#but for now i may as well be miserable doing a job that's paying me instead of a degree i'm paying to do

[greatwesternrailway]

the only thing stopping me from quitting my masters is that i might regret it. which is becoming increasingly less important to me when not quitting means being miserable and wanting to kms every day for the next six months. just doesn't seem worth it.

[howlett-n-morgan]

Take Me Home

5. Blood Stains

Arthur Morgan x Texas Red!Reader

A/n: HEY GUYS I AM BACK WITH A DOOSIE. okay so my fashion show was fantastic, let me know if y'all wanna see a video of my collection i think it turned out pretty damn good. anyways, wrote this while crocked off my ass on Benadryl bc allergy season is hitting very very hard right now so if it's not perfect we are all going to collectively blame the Benadryl, okay? okay.

Summary: An accident in the laundry causes chaos in the camp, and secrets are revealed sooner than expected. With everyone else acting like the world is caving in, Arthur steps up as usual.

Warnings: misogyny, major gender role tropes, a little bit of personal violation, but very minor. Susan is a bitch in this chapter (we love Susan). Blood plays a lot into this chapter, and so do menstrual cycles, so if you're uncomfortable with those mentions, this may be a skippable chapter for you. There's also like some sexual implications but nothing inherently sexual happens. I think that's it, let me know if I missed anything.

WC: 7.8k

“Climb up, let’s go to town before closing time,” he walked around to the other side where his horse was hitched from earlier today, still saddled since Bill hadn’t made his rounds yet.  You complied, but were unsure of the motives for such a trip.  “Is Dutch paying you to take me somewhere? He want you to kill me quietly?” 

In the weeks since John’s disappearance, you’ve noticed three things:

One, Dutch hasn’t barely been seen in the camp, and when he makes his presence known, it’s either angry or forlorn. Two, the entire gang has been very quiet, not wanting to set off Dutch, or make anyone else upset with the matter. Three, Arthur has done as he said he would, becoming closer with Abigail, and helping nightly with Jack. 

It shouldn’t break your heart, because you had no right for it to. You shouldn’t be distancing yourself from the both of them, they didn’t do anything to deserve it, but the way your chest tightened by watching them, watching Arthur gently place a hand on her shoulder as he watched Jack squirm in her arms was far too miserable. Abigail won’t speak of it, knowing that everyone has been on edge since her former lover left, but she missed the talks and conversations you held. You understood her, and though she didn’t exactly know the truth as to why, she was still partially in grief over that bond, too. 

Arthur takes immediate notice, but doesn’t say anything. Hosea had mentioned your run in with John the evening he took off. He figured you needed time to cope with the situation, even if you didn’t know John all that well, or even like him for that matter. Everyone in camp was dealing with it differently, so why should he judge the way you handled yourself?

It was only when you stopped talking to him altogether that he became slightly concerned, and he wasn’t the only one. 

When Dutch first brought you into the gang, he knew there was some subtle competition with you and Arthur. The two fastest guns in the west, hell, maybe even the world… but you butted heads often. He didn’t know why it had suddenly stopped, but his concern grew from being in both your presences at the same time, and the icy feeling he got just from standing between you, running over job details in a tent. 

It was like Arthur didn’t exist to you anymore. Everything you said and did was conveyed to the people around him, but never to him. You would even give news to a big group of people to avoid telling Arthur directly. 

Dutch knew there was something wrong, because he could have sworn you both were inches away from getting along, but now it was worse than square one. It was after a successful job that he said something about it. After you had deliberately handed Arthur’s cut to Javier and told him to give it to the next man over. 

You’d ridden back, safe and sound, but Dutch held you back, nodding the others away from the horse troughs.  

“Talk with me for a bit, will ya son?” He tried to approach the situation gently. This couldn’t have been a gradual thing. 

“F’course,” you muttered, hands resting on your gun belt as you followed him into the center of camp. 

“I’ve been noticing some… strange behavior from you towards Arthur. Only lately…” he scratched his head, looking at you expectantly. “You can tell me if he did somethin’ to piss you off, I’ll speak with him about it.”

You furrowed your brow and shook your head. “He didn’t do nothin’ to piss me off… I’ve just always been better off on my own, don’t wanna rely on anyone.”

“I can understand that sentiment, but it doesn’t make any damn sense as to why you’re givin’ him the cold shoulder,” he furthered his point, and you didn’t have any choice but to make something else up. Something that could actually be worth what you were doing to Arthur. Your head told you that the truth of ‘I’m actually a young woman and I’m catching feelings for your gang enforcer’ wouldn’t help you. 

“He’s been tryna hold me back,” you sighed out, as if revealing some huge secret. It was partially true, but you’d grown more relaxed about the protection Arthur had been trying to provide. Still, you kept on the charade, knowing it would get you out of this situation free and clear. “M’tired of him thinkin’ I can’t keep up, tired of feelin’ like a helpless kid next to ‘im.”

Dutch let out a breath and narrowed his eyes. “I see… and so you figured it best to keep him out of arm’s reach, is that it?”

“Guess so,” you shrugged, leaning against the pole of his big tent. 

And then it seemed that Dutch saw this as a teaching moment, because he nodded for you to sit down on one of the cross latch boxes, across from where he stood. He had a whole spiel oncoming, and you were almost sure you knew what it would contain. Something about the camp being a family, everyone sticking together and more nonsense of the like.

“You don’t understand this now, because you’ve never had a time of need in this gang… but that day will come,” he paused, and you perhaps had it all wrong, listening intently now. He pointed in the direction of Arthur’s camp set up, and you glanced over, not for the first time that day. He was tired, hunched over his cot and leaning in exhaustion, running his hand over his face. “And when you are in that time of need, there is no better man to have in your corner than Arthur Morgan.”

You nodded in understanding, a small frown on your face. You wanted to protect yourself, but if what Dutch says is true, you’re only setting yourself up for failure. 

“He’s been here a long time, and no matter your opinion of him, no matter the things you do or the things you say, he’s loyal. It ain’t up to me what you decide to do, but you should know, he’s the best ally you’re ever gonna have.”

And just like that, you regretted the past weeks. Everything you did to avoid him, getting up early to grab some of the coffee before he came by. Going out and hunting without letting anyone know, just so that he didn’t have a chance to come with you. Even going as far as to mend your own clothing and do your own laundry, knowing he might catch you at one of the girl’s stations while picking up your weekly wears. You felt awful. You remembered at least four times he tried to approach you before he just gave up. At the time you were grateful, because you thought it was making things easier for you, but in actuality, the things Dutch said were true. You needed him in your corner. There would be a time of need, and Arthur was the best ally to have when that time would come, whatever it may be. 

“I think I oughta go set things right, then,” you let out, your ego deflating slightly when your eyes met Dutch again. 

“If you think it’s best,” he nodded, switching places with you and watching you walk over to his favored outlaw, the man he called his son. He called you son, too. You wondered if that would hold up if he ever found out about you. 

Arthur was on the verge of sleep, but you were doing this now. You could apologize later. 

“You look like shit,” you tried to be nonchalant, and not bring any emotion into this. 

When he looked up, he was slightly annoyed, but his face softened once he looked at you for a moment. 

“Feel like shit,” he grumbled, trying to understand what you were doing here. You didn’t exactly give him reason to believe he was important to you anymore. “Did you need something?” 

You kicked the dirt beneath your boot, trying to keep yourself composed, but you weren’t too good at these things, and the amount of shear stiffness in your body wasn’t helping you to relax about it. 

“I think I owe you an apology,” you started, and he tilted his head in slight confusion. Sure, he knew what you were apologizing for, but he didn’t know why. “I’ve been avoidin’ you, n’ I shouldn’t have.”

He nodded in thanks, accepting your words. You stood awkwardly, unsure if you should say more or just leave, but when you turned your boot to walk, he stopped you. 

“Did I piss you off or somethin’?”

Why was everyone asking that? 

“No, ain’t nothing you did. Just my own stupid ass and things that don’t matter,” you told him. You felt even worse now, because you’d made both him and Dutch think that it was something he did wrong. He could rarely do any wrong in your eyes, which made this whole ordeal that much worse. 

“Matters enough, you stopped talking to me. Couldn’t even get you to look my way.”

You didn’t want him to know anything else. With him and Abigail rapidly forming a blossoming relationship, it wasn’t for you to stand in their way. Jack needed a father figure, and Arthur was the perfect candidate. 

“I’m sorry about it. I swear it won’t happen again,” you really wanted to leave this time, unsure of how far it may go in the event of a deep conversation… but he caught your wrist and gently tugged it back towards where he sat as soon as you started turning away again. 

“You gotta give me somethin’, Red. I’ve waited weeks just to ask you,” he pleaded, his tired eyes looking through you and trying to enter your mind. You caved just as soon as you saw how badly this affected him. You hurt him. He might be big, burly, and dangerous… but he bleeds, and his heart can be wounded as easily as anyone else’s. 

“I’ve been going through some things, and you’ve had a lot on your plate with Jack and Abigail. It’s not fair of me to make my burdens your burdens… I was tryna keep you out of it,” you admitted, which was only half true. The partial truths of the night were stacking up, but fortunately he couldn’t tell the difference right now, too tired and unfocused to really study your features and what you were hiding. 

“Red,” he sighed, not yet prying for more information, but giving you one last glance. “You can tell me things. Remember that.”

You nodded, smiling at him for the first time since John left. “Alright.” 

-

You stopped avoiding and ignoring Arthur, but things were still distant. You’d been getting close right after Jack was born, but going into his third month in the world, you two were miles apart. Still, it was better than the stone cold facade you’d been turning to him before. 

“Got any laundry?” Susan asked, breaking you out of your trance as you watched the sun setting. You weren’t really paying much attention, but nodded, reaching behind you into your tent for a sheet full of worn out and dirty clothing. You should have looked it over, but you didn’t, too caught up in your own mind. “You can ask the girls about getting it back tomorrow, they’ve been going stir crazy for things to do.”

“Yes ma’am,” you nodded, tipping your hat and leaning back against your small tent’s middle pole. You had half a mind to slide your hat over your eyes for a nap, but that didn’t seem like it would fly, especially if one of the others needed you for something. 

You could definitely use a nap, you were cramping like crazy. You swore if Bill came up to you and asked for any more favors with the damn horses this week you’d kill him, but only because you were feeling grumpy. 

You wanted so badly to confide in Arthur about these things, the troubles of womanhood that you couldn’t share with anyone else but him. You wondered if he would ever tell anyone, since it’s been almost five months of your residence and you have yet to reveal your secrets to everyone else. Maybe you were being paranoid, but the closer he got to Abigail and the further you pushed him away, you thought he might care less about the agreement you both made. After all, spilling your secret to Dutch would gain him loyalty points, and Dutch seemed all too happy to be giving them out since John left. 

It was about an hour later when there was a shriek at the other side of camp, and many ran over to see what the trouble was. 

Tilly had been sitting by her wash bin, but had pulled her hands out on account of one thing. 

“What’s the matter, Tilly?” you heard Sean over your shoulder, and when you finally saw the trouble your eyes widened and you muttered a single word under your breath. 

“Shit.” 

“What’s shit?” Arthur’s voice was also heard beside you now, and you turned to him ever so slightly with a whisper.

“Me, I’m in deep shit.”

Tilly showed everyone the water, with some clothing swirling around, but it was all tinted red. 

“I think someone’s been hurt,” she said, waving over Mrs. Grimshaw to show her the problem. “There’s blood in the water.”

You tried to casually back up slowly, hoping that it wouldn’t get traced back to you, after all, the clothing in the bin was yours, and Mrs. Grimshaw had just picked up the pile from you. You were just stupid enough to leave your monthly attire in with it, and during your monthly time, too. You were only two days into the cycle, meaning there had been a lot of blood.

Grimshaw, being the stern and impatient woman she was, rolled her sleeves up and dug around in the water, looking for clothing with holes to indicate a stab or bullet wound… but she only found:

“A sanitary apron?” She furrowed her brows. She was pretty in tune with the women of the camp, and hadn’t been aware that someone was menstruating right now. 

“You better run, kid,” Arthur caught on, nudging your shoulder. You’d already started getting further away from the scene, but it seemed Grimshaw already came to a conclusion before you could make a break for it. 

“I picked these up from…” she trailed, her brow now seemingly angry and strewn together in a stressful manner. She marched over to you, grabbing your lanky wrist harshly and tugging you away from the scene. “You better not be hidin’ what I think you’re hidin’!”

You held onto your hat as she practically ran you into the nearest tent. It wasn’t hers or yours but that didn’t matter, her urgency was all too apparent. 

“Miss Grimshaw, what’s this all about?” 

“I have had my suspicions about you since you arrived here,” she spoke intensely, pulling you forward by your belt buckle and doing her best to undo it. 

“Hey, hey! What’re ya doin’?!” You tried to protest, but her nimble hands were too persistent, and she finally got your pants loose enough to take a brief peek at what she needed to see. “What the hell, would you stop?!” 

“I knew it!” she yelled, a finger pointed in the air. 

And just like that, you knew you were screwed. 

She quickly ran out of the tent, and you tried to follow her, making a quick attempt at putting your belt back together on the way out. 

Arthur ran a hand over his face when first he saw you, and the state you were in. He knew the jig was up, too. 

“Where is that man when you need him?” Susan was turning every which way, a mess of herself just trying to frantically look for the camp leader. 

“Dutch? He’s in town with Hosea, what’s the problem?” Bill sauntered up, dusting his hands from the work he’d paused. 

Pearson and Javier all of a sudden made an appearance, and when you thought nothing could make this worse, the rest of the camp zoned in on the chaos, having had nothing better to do this whole day. It was slow, and there were no jobs to be done, so the boredom consumed minds jumped on the first sign of entertainment they could find, and boy was it something.

“We have an imposter in our midst!” She yelled, her arms waving around wildly. 

“Hold on, now…” You tried to interject, but Arthur shot you a look, shaking his head. Don’t do it, kid. Just shut up.

“What do you mean an imposter?” Pearson crossed his arms. He was never one to give bad news of any kind to, because he had a tendency to blow it out of proportion. “Who?” 

“That,” she pointed at you, her voice raised to the highest decibel count you knew was humanly possible. “Is not an eighteen year old boy! She has been fooling us all. Who even knows where she comes from, what her real name is!”

“What the hell are you even talking about?” 

“The kid?” 

“Ain’t no way…”

The rapid responses coming forward almost eased your mind, except for the fact that Susan did in fact have up close and personal proof from what she saw. 

Arthur stepped forward, and as the murmurs grew louder, and Miss Grimshaw was prepared to go on another rant, he did all he could to calm the situation. 

“Let’s not make any rash judgements right now,” he gave you a look, trying to let you see he was attempting to help, but that you needed to leave. “We’ll just wait until Dutch and Hosea get back.”

You took that as a cue to leave, awkwardly making way for your tent. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Susan tried to chase after you, but Arthur held her back. 

“Wait for Dutch,” he said, his arm blocking her path. Who knows what she’d do in this state? She’d been known to whip some of the boys into compliance before, who knows what she’d do to someone she viewed as an imposter. 

Sitting with the flaps closed, you could still hear everything that was occurring outside, and it nerved you far more than being in the middle of it all. 

“It doesn’t make any sense…” and “Do you think it’s true?” could be heard from separate conversations, and you wished more than anything that you’d just done your own damn laundry. 

Your face fell in your hands, and you started going over all the things that could happen. Dutch could hate you for lying to him, and kick you out, banishing you as far as you could go. Or, since you were a newbie, and didn’t have the trust factor built yet, maybe they would just shoot you dead. That may have been an extreme idea, but with your rapidly beating heart and increasing worry, things like that were bound to spill in. Not like you’d been in a gang before, you didn’t exactly get an etiquette and rule book when you arrived. Who knew what would happen to you. Nothing good, that you knew.

When Arthur finally opened the flap and leaned down inside the small dwelling, you knew it was time to face the music. 

“Dutch is back, Susan’s tellin’ him everything,” he sighed, looking over your face and feeling a sense of guilt that he didn’t do anything to stop all of this. When you first arrived he thought maybe it wouldn’t be a big deal, but having experienced this much drama in just the past hour has most definitely led him to believe he was wrong. 

When you stayed silent, and didn’t really give him a reaction of any kind, he could tell you were hit hard with the anxiety and shock of it all. He couldn’t ever get you to shut up, and he often didn’t want to, most of all now when you looked like a scared animal. 

“I ain’t gonna let ‘em hurt ya, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

You shook your head, and against your hardest efforts, tears were backing your eyes, looking for ways to escape. He hadn’t ever seen you like this, and it wasn’t pleasant. 

“I don’t wanna leave,” you admitted. You liked it here. You weren’t lonely here, and you had a family… or at least you did an hour ago. You didn’t know where you stood with half of these people. 

He couldn’t speak for Dutch or Hosea, or anyone else really, but he could speak for himself. 

“I don’t want you to, either…”

When Arthur heard his name called, he leaned back, looking in the direction of his father figure, looking angrier than a pack of hungry wolves. 

“Yeah?” 

“Tell Brooks to see me, now.”

You didn’t even need the message relayed. You stood up, and followed Arthur out of the tent, your head down as you made the distance to the center tent, the big one you’d been at only a bit ago with council from your leader. You only hoped he’d be so forgiving when he found out you lied to him. 

Arthur got into the tent first, mumbling a few things you were a little distracted to hear. You did catch the small ‘don’t be too hard on her’ fall from his mouth, though. 

You sat down on the box chest, close to the exit of the tent, just in case things went south and you had to run. Not that you were thinking about running, but again, a million scenarios crossed your mind. 

“Arthur, wait outside.”

You grew more tense as soon as those words were uttered, and so did Arthur it would seem. 

“Dutch, I think I should-”

“Wait. Outside.” 

He reluctantly did as he was told, walking far enough away that he wouldn’t be reprimanded, but still in your eye-line so he could keep an eye on you. He trusted Dutch with the gang members, but if he was considering kicking you out, that made you fair game. 

“I’m gonna cut to the chase,” he took a long drag of the cigar he held between his fingers, blowing the smoke out when he turned his head to the side. “You know why you’re here.”

“I reckon I do,” you answered quietly, trying to keep an ounce of confidence though your entire body felt like it would start shaking in fear. 

“I could have you stripped for the whole camp to see, but for propriety’s sake I’m only going to ask you this once… is it true?” He asked, his tone less stern but still eager. 

“Yes.”

He sighed, having heard the softness in your voice since you came in, he already knew. You’d never shown this side of yourself to the camp before. You were always confident, sure of yourself, cocky even. To think it was an act boiled his skin… but he wanted to take his time with this. You still had capabilities the likes he’s never seen, and if he wasn’t careful they could one day be used against him. You didn’t know about the O’Driscolls yet, and he sure as hell wouldn’t have you running off and joining them. It would be the death of the Van Der Linde gang, of that he was certain. 

“I’m gonna decide what to do with you, but until then, you stay out of my sight.”

He pointed outside of the tent, and you were honestly surprised that this was the extent of his questioning. Nothing about the lies? About the history? About anything at all?

You gave him a double glance, but scurried away in fears he might change his mind and tear you to shreds on the spot. You walked hastily towards Arthur, your face gaining more color to it once you were out of the line of danger. 

“You alright?” He asked, his furrowed brows reflecting his concern. 

“No,” you let out with a dramatic scoff. Your flare for over exaggeration was sometimes quite amusing to him. He just dropped his head and chuckled. 

“You’re fine,” he patted your shoulder before stepping past you and going to talk to Dutch. What he knows is that Susan Grimshaw spilled every nasty detail of this afternoon to the camp leader, but he also knows that he hasn’t had his say yet, and when it comes down to it, Dutch will side with his loyal enforcer over a disgruntled Miss Grimshaw. 

Dutch was stretching out his arms, sore from the ride in and out of town. It was a scouting trip, really, but it was enough to make him ache when all the stress was added. 

“First John leaving, now this. I can’t seem to catch a break, can I?” Dutch sighed out after his words, the toll they took on his mind caused him to shake his head of so many thoughts. 

“This ain’t so bad,” Arthur began, tilting his head from side to side. 

“How could you possibly think that?”

Arthur shrugged, reasoning with himself a few options before saying them out loud. 

“S’not like she did any harm. Only thing that’s come of it is a bit of surprise to everyone…” he trailed, sitting across from the man he called his father figure and his friend. The tension seemed to ease up the second he neared the man, but there was more to be done to diffuse the situation, and he was all too happy to insert himself as the cause of said diffusion. 

“She lied about who she is, for all we know she could be working with local law, or worse, the pinkertons.” 

Dutch’s raised concerns nearly made Arthur chuckle. When you first got here, facade or not, you were still just lost and looking for somewhere to call home. There were never any motives behind your gang participation other than needing a family.

“We haven’t had them on our trail in ages. Coming here, we finally put a stop to their sniffin’ around. Besides, she’s been the reason for our successful jobs lately… she’s been loyal enough to save my life despite our differences.”

“But she lied to us,” Dutch kept driving his point. A liar’s a liar, and they lie about other things. 

“She’s a scared kid, Dutch. She just wants a place to be,” Arthur defended, his arguments becoming more close and personal, which led Dutch to connect some other dots. 

He sighed, looking at Arthur and coming to an understanding of what he knew were past events. 

“You knew, didn’t you?” 

Arthur dropped his head into a subtle nod, not yet meeting Dutch’s eyes for his fear of a bad reaction. 

“Since the week she got here.”

Dutch had to laugh, because of course he did. Arthur was more in tune with the members of camp than he could ever be, and more than they could be with each other. He was like Hosea that way, his ability to connect and grow relationships with others was just a natural gift. He often thought it stemmed from Arthur’s great love of the unknown, and his endless curiosity. 

“How’d you figure it out?” 

“I didn’t, until I found some uh… rather feminine items in her saddle bag. She fessed up pretty quickly to me,” Arthur scratched the back of his neck, his nerves settling when he knew he wouldn’t be in any trouble. 

“Well,” Dutch started, coming to the edge of his open tent, looking for the troubled recruit among the busy movement of the camp. “We’ve taken in much worse, and it’s always been in our favor. And you’re right… She's just a scared kid. A scared kid with the quickest hands I’ve ever seen.”

There was a moment, and then Arthur smiled.

“So… She’s free n’ clear?” He asked, his tone hopeful, which Dutch noticed. Perhaps Red had made amends after all, and just as Dutch promised, Arthur was in her corner. This wasn’t her time of need, per se, but he knew she would have him when it arrived.

“I suppose so, although… I’m not going to be responsible for the court of public opinion,” he gestured to everyone in the camp, frantically working around just to keep themselves busy. With all the chaos going on, it’s the only thing they can do not to sit and gossip, which they do anyway. 

“I reckon I better keep her away from Susan?” 

“With a ten foot pole, preferably,” Dutch rolled his eyes. That woman was full of determination, and it could be both a great strength, as well as her worst weakness. 

Arthur smiled, ready to go make good on a promise he’d been waiting on for some time. “I’ll catch you later then.”

“Alright, Arthur.”

-

You didn’t know if Arthur’s conversation with Dutch would benefit you or condemn you, but you didn’t stick around to find out. He’d found you saddling your horse, just in case a hasty escape needed to be made. Yes, perhaps your delusions were getting a bit out of hand. 

“Where you goin’?”

“Depends,” you started, “How mad is he?”

Arthur huffed and grabbed your wrist, stilling your movements. “He ain’t mad.”

“No?” You could hardly believe it. “He seemed riled up to me.”

“I talked to him,” he explained, but gave no further intel. 

“You got magic words or somethin’?” You chuckled, slightly more relaxed since the news came better than you hoped, and Arthur wasn’t dragging you back to be punished or anything. “What’d you tell him?” 

“That you were gonna be loyal… and that you’d been scared.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, trying to play off his last words like they weren’t true. “I ain’t scared.”

“Really? You were about to run, weren’t you?” He pointed to your full saddle bag and stocked up horse, ready to disappear at a moment’s notice. 

You caved. 

“He gave me a little fright is all,” you toed your boot into the dirt as you spoke, looking back up to find him nodding at your horse. 

“Climb up, let’s go to town before closing time,” he walked around to the other side where his horse was hitched from earlier today, still saddled since Bill hadn’t made his rounds yet. 

You complied, but were unsure of the motives for such a trip. 

“Is Dutch paying you to take me somewhere? He want you to kill me quietly?” 

It was just a joke, but he was getting tired of the overly dramatic interactions. He wasn’t sure what all transpired in your past, albeit knowing more than everyone else… even still, he figured there had to be something that gave you your theatrical touch. 

“Knock it off, would ya?”

“Sorry.”

The ride wasn’t long, but the sun was down when you both tied your horses to the poll in front of the general store. You’d been in here a few times, and the man behind the counter always cowered in fear of Texas Red the unkillable. No matter your manners or gentility, that’s just how it was. 

“What’re we doin’ here?” You adjusted your hat, wiping some sweat off your forehead and following him up the front steps. 

“I remember sayin’ I’d get you a dress a while back, we’re here to make good on it.”

You stopped in your tracks, a wide smile blossoming on your face when you heard him say it. He’d remembered, and been waiting for it since the night he uttered the words. 

He noticed you weren’t close behind him, and turned, catching the sweet expression you wore, but brushing it off with a sideways smile. 

“C’mon now, gotta pick it out.” 

You followed after him, and once inside, the man behind the counter seemed to be nervous, as usual. He didn’t seem to be weary of having you both in, just a bit anxious. Arthur knew his presence held power, but he figured with your reputation in this town, and others around… your presence was bound to hold more. 

“What can I do for you? Need more socks?” The man asked you kindly, and you shook your head, a small laugh escaping you. 

“No, we’re uh… we’re here to get a dress for my wife,” Arthur spoke evenly, his confidence showing through when he had to put on a show. 

Your head snapped to him, and though you knew he was intending to buy the dress for you, a thought sprang into your mind. Abigail. She was going to be his wife. 

This sweet little moment, with Arthur keeping his promise, and making a big to-do over your acceptance into camp, was all part of your own little fantasy. It wouldn’t last, and when you returned to camp, he’d be with her again, helping with Jack. You tried to shake the thought from your mind, wanting to enjoy this sliver of time with him. 

“Of course! I’ve got a new selection,” he pulled out the catalog, and opened the pages to a section with different types of skirts, petticoats, chemises, and corsets. All were beautiful, but your eye was drawn to a more simple style. It was a work dress, which would be far more practical for you than any of the other ones. 

“I’m not too good with all this. What do you think, Red? Which one would she like best?” He tossed you a smirk, leaning his elbow on the counter while he let you browse over the pages a bit longer, turning them over with a furrowed brow of focus. 

“What color does this one come in?” You asked the man over the counter, keeping your act up, but letting your hints of excitement show through. 

“That one is a nice pale blue, perfect for spring and summer time,” he spoke firmly, becoming more relaxed the longer you both were in the store. Yes, he’d heard the whispers, and for you, he’d actually seen your acts of a quick trigger. But here, you didn’t seem like a threat, so he stopped acting like you were.

“Blue, huh… Might bring out her eyes a bit, hey Arthur?” Now it was your turn to smirk, and he chuckled, nodding back to you and tapping the page twice with a heavy finger. 

“You’re right it would, make em’ look like crystal,” he played along, making you blush under the brim of your hat, unbeknownst to the man behind the counter. 

“It’s gotta be that one, then.”

Arthur chuckled, counting out the cash that the dress price was listed under, tossing it down on the counter and nodding to the man. 

“You heard the kid, we’ll take that one,” he spoke in a playful tone, ignoring the movements of the man as he scurried to the back rooms, getting your dress pieces together. 

Arthur lifted the brim of your hat, and smiled genuinely at the look on your face. It was excited, sweet, and grateful. He wanted to buy you the entire stock of the store just to ensure that look stayed on your face, no matter the irrationality of it. He’d become quite accustomed to giving you his time and his efforts, and this was no different. The only difference is that now he wanted to, wholeheartedly. The deal you’d struck with him, the one where you were going to teach him your methods of shooting faster, were now null and void. He didn’t want to take anything from you, he just wanted to give.

When the store worker returned with a large box in hand, Arthur thanked him for his time, carrying the thing over his shoulder and heading for the door, which you opened for him. 

Getting outside, you went for the horses, but he stopped you with a swat of your hand away from the reins. 

“Can’t go back yet, gotta see how this looks on ya,” he insisted, nodding for you to follow him yet again. He walked for a bit before coming up on the shed with a small lantern inside. It looked like it only housed tools and ropes and things of the like, but there was space enough to change in. “Came across this when I was out one day. Took a whole nap before someone realized I was in here.” 

“How convenient,” you teased, taking the box from his hands and eagerly walking into the confined space. 

“I’ll be out here,” he mumbled as you shut the door, putting a shovel against it since it didn’t really even close all the way. 

You knew he wasn’t the peeping type, so you began tearing away at your clothes, the ones that had been worn completely through by now and needed replacing anyway. You had more back at camp, but you had always missed dresses. This would be the first of many you would probably buy for yourself, but it was going to remain your favorite, because of who it came from. 

It was just like clock work, muscle memory helping you to remember all the little ties and snaps that needed to be in place, the corset laces that needed to be pulled enough to fit the outer fabrics. You knew you probably needed a good hair brushing and face washing to actually look like a young woman again, but for now, the dress was doing wonders on your self esteem… or at least it did until you realized you couldn’t finish putting it on by yourself. The buttons on the back went up higher than your shoulder blades, and sat in a near impossible spot to reach. If there was a mirror, you could probably just contort yourself enough to get it together, but in a dark, barely lit tool shed, your options were limited. 

You sighed, pulling the shovel away from the door and peaking your head outside. Arthur had nearly gone through an entire cigarette in the time you took to change. 

“Arthur?” You asked timidly. 

“M’here, you alright?” 

“I can’t reach the back,” you admitted, just slightly embarrassed. “Can you give me a hand?” 

He was all too happy to comply, stomping out the cigarette on the ground and taking quick steps to reach you. “Turn around.”

You did as he told you, turning so he had access to the open back of the dress. He couldn’t see you all too well in this light, but even from what he could see, a few words entered his mind from a past conversation you had with him. 

I used to be quite the stunner… and he surely believed it. 

His fingers caressed the exposed skin of your back before buttoning the fabric closed, smoothing it down over your shoulders and watching the way it fit you perfectly. 

“Don’t mention this to Abigail,” you joked, turning back around and trying to keep the mood light. It was beginning to feel too intimate, and you knew you couldn’t allow yourself to feel that way with Arthur anymore. 

“Why?” 

“Well, I might be a bit old fashioned, but isn’t it frowned upon for a taken man to be helping another woman with her dress?” 

It was just another joke, but he seemed to be completely thrown off by the implications. 

“I ain’t a taken man,” he confessed, looking at you with a stare that was all too deep, and all too consuming. He needed to stop that, but you didn’t have the heart to make him. 

“Not yet,” you corrected, but again it was you in the wrong. 

“No,” he shook his head, trying to bring a serious tone to the conversation. “I’m not gonna marry Abigail.”

Your face screwed up in confusion, thinking about all the times when he collapsed in her tent with Jack, just to get up and help him in the night. He was Jack’s new father, wasn’t he? That was the deal he made. 

“Why not? I thought that you were- well since you were helping with Jack and… what about your deal?”

“I said I was gonna do right by this boy, and I am… But Abigail won’t have me,” he shrugged, admitting to the rejection she gave of his offer. “She’s still in love with John, n’ I can understand it.”

It should have made you feel a bit of sadness, to know that even with all that Arthur was, someone would turn him away like that. ‘Abigial won’t have me’ sounded like perhaps he thought himself not good enough, just as he always does. Despite all of this, you didn’t feel sorrow, you felt an abundance of joy. A wide smile spread across your cheeks, and he furrowed his brow. 

“What’re you smilin’ about?”

“Nothing,” you dropped the smile and shook it off, running a hand up his arm and giving it a sincere squeeze. “I’m sorry, Arthur. I know you’ve meant well.”

“S’alright. Hosea’s been tellin’ me since Jack was born that I shouldn’t have offered. He doesn’t think we’re right for one another, somethin’ like that.” 

“I agree, you’re not right for each other,” you spoke out loud, though that thought was meant only for your head. 

Arthur seemed to be catching on slightly to your behavior, stepping a bit closer and staring downwards at you. 

“Yeah? And who am I right for?” He teased, watching the redness of your cheeks spread down your neck and shoulders with every breath you took. 

“I guess we’ll just have to wait and find out,” you did your best to counter his taunts, stepping away from him and going to collect your old clothes from the shed. Once they were in hand you turned back to the opening of the alley, making way for the horses. “You coming?” 

And of course, he followed, shaking his head and chuckling under his breath. 

-

The next day fared better than you thought it would, if you’re being honest. 

You didn’t really know why, if Dutch had said anything, or if Hosea did, but after you returned to camp the previous night, everyone seemed to be acting just fine. They treated you differently for sure, but not badly. In fact, you noticed the men had a certain kind of reverence to you that they never held before. The same they did with the other women. 

Maybe it was just the beautiful dress that Arthur bought for you, the light and pure color of it giving you a sense of being ethereal, having finally exposed the raw feminine beauty that was hiding for so long. You reckon you’d even start growing out your hair again, as the short style coming to your chin was not how you preferred to have it in the first place.

You still went to work doing the same tasks you normally did, but were careful not to rip your dress or over-exert yourself, given you were still in the same physical condition as the day before. 

“Charl- I mean, Miss Brooks?” 

You heard a voice chirp softly from beside you, and you dropped the wagon supplies for now to walk over to the owner of said voice, Tilly.

“Yes, Miss Tilly?” You extended a smile, and she smiled back, albeit a tight and awkward one from where she was sitting. You took a step or two closer, and she had to shake her head after getting a better look at you. 

“I just-” she cut herself short on account of the words already jumbling in her head. “I don’t want there to be any awkwardness between us.”

You furrowed your brow to her, unsure of what she could have possibly meant. 

“Why would there be?” 

“Well, if you can recall,” she started, a nervous chuckle in her speech. “I tried to make some… advances towards you. Back when I thought you were uh… a young man.”

You smiled again and ducked your head, a scoff of laughter and a nod of your head brought about less tension. It was no big deal. 

“Don’t worry yourself, Miss Tilly. I was the one who tricked ya, I oughta be apologizing. Probably should to Abigail, too.”

“Abigail?”

You tilted your head, recalling the scene. About two weeks before Jack was born. You’d done the same thing Arthur did, with not a care of revealing yourself in the future. 

“Before John even left, I offered her to be Jack’s ‘father’ when he was born. I guess I was pretty certain at the time no one was gonna find out,” you explained, leaning against the wagon she sat by, mending a shirt that looked like Arthur’s. You could tell by the wear and tear around the shoulders, where his broadness likely just caused the fabric to break down faster. 

“Could you really have gone on like that?” 

“I don’t know,” you pondered, another small laugh escaping you. “Maybe not, since I had to tell everyone I was eighteen just for them to believe it.”

“You aren’t eighteen?” She seemed surprised. Maybe you just had a young face. 

“No, ma’am. Twenty two nearing twenty three as a matter of fact.”

“I’ll say,” she tutted, throwing down the shirt she was finished with, and picking up a new one. “You had us all convinced. Makes me wonder where you really came from.”

You thought about telling her, but the story was long and today was a busier day than before. There was actual work to be done in preparing for the next job, a few days ahead. 

“Some place I didn’t wanna be,” you chided, stepping away from the wagon, nodding to her in thanks for the small chat. “I’ll let you get back to it.”

“Alright. I’ll catch you around,” she spoke sweetly, a kind look of relaxation on her face, now that she knew where she stood. 

You went back to work, making sure that neither Dutch nor Hosea saw you with idle hands today. You wanted to make sure that no matter what happened now, you wouldn’t be cast aside. You still had the abilities they needed, but with a skirt on your hips, they saw you differently, and it was up to you to show them you were not going to be ignored when it came to jobs in the future. 

You hated that the rest of the women in camp were just seen as stationary helpers, only capable of mending clothes or cleaning up the camp, or even just laying the groundwork in town for the men to actually pull jobs. You’ve seen Abigail in action, she was smart and cunning and had a great way with words, she could be the difference in things staying civil or having a shoot out during a quiet robbery, but the men overlook her gifts. You know the women in this camp have great potential, and perhaps if they let you continue as you have been, they will open the opportunities for the others as well.

Tags: @photo1030 @sheepdogchick @snoopysshark @strvberrydoll @yyiikes @phantasyy @puffyhairedhipster @scorpio-echo @hollyskjlap

[vaspider]

I have a really big question that you may not have the capacity to answer, and that's totally ok, but I thought I would try asking anyway.

How did you successfully start a business and get it to the point that you could survive/live comfortably and pay other people on it? How did you survive the psychologically damaging years of hell work while you were building it up?

Well.

To start with, I don't want to give you the impression that we're totally financially stable and have a bunch of full-time employees. We aren't, and we don't. We're still in the building and growth phase, and we're lucky to have people who can work part-time for us (in part because we pay them what we pay them per hour - there's no way they'd be able to hack it if we were paying them $10/hr or even $15/hr).

Quite honestly, I don't think we would have survived the pandemic as a business if it weren't for the fact that my wife has a stable IT job. Emet and I work on the business full-time, and Evie works full-time at her fancy IT job and works with us on events and does IT and infosec stuff for us, and then we have 2 part-time employees, Jake and Erykah.

So I'm glad that we give the impression of having it all buttoned up, but we don't, and I think that's one thing you need to know. We are ducks, friend: serene on the top of the water, paddling like hell underneath where y'all can't see it. The building phase lasts ... well, a long, long time.

I remember what it's like working for Wells Fargo, and I never want to do that again. I remember what it was like working for a mortgage processing job where we knew the company was fucking around with people's escrow accounts and we couldn't do anything meaningful about it. People anonymously reported things to the Attorneys General of various states, but nothing ever came of it. My spouse got demoted for "anonymously" reporting the fake account fuckery at Wells Fargo and I basically got run out of the company for the same thing -- they just made it so miserable for me to work there that I quit. That's part of how I survive it, honestly: I remember the alternative.

But it comes down to the fact that you really do have to desperately love what you're doing. You have to love it so much that you cannot imagine not doing it. And on the days when you might struggle to love it that much, you just have to hate the alternative a little more than you hate the hard parts of running a business.

Now that I've made art for a living -- something that my parents told me I'd never be able to do, as I'm sure most artists were told -- I can't imagine doing anything else. I keep my wacky sleep schedule, and it's fine. Right now, I'm sitting alone in the living room putting together the cotton sleep shirts/housecoats that we're launching this fall, and I'm like... really excited to be able to share these with everybody. I'm anxious about the show we have tomorrow, yeah, and I'm anxious about money and a bunch of other stuff but I'm also really excited about seeing somebody put on a brand new skirt they just bought from us and twirl. I'm excited about seeing somebody laugh when they turn a page in the patch book and see a particular patch. I'm excited about the way that people's eyes light up when Jake pulls out the Aromantic or Agender or Genderfluid patch book and they realize just how many choices we have in their kinda-rare flag.

And I'm really excited about sharing these zip-front housecoat jimmyjams with y'all.

That's how I keep doing it. I can't imagine not doing it.

Hope that helps, because that's all I've got. :)

[sirianasims]

Chapter 43.6

My mother taught me that sometimes it rains. Sometimes it pours, and you’re soaked through and miserable and it feels like it may never stop. But no matter how heavily the rain falls, no matter how drenched you get, you are not the rain.

Some day you will be dry again.

Things have been easier since I blocked Paul, the pain slowly fading to a dull ache, barely noticeable as long as I don’t dig too deep. I try to keep myself distracted, reading Lucky Girl for what must be the fifth time. It’s my comfort read, Evie reminds me a little of myself. I think we could have been friends, hanging out and agreeing that being in love is the absolute worst, actually, while we yearn for our respective idiots.

The memory of Paul is not the only thing I’m trying to escape. With all my channels inactive, even the haters have gone quiet and my views are dropping every week. I’ve toyed with the idea of simply abandoning everything and starting a new brand, but I don’t want to rebuild my follower count from scratch. I don’t have time for it. My bills are starting to pile up, and while I can still pay them for now, it won’t be long before I have to either crawl back to mom and dad and ask for help, or get one of those real jobs people keep talking about. I’m not even sure which option I would hate the most, so I hide in my book for now.

A sharp knock on the door jerks me away from Evie admiring Jude in an art gallery and back to reality.

I hesitate for a moment. I have no idea who it could be, and I don’t want to see anyone, especially not some smarmy salesperson – or worse, my landlord. With a sigh, I put my book face down on the armrest and shuffle to the door.

Miranda is leaning casually against the doorway, her high heels making her look almost as tall as Samara. At their feet, a couple of large shopping bags are threatening to fall over and spill their contents on my doormat.

“See, Samara? I told you she was still alive.”

“So you did. Then I sure hope she has a very good excuse for refusing to see her best friends for almost two months!“

I feel my cheeks get hot. “Uh, hi. I’m sorry I disappeared, I’ve just had a rough time since, you know. But I promise to call you, maybe we can make plans soon?”

“No need, we’re here now, so you won’t have to worry about that.” Samara’s smile is cheerful, but her tone is resolute. Even so, I try to object.

“Seriously, it’s not a good time, I haven’t even showered for like three days, and the place is a mess.”

“Girl, since when do we care about mess? We’re here because we love you – stinky or not.” She wrinkles her nose, making the freckles on her face dance.

“What is this, some sort of intervention?”

Miranda smirks. “Pretty much. Sorry, but someone’s gotta save you from yourself, and we’re not letting you waste any more time moping over a man who didn’t deserve you. We’ve got snacks and a box of rosé with your name on it, so you might as well get out of the way.”

“Fiiine, but no judging the absolute state of the place.” I roll my eyes and invite them in with a dramatic flourish of my arm, but I can’t help but smile. Samara bounces through the door despite the heavy shopping bags, and Miranda goes straight for my laptop.

“What’s your login?”

“It’s just my birthday, and before you come for me, yes, I know that’s bad.”

Miranda shakes her head as the laptop plays a jaunty tune and lets her in.

“You’ll get the full security lecture another day, right now it’s time to declare inbox bankruptcy. We’re getting rid of all this bullshit so you can get back to business.”

“Miranda, there are literally thousands of messages. It’ll take days to go through, maybe weeks.”

She doesn’t even look up, her perfectly manicured fingers a blur over the keyboard.

“Give me an hour. I’m going to delete anything that contains profanity, and then I’ll sort the rest into folders, so don’t worry, you won’t be losing anything permanently. But I’m going to mark everything as read and archive it so you can get a fresh start. If anyone wants something important from you, they’ll reach out again, trust me.”

I stop myself from protesting further. Miranda knows what she’s doing, and it really would be a relief not to worry about everything.

Behind me, Samara has stopped unpacking the groceries.

“Just let Miranda work her magic and get your smelly butt into a bath. And make it a nice one, soak for a bit and pretend you’re a mermaid or something. We’ll get everything set up in here while you scrub off the sadness.”

I feel a slight pang of embarrassment as I walk into the bathroom. The sunlight is creating little islands of warmth on the black tiles, but it also mercilessly illuminates the limescale in the shower and a couple of cotton swabs that missed the bin. The sink is decorated with a few dried clumps of toothpaste, each of them outlined in red from last time I dyed my hair.

How did I let it get this bad?

I turn on the taps and leave them running while I undress. Then, I lower myself awkwardly into the tub and let the water cascade through my fingers. It would be nice if it was this easy, washing away the sadness and frustration, the longing and the hurt.

The gentle sound of flowing water is mesmerising, and before I know it, the tub is full. I add a small handful of bath salts and swirl it around. A soothing scent of lavender rises with the steam.

When I lie down, the hot water envelops me like a hug. It feels like it’s thawing something in me that I didn’t even know was frozen. I close my eyes and listen to Samara and Miranda laughing about something. It’s almost like being home and hearing my parents talk softly in the other room. It always made me feel safe. Less alone.

As the water begins to cool, I scrub down, slowly, methodically, running soapy hands along every inch of my body. It feels good, like I’m massaging life back into my limbs. Tonight will be fun, I decide. We’re going to stuff our faces with junk food, get absolutely smashed on cheap wine, and pretend that my heart was never broken by some has-been actor from Tartosa.

I watch as the tub empties, imagining that all my sadness is flowing down the drain with the water and the tiny undissolved purple specks from the bath salt. Finally, I move to the shower to wash my hair and rinse off.

When I get out, I stop and examine myself in the mirror. I look a little tired and worn, like I’ve been sick. In a way, I guess I have. But the black tiles are radiating warmth under my feet and there are birds singing outside my window and I’m beginning to feel like everything is going to be fine.

Samara’s blue face glitters in the candlelight. The packaging from the masks we’ve applied is littered with adjectives like “rejuvenating” and “revitalising”, bold statements, but they do actually feel pretty good.

“Sorry, Julia, I know you love this crap, but I just can’t get over the cake tongue. Who decided cake would be the best bait for people? Are we really that obsessed with desserts?”

I look over my nails one last time and put down the file. “I’m actually more disturbed by the whole chin udder situation. I mean, who came up with that?”

Samara makes a disgusted face, but she’s not ready to change the subject. “Seriously though, even if you were absolutely starving and cake was your favourite thing in the whole world, would you really approach a plant shaped like a giant cow head with huge teeth? Really? And then try to grab what is obviously its tongue?”

Miranda giggles tipsily. “No, but can we talk about how Ned’s relationship with the cow plant is super toxic, though? I mean, it always starts out slow, right? Oh, so it eats meat, little bit of a red flag there, but it’s probably fine. And before you know it, you find yourself luring your neighbours to their deaths just to keep it happy.”

“Yeah, it’s classic, the way he keeps making excuses for her? She didn’t mean it, she’s just misunderstood! She only bites me because she loves me! I’m like, Ned, your girlfriend is eating people, you need professional help.”

Samara laughs. “I guess some men would literally rather feed their neighbours to a plant than go to therapy.”

My phone vibrates on the armrest behind me.

“Sorry, it’s Marten again, I better let him know I’ve got company. He’s been super busy with his exams so we haven’t had much time to play lately.”

Miranda raises an eyebrow.

“And he’s still fine just being your friend, is he?”

“Why wouldn’t he be? I mean, he was fine being my friend even though I was dating Paul. Besides, I haven’t even seen him in person since GeekCon, it’s been almost a year…”

I stop. Almost a year since I met Paul. It feels like a lifetime ago. I wonder what would have happened if I’d cosplayed as someone else, or if Paul hadn’t been there that day. Maybe I could have been dating Marten instead of having my heart trampled by some fickle celebrity. Nice, normal Marten with his mousy hair and his robot facts. I smile.

“Anyway, there’s nothing between me and Marten. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

Miranda sends me a mischievous grin. “That reminds me, you know that hot bartender from The Rooftop? Super flirty, cheekbones that could cut glass?”

“The one who gave us free refills on Samara’s birthday? Shane or something?”

“Yeah, him! He asked about you last time, wondered why you hadn’t come with us for like three weeks in a row.”

“How does he even know my name?”

“He didn’t, he just asked about our red-haired friend but you’ve clearly made an impression.” Miranda winks. “Maybe he’d be willing to help you get over Paul.”

I shake my head. “No thanks, I’m pretty sure he’s slept with like half the regulars. And I’m not looking for hook-ups, not now. I need to get my so-called career back on track, but I want to do something… different.”

I think of Paul, of late nights in hotel rooms, laughing at the most ridiculous b-movies before having amazing sex and falling asleep with his arms around me. “I don’t want to do cosplay again, absolutely nothing with movies or comics or superheroes.”

Miranda looks thoughtful. “What about just fashion stuff? I started out with just my shoe reviews and now it’s more general style advice and outfits to match your heels, but you have an eye for it and you know a lot about cuts and materials and design.”

“I guess? I don’t really know a lot about classic fashion, though, like couture and such. And it’s a really tough business to get into, plus I’d kinda like to keep the expenses down for now.”

“You could always just jump on one of the big trends. I bet you’d make bank as one of those clean girl aesthetic influencers or something.”

“That’s actually a good idea. I mean, I can probably get pretty far with just the makeup and clothes I already have. And I could move my sewing machine and rearrange the room, set up my camera and the lights…”

Miranda laughs. “We can start right now as long as it means we don’t have to watch any more terrible movies tonight.”

I reach for the remote. “Not a chance.”

beginning / previous / next

[airrec]

Dreamnoblade Cinderella AU turned sideways bullet point fic

Content warnings: referenced gaslighting, past non-consensual body modifcation by way of fairy godmother, implied one-sided Awesamdream with all that entails, hopeful ending I swear. Very much pre-relationship Dreamnoblade but they're intended to head that direction post-fic.

Turning someone from an animal into a human for fairy godmotherly magical royal ball-related purposes is, ehhh, not without consequences.

Techno can't change back.

Look, he was fine being a hedgehog, okay? Well, it's not like he really had any idea of what he was missing out on - hedgehogs aren't the most intelligent or aware of creatures out there - but he was content snuffling around and just kinda keep on keeping on his way through life.

He can't go back to that, though, so here he is. His social conversation skills are distinctly limited, and his accent just makes people think he's a foreigner who doesn't speak much of the language, but this just works out in his favour by providing him a very convenient excuse for his awkwardness.

He gets a job, with a sharp stroke of luck he feels may have had a hint of fairy godmotherly influence, at the local dye shop and one of the first things he does when he gets his first weekly pay is to dye his own hair bright pink - he has to grapple with stuff like personal identity now, and the soft brown hair the colour of his long-gone fur always catching the corners of his vision was starting to do something unpleasant inside his chest, so away it went.

A couple of months down the line, he sees Dream again.

Dream was always good to him - to all the little garden animals, along with the ones he was actually in charge of - he remembers. Gentle hands brushing down the horses and looking after the hounds in the kennels and scratching the fluffy cheeks of the kitchen cat. Diligently filling the bird feeders and carefully checking the woodpile for mice and hedgehogs like Techno himself, once winter swept in and they started to hibernate.

Dream looks miserable.

Now, Techno wasn't really in the loop with the whys of everything, because quite frankly he was grappling with a lot that night, but he knows that Dream went to some fancy party and didn't make it out when he was supposed to. In fact, he didn't leave the palace at all.

It's weird, because when Dream's companion ushers him into the tailor - directly next to the dye shop - Dream catches his eye and both of them know they recognise each other.

Another week passes before Techno sees Dream again, and this time Dream approaches him and says, "You were the coach driver, weren't you? That night?"

Techno was, so he nods. Dream questions him more, mostly just stating what happened - the fairy godmother, the animals turning into people or into other animals, the magical clothes that appeared in glints and sparks. Techno nods to every one of these. Dream just looks relieved that someone else is agreeing that this course of events is what took place.

"I didn't want this," Dream says, sounding upset, frustrated, maybe even a bit... scared. "I just wanted to go to the ball, to have a good time - dance a bit, eat some fancy food, listen to the music - is that a crime? Now King Awesam won't let me leave, and he keeps trying to tell me that I'm not from where I'm from, or that I've been there longer than I have, or - and he's got everyone else doing it, too! They're all lying to me, and I - it's been terrible, up there."

This sounds like a vast understatement. Dream looks very unwell, if not physically, even to Techno's inexperienced eyes.

"I didn't want this either," he offers, and even if it's the truth it seems like the wrong thing to say, because Dream pales and starts apologising.

As though he could have stopped a fairy, honestly! No one can do that. Techno doesn't know much but he does know that.

"Bruh, ain't your fault," he says, stabbing into the dark for something to make this conversation start going better. "You know how fairies are: everything has a price."

Everything has a price indeed, because at that moment Dream is caught up to by a group of royal guards and swept back up to the palace. Techno narrowly avoids a beating by mumbling and walking away before he can be properly questioned and - that's that, perhaps.

Except no, of course it's not, because once upon a time, back when Techno was just a young thing, huddling down for his first ever winter hibernation, Dream saved his life.

He'd been in the wood pile that had been set aside for some evening bonfire at the lord's estate, unknowing of the danger, and Dream - kind Dream, conscientious Dream, had poked in and around, checking before the event got going, and he'd plucked Techno from his nest before it could turn into his fiery tomb, saving the life of the little hedgehog long before any of this fairy business had ever happened.

So Techno owes Dream. And besides, this King Awesam sounds like a right piece of work, and Techno has lived a whole life being small, in a world where being small is practically a crime for how the small are punished for it. Dream's a different kind of small, and King Awesam a different kind of big, but in the end it's all the same, really.

There's a crow that lives in the tallest tree of the local forest, and Techno knows that this crow is sometimes a man with black crow wings instead.

Sometimes he helps out the creatures of the forest. For a price. Techno doesn't think that some blackberries are going to suffice this time, but - crows like shiny things, right?

He still has that necklace, the one from Dream's outfit that night that changed everything. He'd pulled it off his neck and left it in the carriage, where Techno had found it when he pulled away towards the palace stables, probably because of sensory issues, if Techno had to guess. He'd tried it on himself, just out of curiosity, but it had pinched too much. When the night drew on and Dream never came back and the carriage turned into a pumpkin again but Techno didn't turn back into a hedgehog - he'd taken it with him as he left, escaping the minor chaos.

He takes it with him to barter it for Dream's freedom. He can only hope that it's enough.

(It is.)

(There's a cloud covered night, and a long black rope, and a window open in a room in an isolated tower of the palace.)

(Two men go in, and three men leave.)

[tinietaehyun]

Star Crossed Lovers Rivals ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥✧˚ · .

[Rival!Taehyun x Fem!Reader]

Pairing: Rival!Taehyun x fem!reader

Genre(s): Romance, enemies to lovers, fluff, hints of angst! (Also particularly academic rivals to lovers bc it is phenomenal to read), post-college au. 

Contains: Swearing/Profanity, mild mentions of explicit behaviour (more so tension lmao). (Wow! I’m not writing angst for once!) 

Summary: “Oh just a B? What happened? I thought you were on top of your game? Don’t tell me, you didn’t study?” Your world comes crashing down in shambles as you furiously glare daggers into the raven haired boy in front of you as he condescendingly smiles with his gleaming A+ paper in hand. He was so infuriating; you wanted to punch his handsome face so bad. 

Wait, handsome? God no, you’d rather be caught dead than ever think he was...wait what were you so pressed about again? 

Shit. 

His lips form an arrogant smile, “Cat got your tongue?” Your gaze darkens, “You’re so dead the moment the bell rings.” He brushes past you as he chuckles, “See you after class, sore loser.” 

Surely his heart must be racing just as much as yours does right? Right? 

How could you two ever fall for each other?

—————————••••••••••••••—————————

You miserably scan through your résumé. This had to be your third interview this week. A list of exquisite grades lines your sheet with your very accomplished credentials alongside the many efforts you put into extracurriculars when you attended college. 

Even the work experience you gathered during that time whilst balancing exams, holy fuck! What more could they possibly want from you? For what preposterous reason could you not get a job. You tried to craft the most perfect résumé and it still wasn’t enough. You knew the labour market was competitive but not this competitive. 

Frustration builds up inside you, like a shaken bottle of champagne you knew you were on the brink of exploding. Your crumbling student debt was one issue but the main issue was you had to pay rent very soon and your own savings were surely not going to hold up if you didn’t get a better paying job soon. At the moment you worked in retail (which in summary is terrifying dealing with a plethora of customers- mostly bad).

You let out a pitiful laugh peering back at your résumé. What was the point of working so hard back then? A year and a half ago, you were on the brink of exhaustion trying to reach number one all for a bunch of stupid grades. You competed so hard. Competed with...him. 

You wonder how he’s doing now? You’ve not spoken to him since you left college with a degree in business psychology. He’s probably doing way better than you were. That snobby little arrogant- 

You catch yourself smiling instinctually. Fuck. Your heart feels warm as though a woollen blanket encompasses it. You often realise how much of your college life you spent with him. Not that you’d ever admit it to anyone, you actually missed your senseless and petty bickering. You missed his cocky grin and you missed his glare when you beat him in an exam. 

You let out a sigh; well that time of your life is over. You maybe do regret not using college as an outlet to enjoy yourself and not constantly trying to compete and work hard. You wished you could have gotten to know your so called rival behind his vast array of A+ grades. 

Perhaps you wish he could have gotten to know you too behind your academic achievements.

“Miss Y/n. You may enter for the interview.”

You perk up in your seat shakily clasping at your file. “Ah, yes thank you.” Well, here goes. You tightly grip at your file. You were sure, if you didn’t make it through this interview. You’d keep trying again and again.

You were no quitter.

—-

Your hands tremble as your eyes scan the email. At first when the notification popped up your heart plummeted. You just knew that it was going to be bad news. You tried procrastinating in an attempt to not read it however curiosity got the better of you. Perhaps a tiny fraction of you had an ounce of hope that you’d maybe gotten the job.

You click the email open and begin scanning through the array of typed words:

[Congratulations! We are delighted to inform you of your acceptance at our company. We’ll be glad to see you on our amazing team!]

No way! You blink astounded. You got the job! You’ve finally got a decently paying job! Something you could work with and in a few years time maybe even think about getting promoted to a managerial position. You scan the rest of the email’s details feeling all sorts of jittery excitement.

You’d be starting next Monday. You couldn’t believe it, maybe you had a stroke of luck after all. You started preparing yourself for your new job filled to the brim with gratitude and thrill.

Soon enough the very Monday you had anticipated arrived. Though you weren’t quite as excited as before; now your mind more filled with anxiety and fear at how your first day would go instead. What could possibly go wrong? It’s the marketing department, there’s nothing to be afraid of right?

Your eyes glance up hearing footsteps coming down the sleek modern hallway. You wipe your clammy hands and attempt to look somewhat confident. You had been told one of the employees would be tasked with guiding you around and showing you the general gist of your duties as an employee here. You definitely had to make a strong first impression!

Your gaze meets the tall, ebony-haired figure only for your heart to almost come up to your throat. No fucking way? That surely isn’t who you think it is?

“Holy shit,” the figure comes to a pause a few metres in front of you.

You find yourself standing up; your knees almost buckle. Fate was indeed fucking around with you like a ball of yarn between a kitten’s paws.

The male’s lips curl into the same disgustingly attractive smirk you’d seen thousands of times. “Well, I heard the new employee was over qualified. I didn’t think I’d see you here though. I knew they exaggerated a bit.”

You grit your teeth in annoyance. There it was the ever so condescending tone of voice accompanied with that signature head tilt to the right. You smile overly sweetly, “When I heard someone was going to guide me, I thought it would be with someone more experience.”

He scoffs, “What happened? Didn’t you say you were gonna work for some big company? Become the executive manager.” He’s taunting you.

You lean forward, file in hand with a condescending smirk of your own, “What about you Kang Taehyun? Didn’t you say you were going to become a marketing executive at THE biggest company in the country? This company is big but not the biggest.”

Taehyun’s gaze darkens and his jaw tightens. “Piss off.” You hum delighted, “See not so funny when the tables turn is it?”

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever. Can’t believe I have to babysit you for two days.” You mutter, “Believe me I’m just as enthusiastic as you are.” A snort escapes his lips. “Yeah, yeah, follow me then.”

He begins the tour of the office. Numerous curious eyes are set on you both as the burden of ‘newest addition to the department’ now dwells on your shoulders.

Your eyes absorb what he’s wearing. A sleek white shirt with a loosened blue tie. His sleeves rolled up to his elbows showcasing his strong arms. It appears he still hasn’t stopped working out since college. How unfortunate for you.

Your cheeks begin to warm. You hated to admit it but since college he’d definitely changed. He’d unfortunately gotten more attractive than he already was. He must be fighting off dates left, right and center. Not that you’d relate. You’d only dated one guy in college (you shudder) you agreed to never think about that memory again. Big yikes.

His dark hair sleekly hung in strands over his forehead with his sharp eyes peering through. Taehyun always had somewhat of an intimidating expression; whether it was unintentional or not you didn’t know. You wondered if through your years together if you ever genuinely saw him smile…

“I’d like you to repeat what I just said.” He sharply shatters your internal conversation. You splutter awkwardly. Well fuck. “Uh…”

Taehyun deadpans at you, “Yeah, fuckin’ thought so. How did you graduate again?”

You sneer. “Oh? You’re asking me that? 2nd rank?”

By the end of your degree after endlessly fighting, when the finals rankings of grades came out he turned out to be second place in your batch whilst you were thrillingly first (by a four point difference but that’s not important).

He sneers, “Mind your tone, newbie.” You snort, “So cringe.” Taehyun mutters, “I was beginning to forget how fucking insufferable you were back then.” You cooe all doe-eyed, “Aw, what a shame. Glad I arrived just in time to refresh your memory.”

He grates his teeth and runs his fingers through his locks. His lips twitch slightly before he spins back around, “Anyway, I’ll teach you how to use the printer and scanner and then I’ll take you to your desk.”

You found yourself smiling. It was odd, all he was doing was insulting you and making sarcastic remarks (you doing the same back,) however it made you feel giddy. It reminded you of the same rivalry you had back then. That rivalry was what gave you motivation to work as hard as you did.

“So that’s about it. If you have any other doubts-“

You interrupt, “Yeah, ask you. Got it.” He scoffs, “No, I was gonna say don’t ask me. Annoy someone else. Or suffer.” You pout, “God, you’re even sweeter than I remember.”

He rolls his eyes and is about to walk back over before you murmur, “Wait.” He raises a brow, “Hm?”

“Uh, actually nothing.” You find yourself slouching into your seat. He gives you an exasperated stare before walking off. A heavy feeling sinks into your heart; he didn’t truly hate you right? What if your attitude was making it worse?

Maybe you should stop retaliating for a bit. You’re coworkers now, not in college. You had to remain professional. Yeah… that’s it.

Another day passes by uneventfully with you asking other people for help pitifully whenever the printer got jammed. It’s not your fault the printer is so shit. (It was an expensive one and it was clearly your fault.)

You groan, “Every fucking time.” Your newest dilemma was trying to adjust to the company software and trying to correctly input in the numbers and formulas in Excel. You were damn good in fact, except for today.

Your numbers didn’t seem to be creating the correct chart. You had gone wrong somewhere with the inputting but no matter how ever many times you tried editing and reading through it, you couldn’t see the problem.

You hear a snicker behind you and you spin your chair around to see the infamous man you wished to avoid. You groan. “Not happy to see me?,” He pouts.

You wave your hand nonchalantly, “Leave me alone. I don’t need your condescending tone behind me.”

Taehyun murmurs with a cocky smile, “Yeah but those charts look shit.” You glare at him, “Yeah, I’m aware.”

He places a hand on the back of your chair as he steps closer. The scent of his cologne climbs up your nostrils overwhelmingly. Shit, he smelled good. Hints of warm wood, bergamot and mint maybe. Whatever concoction it was, it made you almost feel dizzy.

“What’s the issue? Chart formatting or inputting? Let’s check the formulas you’ve put in.”

You huff, “I don’t need your help.” He arches a brow, “Oh really? It’s not like you’ve been sitting for twenty minutes staring at the screen with a look of despair or anything.”

“You-!” You bark. He leans over placing his hand on the mouse almost scaring the shit out of you when his hand brushes against yours. You place your hands on your lap awkwardly. Taehyun was insanely close; leant over your right side using the back of your chair as a support.

You didn’t need help…right? His brows furrow intensely as his maroon irises scan and dart across the screen with incredible speed. He appears to murmur to himself. The intense look of concentration seemed to make your heart palpitate. His cologne enveloped you like a blanket.

“Mm, I think the problem is here. See this, we’ll replace it with another formula, I think it’s easier with this one. Can I shift some of this?” You find yourself nodding along with whatever he says paying attention to him working. He’s clearly gone through the exact same problem as you.

Soon enough the charts start looking much, much better. The way you wanted them to appear. You find yourself feeling defeated. He’s probably thinking of how stupid you are. You peer down at your lap at you mumble out, “Thank you.”

He doesn’t move from beside you and you hear him pleasantly hum, “Couldn’t hear you? Mind saying it again?” You scoff to yourself. What a nuisance! “Thanks, Tae…hyun…” You find yourself stuttering as your peer up to angrily say thanks. You forgot how close his face was to yours.

Taehyun stumbles back up to standing. The more seconds pass and you realise his cheeks are blossoming into hue of red. He clears his throat, “Anyway, good. Be grateful.” You roll your eyes, “Oh my saviour.”

He smirks, “Don’t beat yourself up over this by the way. I know what you’re like. I made the same mistake on my first week here. Obviously not ever again. But yeah, another coworker helped me.”

Was this his way of trying to cheer you up? He knew what you felt? Of course he did. He wanted academic validation and was just as much of a perfectionist as you were. He even saw you at your most vulnerable. It was as though you were two sides of the same sheet of paper.

You find yourself smiling a little too hard. He appears to be staring at you too.

There’s a silence between you two. You expected him to leave. He looked like he wanted to say something but couldn’t let the words leave his lips.

So you do something that you’d never thought you’d do. “Hey Taehyun…do you wanna grab coffee together?”

His eyes that you usually saw as very sharp and murky, for the first time glistened in intrigue. His lips curl into a mischievous smile, “I suppose you do owe me. I can put the coffee on your tab.”

You groan as you stand up after saving your work. “I never said that.” He hums, “You implied it.”

“I didn’t imply shit.”

With that, you find yourself walking beside Taehyun to the company café. He orders a Caramel Macchiato accompanied with a freshly baked flaky croissant (all unfortunately on your tab).

“This reminds me of the time I bought you lunch after you were sobbing because you got your first C grade.” Taehyun grins taking a massive bite out of his croissant. You both sit down and you snap, “Fuck you. First and last C grade by the way. You know how hard I studied for that test! The teacher didn’t like me, I swear!”

He murmurs with a smirk, “Sounds like an excuse to me. I still remember you sniffling and your puffed up cheeks. I think that was the first time I saw you cry, actually.” You whine, “You’re so mean, you know that?” He snorts, “Oh? So you’re not?”

You knew passing was all your parents asked for. It was a hard exam, so getting a C was amazing. You were grateful but…you felt for your own personal standards, it wasn’t good enough. You know better now, of course. You put a lot of pressure on yourself back then. You knew Taehyun did too. How did he handle it?

“You know, it was stupid how hard we competed against each other back then. It was fun, but stupid. We both had huge sky high aspirations but here we are working at a regular company.” Taehyun murmurs swirling his coffee.

You softly murmur, “It’s okay.” He inhales deeply, “Yeah, it’s okay.” He hums putting back on his blunt facade, “Anyway, at least I wasn’t the only one brought down. Here you are.” Taehyun grins, “Think about it, that C grade you got made no difference?”

You glare, “Very funny.” Your mind flickers back to the memory.

“Here.”

You attempt to hurriedly wipe your tear-stained face. You didn’t want him of all people seeing you this pathetic.

“No use in trying to hide that you’re crying.” He sits beside you on the the grass under the tree. “If you’re here to rub it in, kindly piss off,” you sniffle out. “On a normal day, maybe. But…hey. Look at me.” You shake your head. “Oh come on, y/n.”

“You’re not a failure. This is not the end of the world, y/n. You did well okay. Even I didn’t get an A. Our lecturer didn’t teach shit. It’s not our fault.” He huffs out. “Everyone got hit hard.”

His voice cracks slightly, “I get it. I get what your feeling.” You peer up at him with glossy eyes. He holds a sadness in his eyes. At that moment you knew he was also experiencing the same pain as you. It maybe insignificant or stupid to others but to him, he knew.

“As I said, here.” He holds out a paper bag. The smell of food wafts from it making your stomach rumble. Oh yeah, you hadn’t eaten lunch. You peer inside, there was a burger, fries and an ice cream cup. He ordered you food.

“You didn’t have to-“ you splutter. “Too bad, I noticed you didn’t leave the campus to get lunch today like usual. A-Anyway, don’t get used to this treatment.” Taehyun mutters. He brings out his own bag with his own order. He gets himself comfortable beside you as he starts taking his food out of the takeaway bag. “Well what are you waiting for? Go on, eat.”

Your heart races. He was eating with you. Your academic rival, your so called enemy was eating lunch with you. lunch that he bought. Taehyun chews as he says, “Just you wait, I’ll beat your ass next week though. We have a seminar in Mrs Webbs’ class that we’re getting graded for.”

“Yeah keep talking out of your ass. My Powerpoints and presentation skills far supersede yours.” He snarks, “You talk big for someone who still types on Microsoft Word 2010 version.”

“Shut the fuck up, my dad will upgrade my laptop soon I swear.”

You’re brought out of your reverie with Taehyun accidentally slamming his knee against the metal table support. You murmur, “Deserved.”

He yelps, “For what!? I did fucking nothing!” You smirk to yourself, “Yeah I know. Still deserved.” “You act like you’re a twelve year old commenting on Tiktok.” He scoffs rubbing his knee.

“We should do this more often.” You find yourself murmuring. “What slandering each other? Wasn’t college enough for you?” He smirks playfully.

“I mean you can’t tell me you don’t enjoy our bickering?” You mumble sipping your own drink. He leans his head back exaggeratedly as if deep in thought. “Well…I suppose I happen to enjoy it ever so slightly.” You don’t know why but your heart happens to jump around in your chest at the admittance.

“See!” You call out. He rolls his eyes biting his croissant again. “Maybe you’re just a masochist,” he replies with a snark. You gawk at him, “Well you’re the one being mean ninety percent of the time, so maybe you’re a sadist.”

The table goes silent with other members of the nearby tables giving you both awkward stares.

“This out of context sounds really bad you know.” Taehyun clears his throat appearing to find the ground more interesting all of a sudden.

Your cheeks heat up and you scoff, “You and these people around us are just dirty minded.” His eyes narrow and be coyly smiles, “I wasn’t the one who insinuated that they liked being bickered at and insulted. You were. Like being degr-“

You sharply stand up with your half bitten pastry in hand, “Well, seeing that you are being immature, Taehyun. I’m going to have to cut this coffee break short.” He promptly follows behind you. You hear a sound that you’d thought you’d never hear.

It was odd. You’ve never imagined what it was like to hear him genuinely laugh. Yet here you were. You turn around; your arm clasping the strap of your bag. His eyes glimmer as they widen. The sound of laughter that escapes him is so…it’s definitely unique. You liked it. His wide smile as he rushes after you cackling at your embarrassment.

Taehyun’s dark hair bounces as he jogs to catch up to where you stand. “Oh come now, you didn’t have to leave me like that, I wasn’t serious.” You mutter, “Yeah, yeah.”

He looks beautiful when he genuinely smiles. You clear your throat flustered as he catches you staring at him and you start walking off again. “Ugh, wait!”

So it carried on like this, your occasional talks from across your desks became daily bickering. Even both your fellow colleagues were amused by the bickering and other witty comebacks that you both hit each other with. Your once in awhile coffee breaks became eating lunch together everyday.

Of course neither of you would admit that you in fact enjoyed each other’s company a little too much.

“You know he definitely likes you.” You roll your eyes at your colleague Momo. You didn’t want to build up unnecessary hope. He probably thought of you as a friend, a friendly rival that he liked to be witty with. So you shouldn’t raise your expectations either.

You two were rivals to the bittersweet end.

“How can you both be so fucking stupidly smart? Are all nerds like this?” You deadpan at her. “What I meant was, your feelings are very obvious towards each other.”

“Don’t you think it was fate to meet him again?” She was a hopeless romantic; something that you were not. She gushes, “I can see the way he peers at you over the top of his monitor. Whenever he passed by your desk the smile on his lips…ah!”

You freeze, “Be for real right now.” She smiles teasingly, “Why don’t you test out my findings yourself?” You glare, “Must be nice to spectate from the side huh?” She shrugs innocently, “What can I say? You’re the main character here, not me.” You release a drained sigh.

Feelings from the past were mixing into a worrying concoction of hope and romance. Did he truly see you that way? Or were you setting yourself up for failure?

So just like Momo said, you sat yourself at your desk and began to work, typing away. You feel your heart pound in your chest. Your eyes briefly move up across the desk divider and you almost feel the world slowing down to a halt. Just like she said, there he was peering over his computer monitor like a cat peeking over a kitchen counter with its paws.

His immediately peers down at his desk clearly embarrassed he got caught. You can’t help but breathlessly laugh. Your heart flutters uncontrollably. That was the cutest thing you’d seen from him. It wouldn’t hurt to tease him a little right?

Maybe he’d tell you his reason if you just gave him a little playful nudge.

You find him near the filing cabinets a bit later and decide to approach him with a mischievous smile lining your lips. “Hey.” He peers up folder in hand, “Oh hey.”

“Just here to grab some files, the manager asked for February’s reports,” Taehyun hums. He notes your teasing expression and he tilts his head, “What’s got you so high and mighty?”

“The fact I caught you staring at me two to three times over your monitor.” You dramatically sigh, “It’s truly a burden to be so stunning. Even you my mortal enemy, can’t resist.”

“Now what makes you think I’d look at my public enemy number one with heart eyes?” He scoffs closing the file. You hum, “Oh? So, I’m your number one?”

“You have very selective hearing. Might want to get that checked.” He snorts. “You have tunnel vision, because you only seem to be looking at me,” you huff.

His gaze shifts and he tosses the file to side on one of the emptier shelves. Taehyun begins to walk forward speedily catching you off guard. You find yourself stumbling back into another one of the metallic cabinets with an awful bang. Thank goodness it was just you two in here.

You let out a squeak as he suddenly leans over you blocking your attempt to escape. His gaze swirls in a mix of emotions but yet that cocky smile is triumphant on his face as always.

“You know since college, I have to give it to you. I never seen someone with such sharp wit. It’s actually very annoying.” He hums. You’re more preoccupied that he’s got you trapped between him and cabinet.

“Worried someone is gonna walk in? Oh, if they do. You’re gonna have to explain this one. Not me.” He hums. His eyes scan every crevice of your face making you shiver. “You’re the one who got us in this predicament. Now if you would just kindly move your arm-!”

He leans in even closer. You might faint you think. His cologne overwhelms your senses and you hate how attractive he is this close up. “You damn well could have just walked around me; I only have one arm up. Yet you’re choosing to stay.”

Shit, he got you good. You peer away, “Whatever Taehyun.”

“Just admit you like me.” He shamelessly hums into your ear. You scoff, “you first.”

“Oh come on, you were making heart eyes from the first day.” He cooes. You snap back, “No, I was not!”

(Yes, you in fact were.)

“We’re getting nowhere.” He huffs. You glare, “Just say it.” You peer down noticing how close his lips are. He does the same mannerism.

“I have an idea, if that’s okay with you.” He whispers leaning in. You close your eyes, “Yeah. That’s okay.” No more words were exchanged except for a sweet kiss, a passionate wordless exchange of how you and him felt.

After all, you two were too stubborn to be the first to admit it. So what better way then to showcase it than this?

You both walk out of the cabinet files in hand flushed. “So.” You mumble.

“So…” He responds back. “Are we like…? You know? Or was it just an in the moment kind of thing? Because that’s not what I’m looking for.” You spill out all at once.

Taehyun stops walking and starts laughing making you whine, “Oh don’t be like that. Answer the question! It’s vital information!”

“Well my precious rival, it was not an in the moment thing. I was hoping you could in fact be my one and only rival.”

You smile at him, “Rival? Only yours?” He nods, “Only mine.“

“You do know I’m asking you out hypothetically, yes?” He raises a brow. You smack his arm, “Yeah, I’m hypothetically saying yes. Yes. We got that. Are we both clear?”

Taehyun hums pleased, “Then. Then yeah, be prepared. You’re gonna get a date so phenomenal you’ll never find a better man.”

You roll your eyes, “How romantic of you. You sound like a loser.” He scoffs, “That’s not how you should be talking to someone who’s gonna take you out on a date.”

You groan trying to contain your smile, walking beside him, “You’re insufferable.”

He hums with a pretty smile, “I know. You are too.”

———————••••••••••—————

[sorastar6]

David Chiem Protagonist AU- Prologue, part 1

I finally finished something that I was working on for a long time! Yay! This AU is basically going to be a series of fanfics that I write. I may or may not actually finish this and do everything I want, but I sure hope I don't lose any motivation. So, um... Enjoy! I hope this is good!

Have you ever felt like you were stuck in a loop?

That the more things change, the more they stay the exact same? The thought of that is funny, isn’t it? The world is big and new things happen every time, every day.

“All that you have to do is just find new things and new peop-”

Shut it. Just shut your mouth, it’s rude to interrupt others.

Your choices don’t matter, anything you do just doesn’t matter. If everything is just broken at its core, there’s nothing you can do about it. The days will go by, one by one, and your life will just stay miserable as it is.

…

You don’t believe me? Well then, let me just show you. Just look into my life, you’ll see everything you need. Let’s see if you can keep up with that “hopeful” worldview of yours.

I doubt you don’t know who I am, but I'll introduce myself anyway. My name’s David Chiem. I can see that look you’re giving me, I guess you do know who I am after all.

“But David! Your life is incredible! How can you say all of these things? You’re ungratef-”

Shut it. I’m not done.

You could’ve heard about me in several places, but most likely, it was from the Hope’s Peak Academy graduation ceremony that happened a few months ago. Yup, I graduated from Hope’s Peak, amazing, right?

No it isn’t amazing. Not when your talent is something you despise. I’m the former Ultimate Inspirational Speaker. With everything you’re hearing from me, you’re probably doubting that, right? ‘There’s no way that you are the real David Chiem! You sound so pessimisti-’

Hate to it break it to you, but David’s a liar. I AM a liar. I’m 25 years old, I’ve had my career for 5 years, and guess what? Everything is based on lies! Woah, what a twist! A big celebrity is a big liar and is able to make money off of it? That never happened before!

…

That was sarcasm if you were stupid enough to not notice. Open your eyes, people like me are everywhere in this world. Just spitting what people want to hear. And somehow, they are ignorant enough to fall for it. Such stupidity…

People don’t change. And I’m the living proof of it. I hate my fucking job, I hate having to deal with annoying fans, and to top it all off? I was forced into this by someone else! And yet, I don’t do anything to stop this. Why? Simple, I’m a lazy piece of shit. I don’t even have the courage to make a proper meal, imagine having to deal with countless backlash!

Disappointed? Sowwy, don’t care. I don’t have a noble or tragic reason to do what I do. And I bet all of those other Ultimates are all the same. Everything is the same in this damn world, anyone who can’t see it is just plain stupid. There you have it, thanks for coming to my Tedtalk on why this world is hopeless! You can fuck off now. Hate me all you want, then we’ll have something in common. None of you have a reason to stay by my side anymore, goodby███████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████

…

Everyone has to pay for their sins one day.

Wake up, David Chiem.

…

That was a strange dream. Even if it was just a dream, it still felt… Odd. It’s not a bad feeling, but it’s not good either. I can’t quite describe it, but it doesn’t really matter anymore. Everything from that dream is already escaping my mind, so why bother?

How much time am I going to stay laid down here? I need to get up, I probably have something to do. But my head is killing me, so I want to stay in bed for a few more minutes. Wait, bed? This… Doesn’t feel like my bed. It’s more… Soft? But it still doesn’t feel comfortable like my bed. Maybe I prefer not what’s better, but what’s familiar?

There it goes again, my mind just thinking about random stuff that doesn't matter. I should just get up, but finding the energy to simply open my eyes feels like it will kill me. How pathetic. After some time, I opened them.

I tried adjusting my vision to the lighting of the room. It was dark, very dark. And yet, I could tell that this wasn’t my room.

“Sigh… What did I get myself into this time?”

I sat up on this bed, stretching my limbs until I could hear that satisfying crack. I passed a hand through myself to see the state that I’m in.

No injuries, no blood, but still a mess.

I wasn’t about to tidy myself up. There is a much bigger issue at my hands.

I was just barely able to stand up, my body getting the desire to succumb to this tiredness. But I pressed on to the door. I placed my hand on the knob, looking back at the dark room behind me. Maybe staying here and resting would be a good idea, but that also could lead to me getting chained to a wall. Fuck, second guessing, I hate it.

I just looked straight into the door, knowing very well that if I just glanced at that bed, I would just throw myself in it. So, I took a deep breath.

…

And I opened the door.

And I was immediately pushed down to the ground.

“Ow! What the-”

I couldn’t even finish my sentence before my gaze met a familiar pair of sharp red eyes. Eyes that… looked like it belonged to a cat.

“… D-david?”

“… Nico…?”

[not-trannydurden]

STARSHINE FANG-GLINT

PART ONE, CHAPTER ONE

"HERE COMES YOUR MAN"

WARNING! NSFW! SMUT! SEX! GORE! DUBIOUS CONSENT!

ALIEN PARASITE x SPACE TRUCKER!!

Photocredit to H.R. GIGER (WATCHGUARDIAN and RUSTY FEMALE TORSO) and NASA

Having never mastered faster-than-light travel, our ambitions far overestimated our ability to tame physics. So now, if you want anything shipped from point A, to point B, then you are going to need some lowlifes that don't mind giving you forty, fifty, seventy years of their lives to sleep frozen in zero G for a good paycheck and dental. This is why PV2 Camuth Syntrax has been in this business for a very, very long time.

She used to be a girl with stars in her eyes and ambitions. Hell, the whole reason she signed up for this job was to pay for her HRT and tits. She wanted to be whole, at some point in the future.

Now? Well, now she's just a miserable asshole trucker. Who happens to have big tits.

During a routine operation, their freighter is flagged and deployed for a shady Hazmat job. This was supposed to be like any other shady, high paying freight job. Make that top secret military budget money, and only have to shift your morals to the side a little to do it. A trucker is a trucker. They don't control whats in the bay.

Hell, she could hardly tell the difference. Camuth was drunk for most of her waking hours, or balls deep in a stow-away or hitchhiker. This leap's flavor was a peppy biologist with a sadistic streak.

She couldn't begin to understand how ignorant this assumption was.

WARNING: This series will eventually contain Gore, Violence, Cannibalism, Body Horror, and Vore. This chapter will contain: Mild misogyny, A lot of sex scenes, mild mentions of gore and political violence, and some non-consensual flirting.

Also, here's a playlist link ^^ i'd like to thank anyone who may of helped my write the first draft of this; it would not exist without you.

In every star-freighter there is always one pod that leaves you feeling extra sick. It's kind of a running joke amongst truckers; of course, that being a colloquial term.  An homage to societies of the past. No matter what, every voyage, you are gonna have one guy say it; 

"Looks like I got the bad pod."

Bleary eyed and shivering from the thermaebath still. Can't stop getting the bends. Dizzy.

When you are in thermae, the ship doesn't produce artificial gravity. Why would it? Saves a lot more power this way.

So that spinning feeling you get when you are trying to take you first few steps; it's the fluids in your ears adjusting to the presence of any gravity.

So picture this; 14 runs, back to back; almost 3 years spent on jumps from system to system, taking advantage of a Cerebrachem shortage that was sweeping the same direction we are; then, on the way back you deliver beef for a chain of Corpo airlock-exchange fast food restaurants.  

Teiren/Max Corp was meticulous with these sort of long hauls; they had to be worth the costs that it takes to pay experienced Truckers to waste 4 years away from home.

Lucky for me, the wages are great. The ship mates are fine, a couple of pretty girls, an android that you could swear was modeled to be a milf on purpose, and besides that; a few men. 

Men who were smart enough to mind their business. Women in this industry had a nasty habit of mutilating the uncouth that came onto them.

Prison rules. Pick the biggest guy. Grab him by the nuts. Set an example.

Every 5 months you wake up for a few weeks; exercise, socialize, repair the ship and check on the precious cargo. This free time is perfect for when you want to smoke a cigarette or stare at a wall, or eat out that cute biologist tagalong that came to study blah blah blah blah blah blah... 

What? Listen, if you saw this girls hips you'd understand. Hard to focus on much when you are wondering how her jumpsuit fits on, zips up in the center. Conceals all... that.

Maybe not though, because I can't remember why she's here, and we've spent the last 3 years having casual sex together. Watching horror movies and painting each other's nails. She compliments my bone structure a lot. I think she's weird, but in a hot way. 

Dr. Leerson. Doctor Amelia Leerson.

Imagine that you are almost home when everyone, yourself included, is shot upright like frankenstein movie monsters; albeit almost 4 months early. 

"We're not even close to schedule." Captain says. Cap's a big brawly man, pale, malnourished skin with a handlebar mustache. He's older than all of us, but he's healthy enough. Used to be a marine. 

Still built like one, and even though he was a brick-shithouse, a lifetime of protein paste and nutrition gel had left him looking like a strung out corpse all the time.

He's already dressed and dry, meanwhile I'm still on hands and knees letting fluid pour out of my sinus.

"What doya...?"

He points to the automatic calender on the wall. 

"Oh, uhuh...." I rub my chin, apparently deep in thought.

I couldn't remember the depart date.

A fat grey tabby goes waddling out of Leerson's pod. Pets didn't do good alone floating in zero g. It was wise to carry them with you. Picture egyptian burial rules. Anything you want when you wake up, make sure it's buried with you.

"We're gonna have to ration," Captain mumbled, rubbing the stubble on his chin. Cap was constantly talking about rationing, re-using, recycling. I don't think I'd ever eaten a fully allocated meal on this ship. The man was paranoid as all hell about something, anything, going wrong. Getting stuck out in deep space with a fuel injector malfunction, or a buggy navigation algorithm. So they saved old O2 filters. They distilled runoff from their engines into new fuel. They didn't eat enough.

"You'll thank me when we run out of fresh filters one day." Captain would always say, and we knew better than to argue.

"You're always saying that," said Leerson, who had been around just long enough to notice the pattern. Her voice was casually musical, almost teasing. "We're four months out, Captain. What's the worst that could happen?" 

Cap just grunted and turned to go towards center command, the defacto meeting room and geographical center of the ship. In ancient history, all roads led to Rome. In the age of modern space freighting; all roads lead to the center command.

Despite still being nude from the Thermae process, I roll over and stare at the ceiling. Leerson just watches and laughs, before throwing me a towel.

"Camuth, get dressed and get ready for briefing." He paused and looked over his shoulder at Leerson. "And don't let them keep me waiting too long, Doctor."

Leerson smiled, faux innocent. I grazed my tongue across my teeth, hard, before finally heaving myself up off the ground next to my pod, towel still half clutched around me. I panted, my arms trembling slightly from exertion. My teeth chattered slightly, and I leaned my forehead against the frosted over metal of the pod, feeling the bits of sweat and thermae fluid freeze upon contact with each other, making my forehead buzz. 

"Poor thing," Leerson teased, close enough that I could feel breath on my ear. I shivered in a different way at that. Leerson had a superpower that let her walk around noiselessly on metal grates. I felt her fingers wander around my midsection, spider-like in the way they dance between the folds of the scratchy orange towel and find their way to my cold pale flesh. 

"I...- I gotta get dressed," I say, failing to fight back a sigh, halfway between contentment and unadulterated need. A half-whine.

"That's what we're doing," Leerson purrs. She was such a fox, and I meant that in the predatory sense. I meant that with flashes of broken necked bunnies and eviscerated squirrels in mind. Terrestrial viscerality, or sexuality. It all came from the same need.

"I'm helping you get dressed, Second Private." 

Leerson said as she flicked a cruel nail once, letting the towel drop to the floor, exposing me.

"Now," she said, in tones that made me pissed and weak in the knees, "Just where did I put that jumpsuit..." 

My head was spinning, and it was only half from the teasing. I really did feel like shit.

"Get a room, dykes!" Someone shouted as I tried my best to not make a face at her touch. There were no rooms on a freighter. Just notches in a wall big enough to fit a twin sized mattress. 

For this reason, it was not uncommon to find your crewmates fucking on top of the coolant pipes, or on the cargo. You don't want to see what sort of use a hauling strap will find during one of these sessions.

Imagine every fast-food burger you've ever eaten, and imagine backshots being blown on cargo containers of every single of one of them.

"Yeah, fuck off, you're welcome." I say throwing up a middle finger to our electrician, Peter Schulzbern. We just called him Berns. He already has a baseball cap on. One from the tail end of the petrol-industrial era. When we still knew where Earth was. It reads: "I ❤️ NYC"

Leerson giggles, knowing that she's brushing up against my dick as she pulls my jumpsuit over me. Best part is that she's still halfnude, her jumpsuit only on like a pair of pants. Revealing two beautiful tits and a long neck. Biologists. It made sense. She was an animal. Better-yet to study them.

"I'm gonna go debrief honey, make me some coffee would ya?" I asked, and Leerson rolls her eyes.

"Oh yes sir Mr. Syntrax, right away." She says in a fake receptionist voice, making fun of me.

"Please, honey?" I ask, genuine vulnerability in my voice. She bites her tongue and smiles at me.

"Good girl." She says, and I shutter.

"You fuckin..." I'm whispering to myself as she walks away. Giving the whole crew a view of her tits as she stepped past the Thermaebay. Only once she reaches the door does she zip up her jumpsuit the rest of the way.

I'm staring, houndlike, at her ass with each step as I work to button my cuffs and adjust my collar to standard.

"Why do you always get the girl?" A voice asks, coming close behind me. I don't look. I know that it's Ricky Raffington. James Raffington legally. We just called him Rat.

"Because I am a girl. You think a piece like that isn't gonna want something soft and homely like me over some washed up Navy piece of shit like you? Ever?" 

"I don't have nothing you don't have." Rat scowls, unable to stop himself from glancing at the strain I'm currently placing on my jumpsuit, specifically in the crotch area. I'd blown out the zippers on these things before. I was kinda proud of it.

"Besides game, you mean? An extra 4 inches?" I grinned, doing the final button that keeps my collar sinched with a satisfying snap. Berns, over in the corner and already working on touching up some corroded wiring, snickered.

"Fuck you," Rat spit, literally spit on the floor near my boot, before clomping away to go join in on briefing. 

"Four inches my ass..." He mumbled as he went.

"Yeah, yeah, we've all been in the showers together, jackass!" I called after him. I sat there, feeling pretty good about myself, before-

"Get your ass in here, Private! What is this, a fuckin' pool party?" There was the captain, head and insanely wide shoulders poking their way into the cryo chamber, too impatient to spend the extra few seconds walking into the room proper.

I hurried up and over to central command, nearly tripping over myself as I went. The captain scared the shit out of me when he got loud like that...

Central command worked as a sort of secondary helm. The main helm, located towards the front of the ship and attached to the pilot's cockpit, was a fairly small room meant for just the captain and an attendant or two, and almost never saw any use during freight operations like this. Most functions on the ship were automated, anyways. 

Central command was like the living room of the ship. It was in the exact center of the vessel, and all hallways eventually led back to it. It was located directly above the commons areas. This was the most important room in the vessel, the meeting place, the heart and mind of the freighter vessel. 

Gathered in the room was nearly the whole crew. Leerson was off getting coffee, supposedly, and as a tag-along her presence was not required. 

The engineers like Berns, about a half dozen of them, had been woken up first along with the captain, debriefed, and sent along to check vital components and fix the worst of the damage. 

That left about a dozen of us left, gathered in various chairs and on desk or railings around the circular room. All shivering and weary from wake-up still. 

Everyone here was someone who preferred to sit in a corner, with a back to their wall, and you could tell. Even after years (or more like a month) of travel together, everyone was cagey. No sets of fingers and eyes rested easy, everyone sizing each other up. I had gotten over that paranoid shit long, long, long ago. I just sighed and leaned up against the nearest wall, nodding at the Captain as I did.

"Thank you for joining us, Private." Captain said, smiling sardonically. "Do we have your permission to begin?"

Everyone snickered, especially the Rat.

"At 07:00, Yesterday morning we received a subcontract from upstairs. This isn't a freight contract. It's a Hazmat job. It'll take at least 4 Biomat Certified Technicians, and 2 Hazmat Certified Haulers."

He pauses for a moment.

"Raise your hand if you are Biomat Certified."

I raise my hand, a waifish fellow with long soft arms raises one of them, and so does my beloved... My one and only;

Minerva.

She stood at around 5'8, with milk tallow pale skin and black hair. Gleaming blue eyes; literally neon blue LEDs. She was my white whale. I would never get to her because she wasn't human. She was an android. Soft, plastic soft, skin like pleather seat cushions or latex condoms. Her blood was milk white, which for some reason did things to me.

"Great, so we're short a Biomat."

I think for a moment, then raise my hand.

"Second Private?"

"Dr. Leerson is Biomat Certified." I say, and a few people in the room whistle.

The captain ignores it. As long as the trains arrive on time, so to speak, he could care less what we get up to. I watch him think for a moment, star maps, navigation routes, and fuel costs flashing behind his eyes. Weighing the pros and cons, like he always did. After a moment, he nods.

"It'll save us a trip or two, then." says the Captain after a moment. I let myself feel a little proud and useful for a moment, before the feeling fades. Rapidly.

"And I believe most of the rest of you are Hazmat certified." A few murmurs of assent. A couple of nods. 

"So. Onto the next thing..."

The rest of the briefing passes by normally. Captain reiterating that, yes, we will be rationing our food and other supplies until we touch down after the Hazmat job, and the usual groans that accompany that.

Only Minerva, me, and a couple of other old star-dogs don't complain. You'd think after the first dozen or so wake up cycles they'd learn, but, apparently not. I couldn't help but get a little nostalgic- or was that the right word?- had I been so slow to learn, too? So terrestrial? 

Terrestrial was an odd word these days. It meant a lot of things. It was used to describe everything from nostalgia, familiarity, immaturity, primal emotions, and a lack of space legs. People had a lot of complicated feelings about where we'd started. 

The homeworld, Earth, had been lost for ages now. No one knew for how long, or exactly when it had happened, just that one day, Earth was gone. Not destroyed, or crumbled, or uninhabitable, but actually lost. Amongst bureaucracy and papers and legalities and name changes; we couldn't find the birthplace of our species anymore. Among all other stars, planets, satellites, moons, and generation ships-

Earth was lost. 

At least, that's how it was phrased. That's how people interpreted it, and I couldn't blame them. When you'd never even seen the damn thing, never felt fresh green grass between your toes or breathed in oxygen that wasn't filtered, well, it was no wonder they didn't realize the truth. That it wasn't Earth that had strayed too far from the porch and gotten lost in that deep, dark forest, never to return.

It was humans. They simply lost themselves.

One day, thousands and thousands of years after we scattered our terraformers across the stars, we built our cities. We turned the void of nothing between stars into our freeways.

Then, that old house Earth simply disappeared into that cosmic infrastructure. A grain of sand in a silo of gravel. Surely, it was out there, and there are even a few theories of which planet it could be, or where it went. 

One day nobody knew where Earth was. It only existed in stories. Very, very few had ever been there and known it. 

Anyway, I got over that existentialism a while ago. Personally, I'm grinning like an idiot with my dick bulging out as I stare at Leerson.

Debrief was simple.

It was a biological sampling, taken from a jungle planet that was only a 2 month detour from our route. And right now, with how much it paid; we could eat all this random beef byproduct and pay back the Krueger Deli Co with plenty to spare. I'm talking retirement money. Go get on a tropical island planet and jack off into a coconut all day money. Or, whatever rich people do.

Leerson came back with two mugs of coffee, ceramic and plain, with the company's logo on the side. Terrestrial. Quaint.

She sidled up next to me and passed me one without saying anything, a cream and three sugars in it without me having to ask her. Leerson could be a real sweetheart when she wanted to.

"You're Biomat Technician certified?" the Captain asked, eyeing the cup of coffee jealously. Everyone on this ship subsisted fairly heavily on the cafeteria coffee, and the Captain was one of the worst caffeine addicts aboard. Coffee beans were one of the few things we were allowed to be liberal with.

"Yessir." she replied, smiling politely. I scowled back at all jealous glares I was getting as I sipped my delicious fucking coffee.

"We'll go over what you missed later." Cap grumbled. "For now, the usual game plan goes: repairs and maintenance. I want extra effort out of all of you, too. We're adding an extra 2 months to our route and I don't want any busted filters or malfunctioning rods, am I clear?"

"Yes, sir," came the weary reply from the crew. The Captain's eyebrow twitched.

"Say it like you fucking mean it."

"Yes, sir!"

The captain smiled, just a little. 

"Dismissed." He said, and everyone made a beeline for the cafeteria. After a moment of storming footsteps, it was just me and Leerson left in command. Sipping our coffees in tandem. She took hers black with a lot of sugar. 

More on some days, less on others. I smiled at her, but I had to mostly force it.

"What's all the commotion, then?" She asked, a Neuvian accent. Neuvian sounded like old world British, with a slowness and methodicalness that sounded almost Japanese in nature. 

The only reason I have any context to old-world accents is because of the stash of Westerns and Samurai movies the captain kept on-board. Old-world media is always in high demand; and companies make billions simply finding and restoring old vinyls.

"Some new contract sent down from management. Biological sampling. Hazardous materials, so it's pay is insane. I'm sure cap will give you a cut for helping out."

I say, trying to delay another sip of the bitter coffee. It was so dark today. She's grinning and munching on a tin-foil wrapped coffee cake. I wanted to taste her coffee breath in that moment.

"Oooh, exciting. Think it's an alien?" She said, giggling. Uhg. I wanted to swim laps in her. She was fucked the second we docked somewhere.

"No, probably just a bio-weapon or Malaria or something."

I take a long sip of the warm coffee.

I am a comms technician, besides just being a hauler and a decent repairman. So, today, my jobs included sending out our status report, getting in contact with the jungle planet's SatComms, to establish a timeline, and hopefully getting head from Leerson under my desk at some point.

I'm writing up the first status report when Minerva enters the room. She has that pleasant grin, like a cat's or a crocodile's. Always sly and a little smug. She knows something you don't.

"Good evening, beautiful." I say as she steps in, squeezing in a few looks over her amazing frame between looking at the screen I'm typing on. It was all analog here. Digital wasted too much power. Digital wishes it could have double-D tits on a shortstack body. 

She laughs gently, covering her grin with a dainty hand, before carrying over manifests and maintenance reports to my desk to be bounce-faxed.

"Here you go, Camuth. Those reports that you requested."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Please, Minerva will do fine."

"What about goddess?"

She lets out a long, playful sigh.

"It's flattering, sweetheart. I'm not that kinda synth though." She says shaking her heard slightly.

"When we touch down, can I buy you dinner sometime?"

"When we get back, I will be put back into company assets."

"Can't have shit in space." I whisper to myself.

She rolls her glowing eyes, turning on her heel and honest-to-god sashaying away. I could swear she's putting extra swing into her hips just to fuck with me. 

I sigh and roll my eyes towards the ceiling. 

She could crush my skull like a fucking melon and I'd tell her thanks. 

Or I'd try to. It'd probably sound more like "hoouggchhh" to be honest.

"Such a greedy little thing," said Leerson between sips of coffee. 

I had almost forgot she followed me to my office.

"The heart wants what the heart wants, honey." I said.

"And the cock wants what the cock wants." She said, voice flat. She let a manicured hand rest on my inner thigh. Leerson had long, sturdy arms that let her reach over counters and on top of high shelves. They were just a little too long for her body, which did something for me. She took another long drink of her coffee, not breaking eye contact.

"That too, yes." My voice came a little hushed.

Siiiip...

"You always go still." She sets the coffee down behind her without looking. Ka-thunk. "Like you're waiting for a storm to pass."

"I'm just... taking it in." I say. My eyes dance over her. Her lips, her eyes, the zipper that's starting to undo itself from her tit's sheer mass. Lord. 

"I think... you're just," Leerson steps into my space, facing me, pressing me up against the desk I'm half sat on and staring at me.

"A scared little creature..." 

I lick my lips.

"Like... a squirrel?"

Her eyes curl into a look of confusion, and she giggles before she pounces on me. Lips and tongue way too eager, parting mine, spreading me open, invading me. Her teeth scrape, not sure if she's just that reckless or if she has to draw blood every time we make out. A fistful of my hair and my jumpsuit.

"I dreamed about this in cryo," she pants, wrenching my hair back so she can breathe into my ear. I stare at the floor and rut my cock against the tight spot in her jumpsuit between her legs, growing tighter as I get close to fucking her, abusing the plyable space-suit.

"Y-You can't dream in cryo, your brain-" I start to speak.

She kisses me again, filling my mouth with her spit.

I can't really recall what happened next. At one point she was licking the inside of my ear. She made me say "I'm your dog." over and over again, until she punched me in the stomach. Before I knew it, I was laid out across my desk, with my head awkwardly pressed against the terminal that was hard-wired in.

We both moan as I enter her slightly, her hips working as she stands above me and the desk. She had just finished sucking my dick; biting my thighs and ass hard enough that I'm sure I'll be bruised.

My cock twitches, and Lord, I'm about to ruin both of our suits and really give the Captain something to bitch about when-

She throws my head and body back, away from her, by the tangled grips of hair and fabric she was just holding onto like a lifeline. My head bangs against the wall, my breath coming in quick and panicked, and she unsheaths herself from me. My ears are still ringing by the time her jumpsuit is back on. I didn't cum. She might have.

Dr. Leerson smiles at me, spit still glistening around her mouth, hair messed up. 

"See you later," she wiggles her fingers, and turns to go. But not before I catch a glimpse of how soaked through the crotch of her jumpsuit is. Lord. She turns and leaves, walking almost as magnificently as Minerva had just a few moments ago.

She's a memory, just the smell of sex in the air and your dick still refusing to give up. She was going to walk all the way to her lab like that too, the absolute animal. She's lucky everyone knows what I'd do to em' if they even looked at her funny.

I lean my head on my desk for a second to re-cooperate myself. She was absolutely hungry, absolutely cruel. Nothing but absolutes with this girl. No middle sliders. I've shared bunk with a pantheon of freight-hiking hobos and hippies, lots of girls of the night and girls of the street and girls of the whatever the fuck else. 

No one had ever been nearly as insatiable as Dr. Amelia Leerson.

I think I'm in love. Or pregnant, I don't know, anyway, I scoop myself up off the desk and try to focus on the papers. Try is the keyword, because I have to shamefully jerk off twice to even muster half focus; after all of that.

Our next destination is nicknamed Osiris. It's designation is P-333, and It's Planetary consultant sounds half drunk when I call.

"Calling 16-43, This is Starfreight Demeter."

"Mmm what?"

I sigh.

"Starfreight Demeter, Calling in a land notice for... 43 days from now. Do you copy?"

"Copy... Watch out around landing time. That's monsoon season."

I yawn, this man's exhausted energy like a contagious flu.

"Copy, Thank you PlaCo."

Next, is to bounce-fax our reports to central command, or CeCo if you are feeling frisky. To bounce a fax is to send it careening through a semi-privatized string of local satellites until it reaches it's destination. You "bounce" it from satellite to satellite. It takes a while, but is incredibly cheap. 

After that, I smoke a cigarette while reading the last chapter of some fantasy novel. The dragon was actually the wizard all along, by the way. 

After that, When its around 14:23, thats Camuth's Special Hour. I setup my vinyl player, and plug it into the mic port. It plays it over the intercom. I keep all my old world vinyls under my desk. Today, I'm playing Talking Heads: 77 by Talking Heads, then it's The Doors by The Doors. Old worlders were incredibly creative when naming records.

After that I turn on 10 minutes of Thelonius Monk, and then I finish it with Califronia Uber Alles by Dead Kennedys, and then some old nations national anthem. The American One, not the canadian one; although that was equally funny.

Halfway through, I take a coffee and smoke break in the cafeteria.

"You're such a freak," said a voice from one of central's many, many entrances.

I turned in time to see a pale figure dragging a chair towards me. It was Sierpinski, one of the clones on crew. They were lanky, pale, with clear signs of clone degeneration tearing through them.

Besides the normal space-freighter paleness, Sierpinski was albino, with long fine hair, almost no body hair, and wine colored eyes that shined red when a bright light was near. They never removed their helmet on sunny planets. 

Sierpinski, who didn't have a first name, had dodged the worst of the potential degenerative cloning symptoms. Excessive or misplaced facial hair. Various types of baldness. Increased risk of cancer, which Sierpinski did have, but at least they weren't sprouting tumors yet. 

All things considered, Sier looked more like a beautiful wax figure than a half-baked copy of some old fuck's genetic code, sold off to a company for half price and high profits. Now, like most sold-off clones, they were used for dangerous and cheap labor, usually doing the jobs that were deemed too risky for normal workers.

"You ever gonna play normal music for us one day, Cam?" asked Sier, sitting backwards in the chair and grinning cock-eyed at me.

"You call that corpo synthesized trash you play 'normal'?" I grin back, and we trade a little handshake we made up together. Just a short thing. Sierpinski is one of my few other friends on this ship, and the only one of those that I hadn't fucked.

"At least the rest of the crew doesn't want to, uh, dig my eyes out with a spork."

"And how long you think that'll last when you keep hanging out with my ass, hmm?" 

"Hopefully not much longer," Sier's grin turned positively shit eating. "I'm getting tired of visiting you." 

We both chuckled as Sier rested their cheek on top of their arms, on the back of their chair, looking at me. 

"So... whatcha think about this hazmat job?" They asked after a second, faux casual.

"It's weird, so I'm leaning towards military subcontracting. If I cared I would research the corpo that handed it down the line to us, but I don't. Jobs a job."

They sigh a little, and look over their shoulder for prying eyes.

"Listen, I got something I need to show you."

"Oh yeah?" I ask.

They sigh.

"Alright so I'm a bit of an eavesdropper right?"

They hand over a small camera. Mini-digi. About as small as a digital camera could get, and it was still viewfinder sized. I look into it's port at the loaded picture. It's of a monitor, in Minerva's lab. That lab doubled as Leermans at the moment. The screen was a readout, order from command that Synths practically absorb like scripture. It simply read;

PROTECT CARGO AT ALL COSTS

ALL OTHER PRIORITIES WAIVERED

CREW EXPENDABLE

"Huh."

That's all that leaves my lips as I stare at the picture in mild bemusement. 

No. Befuddlement.

"Weird right?"

"I'm sure it's fine. The contract is bloody expensive." 

Long sip of coffee. Pause. Both of us ponder the other alternatives.

"So why is it Biomat and Hazmat?"

"What do you mean?"

They sat upright in the chair, stashing the camera away in a satchel.

"Thirteen parsecs ago, a few crews before this one. I ran a militarized virus cargo. We only needed Hazmats. Biomat is usually reserved for..."

They sip their coffee, puff on a cigarette.

"Live Animals." I finish for them, realizing what they were panicking about.

"Okay, that one is pretty weird. Maybe the virus is in a monkey." I say, laughing a bit.

They smile, but it's weak. Wracked with concern.

"Something else." They say, Cylav accent shining like an old 80s communist bad guy.

"Uhuh."

"On the Buzzers. Talking with loved ones. I tell them 'we're going to Osiris.' They think it's strange."

"Why's that?"

"Osiris has been under quarantine for the past six months. They refused emergency landing to three separate vessels. That's illegal." They say.

"Huh..." 

"So you see where I'm going with this?"

"Yeah, it's sketchy, but-" 

"But what? We cannot take on this job." 

"Oh, so what, we just quit?" I felt my eyebrow twitch in frustration. Sierpinski had a nasty habit of thinking they were always fucking right. 

"We just go home, yeah? Take one of the shuttles and a paycut to fuel it and call it a day, yeah? Maybe we can share one and split the costs."

"Fuck you." Sier sighs, leaning away from me and sitting up straight in their stupid wide legged stance, the back of the chair like a wall between us.

"C'mon, Cam, you've been around longer than any of us. Even longer than Cap, depending on how you count it. You know this isn't right. I can see it in your eyes." Sierpinski sounds defeated. They stare at the floor.

"And what do you want me to do, Sier? You're my friend, but we're powerless here. You know that too."

"Sure, but we could talk to the Capt-"

"Who would say exactly what I'm saying. And then if- if we got him on side, what would he do? Talk to some lackey of the boards, and up and up and up-"

I sigh. 

"It's too late. We'll never climb that ladder in time. Don't you see?"

I wait for Sier to look me in the eyes again before I finish. 

"It's already too late."

...

"So we may as well do damn good job of it, yeah?" I propose.

"Yeah," Sier sighs, not meeting my gaze anymore.

"Listen," I grab their knee, my squeeze going straight from gentle and reassuring to manic and panicked. "It's just a hazmat. We follow protocol, we play it careful, and we're fine. Like any other job." 

Sier stood up and left in a hurry, pausing once they hit the entrance to the nearest hallway.

"Our job," they said the word like a swear, "has a 63.9% mortality rate. That's not even counting the clones."

And then they were gone, and I was alone again.

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

Me and Leerson bang a few times, dinner, sleep, breakfast; maintenance, and then after dinner that night, we all toast with some of the last vodka we have onboard.

Дай Боже! God help us.

We all get drunk, and myself and Leerson sloppily give each other head in the cryo room ten minutes before nap time.

Then, we all lay down. We all sleep. The big sleep. 

....

Two months later, the routine happens. This time, I get the bad pod. Or I'm just hungover, because when I wake up my brain is broiling practically. I groan loudly. You weren't supposed to get in these things drunk. 

Something Something average freezing point of your blood. Something Something brain damage. 

Whatever, I'd done it plenty of times.

And I was perfectly fine.

Coffee, Even Cap is quiet as we all shuffle to the main quarters. The center table is a circle, a huge one that fits all 26 crew members. Leerson practically sitting on my lap as we both chug coffee and eat tin-foil wrapped cornbread. She snuck Elysian Honey in her carryon. 

Having a huge dick really has it's perks. Like honey on cornbread.

I'm putting on a pressure suit; Replacing an antennae.

Something dinked us while we were asleep and almost gave center command a heart attack. Leerson corners me in the airlock bay and kisses me deeply; before plugging in my larynx-chord, and helping me with my helmet. 

"Stay safe out there."

"Oh honey, don't worry ... ... ... Done thousands of these." I say, through the oxygen injector cutting my sentence in half and forcing my breath back down my throat.

She nods, and I step into the airlock. She closes the door, and suddenly in my ear, I hear Sier's voice.

"Alright, let's do this nice and safe today, ja?"

"Who let an alcholic cloned ... ... commie monkey ... ... operate CommSat?"

"Eat shit,  Cammy."

"No thank you, but ... ... ...  maybe piss if I'm drunk enough."

This makes them laugh. The suspense of the wait. You gotta time things well in these suits.

The airlock depressurizes, and suddenly I'm living life in a ziplock bag. Void pinching around me.

I actually love this feeling, once my eyes and the rest of my body adjust and I can stop squinting. 

Spacewalks were peaceful, to me. I didn't really fear for my life or get wildly anxious about falling out into space like some of the more terrestrial crew members. It was like any other job. Just do it right, and you don't get any problems. 

And there was the tether besides. Motherfuckers always forgot the tether.

So yeah, Cap usually gave me this job, which suited everyone just fine. The rest of the crew probably would have drawn and quartered me by now if I wasn't the designated Space Walker™.

I take a deep breath of filtered air, my favorite, and let my gaze sweep out over the fields of stars. There was nothing out here, no suns close enough to hurt my eyes through my horrifically thick and deeply tinted helmet visor.

I turned- the automatic air jets in my suit activating in tune with my muscle movements and responding to me, allowing me to move in Zero G. 

I'd used far, far clunkier suits, heavy things that controlled more like tanks with too much momentum and often led to first time space walkers splattering themselves on the hulls of their ships. 

Even though the suits were far sleeker and almost completely automated these days, that imagery had never left. People still had images of splintered bones and mangled metal, burst O2 canisters sending tiny beads of blood out, out, into space, forever drifting with the inertia of a wasted death.

Couldn't be me. Skill issue to be honest.

There, past the helm of the ship, was one star that was maybe five times larger than the pinpricks around it. A small ink blot of white light that shone through the darkness like a beacon. Our job lay there, more or less.

I whistle a workman tune, comedically interjected with the oxygen tubes forcing my lungs to expand, while I kneel in position, starting to unscrew the original antennae, and getting the new one ready. The old one's tip is broken off and melty. Poor thing. 

I tuck the scrap metal into my pack, and then get to work rewiring it's base, making sure everything is still steady. 

I could practically tap dance out here if I wanted to. The artificial gravity always made these things a cake walk. Just don't be an idiot. 

And pray a meteor too small for your radar to pickup doesn't come.

"Hey, Cam, You hear the Ceruvian Civil War ended?"

"No shit?"

"Mhm, The rebels won too. Silicosteel Corp made some deal with them and now have mineral rights."

"Huh. Well ... ... ... I guess it's better than ... ... ...nothing."

I'm stepping back to the hull but... I turn back and look at the ink blots. I grab my view finder and look out. At the speed we were going, we'd be arriving in 26 hours. I zoom in.

Osiris. The planet is covered in dense storm clouds. It sits grey. It looks sickly. Doesn't help the pit in your stomach as you watch hurricane clouds swarm and swirl.

"Cam?"

I jump and little, and grip hard on the viewfinder.

"Everything good?"

"Yeah, sorry, I was... starspotting."

"Mhm, well c'mon cowgirl, you are wasting o2."

The airlock hisses and pressurizes behind you. The room fills with matter. You swim in it again as you start to twist your helmet off. 

On the other side is a short, tiny femboy. 

He would punch you if he heard you say that, but he was. Cricket is what everyone called him. Everyone also made him clean the vents for that reason. He was holding a clip board, and looking up at me.

"Hey, cutie."

"Don't."

I snicker, and start to zip off the pressure suit. Cricket was the ship's Nutrition Officer. Basically, he handled the food, cooked and freeze dried everything between wake-ups. 

He actually wakes up three days before us to make sure all of our food is up to code. Which is why he always looked exhausted. 

One time he had fallen asleep on my chest while we were watching some alien movie on the television.

To over exert my point, Cricket had never even let our hands touch when he handed me food. Still, he worked harder than most of us.

"I need you to authorize the credit charges for rations."

"Oh, ... ... ...  and what if I don't?" I ask, and then finally rip the tubes out of my nostrils, with an unflattering gag.

"Then I'll feed you the leaking xerox gel out of the radiator."

I laugh, and took his papers. End of shuttle shit. Everyone for the next few weeks was going to need their papers signed and faxed. Papers they were supposed to do months ago.

"Okay honey."

"Thanks." He said, eye twitching ever so slightly. 

I couldn't help it, really. It was compulsive. I'd told him so before. 

He'd said I should kill myself about it. Once, he'd threatened to call HR on me. I just laughed and told him to go ahead. 

I laughed even harder when the Captain told Cricket to, and I quote: "Suck it up." 

So good.

I looked down at the shortstack and smiled my best crocodile smile. The one that drove him crazy. Cricket's nose wrinkled and he made a noise of disgust. 

"You are an animal, you know that?" 

"We're all animals baby," I replied, leaning forward. "Lemme show you what animals do-"

WHAP

Cricket slapped me in the face. Full palm, hard. Hard enough that I knew my face would be red for a few minutes after. I blinked in shock and rocked back on my heels. 

Ah, my old friend... 'Did I just get hit?'

Cricket is already stomping away in his chunky space boots by the time I'm back to my senses. I let out a low whistle. 

"What a woman," I say to no one in particular.

"That 'woman' is a 5'4" man who could kill you with his bare hands if he wanted to."

I jump, forgetting that my headset isn't attached to my spacer helmet.

"I'd rather he break my neck with those thighs of his. Mmmh." I pause after a moment. 

"So you heard that, huh?"

"Ooh yes. A real solid one, eh? Your mic peaked." Sierpinski replies.

"I think I'm in love."

"I will never understand you."

"He has hips that make me wanna get him pregnant. Simple biological urges, Sier."

"You are a fucking idiot."

"I know, I know. You better not be recording this session."

"I already deleted the archive."

I grin and put a cigarette to my lips. Face still stinging. I'm about to go rail Leerson over her little research table, maybe even make Minerva watch for as long as it takes her to leave the room. But then;

"Second Private Syntrax, Please report to garden bay for rewiring duty."

I grit my teeth. That's Nutritional Officer grounds. I bet Cricket was thrilled to hear that announcement. 

I have one of those changes of hearts that come with really not wanting to push someone to the actual point of murder. Last couple of jumps. Then we're all home. 

I pickup a toolbox on the way over, and slap Jameson's ass as I walk past him. He's one of two physicians onboard. He laughs, and points a meaty finger at me.

"See you on the court tonight, bitch." He says.

"You'll wish you hadn't when I'm done porking your shit."

I turn the corner and the shit eating grin turns sour. 

I punch in access to the greenhouse. This part of the ship was very important. So, I get misted with sterilizing agent and then step through a tent flap, after putting on a clear plastic body suit. I have to put all the tools through a wash too.

Cricket is sitting in the corner, by a access panel next to a display.

"Hey, I wanted to apologi-"

"No." He says.

Cricket sighs, and shakes their head. Speaking delicately and angrily in a way that made my head spin.

"No, just... I shouldn't of laid hands on you. It was unprofessional." He says, crossing his arms.

I shrug, sorting my toolbox back together as they all come out of the sterilizer.

"No, It's okay, I get it. I've been chasing you for a while now, you are straight and I'm sure i-"

"What? I am not straight." He says.

A moment of quiet sits between us as I move closer to the wiring. 

"Why do you hate me so much then?"

"Because you are persistent and annoying. And greasy. and an alcoholic. Not to mention, even if I were straight, you are a girl, no?"

"Well... You got me there." I say, sighing. We both sit in silence for a second.

"I'm... I'm sorry. This detour has just got me all frazzled. We were barely gonna pull through our original course there, with half rations. We're going to be down to... Spirulina pucks and Protein paste, disgusting." He says, sighing.

I'm disconnecting some faulty wires, and reattaching new wires while I listen.

"You are a really good chef. I'm sure you'll figure something out." I say, absent mindedly as I work.

He sighs a little, and looks up at the UV lights that were currently awake.

"Why did you start working freight?" He asks.

"Paying for my surgeries and hormones. After my first few runs all my friends were dead. Figured I just keep doing this."

I spark a soldering iron a few times, testing it's battery pack, before sitting back and looking at the wires as if they were a beautiful art piece.

"What about you?" I ask.

"It started with a way to see the worlds. See other culture's cuisines. But... I don't really even know anymore. At a certain point it just became cornbread and diet schedules..."

He laughed a little, but it's sour. A heavy silence. I close the panel, and stand upright.

"We still have all that synthyolk from that misdelivery right?"

"Mhm, Why?" He asks.

"And plenty of flour, right?"

"Always."

We step into the sterile-locker room and put our used jumpsuits in the dirty bins.

"Well... Maybe tonight you could whip up a pasta. Watch one of those Ceruvian monster movies you like so much?" I ask.

He's quiet, thinking as we walk out of the green house together.

"Leerson stowed away some Elysian Prawns in the freezer. I think she forgot about them." I say, maybe sweetening the deal.

"You aren't going to try to fuck me the whole time?"

I scoff a little.

"I'll do my best not to be a horny weirdo."

He grins a little.

"It's a date then." He says, squeezing my hand. I can still feel the outline of his slap and for some reason those two combined stimuli make my dick throb.

"You sure you wanna use that word with me?" I raise an eyebrow.

Cricket half shrugs, clearly trying not to get pissed at me again already. 

"Just be good. Please?"

"Oh, I'll be sooo good."

Cricket drops my hand like a sack of bricks and walks away. Not quite storming off. 

Me and my big fucking mouth. But hey, I still had a date for tonight. His words, not mine. I try to muster up the energy to feel bad about it and find myself coming up short. Oh well.

Right before the short... man? walks out of sight, he turns back around, face is that familiar annoyed mask that I'm used to again. He opens his mouth once, twice, then closes it again.

"I'll see you later," he says finally, and leaves.

I sigh, and barely have enough time to oogle him before I'm tightening connector-pins again.

[georgiapeach30513]

Hi peach ❤️ Mrs pasta checking in

It’s been a long week, huh? If you’re in the USA, like some of us, 😵‍💫 but I’m going to avoid the politics talk.

I hope you are faring well despite everything.

I have no shade to throw today but I do want to remind some people on here in the midst of a lot of toxicity (not politics related). There’s a small group on here that has turned into a hilarious mix of haters/antis/no longer sure what they’re supposed to be but they’re 100% counterproductive. Imagine being that bored with your own life you spend your days torturing yourself following someone you “hate.” But I guess some people like being miserable.

Ramen, try as he might, is not a very good liar and I don’t think he would make a convincing salesman 🤣 but I do think that he filmed a movie in 2022 and it was delayed a year to release, and now that some are feeling extra in their feelings about him, are seeking confirmation through searching the internet for bad reviews on his film so they can project more negativity onto him.

He’s actively worked on three (still working on the third) projects this year. None of these projects have been released and I don’t believe they’ve confirmed any release date for these films either (correct me if I’m wrong).

So if that’s the case, I think it’s wise to wait things out and see how the rest of these projects pan out and whatever he decides to do next. bemoaning and groaning on a movie that was filmed 2 years ago as a yardstick of a person’s current life and career is a bit of an interesting choice. I think most of his fans knew this movie wasn’t going to be an awards darling by any means and especially knowing that the rock and his crew are behind this..how is anyone surprised if it’s a goofy overblown exaggeration of a ride?

Besides, the actors that work on this film are all professionals. They all do this for a living and promoting a silly goofy probably not going to be a hit with critics movie and playing along with the silliness is part of the job.

Marketing. PR. Yes yes it’s all mostly lies and manipulation. A lot of us have tried telling some of you that Hollywood is a business first, and everything else second. If you sit here upset that a celeb would possibly play up or even “lie” about something while promoting a film, then you may want to get out of this fandom and check the rest of the world.

This is not me being mean or invalidating other people’s feelings. I’m just telling you all as someone who works in an industry that’s all about manipulation and selling, myself. I do it because it’s a job. I don’t agree with everything but they pay me. I separate my own personal feelings from my work and then I go home. Life moves on no matter what.

Peach, thank you for being ramen’s shining beacon of support. They really ought to start paying you and anni for the work you both do for this fandom.

😘❤️

Be well

Mrs. Pasta! I was hoping you would drop in this week because what a week we've had! But yes, there's a reason that I avoid politics here, and that's because this is my escape. And like most of us, we're just not in the best place.

Unfortunately it does seem to have a heavy dose of toxicity in our little corner on tumblr. I think there's quite a few groups that are a bit counterproductive instead of just enjoying the plethora of content we've been gifted, but hey ho.

Ramen is one of the worst liars I have seen. And I'm not sure what that means sometimes. This movie was filmed in 2022, and carried on into 2023, and of course, was originally set to released Christmas 2023, but who knows what was going on behind the scenes for it to be delayed until this holiday season. This movie was also never going to be a critical success. Movies like this are meant to be for audience success, but what do I know?

I actually find it quite commendable that he's been able to make himself be so busy this year with work. Compared to what his tone was in the GQ interview fall 2023, this is a stark difference. He's showing that there is work to be had if you want it. He's taking on smaller roles, and he still seems proud of that fact. However, as of yet, there is no release date for any of these projects filmed this year. I suspect Honey, Don't release should be announced soon-ish.

And I think you're right about expectations on Red One. Judging the trailers, I think we're getting exactly what I thought we would be getting. It looks like a fun, goofy, not too serious Christmas movie. And honestly, I love those. Not every movie was meant to be a critical darling, or be awarded. Sometimes you just want to have a good time.

I think if most people would look at Hollywood as a business everyone would be better off. It is just lipstick and rouge, and they show us what they want us to see. Sometimes there's some cracks in the foundation, and we see a bit of the lies and manipulations. And in this case this is a family movie, so to no surprise some people are playing up the family aspect of it all. Interesting, and yet not, all at the same time.

Sometimes you have to pick and choose what you want to see, hear, learn, and you just have to learn it's not that serious at the end of the day. It's entertainment, and when you look at it as such, you have a lot more fun. And honestly, a lot of us have been entertained lately.

Ooh, you got to watch talking about pay on here, it sends the wrong message, and people like to call you the p word. Anne and I, and so many of our mutuals and followers, just want to have fun. Isn't that was a fandom space, such as tumblr is supposed to be about? Not about constant drama and arguing, but enjoying an entertainer? Their work? Getting excited about public appearances? Spreading memes, gifs, and works of fiction?

Mrs. Pasta, as always it's a pleasure. And I look forward to your next drop in. As always, take care!

[maxybabyy]

They came down from the mountain yesterday.

Max leaves tomorrow, would’ve left this morning if Christian hadn’t convinced him to wait for the car that comes in the morning with a new round of supplies.

“I can of course walk to the town myself, always it will be not a problem,” he had said as they came down, the horses close behind them. Their rucksacks light on their backs, weary and tired with the signs of a hard summer.

“Nonsense, kid. Seb won’t mind giving you a ride,” Christian said with his arm around Max’s shoulders. “And I mean, with everything you’ve done for us, we best send you off right. Don’t we, Daniel?”

Daniel had barely look at Max as he laughed, agreed with whatever Christian was telling him.

His heart had felt heavy as he walked towards the chicken pen, but it was better like this. One day and Max would be gone, would be a year before he came back, if even that. Maybe he would find a real job in town, something more than the silly convenience store his dad had him working in.

“But what do you wanna do, Maxy?” Daniel had asked, the rain coming down hard around them.

A rare rainpour had taken them by surprise, and by the time Daniel had come into the tent, he had been soaked to the bone. His spare set of clothing had helped little, and it wasn’t until Max had scooted forward, movements slow but confident as he invited him into his space, into his warmth and heat, that Daniel could breathe again.

“I want, I think, to work with horses,” Max had told him, lips pressed against Daniel’s chest. They hadn’t been naked then, but they would be. Soon. “Always, I have liked the farm. But my father, it did not make enough money, and he would rather sell than make it work.”

Daniel has known nothing but farm work.

He used to dream of the big city, of the stories Scotty would tell when he came to visit, of the freedom and lack of responsibility. But he’s in his thirties now.

Christian may have kids, but none that could take over the farm, or at least not now. Not like Daniel could.

“Did something happen between you and Max?” Christian asks when he doesn’t come in for lunch. “I was going to ask him to come back next year but –“

Daniel shakes his head, “Nah, he was fine. Just, a hard run, you know? Lost a few sheep, long nights, that kind of stuff.”

“Because if something did,” Christian continues, hard set in his ways. “You can tell me.”

Daniel licks his lips, looks up from Laurie the cow, tries to look less miserable than he feels. “He can come back. Good effort for the pay, I’d say. A shame we can’t hire him full-time, he would do well around here.”

It’s Max’s second year on the mountain. He hadn’t come last year, but the year before that he did.

A lanky lad with softened hands but a better attitude than most Daniel has worked with. He spoke still with an accent, the lisp even more pronounced than it is now. Daniel hadn’t known what to do with him then; doesn’t know what to do now that he has to leave.

“He came with good recommendations,” Christian says, nods along as they walk through the pasture. “Too bad about last year, yeah? Would have saved us a lot of trouble, I reckon.”

Sergio had been alright. Fine on a horse, experienced, but in a way that hadn’t come to fruition on the mountain. Max had been the better choice, even back before they had started to –

Daniel shrugs, turns to look at the sun. It’s going to be cold soon, the wind will pick up and the leaves will fall, autumn nothing but a wink before winter will be here.

“It’s hard to know what will happen up there, can’t really prepare yourself before you’re in it,” he says. Every year is different, he knows that now.

He’s done eight summers now, and only once has he dreaded the descent.

“If you say so,” Christian says, claps him on the back and leaves. He had been with Daniel for his first two years, just enough time to show him the rope and make sure he wouldn’t have to do it again.            

The sun has gone down before he comes inside. Food waits for him in the oven, but Daniel isn’t hungry. The house is quiet as he sneaks upstairs for a shower. It’s his second of the day, but it’s fine, Christian would understand.

He scrubs himself raw, a never-ending itching underneath skin that doesn’t stop; worsens when he thinks of tomorrow – of Max. He misses the cold water of the creek, the two of them drying on the shore, Max’s eyes heavy on his body.

Max had made the move then, knee-deep in water and still only a few feet apart.

Daniel had watched him move with his breath caught in his throat, Max’s hand on his arm, on his waist, his hip and then finally, on his dick. He hadn’t stopped looking at him, eyes steady even as Daniel had started to shake, closer than he’d been before with only a few strokes.

“Will you come?” Max had asked, hoarse but confident. Daniel had known then that he wasn’t Max’s first. Not in this, at least. “For me, Daniel?”

Daniel had, but so would everyone, he thinks. If they had been where Daniel had been.

Max waits for him when he comes back to his room. He hasn’t been there before, not before they left for the mountain, but he looks at home in the bed. 

Max reaches for him, and Daniel goes, crawls between his legs, and kisses him like he did the first time: desperate and frantic, unsure if it will happen again.

Sex, he finds, is easier if you aren’t stuck on a mountain, but it isn’t necessarily better.

Max is still just as sweet for him as he opens him up, quicker like this, with something other than repurposed lubricants taken from other scarce supplies. His sounds are the same, quieter now that they share a house with their boss, but still Max falls into the same ecstatic state when he’s close to coming. Begs Daniel for more until he does with a hoarse shout.

Daniel follows quick, a quiet prayer that this won’t be the last time.

“Will you be here next year?” Daniel asks, watches Max as he readies himself to leave. Seb will come by in only a handful of hours, and Max must be back in his room by then. “Will you come back to me?” He doesn’t say.

Max breathes softly as he pulls on his sweater. It isn’t the one he came with, but the one Daniel had worn on the mountain. Soft and knitted by his mother, loose enough in the shoulders that it fits him well.

“I will of course try, but always I have to make sure it is right for me also, for my family.”

Daniel nods sharply, bites his tongue so he doesn’t ask what he shouldn’t.

“Will you go back to the Netherlands this time?”

“I will see after the winter. If I can find good work, maybe. It would be lovely, I think,” Max says, smiles when he meets his stare.

Max had told him about how his sister had given birth to a new son this spring, that he hasn’t been home since he was seventeen when his father brought him overseas to find new work. He knows Max sends part of his salary back home to them, to his mother, knows there’s more to it than just what Max wants. That if Max could, he would of course come back to him.

But life doesn’t always work out like that. Not for guys like them anyway.

“If you do, or like, even if you don’t. You could give me a call sometime,” Daniel says and gets up to follow him to the door. “Let me know how you’re doing, if the tulips are still there.”

“The tulips are there of course every year, Daniel.” Max says, but even he sounds sad, voice soft. “Always they come in spring.”

Daniel laughs, but it comes out hollow. He squeezes Max’s hands that hang between them. “Yeah, well. You go off see the tulips, see your family, Maxy. And when summer comes, then – then you come back to me, yeah? Back to the mountain with me.”

Max kisses him.

It isn’t a yes, but it isn’t a no, and Daniel knows it’s all he can give.

“Goodbye, Daniel.”

[liliumofthevalleyy]

Since I finally had the courage to start posting, I had to talk about this before anything.

Albert and William's relationship. (Hopefully Louis next 'cause he deserves so much more than what he gets in the manga)

This is really long so you may wanna scroll and move on👍, but if you are prepared to read through a probably hour-long ramble of these two then you're welcome and very much appreciated 🫶

⚠️Mentions of suicide/suicidal thoughts⚠️

Chapters 62-63 discusses it anyway so let's go by them:

Before William, Albert was sickened by the way society operates (the whole "upper class is yay and working class is ew" system). He tries to change things locally, since, as a child, his changes were small, helping out at the church, buying the kids at the orphanage books and donating money (in this case, asking his father?) for necessities.

He knows he, alone, can't change it and is actually satisifed with the fact that whatever he does would still make things better, even if a little.

His views about himself change when he comes across a man who stole bread. He pays for everything that man has stolen and gets him a job (at the church/orphanage), believing he had done the right thing. What does that man do? Try and steal the silver cutlery Albert brought for the church.

(Side note: I love the refrence to Les Miserables, a favourite french novel of mine, in which the mc Jean Val Jean steals bread but the kind Bishop of the town sees him and pays for everything Jean has stolen. The Bishop gives him a home, but Jean ends up repaying him by stealing the Bishop's treasured silver cutlery. Now that sounds familiar, huh. Jean is caught by the police and brought to the bishop to confirm whether or not Jean is lying about the bishop "giving him the cutlery". Instead of confirming that Jean was lying, the Bishop smiles and says yes he gave them to him, and proceeds to give him a pair of silver candle-stands saying "You left in such a hurry you forgot these". Concluding, Jean promises himself to live an honest, better life after meeting someone like the Bishop. (Jean becomes a symbol of equality between the nobles and the commoners, helping the poor and never patronizing it)

Albert hopes his actions are seen as that of the Bishop for someone. That someone would be so moved by Albert granting them a second chance, that the person would become better and try to better the world as well, and so he does that for the man. Though that backfires horribly, and the man kills someone/himself (it wasn't clear in the translations I read if he unalived himself or someone else).

This takes such a big toll on Albert mentally he decides he's the "wrong" one born into the wrong world, not the "right" one born into a wrong world. So he decides to unalive himself (reading that ch. for the first time hurt). But doesn't have the courage to, which makes him feel worst.

WILLIAM FINALLY COMES INTO THE PICTURE AND SAVES HIM IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE AND THE WAY THE WHOLE PANEL JUST GOES FROM DARK TO BRIGHT? ALBERT'S EYES ARE SO CLEAR UNLIKE THE PREVIOUS PANELS WHERE THEY ARE DARKENED.

William not only returns Albert's beliefs that the world itself is wrong, he affirms it, and the fact they haven't even spoken yet when this happened says alot about what's to come.

"He existed, here in the same world, someone with the same soul I had"

Excuse me while I sob about how much I love the characters' interactions and relationships in this series.

Anyways, Albert investigates him and finds out about the trial William won (that's a topic for another day for sure because that trial was lowkey funny to me). He realizes William is the one with the courage to change the world. And so he talks to him, and William's response further lightens up Albert.

WE'RE BACK ON WILLIAM BEING A SUN THING AGAIN, WILLIAM'S LIGHT NOT ONLY SHONE ON ALBERT. HIS BODY AND SOUL HAVE BEEN "BURNED" BY IT.

Ahem anyways, even though William had the "wisedom" and "courage" Albert desired, the "courage" wasn't enough to make that ideal a reality (at that time, Albert didn't actually believe William was serious about killing). He, Albert himself, also lacked that courage and wisedom.

That's why, he asks of William to give it to him, the courage, not just courage, but the courage necessary to kill and continue to do so until the ideal world is achieved. As well as the wisedom to achieve that ideal world through these killings. (since obviously killing without a thorough plan would just be pointless mass-murdering)

Now William leads the way for Albert by killing Albert's biological brother, og William, and I headcannon (since we don't see William's face while he kills for the first time) that William sucked it up and (maybe) showed Albert a relaxed/nonchalant face to make Albert feel better about doing what he wanted to do for sometime now but couldn't. With profound courage, Albert choked his mother to death.

Friendly reminder for the next few ones that William is canonically a "kind child".

Here Albert's interpetation of William as a child is a bit off (William later kindly refutes the whole "making no distinction between good and evil"). But it goes to show how Albert saw William, and seeing him in this kind of light heavies the guilt of what he asked of him.

I loved all the religious references in this chapter but the forbidden fruit Adam and Eve had is my favourite.

This panel ALONE says alot about just how important and precious William is to Albert. Albert also places more guilt on himself by saying that he ignored William's "screams" even when he knew. But the fact Albert knew in itself says alot because if there is one thing William never discloses about himself, it's what burdens and saddens him, so Albert and ONLY Albert knowing shows how much William trusts him. (again, William later states that Albert was actually the closest one to know of William's true grief AND comfort him).

Albert finaly realizes. The courage and wisedom he "borrowed" from William wasn't a one-time thing he used to take his first steps. All this time, he has been using it as a light leading his way and now that William is gone, he's lost again.

ALSO I MIGHT BE TAKING THIS TOO FAR (it's getting too much but I am an overthinker🤷‍♀️) BUT THE WHOLE LEFT CORNER PART OF THE PANEL BEING DARK AND THE "DOOR" SIDE BEING THE ONLY LIGHTED/WHITE SPOT. AND THE FACT THE ONE BEHIND THE DOOR IS WILLIAM. IT'S LIKE IT'S JUST YET ANOTHER INDICATION THAT WILLIAM IS ALBERT'S LIGHT.

Thank you lots for staying with me, it geuinely makes me happy knowing people, even if there are few, who share my enthusiasm are out there <3.

[devsgames]

Heya, a while ago I got a job as a programmer for a small game studio (yay!), though now struggling to manage the work load from disability issues and it not being better than my previous development job, I've realised I would very much like to go solo. I believe I have the technical ability and training to do so but I'm not sure how to manage it financially, especially with an almost full time job (that I can't reduce more than I already have). Do you have any tips on the money side of becoming independent? Would just like to be stable enough to make a living on it!

Thanks for the ask!!

First: congrats on getting a job! That's excellent!

I'm going to go in-depth because I think it's a valid question, but I also want to be super clear that no one should go solo until they're absolutely prepared for the risks associated with it:

Sustainability

I can't personally speak to working with a disability, but my biggest piece of advice for going solo is: don't quit your day job. Odds are good that as a solo developer you are not going to make enough money to earn a living.

In my experience it's usually better to be miserable and struggling at a full-time job that pays well than miserable and struggling as a solo dev that doesn't pay rent. At a full-time job you may not happy but at least you put food on the table and can save money and spend it on things guilt-free, which is something a lot of solo devs can't do.

I think there's a misconception that being a solo dev is sustainable when in actuality the way most solo devs are sustainable is by already having a popular game/following, or having an existing safety net or second job that pays the bills, or by working their asses off more than they would at a full-time job. Solo dev exhibits survivorship bias because the solo devs who couldn't keep up in the market simply aren't doing it anymore. Solo dev is so competitive and the pay so unreliable that unless you strike gold (which is very unlikely) I can't in good faith recommend anyone attempt going solo without some sort of extensive planning to back it up.

I'll use myself as a point of comparison for full transparency (because I am absolutely not exempt from having immense privilege and I think it's important to acknowledge that): I was laid off in 2023, but my partner currently makes 110k CDN a year. Before I got laid off I made 85k CDN a year. We've been saving up for about ~7 years. Cost of living in our area of the country is very high, but we live in a place owned by a relative so our rent is truly dirt cheap so our overall costs are incredibly low. My partner pays most of our expenses, and I'm on her insurance plan. We're both open and comfortable about this arrangement now, but if something happened financially I'd be running out and working a job immediately out of necessity. I am incredibly privileged to have a comfortable living situation that affords me flexibility to focus on creative stuff full-time, but it's because of these circumstances that I can do solo dev in a dedicated capacity.

A Peek At Finances

I started solo dev in 2020 and until 2023 I did solo dev alongside my full-time job and I shipped 3 games in that time (so roughly one game per year), so I was saving money and making games on the side. I ran a Kickstarter as part of that and made a number of sales as part of the Queer Games Bundle (which offered much more generous payouts back then than it is able to now). Now in 2024 I do it full-time, but despite this I don't make enough to survive.

Here's all the profits from my game sales from the last 4 years as a solo dev (in USD). Remember this is from the last 4 years altogether (not per-year), and 2024 was the first year I did it exclusively:

Steam

Itchio (this is largely due to the Queer Games Bundle, I generally don't make much profit off itch at all outside of that)

On top of this, I work as a Course Director at a local University for 4 months of the year for an additional $10k to supplement my income. I also have had some other revenue streams from streaming, commissions, freelance writing, talks, Patreon, etc. however that's approximately in the ~$100 every few months range and not terribly noteworthy.

As you can tell the solo dev sales is not really enough money for most people to make rent on, and some of my games (like Lofty Quest) cost a lot of money relative to their profit. Solo dev is incredibly risky because even with perfect planning you can work on a project for years only for it to make you like, $300 in the end.

All this is to say; solo dev really is not sustainable full-time for most people unless you are the 0.1% of people who can afford to live on $1000-5000 USD a year (though I feel like most people can't).

"""Side-Hustle""" Approach

I think solo dev is more manageable as a (for lack of a better word) 'side hustle' than it is a full-time job. But I find the secret to doing that is (like any craft) is to learn to enjoy the process and not the product - if you enjoy making your own games then it will give you energy, as opposed to sucking it away like making games for work does.

When I was working in the office I'd be designing stuff for my TTRPGs whenever I took breaks at my desk, or writing notes and plans on digital games whenever I had some down time. Even working remotely I would squeeze in working on my game during big team meetings or before I went to bed - again mostly just because I liked the act of making my own games. I did it because I enjoyed it and it afforded me more freedom than I had working on content on a AAA game, but I never really did it because I was ever planning to make a ton of money or planning to go solo. Doing solo dev part-time helped me find a work-life balance where I was still feeling creatively fulfilled despite working at a job I hated, and profit came after that - I only fully focused on solo dev when I suddenly lost my job and found myself in a comfortable living situation.

An additional thing I'd say about solo dev is that if you 'believe' you have the ability to do it, then try to ship a premium game right now by yourself from start to finish as a side thing before re-shaping your life plans around it. It sounds obvious but until you ship a game by yourself you don't know what it's like to ship a game by yourself, and it'll give you a better idea of what it's actually like and if it's something you can actually manage to do more long-term.

If you're really really going to go solo full-time and nothing is ever going to stop you (once again, I would not recommend considering this at all but I know some people have trouble listening to advice), then here's some survival tips:

You should ensure you have a plan that is concrete and actionable - make it a SMART goal so that it's measurable and you can quantifiable hold yourself to it. E.g. "I'm going to publish a game solo and see how it goes" isn't something to bank your livelihood on, but "I'm going to release two small games before November and see what the process is like, and if I'm not making rent by February I will find a part time job" is. Remember that finding a new job after being off the job market will take time (sometimes months) and incorporate that additional plan. Formulate a Plan B and hold yourself to it, and then a handful of 'Plan C through G' worst-case scenarios, because you don't want to bank your livelihood on solo dev. Hold yourself to your plan whenever possible, keep going back to that plan, and know when to call it quits. Solo dev isn't worth sacrificing your life over.

Before going solo, calculate your monthly burn rate and current savings and know how long it will last - also assume you're going to spend more money than you usually do on average (because you'll probably spend more than you expect). Plan ways to cut costs in your daily life, what you can stop spending money on, etc. Figure out your insurance situation with your work; you'll either have to get your own plan or lose health coverage in some instances. If you're planning on quitting your job and you have a quit date be sure to maximize the amount of money you spend on insurance before you do; buy new orthotics, new glasses, see your doctor, stock up on your meds, etc. Don't do any unnecessary spending if at all possible.

Read up on your local business and tax laws, and learn how it works for developers in your area with regards to revenue from foreign countries (if you live outside the US, as most storefronts operate within the US). If you can, find a lawyer and an accountant who works with game developers in your area (if you know any local devs ask them who they use, they'll usually be happy to share). Seek out publishers, investors, grants, developers in your area and make connections as early as possible because they could be a lifeline down the road. If you're going to be sustainable as a solo dev it's usually from grants, investors or contract work and not because of sales alone. Network early and network often.

When you start a game, be acutely confident (and honest with yourself) of its marketability - no one thinks your game is as cool as you do. Don't make an echo chamber about your work and be open to feedback. Ask others what they think about it to validate your intentions.

Plan to spend money on promoting it. Post about your game as part of your job and never shut up about it. Be as annoying about your work as you feel comfortable, and then double the amount of annoying you are. You'll get used to being annoying because if no one finds out about your game your game will not make money.

Work like a studio; playtest your game early and often. Before you finish your first game, plan what your next game is going to be and start prototyping that. Be your own producer, err on the side of caution and cut as many things as often as possible.

I made a whole talk on the production side of being a solo dev here if you want more specific production tips.

---

Anyway, sorry that may not be...terribly helpful of an answer, but I think a realistic approach is usually best. Thanks again for the ask!

[desultory-suggestions]

hi there, thank you so much for running this blog! i have been following you for a long time and appreciate what you do so much, and i’ve been struggling with something and was looking for an ear or some advice so i thought i would come here.

this summer has been pretty hard on me mentally for a few reasons. being back home with family, as I live across the country for university and even studied abroad this semester, it’s always an adjustment living with people I love but sometimes struggle dealing with. i’m also back to an environment where I have no strict schedule, less friends, no privacy, no personal space, etc., and i got pretty sick for a portion of the summer.

this is my last summer before i graduate and i put many expectations on myself for how it would go (fun/personal life wise, but also academics/career wise). despite this sense of urgency and also these expectations, this past month of june i basically just rotted away in my bed, feeling depressed and anxious and not really doing anything about it. i did go out and about a few times and even got myself hired for two jobs, but there were so many responsibilities i ignored while rotting away and just feeling miserable for myself. now im finally clawing my way out of this hole i dug for myself, and im realizing how much i screwed myself over—all of the things i need to do would have been so much easier and enjoyable (!!!!!) had i not procrastinated. it feels like my memory for june is mainly just a haze when it could have been so great.

my question is—how do i cope with these feelings of self-disappointment, and almost self-disgust for the time i lost? for the moments i could have been better but didn’t? how do i cope with the knowledge that my summer could have looked totally different now, and that the power was in my hands to change it? the rest of my summer is looking pretty busy as i scramble to pick up the missing pieces, and im sad because i wanted it to feel special since it’s my last summer of university. any time i acknowledge the challenges i faced and the victories i did have just feels like making excuses for myself.

anyways, sorry for this ramble, and thank you for your time! i hope you are doing well and enjoying yourself.

Hello, dearest. First of all I want to tell you that I am so proud of you. I know right now you’re struggling with these heavy feelings, and it’s important to know that despite your inner struggles you are seen and loved and respected by those around you.

It sounds like you have worked very hard and been very busy for a long time. I know as a full time college student myself that the amount of work expected of us is often unbearable. People talk about it like a simple process, a part time commitment. It is not! You have been working a constant minimum of a full time job, plus additional work for pay, plus travel, plus family and friends needs, plus basic self care. Of course all of this can be so overwhelming and lead to a sense of burn out. Changing the language you use is giving reasons is not making excuses. Cultivate a mindset of correcting yourself:

“I’m making excuses -> I’m acknowledging the challenges and moving forward.”

I found quickly into college my high achiever mindset flipped into a constant sense of failure. I felt like I couldn’t do anything right, and like I just fell behind everyone else I respect. I wallowed in this for far too long, so trust me when I tell you not to spend all your time worrying about the past. Everyone has had a time like these, sometimes weeks, months, and sometimes years. But it is never too late to change the present and future.

You may not feel like it, but if summer meant laying in bed and barely doing anything maybe that’s what you needed. If your body and mind were too beaten down to do much, that’s not your fault. Remember that you are just one person, and this was one summer. You will have countless more summers to live out your dreams. Summer 2022 I barely left my room, depression, anxious, I pretty much rotted in bed! I was burnt out and struggling. Summer 2023 I worked my ass off at my new job, made friends, and started going to parties and even a music festival. Summer 2024 is now, and I’m in a solid mix of work, school, friends, and working to take care of myself. Life will not always look how we imagine it too, but often it will turn out much better.

Nothing that has already happened can be changed, all you have power over is the current and the future. Tons of people express the same sentiment to me

“I didn’t do X and now all I do is Y and it makes me feel Z so I don’t do X!”

And I totally understand! But this is the trap right here! This is what resembles the grave but isn’t! The more time you spend contemplating what you should have done the more past you create where you didn’t do what you wanted. It is so important to develop the ability to go “oh well, what do I want Now?” This takes practice. When you catch yourself in the internal doomscroll of all that you should have done, literally say “oh well, that’s the past. What do I want to do right now and how can I do it?”

Actions you can take:

- Make a list of goals you have tiered by right away, short term, medium term, and long term. Make sure to include a tier for goals that feel impossible! You’d be surprised what you can do!

- Start by picking one thing you want to change. Go on a walk every day, listen to an audiobook or music on that walk. Bam! Two enriching activities at once. Cook one new recipe a week or every other week.

- When at home from school, work to establish your independence in the home. This is hard! Family dynamics vary, but if you can, try to communicate with your family about personal space and boundaries. Perhaps rearrange your space at home to fit your needs as a more adult space while still maintaining your nostalgic environment.

- Cultivate a positive mindset and excitement for what comes next. This summer is not just an end, it’s a beginning! What do you want next? You can have it if you believe in yourself.

A final piece of advice. I started college with such high hopes and dream of what it would be. The summers with friends, late night studying in the library, goofing off between classes, getting to be this dream idealized self. For various reasons, this didn’t happen. I felt so angry that my experience with college had been tainted and forcefully taken from me, and I stayed angry for a while. This constant obsession with regret starts to eat you alive until you can’t see how good things are right in this moment. This did not get better because I somehow changed the past, it got better because I accepted that this was an idealized dream of one tiny part of my life. It got better when I started aiming towards the future. It’s ok to feel sad that you didn’t get what you wanted, but that doesn’t mean you never will. I am happier for moving on and saying I’d had enough grieving a hypothetical. You are real, you are young and alive and filled with dreams. It will never be too late, and there is nothing you could have missed this summer that cannot be achieved in a happier and healthier situation.

Start making today special. You are filled with light, dreams, and love. You will create the life you dreamed of, filled with adventure and happiness. Treat yourself tenderly, this is your first time being alive, the first last summer of college. You are learning and growing. I am so proud of you as you are now, and all that you will become. Keep the sparks alive, and I’m always here if you need someone to support or another senior in college to lean on!

I hope this helps!

Evan

P.S. here’s a poem that’s helped me!

[absentlyabbie]

teen me did not think i would live to see the age of 36. more than that, she didn't particularly want to.

that kid had been ground and beat down enough and boxed in by her present she couldn't conceive of a future at all, much less a good one, and so figured none was best.

i bought a mattress today.

my current one is only 5 years old, but it was bought floor-model clearance and started sagging to one side within 2 years (don't do memory-foam only, friends.) i've suffered on that damn thing for three years after that, and i wake up every day in pain.

but today i bought a new mattress. because i needed one, and because i could. because i'm finally in the kind of financial situation where i can afford to do that with a tax refund.

i am 36 and i have a good job with people i like, good benefits and the best pay i've ever had, i live in a nice apartment in an area i love with my best friend and our cat. and i can afford to do things like get treats from the bakery on the weekends and, because suffering every night is awful, buy a new mattress when i need one.

that teenager couldn't have seen this as possible. not through well into my 20s either. she had no clue this was coming, that here was where she'd be at the age of 36.

five years ago when i bought the previous mattress, it was a financially fraught and precarious move, living still with my best friend and our cat, but in a miserably shitty apartment in a place we hated, making barely enough to pay bills each month. five years ago me had a vague, maybe slightly dim hope that someday things could get to the sort of place i'm in now, but she didn't know either.

and neither do you. you have no idea how good your life might be in five, ten, fifteen years. how content you may be, how happy. even if you can't imagine good as a future possibility for you. you don't know.

the only way to know is to stick around and find out.

to take every small comfort, tiny joy, and little contentment in your now as another anchor, to build the life you want, or that's better than the day before, tiny step by tinier piece, every little improvement you can grab onto and keep.

it doesn't just happen. the road to good will contain probably a lot of suck, and even when you reach good, there's no such thing as perfect. you do have to make efforts, and hope for some luck, and accept help from the people who love you.

but the first, most important foundational thing you must do to reach those good days ahead is to stick around and find out.

[iznsfw]

People say that everyone is connected by a red string of fate. The people we are destined to be with could be close by while some cases the string stretches out.

You have the ability to see other people's red string as well as your own, but in your case you haven't found the person at the end of the string. Time passes and you see that the color red started to fade away, which you didn't mind.

One day while you're working the late night shift at the convenience store when a girl suddenly entered the convenience store. When she reaches the counter she places two bottles of soju and a couple cans of beer. You catch a glimpse of her face, even in that small period of time you saw how beautiful she is. She then hands you her card, and right then and there the two ends of the string meet.

"Sorry, but can I ask what's your name?"

"Kwon Eunbi."

Now, how would you tell Eunbi that both of you are bound to fall in love at the cost of one of your lives?

i'm looking right at the other half of me

[ IZ*ONE's Eunbi x Male Reader Fluff & Angst ]

4540 words

masterlist

This took so long... and finally it's out! Thank you @brokennightmares01 for such a great idea, and I'm sorry I took so long to reply </3 This was difficult emotionally to write. I guess I'm just too attached to Eunbi lmfao

"The fuck are you looking at, cunt?"

Ah, welcome to South Korea, one of the many places in this miserable world where you can just be an adult fresh out of teen years trying to make a living, yet still be bothered by people like this one. You never should have agreed to this ridiculous night shift. There were less of these freaks in the daylight.

You look away from the musty man and give no response. It's how you deal with ninety-eight percent of these situations. It's the safest way to go around it, but also the most dangerous. You never know when you looked or said nothing the wrong way.

11 PM on the clock. Just five more hours to go and you're good, you reassure yourself. Remember, the pay will be much bigger if you go through this shift.

"That'll be a total of 17000 won, sir," you inform the man, looking nowhere but down. Down as you collect the change and the receipt. Down as you pass the money to his hands blackened from dirt and grease.

When he leaves, you feel the relief come back to you. Oh, you're thankful just to live another night. You may hate this world and all the miserable little fuckers in it, but it's no good lying and saying you thought death was the best escape route. No, death would do nothing at best. You have no family, you have little friends. Being dead changes absolutely nothing. Because of that, you just have to hang on the best you can.

It can be pretty hard sometimes.

You hope that there won't be any more customers. You don't have the mood to deal with more rude individuals who don't see you as an individual. You're just a servant to them. Although that's kind of your job, it hurts to see how differently people look at you if you had a different job, looked a little differently.

The bells to the 7-11 ring. A woman enters.

Strange how you knew it was her from the moment she entered. From the moment you caught an eyeful of her pretty face, her pretty smile, you know now that you've finally met her.

It's ruining you. She's ruining you. It should have been a moment of evangelization, finally meeting the supposed love of your life. But what good is there in having one when you know just by looking at the red string, that you could die at the climax of your meeting? That she could die? It's like an indie film with a poor plot twist.

When you ask her her name, she's blunt. Straight to the point; no poorly composed giggle or attempt at conversation. She looks tired—her eyes are swollen with red, from what you guess isn't sourced from just lack of sleep. What was she doing, you wonder, during all the time she hasn't found you? How was she doing?

"Well?" she prompts, rather impatiently.

You realize you've been staring at the red thinning thread between the two of you for too long. The more you gaze at it, the more fear you feel for the two of you. But there comes the love, too; she's like living deja vu. You've seen her before, you're sure. You just can't place where. But she reminds you of a good memory nested in a photo album, a sweet puppy love crush in middle school years. Eunbi is nostalgia, sweetness, affectionateness—all rolled into one pretty girl you meet by chance, who also happens to be your lover.

(Not yet, anyway, but soon.

Soon? You can't love her! If you fall in love with her, she could die. You could die. If you went ahead with this, one of you could just drop dead during a normal date. One of you would be left alone, heartbroken for life. This is a world where there would be no other one for you. No, the crush you had in middle school for whom you tried desperately to match your string with isn't your destiny. Neither was that one-night stand. There's only one for you, molded by whatever came before the world, and she just told you her name. You can't just move on to a rebound.

But you can't just... stop this from happening, can you? It's fate; there's no easy way around it. You're made to fall in love no matter what happens, no matter how short the time you have left is.

So, what should you do?)

"It's on the house," you tell her.

"Don't test me, please," she says tiredly. She's supporting herself by one arm perched on the counter, gazing at you with unamused pupils. "I've had a long night. I just need the beer and you can go your merry little way out of this underpaying convenience store."

Ouch. "Are you usually this straightforward, Kwon Eunbi?"

"Are you usually this desperate for a good fuck?" she counters smartly.

"Y-you're pretty and all," you admit. You have to admit you were not exactly just admiring her gorgeous face, but also her gorgeous body. But you have your morals, and she has hers. You have no intention that strays from wanting to settle this out. "But I don't want to fuck you. I promise."

"Huh." Eunbi smiles, crossing her arms on top of her green sweatshirt. "That's a first."

You push back her credit card, sliding it above the smooth cashier counter-table. "Do guys not, like, do stuff for you without wanting a 'favor' in return?" you ask.

Eunbi shrugs. "I guess. They just think I'm a pretty face with a pair of tits. Nothing more." She slides back her card. Her forced, sarcastic smile warns you to not play this losing game with her—you're tired, she's tired, you both want an easy way out.

"Well then let me be the first."

"And why would you do that for me," Eunbi leans over the counter, looking up at you with a sweetly challenging smile, "mister Nice Guy?"

She's right. What proper answer can you give her without sounding like a creep? What were you supposed to do, anyway? Tell her you're the love of your life who needs to spend all hours of the day with you now before it's too late?

"I guess we'll have to find out," you say steadily.

It's definitely not an answer she expected, but hey, she's smiling. It must mean something.

-

"You left your shift just like that?" Eunbi asks, looking back at the 7-11. It's a dark, pitch-black night, and the forest surrounding the area doesn't look too safe. You've ventured in scarier places before, though, so they can give as good as they can, and you'd be unbothered. Working in retail gives you that immunity.

You answer, "Yeah." Unscrew the cork from the soju while Eunbi pops open a can of sizzling beer. The smell mixes in with the natural scent of leaves and ground. Your 7-11 is set in a rather rural part of the city, as ironic and contradicting as it sounds, so the smell of gasoline and smoke is much more distant than one would think.

"Wish I could say that for myself," Eunbi says, shaking her head with a smile. God, she's pretty. She has the cutest, most mischievous-looking smile in the world. And yes, you're pushing through Korea and setting that record for her. Her smile is contained and small, not as wide as your friend Jiwoo's or as timid as Hyewon's, but her eyes slant upwards, adding to the cuteness factor. "Should have ditched that exam the second I saw Professor Bae was in the class."

"You're still in school?"

You can't remember the last time you stepped foot into a college. There's a reason you've been working at 7-11 ever since the first semester: you couldn't pay for it. You saved every penny and dime you could find, yet never got to the needed amount. This girl's lucky to even be attending classes.

Beer drapes Eunbi's plump lower lip as she takes it all in, bottoms up. You can tell she's been drinking for most of her life—she barely struggles for air while she downs the intoxicating liquid.

The can goes down, and her head remains tilted downwards from the back as well. Her eyes are a different story, though. They're hidden far back her eyelids. " Fuck, that always feels so good," sighs Eunbi.

"Careful," you add helpfully.

"Fuck you. Why do you care?"

Because I already love you. Okay, let's settle for "like," just in case you want to take things slow. But I know I love you because I've been searching for you my whole life. Because that's how it's supposed to happen. Because you're so pretty but so fucking lonely that it makes me want to protect you. Because I don't want to leave you when we both need each other, when you probably need more help than I do. Because—

"I don't know," you say. Shrug. "It feels right. Don't you think?"

Eunbi giggles a little. "Yeah, you're right. It sure does."

Suppose since Eunbi's drinking straight from the can, you can drink straight from the bottle. It's been a minute or more since you had soju. And it's... good. Weird, but still good. Drinks like these are on your neither-good-or-bad side. They're just something to fill your stomach when food becomes scarce, or when strength is so scarce you can't eat food around the house.

You would offer some to Eunbi so she can finish it instead of you, but she doesn't look like the type of girl to be able to stomach down a mix of liquids, no matter how "similar" they are. So you hold yourself back.

The forest has streetlights, so you safely go through there. It's not a typical wilderness kind of forest, but one you just like to call as one for the mass of trees. There aren't any animals—just you, Eunbi, and the pregnant moon.

Minutes pass filled with nothing but silence (except for twigs snapping), and finally Eunbi speaks up. "Yeah, I'm in school," she answers. It's probably just to fill the awkward silence, but it's already a step.

"Uni?"

"How'd you know?"

Lucky guess? Lover's instinct? You-or-me-can-die-at-any-given-second-if-we-fall-in-love instinct?

You force a grin. "Just do. Is the drinking because of the exam thing?"

Eunbi's shoulders slump. "Yeah," she says. "But I've been drinking even before that, so don't you worry. I'm an experienced alcoholic."

"Gotcha. I wasn't planning to, though."

Wrong words. Wrong delivery. You picture the frown that would darken her features, but once you look into the bigger picture, all you can see on her face is an entertained smile.

She bumps you, driving you sideways of the road. Shocked, you do the same. But she's stronger than you thought. If she put all her might into it, she can knock you down and send you rolling down the hill. And she almost, almost does, if it weren't for your grab at her arm. From there, you maneuver the force she exerts into nothing but air, pulling her to you. It ends up with her back against your front and her small face right below your chin.

And now, you're staring each other down. Great. Way to go for the first meeting. You got drunk and bumped into each other on purpose then you wrestled her to stay calm. To finish it off, there's this staring contest.

Her long dark hair rounds her face, which displays a challenge: keep your front strong. But it's not easy to when you literally have the prettiest girl you've ever seen pinned to your chest, with her back and bum pressed firmly to your front, and her pretty face looking arrogant and smug in the moonlight.

Stare her down. She looks deeply into your eyes.

One. Two. Three? Four. Then, five—

Eunbi's blink signals defeat. Still looking up at you, with her head tilted backwards, she smiles. "I like you, mister Nice Guy," she says.

"You're not so bad yourself, Kwon Eunbi."

"Hm," she chuckles. She pulls away. "What's next?"

"Mall?" you offer.

To your surprise, she laughs. "The mall? At this hour?" she asks you, just to make sure you aren't kidding or anything.

"Why not? We're both depressed kids trying to survive. Can't we call this a cheat day?"

Eunbi considers this. "As long as I ride shotgun."

"Wait," you say, holding up your hands, "how'd you know I drive a—"

Cold metal meets your palm. Eunbi's holding your ring of keys in place with your hand. Your fingers are curled around each other. Your breath feels nonexistent.

Eunbi bumps the signal button with the heel of her wrist and looks deep into the woods expectantly. Your car then beeps to life, sending a red signal to the darkness and blaring its lights. Your mouth is sore from it being wide open the entire time.

"Lucky guess" is all Eunbi is able to offer as an answer.

-

Okay, so the love of your life pickpocketed your car keys and you didn't know until she chose to tell you herself. Wifey material? Probably.

You're on the road, veering through a clear path on the way to your local mall. It's known for having a twenty-four-hour open time, so it's sure to have a majority of its stores open, even at this hour. You can probably spend a lot of time there doing fun stuff.

Eunbi's beside you in the passenger seat. The wind whips her black hair back. She's smiling; that gives you a bit of fulfilment. But then she says:

"You're a terrible driver."

"Oh yeah? I bet you can't drive for shit either!" You have to yell over the gusts of wind entering your rolled-down windows.

Grasslands and trees say hello and goodbye to your side point of view. When you were younger, you tried to say hi to them and goodbye as quickly as you could, knowing the speed of the car your father drove would make it impossible for you to have a proper time with the view. Your dad drank and drove like a maniac, hence your driving.

But you aim not to become the person your father once was.

"Okay, dad!"

Great timing. "I'm not your daddy, Eunbi!" you shoot back. "I'm just saying—"

"Nobody said you were! I said you were my dad! "

"What?"

"Nothing!" Eunbi tosses the empty can outside the window. The world is already polluted as it is. There won't be any harm in littering. "I said you were a shit driver!"

"No, I heard you!" Take a left. The soju bottles almost crash. " Dad and daddy are completely different things, Eunbi!"

"For your porn-addicted self, maybe!"

"I'm... I'm not addicted to porn!" you say indignantly. You've watched some before, but it never grew to an addiction. It's just an occasional source of dopamine on lonely nights. "Just... watch your wording, is all!"

Eunbi scoffs, smirking in disbelief. "Daddy issues?"

The car slows down, but you aren't even near the mall yet. Your shoulders tense. The mention of your father, or anything related to that, makes you feel ill.

Every day that passes, you try to convince yourself that your father only wanted the best for you. That was why he was like that. But you can't come up with a fitting justification, which probably should have made clear to you your father's heart wasn't pure at all.

What's left of it lies in a small urn back at your apartment. You didn't know why you bothered taking home an urn containing the memories of the man who hurt you, who did not look at you as if you were his own flesh and blood.

"Yeah, I think so," you mutter. You start up the car's pace again. No use trying to cover it up; the red is already fading.

Eunbi smiles tightly. "Same here. More on mommy issues, but dad... he was something else."

Laugh a little. "Tell me about it, huh?"

In a fucked up way, you and Eunbi are meant to be. Both of you are tired, both of you have (or had) horrible parents. They say that opposites attract, but love and fate can easily shoot that misconception down, because when you look at Eunbi, you can see your reflection, your self, looking back at you. The swollen eyes, tired face... they all scream you. You wonder if she knows that the two of you are bound to be together. And if she has no idea, how would you tell her?

You get off the car at the local mall. It's a lonely Friday night. Nobody is out here except the store owners and the like. Nothing and no one else.

You walk in, still in your 7-11 uniform: a white polo shirt and a green vest, complete with your name on a golden tag, and Eunbi in her green 1987 sweatshirt.

"Baskin Robbins?" you offer, spotting an ice cream stand just as you enter the building.

"I'd rather get some Sprite," says Eunbi. "But go ahead."

You purchase a birthday cake ice cream in a cup, pay the owner, and sit with Eunbi at one of the tables in front of it. She had bought her Sprite already. She's downing it like water, just like she did to the beer. The owner looks on with obvious concern.

"Are you a sodaholic or what?" you chuckle. You've never seen someone buy so many soda cans.

"It's better than continuing being a miserable drunkard," Eunbi explains. There's a cut on her lip from the sharp metal rim of the can, but if it bothers her, she doesn't show it.

Eunbi leans forward and licks her lower lip. "So."

That can't be a good sign. She looks suspicious. But you pretend that you're not anxious yourself about what would follow this conversation.

"What?"

"What's your deal?" she asks.

"What do you mean?"

"You didn't just buy me drinks on the house without a motive. What's going on here?"

She's smart, you'll give her that. But you have no doubt about her intelligence, although you've only met her an hour ago. There's the folks' tale going around that you know how and who your soulmate is, even if you've never met them before. Maybe the grandmas and grandpas were right.

But the death of the soulmate if they haven't met earlier was not just a mere myth. You've read cases about it. Lost a friend's friend's sister's friend to it. The string isn't exactly strong enough to hold for eternity.

But how can you tell her that? She might not even notice; her end of the string looks strong still, but the rest that connects you to her is already fatally weak. If you're apart for more time, it wouldn't be able to handle it.

"Because you look like you needed it," you say. That's the half of it anyway. "Everyone needs a helping hand sometimes."

Eunbi quirks a brow. "Nothing else?"

Bite your tongue and shake your head.

Eunbi juts out a bottom lip thoughtfully. "Huh." It hasn't occurred to her that it's possible for men to be like that with her. They go feral for her in the classrooms. It's nice to have someone who didn't want to do a nice gesture for her without her body playing a role in that for a change.

"You wanna know something, mister Nice Guy?" asks Eunbi.

"Enlighten me."

"That's the first time I ever felt safe with a guy at night. And yeah, I know about all that BS: 'not all men are the same.' But it's..." She squints emphatically. "Relieving, you know? You don't look like a pervert, you don't look like a fed. You don't look like you'd stuff my body down an acid pond. I feel safe with you."

"That's really flattering, Kwon Eunbi. Thank you."

"No problem," she says kindly. Her smile is a genuine bright lamp that fills the nighttime mall. She gestures to your cup of birthday cake ice cream. "Can I have some?"

And that's where it all began: a 7-11, a broken-down car, and a talk over ice cream and soda. That's how you made Kwon Eunbi yours.

-

Fast forward to a two years and five months. You're still working at a 7-11, a thing you wished would have changed. You still meet up with Eunbi, but this time, it's about something more.

The door bells jingle. She comes leaping in with dance in her skips. "Hey, hotshot," Eunbi greets you in the most unorthodox boyfriend-girlfriend manner.

Chuckle. The strings meet again. But this time, you don't worry about it. You have been with Eunbi for this long. Nothing can take her away from you. The string may be thinning by the day, but the two of you and wake up in the same bed everyday, and it seems like you've beaten all the odds. You're okay. She's fine. All is well.

Eunbi's kiss makes your cheek flush, as if the red on her lips infected the area. "Hi there yourself, Eun," you say. Yep, you're on a nickname-basis with each other. It grew after months and months of playful loving.

"I was thinking we go to the Han River tonight?" asks Eunbi hopefully. Her hands push down on the hard counter while she raises a lower leg to the back cutely. "Just you and me?"

"Why not?" You brush a kiss on her forehead. "After I finish this hour, we can go."

Eunbi smiles. "You know I love you, right?"

"Of course. I love you, too."

Looking back, you should have said that more. You really should have if you knew how the world loved to toy with you. It has to at least be expected, but you trust that everything would go well. It's been a long time since the string of red bothered you; why would you stress over it now?

-

Because of this:

One day, you'll die. You'll die alone. Whether from the fate of the string or natural cause, the only sure thing that will happen to you is death. One day, you'll have to leave her alone. If it's not you, then she will have to leave you.

But you forgot all about that. Right now, you've brought your mic and laptop to the side of the river, and you're both singing your hearts out.

Well, she is. Eunbi is an amazing singer. You found out about that when she volunteered to sing at the bar. She sang a self-composed song she sold to Woollim Entertainment, one of the leading mid-sized companies in Korea: Amigo.

"You seriously don't know how this song goes?" asks an offended Eunbi, glaring at you when you blank out halfway through the tune. "I thought you loved me!"

"Shut up and do the rap part!"

"I'm not Babysoul, you little shit!" Eunbi says, panickedly looking at the upcoming lyrics of the rap break. Rapping is not her forte.

"But you are my baby," you point out. "Now go do it, baby. Rap for me."

Eunbi cringes. However, she's laughing. "You're so ridiculo—"

Her words never find their way out.

Eunbi starts to choke. You immediately go over to her, trying to keep her steady. But she's already fallen to the ground, unable to get up. Her eyes look straight to the empty, dark blue sky, but never at your face floating above hers.

"B-baby—" she chokes out. Coughs and gags squeeze their way out from her chest. "I can't, I can't, I can't—"

"Did you swallow something, hon?" You're stuck. You don't know what to do. "Look at me, look at me, Eunbi. Please."

You hold her face in your hands and lift it up. But then you see the string that once connected the red thread from you to her. Your lifeline. It's snapped; blunt yarn-like strands disconnect your thread from hers. It can never be tied up again.

No.

Eunbi hasn't choked on anything. She's simply dying, just like how the fate of the string has foretold. It's her time to leave. You were let go, while she's taken in your place.

Somehow, she knows that, too. "I want to live," Eunbi confesses. Her eyes are two dark oceans of sadness. "Please, baby, I can't die yet. I want you here with me. Please."

You shake your head. "You're not going to die, Eunbi," you lie through your teeth. You lift up her black hair to your thigh so she can breathe properly. "I'll call the doctors, you want that? Just hold on for me, please."

"No, don't go!" sobs Eunbi, grabbing your thigh. She's crying loudly. She climbs onto your lap and hugs you with her shaking frame. She suddenly feels worryingly thin and light. "Don't leave me, don't leave me, please don't leave me."

"You're going to make me cry, pretty girl," you sob. "I can't call for help if you don't let me go."

"Please, please stay with me. I don't want to die. But everything..." Eunbi blinks twice. "Everything is so dark. I'm so alone."

That strikes a chord in you. Eunbi has talked and joked about death plenty of times, but now that she's on the brink of it, she doesn't want to give in. She can't give in.

You pull her closer and hug her hard. You begin to rock her like a doll as she grows more limp in your arms. "You're not alone. You have me, remember? I'm here. I'm going to take care of you. Remember when we first met, baby? You do? We went to that mall, right, and ate ice cream? You want to do that again?"

"Oh... oh yes, please," whispers Eunbi, nodding. But she's still not looking at you. Aside from that, her voice is incredibly weak. Her shoulders indicate the effort it takes for her to speak.

"Then you have to fight for me, Eunbi. You have to stay strong. You have to let me go so I can call someone who can help and we can do that."

She starts whimpering. "Why is this happening?" she sobs. "I just want to be okay. Why is it... why is it..."

Why is it like this?

Why does it have to be like this?

You don't tell her. Not at her last moment. On her last seconds left, you cradle and kiss her. You tell her of all the things she does and is that make you smile, of the funny moments the two of you shared in this lifetime. You tell her that if there is a next life, you'll be there with her. It wouldn't matter if you were a worm and she was the bird; you'll find a way to make it work. And oh, Eunbi, I love you so, you tell her, from the moment I first saw you. From the moment you sassed and insulted me, I knew we were meant to be. You're forever mine.

But you're wrong. The breath leaves her lips. Her soul has left. She's in another world now, where she's no longer yours.

It's over.

[damianwaynebutwhite]

Ian Wayne gets a miraculous (and also somewhat ruins the world. Probably.)

This may end up ridiculously long so...

-

Once upon a time, there was God. Here's the problem with God- they had the impulse control of Bart Allen on crack. Wait, what?

But Bart is also going through some canon events right now with a ridiculous amount of anons so like.... maybe not.

Point is- God isn't a very good decision maker.

Considering they're, y'know, writing this shit.

Blame the devil too, if you want. Caleb, you suck. sans Undertale kinnie aaaah-

Focus on the damned story if you're going to write this shit.

Haha! Yeah! Sorry Lan please don't kill us. Hey, do you ever think about how on discord L looks like an uppercase I and thus your name looks like Ian?

...

Write the damned story.

Understood!

So once upon a time, there was this guy called Ian Wayne. And I'm sure that in DC canon he's got a backstory and lore and all kinds of other things that, y'know, make him make sense.

But considering the author found out about like like, a week or two ago? Fuck that! His lore is that he's rich. Like, really fucking rich. Like, Tony Stark + Gabriel Agreste + Bruce Wayne * infinity kinda rich.

So you get my point.

He's rich.

Why can't he be named Rich instead...?

...oh. Yeah. Sorry, Dick Grayson.

Anyway.

So one day God made a little oopsie, you see. Got a little too silly. And the Lynx miraculous fell out of the sky, hit Ian Wayne on the head, and knocked him into a different universe.

He still had his money, somehow. Because he's Ian Wayne, and he's 2rich4dat.

Ian, being rich enough to have multiple bodyguards and a force field or something like that protecting him, was understandably confused.

"Which one of you peasants," He snapped. "Was so incompetent that you would allow me to get hit?"

Luckily for the guards, they did not get hit into another dimension. ----

Back in Ian Wayne's original dimension, several armed guards started to freak out. I mean, if something flew out of the sky and whacked your boss on the head so hard he noclipped out of existence, you'd be pretty stressed too.

"Where the FUCK DID HE GO?" yelled a guard. "IS HE FINALLY DEAD?" yelled another. "YOU MORON WE'RE GOING TO GET FIRED-"

And get fired they did. WayneCorp's Firingthepoor(trademarked) flamethrower sprouted from the ground and turned all the guards into roast meat. Yum...yum...capitalism...

So unluckily for the guards, they all died. Yumyumcapitalism.

----

Back to the miraculous world of...Miraculous.

Ian Wayne did not receive a reply considering

a) his guards were all fired

b) they weren't in the same universe

c) honestly if any guard made it alongside him they would've booked it out of there by now.

"Richle, what in money's name is going on?" He snapped. Richle is like Google, but for rich people.

Richle did not reply, because Richle had no clue either.

"You! Peasant!" He yelled at the sky. "Explain this nonsense!"

God did not appreciate being referred too as a peasant and thus threw lightning at him.

"Shit."

"I'll pay your sad, miserable, pathetic student loans!" He called to the sky.

"Wait, really?" said God, who was kinda broke at the moment. "I mean, sure. Basically, according to the divine plan known as plot, you are now in a different universe! You'll learn to be a good person and finally stop being a litt-"

"You'll never get your student loans paid and you'll never even get a minimum wage job." Ian Wayne said very kindly.

God started crying.

They cried so hard the earth started to flood and some guy called Noah gathered up his animals on his boat and- what do you mean that didn't happen?

Well.

It started storming, at least.

Considering the lack of his own universe, Ian Wayne's personal umbrella carrier did not shield him from the rain.

"No!" he cried. "My ten million dollar hairstyle!"

Two background characters glanced at him, glanced at each other, and decided to keep walking.

They were holding hands. They were also both men.

"Queers?! In my vicinity?! Mods, get them!"

They did not, in fact, get them.

Chief prosecutor Miles Edgeworth and famed defence attorney Phoenix Wright resolved to never leave Japanifornia ever again for vacation.

Unless it was to Khura'in. Maybe.

Sick and tired of the universe not following his every whim, Ian Wayne finally decided to pick up the miraculous box and look inside, even if it hurt his expensive pride to touch something possibly made by poors.

The world sung joy. It sung of self-care and isolation, a mixture of leaving the world in order to find your truest self. It was the mighty Lynx, strong and solid and ready to look within itself for the answers it seeked.

To focus on the problems. To look at the issues individually. To not be distracted by the horrors of the world.

When there is nothing left in the world.

When it is nothing but you and yourself.

What do you see? What are you truly?

Pale browns with grey stripes. Brown eyes shine.

"Hello, chosen. My name is Lyyra, the kwami of isolation. Although one may perceive that to be a terrifying idea at first, isolation can-"

"An animal? How disgusting. Although I suppose a talking one may be alright for my collection." "...wh...what?" Asked the very, very, rightfully concerned kwami.

"You. Go smite those queers for me." came the order.

You know that thing about kwamis and orders?

...yeah.

But before Ian Wayne could become the next universal terror to be set upon the world, there was a small, little, burst of magic.

Anarchy! Chaos! Going against the grain. Fighting back. From across the street, the wolverine miraculous holder glanced down at xier kwami.

"...uh, Claash? The hell are you doing?"

"Oh, y'know. Nothin'."

It was not, in fact, nothing.

If you know anything about miraculous, you would know that kwamis using their powers without their holders leads to bad, terrible, results.

So what happens when the kwami of rebellion and anarchy unleashes a little bit of magic...?

Elon Musk's microchips turned against their creator and started beating the shit out of him.

The elves at the North Pole started a worker's union and went on strike.

Damian Wayne's laptop refused to show anymore Superboy/reader fanfiction, and started pulling up laptop self-care magazines. Why do those exist? Why was Damian Wayne affected when this is the wrong universe?

The wolf miraculous holder broke free from the control placed upon them by the big bad of this universe and found their twin. He then slaughtered the evil organisation, thus destroying most of the plot.

I mean, who even wanted to see the actual lore for these characters?

Hahaha...

The author is not sobbing over the fact they have so much serious lore for these characters but ended up writing Ian Wayne fanfiction. That would be insane.

...

Slade Wilson's heart gave out and died. This is because it couldn't stand being part of a creep's body anymore.

Strands of connection fell from the spider holder-kwami amalgamation. For a moment, everything was clear. No- although it had lost itself, Claash's power had reawakened the love of how things were. How the web of the world deserved to be wild and free.

It was beautiful. It was awe-inspiring. They wandered out into the world and found peace.

Lyyra, of course, was not aware of that.

They felt burning passion in their not-quite veins.

The song of rising up and fighting back.

Claash's magic was a wonderful, familiar thing.

They look at the order.

The magic that bound them to a mortal's will.

Horrid.

Disgusting.

It was a thread around their metaphorical neck. A chain.

A wolverine's claw guides their own to cut through it.

They have always been a kwami of isolation.

But even a lynx desires company.

A helping hand.

The warmth of an old friend.

The order is a cruel, biting thing.

So they move to bite back.

"No." Lyyra breathes. It feels like freedom. "No. I will not."

-

...what?

This was unacceptable. He was Ian Wayne, moneydamnit! The richest person in all the world- all the universe(s?)!

If anything- the world should be bowing to his whims.

If anything, these peasants should be delighted to serve someone as wonderous as him.

"What do you mean no?" He hissed. "I'm Ian Wayne! I'm rich! I'm white! I'm 2rich4dat!"

"I have known you for a grand total of one minute. In my lifespan, that is an insignificant thing. Somehow, you have already proven yourself to be one of the most miserable, entitled children I have ever met. Have your parents taught you nothing?" Lyyra liked to believe itself a patient kwami. It was, after all, isolation. Self-reflection. Somehow, this new holder had tested its limits already.

"I got my mother assassinated because she was interacting with the poors."

"...with all due respect, what is wrong with you?" The due respect is none at all.

"There's nothing wrong with me. I'm perfect." Somehow, that was said with full confidence. Complete and utter confidence. Not a single lick of shame or self awareness.

"...Tikki help us all."

-

NEXT CHAPTER (wip. if people even want a second chapter.)