#all right through the evening commute and overnight

[frozenartscapes]

I'm getting real sick and tired of these "biggest snowstorm of the year" events turning out to be a light dusting of snow and maybe a little bit of wind

[wallflowerwritesstuff]

Decisions, Decisions

...but you can choose them all if you really want~

Just a little cute thing I wanted to do similar to a choose-your-own adventure game :) Choose who you want to care for you after a particularly harsh mission!

The beginning is the same for all routes, but you can pick which LI you want at the end of it.

Enjoy :)

-🌻

Can be read at ao3 here if preferred!

Borders by strangergraphics here on tumblr :)

Your body was killing you. 

You could already see the looks of disapproval for just thinking the statement, the images at least cracking your frown and allowing for the corners of your lips to curl upward. Ignoring the fact that your entire body felt like one big bruise, you continued to type up the remainder of information from the mission, only having gone due to the original hunter being put on medical leave a week in. 

You now understood exactly why they had been placed on said leave.

Rather than your usual clumsy antics resulting in some minor injuries, it was the job that had left you beaten, bruised, and momentarily bloody. You didn’t even want to know how bad it must look to others, grateful you couldn’t see your back but wincing whenever you imagined the sight of your collarbone down to your toes. The wanderers lately have grown more…intense. Rather than managing to get through a job in an hour or so, it had begun to take several. 

You were a great hunter—you reminded yourself of that a lot more, lately—but even with your seemingly above average skills when fighting, you were still human. 

You could still die.

Shutting the laptop with a tired exhale, you turn your head toward the windows to see the familiar sunset beginning to fade on the horizon. You were sure you would have appreciated it more if your vision weren’t so blurry from staring at a screen for so long. Still, you allow yourself to watch it until it disappears entirely, the emptiness of night more prominent when you still had to commute home. 

You don’t regret not going with Tara, though her words ring in your ears as you steel your nerves to force yourself up into a standing position. 

Get some rest, alright?

The concern that had laced into her words was touching, especially considering you hadn’t expected how easily it would be to become fast friends. Caleb had been the only one you’d ever clicked with so seamlessly, though the memory had become more bittersweet than nostalgic ever since his passing. 

You miss him and Grandma, your eyes watering as you wipe the stray tears that made their way down your cheeks. Grounding yourself was a lot harder when you already were in such a vulnerable state, but you managed to do it before exiting the office and making sure to shut the lights on your way out. 

You pull out your phone, finding some messages unread but once again unable to fully concentrate, a frustrated huff escaping you as you shove the device back into your pocket. The harsh movement sends shockwaves through you as you await the building’s elevator, your eyes closing as you focus on each breath. 

It was easier to brush off the pain earlier—adrenaline and the eyes of many causing you to suck it up to avoid damaging morale. 

Right now, however?

You were sure you would have rather been knocked out cold and taken into medical. 

At least there they’d have given you something to take the edge off. 

The elevator dings, the doors parting as you open your eyes and realize you have to decide whether you’re taking your bike or public transportation to get home. 

Crap. 

“Well, better now than later,” you muse to yourself blithely, stepping inside the elevator and pressing the ‘ground floor’ button with much more force than necessary.

A part of you wonders if you should get something prescribed rather than attempting to cruise the next few days, but the idea of traveling to the hospital and the risk of being placed under overnight observation was enough to have you pushing the idea away entirely. 

Tomorrow, you assure, knowing very well that apart from sleep, you wouldn’t be seeking much of anything else. 

When you get down the the ground floor, you begin your walk to the bus stop, hoping there aren’t any delays but not holding your breath.

------------------

Time to Choose~

Xavier

Zayne

Rafayel

Sylus

[fostercare-expat]

Younger Brother had his first overnight at his Mom’s place since he came into care 8 months ago and it went well. Hurray.

Fearless’s Mom got approved for a housing loan and some government grants to help low income first time buyers. Even with all that help, there’s barely anything remotely in her price range. Seems like a 1 bedroom flat is all she is is going to be able to afford, and she can turn part of the living room into a private space for Fearless, maybe with a hospital curtain sort of arrangement that can open and close, or maybe with some dry wall eventually. But even those sort of units are on the ground floor (not the safest and they are noisy) and they look grungy in the photos and it’s a 1 hour commute for Fearless’ mom to work. Sleeping in the living room is ok for an 11 year old boy but what about when he’s 19 years old and he needs more space and privacy.

I slept in my parents living room my whole life until I left home at 17. But here kids live with their parents a lot longer.

But right now they are living in a tiny studio so at least a 1 bedroom would be a huge improvement.

Update: I just made arrangements to view 2 potential places this weekend. One of them currently has 10 people living in it. It’s a 1 bedroom. Housing prices the whole world over are out of control. This places’s asking price isn’t even in her range!!! But hopefully could be negotiated down. These are literally the only 2 places on the market with a 1 hour commute from her work that meet the government grant requirements and are in / close to her price range. There’s NOTHING else right now. She’s not in a big rush to buy but I figure I may as well go get some sense of things.

I saw a sweet meme lately “Life doesn’t come with a manual, it comes with a mom.” Well, Fearless’s Mom happened to run into her biological Mom on Friday night at a religious festival. She said she gave her a face like “What are you doing here?” and she didn’t come over to talk to her. This woman had 6 children and hasn’t raised ANY of them. She even had the 6th via IVF and still isn’t raising her. She left her back in another country after her husband died. Hopefully with his relatives but no one knows. She’s only about 4 years old. Later in the night, Fearless’ Mom also ran into her biological brother, who was placed for adoption as a baby. He didn’t even realise their biological mom was there. He’s not in touch with her any more either. He tried when he finally found all of them a few years ago but it was short lived. Fearless’s Mom was so hurt that their Mom wanted a relationship with him but not with her, but as predicted, she wasn’t capable. This woman has created path of destruction through life. So if I can help pick up the pieces by giving some real estate advice, so be it.

[causeitsagame]

Fic: Evening Commute

Characters: Hajime Hinata, Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu

Author: @miggylol

Notes: For @hajihiko as a birthday present! (I know it's a little early, but didn't want to miss it.) Thank you for all the art you feed us.

Excerpt: The door closed. In the silence, a breeze blew fingers of dust around their feet.

"Okay," Hajime eventually prompted. "I guess we head back."

At least the hospital was close to the bridge, but the walk seemed longer than it ever had before. Hajime became keenly aware of every sound he made: footsteps, coughs to clear his throat, swallowing. Even breathing sounded loud in his ears.

It was just so deeply weird to be walking like this with Fuyuhiko.

-----

If patients do not need to be accompanied, overnight stays by non-patients are expressly forbidden.

"Don't worry!" Mikan insisted from the front door of the hospital. Her fists clenched white-knuckle tight on a cool cloth she'd been using to soothe Nagito's fever. Around her, shadows lengthened into deep purple bruises on the building's exterior. "I won't let anything happen to any of them!"

"Damn straight you won't." Fuyuhiko shifted his weight after the terse words. He didn't yet seem sure of how to encourage people. That had come out more like a threat or order than praise, but he didn't try to clarify himself.

Hajime added, "We'll be back in the morning, all right? And we know we can trust you to keep them safe in the meantime."

Mikan nodded. Though their faith earned a smile from her, fear for their suffering friends kept the expression tight around its edges. "I should get back to Nagito. I need to keep his fever under control. Good night!"

The door closed. In the silence, a breeze blew fingers of dust around their feet.

"Okay," Hajime eventually prompted. "I guess we head back."

At least the hospital was close to the bridge, but the walk seemed longer than it ever had before. Hajime became keenly aware of every sound he made: footsteps, coughs to clear his throat, swallowing. Even breathing sounded loud in his ears.

It was just so deeply weird to be walking like this with Fuyuhiko.

I can do it, y'know.

Don't talk to me like we're friends or something!

I'll fucking kill you!

It wasn't that he mistrusted the guy's turnaround. No one would make that apology unless they deeply, fully meant it. But Hajime wasn't practiced with this new dynamic, yet, and his mind was consumed with worry for the people in the hospital. It was easier to just walk in silence.

Eventually, their feet stepped off the bridge and onto the pathway that circled the central island. It was a slight change in elevation, and Fuyuhiko let out a soft noise as he stepped down to the road.

Hajime's gaze flicked to the other boy's torso, where he'd been most recently bandaged. In the growing dark, he futilely tried to make out any spots of blood appearing on Fuyuhiko's white shirt. Fuck it, he should probably ask this before they got any further from the hospital. "How're you doing?"

Fuyuhiko started in surprise at the unexpected question, and stopped walking. "Huh? I'm not sick, if that's what you're worried about." Concern flickered through his good eye. "At least, I don't seem to be. Yet."

"Same here," Hajime assured him, but hesitated. "I actually meant your…" He gestured toward Fuyuhiko's abdomen.

"Pfft." Fuyuhiko snorted dismissively, but the noise cut sharply off. Discomfort crossed his face, soon hidden. To make that sound, he'd needed to tense his abdominal muscles. He closed the eye not hidden behind a patch, inhaled slowly, then opened it and began walking again. "Let's go."

Hajime opened his mouth, closed it, and set back into motion. Fuyuhiko was probably fine.

"That thing's goddamn creepy," Fuyuhiko muttered as the enormous countdown clock came into view. "Think it's really a bomb?"

"I don't know," Hajime mused. "If it's a normal bomb that size, then what happens? Is he just going to blow up the park and whoever happens to be standing there?"

"So, the other option is… what? That it's not a normal bomb? It's a fuckin' nuke, or something?" Fuyuhiko shook his head, but he still eyed the countdown ticking down with suspicion. "I can believe that some of the assholes involved in this could find one on the black market, with everything we've seen. But I don't think they'd go that route."

"Really?" Hearing the possibility spoken, as remote as it was, had sent a coil of fear twisting through Hajime. He wouldn't mind hearing why the idea had to be wrong. "Why's that?"

"That'd kill all of us like that," Fuyuhiko said, and snapped his fingers. "And then the show's over for the bear. I don't think we're getting out of things that quickly."

"Well, that's…" Hajime trailed off and smiled wryly. "Fair point." That was a darker answer than he'd expected, but honestly, it did make him feel better to rely on such a cynical assessment of Monokuma's behavior. Cynicism could be a lot more believable than optimism, sometimes.

Fuyuhiko actually smiled back at his reaction. A small smile, barely there, but it might be the first one Hajime had seen out of him.

Hajime slowed his pace once he understood how much pain Fuyuhiko was covering, while not making it so obvious as to be patronizing. If Fuyuhiko did notice, he didn't complain. Minutes later, they reached the bridge to the first island. It was even longer than the bridge to the third island and seemed to vanish into the twilight distance. They stepped onto it, and as the central island faded behind them, the sound of waves crashing below became a hungry roar.

"We'll need to check the restaurant tomorrow morning before we actually go in," Hajime mused. "When we grab something for breakfast, I mean. Before we head back."

Fuyuhiko eyed him sidelong. "Why?"

"The other group will have to run there for food, right? I can't think of anywhere they'd eat on the third island." Fuyuhiko still looked at him oddly, and Hajime continued in an uncertain voice, "So… to maintain the quarantine, we should make sure we don't walk into the middle of their group, if they've come over."

"They're not coming over," Fuyuhiko said with iron certainty. "Not until this disease is fixed. They're gonna hole up in that hotel, turn it into a known home base, and treat everywhere and everyone else as a danger zone. That's how people react in a crisis. Trust me."

Hajime frowned a bit. That was slightly too much cynicism for his taste, now.

"Especially after we tell them we're back in the cottages overnight, during tomorrow morning's call," Fuyuhiko added. "If we're walking back and forth between here and the hospital, the two of us will make them write off this whole first island as unsafe. They probably won't even risk the diner on the second island, since you and I also messed up the central one."

"So, you don't trust them?"

"It's not a matter of trust or not." Fuyuhiko shrugged faintly, careful to only move his shoulders. "When things go south, animal instincts can take over. People pull their claws out. They get fuckin' mean." He took a half-dozen steps. "…Sorry. For that. Y'know."

Hajime deliberated his answer, and simply said, "Thanks." But he also made sure to change the subject. "So, if they won't go to the diner or back to the hotel, then how are people going to eat anything?"

Fuyuhiko considered that. "Bar at the music venue? Concessions at the movie place?"

"Fair enough," Hajime admitted. No, there weren't any real restaurants over there, but there was something. Maybe paying attention to resources like that came from being a yakuza. If an escape was cut off, there would still be a way to survive in the meantime. "Do you think the sick people are going to be okay?"

Fuyuhiko took a few thoughtful steps before replying. "I'm not too worried about Akane, assuming that no one decides to just up and go psycho killer inside her hospital room. She probably wouldn't even defend herself, if they did." He saw Hajime's appalled look and snapped, "You asked!"

"Sorry, no, you're right. I just hate imagining that. So… you are worried about the others, then."

"Right," Fuyuhiko sighed. "Part of me thinks that Monokuma doesn't actually want Nagito to kick off. Same logic as for the bomb, y'know: he wants to watch us suffer in the trials. But Nagito might die, anyway, from how Mikan's talking. And Ibuki…" Troubled, he trailed off, looking even more concerned than he had for Nagito. (Of course, that could simply be explained by Nagito Komaeda being Nagito Komaeda.)

"You think she's the one to worry about?" Hajime clarified.

"People can bring themselves to kill. More people than someone like you would want to admit." Fuyuhiko's pace slowed a little more. After needing to heal from so many grievous injuries, his energy reserves must be running low. "But most people can't bring themselves to swing a weapon and see blood. With how she's acting right now… they wouldn't need to. Yeah. I'm worried."

"I guess you're right," Hajime said with sharpening unease. Even if it would get them out of here, he could almost certainly trust everyone to not bloodily plunge a knife into Akane's chest as she sobbed. No one was that brutal. But might there be someone tempted by the idea of handing Ibuki a knife, telling her to do the same thing, and then closing the door so they wouldn't have to watch any blood spill? That did sound more plausible, as much as he hated it.

Fuyuhiko stared straight ahead as they walked. "Of course, me thinking that way probably just says I'm dangerous, too. Right?"

Hajime eyed Fuyuhiko sidelong as they stepped off the long bridge and onto the first island. "No. It sounds like you're trying to protect people."

A dozen steps passed. In Hajime's peripheral vision, Fuyuhiko nodded. It might be in agreement, or in thanks.

Silence returned as they finished the last leg of the journey and found the hotel entrance rising before them. As they stepped through, Fuyuhiko looked over to where the girls' cottages were. He studied them for a few breaths, bowed his head, and looked away. "Uh, right. Do you normally wake up at the announcement? I'm always up before that, so I could wake you before I head over. So you could get there in time, too, y'know."

"Get there in time?" Hajime echoed in confusion. Even with a quick detour up the restaurant stairs to grab a commute-friendly breakfast, and even with Fuyuhiko's injuries, they'd both make it back in time for the morning call.

"I'm assuming it'll take you a while to get out of your room?"

They were on the walkway between the boys' cottages, now. As illogical as this was, he hadn't expected the hotel to feel quite this isolated with only the two of them on the property. Befuddled at Fuyuhiko's words, Hajime tilted his head. "Why couldn't I just walk out of my room in the morning, like always?"

Fuyuhiko looked even more confused than him. "Ibuki broke your lock, right?"

"Right…"

"So, you'll barricade your door. Right?"

"I… huh?" Laughing as his confusion resolved, Hajime asked, "Why would I do that?" Fuyuhiko remained silent in his own confusion, and Hajime clarified, "Hey, like you said, it's probably not like anyone's going to come out here and risk breaking quarantine."

"Yeah," Fuyuhiko slowly confirmed, but avoided saying the obvious: he was there.

Very deliberately, Hajime finished, "And so there's no one to worry about."

Fuyuhiko looked at him in surprise, then turned away so that only his eyepatch was visible. Eventually, he looked back and said, "Thanks."

"No problem. I'll see you around here tomorrow morning, or at the hospital. Right?"

"Right." With a small nod, Fuyuhiko turned for his cottage, moving with visible pain after the long walk. Hajime watched the door close and turned for his own cottage, only for uncertainty to prickle at him. He needed a few seconds to identify what he'd heard; or rather, what he hadn't heard.

Fuyuhiko hadn't turned his deadbolt.

Smiling, Hajime reached for his doorknob and stepped inside. He ignored the broken lock, stripped off his shirt, and collapsed gratefully into bed. Sleep came easily, even with his back to the door.

[twilightmalachite]

Poltergeist - Garbage Heap Sketch 4

Author: Akira

Characters: Madara, Natsume, Tsumugi, Arashi

Translator: Mika Enstars

Proofer: Revoltrad

"Mikejima-senpai, I have a first job for you to complete right awAY. There’s a pile of fuzzy garbage lying right heRE, could you clean it up and throw it awAY?"

[Read on my blog for the best viewing experience with Oi~ssu ♪]

Season: Winter

Location: Maizuru House (Recreation Room)

One hour later…

Natsume: —That’s aLL. That should be everything you need to be aware of around the faciliTY.

Madara: Mhm, I’ve got the general floor plan of the facility dooown. It’s not a big place; it’s the size of a peeea compared to Starmony Dorms!

Natsume: Things have a tendency to be needlessly exorbitant theRE. If only I knew who brought that gaudy taste of “luxury” into the pictuRE…

AnyhOW, this facility is equipped with everything these children need to liVE. There are rooms for both the children here and the staFF.

Madara: So the staff works here overnight too, huuuh?

Natsume: We’re in a position where it’s fine for us to commuTE, thouGH.

It might be the holiday period for New YeaR’S, but we’re popular idols in demaND, after aLL… We still have a considerable amount of work to dO.

Madara: While I can’t say I’ll be able to work here 24 hours a day… I have the time, so I’d be open to staying here.

Natsume: Well in that caSE, it's up to yOU. If you’d like to stay heRE, you can fill out some paperwork to get a room prepared for yOU.

They appear to have a number of spare rooMS, so it shouldn’t be any trouble.

Madara: True, that does seem to be the caaase. Although this place is tiny compared to the Starmony Dorms, it’s still sufficiently sized—It could accommodate up to a hundred people or so, I’d say?

Yet, there are only about thirty children living here. Even if you include staff, the number wouldn’t even exceed fifty, would it? There’s more than enough room heeere.

I suppose this facility isn’t a popular one, is iiit? Even though everything about the buildings looks shiny and new…

Natsume: It seems to just be a new buildiNG. It’s likely not even a couple years oLD.

Madara: Hmmm… Rebuilt after a fire, perhaaaaps?

Come to think of it, there were things like charred scrap wood abandoned outside of the building.

Natsume: FuFU, weLL, I’ll give you an explanation about that latER…

In addition to living spacES, the facility is equipped with a large public bath and a dining arEA, as well as having simple items like daily necessities available for purchaSE.

That way there will be no shortages or inconveniences that will prevent the children from living a normal liFE.

Madara: Sounds like a rather ordinary orphanage, surprisingly.

Like finding accessible baths for elderly people in nursing homes, there’s nothing unusual… It resembles a very ordinary boarding house or hotel.

Natsume: It’s not that there’s nothing unusuAL, thouGH. As you sAW, there are things like soundproofed “lesson rooms” throughout the faciliTY.

This facility is focused around idol-like education and entertainmeNT.

The children residing here sing and dance daily in accordance with the facility curriculUM.

This Maizuru House here is to cultivate idol egGS, so to speAK.

Madara: Sounds like something I’ve heard befooore! So basically, this is a mini-version of ES or Yumenosaki?

Natsume: I’m not sure if it’s something of that much importanCE… I’ve only learned about this through rumoRS, but I heard that the person who built this facility was a bigwig in the idol industRY.

Madara: …I don’t have any good impressions of anyone who is a “bigwig in the idol industry.”

Natsume: AhaHA, it means something’s actually suspicioUS, doesn’t iT? ♪

Madara: So it’s because the facility has a close association with idols that it’s been chosen as the location for this project, is it? That’s what I’ve gathered.

Natsume: That’s correCT. It’d be difficult as amateurs to work with regular kiDS, but if they’re idol egGS, we may be able to teach them a thing or tWO.

FuFU, it’s nostalgIC. When I was a chiLD, I went to something like a small idol training school for a whiLE.

Tsumugi: Ahh, back then you were still “Natsume-chan”, right Natsume-kun? …So nostalgic. ♪

Natsume: Mikejima-senpai, I have a first job for you to complete right awAY. There’s a pile of fuzzy garbage lying right heRE, could you clean it up and throw it awAY?

Madara: Aye aye, sir~! ♪

Tsumugi: Wait, you’re just kidding, right!?

I might be a garbage human being, but there’s no trash lying here! I cleaned up the area properly!

Arashi: Right, the two of you sure do get along… don’t you? ♪

You know, I’ve actually never been interested in doing this sort of housework, so I’m not used to it at all. I’m exhausted~.

Tsumugi: Fufu, thank you for your hard work, Narukami-kun.

[ ☆ ]

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[electricaquarius]

GeRolan, this time a modern Japanese AU. Rolan is a stressed out salaryman working for an asshole boss, Geraldus works at a maid cafe, low-stakes hijinks and emotional moments ensue. No nsfw here, just soft pining vibes. Mirrored on AO3!

Rolan shifted in his seat, his arm dead from having it across his face to block out the light. Last night was the most recent in a chain of overnight manga cafe visits, after-work drinks having dragged on into the early hours meaning that even if the trains were still running he'd barely have time to go home and prepare for the next early start. He stretched and rose from his seat, bumping his leg on the table in front of him. The pod would have been comfortable enough for its intended use, relaxing while browsing the web or reading manga, but as an impromptu bedroom it was sorely lacking. He swilled out his mouth with the bottle of water on the desk and checked his watch. He'd have time to grab a fresh shirt and change before work, but that was about it. There was no time to wallow in how truly terrible he felt, eyes feeling like they'd been pushed into the back of his skull, he needed to get going. Gathering up his belongings, he mused on whether he'd be seeing Geraldus tonight. It was an odd feeling, really. They were from different worlds but geographically so close. If Rolan wasn't such a messy drunk to begin with they may never have met. But there they were, sitting in a 7-11 sharing a weak coffee, Geraldus still wearing his work uniform. He listened patiently while Rolan poured his heart out, never complaining once, even though working in a maid cafe had to be worse than being subject to even the most scathing workplace review. Lorroakan may have been many things, but he wasn't a pervert at the very least. 

Wiping the thought away, Rolan counted the change in his hand before exiting the booth. Enough to buy that spare shirt he needed. Snaking his way through the labyrinthine train station, he arrived just as it pulled into the stop. He wondered if that was going to be his only piece of good luck today as he boarded, packed in next to the other commuters on all sides. Summertime meant there was slightly more room as no one was wearing a thick coat but it also meant that the sweat crawled down his neck in a way that made him shiver. Still, only a few stops away… His phone vibrating snapped him out of his daydream and he pulled it out to see an email from Geraldus:

‘Good morning~☆ The succulents are doing well, I hope you're remembering to stay hydrated!’

He'd included a photo of him posing next to his prized miniature garden, sunlight glinting off of his hazel eyes in a way that made Rolan's heart soar. He'd thought of him constantly, of course, but the thought that Geraldus was doing the same made him positively giddy. Still, he was at a loss for words. He couldn't respond with a picture right now and wouldn't have a chance to do it once he was at the office either… instead, he simply typed out a text response:

‘Thanks, I have some water with me for the commute. Will I see you tonight?’

The cursor flickered in place for a moment while he read and reread the message. They'd seen each other every night this week so far, would it be presumptive to ask? Surely he must be getting tired of him by now. Sighing, Rolan erased the text and put his phone back in his pocket. It was his stop now anyway.

***

Having survived until lunch time, Rolan hurried out of the office to get something to eat. His phone, left on his desk, lit up with another message:

‘Did you want to get some food after work tonight? I can take off a little early so both of us should get home before midnight lol - G’

By the time Rolan was back he just had time to eat while looking through the latest set of calculations Lorroakan had him ‘double checking’ for no apparent reason. Complete busywork, but he supposed that's what happens when the son of the boss replaces him once he retires. If he were only incompetent, that would be manageable. It was the compulsive need to feel above everyone around him that made Lorroakan truly unbearable. It wasn't something he nor any of his coworkers could change though. The only option was to keep your head down and try to avoid his ire, which Rolan was unfortunately very bad at. The fact that he was a head taller than Lorroakan even without the horns probably didn't help, but it ran deeper than that. Still, ruminating on such matters wouldn't help anything and only distracted him from the task at hand. Taking a deep breath, Rolan picked up his pen and began to scan through the figures once more.

***

Rolan glanced at the clock. Well past 9pm, and Lorroakan was just now saying his goodbyes. He was starving, thirsty, stiff… Just like how he'd started the day, come to think of it. Rolling his shoulders, he finally picked up his phone to check through it before he left to go home, when a cold shiver ran through him. Geraldus. He'd meant to at least respond to his morning message but in the chaos he'd ignored him entirely. His heart turned leaden as he imagined him worriedly checking his phone, waiting for a response. And yet, he still didn't have the slightest idea what to say. He simply stared at the ‘sent: 8 hours ago’ timestamp and felt paralyzed to respond. Picking up his jacket, he exited the office and began to walk, hoping that would unfreeze his hands. Head down, he finally found his voice once more. ‘I'm so sorry, I meant to respond much earlier. I want to see you tonight. Usual place?’. Tucking away his phone once more he headed to their usual restaurant, going as fast as he possibly could without breaking into a full sprint.

***

Geraldus sighed, resting his head in one hand as he added another sugar to his coffee. He fidgeted with the spoon, watching the door to the restaurant as people occasionally passed through. It was a little more crowded than when he usually visited at 2am and beyond, but people didn't pay him any mind as they walked by. 10 more minutes. 10 more minutes, and then he'd go home. He was sure Rolan had his reasons, but he'd be lying if he said he wasn't hurt. When his phone buzzed he felt a slight pulse of anticipation and snatched it up immediately. Reading the message from Rolan he felt a certain measure of relief but was still unsure. He responded briefly. 

‘I understand if you're busy, I know your boss works you far too hard. I'll be heading home soon anyway. Another time, maybe?’

Not two minutes after he'd sent that message the door to the restaurant slammed open, and there he was. Dripping wet from the rain, breathing heavily, he stood in the doorway. But he was here, and that was what mattered. A concerned hostess bustled over to him, trying delicately but assertively to ascertain whether he was going to be trouble. Rolan explained himself through deep gulps of air, gesturing to Geraldus. After a moment the hostess nodded and led him over to their usual booth.

Sliding in opposite him, words of apology began tumbling out of Rolan's mouth too quickly to properly understand them. Geraldus caught ‘worked late’, ‘Lorroakan’, ‘no time to check’, ‘so sorry’, but it was all a jumble. Reaching forward, he placed a hand on top of his and smiled. ‘It's alright. Really, I knew you'd have a reason. You look soaked through, would you like a coffee?’ He pushed his untouched cup towards him. ‘You’re here, and that's what matters now.’

‘Why would you think that?’ Geraldus raised an eyebrow, passing him a menu. ‘I'd quite like to meet you like this as many evenings as we can. I at least want to make sure you're eating proper meals.’ He blushed slightly but held eye contact. Quite frankly, he'd hidden behind his shyness for long enough. It was time to be honest with how he felt.

Taking a final deep breath before he calmed down, Rolan took the cup from him appreciatively. ‘I just, I didn't want you to think I was ignoring you. Not intentionally, anyway. I, um… I wanted to ask if we'd be meeting tonight when you texted me this morning, but I didn't want to seem too pushy.’

‘That's a relief.’ He laughed, idly flicking through the menu pages. He knew what they'd be getting, the same thing they always got. ‘I feel the same. I… enjoy our time together. Stolen though it may be.’ Rolan leaned over to ping the bell, calling over their server. 

After that, there were drinks, gyoza, a shared pizza, more drinks, parfaits… the night flew by. Before they knew it, it was the early hours and the staff were giving them looks. They exited together, as gracefully as they could, and made their way to the station. They walked hand in hand to Rolan's platform, Geraldus ready to depart when the tiefling squeezed his hand hard. ‘Wait.’ He slurred slightly, golden eyes wide and vulnerable. ‘I, I don't want you to leave. I want to make up for making you wait for me. Come home with me?’ Geraldus paused, unsure. ‘We don't have to, um, *do* anything, but we could cuddle..?’

Geraldus laughed, squeezing his hand back. ‘Alright. I'll come with you.’ He smiled shyly. Taking out his phone he sent a quick safety text to his boss. 

‘Heading home with the guy I told you about. No judgment, alright? I'll be in for my afternoon shift tomorrow.’

***

The train ride home was uneventful, thankfully. A couple of sleeping salarymen and some young women heading home after a night out, but no one paid them any mind. Rolan's apartment was a short walk from the station and the night was clear and warm, meaning they could take their time getting home. 

Arriving at the apartment building, Rolan fumbled with his keys before opening the door and heading inside. He slipped off his shoes and his jacket and motioned for Geraldus to enter. ‘Make yourself comfortable. It's not much, but it's home.’ He mumbled, suddenly feeling a little self conscious. His furniture was simple, almost spartan, and while it didn't bother him usually it seemed inadequate now. His lack of house plants specifically seemed shameful in this light. 

Geraldus flicked the light on in the living room and spun around, taking in his surroundings. If he didn't know it before then it was clear now that Rolan didn't spend an awful lot of time at home. It wasn't messy or dirty, but any hint of personality was missing. It was no wonder he wanted some company with surroundings like this, really. 

When Geraldus turned back to Rolan he saw him almost wilting in the doorway. He crossed over and took his hand, fixing him with a sympathetic smile. ‘I think you need to go to bed. Come on, I'll help.’ Rolan nodded mutely, leading the way to his bedroom. The bed took up the majority of it, a double bed pressed against one wall. 

Rolan sat on the bed, a large yawn escaping his lips. ‘I'm, um, gonna get undressed now…’ He mumbled, starting to take off his suit pants. ‘You don't have to, if you're uncomfortable, but you can too if you want.’

Geraldus sat on the bed next to him and placed a kiss on his forehead. ‘I promise I'll tell you if there's something I don't want to do. Now, come on, I think it's bedtime for both of us.’ He chuckled, shrugging off his sweatshirt and getting under the covers. Rolan could still feel the warmth of his lips on his forehead and paused for a moment enjoying the sensation. 

Once undressed, Rolan slipped into bed next to Geraldus and lay on his side, looking at him. ‘Thank you, for staying with me.’ He whispered, wrapping his arms around him. He buried his head in his neck and breathed in the scent of his skin, immediately feeling a million miles away from anything that troubled him. Geraldus reached down and petted his hair gently, making soft shushing noises. It wasn't long at all before Rolan was dead asleep against him. He was far more vulnerable than he'd ever let on, Geraldus was beginning to realize. Not that it mattered now, Geraldus was here to look after him.

***

The sun was shining through the blinds when Rolan awoke, having slept like the dead from the moment he hit the mattress. He rolled over and found a glass of water on his nightstand, which he nearly knocked over. He took two large sips then lay back down, head pounding. He could take an educated guess that he'd been drinking last night, but not much else. Had he been with Geraldus? He remembered needing to apologize and groaned softly, hoping in vain that whatever it was could be resolved quickly. 

He jumped a little as the door to his bedroom opened, and there he was. Hair tied back neatly, wearing his apron, Geraldus appeared with a breakfast tray for him. Rolan's heart soared, feeling so deliriously happy that he couldn't control what he said next. ‘I love you.’ He croaked out through a dry throat, then clapped a hand over his mouth. The dam truly broke at that moment, tears streaming out of his eyes as he began to sob.

Geraldus, with no time to process what had happened, put the breakfast tray to one side and sat on the bed. He wrapped his arms around the weeping Rolan and rubbed his back, trying to calm him down. Rolan sniffled, pressing his face against his shoulder and blubbering out snatches of sentences. ‘You're here… you stayed the night… you made me eggs… not how I wanted this to go… I'm a mess…’ He sniffled and pulled back once he'd gathered himself. ‘I… I'm sorry. You shouldn't be spending your morning off looking after me, and now I've ruined it.’ He shook his head and wiped away a tear. ‘I wanted to do this properly. I should be able to treat you better than this.’

Geraldus squeezed him tightly and pulled back. ‘Rolan. First of all, I want to say I like you, very very much. And I had a wonderful time with you last night. Please, don't be upset.’ He held his gaze with those deep hazel eyes of his and Rolan began to calm down. ‘Now, please, eat.’ He brought the tray in front of him, adorned with an omelet and a glass of orange juice. 

Rolan tried not to concentrate on how sweet the gesture was before he started crying again but instead began to eat. There was a small heart drawn in ketchup on the plate, no doubt a skill honed from his time at the maid cafe. ‘Thank you.’ he said emphatically, patting the bed next to him. ‘Next time, I promise I'll say it right.’

[actress4him]

March Trope-A-Thon Day 1

I had no plans of actually participating in this event before today, and I don’t know how many days I’ll actually get something written, but I looked at the prompts and suddenly had a desire to write comfort - a very, very rare occasion for me! So enjoy a little bit of fluff for our baby Lili.

This takes place during her homeless days, between chapters 4 and 5 of Querencia, and sometime after the “Christmas” piece.

Taglist: @darthsutrich , @inky-whump , @painful-pooch , @pigeonwhumps , @bookworm2107 

Querencia Masterlist

Fandom: Original Work

Prompt: Come in from the Cold

Contains: lady whump (no whumper), homeless whumpee, cold

.

.

According to the thermometer on the bank sign, the temperature has been hovering around freezing for several days now. Snow fell on the second day, melted in the sun enough to turn into slush on the third day, then refroze overnight so that everything is coated in a layer of ice. The roads have been salted and cleared and are still full of commuters. Other than going to work, though, most people are trying their best to stay at home where they have heat and fireplaces and warm food to fill their stomachs.

Liliana has taken to sleeping during the day and walking the sidewalks at night when the temperature drops to its lowest point. Even then, she’s still afraid every time she falls asleep that she won’t wake up again. 

The cold seeps straight through her torn hoodie and thin undershirt, through her skin with no fat left beneath it, and settles in her bones. The hand with arthritis aches constantly. Her feet are shriveled inside her shoes, wet from slush getting in where the sole gapes open. She lost feeling in them a long time ago. 

Today she’s done all the sleeping she can do for now, too cold to get comfortable again. It hasn’t been that long since she made her normal dumpster rounds the night before, so she wanders down some different streets than usual, clapping her hands together and stomping her feet in a vain effort to warm them. 

The public library catches her attention. It’s not the same one she used to go to as a child, but it still brings back that feeling of nostalgia and magic just looking through the windows at the shelves of books. She doesn’t even entertain the thought that she’d be allowed inside to browse, as disgusting as she is, and she certainly won’t be able to check out any books to help her pass the long, lonely days. The few that she brought with her from home have been read over and over again so many times that the covers are falling off.

But…maybe they won’t run her off right away if she just sits in the entry?

The automatic doors fly open with a suddenness that makes her jump and immediately rethink her idea. That was so loud, surely she’s drawn all kinds of attention to herself already. But no one seems to be coming to shoo her away, and the warmth that she can feel inside is so enticing that she can’t help but take a step in.

It isn’t toasty warm. Even when the doors slide shut behind her, the small foyer is a far cry from being inside a house with the heat running. But it’s dry, and there’s no wind, and it’s enough of a temperature change that she thinks she might be able to actually thaw her fingers and nose and ears if she’s able to stay long enough.

There’s a bench along one wall, but Liliana is keenly aware of how dirty she is, and she doesn’t want to sully anything. She settles cross-legged on the floor in the opposite corner, instead. It’s such a strange sensation just to be inside for once, to be sitting on tile instead of pavement or concrete, to have windows to look out of instead of into. She rubs her gloved hands together, breathing warm air into them from time to time, and keeps an eye on the door that leads into the library itself.

The outside door opens again once, letting in a man wearing a suit under his thick coat to drop off a couple of books in the return slot. He gives her an odd look, but doesn’t say anything before disappearing with another blast of cold air.

It takes longer than she’d expected before anyone from inside approaches. Her fingertips have started to tingle, her nose is running, and her ears are burning beneath her hood. As soon as the inside door slides open, though, she’s on her feet, ready to run away.

“Hi, sweetie.” The young woman that leans into the entry looks like a librarian - thick rimmed glasses, auburn hair swept up into a bun. “Did you want to come inside? It’s much warmer in here, and we actually just made a batch of hot cocoa if you’d like some.”

Liliana is stuck in limbo, staring at her. She’d fully expected to be told she couldn’t stay. She never thought she’d be invited further in, and certainly not offered hot cocoa of all things. 

The woman is still standing there, waiting for an answer, and that means she’s going to have to actually…speak. She doesn’t even know when the last time was she used her voice. Still, she manages to dig it up from where it’s buried somewhere deep, though it’s rough and much more hesitant than it ever used to be. 

“I-I…I can’t. I m-mean, thank you, but, but I can’t…come in, I’m…” She doesn’t know how to complete that thought out loud. “I-I’m not…clean,” she finally decides on. 

The librarian smiles softly and waves a dismissive hand. “We’re not worried about that, sweetie. There’s nothing in here that can’t be cleaned if we need to. Come on, come inside.” She steps back and makes a welcoming gesture with her arm.

She shouldn’t. But she wants to, so badly. She won’t touch the books, those can’t easily be cleaned no matter what the lady says, but if she could just look at their spines for a few minutes, and feel the warm air, and…pretend to be normal for just a little while…

She takes one hesitant step forward, then another. The woman’s smile only grows. There’s no sign of her taking back her offer. So Liliana keeps walking, skirting past the woman on the far side of the doorway, until she’s enveloped in the overwhelming warmth and distinct smell of the library. 

“Thank you,” she remembers to say almost belatedly. “I, I won’t stay long, I just, um…I w-was just trying to warm up a little.”

“You can stay as long as you’d like, dear.”

There’s another, older lady behind the counter who’s already sliding a styrofoam cup toward her full of steaming liquid. “Do you like hot chocolate? We didn’t have any marshmallows, unfortunately.” 

She nods. “I don’t…I don’t need it, though…”

“Nonsense, you need it far more than the two of us do,” the older lady scoffs. “It’ll help warm you up from the inside. Besides, if I drink all of this that she made, it’ll go straight to my hips.”

It feels awkward now not to take the cup, so she does, amazed by the heat soaking through her gloves and radiating up to warm her cheeks. “Th-thank you.”

“You’re welcome! Now why don’t you go find a seat somewhere and enjoy it. Grab a book to read while you’re here if you’d like, too!”

“O-oh, I, I couldn’t…”

The first woman smiles. “This is a library, sweetie. These books are made to be handled by anyone who likes to read. They can take it.” She leans in conspiratorially. “Besides, days like today were just made for curling up with a book. It would be a shame to waste the opportunity.”

They wave her off, and she finds herself wandering up and down the endless aisles in a daze, sipping at her hot cocoa once it’s cooled down slightly. She’s fairly certain that she might be dreaming. But even if she is, it’s a good dream, for once, and she’s not going to question it too much. 

Hesitant as she is to touch anything, eventually she can’t resist the call of the historical fiction novels. Finding one whose description intrigues her, she selects another spot on the floor, ignoring the armchairs she’s passed, and falls into a world of mystery and romance far, far away from her own life.

Even when it’s time for the library to close and the two women regretfully see her out - with another cupful of hot chocolate that she’s not sure her stomach can handle but she’ll hold onto as long as she can, and a hundred instructions to come back and read some more anytime she’d like - her mind is still far away from the ice covered sidewalks and the bitter cold. Thoughts of sword fights, royal intrigue, and the kindness of two librarians keep her company through the long, frigid night.

[aamirastories]

Part 2

The Couple

 April 3rd, 2033

“Such a beautiful building” Amanda said, turning to her husband, Mark.

“It is – but we are late honey, we really should get inside!”, he replied.

FutureCraft was plastered on the side of the building. The architecture of it truly was beautiful – curved, entirely glass and it stood out from all the other buildings in the city. Passers-by would always stop to look at it, even if they saw it regularly on their daily commute.

They stepped into reception, where an automated kiosk greeted them.

“Please scan fingerprint” the machine prompted them.

Mark placed his finger in the area marked and the machine pulled up their appointment. Mark pushed “YES” to indicate they had arrived, and they took a seat.

“Are you excited? We’re really hoping this works” a couple next to them asked.

“We are – we really hope this is the one.” Amanda replied, squeezing her husband's hand. They looked at each other and smiled. They wanted this to work. With all that they were.

“Mr and Mrs Juniper?” a doctor asked, stepping out from his office. 

Amanda and Mark stood up. “Yes, that’s us.” They responded and walked towards the door. As they proceeded towards the office, the couple behind them shouted.

“Good luck!”

The Doctor took a seat behind a large desk, the city as a backdrop behind him, the view truly breathtaking, tall skyscrapers covering the view out to the horizon, reflections in the windows like starlight.

“Welcome to FutureCraft. I will be personally overseeing your treatment and will guarantee, as far as I can, your health will be my highest priority.

Amanda and Mark turned to face each other and smile. Amandas shoulders dropped as she relaxed a little.

“Just to outline the procedure,” the doctor added, “you will stay in a ward overnight, while we conduct a blood test to ensure you are given the right mix of treatments to enable you to get the fullest effect. Now, we have a simple contract for you to sign, most notably is the insurance portion. Be sure your details are correct, and you read it fully.”

As Mark looked down at the document, he read,

—

FutureCraft is the leading specialist in fertility treatments and will guarantee to be at the cutting edge of every treatment you receive. This agreement is a binding contract between you and FutureCraft and through this, we expect your complete honesty and compliance with all procedures throughout, with the trust that the specialists who work here are highly trained and leaders in their fields.

—

Below this was insurance details, bank details, boxes for signatures – Mark counted 19 of them, medical details and finally, before the final signature, a line that read:

—

In the very unlikely chance that you become severely ill during this procedure, you understand that whilst we cannot directly support you, your partner will be supported.

—

He signed this final box, sighed and passed the form back to the Doctor.

The Doctor grabbed the form from the desk, spinning it to face him while he entered the information into his terminal. A few questionings looks by the Doctor at his screen were dismissed as unimportant as he finished typing and looked back at them.

“Wonderful. The $20,000 will be removed from your account within 3 days. Thank you for deciding to take treatment from FutureCraft. Mrs Juniper,” he said as he faced her, “please deal with final matters with your husband before he heads to our ward. He will be required there in 30 minutes time, where his first blood test will be taken. Mr Juniper,” he turned to face Mark, “you will be away from your wife for 3 days. I hope you are aware of this?”

They both looked at each other, smiled, Amanda more nervously than Mark, before both turning to face him again.

“Yes” he said.

“Wonderful” the Doctor replied and opened the door to show them towards the ward area.

They walked together through the ward, men in their beds, their partners beside them, chatting away. Other nurses made themselves busy checking charts and administering treatments. From a career spent in Military Service, and the vaccinations he would regularly be required to take, he was not fazed by injections. He saw this as a necessity to get the treatment he needed.

The Doctor stopped by a bed, picked up a chart and turned to face the couple.

“Here we are. The nurse will be here in 30 minutes to begin. If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask for me, or ask a nurse.”

“Thank you” Mark replied, and the Doctor headed back towards his office.

“You’ll be fine” Amanda said.

“I know I will honey, but will you? All by yourself?” he replied.

She looked at him sternly but playfully. “Oh, I’m sure I can survive without your snoring, shoes left lying out and remotes down the side of the couch.”

He returned her playful look, and laughed, before kissing her.

“I love you,” he said, “and I’m so glad we’re doing this. I will contact you as often as I can, okay?”

Her playful look faded, but she softly smiled. “I know, I love you too – and I can’t wait for it to be done so we can finally try!”

They kissed again, before he got changed into his robe as a nurse collected his clothes and belongings, before he said goodbye to his wife, and sat in bed, busying himself reading a book – ‘A Future Lost’ – a science fiction novel he was re-reading again having not read it for years since.

A nurse approached, smiling at him and holding a syringe. “I’m sorry, I need to prep you, is that okay?” she said.

He looked up at her, and smiled back, closing his book. “That’s fine, of course” he replied.

The nurse placed her syringe on the table beside him and wrapped a strap around his arm.

“How are you with needles?” The nurse asked, as she tapped his arm, looking for the vein.

“Fine, don’t worry. I won’t fall asleep on you!” he replied, and she smiled back at him. He felt a sharp pinch on his inner arm as the needle went in and started to draw blood.

“I’m sorry we have to take so much” the nurse added, “we need to be sure to get the right dosage balance. Be sure to rest after this.”

The nurse finished taking the blood, checked its colour before placing it in a box and shifting his pillow slightly so he was more comfortable. 

“The buzzer is here if you need something” she said, pointing to a box with a red button on it beside his bed.

She headed off down the hall and he lay back, feeling a little woozy and let his eyes shut slowly, as sleep took him.

[victorycarpark]

Finding the Cheapest Overnight Parking in Melbourne CBD

Parking in Melbourne’s Central Business District (CBD) can be a challenge, especially when looking for affordable overnight options. However, with a bit of research and planning, it is possible to find convenient and cost-effective parking solutions that won’t break the bank.

Research and Comparison: The Key to Savings

The first step in finding the cheapest overnight parking melbourne cbd is to compare prices across different parking facilities. Several websites and mobile apps allow you to search for parking options by location, duration, and price. Popular platforms like Secure Parking, Wilson Parking, and Ace Parking often offer special rates for overnight stays, especially if you book online in advance. By taking the time to compare these options, you can save significantly on your parking expenses.

Early Bird and Night Owl Discounts

Many parking facilities in Melbourne CBD offer early bird and night owl discounts, which can be a great way to reduce costs. Early bird rates typically apply if you enter and exit the parking facility within specific hours, usually between 6 AM and 10 AM, and leave by the end of the day. Night owl discounts, on the other hand, are for those entering the parking facility in the late evening and leaving the next morning. These deals are particularly useful if you’re staying overnight and can plan your arrival and departure accordingly.

Street Parking: A Budget-Friendly Alternative

While off-street parking in garages is often more secure and convenient, street parking can be a cheaper alternative if you’re staying overnight. Melbourne CBD has several streets with metered parking that is either free or significantly cheaper after a certain hour in the evening until early morning. However, it’s important to carefully read the parking signs to avoid fines, as restrictions can vary from one street to another. Additionally, some areas may have time limits, so be sure to move your car before the restrictions resume.

Park and Ride Options

Another cost-effective strategy is to use park-and-ride services available at train stations and tram stops located just outside the CBD. By parking in the suburbs and taking public transport into the city, you can avoid the high costs associated with parking directly in the CBD. This option is ideal for those who don’t mind a short commute and want to save on parking fees while still enjoying easy access to the city center.

Online Booking and Loyalty Programs

Many parking providers in Melbourne CBD offer discounts and promotions for online bookings. By reserving your parking spot in advance through the provider’s website or a third-party platform, you can often secure lower rates than if you were to just drive up. Additionally, some parking operators have loyalty programs that reward frequent parkers with points or discounts on future parking. If you regularly need overnight parking in the CBD, joining one of these programs could lead to significant savings over time.

Conclusion: Planning is Key to Affordable Parking

Finding the cheapest overnight parking in Melbourne CBD requires a bit of planning and strategy. By comparing different parking options, taking advantage of early bird or night owl discounts, considering street parking, and exploring park-and-ride services, you can save money while ensuring your car is safely parked overnight. With the right approach, you can enjoy Melbourne’s vibrant CBD without worrying about excessive parking fees.

For more info. visit us:

Cheap all day parking Melbourne CBD

Overnight parking in melbourne cbd

[firstopinionsblog]

Maximizing Your Income: The Ultimate Guide to Getting Paid for Surveys

Introduction:

In today’s digital age, earning extra income from the comfort of your own home has become increasingly accessible. One popular method is participating in online surveys. Companies are constantly seeking consumer feedback to improve their products and services, and they are willing to pay for your opinions. In this comprehensive guide, we will delve into the world of paid surveys, exploring how to maximize your earnings and make the most out of this opportunity.

Understanding Paid Surveys:

Paid surveys involve companies paying individuals to provide feedback on various topics such as products, services, advertising campaigns, and more. These surveys can be conducted through online platforms, focus groups, or even in-person interviews. Companies use the data collected from these surveys to make informed decisions that can shape their business strategies.

Benefits of Participating in Paid Surveys:

Flexibility: One of the greatest advantages of paid surveys is the flexibility they offer. You can complete surveys at your own convenience, whether it’s during your lunch break, while watching TV, or during your commute.

Extra Income: While paid surveys may not make you rich overnight, they can provide a steady stream of additional income. The amount you earn will vary depending on the number of surveys you complete and the platforms you use.

Voice Your Opinion: Participating in paid surveys allows you to have a say in the development of products and services. Your feedback can directly influence companies’ decisions and help shape future offerings.

Low Barrier to Entry: Unlike some other side hustles, getting started with paid surveys requires minimal effort and investment. As long as you have access to a computer or smartphone and an internet connection, you can start earning money right away.

Tips for Maximizing Your Income from Paid Surveys:

Sign Up for Multiple Survey Sites:

To increase your earning potential, it’s advisable to sign up for multiple survey sites. Each platform may offer different survey opportunities, so diversifying your options can help you access a wider range of surveys.

Complete Your Profile:

Many survey sites use demographic information to match participants with relevant surveys. Make sure to complete your profile accurately and honestly, as this will increase your chances of receiving survey invitations that are tailored to your interests and demographics.

Be Consistent:

Consistency is key when it comes to earning money from paid surveys. Set aside dedicated time each day or week to complete surveys and stay active on the platforms you’ve joined. The more surveys you complete, the more you can earn over time.

Take Advantage of Referral Programs:

Some survey sites offer referral programs that allow you to earn additional income by referring friends and family to join the platform. Take advantage of these programs to boost your earnings further.

Watch Out for High-Paying Surveys:

Not all surveys offer the same compensation. Keep an eye out for high-paying surveys that offer a larger reward for your time investment. These surveys may take longer to complete or require specific qualifications, but they can significantly increase your earnings.

Be Patient:

Earning money from paid surveys takes time and patience. While you may not see significant results overnight, consistent effort and persistence can lead to a steady income stream over time.

Avoid Scams:

Be cautious of survey sites that promise unrealistic earnings or ask for upfront fees. Legitimate survey sites will never ask you to pay to join or participate in surveys. Always do your research and read reviews before signing up for any survey platform.

Conclusion:

Participating in paid surveys can be a rewarding way to earn extra income in your spare time. By following the tips outlined in this guide and approaching paid surveys with a strategic mindset, you can maximize your earnings and make the most out of this opportunity. Remember to stay consistent, be patient, and always prioritize reputable survey sites to ensure a positive and profitable experience.

FAQs

1. Are paid surveys legitimate?

Yes, many companies conduct paid surveys to gather valuable feedback from consumers. However, it’s essential to be cautious of scams and only participate in surveys from reputable platforms.

2. How much can I earn from paid surveys?

Earnings from paid surveys vary depending on factors such as the number of surveys completed, the length of the surveys, and the platform used. While some individuals earn a modest supplemental income, it’s unlikely to replace a full-time job.

3. Are there any requirements to participate in paid surveys?

Most survey platforms require participants to be of a certain age (usually 18 or older) and have access to a computer or smartphone with an internet connection. Some surveys may also target specific demographics, so having a complete profile with accurate information can increase your survey opportunities.

4. How do I know if a survey site is legitimate?

Legitimate survey sites will never ask for payment to join or participate in surveys. Look for reviews from other users, check for a clear privacy policy, and verify that the site has been in operation for some time. Avoid sites that make unrealistic promises or seem too good to be true.

5. Can I participate in paid surveys from any location?

Many survey platforms accept participants from around the world, but some may have restrictions based on location or language. Check the eligibility requirements of each platform before signing up.

[umichenginabroad]

Abhi in Paris

Week 12: Wrapping Up & Starting up my Next Travel Adventure

Hello folks! I’m so glad to be back because this week is the start of something big. Excuse me for a this late post, things have been so busy. This blog is about last week & I'll most about my travels this week in the next few days. On Friday last week, begins ENSEA’s second extended two week break. I’ve been planning a 16 day trip backpacking through Italy from the North down to the South. It starts with a train across the French Italian Border into Milan and then down to Tuscany to visit a few Tuscan cities including Florence. After that, I’m most excited to go further south to Rome and experience Roman history & food. Finally, I will travel down into Sicily to spend a few days at the beach in small towns & then a few days on the Aeolian Island of Stromboli. But first, I’ve got to finish out the week strong at ENSEA!

Monday, April 1st – Something I forgot to mention earlier, last we spoke I was still finishing out a week in Germany. Monday was the last day of this trip & an eventful one at that. After an early wake up, I rushed on a local commuter train to Oranienburg, a suburb of Berlin, to visit Sachsenhausen Concentration Camp. It was a sobering sight, one that puts everything you’ve learned about the Holocaust into perspective. I got to see firsthand the houses where prisoners were kept, the fields where they labored, the towers of guards that watches over them, and the gas chambers where unspeakable acts were committed. It was truly a scary sight that I will never forget.

After this visit, I got some Italian food for lunch and then visited another piece of the Berlin Wall and Checkpoint Charlie. Both our critical pieces of Cold War History that were so fun to witness. Finally, I headed back to Berlin Hauptbahnhof Train Station to hop onto an overnight seat car train to Paris Est. It was a very different experience than I’m used to. I’m not sure I would take an overnight train again, after all the noise and lack of personal space, but it was a cool experience, nonetheless.

Tuesday, April 2nd – My overnight train arrived in Paris in the morning right around 10am. After a restless night, it was tough to get up and take the metro back home. After which, I completely crashed until I had to run to French Class at ESNEA in the afternoon. Today was an important day in French Class, we were doing a speaking presentation based on a trip we took in the past tense, and I had spent the overnight train working on it. I was a bit nervous, but I ended up killing it, and then taking the train back home for the night.

Wednesday, April 3rd, Thursday, April 4th & Friday, April 5th  – The next few days were smooth and nothing super eventful occurred. I spent most of my time relaxing and studying for a Power Engineering midterm exam that I took on Friday. But Friday evening was packed – packing up and getting everything ready for the trip to Italy. I was taking a large 60L trekking bag that was perfect for this sort of European backpacking adventure. I ended up getting a midnight dinner with some friends after packing up and getting a good night’s sleep before the next day’s journey.

Saturday, April 6th – A record high temperature for the spring in Paris today kicked off the morning. It was 70 degrees F around 10am, when I went out for a quick walk. I then grabbed my bag and headed to Paris Est for my afternoon train. It was a wild train ride. First a TGV train to the nearest French border town that took around 4 hours. Then, they put us on a bus to cross the border, because of a huge avalanche that compromised the tracks last year. The train met us on the other side and took us through to Turin and into Milan. By the time I arrived it was midnight, so I had time to grab a quick dinner at a bar and then crash.

Sunday, April 7th – Sunday was a beautiful day in Milan. I got ready in my summer clothes (finally a break from the usual cold of Paris), and headed to an amazing brunch place, Biancolatte, to enjoy some coffee, pastries, and pasta. Afterwards, I spent the day exploring the sites at the center of Milan, specifically the Duomo, the Galleria, and Navigli canal. It was a day of shopping & food, representative of Milan.

Next week, I’ll use the Italian train system to traverse cities & villages across Italy as I make my way southward!! Thanks for reading.

Ciao,

Abhi Athreya

ENSEA at Cergy, France

University of Michigan, Aerospace Engineering 2025

[mousemilf]

its rly interesting 2 me that this poll has held steady right around a 25/75 split from 5 votes to 222 votes.

few things: i am turning 27 in two weeks and voted 5 years. if u think thirties is old thats really really weird to me. i am pretty confident that i am going to look about the same in 5 years other than the vampire prep changes i would make (invisalign, tattoo coverups, hitting the gym, etc) and like. minor fine lines which i already have and literally do not mind at all. if youre living a lifestyle that would age you that much in 5 years i think that is an individual thing. normal people dont just randomly start hagmaxxing at an arbitrary age.

job and money obviously still matter as a vampire because you can still die but now u can die from vampire stuff. ik in vampire media theyre always independently wealthy but that would not just magically happen to you when u got bit. in my view stable income is likely more important as a vampire bcs you have to shelter from sunlight every single day or u die. if you're living paycheck to paycheck and suddenly you cant survive your morning commute or short walk through the parking lot, and you cant find a nighttime job in time and you lose your housing, you might be completely fucked. like way more than a human. you can't sleep in your car (windows) and most shelters will not accommodate a nocturnal creature of the night; you cant wait outside for them to open bcs u will burn up.

on top of that, even if u manage to keep your housing, what if your utilities get shut off or you get fines from the city and you literally are not able to go to the office while theyre open? a frustrating amount of things require you to show up in person. better make sure youve planned and prepared for that.

for me personally i dont have any yuppie skills and i doubt that id be able to find a high-enough-paying remote job in time. overnight non-yuppie jobs would be difficult to find post-transformation too, bcs if they wanted to interview in person before dark thats pretty much not an option.

its possible too that your social circle will also shrink considerably once you're nocturnal, so youll gradually lose at least some of your support network. 5 years would give u time to build a new nocturnal one.

on the other hand - even if we're assuming that as a vampire you no longer have joint pain and u get vampire strength, illness and pain that may worsen over the 5 years will affect your permanent physical appearance. the reason i dont have very good abs is bcs of improperly healed neck and back injuries that make most ab workouts painful. i have ugly blotchy scars from chilblains on my hands. cysts in my feet. etc.

if i take the 5 years i am risking more shit like this. imagine u spend 5 years prepping and then right before u get turned u have a toenail get ripped off and u get to spend eternity without a toenail. ofc other things can happen too, u could find a remote or overnight job and lose it right before the transformation, or get a botched haircut, or of course you could just get run over by a car or whatever and never get to become a vampire.

would u rather be turned into a vampire right now immediately or in 5 years? assuming your body stays exactly the same forever as the moment when you were turned, including haircut, piercings/tattoos, etc. 5 years would give u time to change these things as well as set up a lifestyle that would work for a vampire ie working from home or working nights, but it is also possible that your circumstances and body would change in ways you would not want as a vampire (illness, debts, aging) as can normally happen in a 5 year span. do you take the time to prepare, but risk this, or preserve your current state even w flaws....

[lefae]

Personal Update

On December 1, mom broke her ankle horribly enough to require surgery to fix it. I stayed with her through most of the hospital stay (I only came home one night because I have PTSD issues regarding that hospital and wasn't getting any sleep there because of it), and have had to spend most of my time since then at her house because she's completely non weight bearing and is incapable of much mobility at all on her own right now...

Given that I am physically disabled, with mobility issues - spinal damage and a once broken ankle that needs surgery again that I can't afford, both of which demand I severely limit the amount of time I'm on my feet or I risk losing my ability to walk completely even faster than I'm already losing it - you can just imagine the struggle that this is, given how difficult it is to simply take care of myself, much less another person. Add to that that we don't always get along when forced to be around each other for extended periods of time, and I don't get any chance to rest during my chronic illness flare-ups or to recover from them...

The rest of my family who had been helping with at least meals, running errands, and a couple overnight stays a week all have COVID right now as of December 24. Thankfully, there wasn't any family gathering, so neither mom nor I got sick, but that also means all of what minimal help and breaks I got have disappeared, to where it was a while production when I needed to get my aunt from the sperm donor's side of my family to give me a ride to the store to get a few things I needed for myself because no one else picked them up for me like they were supposed to.

I am bloody exhausted, in severe pain, dealing with severe depression on top of it all, because in all this, one thing has been made abundantly clear: it doesn't matter how fucking disabled I am, my family honestly doesn't give a shit and it's actively exploiting the fact that I'm unable to work (even if I found a job I could handle, it wouldn't be available here locally, the internet sucks to much to be able to do it remotely (plus they wouldn't leave me alone to do it regardless), and any commute would be insane even if it was in the immediate area since it's a 30 minute drive to the nearest fucking grocery store as it is, etc) to have me essentially work literally 24/7 with no compensation, I'm not even able to sleep in my own fucking bed, I don't have access to my computer at all most days, I have to work regardless of flare-ups or migraines or pain levels, and I've actively noticed a severe decrease in my own mobility trying to do this because no one else will, and the hospital sent her home instead of putting her in rehab like we were told they would because no one here was able to handle doing this but apparently that didn't matter and no one would listen to me when I tried to kick up a fuss despite my being the one who has had to do the vast majority of the work since, all while completely neglecting my own living space because I haven't even had time to go home and take out the fucking trash or clean out the fridge because apparently no one cares if I get sicker or permanently injured in all of this.

And the real kicker is when everyone else is being all "woe is me" because they miss my uncle who passed away in September, and expecting me to comfort them when I'm well past my breaking point to where I simply want to run away and never look back because I can't keep this up, I'm so tired and I'm so much pain and I'm scared that by the time this is over, I'm going to be unable to even stand on my own two feet anymore and it will be entirely their fault at that point and they'll just leave me to fend for myself like they've always done, yet expect me to push myself to the point of sickness and injury for them even when I say I'm not able to do it because they'll threaten me with taking away the financial support I'm dependent on them for.

So yeah... Don't expect a lot of activity from me right now, since I have a lot of trouble trying to type on touchscreens and I'm largely stuck on mobile for the foreseeable future. And if you can spare a few dollars so I can try to just order some things for myself to have it delivered rather than struggling and fighting with family to get any bloody help around here, I would deeply appreciate it (links to buymeacoffee & Amazon wishlists are in my pinned post, or it's possible to tip through this blog).

[forbidden-creepypasta]

Open Space

There's just so much space.

That's all I can think about walking between the cafeteria on the first floor of my dorm and Winston Hall for my first class of the day. The space. There's too much of it.

I'm sure it's an asset during the spring and summer - all that expensive greenery, flowers lining the sidewalks, cherry trees blooming, so full of life.

But I started here in January, and the space is all very cold, and right now the only thing I can see around me is snow. It falls from the sky, and a persistent knife-like wind throws it in every direction. Snow covers the dead grass, snow lays on the giant, gnarled corpse hands that won't be growing cherries anytime soon, and snow obscures my vision any further than the next lamppost.

My fingers are almost numb, and my backpack feels heavier than it has any right to be. I'm maybe a third of the way to class.

I can just barely make out a figure ahead, moving the same direction as me, a bit slower. It's just a darker spot in the haze, but it's the closest I've seen to a person this whole walk. It's mostly a commuter school, and only a madman would commute through this.

Right now, the sidewalk is more or less clear, though the falling snow is trying its hardest to change that. The school plowed the walkways overnight, making banks of snow on either side. When the sky kept falling later, they plowed again. And this morning, they did it again. Now I'm walking through a slowly-filling canyon, walls almost four feet tall on either side of me, and the snow beyond those mounds, spread as far as my eye can see - admittedly not far - isn't much lower than that. Wisps blow off the peaks of the canyon walls, but not enough to deplete them significantly.

My toes are starting to lose feeling now. Why didn't I wear boots?

The figure ahead is a bit clearer now - a bit closer. Seems to be limping a bit; probably why I'm catching up so quickly.

On my right, a large shadow looms - some building whose name I haven't learned yet. In every other direction, more space.

My breath is almost freezing to my face as I walk into it. I wonder if I could talk right now. I give it a try, targeting the person in front of me.

"Hey! Wait up!" I yell, pleased that my vocal cords do not freeze in place on the first syllable. But the words seem flat, lifeless. The cold air and open space scatters them to the wind.

The person does not pause for a moment, though it is still favoring one side. I can see the figure is not quite symmetrical. A shape warps one side. A backpack, I assume.

My feet suddenly lose sync, and I stumble on ice, falling sideways into the drift on my right. I throw my arm out instictively, and I never touch the ground. The snow packs under my palm, and slides between my bare fingers.

I let out a yell as my skin burns from the cold. My voice seems to vanish instantly into the wind, like a puff of air spread equally throughout an endless void. I scramble to my feet. No gloves. Why did I think this was a good idea? I dressed like an idiot today.

I start moving again, just a moment later, and I see that the figure has stopped. I can't be sure, but I think he or she is looking back at me. I only get a few steps before it starts moving again, in that awkward, limping gait. "I'm okay," I call, no longer surprised that I get no reaction. I'm probably silent to this person in this weather, in this space. Though it does seem odd that I'm this close now, and still nothing.

I'm getting impatient and increasingly cold. I jog - carefully, lest I discover more hidden ice.

The figure grows closer, though no less indistinct. I can hear my steps plop and crunch. His seem silent. I've come to conclude that this is a "him." Something about the way he walks or carries himself is decidely not feminine.

I begin to wonder if he can see anyone ahead of him, and if they're as hard for him to make out as he is to me. I begin to wonder if he's going to the same building, or even the same class, as me. And for some reason, I begin to hope he isn't.

There's a chill, deeper and unrelated to the biting wind and cold, and I wish I hadn't jogged so close. I don't think I want to see -

But it's too late. I'm about twenty feet away, and I can see him clearly.

He's wearing the same shoes as me - canvas tennis shoes, a terrible choice. He's bundled up all in black, a ski mask covering his face - I assume, since all I can see from this angle is where his ear isn't - and not a bit of skinor hair is showing on the back of his head or neck.

And it's not a backpack…

It's a duffel bag. It looks heavy. That would explain the limp.

And as noise-devouring as this space is, I think he can probably hear his music just fine through those earbuds he's wearing.

I wonder at my fear or paranoia. Cold can mess with a person's brain, I've heard. I believe it now.

And I think I might catch up and tap him on the shoulder just to say hi. Just to have some sort of human contact in the vastness.

I take two long strides, and hear a pop. My constant, distant companion goes down hard on one side. I run faster, deciding to forget that he left me behind in my moment of need. Friends are made in situations like this.

I'm almost there when things start happening. Maybe they aren't simultaneous, but it's hard to order them now.

There's another pop.

My new friend's head explodes within his shredded ski mask.

The ground advances on me suddenly as I slip. On the way down, my eyes take in the fresh bright red chunks in the snow wall to my left, and the deeper yet more subtle red in the puddle - frosted, old, frozen for hours - that has put me into this position.

I feel my shoulder and part of my arm crack as I land, but the blinding pain is dulled by the worse one when my head bounces off the pavement.

I hear a cough.

In the next instant, I see, sideways, a hole, or a tunnel really, a bit larger than a man, dug into the canyon wall now in front of me. It's just big enough for the man who is in it, dressed all in white, face draped in a white cloth mask. There's something black in his hand.

Some part of my brain sees the barrel and part of the stock, while the rest tries to deny it.

There are vertical marks in the icy snow of the tunnel wall to the man's left - notches, tally marks. There are quite a few. I count ten in a fraction of an instant, but there are more. So many more.

Cold, pain, fear.

A click.

"No," I say, far too quietly, the open space greedily eating my words. "Please wai-"

Credit to: Lasergoose

[wearentwriters]

Victor and Balthazar

“Make sure to close the blinds,” he says.

I shuffle to the window, a waif drawn by the pressure of the last suck of cold breath before the warm exhale of morning burns away the dewdrops clinging to the sill. An orange hearth on the horizon warns of the coming furnace as early commuters gently close their doors to not wake their slumbering neighbors. They’re beginning their trek to wherever their daytime lives may take them. Not one looks up. They go about their lives, steps sure and unshaken. I wonder if any of them have noticed me watching them. Noticed me longing for their monotonous mornings. 

I draw the curtains closed, shutting out the waking world. 

Murmurs of rise and shine newscasters drift from the tv, warning of another pivotal election and what that could mean for those of us with no control against those who would see us gone. Unified destruction against impotent moralization and all they do is throw their hands up and blame the voters. I turn it off.

“You don’t need that right now,” I say. 

“You just don’t want to think about it,” he says. “This won’t end just because I’m not here to worry over it.”

“I’ve seen worse.”

“That doesn’t mean anything to the people who are hurting.”

“And my hurt means nothing to them. Please, let’s drop it. I don’t want to do this now. I just want to be here.”

“I’m so exhausted, come here and just lay down with me for a while,” he says.

I slip under the covers and pull him close. He rests his forehead just under my chin, cupped against my neck. 

“So much better,” He says. The fire beneath his skin fades against my chilled skin, but I can feel it fighting, pulsing to life, as the lava flows that once poured forth from a raging volcano slow, their force fading with the source. 

________________________________________

When we found out, we were stunned. The ground gave way beneath us and we were stranded, aloft a cavern yearning to erase all that we were from this Earth.

He read the diagnosis aloud in a pan, almost casual way. Lit by the glow of his laptop, he’d looked at me with innocent puzzlement. I hoped that the light hadn’t reached my face to show the terror I felt strike through me when I heard the words. I didn’t want him to know, not then. Not right away. He didn’t deserve to live his last few months in fear. I reached for the computer. He saw my shaking hands and knew.

It’s not easy finding clinics that are open overnight, so he had to face all the difficult conversations alone with me on the other end of a phone, held up in a hand that needed mine in those critical, terrifying moments. 

I offered him what I have. What I am. It would remove any doubt, any worry, I told him. We’d never go through this again. 

“I’m not worried. And, not to be too grim, but we won’t go through this again,” he’d said. 

That’s when we started fighting. 

Window panes trembled against our voices. Walls threatened to crumble from the force of slamming doors. Plates, cups, and anything else within reach flew from their resting places to crash against the furniture. Left to neglect in favor of anger and despair, our once quiet, clean apartment became the site of a terrible, destructive force fueled by ego, dampened by acceptance, which, at that time, seemed an impossibility.

He knew what it really meant for me to help him. He’d lose himself. Lose control over himself, his desires, his future. He’d be enthralled with no way out but to face death again. And even then, I could just override his impulses and keep him by my side for as long as I’d wanted. 

“I’d never take you away from you,” I told him.

“By changing me, you’d be doing exactly that.” He said. “I know you don’t want to lose me, but if I were to let you turn me, I wouldn’t be me. I couldn’t be me. You didn’t ask for this either, so don’t pretend that by pushing the decision on me, now, when I can’t think of anything else but how I may not get to see next month, much less next year, is somehow giving me choice in the matter. You aren’t righteous. You aren’t my savior.”

I screamed at him. I threw more of the things we collected together. I skulked out into the night, only to return, scared to see him, but hoping he’d come around. It never phased him. He took too much in stride and always stayed level, no matter how the ground shifted or fell to pieces around us.

“How many have come before me?” he’d asked. “How many have come after me? When you look back at the life you’ve walked, how many cracks have formed under your feet that you didn’t even feel? Was there ever a moment when a single person made you trip? You get to walk on, leaving us behind underfoot.” 

That broke my fight. How could I prove myself to that? He was right. He wasn’t the first. I’d seen so many die over my long life, and who was I to tell him how to spend the rest of his life, when I had spent so much of mine doing what? Moving from place to place? Scared to greet the dawn and only waking long after dusk? I could only be there for him. Make him comfortable. Go with him.

__________________________________________________

When the morning rush is over, and the streets are quiet, he grasps my hand and pulls with the last of his strength. I tuck my elbow under his chin and set my free hand lightly on the back of his neck. His breathing fades, the air rattling in his chest.

“Thank you for cleaning,” he says through short gasps, and kisses the inside of my arm. He’s still against my trembling. He squeezes my hand, a gesture familiar and loving. It’s love. It’s appreciation. I squeeze his.

His pulse slows, slows, slows. His grip loosens and the warmth in his palm fades to frigid absence. My teeth strain to save him. There’s still time. I lean in and press my lips to his neck.

I kiss him and get up, careful not to disturb his repose.

I walk to the window and part the curtains, averting my eyes from the broiling fire that pours through as I turn and walk back to the bed, my back searing before the morning Sun. I lay down with him again, tucking my arm under his head and grasping his hand. Squeezing it.

I press my face into his hair and breathe him in. I whisper to him, “You were never just a crack in my path. You were an earthquake.”

Prompt: The story ends during an earthquake. The story takes place a year into the future. During the story, there is a fight. A character becomes sad during the story.

Genre: Vampire Romance

[sunspray-peak]

Ch. 13: Quiet

SATURDAY - SPRING 27

It had seemed like forever ago when Emily had invited Achilles to her birthday party at the saloon—in fact, despite jotting it down in his planner, in his present condition, he would have forgotten about it completely had it not been for Shane. 

The three days following the Flower Festival had been rough, to say the least. Desperate to find something to do, to plan a new project—or, at the very least, brainstorm a list of things to do Next (with a capital “N”)—he had plunged himself into “work.”

And by “work,” he really meant (if he were actually honest with himself) immaterial, made up chores to ward off the restlessness barging at the gates of his antsy brain. At this point, Achilles could have likely won Zuzu’s annual Home & Garden Landscaping contest with how polished his grandpa’s old property was. But although Achilles firmly believed there was always room for improvement, in this specific scenario, one could only realistically polish something so much before it reached its maximum shine. 

Somewhat unsurprisingly, his anxiety could see through the sham of odd tasks and disingenuous jobs—it didn’t matter how many DIY shelving tutorials he watched or how often he scrubbed the floors. How many times he moved the garden gnome or how many one-sided conversations he was having with the junimos, who were now visiting him with increasing frequency.

Or perhaps he really was now going mad. 

With each day, he could feel that itchiness, that irritating, antsy static, begin to creep further and further into his skull. The voices in his head asking asking over and over and over again, louder and louder What’s next what’s next what’s next? The only thing that managed to keep it somewhat at bay was his morning jog, which was becoming increasingly longer with each day. Didn’t someone on some TV show once say that, really, as long as they kept moving and kept their mind occupied at all times, they would avoid falling into the bottomless pit of despair? Well it was true, although for Achilles it was more anxiety right now than depression. 

He had even considered braving his anti-group-fitness-stance and heading back to Zuzu for another class at Orange Grove for this very reason (well, among others)—it would give him something to focus on. But with the commute time, he just couldn’t make his mind see it as immediately “productive” in the wider scheme of things, as stupid as he knew this was. But anxiety wasn’t logical and thus, he abandoned the plans. Besides, Alex didn’t need to see him sweaty and anxious… 

So instead, he had continued to invite Shane over for breakfast, under the pretense that he was simply getting farming advice to pass on to prospective buyers. But he knew in his heart it was mostly just another flimsy excuse, especially as he found his jittery self lulled by the man’s silently sullen disposition into chattering at length on nonsense completely unrelated to farms. 

“You wanna come to Emily’s party tomorrow night? I don’t think she’ll care if I invite you, just sounds like you need a distraction,” Shane had finally grunted, which honestly was the politest way Shane had ever asked somebody to shut up. 

“Hmm? Oh—yes.” Achilles had taken the hint, gulping down the elderflower soda he was now somewhat addicted to (he did not provide Shane beer anymore, although that hadn’t stopped the man from bringing his own) to give his mouth something to do besides talk. “She actually invited me.” 

“Huh. Even better. Now I won’t get in trouble.” 

Fuck. He had forgotten. But hey, a real something-to-do, if a relatively quick one. After scouring the internet, he had put in a call to his mother who had in turn gotten her contacts to overnight Emily’s gift, which he delicately wrapped in periwinkle tissue paper. 

And so that was how he started his penultimate night in Stardew Valley. It was to be a long one. Standing in the living room, tapping his foot a mile a minute, barely comprehending a word of Joseph Queen’s latest novel, and rubbing circles into his wrist as he fidgeted with the gift bag handle, all while waiting for 7:30 to arrive. 

*****

But at a certain point waiting became too hard and, eager to do something instead of sitting around the immaculately clean farmhouse, he had decided to leave for the saloon early and simply take the long way to town, through Cindersap. It was an unusually cool evening, fresh and breezy, and no signs of rain, thank Yoba. 

He bumped into Leah, dressed for the weather in a beanie and a spritely green jacket that reminded him a bit of his garden gnome. 

“Hey there.” She nodded at the gift bag in his hands. “Going to Emily’s? What’d you get her?” 

Achilles shoved his ear pods into his windbreaker and handed the bag to Leah who promptly removed the tissue paper and peered inside. “Nothing much, to be honest, I wasn’t quite sure what she’d like.” 

“Nothing much?” Leah had stopped, one hand balancing seven spools of thread, the bag, and the tissue paper Achilles had so particularly arranged; the other holding up a 12 pack of markers. “Achilles, these are Tannics.” 

Achilles’ nose twitched. You idiot. An oversight—of course Leah, as an artist, would recognize the brand. What to do… He chose to downplay.

“Ah, they’re the brand my mom uses and Emily’s a fan of her work. I just figured they’d be good.” 

Leah returned the items to the bag, stuffing the paper unceremoniously on top, and they resumed their walk. “‘Figured they’d be good…’ They’re the best. That pack must’ve been $70—and you yourself just said you barely know Emily.”  

“I didn’t say I ‘barely know’ her, we’re friendly—” 

“You pretty much implied it when you said you weren’t sure what she’d like. Who gets a $70 shot in the dark gift?” 

“She likes designing clothes, I grew up around fashion designers. What’s wrong with getting tools you know are nice? At least I know she’ll put them to good use.” Achilles tone was growing sharp as the ants in the back of his brain began to wake at the rumblings of a row. He took a deep breath through his nose, flexing his fingers in attempt to calm himself and the incoming anxiety.

She whipped her red braid over her shoulder and half-shoved the bag back into Achilles’ hands. “Yoba… must be nice…” 

Achilles knew she wanted him to respond, he could feel her eyes on him as they walked, but he resolutely bit back his tongue. He knew it was nice—to have money, to come from money—of course it was nice. 

“Explains a lot, really. Your mom’s in fashion, your dad’s in television, and Elliott says you were a writer before all this?” 

A short, rather jerky nod. “Wasn’t for me. More of a… hobby, I suppose.” 

“Hmm. Must be nice…” 

He took another deep breath. Just one foot in front of the other…

“For sure. I’m very lucky and exceedingly grateful to my parents, I doubt I would be here without them.” 

“Yeah… but you don’t really get it, do you? You know, just… being able to quit your day job and get the fuck out of town for a season to just do something you’ve never done before for shits and giggles? You’re going to, what, sell the new farm for a cool couple million, and then what are you going to do after that? What’s your plan?” 

Achilles new it would be better to stay silent, but the mere presence of ants in his brain was a reminder of the truth, and the words spilled out before he could bite them back. 

“I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know.” Leah shook her head—was she merely irritated or incensed?—and flipped her  braid to her other shoulder. “The fact that you can say that is just… so fucking unbelievably crazy to me. That there’s a world where people just… don’t know. People who don’t need to know.

“Writing didn’t work out for you long term—like you said, it was a hobby, sure, so you went into corporate, and clearly that wasn’t for you either, so you just… moved on to the next thing. 

“Art isn’t just a hobby for me. For Elliott. For Emily. It’s not something we can just abandon and pick up or move on from without a plan. To be able to just… take a break? We don’t have something to fall back on. We have to worry about our literal survival.” 

“Leah, I bought Emily some nice markers for her birthday. That’s it.” Achilles struggled to keep his voice even, even as Leah’s had rose in urgency. “I’m sorry, but I just don’t understand what you want me to say.” 

But even as he said it, as he heard Leah’s sharp inhale as she geared up for the next round, he knew there was nothing she wanted from him, specifically. This was a vent, it was clear as day, and unlucky timing for Achilles, he seemed to have been the unlucky trigger of it all. 

“I just… to be able to blow $70 on somebody you barely know without a second thought while the rest of us are choosing between next week’s groceries and tools… ”  

The pseudo, and mostly one-sided, argument carried them to the saloon where, as politely as he could, he excused himself to the restroom as Leah all-too-gladly made her way to the room Emily had reserved. 

It was a private stall, thank goodness. He stumbled over to the mirror, his hands grasping the sides of the porcelain sink. The gift bag swayed, again chafing his wrist as he leaned into the cold water flowing from the faucet. 

He hated not knowing, he hated the unknown, he had done everything in his power to never have to feel that way for the past six years—but he couldn’t tell that to Leah because the truth was, in the grand scheme of things, it was fine that he didn’t know. That he didn’t have next steps planned, that he wasn’t thinking about making next month’s rent or next week’s groceries. 

He hadn’t had to use his parent’s money since he was 19—that was something he could confidently say. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t, if he needed it—and he knew his parents would help him in half a heartbeat if it ever came to that. And despite what Perry had insisted, Achilles had known that his last name had gotten him his agent much faster than it would’ve taken someone whose father wasn’t the show runner for primetime’s longest running procedural. 

In a way, the pressure of his parents’ success and the career expectations they had unintentionally set were likely what was feeding his next step anxiety. It wasn’t anything his parents had demanded from him, not at all, they had always been nothing but supportive, and for that, he knew he was lucky. But he had always been haunted by the pressure to make a name for himself, to achieve a level of public notoriety, much like his mother and father had. And for most of his life, that idea had constantly sent him running down the road trying to commit fully to all sorts of different projects to find something that he wanted—or, at least, was “supposed” to want. 

The realtor was coming tomorrow, and from his copious research he had deduced the farm wouldn’t stay on the market for long. So really, what was next? Looking back, this “excursion” to Stardew Valley was always going to be a temporary thing. The clock had really been ticking the moment he had quit BRLO and left Hyacinthia. He had just refused to listen to it. 

*****

When he eventually found his way to Emily’s reserved room, he had nearly succumbed to the ants crawling in his head, to the voices penetrating his mind, to the coldness that was seeping into his core, and as he took his third, his fourth, and his fifth shot, he told himself the only way to win this mental battle was to drown them out. 

“Are you all right?” 

The voice, soft but firm, managed to pierce the warm haze of alcohol. There was a hand at his back—Alex, of course, they had been next to each other most of the evening. 

“Yeah, why?” he murmured. He was fine. Totally fine. Better than some of the other folks here, right? His eyes searched wildly for the Shane, desperate to prove to himself that there was someone, always someone, worse off than he was. 

But instead, he found Shane somehow laughing, his hands clasping what must’ve been his sixth beer of the night, sandwiched between Emily and a pink-haired woman who had introduced herself as Sandy. Did anyone in this damn town have a natural hair color… 

Achilles glowered, but forced himself to quickly recover—this was a party, he couldn’t be upset. 

Someone—maybe it was Leah—broke out a deck of cards. 

Why not? he thought to himself, pulling up a seat to join the game. You’re good at these things… 

Not good enough, it seemed. He lost—fast, too. And while he forced himself to laugh (get the stick out of your ass, what will people think), inside, he cursed himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid. So tight he was gripping the handle of his drink that his fingerpads had grown numb against the chilled glass.  

God, why do you care so much about a stupid fucking game. Stop. Just stop. Get yourself together. 

Someone made a joke. He laughed. Someone told a story. He asked questions. Someone stood to leave. He stood to say goodbye, and immediately the world tilted. 

Fuck. It had been six years since he had been drunk, it must have snuck up on him. But it was fine, he just needed a minute… or twenty… 

“Achilles, are you ok? I’m sorry about what I said earlier.” 

He looked up. It wasn’t Alex after all, but Leah. Or perhaps, it had been Alex earlier, and now it was Leah? How much time had passed? 

She took a seat next to him—where had she been sitting before? 

“Achilles, come on, I said I was sorry…” 

He mumbled something indecipherable. 

“Come on, man, let’s get you back.” 

Someone was taking his arm, but he shrugged them off. He was fine, he could still walk for Yoba’s sake… 

“Happy birthday, Emily!” he said as he stood for the door, giving the willowy blue-haired girl a hug. 

“Thank you for coming, Achilles! And thank you so much for the gift, I can’t believe you’d do that for me, you’re amazing.” 

He smiled, glancing smugly at the figure waiting for him by the door—take that, Leah—and see, everything was fine. Emily probably didn’t even notice he was… buzzed. Well, maybe a little more than buzzed…

“Let’s get you some air…” 

In the dim lamplight outside the saloon, he could just barely make out the flash of a green jacket and red braid. Ugh. Really not who he wanted to be with right now, but he wasn’t in much condition to escape. 

He stumbled a bit, but her firm hand held him steady. He considered shaking off his arch-nemesis, as he was apt to calling Leah now as of three hours ago, but the world was already spinning enough, and he rested his eyes half-closed and let himself be guided along the path. She really must be feeling guilty. Not that anything she had said had been false, per se… 

Soon the crumbly cobblestone turned to sand, and whether it was the sudden drop in temperature or overwhelming smell of salt, he wasn’t sure, but he bent over and immediately began to dry heave. 

“Oh fuck.” 

The beach? Of all places… leave it to fucking Leah to choose here of all places… 

She dragged him into the water, despite Achilles’ protests, her hand rubbing his back as he vomited into the ocean. 

“I’m so sorry fish, I’m so sorry.” Achilles groaned. Fuck, he loathed the feeling of nausea, and watching the black tides churn under the weak moonlight only made him more dizzy. He stumbled backwards in the shallow water, trying to make for shore, but his stomach seized again and he had to close his eyes as he bent over to throw up, one hand begrudgingly flailing for Leah’s jacket for support. “The fish…” 

“It’s ok, I really don’t think they mind. But we could ask Willy if you—” 

“Hey now, what the fuck?” 

Achilles looked up from the spray and saw Alex standing next to him, jeans rolled up in the shin-high water. The letterman combined with the red scarf tied loosely around his neck—he must’ve mistaken it for Leah’s red braid. Wow. Perhaps he really was drunk. 

Dulled as his reflexes were now, he still managed to recover (with the darkness’ help) fairly swiftly from this stomach-flipping surprise.

“Better you than her,” Achilles grumbled while simultaneously waving him away. 

Achilles turned and sloshed his way back up shore and onto the boardwalk. The sturdy wood was steady beneath his feet, grounding him as he watched the waves through half-closed eyes. Lulled by their crash, he lay on his back, face up towards the half moon. 

“Hey, let’s get you back up, you don’t want to throw up and suffocate on your own vomit.” Alex was still there, apparently. 

“What the fuck, man?” 

“Sorry, I… saw that on TV once.” 

Achilles managed to clamber back up onto his elbows before painstakingly lifting himself to sit at the edge of the boardwalk. He leaned his head against the post as Alex took a seat next to him. A water bottle was in his hands, as well as a small bag of crackers. 

They sat in silence. Achilles likely would’ve fallen asleep had his doze not been punctuated by two more bouts of vomiting. It splattered grossly into the water ten feet below. The sound really only made Achilles more nauseas… but at least Alex seemed unbothered. Oh, but the fish… 

A half hour after the the second attack, when it seemed like Achilles’ stomach (and most of his mind) had settled, Alex handed him the water and crackers. 

He had little energy to refuse—it was getting colder and he was shivering—and so he accepted it wordlessly, taking a long sip after wiping off the salty spray that had accumulated on the cap. The pressure in his head was building, a dull thrum beating rhythmically with his heart. 

After a minute, he closed his eyes and once again rested his head against the wooden post. Even with nothing to see, he could still feel the world spin. 

In a forced conversational tone, Achilles broke the silence. 

“Well. This has been an embarrassing evening, and I pray thee, never speak of it to me again. Please send dear Emily my deepest apologies for ruining her party. She shall never have to see my face again, for I depart with the Spring.” 

From somewhere on his left, he heard a dry chuckle. 

“You didn’t ruin her party, don’t give yourself too much credit. She probably didn’t even notice— it’d take more than one drunk little man to ruin Emily’s mood. I mean, she’s friends with Shane after all, isn’t she? Besides, if it makes you feel better, half the people there were more wasted than you…” 

And yet he was the only one Alex had chosen to help? Achilles bit back a lazy smile, though Alex wouldn’t have been able to see it in the dark anyway. The sharp pain in his lip helped clear his drunken cloud for just a second.

Eh. Maybe Achilles had just seemed the most pathetic. That was the more likely scenario. 

You dumb, drunk bastard…  

“Can I lie on my back now?” 

“Do you think you’ll throw up again?” 

“No.” 

“Hmm. I’ll allow it.” 

Achilles bit back another laugh as he collapsed backwards. He was still lightheaded—a peculiar sensation against the incoming migraine—but he loved clouds, and those currently illuminated by the moon were traveling slower than the waves. As he tracked their movement, the world began to slow back to its usual speed. A dull thump announced Alex had lain down as well. 

“You’re going to have a wicked hangover tomorrow, my friend.” 

“Fuck…” Tomorrow. Somewhere between the fifth and sixth shot, he had somehow forgotten. He rubbed his eyes, tempering his groan into a sigh. “Realtor is coming tomorrow morning.” 

“So you’re really going to sell the place?” 

Achilles turned and could just make out Alex’s face peering at his. If he reached out, he could probably just barely touch him, a few feet or so away he was. Instead, he faced the sky again. 

“I’ve been saying it all season, you didn’t think I’d commit?” 

“I just… I guess we all hoped you’d change your mind.” 

Achilles sighed through his nose. “I don’t know what else to do.” 

And suddenly, there it was—the burn surging up his neck, the sting behind his eyes, the lump in his throat. But he refused to cry. He loathed crying—especially in front of other people—so he bit it back as he bit his tongue, stubbornly, mechanically, again using the pain to keep control. But the pressure was too much, and while he successfully fought to keep back tears, words broke through his damn, spewing out in an explosive rush. 

“I didn’t know what to do after I decided I’d stop writing. It was very abrupt. The decision, that is. 

“I thought I had had my life all figured out at 17. Sure, I started in kiddie lit, but I had it all planned out—I had mapped out stories for the next decade, I’d make the jump to real shit before 25, get a film adaptation, maybe win a Pulitzer. Yeah, I know how that sounds. Listen, I was young, dumb, arrogant, and ambitious. Great combanation. 

“Obviously, that didn’t happen… like I said, the decision to stop was… sudden, to say the least. I wasn’t prepared for it. 

“I went to BRLO, eventually, of course. But the year in between—when I was trying to figure what the fuck I was going to do next—was, I think, the worst fucking year of my life.” 

Achilles paused to swallow the catch in his throat. He was sure even the smallest voice crack would invite sympathy, and that was not at all what he wanted. Taking a deep, and only slightly shaky, breath, he continued. 

“And I’m scared it’s going to happen again. The situations aren’t… identical… but they’re similar enough that even just thinking about tomorrow, about what’s supposed to be next, I just want to scream. I don’t what else to do.” 

 It was Alex who broke the brief silence. 

“You once told me you came to Stardew for a fresh start—” 

Achilles cut him off with a scoff.  “And a start was all it was ever destined to be, see that’s my whole fucking problem here. I didn’t leave BRLO with a real plan. And I… I need a plan. 

“You know, I don’t even know what in the world I was trying to achieve at all coming here. The cover of Better Gnomes and Farmin’? Let’s be honest, as I’ve already been reminded this evening, I don’t need whatever money the farm is going to bring in. Looking back, the farm was never going to lead to anything, at least, not anything worthwhile, not anything particularly noteworthy. The farm just… is. 

“I couldn’t admit it to myself until these past few days, but coming here—it was always a distraction. A pretty good one, I’ll admit it, but a distraction all the same to keep myself from, I don’t know, going insane. But cleaning up a farm was never going to keep this feeling at bay forever. There was always an expiration date. This was always inevitable.” 

 He paused again, this time to lightly lick his pointer finger. He had rubbed it raw tracing it against the damp grain of the dock.

“Would you ever consider going back? To BRLO?” 

Achilles snorted. “BRLO… I hated it there from the moment I arrived. But I refused to believe it. I told myself, you’re 23 can you really not handle a 9-5 job? Look at all the other people in the world that have to do it, how pathetic are you? And it was better than doing nothing. So I stayed. 

“To be honest though, looking back, it was probably exactly what I needed after everything with Apparition. The stability of just something… linear, something always present, something I was actually good at, that I could focus on.”

Achilles shut his eyes and paused to chew somberly on a bit of cracker. Alex said nothing. 

“But, as I said, I hated it. I had jumped into bed with something I knew I didn’t love, but by the time I finally let myself take a step back and see the bigger picture, it was too late to just… let myself let go. All sunk costs, sure, but… still.

“You know, I was the youngest executive BRLO had ever had in 50 some years? I won two CLIOs.” 

It felt hollow to say that. He had worked hard, that was indisputable—too hard, really. It was a title he had achieved mostly because he had been willing to give up any semblance of a personal life. Nevertheless, he had always liked titles. Like awards, he found them to be more tangible measurements of success. 

“And how many people actually love their jobs anyway? How many people are actually doing something they want to be doing? That’s what I kept asking myself, day in and day out of pitches and brainstorms. I thought, maybe, if I just really… dove into it all, really committed, I’d eventually find something that I liked. Just something to latch on to that would help make all my success there taste more sweet than bitter. 

“So I just digging myself deeper and deeper into this hole in the hopes that somewhere at the bottom I’d find… something.

“Some people have epiphanies. You hear about those lightbulb moments where they’re sitting in their office and just suddenly realize they’re being crushed by the burden of modern life, they realize they’re spirit is fading, that this isn’t the future life their six year old self had envisioned and they needed to drop everything now and head for the hills that are calling for them and become a farmer and be one with nature. 

“I didn’t have that. That… yearning for something else. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted it—I mean, I still want it, a sign, anything, to just point me in the right direction of what the fuck to do—but I didn’t have it.

“No. I think I just hit a wall one day. Finally hit the bottom of that hole, I guess, and saw that there was nothing there. There had never been anything there. I had a title. I had money. I was doing shit. But I didn’t want it.” 

And how privileged it was that you could just leave. And here you are… ready to do it again. 

“And so I turned in my two weeks notice, and that was it. Leaving was all push for me, no pull.” 

He had eaten all the crackers and was now thumbing the bag between his numb fingers. Alex hadn’t said a word. Perhaps he had fallen asleep. Achilles wouldn’t have blamed him. Nevertheless, the floodgates were wide open now. He kept going. 

“If I had learned anything from BRLO it was that there’s no sustainability in hate. I know it’s obvious. And I know it’s stupid and selfish and entitled, but it’s why I was so against farming, against those fucking strawberry seeds, I didn’t want to waste another six years going down a path that was doomed from the start. I hate worms, Alex. I hate them. 

“I loved writing. I did. And when I switched to advertising, well—I wanted to want to love it. So, so badly, you don’t even know, I think that’s why I was trying so hard. Diving in all the way, full commitment to things, it’s... it’s important, because how else can you make adequate progress? How else can you maximize what you’re trying to achieve? 

“But I think at some point in my life, it became difficult for me to distinguish between being busy and being content. I learned you can’t force how you feel. There’s no sustainability in artificiality either.

“I’ve always just wanted to do something important. Like my parents, just be someone… have an impact, a real impact. Is that pathetic? Probably. Maybe I don’t deserve it.” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Anyway, I don’t know why I ever thought I’d find whatever that is out here painting farmhouses. Regardless, whatever it was, that’s all done anyway, and now I’m at an even bigger loss of what to do because I still don’t know what the fuck is next and I’m… tired.” 

Achilles stopped. The only sound he heard was his own breath, rapid and weary and, he hated having to admit it to himself, whiny. For a few minutes, all was quiet. Perhaps Alex really had fallen asleep… but then—

“Why don’t you just stay?” 

“I just said I’m never going to farm—”

“Well, you don’t have to farm. You just said you don’t need money. You can just… stay. And, I don’t know, wait—”

“—fuck no, waiting is the last thing I want to do. You can’t just wait around and count on success finding its way to you, and besides, I don’t do well with waiting, and I don’t do well with quiet, and that’s two things this Valley’s got going for it. 

“The city—and I mean, the real city, not like Zuzu—it’s loud, it’s fast, it’s always demanding something from you, and I think all that chaos, all those distractions… some people find it draining, but the horns and the yelling and the sirens, I found it all comforting, I think it helped me… focus? Commit? Helped sideline those voices in all our heads that ask us, what else is there? What more could you be doing? What more should you be doing? 

“The Valley here, it’s so quite. So, so, quiet, you all may call it calming, but to me it’s maddening. There’s just too much empty space; anxiety and dread, they thrive here, and it’s like they’re pushing me out. I don’t feel comfortable, I don’t feel welcome.” 

“Everyone here likes you though. Do you not like us?” 

Achilles rubbed his eyes again until he saw double the number of stars in the sky. “It’s not the people that’s the issue. It’s, I don’t know what you want me to say, the general environment? There’s just… not enough here. Just all the voices in my head that are now free to take center stage and tell me that I’m nobody. Let’s be real, Alex, why am I even here? What am I doing here? Nothing. 

“I mean, who knows, maybe I’m just burnt out, and that’s the real reason I’ve felt like shit. But at 27? Again, that’s so incredibly pathetic. And yet somehow, I still feel like I’m running out of time. 

“My parents are so, so passionate about their work, and they’re both so good at what they do—both their careers have long grown to something beyond them now in society. And they both started when they were way younger than I am now, and for them to be so incredibly successful for so long, and here I am just… I don’t know.” 

“You really don’t think you’ve succeeded at anything?” 

“Not in a way that means anything.” 

Achilles immediately regretted snapping at Alex—it was rude, and the kid didn’t deserve it. Needlessly aggressive, much like Leah had been earlier that evening… in fact, Leah’s own words were now pounding in his head, and, after a beat, Achilles continued in a more meditative tone. 

“What do we do with our lives when we don’t have to worry about our survival? What do we choose to do? To work towards? What motivates us? I have money, fuck, Alex, I have so much money. I’m well aware I’m exceedingly lucky to be in a position where I don’t ever have to do anything I don’t want to do for the rest of my life. But I still want to do something. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to want to do anymore.” 

Achilles paused again, wishing he could take back the words, words that reeked of entitlement and privilege. But he attempted a wan joke instead. 

“I know what you’re thinking. Poor little rich girl, what does she know about misery?” 

He tore his gaze from the clouds and glanced towards Alex, but his quote received only a blank stare. 

“Titanic?” 

“…the boat?”

“What—no, the movie. Jimmy Cameron?”

“Haven’t seen it.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Grandpa always said it was for women.” 

“For women—?” 

“Have you ever thought about writing again? You said you loved it…”

“You promised me you wouldn’t ask that.”

“Hey now, I don’t remember saying promise…” 

“I had wanted to be a writer since I was quite young. I was lucky—in a number of ways—to have briefly found success, and it turned into something bigger than me. But then I let it turn into something I did for me. I started listening to the wrong things, to the wrong people, the whole thing just… became selfish. I was selfish, Alex, I know I am. And that, I think, is why it failed. In the end.”

It wasn’t the only reason what had been admittedly quite a strong start to a career had been violently derailed, Achilles thought wryly. Some of the blame ought to go to a Mr. Eddie Bloomsbury—although, if he were really honest with himself, even the consequences of that had really just been rooted in his own selfishness and pride. 

Isn’t that what it all came back to in the end, though? His failed writing career. Staying at BRLO. Leaving BRLO. Even his absurdly intense dedication to fixing a farm he’d never call home. Sure, that was to keep himself busy, but was it also not partly motivated by a nagging self-interest, by his overwhelming preoccupation with controlling how the world perceived him? All in order to—hopefully—find and earn his place in some faraway spotlight. 

Regardless, wherever it was he was meant to be doing, he had surely taken 3 steps back with this silly little detour to Stardew Valley. He lay his hand over his chest, tight with unease, feeling his heart pound through the fabric of his windbreaker. Yoba, what was he supposed to do next… He thought back to his grandpa’s letter, the one that sent him to Stardew in the first place. Honor the family name… Bullshit, with every project he poured his heart and soul into, he still wasn’t on track to honor anything. 

“I think you should stay.” Alex’s voice was soft, but Achilles still jolted with a start. Nearly ten minutes had passed and he had been halfway to finally finding a minute of peace in sleep.  

“I know it’s probably not the same noise you’re used to, but I’ve never found the Valley to be all that quiet. I think you just have to learn to listen to a new kind of sound.” 

Achilles closed his weary eyes again, allowing Alex’s words to settle in the air for a minute before finding himself surrendering to their proposition. 

The soft buzz of the fireflies darting about the boardwalk. A cawing seagull or two, back from a late night snack above the roaring waves. Cattails rustling in the sea breeze. He could even just manage to make out Willy drunkenly bellowing late night sea shanties from his cabin, and maybe, if he listened really, really closely, he could hear Alex breathing. Soft, peaceful, steady. Calm.