing himself away from the desk, he rose from his gaming chair and padded softly across the room. The brunette reached the door, hand on the knob, ready to fling it open with a playful grin. However, when he swung the door wide, he found no one there. Instead, a simple envelope lay on the welcome mat, just inches from the threshold. He bent down, plucking it from the ground.

Is this the letter they were all talking about? The Minecraft one?

Examining the envelope, he noticed that it was old-fashioned, sealed with a wax stamp that bore an intricate design. His curiosity piqued, he carefully broke the seal and withdrew the letter from within. Grian's eyes scanned the handwritten words on the paper, and his brows furrowed with surprise as he read the unexpected message.

Dear Charles (Grian),

You are cordially invited to a Minecraft-themed party that promises to be an unforgettable experience. As you know very well through your years of continuous playing, Minecraft is a world of endless possibilities, and this event aims to bring that pixelated adventure to life. We've prepared a world full of surprises.

The location of the event is a remote area, isolated from the hustle and bustle of the city, surrounded by dense woods. Don't worry; it's far from the distractions of everyday life. You will also not be allowed to vlog through any other means, as this is meant for you and the 9 other invitees. 

This also means that this invitation cannot be talked about to anyone, whether they be of relevance to Minecraft or not. If we find out that this has been discussed, your offer will be rescinded and all your Minecraft accounts erased. I'm sure you wouldn't want that… and neither would your other invitees.

The environment may challenge your understanding of the real world and the digital realm. But remember, it's all in the spirit of fun and adventure.

Don't let the absence of exits concern you; the event will run through the night and into the early morning, with all food and hospitalities cared for and on the house. 

We understand this invitation might seem strange, but rest assured, it's all about transporting you into the Minecraft universe and creating lasting memories. We kindly request that you bring a sense of adventure and a willingness to embrace the unexpected.

Please be prepared for a night filled with enigmatic challenges, engaging experiences, and the thrill of the unknown. It would be recommended you dress up as your player skin to be recognizable to others. 

We look forward to your presence at the Minecraft-themed adventure. The date will be revealed shortly, and your transportation will also be taken care of.

 It will be an event to remember, and we hope you will leave with stories to share.

"Grian?? Oh, is he AFK?" He could hear Jimmy from his computer back in his room. He slipped the letter back into its casing and walked back upstairs. 

"Sorry, sorry, I'm back now," he blurted out, dropping the envelope beside his desk. "What's going on?" 

"Jimmy's 'bout to continue recording, we were hoping you could hide?" Scott asked, looking back at the still nametag of Jimmy's that had disappeared into the wooden ruins. 

"Oh, yes, sure." Grian was quick to murmur. "I actually think I might just head off right now." 

"Okay, yeah, have a good rest of your day then," Scott spoke as he crafted new rockets with the help of the half-broken gunpowder farm. He had to make his entrance in style, after all. How else was he going to take the spotlight in Jimmy's video?

Once he saw the brunette's name tag flicker out, Scott muted his mic and flew himself a distance over. He still kept himself within earshot of Jimmy's mic so he wouldn't create dead space in his recording. 

Speaking of, I have to start my video soon, if I plan on benefiting from Jimmy's destroyed empire. After all, this is a huge event. I have to get the first scoop before everyone else knows about it. Scott turned on his recording software and tested his mic before waiting in silence. He knew that there would be dead space in his video, but he didn't mind, seeing as he'd have to record himself in Chromia first so it didn't seem suspicious... And then get a message from Jimmy. But he can work out the kinks later once Jimmy's done with his initial panic. 

Grian said he knew who it was… While he heard the Sheriff mumbling about all his hard work gone, Scott's mind couldn't help but wonder who could've done something like this or why someone would do it if it wasn't for any story-based arc. Surely someone would've let Jimmy know before destroying his entire empire… it wasn't even a prank that could be fixed easily. Scott focused on Jimmy's words as they grew farther and farther away. 

"Oh my gosh, Norman!" Scott's eyes widened. Norman? Oh god, is he okay?

"Thank god you're safe!"

And Scott breathed out a heavy sigh. Even if it's just a few pixels, a pet in Minecraft is still a pet. 

"I better tell someone about this… who could've done such a thing! I've been nothing but nice to everyone– even if they call me a toy." 

SolidarityGaming: Is anyone nearby? Please come to my empire.

Scott took this as his cue.

Smajor1995: Anything for you, sheriff. I'm on my way.

He could hear the blonde's flustered sigh, and he couldn't help but grin at that awaited reaction. He instantly shot a couple of rockets into the sky, pulling back from the mesa only to fly in the direction of it, landing close to where he last saw Jimmy. 

"Scott, I'm so glad you're here!" 

Scott made a long motion of looking around the destroyed empire. "Jimmy, I thought this was something sweet, what on earth happened to Tumble Town?!"

"I'm asking you the same thing! I took a couple of days off, and went back to see everything in ruins!" 

"Gosh… maybe it was a stray lightning strike on TNT?" The cyan-haired tried to reason. "Maybe someone brought flint and steel a bit too close to your saloon?"

"Scott, there is barely a half-stack of TNT in Tumble Town. All my stock for trading is all in the form of gunpowder!" Jimmy grew more and more upset with each sentence. "And last I played Minecraft, gunpowder doesn't explode unless it's in a creeper, in TNT or fireworks! And two out of three of those can't create a disaster this big!" 

"Listen… being here is only going to get you further upset. Let's get you to Chromia where you can spend the night. Next morning, I'll call up the other empires and we can discuss what just happened." 

Jimmy hesitated for a moment. Scott didn't know whether it was a show for the camera or not. "Yeah… yeah, okay. I'll just… gather a couple of my belongings." 

Scott nodded, turning to fly back to the top of the crater. "Good, and make sure you grab everything valuable to you."

"Tumble Town is valuable to me." 

At that, Scott nearly broke character. This wasn't the 'Sheriff Solidarity' speaking, it was Jimmy. There was actual emotion in that short sentence. "You'll be okay, Jim. We'll find out who did it." He assured gently, slipping back into his actor-self. 

The cyan-haired didn't have to wait for long as Jimmy came back holding an Enderchest and his sheriff badge in his offhand. "Let's go." 

[moonpoolcat]

Personal question but you said in your bio you were abandoned by the last fandom you were a part of? how did that happen if you don't mind me asking?

Oh I can for sure answer that. The last fandom I was a part of was a sci-fi based furry server I had been a part of for years. I treated everyone there like family, my art improved because of them and I looked up to the owner of the server like a second parent an I regret it to this day. However the owner of the discord server allowed children to run her server an be in an area that was 13 an up when it should have been 18 an up. I was openly stalked an harassed by a dam 15 year old for 2 years an I had screenshots worth of evidence and the mods did nothing- The server was severely toxic and I had called out it's issues twice to where I was banned not once but three FUCKING TIMES! Do you understand that they made me to be the bad guy because I refused to keep my mouth shut. She let mods abuse their power an did nothing, she hired random strangers with no mod application to be admins even though there were users who had been there since the servers opening an were never chosen it was all favoritism from the start. One of those bans was for an entire year an they didn't even let me back in after a month when they promised to let me rejoin. I was forgotten... I was a pest. A RAT to them. I was on a list of troublemakers when I had done nothing but try an keep the server safe, even accidentally co-running it because none of the mods were on until I said something that pissed them off. They didn't defend anyone unless it was their stupid little friend group giving them extra privilege's. DO NOT make it obvious you have favorites I will openly hate you for your entire existence. Keep that shit to yourself an don't enrage your fans. This child made unwanted unconsented ships, lore broke an bypassed multiple rules, had a futa kink, misrepresented lesbians, the trans community multiple times misrepresented people with multiple personality disorders, fact checking, an overall being a dick to everyone. As of now I am banned forever an no longer allowed to return, the place I once called home is now gone forever, the countless ocs I drew are long forgotten an i have been abandoned. All because of poor management... This is why I don't talk to younger users an have openly wrote in my bio that I don't want them dm me on this platform. I am openly blunt an none of them would handle an argument with me even if they tried. It just reminds me that no matter what I do everyone will always say "they're just a kid" MAN FUCK THAT! If you do some dumb shit I'm calling you out on it I don't care how young you are you're old enough to make an account, you're aware of what's right or wrong don't be stupid your actions have consequences. You want to be an adult I'll treat you like one. Go fucking cope for all i care. To this day I had successfully managed to get them banned from every server an I will keep doing it until they erase themselves from the internet.

Fuck with my life I break your legs so no one cna help you :) Call this controversial I don't care much social is a distaser now. ELIAM WHITE IF YOU'RE READING THIS FUCK YOU! GO KILL YOURSELF YOU SCUMBAG YOU ABSOLUTELY RUINED MY LIFE. since you can't even bother to change your username on any social media platform. I hope everyone on here knows you're a zoophile for fetishising Dobermans, wolves, dragons, and any form of big cat. No your stupid mutt of a dog is not part wolf stop bragging about it. Your lore an ocs are complete ass no one wants to read that shit garbage you call a fandom. YOU DO NOT HAVE ADHD, no one makes notes of strangers on their phones, stalks their timezones an hits on their oc the moment they create one. You hate everyone who's in a relationship trying to be a third wheel you creep. NOT TO MENTION YOU'RE A PEDO FOR SHOWING PORN TO MINORS YOUNGER THAN YOU! YOU ACTIVELY HAVE NOTHING BUT ADULTS FOR FRIENDS YOU WILL GET THEM ALL SENT TO JAIL! And for anyone else reading this from that server I hope you know that you are all good for nothing traitors an have ignored my pleas for help for far too long. None of you believed in me an none of you bothered to see what this little boy has done. Fuck you all. GO FUCK YOURSELVES!!!