#i literally just remembered it existed tbh. and it had been so long

[kithtaehyung]

would u? (3tan717) | myg

3tan717 drabble #1: would u? pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) series: masterlist | three tangerines | 3tan717 rating/genre: pg (18+) ; fluff ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: you see a certain fruit-centered trend online.. and decide to test it on yoongi note: i am so so so sorry this is out on the very last day of feb but things have been absolute bananas lately! tbh i’m surprised this is even getting posted on time and i have even more to do after this is shared but eff it shibal!!! note 2: as promised, this is dedicated to the people that submitted the answers i’m using for this drabble: anon, grapes / @yoongrace, and apryl @aprylynn for this idea hehehe! also i literally just finished this so it's legit unedited so i'm sry for any mistakes! off to go prep for events now! warnings: 3tan yoongi as always, working yoongi??, kitchen, period cramps suck but yoongi to the mf rescue drop date: feb 29th, 2024, 10:03pm est word count: 2.3k

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Ugh. 

Why does this have to happen every fucking month. Why can’t it happen every three? Or six? Or never ever ever? 

Groaning, you roll over, burying your face into the pillow on Yoongi’s side. 

To some degree, you feel placated, probably due to his scent still lingering next to your dismay. He had to get up early to finish a track, but he assured you can be in the room. 

You can hear a little bit of what he’s working on as it bleeds through his headphones, and even just this sliver of sound gives you chills. Not just because of what it sounds like, but the sole fact that Yoongi’s letting you even listen in the first place. 

Huffing out a bit of amusement, you remember the last time Yoongi let you stay while he worked—albeit at his place while he went to the studio. 

Damn, how much you’ve grown since then. All those memories, those quiet times and tumultuous times, everything leading up to now. How time has molded you with knowing hands. 

However, no matter how much has changed all these months, some things have not wavered, like the fact that you needed to be sure he was okay with it—and his answer making you absurdly shy. 

Did he really have to say that you’re either staying or he’s gonna leave? That scheming motherfucker! 

Some drum beats hit your cheek before you realize the menace himself is playing multiple different ones. It’s only a couple hits before he moves onto the next, and you’re about to lift your hea—

“Fuck, where the hell is that kick?” 

Your laugh is stifled by cotton. As tickled as you are to hear Yoongi like this, you don’t wanna do anything to distract him. 

But by doing so, that causes your body to tighten and fuck, it hurts. It hurts to move, it hurts to laugh, it hurts to just exist. God, you want him to come back and join you so bad, but you don’t wanna be that person. 

…Yet. Maybe if it gets so bad you can’t even sleep? 

“Found you! Fucking finally. Thought you could hide from me, huh?” 

Oh, fucking hell, he’s adorable. 

Yeah, there’s no way you’re making him drop everything right now. This is too precious of an afternoon to stop. 

Exhaling a mile long breath, you fight through your pain and feel for your phone, groaning as you shift yourself. When in position under sheets and warm sunlight, you cycle through apps as a distraction. 

Scrolling. Scrolling. Smiling at some animal videos a bit before scrolling again. 

After all of five minutes, you start to see a trend on your feed, and suddenly get the idea to try it on Yoongi. It’s simple and harmless, right? 

You [3:30pm]: would u peel an orange for me 

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, and you lift your head slightly to see if he looks at his phone. 

When he does, he checks it really quick before setting it back down on his desk, back to clicking on his screen. 

Ah. Damn. He must really be in the zone because… 

Uhh. 

Blinking, you watch as Yoongi rolls his chair out to get up, setting his glasses down and heading out of the room with a light swing of his chains. 

Uh. What just happened? Did you upset him? You’re so stunned that his swift exit has you wanting to get up and follow him.  

But ow. Ouch. It’s maddening how much your cramps are getting to you. 

Bearing the punches to your gut, you start sliding out of the bed, straining and sucking in sharp breaths just to stand and pull Yoongi’s comforter over your tension. 

Padding out the bedroom, your worries make your steps tiny and heavy, and you regret sending that text because you literally just said you weren’t… gonna…

On the dining table—quiet—lie three tangerines, peeled and placed next to vibrant scraps while your lover peels a fourth with diligent, devoted hands. 

And you can’t even form words that match how you feel. 

Your vision swims right as Yoongi looks your way, his body stilling before he puts the fruit down. 

When he approaches with concern, you answer his silent questions through hiccups, “I—I thought you left cus—you were mad.” 

“Huh?” 

“I don’t even know,” you swallow, gesturing to all of your lower half and feeling him hold the slipping blanket. “It’s just… this, I guess.”

“Does it hurt?” 

“Like a motherfucker.” 

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry, doll. Hold up.” Handing you the comforter, Yoongi goes to his cabinets in the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of medicine before walking it over. “You gotta take something as soon as you feel it. Don’t let it get this bad.”

“I know,” you groan, resting your head on his shirt and inhaling his healing presence. “I didn’t wanna bother you.” 

Your forehead is kissed. “You’re not bothering me. Especially with something like this.” 

���Okay.” 

He walks away again to grab some water, and you watch as he pours some into an electric kettle before starting it up. 

Glancing back at the fruit, you sigh, clutching the bottle of pills while feeling the weight of his comforter. He’s probably not pleased with the way it might drag on the ground, so you gather it and pick the end chair to sit on. 

And then you sigh, “Sorry for making you peel those. I didn’t even plan on eating anything.”  

“Too bad. You’re gonna eat what I make you anyway.” 

Wait, he’s cooking? He has work to do! “You’re working, though. Don’t worry about me right now.” 

“It’ll be quick.” 

“What are you making?” 

A glass bowl and pan are procured from random places before Yoongi blinks in place. “Uhh.. You’ll see.” 

As he clunks them onto his counter and stove, you watch with hearts for eyes as he bustles around the kitchen space. Even doing things as simple as washing his hands, opening his fridge, and simply grabbing a knife gives you pause. 

And this is when you realize that you can watch Yoongi do absolutely anything and be amazed. 

Even when he stands, watching you with a look that’s wait why doesn’t he look—

“Take the medicine, baby girl.” 

Oh. 

Snapping out of your trance, you nod. “Sorry.” 

Yoongi continues to give you glances until you swallow down the painkillers, satisfied enough to continue his cooking venture when you take the second one. 

As the sun paints the apartment in marigold and light, you keep watching with a smile as he brings the kitchen to life. Butter sizzles in a pan, tangerines are getting halved on a board, and something is getting mixed with a whisk. 

Who knew that the neighborhood fuckboy would have a whisk on hand? Not the younger you, that’s for damn sure. 

But here Yoongi is, in the flesh, whisking away with veiny forearms that have you thinking the most absurd thoughts during this time of the month. The only thing that would cut through the raging horniness would be getting up to see what the hell he’s making. 

It’s starting to smell familiar though. But he put the tangerines in the pan so you don’t even know what to expect right now. 

Walking up—blanket left behind—you observe the kitchen before peering over his broad shoulder. “Mm.. Smells like pancakes.” 

Yoongi doesn’t answer, but when you see the consistency of the batter, you realize you’re correct. “Oh, it is! I’m smart.” 

“You are,” he laughs. “But you didn’t get it all the way right.” 

“No?” 

“Nope.” Yoongi then gently gets you to move before he pours the batter over the slices, and you crane your neck to watch as he evens it all out. “Just one tangerine pancake.”

“Oh, okay,” you scoff, earning a laugh at your side. “Whatever, chef.” 

“We’ll see what you say in a bit.” 

Is he gonna leave it or flip it? Probably the latter. 

“K. Gonna flip that once it’s done.” 

Nice. You smile to yourself, loving how you’re starting to really be on the same page. Nudging him, you keep watching as he lowers the heat and sets the lid on the pan. “What now?” 

“We wait,” he responds, dusting his hands together before cleaning up his mixing bowl. “And I’m gonna see if we have any sugar.”

Damn it, Yoongi cannot keep saying that two-letter word. It’s starting to be detrimental to your health. “I can help.” 

“S’ok,” he assures, nose upturned. “Just watch me work.” 

“Oh, I’m very good at doing that.” 

At this, Yoongi turns and gives you a smile that immediately reminds you of summer, and you almost feel like crying again. 

“I’ve actually never tried this, but. We’ll see if this works.” 

With nothing snarky, or teasing, or fake to say, you reply with a smile and a genuine, “I’m sure it will.” 

When he keeps staring, his eyes lower to your lips, and you don’t care that you probably look like a wreck, or feel like one. Because the way he’s looking at you now makes you glow. 

If only the kettle didn’t decide this was the moment to stop boiling. 

You were probably about to get the kiss of your life. 

But Yoongi halts in his tracks before shifting to get a mug, setting it down with a thud before checking on the pancakes. Pancake. Whatever that delicious-smelling thing is gonna be. 

“There’s some tea packets in that right drawer. Help yourself cus I’d rather you pick.” 

Chuckling, you oblige before scooting over. After seeing a small jar of granules on the counter, you start rummaging through the drawer, exploring the various options while hearing the sound of a plate behind you. 

Ah, Yoongi’s flipping it. 

As you turn, you’re just in time to watch the muscles in his back protrude through his shirt as he flips the pan, impressed as he sets the plate down because holy hell that looks great. 

“Sugar, sugar, sugar… Suga, suga, suga.” 

Laughing, you interrupt his silly search as you grab the jar you just saw. “Suga suga, how you get so fly?”

Yoongi stops to see what’s in your hand, and he huffs through a grin before grabbing it. “Thanks, doll.” 

You keep humming the song that’s now wedged into your head as you watch him sprinkle bits on the pancake. 

“I don’t have a blowtorch,” he admits, “But I do have this.” 

Rolling out a drawer, Yoongi takes out a long lighter before holding it to the sugary top, humming the same song you were just singing without even knowing it. As the sugar slowly but surely heats, you both keep humming and basking in a calm afternoon. 

And you don’t even feel the pain anymore. 

“Go ahead and sit, babe.” 

“You sure?” 

“Uh huh.” 

Following instructions, you make your way to the table, cocooning yourself in his comforter again as you await the cutest meal you’ve had in weeks. Months. Lifetimes. 

Speaking of lifetimes… You hope every version of you meets every version of him. No matter when. No matter where. Because you want every version of yourself to find happiness, and Yoongi has been the one to help you finally find it. 

And he certainly passed whatever the hell this orange theory thing was supposed to be. 

Plates are set down to break you out of introspection, and you glance up with eyes sparkling. 

When Yoongi raises a brow, you just smile. When he asks what’s gotten into you, a chuckle escapes before you shake your head, 

“Nothing, baby. Just didn’t expect all this from that text.” 

As he plops into the next chair, you love the way the sun settles on his skin. Highlights his hair. Shimmers in his eyes. 

“Don’t even need to ask, babe.” He captures your attention with a calm look. “I was waiting for any distractions anyways.” 

So this was for him, too? Good. 

Grabbing your fork, you giggle. “Sounded like you were having a little trouble over there.” 

“I was! This is what I get for not saving my shit.” 

Both of you sit back in laugher as you throw your hands out. “Do that!” 

“I’m lazy!” 

“Tough shit!” 

“I know!” 

Grinning, you loll your head before waving your fork out. “You’re gonna save those sounds, and you’re gonna remember this day and thank me.” 

Yoongi just tightens his lips in a smile, eyes creased and glimmering. “Maybe.” 

“Yes. I’ll stand there and watch you until you do it.” 

"Really.."

For the rest of the afternoon—with full bellies and clear minds—you rest on the edge of Yoongi’s bed, forcing him to find the files he needs and watching him groan his way through saving everything. 

Constantly laughing at the ridiculously random names he’s assigning them.

When he’s done, you watch as he spins around in his chair, heart thumping with anticipation as you’re met with a waiting pair of eyes.

Breathtaking. 

When he leans in, you feel incredibly shy. Always, always, always. This will forever remain the same.

And—just as well—Yoongi's kisses will forever taste like tangerines. 

Three of them, to be exact. 

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fin. :)

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how did the first 717 drabble go! | join the discord hehe

a/n: nothing much to say other than i love y'all so much! i will try responding to anything when i can (there's literally still all the 3tan12 feedback to get to) but i do read all the commentary sent in and it keeps me going strong :'))) so thank you again for being here and being amazingly patient with me. off to work on more things but i shall be back once the wild weeks are over!

a/n 2: suga suga how you get so flyyyy hahaha

[bunnywabigheart]

HASAN NSFW HEADCANNON PLS ANYTHING WORKS!!

ask and you SHALL receive!!! i’ve been a longtime hasanabi fan, and I’ve heard WAYYY too much into about this man’s sex life you’ve picked the right person

- you’ve known Hasan since 2020 but you two only started OFFICIALLY AND PUBLICLY dating in like march/april/may 2023

- and if you had KNOWN the dick would be THAT GOOD you DEFINITELY would’ve confessed ur feelings earlier

- you’ll be seeing sex through a WHOLE NEW LENSE

- from dating for maybe like three weeks you already know what makes Hasan “break”

- anytime yall are out with friends? teasing. IRL stream he can’t end abruptly just to fuck you? teasing. halloween? forget it you might as well just wear a bikini because we all know that costumes being ripped APART

- your lowkey obsessed with his hands oh mannn

- and bestie…if ur into cosplay better start running (I remember one time he might’ve said something abt being like addicted to roleplay??? BUT DON’T QUOTE ME ON IT)

- he is going to want to fuck u IN cosplay

- literally thinks you’re the most beautiful thing ever to exist

- tbh you blow all his ex’s AWAYYY (am I projecting…? okay fine I am a little bit lol)

- but fr you really do he looks at you like you created the universe

- and I’m not saying you’ll be “addicted” to his dick bc “addicted” is a strong word but idk

- during his streams you’ll be bursting in and being like “heyyy whatcha doing?”

- trying to watch and engage in whatever he’s watching, trying your best to tease him without getting a TOS violation or banned, etc., etc.

- him trying to shoo you away with a stunlock but then coming to see you during a “pee break”

- y’all spend at least ten minutes going at it

- chat going like “bro is taking a long ass piss 💀”

- comes back sweaty af, hair messy…yeah we all know what happened buddy you can’t fool us

xoxo,

bunny

A/N: I’m so sorry I couldn’t get more requests out I’ve been so busy with school and shit and haven’t been on tumblr or even watching many of Hasan’s streams lately :’( but here’s my present to u ily all see you soon!

[theetherealbloom]

NO COMPLAINTS | JOEL MILLER

No Complaints | J.Miller One Shot

Summary: In the peaceful town of Jackson, life seems stable. Ellie has found some sense of belonging, but for you, life remains a constant struggle due to the trauma you carry. You've faced loss, isolation, and danger, and you're not sure where you fit in. That's when you cross paths with Joel Miller, a man with a haunted past and a heart hidden beneath a tough exterior.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 8.5k

Warnings: Age-Gap (Late 20s - Early 30s) Angst, Hurt-to-Comfort, soft!joel, suicide ideation, Almost SA (dw nothing gets that far), Assault, Abuse, Blood, Injury, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Panic Attack, Slavery, Ellie and Joel had talked through their problems and everything is ok so no golf =D

A/N: This fic by @familyvideostevie titled “the meaning of it all” inspired me to write again after a long-ass writing slump. Literally, go read all of her fics cause they're just THAT good. Tbh, I’m not sure if this was even good to post since I’ve been out of practice. This one is a little darker than my usual writing, idk how it happened… it just does… so remember the trigger warning ya’ll!

Song: No Complaints by Noah Kahan

MAIN MASTERLIST

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

You always thought that you’d find peace in never being awake long enough to feel anything. You lay there staring at the red marks on the hillside and the sharp grooves in the bark of the trees, and you couldn't help but wonder how you got to be in this desolate spot. Your feet, which were now exposed and rough, bore witness to a difficult journey.

All you knew is that one moment, you were fighting for your life from a group of raiders a few miles North, and you ended up where you lay. Had it been minutes? Hours? You weren’t sure as your vision was blurry and hazy, only saw the bleak white winter sky, you could hear crows cawing in the distance as you were freezing, and the snowflakes were on your lashes as you lay there in the snow.

Memories were a blur, time a mysterious riddle. One second, you had been immersed in a life-and-death conflict with savage captors who had enslaved you many kilometers to the South. In the next, you were in this desolate, snow-covered setting, with no clear explanation for how you had arrived. You saw the world through hazy glasses, your eyesight clouded, and all you could see was the stark winter sky, pure and cruel. As you lay there, a lonely soul in the middle of the cold wilderness, the eerie cries of far-off crows provided a haunting tune to your frost-chilled daydream. Each snowflake rested sweetly upon your eyelids.

A ghostly mist danced in front of your eyes with each breath, a whispered reminder of life's fragileness. You tried to relish these fading moments with every exhausted breath out. You felt tired and under pressure from having survived for a long time. You had endured the storm for a long amount of time, seeing pathetically as those you loved died, leaving a thick veil of grief, guilt, and unremitting agony in their wake.

You ached for relief, an end to the never-ending agony that had become your daily existence. During those last seconds, as your eyes closed like a curtain shutting on a world of hopelessness, you heard the muted voices of a group of strangers and the distant sound of galloping horses. A lone figure towered above you, their voice a beacon crying for assistance, while the warmth of your own tears blended with the chill on your cheeks. 

“Please… make it stop,” you gasped, the words escaping your trembling lips like fragile whispers, hanging heavy in the frigid air. "I just want it… to stop." And with that, at that very fragile moment, you gave yourself up to the gentle embrace of the gathering darkness.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

How you awoke unfolded gradually, like the faintest of whispers. First, a parched throat and chapped lips stirred you, and then the sensation of the plush pillow cradling your head, the yielding mattress beneath, and a soft blanket cocooning your form.

Your eyelashes fluttered as you hesitantly blinked awake, and an immediate panic surged within you, constricting your chest. The world around you was unfamiliar, and a gnawing uncertainty clawed at your psyche. Was this a new iteration of hell on Earth?

A relentless drumming, your heartbeat, echoed in your ears, and your vision swirled with chaos as you scanned the alien surroundings. You used your forearms to hoist yourself from the bed, your chest rising and falling with the rapid pace of your breath.

Then, the door swung open, revealing a man in a pristine white doctor's coat, clutching a clipboard. "Oh, you're awake," he began, but your question cut through his words like a knife.

"Where am I?" you demanded, urgency coloring your voice.

"You're safe," he assured, though the reassurance felt as hollow as an echo.

Driven by an instinct you couldn't fathom, you sprang from the bed, the IV drip yanked free from your left hand, a sharp sting preceding the rush of cool air against your skin. Barefoot and resolute, you pushed past the doctor, racing down the dimly lit hallway, your footsteps echoing in the empty, sterile corridors.

With a beating heart, you reach the end of the dimly illuminated corridor and see two enormous doors. With bated breath, you lunged forward, pushing them open and preparing yourself for whatever horrors could be behind them. You expected to be in another harsh and terrible location where the only things that remained consistent were torture and cruelty.

To your astonishment, you found yourself in a simple, wintry town. People of all ages populated the snow-covered streets. Elderly residents chatted quietly on porches, and children giggled and played, their rosy cheeks contrasting with the chilly air. The adults turned in surprise at your unexpected arrival, their faces mirroring a mix of curiosity and concern.

From behind, the approaching doctor and nurses shouted, their voices filled with alarm. In the midst of your confusion and disarray, a strong pair of arms encircled you, causing your instincts to scream in fear. 

"Let go of me!" you cried out, struggling in the grip that held you captive.

A soft, heavy southern accent whispered gently in your ear, "You're okay... you're safe here. Ain't no one here gonna hurt you, darlin'."

Your fear intensified as you flailed and cried inside the confining hold. But you didn't notice the abrupt, stinging prick on your neck because you were too caught up in the chaotic mayhem. The environment around you became blurry and black in a couple of minutes.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The patrol had begun like any other routine, just another day in the relentless grind of survival. The plan was straightforward: coming across a few Clickers and eliminating them like they were just annoyances to be removed. What he had not expected, though, was to stumble across a lady who was on the verge of dying of hypothermia. 

“Please… make it stop,” you begged in a voice so soft and fragile, "I just want it… to stop."

Joel couldn't ignore the desperation in your pleas. He'd been there before, when the world had crumbled into chaos, and he'd lost his daughter. Back then, he saw no point in carrying on, until he'd met Ellie and endured the hardships alongside her. He found her, protected her, and now, he cared for her as if she were his own.

Joel stood there, just across the street from the clinic, his weary eyes and gruff exterior a testament to the countless trials he'd faced. Those brave enough to ask for the details of what had transpired a few days earlier, who he had discovered, were met with curt, direct responses, followed by an icy, hard stare. 

He'd assumed that Maria, Tommy, or whoever had been entrusted with integrating newcomers into Jackson would take care of you. So, for the past few days, he went about his life as best he could—patrolling, teaching Ellie how to play the guitar, constructing new homes, and restoring old ones.

But as he made his way to assist Tommy with yet another task, he saw you in the middle of the street, awake and in a state of panic, clad in your medical gown. His chest constricted with a sudden, unexplainable urgency, and without a second thought, he was sprinting towards you, clutching you against his chest in an attempt to ground you.

Now, you were back in the small room of the clinic, asleep due to the sedative they had administered. Joel sat in a chair beside your bed, patiently awaiting your awakening. He couldn't quite comprehend why he felt drawn to be by your side, to ensure your well-being. He closed his eyes, pressing both palms to his face, contemplating the reason he felt so adamant about your recovery.

Maybe it was the way he had glimpsed the hopelessness in your eyes, a reflection of his own prior misery. The way you had pled, already having given up on yourself, touched a chord within him. He understood that sensation all too well. Despite the plethora of sins he had committed, perhaps aiding you was a chance for atonement, a way to make amends for everything he’s done.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

You stirred from your slumber, feeling the haze of grogginess envelop you as your weary eyes fought to open. Gradually, your vision sharpened, and you found yourself in a familiar place. This time, you weren't alone.

Across from your bed, a figure sat in a chair. His countenance was rugged, marked by the passage of time, a salt-and-pepper beard framing a face etched with the stories of his life. His presence exuded a rugged handsomeness, even as he raised a quizzical eyebrow in your direction.

In a deep baritone, his voice resonated through the room as he uttered the words, "You're awake."

You shifted uneasily on the bed and looked at him with wide, unsure eyes, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. His piercing look was enigmatic; you didn't know how to respond, so you decided to be quiet, entangled in a fog of uncertainty.

With a soft hum, he introduced himself, "The name is Joel… Joel Miller. What's your name, ma'am?" His voice carried an air of gruff kindness that gently nudged you to respond, yet you found it hard to meet his gaze. Your eyes darted everywhere but his, and you said your name in a shy whisper, leaving it hanging there like a delicate secret.

Joel's voice wavered as he began, "I'm... I'm not exactly supposed to be here, but I—" 

Your brows furrowed, and your eyes squinted with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion as you interrupted, "Then, why are you here?"

His words stumbled and faltered. "I... I don't—"

Frustrated with the lack of a clear answer, you turned your gaze away from him, your attention drawn to the frosted glass window on your left. Joel fell silent, respecting your need for space.

After a brief pause, you nodded toward the outside, your voice soft, inquisitive. "Is it real?" Joel waited for you to elaborate, and you continued, "There are kids playing in the street, no FEDRA, elderly being taken care of... it all seems so..."

"Normal," Joel finished your thought, and you snapped your head back to him, watching him nod in agreement. "Yeah, I couldn't quite believe it myself, to be honest," he admitted, clearing his throat. "Jackson is a safe place, a good community. They've got real food here."

A weary, exasperated chuckle escaped your lips as you felt a lump form in your throat, and your eyes grew watery. You hugged yourself tightly, seeking comfort in your embrace as you confessed, "I... I don't know what to do."

"We'll figure it out, darlin'," Joel reassured you, his words infused with a tenderness that pierced through his rugged exterior. It was a kindness you hadn't expected, a gentle ember igniting a glimmer of hope within you. Maybe, you began to believe, that life wasn't supposed to be a never-ending punishment after all.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Solidarity was something you thought was long gone ever since the beginning of the apocalypse, where the Infected had taken what they wanted, and the remaining people who survived will always be at war with each other rather than fighting the common enemy.

It took more than a few tries, but eventually, you got the hang of things, thanks to Maria and Tommy, and especially Joel and Ellie. Bits and pieces intertwined with time got you to understand them better and sometimes made you feel less alone. Your mind sometimes wonders how Joel and Ellie met, when Joel practically adopted Ellie as his own, or how they got to Jackson.

You’ve got a house that you have made your own, a bed, and a kitchen. You help give back to the community in ways that you can. You helped in the greenhouse, and the stables, and when you were finally ready, you went out patrolling with the group when you were up for rotation.

Initially, you kept to yourself, often skipping breakfast, lost in a peculiar silence that enveloped you like a shroud. It was a protective cocoon, a way to conceal yourself as if you were an isolated island adrift in a sea of people. The presence of others had always unnerved you, a lingering fear that refused to release its grip.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Taking charge of the stables for the month had its perks, especially when it came to tending to the horses—an undertaking that ranked high among your favorite chores. While two other residents were technically assigned to work with you, the majority of your time was spent in the solitary company of the majestic creatures.

In the quiet embrace of the early morning, just before the crucial handover to the patrolling team, you busied yourself ensuring the horses were well-fed and prepared. Running your fingers through Scout's mane, one of the older stallions, you continued the rhythmic task of brushing his coat, a tranquil hum escaping your lips.

"S'cuse me," a voice interrupted, and you jolted at the familiar sound. Turning your head, you found Joel, surprisingly up and about at this early hour. Mouth slightly agape, you greeted him breathlessly, "Joel, hi."

"Up early for patrol today... so... was wonderin' if you needed any help," Joel's gravelly voice broke through the quiet serenity of the stables.

You tilted your head, a subtle quirk of curiosity. The unexpected shyness emanating from Joel piqued your interest. Scanning him up and down, you suppressed a smile before nodding, trying to appear nonchalant despite the fluttering in your chest. "Um, sure... Could you feed the rest of the horses over there?"

He nodded in acknowledgment before moving with seasoned ease to attend to the horses, his hands moving confidently as he handled the feed and navigated the familiar routine of caring for the animals. As he worked alongside you in the quietude of the stables, the bond between caretaker and horses, and perhaps something more, unfolded in the soft morning light.

"How are you settlin' in in town, darlin'?" Joel inquired, his voice dipped in a gentle southern charm that sent a delightful shiver down your spine. The term of endearment he used left you feeling a sweet warmth spreading throughout your body.

You shrugged, a subtle smile playing on your lips. "Jackson is good, quiet, and peaceful. Never thought a place like this could still exist after... everything."

Joel's gaze lingered on you, and he couldn't help but note, "Well, it's got its charm. People here look out for each other. You included darlin'." His words held a quiet sincerity, wrapping around you like a comforting embrace.

Your eyes shifted around, a flutter of nerves settling in before gathering enough courage to meet Joel's gaze. You licked your lip nervously, and the words tumbled out, "Joel, I... I never apologized when I... um... first arrived here in Jackson. I'm sorry."

Joel looked at you, seeing the vulnerability in your eyes, and a softness overcame him. He offered you a sympathetic smile, "Nothin' to apologize for."

"You must have thought I was crazy," you lamely laughed, and Joel shook his head, his voice gentle, "No, not at all, just someone who's hurtin'."

You stared at him wide-eyed, feeling a phantom fear of tragedy as if he could see through you, still aware of any negative tendencies you may have. It evoked a sense of helplessness and vulnerability.

Then, a flicker of something in his gaze—a fire, a subtle intensity that caused warmth to spread across your face. An unspoken connection kindled in the quiet space between you, creating an inexplicable but undeniable bond.

Unable to hold his gaze, you looked away, clearing your throat, and tried to hide your smile as you continued to brush out Scout's mane. Joel smirked, watching you duck your head, proud of the way he made you react with just his gaze. The unspoken words hung in the air, a sweet tension that hinted at something more than apologies and simple conversations.

“So… what’s today’s patrol route?” You asked, trying to move the conversation, Joel walked over to you and finished feeding the horses, he stood in front of you and sighed, “Should be a quick one, makin’ sure there aren’t any infected or raiders nearby.”

Time flew by in the hypnotic flow of discussion with Joel before you realized it. His patrol partner eventually arrived, signaling the end of your stolen moments together. As you handed over the reins to Joel, a subtle thrill coursed through you when your hand brushed against his. A soft smile graced your lips, and you whispered, "Stay safe out there, Cowboy."

In response, Joel's steely exterior softened, and a rare, small smile played on his lips. He nodded, meeting your gaze with a warmth that transcended the casual camaraderie. "I will, darlin'," he affirmed, the endearment lingering in the air like a promise.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The kitchen at Jackson bustled with activity, and you were focused on the mundane task of chopping carrots for the evening's stew. Gemma, a fellow resident assisting you, had stepped outside to discuss some news with an acquaintance. The day seemed ordinary, a haze of familiar routines in the post-apocalyptic town.

But then, it happened. A deafening crash of the door bursting open shattered the tranquility, causing you to jolt in fear. Instantly, you were transported back in time, your mind torn from the kitchen and thrust into a nightmare you thought you'd escaped.

In an instant, you weren't in Jackson anymore. Instead, you found yourself in that dreadful place, that sinister basement that still haunted your darkest memories. It was as if the chains that once bound your ankles were clinking and dragging across the worn wooden floor again, just as they had back then. The echoes of your fellow captives' whimpers and cries resonated in your ears, the cacophony of despair down the hall of that wretched basement.

The room seemed to whirl around you, and a frantic panic welled up inside, a chilling flood of memories surging through your mind like an unstoppable tide. It was as if the past, a nightmare you believed you had left behind, had come crashing back into your reality. 

Your throat constricted, and tears welled in your eyes, blurring the faces of the people and the clatter of the fallen knife in the kitchen. You couldn't bear it any longer. You couldn't pretend that everything was okay. You couldn't ignore the haunting echoes of the past any longer.

Without a second thought, you dashed past the bewildered onlookers in the kitchen, their voices fading into a distant, indistinct hum. Your pounding footsteps carried you through the dining hall and out into the crisp, autumn air.

Outside, you continued to run, propelled by an inexplicable urge to escape. The scene before you spun as you sprinted past, driven by an overwhelming need to distance yourself from the nightmarish memories that had clawed their way back to the surface.

Reaching the stables, you sought refuge by pressing your trembling hand against the cool, aged wood of the railing. It was a familiar anchor in this moment of turmoil, offering some semblance of support as your chest heaved, each breath drawn in ragged gasps. Your other hand clung to your racing heart as if to prevent it from leaping out of your chest.

Overwhelmed by emotions too powerful to contain, you eventually collapsed to your knees on the straw-strewn ground of the stables. There, amid the scents of hay, horses, and leather, you allowed yourself to succumb to the tidal wave of anguish. It was a cathartic release, an outpouring of pent-up pain, as you wept for the horrors of the past and for the insidious trauma that still gripped your very soul. The weight of the past was crushing, and a foreboding sense of its unending presence gnawed at you.

Amid the silent stables, in the hushed serenity of the autumn afternoon, your sorrow reverberated through the air. The horses nearby snorted and shifted, sensing your distress. Through your blurry vision, you made out the form of your own horse, Spirit, a palomino, whinnying and restlessly pawing the ground. Even he could perceive your distress.

With a heavy heart, you surrendered to the overwhelming emotions, curling into yourself. You buried your head in your arms, seeking refuge from the maelstrom within.

Time was elusive in that moment of vulnerability, and you couldn't gauge how long you remained in that cocoon of pain. It was the gentle touch of someone's hand on your shoulder that finally roused you from your anguish. Startled, you jolted and flinched backward, your tear-soaked eyes locking onto the familiar figure before you. 

It was Joel. He knelt on the stable floor, his expression a mix of concern and understanding. His hands were lifted in a gesture of surrender, a silent assurance that he meant no harm. His voice, as gruff and comforting as ever, reached out to you with reassurance, "Hey, sweetheart, it's just me. Nothin's gonna hurt'cha."

You felt yourself wrapping your arms around Joel in a vulnerable moment as if motivated by an unsaid desire for comfort rather than condemnation. He hesitated for an instant, but then he threw his powerful arms around you and held you close to his chest. Tears poured easily into his flannel, his hold's warmth providing a haven from the cold.

His hand moved with a soothing rhythm on the small of your back, a gesture meant to calm the storm raging within you. In that quiet corner of the stables, amidst hay and the comforting scent of horses, you let out the pain that had long been buried.

Word had traveled through the residents about the outburst you experienced, reaching Maria's ears. Concern etched on her face, she went to check on you, only to discover your broken state in Joel's embrace on the stable floor. A shared look between Maria and Joel conveyed an understanding, a mutual acknowledgment of the solace he provided. Without a word, Maria nodded in appreciation before quietly walking away, leaving you in the tender care of Joel's comforting arms.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

Funny how it all fades away, the chaos of the world and the turmoil within, the very moment you surrender to Joel's arms. It's as if the universe aligns with the comforting embrace, reshaping the way it spins. You find yourself rearranged, your mind shifting, holding on a little tighter in the safety of your old age.

Your past, a fragile tapestry of pain, remains untold, hidden away from prying eyes. No one had ever asked, and the memories were not something you carried with pride.

Before you knew it, tears had given way to exhaustion, and you had surrendered to the solace Joel provided, falling into a peaceful slumber in his arms. Joel, unable to disturb your tranquil rest, gathered the strength to lift you with a gentle grace. Carrying you across the farmhouse they called home, he navigated the familiar halls with the kind of care one reserves for something precious.

In his bedroom, he gently laid you down on the bed, tucking you in with a blanket. You slept soundly, undisturbed by the world outside. Closing the door with a soft click, Joel rested his head against the wood, his tired eyes reflecting the weight of concern.

A voice sliced through the quiet, shattering Joel's contemplation. "Watcha hidin' in there?" Ellie's words caught him off guard, and he jumped, a whispered curse escaping him, "Fuck! Christ, kid, you almost gave me a damn heart attack."

Ellie leaned against the doorframe, her eyes studying Joel's worn expression. "Who's in there?" she asked, her curiosity tinged with concern.

Joel sighed, running a hand through his grizzled hair as he said your name, "She needed someone, kid. Don't worry, she's asleep now." He could see the questions forming in Ellie's eyes, and he continued, "She didn't need to be alone, not tonight."

Ellie's gaze softened, her understanding silently conveyed. "Need any help?" she offered, the bond between them speaking volumes in the unspoken connection.

Joel shook his head. "Nah, I got it covered. Get some rest, Ellie."

As Ellie retreated to her space in the garage, Joel turned back to the closed door, a silent vigil for the fragile peace within.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

As you deeply inhaled, the scent of soft cotton sheets enveloped you, and the plush mattress cradled your form. A gentle breeze wafted through the open window, causing the curtains to sway gracefully. Blinking your eyes open, your eyebrows knit in confusion as the unfamiliar room unfolded before you, a stark contrast to the one you had meticulously crafted as your own.

As you pushed yourself up, the blanket slipped off, revealing a scene that painted a portrait of the person who occupied this space. A guitar stood propped up next to a box of records, hinting at the melodies that might have filled the room. A clock, perched on the wall above a small bookshelf adorned with a multitude of books, ticked away the moments. The window, adorned with a closet nearby, allowed soft daylight to spill into the room, casting a warm glow on the carefully curated details that made this space unique.

Exiting the bedroom, you quietly padded towards the kitchen, drawn by the inviting aroma of breakfast and a faint hum in the air. As you entered, Joel came into view, focused on the morning task of preparing a meal. You said his name, but he tilted his head to the side, as if catching a subtle sound in the stillness. Eventually, he turned around, and a small smile graced his face, revealing the hint of a dimple.

"Oh, you're awake. Good mornin', darlin'. How'd ya sleep?" Joel greeted, his eyes warm and the kitchen bathed in the aroma of breakfast. The worn, well-loved kitchen table held evidence of countless meals, the scent of brewing coffee enveloping the space, and a charming clutter of ingredients spoke of a morning routine crafted by familiarity and care.

“I… I’m–”

“Before you start to apologize for shit that you can’t control, don’t,” Joel interjected, a wry smile on his lips.

Deciding it was too early for arguments, you settled for a small nod, and Joel mirrored it with an agreeing one, “Alright, good.”

You began, “Uh, then I should… uh, see myself out then um–”

Joel shook his head, “Not with an empty stomach, you’re not.”

“But I–”

“Let me take care of you, please?” Joel's request carried a certain weight, and you found it hard to resist. Politely nodding, you ventured, “Is there anything I could help with?”

Joel shook his head, “Just have a seat over there by the dining table.” You complied, the chair scraping against the floor before you settled, observing Joel expertly preparing a spread of plates.

The front door opened, and Ellie walked in with a bright smile upon spotting you. "Hey! You’re still here and Joel hasn’t scared you off yet?”

You began to reply, but Joel scolded Ellie, placing down plates and glasses on the table, "Ellie!"

With a sheepish smile, you told her, "Quite the opposite actually."

Ellie shot Joel a cheeky look as she stuffed her face with food, “Wow! Look at you, when did you become such a social butterfly?” Joel sighed, shaking his head, while you shared a chuckle with Ellie, finding yourself welcomed into the heartwarming banter of their unconventional family.

You three had a nice supper together in quiet companionship. Ellie finally got up from her chair and announced that she was going to hang out at Dina's apartment. Never one to pass up a chance, she gave Joel a playful glance and puckered her lips into a kissy face at him while you were busy with the dishwashing.

By the time Joel was done drying the dishes with a towel and setting them on the drying rack, you picked at the loose skin on the edges of your fingernails, nervously waiting for Joel to ask the question you knew was coming.

“Let’s go sit out at the porch and enjoy the good weather, watcha’ say darlin’?” Joel asks and you bring yourself to look at him and you just nod as you follow him outside. He opens the door for you and gestures to the seat that you take, Joel moves the table around and moves his chair closer to yours.

You inhale deeply, finding solace in the delicate dance of silence and the caress of a spring breeze that leaves goosebumps in its wake.

“Have ya talked to anybody?” Joel's voice breaks the quiet, and you turn your head to meet his gaze, a mixture of curiosity and kindness in his eyes.

“What?” you respond, caught off guard by the sudden question.

“Y’know, made some friends around town?” Joel elaborates gently.

“Are you asking if I have friends?” Your quizzical tone hangs in the air, and Joel huffs, “Well, you ain’t answerin’ the question, honey.”

A sigh escapes you as you weigh the words in your mind. Finally, you admit, “I like being alone.”

“Must be why you’re talkin’ to me so much,” Joel remarks with a smirk.

You meet his gaze, the warm sun highlighting the depths of his brown eyes as he looks at you. Shaking your head, you say, “That’s why I knew you were different. Because, for the first time ever, I wanted someone else’s company more than my own.” The vulnerability in your words hangs between you, suspended in the soft glow of the sun.

Joel's weathered hand envelops yours, a gesture that carries the weight of shared pain. "I’ve had 'em, the um, panic attacks," he admits, his voice a low murmur that echoes the haunting specter of those moments. "Feels like all the air in your lungs is gone, and you begin to feel like you’re drownin’.”

“I see her sometimes,” Joel continues distantly, his gaze lost in the depths of memory. You wait, the air thick with unspoken sorrow. “Sarah, my daughter. I lost her on outbreak day. She was only twelve.”

Your eyes well up, and you squeeze his hand in silent solidarity. "I'm sorry, Joel."

Joel shifts his gaze to his broken watch, a relic that marks the day and time when his world shattered when he cradled Sarah in his arms as she bled out.

“I got Ellie now, and she’s…” Joel trails off, the weight of his feelings for Ellie impossible to articulate fully. She's his everything, the reason to press on in a world that often feels desolate.

“I know,” you say, nodding in understanding.

“Talkin’ about it helps, y’know. Learned the hard way, almost lost her.”

Tears stream down your cheeks as the raw vulnerability in Joel's words resonates with your own pain. “I don’t want to just survive anymore,” you gasp, the ache in your chest palpable. “It hurts, Joel.”

“What happened out there, darlin’?” Joel asks, his voice breaking.

With a sob, you reply, “Nothing good. Nothin’ good, Joel.”

Then, the floodgates open, and you begin to tell an account laced with patches of short-lived joy and a frantic search for any opportunity at a better life. You spoke about the day of the breakout, the terror of seeing your parents die, and the passing of your siblings. You were taken prisoner by deranged and vicious raiders who took you to a basement filled with the deafening screams of violence.

You consider yourself lucky, spared the physical torment, yet the anticipation of it looms, a shadow of dread. "They should've just killed me then and there," you choke out, laying bare the scars that time can't erase.

A surge of anger courses through Joel's veins, an incandescent rage that echoes through his chest, resonating in the very marrow of his bones. The simmering heat in his head intensifies, a visceral response to the mere thought of anyone causing you harm. Every protective instinct in him flares up, urging him to mount a horse and embark on a ruthless pursuit, to track down those who dared lay a hand on you and unleash a torrent of violence upon them.

Yet, a rational part of Joel prevails. He recognizes the urgency of your need, the necessity for his presence here and now. Despite the molten anger that simmers beneath his skin, he restrains the impulse to act immediately. For your sake, he remains seated, the muscles in his jaw tensing as he clenches his teeth, locking away the fiery wrath that threatens to consume him. It's a fierce battle within, between the protective warrior ready for vengeance and the caring soul determined to offer solace. In this moment, he chooses the latter, for you.

The weight of your dreams presses upon you, vivid and haunting, every detail etched into your consciousness. "I've been remembering my dreams, more vivid than they've ever been, every detail and little thing. Every time I think about going back there to save the others I just… I can’t,” you admit, the guilt seeping through every fiber of your being. Joel kneels in front of you, a pillar of support, placing his hand on your knee.

“Let’s go inside, sweetheart,” Joel suggests, his voice a gentle anchor. You nod, allowing him to guide you back inside. Both of you settle on the couch, and Joel scoops you into his arms, a comforting embrace that shields you from the harshness of your own thoughts.

Sniffling, you pour out your heart, “I know I should have gone back for them, but I saw the opportunity, took it, and fought. I fought hard, and then I ran.”

Joel hums, a soothing melody that allows your tears to flow freely. “I thought… I was okay with the idea of dying, right there, in the snow, and then–”

“I found you,” Joel interjects, his voice a soft murmur.

You look up at him, eyes filled with uncertainty. “You found me?”

Joel's voice drops to a low register, his gaze steady on yours. “I found you during the patrol, freezin’ to death. Thought I didn’t make it in time.” The admission lingers in the air, a symbol of the frailty of beating the odds and the silent connection that kept you from falling apart.

You both stay quiet as you try to calm yourself down while Joel holds you, unable to form any response to the revelation that Joel saved you. You know you’re supposed to be grateful, but at the same time, you don’t feel that way. So you settle closer to him and Joel squeezes you a little tighter as if he knows what you are thinking, and there is no judgment, just pure empathy and understanding.

Eventually, you settle down and softly say, “I don’t know what to do,” Joel rubs a soothing hand up and down your back, “We’ll figure it out, darlin’.”

Then for the first time in years, that's when you could finally breathe.

 •───────•°•❀•°•───────•

As the seasons wove their tapestry of change, so did the fabric of your life, threading moments of lightness and warmth. Having shared the weight of your past with Joel, he became a steadfast presence, an anchor in the shifting tides of your existence. Ellie, too, became a companion in the shared journey of growth.

On a particular day, amidst the vibrant greenery of the greenhouse, you found yourself potting plants and tending to the garden alongside Ellie and another resident named Tris. The air was filled with the earthy scent of soil and the symphony of laughter as you engaged in the simple joy of gardening.

Joel, clad in his worn yet beloved flannel, entered the greenhouse, his eyes inadvertently catching the scene of camaraderie and playfulness. He watched, a subtle smile gracing his lips, as you and Ellie exchanged sweet banter, a dance of words that resonated with laughter.

Ellie couldn't resist a playful pun, and you responded with a burst of laughter, the sound harmonizing with the rustle of leaves and the hum of nature. The moment encapsulated the genuine connection, the shared language of laughter, that had blossomed between you and Ellie.

There had never been a label given to the unwritten relationship between Joel and you. It was a wordless understanding, manifested in the tender attention he paid you and the evenings you spent finding comfort in the round of his arms. There was a promise in the air as he held you tight, "I'll keep you safe, sweetheart." The words were genuine and reverberated through the unexplored areas of your connection, a song of love and safety that didn't require any further explanation.

 •───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The morning proceeded as usual, and the break of dawn illuminated Jackson's sanctuary with a hopeful glow. There was a small party of new arrivals, an expected but unusual sight, and the customary welcoming committee was called upon to assist them in becoming adjusted to the way of life in the community.

You and a few others started the annual task of welcoming the newcomers into the communal room that serves several purposes. A mixture of wonder and expectation pervaded the air as the newcomers experienced Jackson's regularity and warmth—a sanctuary amidst the chaos of the post-apocalyptic world.

You did your duty without thinking as the new faces moved into the shared dining room, where a shared meal was waiting. But at the doorway, something stopped you cold, a pause that went against the normal flow of the greeting.

And then, you saw him.

Recognition struck like a bolt, the back of his head triggering a flood of memories—the cadence of his voice, the grimy shirt clinging to his frame, the dirt-encrusted hands that bore the stains of a past you had fought hard to escape. Time seemed to fracture as you stood there, immobilized, your mouth agape and dry, eyes widened in sheer terror.

You could feel the weight in the pit of your stomach, a concrete representation of the eerie memories of abuse and torment. This could not be real. He was not allowed to be here, breaking into the safe sanctuary you had taken refuge in. Previously perceived as a haven of security, the shared area now seemed to evoke images of suppressed anxieties and bad dreams.

His eyes lock onto yours, and a malevolent grin creeps across his face, revealing a set of teeth that seem to glisten with wicked intent. The sight sends shivers down your spine, and an overwhelming sense of nausea threatens to consume you. In that moment, Maria's reassuring grip on your shoulder serves as a lifeline amidst the storm of dread that surges within you.

Her voice cuts through the dissonance in your mind, “You okay? You look unwell,”, her concern accentuated by the chaos unfolding around you. Yet, it's her inquiry that acts as the catalyst for your unraveling. A surge of panic propels you out of the scene, your movements fueled by a desperate need to escape the looming threat.

The world blurs around you as you sprint through the town, a disorienting juxtaposition of familiar faces and judgmental gazes. The echoes of a haunting déjà vu accompany your frantic run, amplifying the weight of your terror. Tears stream down your face, and your breaths come in ragged gasps as your throat constricts, a relentless grip tightening around your airways.

Staggering, you struggle to maintain composure, but the relentless onslaught of fear takes its toll. The corners of your vision blur, and in a secluded moment, away from the prying eyes of the community, your body rebels. The gut-wrenching sensation overwhelms you, and you bend over, retching as the trauma resurfaces in both memory and physical reaction. The ground beneath you bears witness to the aftermath of a confrontation with the haunting specter of your past.

As you slide down the cold, unforgiving wall, a shiver courses through your body, amplifying the stark reality of the present moment. The cool surface offers little solace as you fold into yourself, desperately clutching your knees as if they could shield you from the impending storm.

The air around you thickens with a stifling heaviness, a cruel reminder of the past that refuses to release its grip. Curling into a defensive ball, you hug yourself tight, as though this simple act could ward off the encroaching darkness threatening to consume you.

With your head buried in your arms, the world outside the fortress of your limbs becomes a distant, distorted canvas. The minutes unravel, each tick of the clock echoing the pulsating rush of blood in your ears. The simplicity of the moment clashes with the complexity of the emotions swirling within.

Seventeen again, caught in the clutches of an awful, horrible place that has become an indelible scar etched into the tapestry of your existence. The pain is not merely a memory but a living, breathing entity, clawing its way back into your present, rendering the passage of time meaningless.

The walls around you seem to close in, their echoes carrying the weight of your history. It's a stark reminder that the past, no matter how desperately you've tried to escape it, remains an unwelcome companion, haunting the recesses of your soul.

You feel the air thicken as he draws near, his presence casting an ominous shadow that seems to devour the feeble rays of sunlight. A cold shiver races down your spine, a chilling prelude to the encroaching darkness. His footsteps echo like ominous drumbeats, each one resonating with an unsettling promise.

"You thought you could escape, huh?" The words slither from his lips like venom, his voice a malevolent symphony that pierces through the ambient sounds of the surroundings. His gaze, filled with a malevolent gleam, locks onto yours, trapping you in a macabre dance.

Despite your mind screaming at your limbs to flee, a paralyzing fear roots you to the spot. The weight of your past sins, haunting and relentless, manifests in the figure before you. His form, etched with the scars of your shared history, now looms with a menacing intent.

"Did you really think you could hide here? With these people?" His tone drips with disdain as he gestures to the community around you. The tendrils of his threat extend beyond mere words, reaching into the very fabric of your newfound sanctuary.

Your breath catches as his words morph into a menacing promise. "I can take it all away, you know. Everything you've found here." His gaze shifts to the people you've come to love, their laughter and camaraderie now tainted by the looming specter of his return.

Nathan. A name, almost lost to the recesses of memory, surfaces in your mind – a cruel reminder of the scars he etched upon your soul. In this ominous confrontation, the echoes of your past reverberate with the sinister intention of reclaiming what he believes belongs to him.

Nathan's grip tightened around your arm, and you let out a scream, thrashing wildly to break free. As your nails clawed at his face, Nathan spat out a curse, "You fuckin’ bitch, I’ll kill you!"

In desperation, you tried to stand, but he grabbed your ankle, dragging you mercilessly across the floor. Your knee aimed at his face was thwarted, and his hands closed around your throat. The air in your lungs dwindled, and you kicked and screamed in a futile attempt to escape.

Feeling the switchblade in your pocket, you willed yourself to grab it. Flipping it open, you cried out as you stabbed him in the neck. Joel stormed towards you, anger etched across his face, but before he could intervene, you pulled out the switchblade, attacking Nathan with a frenzy of stabs.

"Stay the hell away from me!" you cried, each word punctuated by a vicious thrust of the blade. Tears streamed down your face as you unleashed your rage on the man who haunted your nightmares.

Joel, realizing the danger, moved swiftly. He pulled you away from the blood-soaked scene, shushing you and grabbing your wrist. The switchblade fell from your grip, staining the grass, and Joel held you close, shielding you from the aftermath of the violent confrontation.

Amidst the chaos, Joel's voice cut through, reassuring and protective. "Easy, sweetheart, easy. You're safe now." The echoes of your cries mingled with the distant sounds of Maria, Tommy, and others dealing with Nathan.

Maria's gaze shifted towards you, concern etched across her features. She turned to Joel and gave a decisive order, "Go and make sure she’s okay." Joel's response was a firm nod, an acknowledgment of his responsibility.

There was a hint of irritation in Joel's eyes as he escorted you home with an arm around your waist. It was an aging-related displeasure with himself for not being fast enough. But he was driven by desire to take care of making sure you were safe, and he brought you home with a strong sense of protectiveness. The atmosphere was tight, with echoes of Maria's instruction that spoke of the need to protect you from the horror that had recently occurred.

 •───────•°•❀•°•───────•

In the quiet confines of the bathroom, Joel tenderly cleans the cuts and blood on your skin. The sterile scent of antiseptic hangs in the air as he carefully tends to your wounds. His touch is gentle, a stark contrast to the harsh memories that still lingered.

Joel glances at you while he works, capturing your attention. Through the difficulties you've undergone together, you've built a mutual understanding and a silent bond. The air changes, as trust and frailty meld together at that one instant.

Joel stops and meets your eyes for a brief period. There is a tangible tension between you that none of you can deny. The air seems heated. He places the first aid kit aside and reaches for your face with his hands.

Without a word, Joel leans in, closing the gap between you. The touch of his lips against yours is a gentle reassurance, a promise that you're not alone. In that tender kiss, there's a quiet acknowledgment of the strength you've found in each other.

As the kiss lingers, the weight of the past starts to lift. It's a moment of solace, a testament to resilience and the possibility of healing. Joel pulls away slightly, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort or hesitation.

And in the quiet bathroom, amid the wounds of the past, you find a newfound feeling of hope, grounded in the connection established through endurance and the compassion of Joel's care. Joel smiles softly and says, "You deserve to be happy, darlin'. Let me take care of you."

As Joel continues to care for your wounds, a sense of calm settles within the small confines of the bathroom. The sting of antiseptic is a tangible reminder of the present, but you find solace in the fact that Joel is here, offering comfort and care.

He finishes cleaning the last cut, his hands lingering for a moment before he retreats. There's an unspoken understanding between you, a silent agreement that this moment marks a turning point. The ghosts of the past may linger, but the present holds a promise of healing.

Joel's gruff voice breaks the quiet, "You're a tough one, you know that?" A hint of a smile plays on his lips, a rare sight that warms your heart. You manage a small smile in return, grateful for the unexpected bond that has grown between you.

Leaning back against the bathroom counter, Joel lets out a sigh. "You've been through hell, and here you are, facing it head-on. I've seen folks crumble under less. You're stronger than you think."

The atmosphere shifts as Joel's gaze meets yours again. There's a question lingering in the air, one that goes beyond words. You realize that this moment is a crossroads, a chance to choose your path forward.

"You're not alone in this," Joel reassures, his eyes reflecting a depth of understanding that transcends the scars of the past. "Whatever you need, I'm here."

In that moment, you feel a surge of courage, a newfound strength that emanates from within. The pain of the past begins to lose its grip as you accept Joel's support. The familiarity of the bathroom transforms into a sanctuary, a symbol of resilience and the possibility of rebuilding.

As you rise from the seat, Joel watches you with a quiet intensity. You get closer as the uncovered pull between you becomes stronger. This is a turning point in your life when you realize that you are now in control of the two worlds you have battled to survive and are determined to rebuild.

Joel's weathered hands find yours, a comforting embrace that symbolizes the connection you've forged. The tension that once lingered now gives way to a shared understanding, a silent agreement to face the future together.

In the hushed bathroom, among the fragments of the past, you lean in, closing the distance between you and Joel. The kiss that follows is a testament to resilience, an affirmation of the strength found in vulnerability. It forms a bridge between the hope of the next day and the scars of yesterday as it becomes deeper. 

Joel pulls away, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt or hesitation. Instead, he finds a glimmer of determination, a spark that signals a new beginning. With a whispered promise, he says, "We'll face whatever comes our way, together."

With Joel right there beside you, you walk into that tiny, quiet room, ready to tackle whatever the world throws your way. Strangely enough, the weight of the world feels lighter with him around. No complaints from you—just a sense of readiness for whatever comes next.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

End Notes:

tbh, I blacked out while writing this--- so UH if there are any inconsistencies let me know! :>

[whyse7vn]

FUCK MARRY KILL -

[ot7 x reader]

GOLDEN OUT SOON

8 participants - 8 online

———————————

jin: just googled what champagne confetti means and wtf????

jimin: the fact that you had to google that 💀

namjoon: it’s been how long since the song came out?

y/n: wow jin ur really old as hell

💀💀💀💀💀

jin: IM NOT

hobi: bro had to google champagne confetti 💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀💀

jin: A LOT of people don’t know what that means

tae: a lot of old people 💀💀💀

jin: can you stop with the skulls

jimin: 💀💀💀💀

jin: i bet jungkook doesn’t even know what that means

jk: i do

why would i say it if i didn’t know it stupid

hobi: jungkook just called u stupid 💀

jin: bye

y/n: i’m turning evil

hobi: yesss feminism 💞💞

jin: how?

y/n: i just am

stay out of women’s business

jk: no guys it’s true she didn’t make me breakfast today 😰😰😰😰😰

yoongi: are you 5? why does she make u breakfast

jk: love

you wouldn’t get it

tae: i love an evil woman

they get me going

if you know what i mean

wink wink

y/n tell them what me you and namjoon did yesterday lol

namjoon: shut up

y/n: if you keep talking i’m going to block

you

tae: baby 💔

she doesn’t mean that guys

jimin: what did you guys do?

y/n: nothing important

hobi: i’ve decided that enhypen are my biggest enemies in life

I HATE THEM

jk: i love jikjin ❤️

namjoon: that was treasure

jk: no

namjoon: ok

jimin: what did enhypen do to you

hobi: exist

i’m not fucking with them

the vibes are off

and there are too many australians

y/n: isn’t it jake the only australian one?

yoongi: why do you know his name

y/n: because i’m nice and remember people’s names

hobi: i’ll literally kill jake like wdym oh naur??? like only i can say that

fucking bitch

UGH

i hate him

jimin: wow ok

namjoon: hoseok be the bigger person here they are kids

hobi: i’m skinny

bigger person?? absolutely not!

jimin: he kinda real for that idk

y/n: LMAO

jin: i’m saying fuck enhypen AND newjeans

hobi: literally

y/n: haters

jimin: NO FUCK NEWJEANS FOR REAL HAD ME DANCING TO ETA

LIKE I’M A MAN

jin: ha

jimin: what’s funny?

jin: 😚

jimin: i literally agreed with you idk why ur trying to fight me rn

jin: i didn’t even say anything

jimin: you didn’t have to

namjoon: ok both of you stop

jk: what if i was a giant meatball

yoongi: that’s nasty

tae: no cuz i get it

are you the meatball or is the meatball you

if you know what i mean

jk: i know

tae: no bro

we know

yoongi: ur sick

both of you are extremely sick

hobi: wish enhypen was sick

with the plague or something

y/n: that’s not nice :(

hobi: i would say i’m sorry

but i’m not

and i don’t lie

i just don’t

jk: guys can we cook rocks

y/n: no

jk: why not

y/n: they are rocks

jk: ok but have you tried

y/n: shut up

jk: yes

hobi: i could so play alexander hamilton

jimin: isn’t that the guy who drives the fast car?

jk: the fast and furious man?

tae: vin diesel????

yoongi: lewis hamilton you fucking idiots

hobi: i’m talking about the founding father

jk: what did ur father find???

namjoon: isn’t that an american thing?

jimin: finding fathers?

y/n: i can find mine

jin: so can i

and last time i’m checked i’m not american

tae: does america think koreans are fatherless?

yoongi: you act like u are don’t blame them tbh

hobi: no guys don’t you know the musical??

jin: about fatherless koreans?

jk: or the car man?

i thought that was a normal movie

did i miss the singing part???

y/n: omg didn’t jimin do a song for fast and furious??

jimin: OMG I DID

namjoon: wait i’m confused

hobi: lin-manuel miranda???

tae: wtf is that

jin: a sauce?

y/n: is that not the lip bite guy

hobi: YES

yoongi: give up hoseok

hobi: i have faith in them

yoongi: don’t

hobi: ur right…

jimin: anyways

tae: thinking hard rn

namjoon: i’m impressed

tae: thank you its the first time i’ve ever done this

i’m fucking with it lowkey

yoongi: go away

tae: can someone ask me what i’m thinking about

jimin: no

tae: since you asked i’ve got a really important question

jk: i’ll answer

tae: no you won’t

hobi: y/n do you want cookies?

y/n: PLEASE

jin: can i have some

hobi: no

jin: :/

tae: y/n

y/n: what

jk: 😍

tae: fuck marry kill

like out of us

rn

this shouldn’t be hard

y/n: ur right it’s not

fuck jin marry hobi kill jimin

tae: just fell to my knees

jimin: kinkyyyy

hobi: 🥺

jin: real!!!!!!!

jk: wait what

yoongi: lol

tae: clutching my chest

namjoon: would you all get a grip

tae: i have a grip on my heart

i’m having a heart attack

ohmygod

it’s fading to black

help me

beep beep beeeeeeeeeeeppp

(i’m dead)

yoongi: thank god

jk: y/n you can kill me yk?

won’t even be mad i swear

like fr

as long as ur thinking of me ha

idm!!!

y/n: but i picked jimin to kill

jk: oh lmao yeah!

you picked jimin

silly me lol

yeah

ur right lol

ha

jimin

yeah

jin: you wanna fuck rn lol?

yoongi: shut up

jin: ur mad

yoongi: i’m not

it’s just a stupid game 😂

jin: EWWW YOONGI JUST USED “😂”

i could throw up

someone kick him

jimin: when you kill me can you do it by strangling me

i feel like that would be the best way to go

namjoon: gross?

hobi: i think we should have a spring wedding that would be SAURRRR cute

y/n: NAURRRR ur so right

jk: ha ha

hahahahahahahahahahahahahaha

jimin: wow he’s insane

jk: i could die better than you

i would die instantly

i wouldn’t fight back

i wouldn’t struggle

i would just die

jimin: the struggling is the best part

namjoon: stop

yoongi: fucking freaks

tae: she’s in love with me i know it

y/n: did you not just have a heart attack?

tae: can you kiss me like yesterday

y/n: absolutely not!

tae: wow u want me so fucking bad

jin: yesterday?

jimin: let’s a have threesome

hobi: bro can’t count

jimin: no

i just don’t vibe with jin fr

jin: ur such a hater it’s crazy this is why she’s killing you

and fucking ME

jk: LOL

LOOOOOOOOOOLLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLLLLLLLLLLL

y/n: guys can we talk about rn gojo pls I’m feeling sentimental

namjoon: who is that?

y/n: sighs looks out window

yoongi: don’t let her start

y/n: gojo was a hero to many a enemy to some a teacher to a few but to me

to me gojo was everything

jin: already don’t care can you come over lol

y/n: you want an in person gojo explanation???

jin: if that is what people are calling head now absolutely!!!!!!!!!!!!

y/n: jin i could cry

i’ll be there 😭🙏🏽

tae: me and joon are here

well like more me than joon but he can come if you want

i’m here babe

pls

don’t go to jin

jimin: wtf are you talking about 💀

jk: she didn’t even kill me guys

wow

like

wow

she didn’t even kill me….

hobi: she married me

jimin: ur clearly not on her mind bro

jk: no ur right

why would i even be on her mind anyways

i’m just a stupid idiot that no one loves

or wants to kill

y/n: get a grip

jk: grip gotten

yoongi: ur all dumb as hell

y/n: don’t be mad i didn’t pick you

yoongi: i’m not

jimin: iM nOt

yoongi: she literally killed you stfu

jimin: so?? at least i was on her mind

jk: WHY DIDNT YOU PICK ME OHMYGODDDDDIDJDJJDJJz nxbsjsh

tae: ok but be fr did you forget how to spell my name y/n be honest

tae: my name is tae

y/n: i know!

jk: i thought it was taehyung?

tae: CAN YOU SHUT THE FUCK UP RN WE HAVE BIGGER ISSUES

jk: i’m sorry ur right

no one loves me

hit me in the head with a shovel

tae: ok LOOOOLLL but out of the remaining people who would you fuck?

y/n: joonie 🙏🏽

yoongi: u think ur so funny

y/n: ?

sorry for speaking my truth

jin: literally

tae: NAMJOON FR????

AFTER ALL I DID

and you pick the man that basically sat behind you the whole time

jin: wait

namjoon: taehyung

tae: WHATEVER

jin: waittttttttttttttttttttt

y/n: let’s not wait actually

jk: y/n are you sure you don’t want to kill me

jimin: shut the hell up

tae: AHHHHHHHZHSHSHSUDUDH

UGHHHHSYSZHSSBDBDN

YOU WANT ME

i hate life

you want me so bad

i know it

FUCK YOU

tae left “GOLDEN OUT SOON”

yoongi: wtf

jimin: wow

hobi: didn’t know it was that srs

jin: i have a theory

namjoon: you don’t

jin: no i definitely do

y/n: shut the fuck up

jin: wow u guys are nasty

yoongi: ????

jk: y/n did you change ur mind?

jimin kicked jk from “ GOLDEN OUT SOON”

—

tags: @piw6n @jvmisvu @birdie-vhs @kooksmilitarywife @hob3loveofmylife @jujubiism @bloopkook @ratchetpizza1 @myntalks @arloo00 @watamotee33 @y2kcy3brz @taiwan0618 @indigobsessed @freyadanvers @gguksbeloved @raetf @bbsantc @winuvs @medicinemybish @bxnnyhime @leleluvsbts @baetukki @zyaaaszn @thelilbutifulthings @yojaschill @k4ngelz @junghoseokshusband

[articdelilah]

ꕥWomen’s Dayꕥ

Happy International Women’s day!! I hope everyone had a lovely day today :] I thought this would also be the perfect excuse to write some demon slayer characters and what they would do for women’s days!! Also The internet NEEDS more Enmu content so I am here to deliver.

Warning!: Mention of spicy time (not in detail or anything), Muzan being a lil asshole (not surprising) and some very handsome demons. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!

Akaza

🌒

Akaza clears all his plans for women’s day!! He makes sure to have the day OFF. He finishes his missions on time and gets everything done before this day.

Literally always remembers and wakes you up with kisses on your face, gently murmuring “Good morning” as he sets a vase of flowers on the bedside table.

This day is so special to him, It’s the day he has an excuse to just shower you in love! Akaza makes this day like a second anniversary, He lives for it!

Silent late night walks in a forest near a river or stream, maybe a little picnic too^^ He admires the moonlight on your skin and the way you smile as you tug his arm to walk faster.

Chocolates, Flowers, Jewellery you name it! This guy is on top of his game and won’t let you down, Not like it’s even possible to be let down by Akaza BUT YK-

He’s your little puppy for the day! So cute

Akaza is so sweet 10/10 HUSBAND MATERIAL!

Douma

🌑

Okey so here’s the thing, Douma wouldn’t plan it. He probably forgot until one of his followers mentioned it or (if you have a calendar because lets face it Douma wouldn’t have one) He’d check a calendar and be like “Oh yeah!” *snaps fingers*

He’ll shower you with attention and love! His gifts include Jewellery and New clothes! If you like reading, Douma might find a way to get his sharp lil hands on a book you’ve wanted for a long time^^

I don’t think he’s such of a chocolates type guy though, That’s okey though! He makes up for it I promise!!

While he can’t eat normal human food, He’d make his followers make you some so he can munch on a human while you eat your normal food.

Unless you are a demon, then yippe! You share a human together 💖 So romantic

Douma is a clingy little dog (ignore that he is clingy no matter what day-)

9/10💖

Muzan

🌕

Muzan would definitely forget or perhaps he doesn’t really care?? Who knows.

Doesn’t see why it’s important. I mean, It’s not like he gets a ‘International Men’s day’ so he doesn’t see what’s so special in Women’s day (🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩)

Nevertheless, if he sees you upset about him not celebrating it then he’ll sigh and walk to your side, wish you a (Rather forced) happy women’s day and hug you. Muzan hugs are very rare, THATS HIS GIFT TO YOU

Don’t expect gifts. Don’t expect special treatment. Don’t expect worship. Don’t expect lovey dovey romantic dates.

It’s not like he doesn’t love you, Muzan loves you!! You are his Queen and he’d die without a second thought for you, its just that he thinks it’s stupid and its a waste of time to be upset about it.

-1/10. GET YOUR ACT TOGETHER MUZAN!

Enmu

🌔

I think everyone knows that Enmu treats you like a Goddess on the daily anyways but MY GOD

Maybe won’t give you flowers but his hands and eyes are all over you, He just can’t let you go for the whole day

He’s so sweet, He’ll do anything u say!! He’s so sweet it’ll make your teeth rot

You two probably share a meal of some sorts

Probably wrote you a poem for the occasion

If you are a demon, a picnic on top of the train is a must!! I wouldn’t recommend if you are a human though, Stream blowing directly on your face might cause respiratory issues-

Might turn a little spicy at the end of the night 🤭

9/10 GET YOURSELF A MAN LIKE ENMU (and pls gimme more Enmu fanfics I’m desperate 😭)

Kokushibo

🌗

Like with Muzan, He probably doesn’t remember. Infact, I don’t think he’d even know something like this existed. He won’t even notice until you confront him that it’s women’s day.

A bit confused tbh. Why is there a women’s day? What do you do on women’s day? Does this even exist or are you just trying to get him to pay attention to you? Is he supposed to give you something?

He’ll remember from that day on, Wishing you a Happy women’s day every year.

Maybe he’ll take you stargazing if you’re lucky

Give him loads of kisses! He’ll make it up to you by little gestures such as holding your hand or kissing your hand

6/10. Good effort Koku

Thank you so much for reading Sugar Cookie! Until next time!! Remember, Requests are open^^

[fatuismooches]

Random Dot analysis:

The interesting thing about Dottore is that while the most popular fanon about him is that his underlings fear him, canonically it's the complete opposite.

He deadass has an army of simps working for him, I had never ran into a Fatui NPC that has expressed fear about him, and instead they speak about him in reverence.

The most obvious one is during the AQ where a fatui agent expressed disappointment upon realising that Dottore would be leaving Sumeru soon, saying that he had only seen the lord once.

And it seems that Dottore actually talks to his subordinates often, especially when in the same conversation, the agents (who didn't know about the segment's existence thus not realising that they spoke to different versions of the Doctor) casually compared how their conversations went, one said that Dottore was dismissive while the other said he was all smiles.

The people who work for him are ridiculously dedicated, the fungi event with that one guy who for some reason - thought that a device that controls fungi would impress Dottore, he did all that to earn his recognition. (It would have been more impressive if the device controlled literally ANYTHING besides fungi, but eh whatever) Note: The guy has said in CN expressively something along the lines of "beloved/dear" lord, not the direct translation but it was affectionate.

Then there's that one dude who stayed behind after the (failed) aranara lure experiments, I don't remember much about him but I don't think he said anything bad about Dottore, other than saying that he had stayed behind because he felt responsibility to take care of the kids after subjecting them into a mission like that.

Cut to the two Fatui peeps on Mondstadt who gush about him after the Sumeru quest, and I'm pretty sure we met another fatui dude in the desert who decided to go against orders and go the extra mile of attempting to kidnap desert dwellers to present as test subjects to again - impress Dottore. I think this was a Jeht quest?

Oh, and in the manwha, it's briefly mentioned that Dottore does reward efforts handsomely.

Tldr:

Fanon - Dottore is cruel, he terrifies everyone who works under him and they always walk around eggshells with him.

Canon: Dottore gives high reward for efforts, he has too many simps that sings him praises and they're literally scrambling to be in the same room as him.

Conclusion, we need more dottore simps in fan content. Because not only is it more accurate, but its also funnier for Dottore to be followed by a hoard of fans.

ALRIGHT YOU HAVE ME THERE... I went back and reread the dialogue for the agents for when Dottore was leaving and phew you're right, lol now that i realize it's pretty entertaining!!

But now i have questions. How many agents know that Dottore has segments? The ones that do know, are they not allowed to spread this...? I'd think the news would be all over the recruits but I guess not. And I guess these segments are ridiculously similar physically/appearance wise too. 😭 And the ones that don't know, do they just think their Harbinger has multiple different personalities or something?? I need more NPCs talking about Dottore.

ELCHIGEN. THE FUNGI NPC GUY WAS SO FUNNY. I still have screenshots of when he spoke about Dottore omg, bro was DEDICATED. Literally created a whole scheme and put his life on the line just to get Dottore to notice him... i respect the energy tbh. I do wonder why he loved Dottore so much in the first place, i really think there's a lot more to his character than we've seen firsthand. I also went back and reread the other stuff you mentioned on the wiki and omg 😭😭 i cant believe i forgot this stuff happened, it's been so long since Sumeru 😭 it's so funny to think about how they're piling more crimes on themselves just for Dottore 😭 i wonder if he's aware of how favorable these agents view him?

Though I do think it may differ from segment to segment. Krupp was pretty scared of Webttore. It's also kind of funny to think people were more scared of Scaramouche than Dottore. 💀

You have me thinking many thoughts, and this has given me much brainrot, will keep in mind for future fics, i have been enlightened.

[itsabouttimex2]

I been kinda busy so I'm late to the party but i came back to fulfill my duty of rambling about ABNJ. I hope your sister's recover is going (or already went) well. Gonna try to make this one brief since i see i have a lot of posts to catch up to!

- the whole moment with indirect declaration of love is so good and the insight into Macaques thoughts is really nice! Seeing characters thoughts and generally introspections is one of my fav things in writing tbh

- a vulnerable moment followed up by a shove. Is it just excitement to give them the clothes or some form of guilt?? Both maybe (This is probably overinterpration so in that case ignore it)

- flower symbolism my beloved <333 roses sprouting showing how Macaque starts to feel loved and Y/n is one taking care of them. (i didn't see them mentioned in fourth part but there is a big chance i could be misremembering. Did Rumble and Savage plant them? 👀). Also Dahlias and Tansies being in bloom emphasizing already negative feelings that exist in Macaque.

- are Savage and Rumble going after MK?? Hopefully they will just steal his phone or something because i doubt they would be on the winning side in actual physical fight with him.

That's all from me for now! At this point i should make account for commenting so i don't spam your askbox. Thank you for the work you put in and have fun watching season 5! Remember to stay hydrated! :]

I always love to hear your thoughts on A Brand New Journey! I intend to put out Part Seven soon- and I’m sorry that they take so long!

Ok, so a big part in general of this chosen route- Fatherly!Macaque as your mentor, that is- was literally built around this note that I’ve been sitting on for a while:

“Macaque has no one. Not since Wukong. Probably no one before that, and barely anyone afterwards. He has no family. He has no friends. Macaque is alone.

His own “Sworn Brothers” didn’t like him. Note that he has zero interactions with the Brotherhood outside of Wukong and Peng! Note that not even one of them calls him “brother”! They didn’t care about him!

Wukong wasn’t the most understanding of individuals, and Macaque ended up acting as a blind enabler instead of a friend. Together, hand in hand, they ruined probably the only genuine friendship either one had at that point.

Wukong found people who helped him grow. Macaque refused to leave the side of people who didn’t care for him, even if he wanted to at least hear out Wukong. Good influences and bad, one simian with a brash will to change and the other too cowardly to even run.

They deviated further from one another- fatally, this time.

Centuries spent dead and alone.

Then he’s back.

After so very long, Macaque is returned to life.

And he finds someone. And that someone cares enough to share their food, to share his home, to share their time, to share memories and warmth and company.

Macaque finds someone who cares about him, and he cares right back, so deeply that his feelings threaten to swallow him..

And then, for the very first time in all of his many centuries-

Macaque gets an “I love you”.

Who wouldn’t that break?

And then Macaque has himself a little internal monologue (signified by paragraphs and unflattering descriptions of himself) about how he views himself as a monster and doesn’t deserve Y/N…

And then justifies his actions by internally declaring himself a “villain” and pushing his cherished student away. But he also spends the rest of the chapter grabbing and pushing and pulling- because this is his kid, and he loves them (gods above, how he loves them!) so much that he doesn’t want to let go.

Y/N planted the roses themself, actually- roses symbolize fatherhood- they’re the official flower of Father’s Day, even! The tansies and dahlias are in bloom- this time with Macaque’s negative feelings towards himself!

Rumble and Savage aren’t going to do anything too bold without permission… but they are getting very antsy about all of this.

As always, thank you for the comments! I adore you sharing your thoughts with me!

[ninainthetardis]

13 reasons why Teen Wolf the Movie is a big NO (Spoilers)

No Stiles

All the characters are 30+ but still acting/talking like they were teens. And I thought Eli was the one supposed to keep the "teen" element alive!

They brought back a character who'd been dead for like 18 years at that point in the story, and unnecessarily killed one of the best characters in the show (a character that had already suffered enough and was finally in a good place and had reasons to live for)

Almost all the couples broke up, but why? I mean, how did Malia and Parrish even happened? Just because they were the only ones who stayed in BH? And Melissa and Chris? They were adults, they could have worked! I get the kids, it would not be realistic if all the couples were still together 15 years later, but at least they could have told us HOW and WHY they broke up!!!

No Isaac, no Theo, no Ethan, no Braeden (soo, who's Eli's mom if we left Derek with her and he's clearly not her son?), but mostly NO STILES

Lame plot tbh (the revenge thing was awful and how is that teacher even alive? And I mean, I rewatched the show a year ago and I didn't even remember him). Also, what happened with the hunters after the series finale?

The Nogitsune was the best villain of the show, they ruined that too (but it was a long shot from the very beginning, as in s03 Dylan O'brien did a marvellous job with that character it was nearly impossible to live up to the expectations). Even its schemes were dull, in s03 the Nogitsune was bloody brilliant

Where did the chemistry this cast used to share go?

Shouldn't Allison be the same age as she was when she died? Therefore she shouldn't be with Scott at all? She literally regenerated herself wtf this makes no seeensee, also she was with Isaac when that happened, it was already bad that in her final moments she was thinking only about Scott, but now it's like Isaac never even existed, she didn't even mention him!

They took back the stydia endgame. THE AUDACITY

Liam and Mason didn't even meet wtf

Why did Scott suddenly go full Enchantix in that scene, what was that?

Kira's substitute just being put there and robbing us of the Thiam dream (assuming that he's in a relationship with her, I mean, they only hinted at that)

I know I passed the 13 reasons, but the CGI was so awful that I have to mention that. The same goes for the dialogues.

And also, 6 seasons of "being a pack" and 15 years later they all live in different places and barely talk to each other. Disappointing.

I was so happy when this movie was announced. Now I feel like it was so unnecessary... I guess I never learn... I hate revivals so much. It's always like this. I'm sure I could find other stuff I didn't like about this movie, but Derek being dead is the most upsetting of them all, so I'll just end the rant here and pretend this movie never came out in the first place

[hwnglx]

what's between v and jennie? feelings, friendship or smth else?

taehyung + jennie

based on tarot. i do not know these idols personally. energies are always changing. what i say is NOT straight fact. pls take it with a grain of salt!

did they ever date? kingofsw&tower&knofw, deathrx+star

yes, they were dating. but not anymore. i'm sensing that the leak of the photos was a big turning point for taehyung and jennie, that required them to step back and look at the situation from a more objective view. it's almost like they forgot there even was the possibility for someone to "expose" them, and were just living in the heat of the moment. it was a more short-lived, but very impactful and meaningful relationship for the both of them. a lot of passion and longing for each other. there still seems to be an inability to move on, not being able to let go of whatever they had, and a clear wish to rekindle. (especially on taehyung's side)

how does taehyung feel towards jennie? 2ofw&queofw, emperrx&9ofswrx&temprx, strength, 5ofc

so, jennie seems to have been a woman, who taehyung has always felt an attraction towards. he sees her as the charming queen of wands, someone with a strong presence and a very magnetic aura. with the two of wands here, it's clear that approaching her was something he had planned to do.

however, i got a bunch of reversed cards just flying out right away, so there is a lot of blocked and negative energy here. it seems like, once he was able to build something with jennie, he put a lot of responsibility on himself to take good care of her, and make sure she's comfortable. i also kept hearing "protective". he really wanted to hold on to what they had, and kinda stressed himself out on his own. i think the fear of losing his grip on her drove taehyung to this place of uncertainty on how to proceed.. like "what do i do so this amazing woman stays with me?" he saw her a precious existence in his life, that he didn't wanna lose.

he still seems to hold strong feelings for jennie, but has since been able to control himself more. the five of cups in the end tells me there still is lingering regret in him, and he often asks himself if he could've done anything differently, to prevent the end from happening. just like in the previous spread, there definitely seems to be a lack of closure on a personal level.

how does jennie feel towards taehyung? kingofc, 7ofw&magic, 3ofsw, 5ofw, pagofc

she views taehyung as a very emotionally mature and loving guy. someone who cherishes and values his loved ones tremendously, and has a sweet and understanding heart. jennie seems to especially admire his ability to deal with obstacles, in her eyes taehyung is someone who's very level headed and intelligent. he doesn't get swayed or driven to insecurity by the challenges he faces. she herself can be a lot more sensitive than people think, and often takes things to heart, so she felt very drawn to someone so different to her. being with him gave her a sense of stability.

the five of wands shows me, all the public talk and external circumstances messed with her feelings. she truly doesn't like her private life being so out there and having to hear everyone voicing their opinion on something that's meant to be only her business. it wasn't just the news that they dated, as far as i can remember people hacked into her phone (? correct me if i'm wrong) and literally leaked their private pictures. i think anyone would feel very uncomfortable in that situation.

she seems to have blamed herself a lot, for not thinking of the possibility of this happening. like "guess i did this to myself." she believes she was blinded by infatuation and it was immature of her to believe people wouldn't have found out. (she's so hard on herself, my god.. ? ☹)

what went wrong? world, 10ofsw

tbh, the cards are telling me "it just ended, stop asking."

jennie and taehyung are both idols whose energies are a bit more difficult for me personally, they're both very protective. i didn't ask any further.

i believe they just wanna keep the details of their relationship more private, and of course they have an obvious right to.

[andrea-lyn]

I know so many people have shared their own sentiment about the watcher situation and I'm basically jumping into an overfilled pool, but I literally can't stop thinking about this one from the business side of things, so pls have some ramblings. behind a cut bc boy did this get long

All of this is just armchair observations as someone who's been in marketing, optimization, and had my fair share of budget-strapped projects over the years, and who is currently working on strategies to drive growth via marketing:

If it's purely about money - before any of this, they should have exhausted their existing options. Maybe hire a dedicated marketing person to develop a growth and content strategy around Patreon to drive value. Beyond that, use that marketing person to drive awareness campaigns to get people to Patreon with a goal to 5x your Patron count, because there was definitely untapped potential there

If it's about content - every artist has their right to make what they want, but when you start asking people to pay for it, now you have to do your research. Do a survey with a substantive response rate to understand if people even want the shows that you want to produce. Again, you have a right as an artist to produce what you want, but asking your fanbase to pay for things that they don't want is a lot. This is when you need sponsorship help (or seed money and tbh, I'm not ruling out that they don't have some of that behind the scenes). I saw a comment that summed it up really well that when Buzzfeed was paying for Worth It, there was a small thrill of seeing them spend a company's money, but now it's the subscribers money. At that point, if you actually want to be marketable and successful, you need a pulse on what people are willing to pay for vs want for free. If you're spending all your money on high production values for shows that maybe 10% of your audience want, it's wasted resources

I won't speak to the staffing levels because there's likely a lot of nuance there, but I will say that there are probably workflow and resource improvements that could've been done to at least make the staff levels more efficient. This comes down to someone in a process role, which might have been done! Obviously I don't have a peek under the hood and I know they've discussed restructuring before, but this is a matter of scale and goes back to the second point -- there's a lot of 'if we build it, they will come' mentality here, but again, if you're not building what they want ... no, they won't, especially when Dropout and Netflix and Disney+ and other subscribers are building right beside you.

If they were dead-set on this, then should have hired a marketing/PR person to plan this launch for them. Dropout, anecdotally, is an example I go back to. I still remember seeing the stings at the end of videos about it and I remember going 'hey, I'm not going to pay for that' for years. But they were deliberate in their strategy of posting content, they didn't immediately shove behind the paywall, and they built up a catalogue with content that it did then make sense to pay (and a reasonable rate for the value!). The abrupt launch without a content plan to communicate value was an odd choice. I also think that survey I mentioned before should have delved into willingness to pay so they could actually understand where the ceiling kicks in and where no matter how much people want to pay that might not match up with what they're willing to. You'd get your average price there and then you could realistically do a workback schedule to understand the content you can produce, which could have then be used to create a content pipeline

Honestly, I think it all comes down to them wanting to pursue their dreams and more power to them. I love that they have a mission statement to make television quality videos -- but here's the thing, you have an existing audience and given the reaction, it's becoming clear that your mission statement and your audience's core wants of your product don't align, which means that something has to get sacrificed ...and unfortunately, in this case, I think it's the goodwill of a large portion of the audience that gets the knife because I really don't think this one's getting walked back

Like I said earlier, I do have some suspicions that maybe there's seed money or financial backing in this from investors (they solicited this in the past), but they've lacked a clear strategy around growth and marketing to buffer their finances in the past and it doesn't fill me with a lot of optimism that things will change because they're behind a paywall. For those who intend to subscribe, I think it's great and I think that it proves that yes, there is going to be an audience for them -- it's just always a question of numbers and whether that audience is their target to break even. I had suspicions their big announcement was this and I was honestly planning to subscribe too until I saw the price point and the lack of future scheduling news. Unfortunately, given the amount of subscriptions I already have, it didn't make sense, but if it were cheaper and there was a more robust content plan, I probably would be there too.

[dark-elf-writes]

Oooh interesting. The last Magical Mob I vaguely remember reading in HP fics were in one of the "Mr Black" fics where Harry went around Wizarding Europe being increasingly mistaken as a Super OP Dark Wizard Hunter. One thing that still stands out in memory is that the magical criminal underworld existed. Like straight up Italian magical mafia and whatnot. The mafia are terrifying enough with mundane methods. Giving them magic is so much more terrifying.

That said?

I can see the Trio catching on fairly quick that Ron's and Harry's new partners are Very Much Not Legally Minded Fellows. But as long as there's clear limits and the people they're dating don't have Death Eater mentalities (aside from "no one's allowed to leave/betray the family"), I can see it working out. Especially since the Trio had to fight the literal government in more than just Book 7. Hermione was super quick to turn to illegal use of magic in Book 2 anyway.

Ron's family? "As long as your happy," might be a thing. Hermione's? ... okay I'll never not be upset over how any interpretation of "Hermione erased their memories and set them up in Australia" could be taken. The less said about the Dursleys the better but I'd like to think that Post Less Of A Dick Dudley might be fine if he knows.

The trio have always been… flexible in their morality considering Hermione set a teacher on fire at eleven and not a single one of them thought it was even a little too far. Between that and their general distrust in the government that wasn’t going to go away after everything, they’re pretty okay with the whole crime families thing as long as certain guidelines are kept.

Tbh I feel deep in my bones that Molly Weasley would be thrilled about Ron’s choice in partners legality be damned.

This woman lived through two wars. She lost her brothers. She fought and bled to protect whatever she had left. She killed for her family without hesitation. Having someone who would love and cherish her a baby boy and was willing to do whatever it took to keep him safe? She welcomes Blaise with open arms.

[straycalamities]

how did you come up with making Entre? What inspired you?

the onceler LOL and homestuck

okay story time w chase ahem

so actually how i got into tumblr at all is very relevant to the chain of events that led to entre existing. so before here, i was mainly on a...particular art webbed site that was basically a sinking ship circa: 2010 so i forgot how i heard about tumblr? but i joined here at first just to do naruto comm rp. like my only account was a naruto rp account for the first... i dont remember how long

eventually i got curious enough to make a personal account and started being active on that. a bunch of my friendgroup from the other site moved with me and we were just hanging out being naruto nerds. at some point i got into homestuck/learned about the askblog format. i don't remember which came first, but i DID run kibanaru and flutterdash askblogs before the lorax was a blip on my radar

i remember when i was in the homestuck fandom, i was so used to the naruto fandom where like..sure it's huge but i had established myself in a corner of it and it felt very like... it was a community! and in the homestuck fandom i didn't feel like that at all. i felt swept out to sea and it was very lonely tbh aside from the friends id manage to drag with me into it, but i always felt a certain dissatisfaction from my time in it

a friend of mine was the one to show me the lorax and the once-ler. i don't...remember how THEY found him, but they were already very into him before they even came to me about him. and they basically nagged me into watching the movie LMFAO (this was when the movie was still freshly in theaters so all we had was shitty camrips and LiveStream was a thing) so i started to draw smexy onceler and oncest fanart to mess with them and...well y'know ye olde saying about doing things as a joke.

so yeah i kinda got...genuinely interested in him. especially after i watched the 72' short and reread the book and was like wait. this movie is mid as hell actually. (the siren song of mid media) and i was like "well if /i/ wrote the movie id do this n this n this n this" and then all that added up in my head and i was like wait.

what if i did a once-ler askblog where i just change certain things to what i like? it wasnt gonna be a complete revamp/remastering because i wanted to do a proper askblog so i wanted to have his character be recognizable to any fans of the onceler. and this was wayyyyy before anyone was getting the idea to do the very creative and expansive onceler takes we have these days as a norm. so it was kinda like? being shoehorned into being Canon!Once-ler because?? that's just how you did askblogs back then

BUT!! there were a few other askblogs already around back then (end of April 2012 for ref) so i didn't wanna do what everyone else was doing (very much Established Business Once-ler/Greed-ler, Vest-ler/Oncie, or Aftermath Once-ler) so i got the idea to do the onceler but! he's still very fresh and new to his business. still basically vest-ler/oncie in personality but with big things on the horizon.

i started creating his blog the weekend before may. that's why his birthday is May 1 because that's when i officially started his blog and posted his first post and all that. literally when he was born.

so yeah this was all to try and find my niche in a community again as well as do what i'd already been doing for years now: waving my headcanons in ppls faces via my art LMFAO

it was honestly pretty new for me in a bunch of ways so it was very scary. i even tried to keep it a total secret at first. i thought people wouldn't recognize me for my art style.... (yeah idk how i thought that'd work either) and i mean??? for the most part that was true because it's not like anyone in the once-ler fandom would've known me beforehand anyways

so for the first uhhh...idk it didn't last long tho..i was a secret mod, but i got too itchy about sharing art that i didn't wanna put on his blog so i broke that pretty quick. i had a lot of personal rules i put on myself on what to do/not to do on and with his blog. and i still, to this day, follow a handful of them. so when i drew other stuff that i didn't think fit on his blog, i was like well damn i wish i could show this somehow...

tho sometimes i wish i'd tried to keep up the secret mod shtick a little longer

anywho. from there it's kinda like..he really just grew on his own. new ideas, new inspiration, new experiences shaping this or that. now i can write him without touching him for years like i just picked him up yesterday. he's that wormed in my damn brain at this point. he's basically his own person sitting in my head telling me what to do with him/what he'd say

so yeah at first? it was just me trying to write a very accurate 2012 movie onceler with a few tweaks. and then he just grew organically into what he is now. that's still his root and so that's still the default direction i try to take, but he definitely has a lot of things that make him his own person at this point too. even on his main blog.

as for why he's so stupid goofy. well. that's because i like drawing dumb expressions. the end. and in the end i'm glad his main blog remained super unserious and lighthearted because it really helped me mentally a bunch (those random spikes in activity? yeah it was for my own mental health LMFAO he helps me...a lot...because of the escapism and comedy)

bonus: as for truffula flu entre. i don't remember if something in particular inspired me to make him the ender of the world. i just felt like it'd be a fitting story for the once-ler for him to be in that spot. and from there i just approached him how i thought someone like him would react were he to find himself in that position.

my goal was always to make him as human as possible. like he's technically the villain of this story, but he's also the protagonist. yaknow. so i wanted to really interweave those two ideas interestingly into his character (and now im obsessed w it)

originally i thought of truffula flu as everyone doing their own storylines. i didn't expect at all that everyone would adopt MINE as all of THEIR canons. that was LKFJSLDKF a big surprise for me i was like wait what. i guess it seems silly now in retrospect that i didn't expect that, but i was just like "well this is entre's story. ppl can do whatever else they want tho" but suddenly entre's story was everyone's story. and it's pretty cool i can't lie

[melodygatesauthor]

Okay guys, I can't believe it's been a full year since I published the first chapter of my first fanfiction story and I'm still going strong today. - (Side note...it was actually yesterday but I wanted to get all my fics posted to AO3 so I could get an accurate word count and tell you all what I've done so...it took me an extra day)

This is going to be a really long post, and I thank everyone in advance for reading all the way through if you make it. I'm taking a moment to allow myself to talk about my accomplishments over the last year, my goals for this next year, and gas myself up just a bit. As an artist, it's really hard to talk about myself in a positive light without being critical, but I'm going to do it anyway. No one asked, but this is one of the ways I wanna celebrate my ficversary so...I'm gonna do it lol.

My First Fanfic Ever

I'd like to start by sharing my beginnings with writing. If I really think back to the very first fanfiction I wrote, I thought it was a Gorillaz fic (which I still have a handwritten copy of in my closet lol), but it wasn't. I think the very first fanfic I wrote technically was a Pirates of the Caribbean fic when I was 11. I didn't even realize that's what it was, I just knew that I was SO into POTC that I wanted to write about it. It had just come out by the way, so I'm really dating myself. This was...2003.

We had this thing we had to do for school, it was like a writing assignment or something, one of those big ones that they gave you, a standardized whatever. I managed to find a way to spin it into a POTC related thing and I went OFF writing this story. It had its own twists and turns unrelated to POTC, but it was a fanfic through and through.

The Beginning of My Fan Art

When I was 12 I started listening to Good Charlotte, to a point that it was my entire personality. Everyone who knew me, knew I loved them. Every fucking art project I had in middle school (7th and 8th grade) was revolved around this band, particularly Joel Madden.

My love for them has come and gone, but I still remember how I felt at the time (not unlike how I feel toward Oscar Isaac now lol). I mean my art teacher literally had to be like "I want you to branch out, you can't make everything about them." And as an adult, I'm wondering -why the fuck not but- ...I digress.

The First Fanfic I Ever "Published"

When I was 12 (or maybe closer to 13), I became OBSESSED with the Gorillaz. When I say obsessed I mean...I listened to the album Demon Days on repeat until it fucking broke. I changed my G's when I would write by hand to match the G in their logo. I made tons of fan art and it was a damn vibe. This was the first time I really discovered fanfiction and learned what it was.

I remember reading one fanfic from some girl on this website (I'm really dating myself here, some of you will know what site this is...) Quizilla. Quizilla was THE site at the time (other than LiveJournal I think, but I never used LiveJournal and didn't know it existed at the time) for fanfiction and what you would now call "buzzfeed quizzes". This girl's writing inspired me to write my own fanfic, which I handwrote and kept in a green folder which, as I said, I still have to this day sitting in my closet.

My very first fic, and yes at 13, included some romance, some non-con (don't fucking ask me why idk even how I knew about that at 13. I was never exposed to this type of thing as a child fortunately) and other nonsense. I published it on this site, and it made me really happy. I don't remember if anyone ever read it or not tbh, but it will forever hold a place in my heart <3

My Best Friend/Emo Era

I met my best friend in high school when I was about 14. She and I are still close to this day. Not as close, but I can still tell her my most unhinged thoughts and she loves me regardless. We met because we both wrote fanfiction and lost our minds over the fact that we did. Thus started my emo era.

She was into My Chemical Romance, and I was into The Used. 2005 was a time lol. The two of us had either a binder or a composition notebook where we'd handwrite our fics and pass them back and forth between classes. I still have the ones I wrote tucked away in my house. When we'd read them she and I would leave little notes in the margins like we all leave comments today.

Most of these fics never got published, they were just for us to enjoy. I did, however, publish a fic when I was about 15, that I wrote to completion. Quizilla ended up going down, and most of us moved to Mibba.com instead, which is still a website.

Edit: I looked at Mibba, and it looks like the website is still there, but you can't search for anything, so Mibba is gone too. Not gonna lie, broke my nostalgic heart just a bit to see...Some fics I wrote on there will be gone forever. Maybe for the best, but it's still kinda sad.

The Avenged Sevenfold Era

When I tell you that Avenged Sevenfold has been my favorite band since I was 15, I'm dead ass. Are they the best band ever? Not by a long shot, but damn the way I still lose my shit over them is unhinged. Anyone who was around during this time fucking knows...they were fucking HOT. Matt Shadows really had the bulky but not shredded body type going on, they all kinda did, and I'm so here for it.

Why I'll never post any of the fics I wrote during this time, even if I get my hands on them...

I wrote them when I was 15, and I was writing about things 15 year olds shouldn't write about.

You don't know cringe until you've read those fics.

It's about real people and I'm not a fan of rpf anymore. I'm all for writing whatever you want and fiction being fiction but there's something that gives me the ick about real people fiction. No offense to anyone who writes it, that's just my feelings.

The way these guys had a hold on me for the next 5 years was ridiculous. I wrote about them a lot, by hand, on my laptop, however I could. I had so many unhinged ideas and stories it's insane. I loved every minute of it, and I always look back on this as my true start into fanfiction.

The End of an Era

All good things come to an end. After graduation, my best friend and I stayed in touch, but grew apart. I went to college and continued writing fanfic. I was pursuing a major in graphic design with a minor in creative writing. I was convinced that even though I was writing fanfiction, I was going to write a book too and it would be a bestseller.

As time went on, probably when I was about 20 or 21, I kinda stopped writing fanfiction all together. My friend wasn't really writing it anymore, and the community around Avenged Sevenfold was slowing down. I was also in the middle of a breakup and it was a whole thing, so I kinda stopped writing around this time.

I'd also, unfortunately, felt like fanfiction was for kids/teens, so didn't feel the need to continue writing anymore. I didn't want to seem like a loser writing fanfiction in my twenties...so I didn't.

For the record, you're not a loser for writing fanfiction. It's a very valid artform and it's fun. We only live for so long, so enjoy it doing what makes you happy, period. I'll probably be writing in my 50s I fucking hope lol.

Anyway, at that time, that's how I felt. I now know it's bullshit to think that way. So fanfiction fizzled out for me, and I kinda moved on to other things.

My Not-fanfiction Era

What was I doing instead of writing? Going through an emotionally and mentally abusive relationship, working on trying to build what I thought was the 'dream' (marriage, kids, a house, e.t.c.), working and playing video games.

Fortunately that relationship ended. After years of therapy (which he told me I needed because he gaslit me into thinking I was crazy lol), I grew the balls to finally tell him to fuck off and leave. It was the best decision I ever made, especially considering this was JUST before COVID hit. I shudder to this day thinking about the fact that I was almost stuck in a house with that freak during lockdown.

When that relationship ended I moved back to Maine to be with my family. I missed them and had spent basically my entire 20s in another state with some loser.

Back to Fanfiction - Kylo Ren Era

So how did I get back here? How did I get back into writing and creating fan art? The truth is, a switch literally flipped in my brain over this guy right here...

I mean...

The funny thing is, I wasn't SUPER into Star Wars before this. I liked it, I'd seen the sequel trilogy in theaters, but to me it was just a movie series. I was literally watching a Sam Collins video on YouTube where he made fun of a Kylo Ren cosplayer's thirst trap on TikTok and was like...oh that's actually kinda hot.

Thought nothing of it though, just moved on with my day...until I dreamt about him too. And then I felt this spark inside me that I couldn't shake. I literally was like...👀 something is happening here.

So I remembered this feeling from when I was a teen and recognized the impending obsession immediately. I actually googled "is fanfiction still relevant" and "is it ok to write fanfiction as an adult?"

The short answers are - yes - and - of course it is -. This was how I discovered the VERY popular Kylo Ren fic Fix Your Attitude by Kassanovella. I read it in a matter of a week, and in that time I started writing my own fic. I also rewatched ALL the Star Wars movies, and then continued rewatching the sequel trilogy on repeat just so I could get Kylo Ren's character down. I wanted to make sure I captured his voice and personality perfectly. - When I say I watched the sequel trilogy 20 times, it's not an exaggeration, I had it on constantly.-

The fic I wrote was called, Yes, Master

The first chapter of that fic was published on 09/05/2022 (one year ago today), and the last chapter was published on 10/14/2022 with a word count of 100,701. Not only is it the longest fic I've written of all the fics I've done, but it's the one I wrote the fastest. I was posting a chapter a day every day until it was finished. I mean...I literally went OFF on this story. I was so proud of it that I went to lulu.com and made myself a physical copy of it that I intend to read as part of this celebration I'm doing lol.

Wondering if anyone would be interested in me revamping this story (rewriting and updating it) and posting here? I would definitely do it if there was enough interest.

I then wrote a sequel called By Your Side which taught me SO MUCH. Here's what I learned when creating this sequel...

Not everything needs a sequel.

Writing a chapter a day isn't realistic.

I should've planned a full outline before diving into this fic.

I'm not into pregnancy fics/domestic fics all that much as far as longfics go.

It's okay to genuinely dislike something you've written and you should try to learn from that.

By Your Side is still to this day one of my least favorite fics (if not my LEAST favorite). I am still proud of myself for finishing it, (it sits at a hefty 85,599 words). I don't have to love it though. I'm just grateful for what I learned in the process of writing it and proud of myself for finishing it despite being sick of it by chapter 8 and still writing 20 chapters after that.

I also wrote my very first Yandere fic, Just You. It's a bit darker, in my opinion, than The Fractured Moon. This fic was a blast to write, and it felt very freeing to write something so disturbing. It was fun to just let myself get into a dark headspace without holding back and not feeling bad about it. It was more

The Rainbow Six Siege Era

During my time writing for Kylo, I went back to a video game I used to play a lot, Rainbow Six Siege. My Oscar Era bleeds into the Kylo and R6S era a little but I'll talk about that soon.

The Siege fandom was an interesting one...one that I'll probably not go back to much, though I may still write a little fic for it here and there as I feel inspired to. I won't dive too much into this as I know most of you are Oscar fans, but I'll mention my accomplishments here and the things I learned.

I wrote another novel-length fic for this fandom called The Recruit and the Hunter which has another 83,888 words. I actually LOVE this story, and still look back on it fondly. It was a fun one to write, and I really challenged myself to write less smut for it, and I succeeded. It focused heavily on the relationship that built between the main pairing and in my opinion it's one of my better slow-burns I've done.

Why did I leave this fandom?

Well, I'm not going to throw shade, I don't like doing that unless I have to, so I'll keep it brief. The long and the short of it is this...

The readers were getting EXTREMELY demanding. I have comments on RATH of people saying things like "I'm going to be upset if you don't give us a happy ending" and "there better be smut or I swear...". It can get really discouraging as a writer when people seem to say "I love your fic but I'll only continue to love it if you do xyz." It puts us in a dilemma, and makes it hard for us to find a balance between providing fan service, and doing what's fun for us to write. It definitely changed the outcome of RATH and I'm not happy that I gave in like that.

The requests I got were confusing and downright weird. I didn't do some of the really weird ones, and I'm not meaning to kink shame, but it was just very niche things that I couldn't get myself into. I think part of why I felt obligated to provide fan service like I mentioned in the point above, and why I caved and wrote some fanfics for these more unique requests, is because this fandom is very small, and I felt an obligation to provide.

Some of the other writers in the fandom are fucking rude. I'm not going to mention names, like I said, but I had very poor experiences with several writers in the fandom, and since I was also integrating into the Oscar fandom at the time, I could see a stark difference in the way I was being accepted in one, versus the way I was being pushed away in the other. There aren't a lot of x reader writers in the R6S fandom, and I was one of them, and there seems to be some animosity between the people who ship characters, versus the people who write x reader and that's where this mistreatment came from. I don't know, I tried making friends over there, and felt like I was getting pushed out.

So anyway, it's not for me anymore, but I still think back to certain parts of it fondly, and I may write a little more here and there as I see fit.

The Oscar Isaac Era

This really is THE era, isn't it?

As I was working on the last 10 or so chapters of Yes, Master, and after my 12th time rewatching the sequel trilogy movies, I started to fall for Poe Dameron, naturally. How could I not? I mean look at him...

So I decided that I would give Poe a prequel to my Yes, Master story called One Hell of a Pilot. This fic was so fun to write, and it's how I became involved with the Oscar Isaac community in the first place. Immediately I started following Dee, and through her I found Mona, and it was just snowballing from there. Whitney and Romana were some of the first to follow me and my shenanigans.

In December, which is when I started writing One Hell of a Pilot, another novel-length fic that ended with 80,517 words, is when I started reading Dee's fics, along with Mona's and many others. I saw their interactions and felt excited by the prospect of making new friends who were just as into some of this stuff as I was. A place that I could be myself and lose my shit over this idiot and not be judged.

I had no idea what the hell I was getting myself into.

It all started with a fic that Dee had written, I can't remember which one, probably a dbf!Santi fic, and I asked the innocent question of...

What movie is this from?

Oh shit...I didn't realize what the fuck I was getting myself into. After she told me it was Triple Frontier and I should watch it, my brother and I watched it right away. I told him a friend of mine suggested it. The way we spent the entire 1.5 hours laughing at how bad it was is still a memory I hold dear to my heart. I still didn't know at the time that this loser (Oscar my beloved) would hold a place in my heart from that day on.

My first Santi fic was a headcanon about Santi w/ a plussize reader that I called Preciously Plump. A headcanon that later got a full fic, appropriately named Preciously Plump the One-shot.

So then I read something about Moon Knight, and between Dee and Mona shoving me into it (peer pressure ftw) I caved and watched the show.

Phew...

That gave way to the first Moon Knight fic I ever wrote, How Unexpected which came out on January 3rd, 2023 of this year. I was sure that between Steven's adorable nerdy behavior, and Marc's tough exterior, I'd be head over heels for those two. I was nervous to even TOUCH Jake, because I didn't know shit about his character, and the last thing I wanted to do was write a character without it sounding like them.

I was also afraid at the time of writing the Moon Boys with DID because I didn't know anything about it, and I didn't want to misrepresent something like that. After some time went by, I got my bearings, and started working on A Bit Dodgy.

ABD is definitely one of the fics I'm most proud of. I had learned a lot from my past fics I'd written, Yes, Master, e.t.c., and figured out what it was that works best when I'm writing to not only keep myself interested, but to create a good balance between smut for smut's sake, and pushing the story forward.

When I first started writing ABD, I was sure it was going to be a 30-40 chapter fic, but as I started writing it more, I realized quickly that a lot of the chapters were just porn. Is there anything wrong with that? No...but as someone who's written nearly a million words in this past year, I don't feel the need to draw my chaptered fics out with smut just to say I wrote something x chapters or x words wrong.

That's why ABD ended up getting cut down SO MUCH from my original plan. I just made some decisions that I felt maximized the story more and used the smut as a major plot device, rather than the fic revolving around smut as the plot...if that makes any sense lol. I'm happy to say, that as of today, A Bit Dodgy has concluded, though it's the only fic I've ever finished with such a heavy heart.

I was an Oscar stan HARD after that, diving into Sucker Punch and other silly little movies filled with that silly little man whom I love so so much.

Statistics

Numbers aren't important when it comes to kudos (AO3) and likes (Tumblr) so I'm not focusing on those. What I am going to focus on...is my personal accomplishments. Like I said, I don't normally toot my own horn, but I fucking wrote A LOT this year, and I'm going to take a minute to pat myself on the back.

So NOT including my random blurbs (since I'm not bothering to cross-post those)...

My total word count from 09/05/2022-09/05/2023 is (drumroll please):

791,829 words

OH

EM

GEE

I had thought I would've hit a million by now but I am NOT going to complain. By the grace of the horny demon that runs the smut factory in my brain, I've written more than I ever even thought possible.

In the Moon Knight fandom alone, I've written:

238,950 words

I think the only fandom I've written more for is Star Wars, but I'd have to add it all up and I'm not doing that rn haha.

Just kidding it's:

368,566 words

----

I wrote 6 novel-length fics, a total of 147 works, MK holds the record for most fics I've written at a whopping 82 fics!

----

It's shocking to look back and see what I've accomplished, and to look forward to seeing what else I can do. I know that this next year I won't have the same word count, probably not even close.

I'm focusing a lot on drawing now as well as writing, plus I'm working on my first novel that I'd like to publish so things will definitely be slowing down. I'm going to continue writing, but the speed at which I churn out fics will be slower in the future.

In Conclusion

Thank you all for the support throughout this year. There's no way in HELL I would've had the drive and desire to continue writing if not for the amazing community (most the Oscar Isaac community lol) behind me. It's not just the kudos and the reblogs, it's the people who I've grown to know since joining the world of fandom.

I never had a ton of IRL friends, and I live alone (happily btw) with my dog. Being able to make some friends here that I genuinely call friends, not just people I know online, has meant the world to me. I would list everyone out, but I have a fear of accidentally forgetting to tag someone despite how much they mean to me so I'll leave it at...those people know who they are.

And to my readers (I hesitate to use the word "fans", that makes it sound so conceited), thank you to the moon and back. Without out, I wouldn't have had the drive to keep going. Kudos, Likes and Reblogs aren't everything, I can't stress that enough, but they do help keep the drive alive. (Particularly the comments). Without the little boost of excitement I get when I see that other people are just excited about what I'm doing as I am, I probably would've given up ages ago.

You all are the reason that this was even possible.

With all that being said, I have a small celebration planned that I'll announce later tonight. In the mean time, stay amazing. You keep supporting me, and I'll keep providing the fics that you all love so much

Love, Melly

[canonmisogynyvictimstournament]

PRELIMINARY ROUND - THE LEGEND OF ZELDA - ZELDA

PROPAGANDA

Tetra (The Legend of Zelda: Wind Waker)

1.) Wind Waker actually has a point with its misogyny and kinda condemns the misogyny. We first see Tetra as a helpless girl in the clutches of a giant bird monster. A pirate ship catapults a boulder at the bird, which drops Tetra on the hero's home island. We find out that young Tetra is the rough-and-tumble captain of an entire pirate crew, and the brains of the outfit. We later learn that bird monster has been kidnapping a bunch of girls to find the reincarnation of the legendary Princess Zelda. It is revealed that Tetra is the next Princess Zelda. Because she is Zelda, she transforms from a tanned pirate captain into a pale princess in a dress, and her role requires her to wait in a castle for the hero to finish his quest. Which is what she does. And the point of the story is that this is wrong! The villain is wrong, and the hero's mentor is wrong—they're both hurting children and forcing them to reenact old roles in an old story, in their selfish quest to resurrect their long-dead kingdoms. Then breaking tradition, (I believe) Wind Waker Zelda is the first Zelda to wield the sacred Light Arrows and to take up an active combat role in the final battle. The happy ending is that Zelda turns back into Tetra, and she and Link set out to forge their own future. BUT THEN. The cheap sequel Phantom Hourglass (the equivalent of a direct-to-DVD Disney movie sequel tbh) pretty much opens with Tetra being turned into a stone statue. And she's a stone statue for the ENTIRE GAME until the hero rescures her. Clear-cut sidelining of a compelling female character, smells like misogyny to me. At least Tetra's identical granddaughter was a playable co-protagonist in the next sequel, but arguably Tetra founding a new monarchal country named the same as the ancient one and then actively continuing the tradition of making Princesses Zelda undermines the conclusion of Wind Waker. Tetra possibly has the most personality and most meaningful role out of all the Zeldas, and she's far from the biggest victim of misogyny here—but still, let's remember that even Tetra deserved better than she got.

2.) Was built up as a super-cool pirate leader antihero who helped out Link. Then, as soon as it's revealed that she's that era's incarnation of Zelda, she gets magically put in the standard Princess Zelda dress (which also makes her skin lighter for Some Reason), and she ends up being sequestered in a basement for her safety until the finale, where she actually gets to do something again.

3.) Idk if anyones talked about windwakers sequel game, phantom hourglass yet so i will. Dont go into ph expecting a lot of cool pirate zelda action because shes a statue for like most of it. Shes a statue and you have to go save her.

Zelda (The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild and The Legend of Zelda: Tears of

1.) Oh my god. Oh my goooooooood. She was like. Ok in botw (I don't know). But then in totk, they COULD have had her take a more active role, especially with her whole sage of time thing and the era she was in not having a "hero", but NO. She barely did anything, and then in the end she ended up sacrificing herself (at least turning into a dragon is new. Like I don't really have a problem with the dragon thing but man they dropped the fucking ball with everything else). Like one of the creators literally stated that Zelda HAD to be the damsel in distress (rescue her from a crystal, a castle, whatever) and yeah, they definitely continued that in totk. Please just give a mainline Zelda a sword or an active (fighting) role in the game I am BEGGING YOU. Damsels in distress aren't cool, especially when you hype them up to be super powerful!!! She fucking deleted the Calamity from existence in botw you could have done SOMETHING

2.) WHY CANT I EVER HAVE A MAINLINE ZELDA GAME AAAA

I hope someone else gives good propogands but this is specifically about Tears of the Kingdom. So before it came out, I tried to avoid anything and everything about the game so I could go in 100% blind but I did see a few images of course because internet people don’t tag or algorithms lol but the point it looked like Zelda was the protagonist or at least a swap where they’re both playable choices and you can swap between them because she and link looked so alike and I was so happy to play her and was like as much as I like link free my girl from never ending Princess saving needing and it was happening!!

It did not happen and she was again lost and felt like a repeat of the last game where I need to save her (not exactly the same but COMEON)

3.) forced to be a magic sealing princess when she wants to do science and build robots

[malewife-overlord]

Six Cycles Later -- Part I

OKAY SO. after speaking to literally two people about some oc transformer fic ive been working on, ive decided to post just chapter 1 here, to see if anyone else would like to see the ocs ive been quietly going crazy for in the background. instead of writing actual proper fanfic ive decided to just go off the rails writing a canon elaboration on characters who dont exist. i will now make it everyone elses problem.

tbh im intending to keep writing this for as long as it brings me joy, and im already working on chapter 2. whether this gets attention or not won't change that fact. just kinda posting here to garner some attention/see if anyone else would like to get invested in my silly lil ocs.

this takes place in sorta a g1/idw mixed continuity, im not particularly picky or strict about canon, because really, im just here to have fun and vibe. it will focus on my OCs, not canon characters, though a couple will still be present :> this idea has been one that nagged at me for a bit--isnt it a bit weird that the decepticons just straight up seem to abandon their prior base on earth in g1 following the movie? i wondered for a while what it'd be like if any of them were left behind. so, i've decided to make an oc for it and explore that a little. aaaaaand then i kinda went off the rails (but we'll get there, lol). if none of that is particularly off-putting to you, feel free to proceed! and comments are always appreciated if you enjoy

Summary: Invert is a nobody. One of a million Seekers constructed for a war that would claim their lives, she's survived due to her uselessness. Forged with a defective frame and kept around for a single devastating ability that hurts her to use it, she may as well be a glorified cleaning bot. Months after the other Decepticon's left to assault Autobot City, Invert remains behind on Earth, waiting, on the sunken Victory, maintaining the base and holding out hope that her brethren will eventually return.

But with only silence and an emotionless ship for company, she's started to become increasingly desperate--so much so, that, when an SOS from a ship that should be empty arrives, she just might throw caution to the wind and leave on a mission that could change her life.

Luster was somebody, once. Was. He can't remember any of it. Having disappeared at the start of the war on some ludicrous quest, only now has he awoken on a strange planet called 'Earth'. Accepted back by his Autobot brethren, the void of his past haunts him endlessly, as does a mysterious, insatiable hunger. He's determined to get to the bottom of both--but with the fog they produce only deepening, how long does he have before he's lost eternally?

Chapter 1 --Word Count 7495

Orbital cycle: 6.3. Approximately 182.5 solar cycles since initial launch for attack on Autobot City. Diagnostic report: no structural damage detected. Energon levels: 27%. Energon levels of 50% recommended for full functionality. Defense systems: offline. Offensive systems: offline. Cloaking systems: online. Communications: partially online. Power saving mode recommended at Energon levels of 25%. 

She records the report in her datapad down to the final recommendation, which really was not necessary, considering any proper engineer would have understood that by now, the ship should have entered power saving mode eons ago. If it had been placed in that mode when the other Decepticons had initially left, the current Energon levels would sit comfortably at the recommended 50%, and she would still have the long distance communications beacon up. But that was in the past, where they were supposed to have returned after a few solar cycles. 

It had been dozens now, and Invert was starting to wonder if her brethren were going to return. A far more patient bot like Shockwave would not have felt any doubt up to the first double digit million years–how else had he held down Cybertron for so long? By comparison she was young, having barely lived for over a million. The hundreds of solar cycles that had passed as she was left alone on the Victory were now starting to seep into her processor, bringing with them questions of uncertainty.

The raid was supposed to last barely a few days. They’d brought everyone in the local system with them. The greatest warriors the Decepticon cause had were deployed. With all of them attacking at once, even the heavily fortified Autobot City should have been leveled in under a deca-cycle. 

And yet there was silence. No cries of victory. No chaotic messages on the airways calling for aid. No declaration of retreat. Just silence. 

They couldn’t be defeated. If they’d been defeated they would have retreated back to Victory. If they’d gone back to Cybertron on Astrotrain, then surely Shockwave would have contacted her on earth. He knew her name. He knew he’d sent her there orbital cycles ago. He’d know they’d left her behind to hold down the fort. 

There was, of course, one other option. Silence was begetting of only a few characteristics when it came to the living. The Autobots, surely, wouldn’t. They were too soft-hearted. But if the attack had truly gone so badly, and they’d deigned it necessary–

Total obliteration. Total razing. Total loss. 

She pushed the thoughts swirling in her processor aside and focused back on Victory’s main computer, typing in a few commands. 

“Victory, run an internal scan. How are your habsuits looking?”

A map of Victory’s internal structure appeared on the screen before her. Dozens of rooms were selected and zoomed in on, each of which specifically served as living space. One by one they started as black, then turned white as they were provided the all clear. 

Structure: stable. Living conditions: adjusted. Doors: unlocked. 

“Alright, that’s good…” she muttered to herself, swapping to the cameras on the outside of the ship. They revealed an empty sea around her, dark and creeping with small organics. Their crude forms made her cringe, even in the restricted view she had of them. “Gross…Victory, illuminate your external hull.” 

Victory obeyed, revealing a vast expanse of metal currently covered in the earth version of space barnacles. The white-shelled creatures had opened their filthy maws, extending forth feelers characteristic of some kind of horror show. Invert grimaced and swapped the camera views, checking instead on the door to the airlock. It was immaculately clean unlike the hull, though a few many legged organics crawled across it. 

She checked the back of the ship, its thrusters, its scope, and finally its body. Making a note of each location that needed proper cleaning, Invert tapped the information into her datapad and closed the camera system before issuing another command. “Victory, check the wavelengths for any signs of communication.” 

The screen before her went black, turning to a single unmoving flat line. She stared at it in silence, waiting for a peak, a leap, a blur, a single beat to indicate that anyone was out there. 

Nothing happened. 

Frowning to herself, she tapped a button on the keyboard before her–the one for “broadcast”. 

“Fellow Decepticons,” she said, “if any of you are out there, I am Invert of Cybertron, broadcasting from the Earth base Victory. I am alone here and have been so since the attack on Autobot City. If you are hearing this message, please respond.” 

Her servo left the button and she waited. And waited. And waited. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

And nothing came, as it never did. 

She vented and focused back on her datapad, the frown perched upon her face seemingly eager to make it a permanent home. There was her chore list, plain and simple. It would take her several megacycles to complete: clean the habsuits, clean the storage vault, clean the weapons vault, clean the hallways, feed Victory, scrape away the organics on Victory’s hull, manage the outside of Victory, air another message after seven megacycles, spy on the Autobots if possible.

If possible. The last one was becoming an increasingly harder task to pull off. She was no Soundwave, and Victory’s listening equipment had been down for a while now to preserve power. Furthermore the equipment in Soundwave’s habsuit was either completely foreign or off-limits to her. He may not be here now, but he would return, like the others would, and if he found out she’d been messing with his items, well. She was only a lowly foot soldier, and he was the head of communications of the Decepticon cause. 

She’d be lucky if only her wings were broken off and used to decorate his sparsely covered habsuit. 

Speaking of her wings…she cast a glance down at the inverted things, which pointed towards the ground as opposed to the air. They would do her no favors in navigating the outside of the ship and certainly no aid in reaching the higher spots in the larger habsuits. Her boosters were functional, but the Energon they’d consume to keep her airborne would drain her at twice the levels of a normal Seeker. 

She’d have to use them sparingly if she wanted to continue her present consumption rate of only one Energon cube a day. If she offlined from low power, that was fine; eventually her brethren would return, find her, and bring her back. But without her, no one would feed Victory, who would eventually offline from low power. Victory had to stay online, no matter what. 

Where else would the Decepticons go when they came back, if they didn’t have Victory? 

“I’ll keep you going, girl…” she whispered as she left the control room, reaching a hand out to run along the walls of the ship. Victory, as usual, was silent. It always was. 

Perhaps none of the other Decepticons had shared her sentiment, but Invert had always thought of The Victory (Victory for short) as a fellow ‘con. It was a crashed ship, yes, but it was alive and functional, and it provided them a home within its body. Victory could respond to commands and hold conversations if it so wished; just the majority of the time, it preferred not to. For all she knew Victory was just trapped in permanent stasis lock, and would perhaps free itself one day. 

As such, it was important to take care of Victory, for more purposes than just maintaining a Decepticon earth base. Victory was an ally with much greater might than her. If it fell, everything was lost. 

That was why they’d left her behind when the entire cause had prepared for the assault on Autobot City–it had to be. Someone had to take care of Victory and it was for the better that that someone was her. Perhaps it had been said to her in a less kind way, but the others had had a point when they said that someone who couldn’t contribute properly to a fight would be better off staying behind. 

Okay, they’d said it a lot less kindly. More so, they’d chided her that a flightless Seeker was utterly useless on the field despite whatever “special talent” Shockwave had promised she possessed. And for the battle of Autobot City, they needed soldiers who were functional, powerful, and wouldn’t prove dangerous to their allies as well as their foes. Besides, for swelling their numbers, they had the Insecticon clones. So someone like her, broken, glitched, and more of a liability than anything else, would only be good for ensuring that Victory didn’t somehow miraculously break while they were gone. 

Because really, if Victory was invaded, it wasn’t that big of a deal. The ship was equipped to deal with invasions. Its defensive systems were more than adequate for dispatching invaders both inside and out. Invert was only present within it to mop up the Energon remains of whoever was fool enough to try. 

No one had been–but that could also be attributed to the fact that the Autobots didn’t seem to know where the Decepticon base was. That, or they just didn’t care. Invert preferred the former. Why would it be inconsequential to know where the enemy’s base was, where they were likely to crawl back to and lick their wounds? And surely they were licking their wounds somewhere out there, weren’t they?

So why hadn’t they come back?

She pushed the thought away again and threw open one of the few cleaning closets the ship possessed, grabbing all the equipment she’d need to properly clear out all the habsuits. Nowadays it was more dusting than anything else, but she still brought along a mop and bucket, just in case. 

The habsuits would start with Starscream’s, of course, because if she cleaned anyone else’s first and he found out, he’d throw a fit. And a fit from her commander was not something Invert wanted to sit through. He always treated her with more vitriol than any of the other Seekers, no matter how inconsequential her mistakes might be compared to theirs. She had an ounce of resentment towards him for it, countered only by the fact that, no matter how awful Starscream could be, he was deserving of respect for his flight abilities. 

But that was a low bar. Any winged Decepticon could fly circles around her while all she could do was watch and seethe. 

She vented and tapped the passcode to his habsuit’s door into its keypad, the double doors opening to reveal a pristine and lavishly decorated room. Starscream was nothing if not dramatic and narcissistic. All the valuables and self-care items stored in his habsuit spoke lengths to just what he’d do for a decent polish. Cleaning it was always a nightmare, even after all the times she’d done it before. If even one item was an inch out of place, she’d hear about it later. 

A tiny chuckle escaped her at the thought–when was the last time she’d heard Starscream’s voice for any purpose? Be it admonishing her for attempting even once to be a proper Seeker, bossing her around, treating her as his personal slave, or verbally abusing her to let his Megatron-induced anger out, it had been so long she almost found herself forgetting how cruel the insults had been. 

Almost. She entered his habsuit with her cleaning gear and checked everything over–berth, vanity, table, overly expensive one of a kind statue in his image, all the data-pads he pretended didn’t contain failed plans to assassinate their great leader, full length mirror that somehow hadn’t been broken, each and every one of his polishes and maintenance equipment, and of course, the additional weapons he kept on the wall. 

There wasn’t a speck of dust on anything nor any indication of water damage. The berth was made perfectly.. The floor was clean save for her own pedeprints. And the metal of the walls gleamed like it’d been treated with the same care as Starscream himself. 

There was nothing to clean, but she still gave everything a dust off, just to be safe. Giving everything one final look over for rust, Invert confirmed there to be no contamination on any of Starscream’s immensely precious belongings and left his habsuit, locking it behind her.

One down. At least fifty more to go. She vented again and moved to the next.

—-----

Maintenance was finished by the time the Earth’s sun moved high into the sky. Her internal clock read 16:23, a new method of telling time that had been adjusted for her when she’d arrived on Earth. The planet operated on a twenty-four megacycle basis, working around when the sun would orbit to the other side of the planet. The absence of the sun was named “night”, and could occur anywhere from 17:00-21:00, sometimes later. Having spent much of her time on Cybertron, she had been unaccustomed to Earth’s time, and figured it to be useless for the majority of her stay on the planet. 

“Night” had its benefits, though. Its darkness concealed well, and most organics chose to enter recharge when it came on. It was the perfect time to enact plots, schemes, and occasional terrorist attacks on Autobot City. 

The season Earth was presently in was dubbed “summer”. That meant night would not come until 21:00. She had time. After finishing with the habsuits, Invert focused on maintaining Victory. 

At 16:28 she scraped away the organics on the outside of the hull, using her thrusters to properly climb up onto it. Finishing the front at 17:34, she headed to the side, then the back, ending at 18:20. Once back inside, she accessed the Energon vault and took stock before feeding Victory. 

92 cubes left. Victory sufficed on ten per day. Power saving mode was beginning to look tempting now, if not for the risk that it would cease cloaking. And considering how often she had to transmit, the loss would be nothing short of catastrophic. 

More Energon was needed, then. She’d have to ration herself more. She fit eleven cubes in her arms and brought them to Victory’s engine. As they were tossed in she held the one extra up. 

“To another cycle, Victory.” It was brought to her dermas and promptly consumed. 

Victory gave no response, as always. Invert stared at the empty cube in her servos for only a second before turning to take it back to storage. 

At which point Victory’s system suddenly lit up. The screen turned on behind her, displaying a map of the planet and pinging a specific point somewhere in Asia. Invert looked back and raised her brows. 

“SOS signal of Decepticon origin detected,” Victory stated in its monotone voice. “Displaying coordinates on screen. Incoming message. Playing now.”

Before Invert could even brace herself, an unholy buzzing suddenly sounded through the speakers, so shrill and constant that she collapsed to one knee, instinctively slamming her servos over her audials. Gritting her dentae she opened her hub and turned her audials all the way down, which made the buzzing just tolerable enough for her to reach Victory’s main computer and slam her fist on the OFF button. 

The sound stopped so suddenly it left her processor ringing. She blinked several times, then knocked a fist against the side of her helm, shaking it a few times to properly orient herself. 

Victory had gone silent again, but continued to display the ping and its coordinates. Invert looked up at them, transcribing them in her memory. What kind of distress signal had that been? Victory’s audio systems must be going, perhaps from too much time spent under the Earth’s water. An SOS signal usually captured the sound of blaster fire, of desperate voices crying for help, of bitter regret as whatever ‘con was on the other end laid aside his pride to admit he needed back-up. 

That thought made her uneasy. Buzzing. Why have an SOS signal that was nothing but buzzing? 

“Victory…” she paused, winced, and told herself that it wasn’t going to hurt as badly the second time. “Play the SOS signal again. At a decreased volume!” 

It complied, the loud, painful buzzing sounding over the speakers once more. Invert increased her audials this time, even though the sound made her want to rip them out of her helm. Listening closely, she focused on differentiating corrupted audio from what might be beneath, be it voices, blaster fire, or the sound of fleeing pedesteps. 

But the clip ended without any differentiating sounds. She found that odd, and replayed it in her processor again and again, trying to filter through it. Nothing. Just buzzing.

“Victory, run a diagnostic on your audio systems,” she ordered. The screen changed as Victory did just that, then returned several cycles later with a clear report: nothing was wrong. 

The Energon she’d consumed sat uneasily in her tank. Invert grimaced. “Display the coordinates again,” she commanded, though they were already saved to her memory. Seeing them on the screen solidified her doubts. 

Bali. There was a ship in Bali that she knew about, one that had harbored several unsavory occupants of the Decepticon cause. They, too, had disappeared after the attack on Autobot City. 

Insecticons. Members of the cause notorious for how untrustworthy they were. She hadn’t been around for all the cases where they’d proven themselves to be nothing but hassles who only cared for endless consumption, but she’d read reports of actions and abilities. They were a self-contained group and stuck to their own–why would they call for help now, several orbital cycles after their last appearance in Autobot City?

Buzzing. Their entire signal had just been buzzing. She frowned, thinking it over. Their alt modes were based off of filthy organics, and as such, carried some characteristics of the ugly things. Was the buzzing a possible side effect of that? But they could speak, so why wouldn’t they?

Unless they weren’t able to, for some reason? During an SOS signal? 

An SOS signal from a self-contained, proud group, perfectly capable of surviving on their own, that contained an off-putting buzz likely made to avoid speaking.

Just what were they facing out there that would cause such behavior?

“Victory, open a comm to the Insecticon ship,” she said, leaning over the control panel. “Insecticons, this is Invert, speaking to you from the Decepticon base The Victory. Come in Insecticons.”

Silence. 

“Come in Insecticons.”

The ping repeated itself again and again. SOS. SOS. SOS. 

No one was going to answer. Her frown deepened and she stepped away from the control panel. The only Decepticon here was her, the last on Earth, for all she knew. If they weren’t answering, they could be offline for all she knew. Or worse, it could be an Autobot trap, and she’d be playing right into their hands. 

But if it wasn’t, and someone was there on the other side, waiting for help, desperately trying to reach any other Decepticon on this planet…

Even if they were gross Insecticons…

Rescue would fall to her. And though she would be taking a huge risk, with no guarantee for results, with the possibility of capture or permanent offlining…

It was, finally, something to do. Something beyond just maintaining Victory. Something that was a real mission. Something that could get her honor, respect, and maybe even a friend!

Her frown gradually gave way to a grin. Her first real mission. Her first real rescue. Her first chance to make a decision on her own, with no one ordering her what side to choose. 

Oh, she was excited. It didn’t matter that her jet mode struggled to fly and that she’d need to pack away six cubes of additional Energon for the journey and her weapon–she was getting out, and she was going to rescue those Insecticons. 

“Victory, open the weapon’s vault,” she eagerly commanded, taking off down the hall. “And prepare the hangar for take-off.”

—------------------

“I think you’ve had enough, bud.”

He raised tired optics from the glass currently gripped like a lifeline in his servos, the pink Energon within rippling from how his arm shook. Upon the bartender, a shorter mech with a white and yellow paint job, did his gaze land. Whatever was in it seemed enough to cause them to flinch, but they held their ground, clearly experienced in dealing with the far more unruly. 

“Seriously. You’ve had five of those in the past Earth hour. How you’re not horrendously overfueled by now, I dunno, but you’re on your way to an early grave if you keep that up.” They gave him a hard frown, narrowing their optics behind their visor. “I’m not havin’ it on record that someone died at my bar because of my negligence.”

Luster didn’t answer them at first, letting his gaze drift back down to the Energon swirling in the glass he held. How it hadn’t cracked yet spoke to its quality, or perhaps how weak he’d become. Either worked. 

The glass was half-drained. It hadn’t tasted like anything in particular. He never ordered for the flavor, since anything they could provide him would be irrelevant. His glossa didn’t taste like it once must have, even if the memories of what had been felt like they existed just beyond a fog barrier. And besides, no matter how much he drank, his tank never felt full. 

Not anymore. 

He pulled up a report on his tank capacity in his hub–93% capacity. Ignoring the bartender, he brought the glass to his derma and promptly chugged, feeling his frame protest against more. Another tank report came in–100%. If he consumed anymore, he’d have to purge. 

There was still a drop at the bottom. He forced it down despite the warnings and slid the glass forward, looking just past the bartender, never at them. 

“One for the road,” he rasped, venting harshly. “Please.”

“Absolutely not. If you’re not at capacity by this point your sensor’s faulty.” They took the glass with what almost seemed like disgust. “Aren’t you supposed to be here with your guardian, anyways? Where is he?”

Guardian. He coughed at the word, not because he wanted to, but because it reminded him of what his life had become. The motion jarred the Energon inside of him and he felt sick. Swallowing down the urge to purge, Luster moved to shaky pedes, gripping the bar for support. 

“I don’t need him,” he grumbled. “I’m not a Sparkling. I’m not a protoform. I’m…I was someone, before, I don’t need a guardian.” 

The bartender grimaced. “Luster…look, buddy. I didn’t know you before the war. I can’t say I’ve ever heard of your work. I know Magnus says you did somethin’ important before the retreat from Cybertron. But all that’s in the past now, aight? This is Earth, not Cybertron, and we all know whatever it is you were lookin’ for, you…”

They paused as his cold optics finally focused on them, reconsidering their words. 

“...We all know you had some tragedy while you were out there. Real sad. No one here wouldn’t feel bad for you. But you can’t keep drinkin’ yourself to death over it. And I know you’re a grown ‘bot, but considerin’ the memory problems and all…well…course we all think you could use a guardian.”

A low rumble escaped from somewhere deep within him. Tank capacity at 99%. He needed more Energon. 

“One more for the road,” he asked again. “Please. I’ll pay you double for it.” 

Their frown tightened. “I’m calling Uptick.”

“No.” It came out harsher and faster than he intended, sounding like the warning growl of a tiger. His optics widened and he closed them, the gentle lighting of the bar suddenly too much. “Please. No. Don’t call him.”

They had their hand to their helm as they grimaced at him. Luster growled and turned away, almost falling over as he did. His balance equilibrator was off courtesy of overfueling, and focusing on what was normally a clear beeline for the door was difficult. One pede in front of the other. One pede in front of the other. 

“Luster! You’re not goin’ out alone?” The bartender called after him. He ignored them, turning down his audials to focus on walking. 

Spilling out of the bar, he stumbled for the nearest wall and rested a hand against it, leaning on it for dear life. His head was spinning. Standing was becoming increasingly difficult. 

Tank capacity at 98%. 

It wouldn’t stay there long. He needed to be back in his habsuit before that happened. Which way to his habsuit? He focused on his internal map, pulling it up in his hub and searching the coordinates. A small box lit up on Metroplex’s form, his tracking systems illustrating a path for him to take milliseconds later. 

It was late. Autobots didn’t sleep, not really, but it was likely that, due to the time of the planet, he wouldn’t run into anyone. Luster vented again, feeling warm Energon slip out from between his lips as he did so, and began the journey back to the place he was temporarily calling ‘home’. 

The path his systems had picked took him through some of Metroplex’s tighter corridors. On Cybertron, back before he had launched on the fateful mission that took his memory from him, he would have once felt nervous. Now he felt nothing, nothing besides urgency, urgency that did not originate from fear of being attacked or robbed. 

No, it was urgency that sprouted from the deepest recesses of himself, telling him to hide for his self-preservation, for if he did not, the symptoms would soon manifest, and in his present state, he didn’t know if he could take them. 

He made it about halfway before his proximity sensor went off. With his audials turned so low, he realized he hadn’t picked up the voice of whoever was calling to him, and they’d approached, their presence now close enough to seemingly reach out and touch him. 

He turned his helm, uncaring, for whoever it was could not be worse than–

Him. 

Uptick was following within grabbing distance of him, his dermas moving as he ranted on about something Luster was glad he couldn’t hear. He paused in his movement and Uptick did the same, though he didn’t once stop talking. Of course he didn’t.

Slowly, Luster turned his audials back on, just enough to make out the slew of Uptick’s commentary like the gentle, cooing sound of a cyber pigeon. 

“--and furthermore you are in direct violation of your curfew, which states you aren’t to be out beyond the Earth hour of 21:00; it is presently 01:20 and here you are wandering the passages of Metroplex like a lost turbofox!” He put both hands on his hips, glaring Luster down. “This is your second warning. You know what happens if I have to issue a third.”

He shuttered his optics and stared blankly just beyond Uptick. “You lock me up in the clinic until I’m completely fixed or I don’t function anymore?” 

“What?” He sounded incredulous. “No! I’m not here to–do you consider this some kind of torture? Luster, I’m trying to help you!” 

“Then can you leave me alone?” He grumbled, turning away and continuing on his predetermined path. “I’ll be fine…I just need to go back…”

Back to where? The habsuit? The ship? The planet of fog in his memories? Back, back. Always back. 

“You need to stop drinking,” Uptick scolded, grabbing his shoulder and bringing him to a halt. “And stop these late night wanderings. Everyone’s concerned for you because of them.”

He let his shoulders slump. 

“That’s a lie and you know it. The only ones who still care about me are the medics who want to poke my processor. Now can I please go back home?”

The buzz was starting to fade. He didn’t get that nice warmth from Energon overfueling for long anymore. Balance was restoring. And worst of all, the reports were coming in. 

Tank capacity at 95%. Fuel proficiency at 20%. Uptake at %$^&&*^# levels. Seek alternate methods of refueling. 

Uptick let out a long sigh. “Let me walk you back. There’s no point in you getting lost and scaring others again.”

He didn’t fight the offer. There was no point in it. Once Uptick was convinced of doing something, he wouldn’t stop until it was done–especially if that task regarded protecting someone else. 

So he trudged along, the ‘bot slated as his “guardian” trailing just behind him. “Guardian”. “Caretaker” was more like it. Uptick followed him everywhere, kept an eye on how much Energon he was consuming, tracked his recharge cycles, kept a close eye on just what activities he engaged with on a daily basis, and probably had a tracker installed beneath his aft to keep him from ever having an ounce of privacy. 

Of course he did, though, after that night with the other ‘bots. He knew what he had been doing and why he had been doing it. He just didn’t know why he’d stopped.

The Autobots he’d frightened were significantly less green than he was. That wouldn’t keep them safe. They’d returned to their habsuit to begin a cycle of “enjoying one another’s company”. That was why he’d picked them. Two for one. It would have made the whole situation easier on them all.

Except it hadn’t been easier on anyone, especially him. They’d both become creeped out when, upon discovering him in their personal quarters, staring at their recharge slabs with optics more devoid than a moon, he’d purged his dinner and collapsed, whining like a sick turbofox. 

That was when Uptick had been assigned as his caretaker. There wasn’t anything wrong with Uptick, by any means, and he didn’t hate him. He was, like all Enforcers, large and imposing, and tended to play by the rules too much. His paint was cheerful colors of blue, green, and white, meant to match with the new planet he was eager to call home. And his personality was surprisingly forgiving–for being the sucker stuck with the mental patient, he had quite a tolerance for nonsense.

No, Luster despised Uptick’s company for an entire other reason. One that didn’t have to do with how closely he watched him, how constantly he reminded him to attend his appointments, or how constantly he changed his curfews and rules.

It had to do with his sparkbeat. With how close he insisted on staying, Luster could hear the damnable thing’s constant pulsing despite the layers of glass and metal and wires separating them. It was loud and full of vibrant life. 

He could feel the solvent building in his mouth. 

Tank capacity at 93%. 

—-------------------------------

The habsuit allotted to him was at the very end of Metroplex’s furthest row. It was close to the wall, away from any streets or alleys. The original request put in regarding a space for him had placed him near the clinic, where other Cybertronians would be passing by. His vehement rejection of the idea had only been approved after the arguing had made him purge. 

Uptick brought him right to the sliding door, inputting the code to open it on its keypad. The metal let out a quiet shff as it slid open, revealing the small space within. He turned, giving Luster a look. 

“Your visit tomorrow is at 09:20, Earth hours. I’ve already sent you the data package. You seem to have ignored the first four.” There was a hint of annoyance in his voice as he raised a servo to his helm. “I’ll send you another. Be there on time, please, so I don’t have to come here and convince you, alright?”

“Convince”. Luster almost scoffed at the word. The heaviness that came with overfueling had left him by now. With its cloud gone, he found himself choking on bitterness again. 

Instead, he vented, giving a tiny nod. 

“Alright.” Stepping past Uptick, he paused in the threshold of his habsuit when a hand suddenly landed back on his shoulder. 

“Luster. You know these visits are for your health, right? No one here wants to hurt you. We don’t see you as a processor to be poked.” 

“I know.” He didn’t turn around. The lights in his habsuit, motion activated, had turned on, illuminating the sparse few belongings within it. 

“I mean it.” His grip tightened ever so slightly, then released. “We want to help you. All of us.” 

“I know,” he repeated. “Now please leave me alone.” 

Uptick said nothing as the door slid closed, sealing him, and the outside world, away. Luster stepped fully into his habsuit and paused, gaze fixed on the berth. 

It was a recharge slab, standard issue. They’d tried to pull a better one for him due to his circumstances–the medic’s had posited that he may have recharging terrors. They’d been right, of course, but he knew it wasn’t the fault of the slab, so he’d let it lie. They didn’t need to know about the terrors that plagued him, for they were meaningless, and besides, if they knew, they’d want to keep a closer eye on him. 

Who cared about terrors that only consisted of strange humming noises, anyways?

Besides, a closer eye was the exact opposite of what he needed on him. If they watched him more closely, they’d take him away from the bar. They’d take him away from his quiet habsuit. They’d take him away from his place at the edge of their world and draw him right into the middle. 

And if they did that, he had no idea how long he could ensure their safety. 

He stepped over to the slab, observing his reflection in it. They’d taken away the mirror after he’d shown distress staring into it. Something about his frame just didn’t feel right, and the more he looked at it, the more out of place he felt. 

His paint was blue, a gaudy blue, one with a sheen to it that made him literally shine. One of the medics had stated his color was particularly reminiscent of a bird known as the “peacock” on earth. He’d never met the thing, but from the way they’d snickered, he assumed it was excessive. 

On his chassis were diamonds, which, according to the doctors, had been placed there, willingly, by him. He couldn’t imagine why he would have ever reasoned to do such a thing. The stones weakened the integrity of his armor, and furthermore, they drew attention. Cut into varying shapes, they were arranged into delicate patterns that continued on his faceplate, where several more had been embedded just below his optics. Had been. When they found him, all that were left were the indentations of what had been. They now felt like ugly scars. 

The gemstones were gaudy enough, but worse, in his opinion, were his drills. Their blades rested comfortably on his arms, with the largest sitting on his back as a heavy extension. His treads were on his legs, which, combined with the weight of the drill, made even lifting the damnable things a chore. According to the medics he hadn’t even been a miner back in the day, but a scientist of sorts, so why he was so equipped for drilling, he couldn’t even say. 

All of this shaped up to make his frame bulky and uncomfortable. His steps were heavy. His pieces tended to bump into things. And his excessive decorations drew gazes and snickers alike from other mechs. 

He hated the face that looked back at him. The optics were green, a gaudy green, because apparently, he’d once been obsessed with fashion, and made himself a different pair of colored optics for every day of the week. The others were lost, but the green he’d been wearing when he disappeared weren’t. 

His faceplate was a pale gray, like most mechs tended to be. Pale, with those intricate, delicate etchings, designed to make him look ‘beautiful’. His helm had a sharp point in the middle, reaching about halfway down, and of course, in the middle of it was another gemstone. This one, however, was cracked. 

A cracked gemstone accompanied by diamond shaped holes that had once held something supposedly precious. That was all he saw when he looked at himself. 

He tore his optics away from the visage and sat on the berth, keeping his pedes on the floor as he turned to look at his habsuit. It had a desk, a window, a few datapads, and a small storage shelf. That was all. 

They’d offered to bring him some of his surviving “collection”, whatever that meant. He’d declined.

The ceiling lights dimmed as he tried to lay down on his back, found it impossible, and instead did so on his side. He’d never get used to the damnable drill on his back, he just knew it. It wasn’t supposed to be there. It hadn’t been there before. Why did he have a drill on his back? He couldn’t ever remember a time where he did. 

But that was the problem with remembering. He couldn’t remember much of anything. 

It had been only three Earth “months” (solar cycles?) ago that he had landed on the planet, in an unmarked spaceship that had been dated back to the middle of the war. The bots who had discovered him found his frame locked in a stasis pod, almost offline from how little power he’d had left. Taking him back to Autobot city, an emergency transfer of Energon and a strong shock to his processor had brought him back online. 

And that was when the trouble had begun. He’d awoken in a room he didn’t recognize, in a time he didn’t know, in a place he’d never been before. He still remembered coming online. For so long it had been just darkness, darkness and the very hum of the universe, the electrical pulses that dictated the existence of life, making up the entirety of his world. When he’d come online, that hum had ebbed, becoming less than background noise. 

It had felt like being cut off from a lifeline. His optics had onlined, and he had been greeted with the sight of one of the Autobot medics, First Aid. There was celebration to be had as he had groaned and tried to sit up, confused, delirious, and wondering just how he’d gotten to this strange place. They’d insisted he stay down until his energon reserves were replenished. 

But even when his tank hit its safe capacity, a feeling that should have left him satiated and energized, he hadn’t had the strength to properly move. He’d known in that very instant, as the question arose as to why, that something was wrong with him. 

Another electrical shock had returned the ability to properly move to him. They released him from the medical bay after he’d demonstrated he could walk–right into the hands of their Enforcers. For according to their records, he was not to be alone, and the question of just what had happened on his mission was hanging heavier than a spaceship in orbit. 

The issue of his memory had arisen almost immediately. They’d asked him his name. They’d asked him why he had been alone. They’d asked him what had happened. 

He couldn’t remember any of it. 

“His processor seems to have been damaged, sir.” He remembered one of them saying, looking over the scan that had been provided from the medical bay. “They’ve found evidence that a code was written to delete some memories, but even more than that…” The datapad had been handed over, and the interrogator sucked in air through his denta. “How is he even still functional, with scrambling that bad?”

It looked like his processor had been ripped out, smashed, and placed back into his helm. He had no recollection of any of it. 

“Do you remember why you left?”

“Do you remember the name of your ship?”

“Do you remember the research you’d been engaging with when you’d decided to leave?”

“Do you remember what you found?”

“Do you remember Solace?”

“Do you remember what happened to him?”

“What happened to Solace?”

Who’s Solace?

The interview had ended shortly after. 

He vented, watching the lights in the ceiling turn down. Uptick’s data package pushed at the edge of his internal hub. He accepted it because he had no other choice. 

Solace. The name haunted him like a specter. Solace. Who was Solace? Solace had been someone he’d been very close with, apparently. Solace had been someone so important to him that he’d left Cybertron with him, in search of something mysterious to help the Autobot war effort. They’d been joined at the hip all their lives, apparently, 

And he couldn’t remember a single thing about the mech. But why?

He shuttered his optics and tried to think back to the day he’d left Cybertron. It had been sometime in the middle of the war, apparently. He’d made some big decision and gotten a ship somehow. He was going to prove something, or save them all, or change the tide of the war. Something heroic, or whatever. They’d said he had once been outgoing. 

He tried to picture himself standing on Cybertron (did he even remember Cybertron?), chassis puffed out, engine revving, the diamonds on his faceplate and chest glittering. A huge smile was on his face. He stood before the ship he’d arrived on, except instead of its decrepit state, it was a fully functioning spaceship, fresh off the factory line, without a single chip on the paint. 

Before him was a crowd of Autobots. They were cheering his name. Optimus Prime himself was there to see him off. 

He looks them over and grins widely, holding his arms out. Yes, he was going to save them all. He was going to travel far away, find something, and help end the war. He would be so full of hope, nothing could dampen his spirits. 

And there, beside him, would be Solace. Solace, his best friend, his one in a billion, his greatest ally. 

But when he looks beside him, there is no Solace. 

There was only fog, and blank space, and when he looked back, the planet of Cybertron was empty, a barren wasteland of gray. The sky was dark velvet blue. Stars glittered like diamonds overhead. 

There were stars in his chassis. He blinked once, twice. The planet was empty, and he was full of stars, and he was alone. 

And here, alone, in the emptiness of space, he floated, watching all of existence fall away and turn into the hum of electromagnetic pulses indicating life. Life that he could not see or touch. Life he could only listen to as he lay dreaming, drifting through the universe alone. 

In his cradle of stars, dead $^%#%&*^&8 waits dreaming. 

Not alone, really. He had not been alone while he was dreaming. He had heard something else in the hum.

He replayed the sound again, the hum he was so familiar with. It was millions of years worth of noise, stored within his processor because he had nothing else to comprehend for all of it. 217 gigabytes of nothing but humming. His processor ran through all of it in mere minutes, then ran through it again. 

There was something beneath all of the noise, something explicitly subtle. He opened his internal hub and pulled up a spectrograph. The noise was replayed again. 

The waves showed up as nothing in particular for a long time. Then, slowly, they began to form a curve. One by one, each contributed a single line, through millions of years, until finally, he reached himself now, still intuned, just barely, to the electromagnetic pulses of life. 

The image looking back at him was in the shape of a crescent. It was the very shape which he saw in his charge terrors, the one which, ever present, hung in the background, watching him like a cybercat would a mouse. 

His spark felt cold. He closed the spectrograph and opened his optics, staring at the gentle light of Earth’s moon shining in through the window. His internal clock beeped a warning to him–five hours until he was designated to be at the clinic. A pop-up recommending he enter recharge appeared. He moved to close it.

Tank capacity at 68%. Fuel uptake at &%#$^*(&%$$%&&%$%^^^&* Seek alternate fuel source. Seek alternate fuel source. Seek alternate fuel source. 

Dozens more appeared at the death of the one. He pushed the notifications away. 

Seek alternate fuel source.

They came back, one after the other. His frame felt like it had been starved of Energon for years. 

Seek alternate fuel source. 

He forced his optics to shutter, letting the notifications drown out the fear he felt. 

Seek alternate fuel source.

It was going to be a long recharge.

[cellsshapedlikestars]

"Ryan finally had a girlfriend that actually thought about him!!“ yes absolutely! I didn’t *hate* Marissa but I really disliked the Marissa/Ryan ship, they weren’t right together. Never even thought about it but it makes so much sense that you come from a The OC background.

The way you write modern Jon reminds me so much of Ryan (LOVE IT). So interesting that you tried to rework one of your existing fics into a Jonsa fic. I would honestly love a fic with some OC vibes. The only The OC Jonsa fic I’ve read was one where Sansa was put into Marissa‘s role and it did NOT fit. Thinking about it, Sandy and Kirsten Cohen definitely give off Ned and Cat vibes!

Also Happy Birthday!

I used to hate Marissa a lot, but I was younger then (it didn't help that the other people in my fandom vitriolically hated her lol). I can look back now and realize that Marissa was, unfortunately, the writer's favorite toy to create new drama, at the expense of her character.

And unlike almost every other character, she just wasn't fun for me (I will say, Seth sometimes bordered on too much for me, but usually he was fine). Like did Julie do terrible things? Sure, but oh boy when she showed up in a scene, I knew it would be a good time. I would rather watch her than Marissa any day of the week. Marissa would just suck the energy out of everything for me. But maybe that's a product of my old fandom, and I'd feel differently watching it now. I haven't rewatched in ages, tbh.

And I will say, I liked Marissa at the end of season 3! Because they were just wrapping up her character so she wasn't starting shit and she was actually just fun like she should've been the entire time. And they acknowledge that she & Ryan were toxic together, and better off as long distance friends. So when the time comes for her death, I'm actually sad!

I tried not to be too mean to Marissa in my fics... towards the end. Though I did write a one shot about her murdering Ryan lmaoooo. That's strictly on my livejournal... I think it's still there?

As for a Jonsa OC fic.... I've had one half written basically since I started writing fic again.

Ryan - Jon Trey - Aegon Sandy - Ned Kirsten - Cat Seth - Arya?

But there's where it sort of fails, because who is Sansa? Is SHE Seth? Where does she come in, unless I make her not related to the Cohen/Stark family. Or do I get rid of Kirsten/Cat, make her married to Jimmy/some other dude, and have Sansa as her daughter with Arya as Ned's?

Omg this got so long, but I'll include what I have written below the cut, which is literally just the opening scene, so don't get too excited lol.

The OC AU

They approach the car like it's prey, ducked down, creeping.

“I'm your big brother. If I don't teach you this, who will?" With that, Egg smashes out the window, the sound loud and echoing in the quiet alley. He opens the door and gets in, but Jon hesitates, looks over his shoulder towards the main road.

"Quit being a little bitch. Get in!"

And so Jon does, because he always does what Egg says. Just as he's about to get in the passenger side, it happens – a cop car rolls by on the main street, and Jon's heart lurches in his chest, but it passes.

And then it backs up.

“Come on!” Egg shouts, laughing and reckless. “Let's go, Jon!”

Jon slides into the passenger side and slams the door shut behind him, heart racing a mile a minute as Egg hotwires the car and gets it started, as the police cruiser turns down the alley.

And then they're off.

Down the street and out into the open, Egg pushing the throttle as hard as it can go, even on the small streets of Wintertown. Jon sits with one hand gripping the door handle, the other braced out in front of him on the dash.

“You should see your face, man,” Egg laughs, mouth wide, teeth glinting in the streetlights – sharp and dangerous. That same, reckless laughter Jon remembers from their father.

Sirens wail behind them and Jon knows this is it. This is where he finally dies, this is where everything catches up with him. At an intersection, Egg runs a red light, has to swerve to avoid an oncoming car.

“No, no, no, no,” Jon chants, shutting his eyes and bracing for impact. He doesn't know what they hit, just that he's thrown forward, the airbag slamming into his chest, the sound of crunching metal and squealing tires and sirens.

He feels groggy and weak as his eyes open, bright lights flashing and making him wince.

"Hands up! Get them up!" someone shouts. The police. "Hands on the dash where I can see them!"

For just a moment, Jon thinks about running. Pushing open the door, leaving Egg, and going as fast as his legs will take him. But his chest aches and his lungs burn and his head is spinning and so instead, he puts his hands up.