#more on my existential angst later

[kittylittersmoothie]

I often worry that occasionally writing fanfiction will be my only contribution to society... but then I remember the following quote and at least feel some solace.

"Hence, my board shorts— the international sign for 'I am not a useful member of society.'" —Donnie, "Man vs. Sewer"

some days, we just need our board shorts

unfortunately, however, "some days" is "virtually every day" for me

[netherfeildren]

Busy, Dying. Part 1;

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: In an in-between place called his life, Joel Miller is alone. In search of a cure. In need of a miracle. In want of God.

Can I interest you in a cure for loneliness? She'd asked him in a language without words. Taking it is the easy part. Letting her go is impossible.

-OR-

an a/b/o soulmates AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: No Outbreak AU, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Soulmates AU, Infidelity, Cheating, HEA!!!!!, Angst, Fluff & Smut, Mating Bites, Knotting, Heat Sex, Breeding Kink, Group Therapy, Social Experiments, Basically puppy training for unsocialized Alphas, And by God that man will be house trained by the time she’s done with him!, Complicated family dynamics, Discussions of self harm, Depression, Existential Angst, Author returns not with a whimper but with a KNOT, I wrote this in a very unserious state of mind beware 

A/N: Gray November, I've been down since July - but we're so back, baby. I’ve missed this so bad. I’ve missed you all, I won’t drone on and on. I hope you enjoy, and please talk to me in the comments. Update me on what I’ve missed, let me know how you’ve been and what’s happening in your life.

A great heartfelt thank you to all of my wonderful friends who so supportively cheered me on while I struggled to write this. Sincerely the best people I know. 

Love you all madly.

Word Count: 6.5K

Read on AO3

Part 1;

The old linoleum tiles are the most peculiar shade of puce, and Joel has realized that there is someone sitting at the back of the room who smells… strange. 

More brown than purple—an ugly color. There’s something about it that fascinates him.

The woman that is currently speaking tells of her husband; it’s the only tale she has to tell. She’s been doing it for weeks, and they all know it well by now. Older, omega, the woman, and at the latter and less comely stage of life. Most of them here can say the same. They usually give their names, those that get up to share—although it’s never a requirement when you attend, it is highly encouraged—the sharing, he means—but he never pays much mind to them—the names, that is. That’s not what he’s here for after all—to make friends. Although, he does see how that’d be the initial assumption. 

Joel Miller is here for something more specific.

Six weeks he’s been showing up to these things now, and he’s yet to take a turn. He tells himself he’s working up to it. 

What that specific thing is…he hasn’t quite figured out. He’s listening for it, though, and intently, even if he does skip over the names. It’s the details of what they’re telling that matter to him. The hows and intricate whys of what it is that brought them here today.  

Her youth had been spent on a drunk, the woman is saying—her husband—and he’d been cruel to her in those days when there was still currency to spend in the form of her vitality. Joel nods at the puce—yes, he thinks, that’s usually the way of it. But later, there’s more to the story she reminds her audience, he drank himself into a fit, and had never been right since. The cruelty had been taken away from the marriage after that, and she’d been put in charge. 

“But I wonder,” she says, “If sometimes I don’t miss it, the way he’d been,” —if the reason she was here now, with all of the rest of them that were just like her in their own unique ways, was that she’d been left lonely after her cruel husband had been exchanged for a sick one. 

Joel nods again and wonders what sort of face the woman wears as she confesses but doesn’t bother to check. No matter, he knows they’re the same. If not in designation, then in heart. 

It’s easy, that thing, he does it too, to wish for the bad. To want to hold on to it, the thing that hurts. Addictive, even, in some cases. Missing it is easy. 

It’s why he’s here. 

And it’s what they promise you. In their flyers and pamphlets, when they stand on the corners of streets talking people up wearing that look in their eye and that slouch in their step, when they smell it on you—or in the lack there of—a mate or a purpose.

Welcome to our meeting. We’re here to find the cure for loneliness. 

That’s what they promise you when you come here. 

It’d been that word: loneliness, actually, that had caught him. L-O-N-E-liness. There was something attractive about it to him. Not a label but a state. 

You see, it was like this: Joel had seen a therapist once, several years ago, against his will and at the behest of another, who’d said all the wrong things in all the wrong ways. 

“You sound depressed, Joel,” the therapist had told him. 

He’d worn horn rimmed glasses and had a shiny bald head he could see the reflection of the overhead lights in. And worse—the non-scent of a beta which told him they’d never understand each other in the ways Joel longed to be understood. He’d—not hated him, necessarily—but felt an immense apathy for the man; more so than the regular apathy he felt for most things in his life. 

“I don’t know what that means.” 

“Very, very sad,” was the official diagnosis.

Joel hadn’t liked the sound of the word. The label. He did not like that a word so succinct could be ascribed to him and all that had happened to him in his life. There was no word for it. It just was. 

But there was something different about a state of aloneness, which if attributed to himself, he could accept. He had been left alone, in ways. It was a tangible thing he could look around a room inside of himself and recognize. 

They’re meetings, is what this place is—encounter groups this coalition offers where lonely demi humans can come to congregate, discuss their aloneness, what had led them to such a state; their lack of attachments, connections, mates—alpha, omega. Held in the basement of the Emmanuel Episcopal Church on Newbury street, right between his shop and house, although they never talk about religion which he likes because he doesn’t believe in religion. 

God is still under review. 

He wonders if the Catholics wouldn’t have them. 

Sitting forward in his seat, the metal folding chair that always leaves his back aching something fierce, he presses his elbows into his knees to distract with alternative pressure. Focusing on his fingers woven together between his spread legs, he tries to pay attention to the man who’s stood up to speak now. Older than himself, late sixties, no children, no family, no nothin’; he’d run them all off. 

But Joel is distracted. 

The smell is stronger now. Stranger too. Something full bodied, but metallic like rust, astringent bleach, built in a way that forces saliva to pool heavy between his suddenly aching gums. A mask that sits atop something of a much different chemical architecture—that’s the strange part. 

Or—no. The back of his neck itches, and Joel lifts a palm to cup his nape, quell the sting, feel the tender mark. No. The strange part is not the illusion of the smell. What it is, actually, is that he’s fairly certain what he’s smelling is someone else's blockers. Something which he’s positive he’s never consciously noticed on another person in the thirty plus years since he’d presented as an alpha. 

He has, suddenly, the quite intense urge to peek over his shoulder, certain that he’ll be caught smelling things he has no business smelling. That there will be someone just there, breathing down the nape of his neck with accusation on their tongue—boo!

Silly. But he’d known today would not be a good day. 

It’d started off wrong. The milk had gone sour overnight, the check engine light had come on in his truck, all his socks were suddenly mismatched with not a single pair to be found, and his usual route to work had been waylaid by some freak accident. A tree split in half, one side into a house, the other into the road. Not a sign of lightning in the sky all night long. 

Perhaps he might be compelled to believe in God after all. 

Joel does not like it when things are out of order or out of the ordinary. His life was organized in a way that never caused him strife or excess. And it was not that he was stuck in his ways, only that he enjoyed his routine and disliked when things were not as they should be. And this—whatever it is he’s smelling, whoever—is not as it should be. 

The older gentleman, an Alpha too, is still speaking. He had a daughter, has, who no longer speaks to him. Won’t even take his money. He’d had a long career in government that’d filled him with greed and paranoia and a radical view of life that refused to align with the way young people saw the world now. Perhaps he’d tried to change at certain times, but he was old and set in his ways. Or maybe he hadn’t wanted to change as badly as he should have when he still had the chance to. Happily stuck in the past. His wife had died, and his daughter had gone away from him. Too tired of his mediocrity as a father to give him another chance. 

The man sounds like he feels sorry for himself. Like he thinks himself the victim, and this one, Joel does look up at. He looks old and worn down, heavy beer pouch and thinning hair and sagging jowls. A sad and lonely man. Joel wonders if that’s how he looks to the other people in this room, as well. 

“No man knows how bad he is until he has tried very hard to be good.” Joel blinks, looks at him more closely, tries very hard to find similarities between themselves. But no—not quite right, not the thing he’s looking for. Their plight is different. This man is not alone, he’s got his weakness to keep him company. 

The one thing Joel had fought like hell to keep out of his repertoire of issues. He’d run from even the possibility of it as soon as she was dead, left Texas straight for the Northeast and from thereafter, everything he’d done, he’d done with a staunchness of character. If at the end of it, that staunchness was made up of apathy or numbness or dissociative fury, well, then at least he wasn’t still that man who’d been too weak to save his daughter. 

That counted very much in Joel’s book. 

An overabundance of cold numbness, little anger, everything a static haze—an abstinent winter. That was his whole life. But then, look at him now, he was here, wasn’t he? He’d taken that brochure handed to him on that last warm Tuesday weeks ago as he’d headed back to the shop from lunch. 

Hello, sir. Could I interest you in a cure for loneliness? The young omega had said. 

It’d started like anything—an experiment or a desperate ploy. The monotony had been steady going the past few years, getting older, colder. He’d grown hard and solitary around his wound, loneliness spread like a fungus, and he’d longed for any sort of change. 

“A cure…how?” The terrible shrink had come to mind.

“Oh, nothing to fret over.” The young man had a nice smile, Joel remembers. Kind and straight toothed. Honest in the way that a stranger knocking on your door to sell you a Bible seems honest. “We call it an encounter group. People come, share, tell the tales of their designation and their lives. In the end, the result is different for different people. Some move on to a second step if they need more. Others find what they’re looking for just through the connection of sharing. But no matter the result, you’ll see, you’ll be cured. Promise.” He’d winked, smile deepening, giving him an appreciative once over at the end of his spiel. Joel had blinked back, surprised, confused, but curiosity peaked enough he’d obsessed over it for three short days before he’d found himself stepping into the molted incense smell of the belly of a church so dimly lit he was sure not even God peaked in this sad space any longer.

“It’s that easy?” Joel had asked, childlike in his throat-strangled hope.

“That easy.”

It seemed the smile had been honest enough to sell him the Bible. 

The scent insists upon itself as the older gentleman finishes up, and Joel’s nose tickles with whatever it is it’s whispering at him. He wants to get up and walk out, run away, but suddenly his gut is tight and hot, and he isn’t sure he can actually stand up without disgracing himself in front of all these people. A wash of agonized heat moves through him, confused at what’s suddenly happening to his body. 

“We have a newcomer today sharing for the first time,” Maria, the woman who leads the group, says at the front of the room. “Everyone give her a warm welcome, it’s her first day and already she’s brave enough to jump on up here.”

There’s the shuffling of bodies in their seats, a cleared throat, the man sitting behind Joel breathes so loudly he thinks he’s gotta have some sort of medical condition, the puce turns more hideous by the second, and his own heart is beating so hard in his ears the rush of blood is dizzying. He feels each thump of the thing against his breast bone in some sick imitation of a fist begging to be let out. 

The new voice begins as nothing but a murmur. 

An introduction—he misses the name. His breathing goes shallow, he’d tip over in his seat if he didn’t have both boots planted firmly against the puce. The voice gains strength and with it, Joel wishes he’d been paying attention from the start. He didn’t get to hear her name. 

It’s a girl.

She’d run away from home in the spring of her sixteenth year to join the opera, she tells them. Had come upon the city in roaring spring and thought the rest of her life would be exactly like that, pure novelty in bloom, nothing like what she’d left behind. And was deeply disappointed when the reality was nothing such. 

And Joel hears it, that disappointment in her voice at what she’d not been able to find after searching for it so religiously. This is what makes him look up at her. This, unlike all the others, he thinks he can relate to—just by the sound of her voice. The search for a thing lost which can never again be found. The fruitlessness of it all. 

At that first vulnerable, terrified glance, she’s already staring at him, eyes catching like hooks. 

He blinks once, twice—color—is sure he can hear the movement of his eyelashes passing through the air, the stick of his lids meeting—color—bright. This is it.

That wash of heat turns into a blaze, every single bead of sweat blooming on his brow is a tell evaporating into the ether. This is what he’d sensed from the start of the evening. Maybe even from the moment he’d seen that split maple. 

“My mother always said I needed to be stronger, bolder, not so sensitive.” She looks away from him now. “I grew up in an angry house where you had to fight tooth and nail not to be overrun. Because of this, I left it at a very young age, and it was the greatest fight I could muster, abandoning that house of anger. I found myself something to bring me what I thought would be joy, a job and a city, and for a time, it was enough. But starting your lonely life so young…it’s hard.” After a pause of breath, “It’s been hard.”

“And it’s made me never want to have to—exert myself,” she says, searching for the right words, smiling when she finds them, and Joel has the urgency to smile back. “Now, I never want to have to be strong. I never want to have to try. I want to only be the way that I am. If that’s weak or sensitive or whatever it might be at any given moment, I don’t care. I don’t want to have to fight. I never want to be in an angry house again. I want someone who’ll see this in me and understand and never make me work for it, that they would give it to me willingly, easily, without me having to ask. Do you understand?” She looks about the room, and he hopes her eyes will land on him again, and even though they don’t, he feels she’s speaking directly to him. He nods, the hook of her temptation cast beneath his chin. “This is a fantasy. And it makes for a lonely existence. This idea of how I need it to be for it to be right—love.” She looks down at her hands folded atop the podium where they go to stand at the front of the group and share, and he wills her gaze to find him amidst the crowd again. “It’s so difficult. And this might seem very bad to you, weak willed, but it’s not. It’s only very honest. Which can never be a bad way to be.” That’s why she’s here, she tells them.

Finally, she looks back at him, and it’s that loneliness of two people amidst a crowd, facing one another, knowing themselves mirrored against the other and yet still disparate. There’s something indecent about the way she looks at him in front of all these people, the way he, in turn, looks back. A little bit like finding your own face on a stranger's body in a crowded room. Color rises to his face, and she gives him that same elusive smile from before. 

He’s the one to look away this time. 

As the crowd disperses for coffee and pastries after the last of the speakers, he searches for her. He needs to ask her name, feels as if he’s some blighted creature without it, swears he’ll never forgo attention during a meeting again if he can fish it out of her.

He finds her at the dessert table, Maria at her side and a hand at her shoulder. Something of a thank you is being imparted between the two women. The girl is saying she’s grateful for the welcome, grateful that they’d found each other. 

Joel has things to be grateful to Maria for, too. His brother, mainly. It’d been pure chance that Joel had met her here, that she knew Tommy also. She’d met his brother on a summer trek to Wyoming where they’d become friends and had kept in touch afterwards. The woman has a thing about her that ingratiates people by sheer force of will. Perhaps it’s that she’s an alpha, too. Perhaps it’s just the charisma and wide smile. The fact that she has a countenance that takes no shit from anyone, that makes demands of a person whether they’ve got any give or not. But whatever the case, they’d realize their connection through Tommy, and she kept Joel updated on his brother whom he’d not spoken with in many years. 

Watching the two women stand together and share that easy thanks that Joel so urgently owes, and yet which he cannot voice, he feels, suddenly, so angry. So awkward. So humiliatingly inexperienced. So unable to grapple with the pain of human contact, the fascination of it, the humiliating necessity. 

That decade old anchor weighing him in place and the guilt of even thinking of it as such. 

I feel decrepitly alone and odd, he thinks. And how strange, no? He was a normal man. He has a normal job. He lives in a normal house. Unexceptional in every sense. Everything in his life had been ordinary up until that one great tragedy. And then, as if none of the before had ever existed, it was as if everything afterwards was one great landslide of wrongness. The filth of it slinging mud all over his life so that nothing had ever been right after her. 

So that now he cannot even approach this girl whose name he needs to know, and Maria, to whom he owes the last surviving connection to his brother. 

As Maria turns to go, she gives him an encouraging nod, sending him into an agony of shyness. She’d sensed him hovering. 

The girl remains at the dessert table, perusing the pastries. He can see her fingertips dancing over the golden, sugared confections, before she settles on a plain, glazed donut. He watches the bend of her elbow, bringing it to her mouth and thirty seconds later, the empty hand reaching for a napkin. He can’t help the huff of laughter it draws from him. 

Watching the unknown creature with her back turned, he peers down the length of himself. Wood stain marred t-shirt, old work jeans and scuffed boots, he’d come straight from the shop. Looking back at her, she seems perfectly packaged and pristine. The two of them, different as chalk and cheese. He tells himself he shouldn’t do it, turn around and go, leave her alone, as he steps up beside her at the table. 

Immediately, there’s the heat of her skin, the smell of her shampoo, and he realizes, and it’s silly because it should’ve been obvious from the get go, she’s an omega. The epiphany, not that she is one, but that he’d been too stupid and oblivious to notice, leaves him feeling vulnerable and angry. 

Any sort of hello that’d been coming alive on his tongue immediately dies. And he’s about to make a run for it once again when she speaks up from beside him, “Would you like a donut?” Her small fingers are dancing over the pastries, searching once again. “I haven’t had one yet,” she lies, “I can’t decide which looks best.” 

The dancing hand pauses over a golden brown puff pastry, seemingly coming to a decision, when she turns to look up at him. The scent of her isn’t just shampoo, not just the blockers he’d shockingly picked up on before, sharp, burning his nose. It’s her skin now, too. The dry sweat from hustling under her coat to make it to her first meeting on time salted along her limbs. Hot, sweet almonds. The shocking vermillion of the morning’s split maple comes to mind. He can smell her.

“A puff pastry?” She presses, quizzical crook to her brow at his silence and glower. “I think you really need something sweet. It’ll make you feel better.”

He wants to agree, to say he also thinks he needs something sweet. All he can manage is a short grunt because she smells…indescribable. Honeyed musk, something heady, like she herself had just got done baking, straight out of the oven and full of sugar into his waiting mouth. 

That earlier anger, it kicks up a notch. Why isn’t he fucking saying anything? 

She shrugs, as she lifts the puff pastry to her mouth he finally manages sound. 

“You stink.”

He doesn’t know when he became such a liar.

A pause, mouth open, straight, white teeth ready to bite into the fluffy sweet bread. He can see her small, pink tongue, and it makes him go a little woozy.

He might be losing his mind. 

She’s got elegant eyebrows that shoot straight up her smooth forehead. The look of her skin is glorious. “Excuse me?”

Now, there seem to be too many words spilling out of his mouth. “You need better meds or somethin’. Need to sort your shit out. Can’t go gallivanting about the world smellin’ like that.” Oh god, shut up. 

“Excuse me!” She takes a huge bite of the pastry. “I do not gallivant,” she shoots back, mouth full of sugar and Joel goes hot everywhere. “What is wrong with you?” she demands, the pursing of a prim little mouth as she chews, eyeing him maliciously. 

He hasn’t the damndest clue. 

She is not wary of him in the slightest, which in turn tells him he needs to be wary of her.

Another large bite, inexplicably she extends her free hand towards him—potentially going into shock and entirely out of his depth when he takes it, the vulnerability of tendon and muscle soft beneath his strength—offering him a firm shake. She gives him her name. 

In that moment, she has a look about her that tells him she’ll bite back if he isn’t careful, even if she hurts herself in the process. 

And now he knows you. 

-

“We might as well acquaint ourselves if you’re going to insult me. Don’t you think?” Peering up at him, he’s tall, well over six feet, and broad shouldered. Older, distinguished, but in a rough way, hewn oak, gray. “Are you typically this rude? Or is this a special occasion?”

Incredibly handsome. 

“I’m being serious.”

“I do not stink. No one has ever said that to me, and my blockers are quality. It must be a you problem.” The puff pastry really is very good. And this man really is very handsome. Coming here today was a good idea. 

One of the girls from the theater had suggested it, handing you a pamphlet with Looking for the Cure for Loneliness? emblazoned across the top, and even though she’d done it kindly, any other person would’ve taken the implication as an insult. Hey girl! No offense, but we all in the company think you’re super weird and have you heard about this support group for losers? Kind of like Omegas Anonymous!

Those hadn’t been her exact words, and you hadn’t taken offense. After the initial agony of embarrassment, you’d warmed to the idea. You’d heard of groups like these before. Congregations of demi humans where one could come to find community or connection. Be it socializing or support for people struggling with their designations and all that they implied, they served their purpose. And anyways, you weren’t in a position to be nitpicky. 

It’s true, you’re alone. 

So alone, in fact, that even the people around you could tell. Strangers, coworkers, your roommate and her girlfriend. Like some noxious cloud of loneliness following you around virtue signaling the desperate need for love and companionship and understanding you’re so in need of. 

You increasingly saw yourself as a dancer on her toes, trembling delicately all over, vying desperately to survive to the end of the song. A monster with too many heads. A Cerberus of the richest caliber. 

Two or three would’ve been acceptable—heads—but you'd long surpassed that and moved on to something unrecognizable and unpleasant. Desperately in need of a solution. 

“Maybe you’re the one that stinks. Maybe it’s your upper lip.” And voila, the monster makes her debut. 

“My—” The rude alpha, obvious, that one, lets out a choked sound, a deeper wash of color immediately flooding his cheeks. You dip your head sideways, appraising him as you polish off your second pastry. He has pretty bone structure, masculine, and after he’s done choking and spluttering, he can’t help but laugh a little bit. You see it. 

Beneath a mouth that looks forbidding, perhaps even a little cruel, you can sense that he is not an unkind man. 

Yet you’re not so green that you can’t recognize the gnawing hunger of loneliness in others. There’s always a reason people find themselves in places like these. His face, edged with the weariness of age, makes this obvious. He has good reason for subjecting himself to this. 

Reaching for the lovely eclair you’d been deciding between earlier, you take a large bite of it. Almond cream and a thick layer of icing on top, humming happily as you chew while he stares at you like the three headed dog. 

You hold the dessert out towards him, offering. Palm up, he shakes his head no, slightly disgusted look on his face. 

“So. You come here often?”

He blinks. “Really?” Patronizing look on his face now. 

“Why not? I am actually interested to know if this is worth my time.”

He rolls his eyes. Oh, he’s fun. “Yes, I come here often. Every Friday, for the past two months just about.”

“And you like it?”

“Is this the sort of place one likes?”

“Oh, come on. You never know what you might find.” He watches your mouth as you finish the eclair, swallowing hard. “Anyways, I think the world is kind of over out there. Don’t you? Might as well make the best of it in here.” 

Thumb pressed against the edge of the table, he looks down, suddenly awash with shyness once again. A shy alpha, who’d of thought. 

“What did you used to do?” He asks, motioning at the crowded room full of chatting alphas and omegas. You wonder how many of them will go home together for a fuck after this. 

“When?” You ask, sure he means in lieu of this group, if you’d ever had another form of demi human community. 

“Before this.”

“Before this? Nothing.” Smiling at him, certain he isn’t picking up on your teasing. 

“Nothing?”

“Nope. I’ve always been here.”

“But— Don’t you…I thought...” He’s cute, shaking his head like you’re just too confusing to sustain. “You sing, right?” He pivots. 

“Sing? Me? Whatever made you think such a thing?” The sly look on your face goes completely over his head and slides to the rest of the sweets. If he wasn’t watching, you’d have another. 

“You said. You said you’re in the opera,” he gruffs back, looking visibly aggravated now. 

Such fun. 

“I’m a supernumerary,” you concede as you turn, making your way to an old relic of a pew along the far wall, tragically abandoning the desserts. 

He follows as you go, sitting a respectful distance beside you. 

“I don’t know what that is.”

“We’re the actors that fill the stage at the opera.”

“No singing?”

You shake your head, flirting with him. “I’m a wench, I’m a courtesan,” You bat your lashes, fingertips pressed coquettishly beneath your chin, “Part of a harem. I’m every woman you’ve never known. It depends on the opera.”

“I’ve never heard of that before.”

“I started as a stagehand when I first got to Boston. Worked my way up.”

“How’s it work? Lines or somethin’?”

“No lines. No anything. I’m a background actor—an extra, basically. If anything, I’m given some simple choreography direction, laugh, sigh, show fear, horror, shock. Whatever. I’m playing pretend without actually having to do anything.”

“No working for it.”

Your smile melts to blandness. So he’d been listening, then. 

“Did you want to sing?”

“No. I wanted to be a supernumerary.”

“Strange. I’ve never heard of that,” he repeats.

“You did say, yes.” Now, the smile turns auspicious. Everyone’s here for something. “What do you do?” Perhaps this is it for him. 

You eye the rest of the congregation, at the far exit, there’s a large alpha helping an omega into his coat. 

“Got a shop, furniture, woodworking and such.”

“You make things?” He nods. “Ah, a man of creation.” 

Sitting back to take him in, he’s got the beginning insinuations of silver speckling the dark hair at his temples, a well groomed beard, and large, intimidating hands. 

His small huff of laughter is bashful, tinged with something disappointed. “No, nothin’ that grand.” And he’s got an accent heavy at the ends of his words, not Bostonian. Southern.

“But you know, I wanted to say…”

“Yes?” You press when he loses his courage, leaning towards him, inhaling deeply. 

“Well, that I know what you meant earlier. Sometimes I can be the angry house.”

You blink once. Sit back. “I see.” 

“It’s hard work. I have to try every day at it.” 

Hard work being the house, or not? Two opposite sides of the same coin. 

“How do you stop yourself?” You cast a line, fishing for his character.

“Don’t know. Keep myself cold, I think.”

“That’s no way to be.”

“No. It’s not.” He sounds amused. You want to bite him.

Everyone’s here for a reason. 

“Ah, well. Perhaps that’s what’s brought you here then,” you say, twisting the toe of your sneaker against a scuff on the old hardwood, leaning forward on your palms wrapped around the edge of the pew. 

“Maybe,” he says, but a sort of pained, exasperated sound follows it. Your hung head turns to peer at the handsome face, and he’s already looking at you. 

There’s something animal afoot. Perhaps in terms of designation, sure, of course, like the rest of the alphas and omegas here. Your designations weigh heavily in the air. But also intrinsic to your two personalities. You feel you know him. That the two of you might have the same sorts of problems, desires. And as you stare at him, you think you may be equally measuring each other’s character, finding that similarity in one another. 

His eyes move quickly between yours, over your face, and you can tell that prolonged eye contact isn’t his norm.

He has the most surprising set of bright hazel eyes like river stones. 

Suddenly, you feel desperate to pull out a flicker of sexuality in the man, hear it in his voice. Sure, that with him, the experience would be entirely different, exhilarating. Perhaps a challenge. He seems to be more quiet and more patient than any other man you’d ever come across, but also more stern—taking in that soft mouth held so firmly. Far more remote too, by the far away look in his gaze. You want to see how he could be moved and what the sight of it would look like. 

“Maybe not,” he finally continues. “I’m looking for something, I think.” 

“Something like what?”

“Someone like me.”

“An alpha?”

“No,” he looks away, cringing. The word out loud seems a shock to him. “Did you listen to the woman at the start—missing the bad thing? I struggle…with that. Holding on, not letting go even when I know I should.”

You’re at an age now which sometimes makes it hard to realize or accept that what you’re living is your life. That it’s been time to grow up. That you have to remember to move forward when it’s your turn in line. 

Which is to say, that you understand him—the difficulties of knowing when to hold on and when to give up.

“Sometimes you hurt yourself because you don’t have anything else to do. Sometimes, because the alternative is much worse.”

“Holding on ‘cause there’s nothing else to do?”

“Sure. Or you’re used to it.” You’ll be gentle with him, you decide. He’s in need of gentle handling despite the stern face; not a puzzle so arbitrarily solved. And those eyes are still so bright, he doesn’t seem like he needs any more hardship.

“Don’t know why I’m tellin’ you this,” he says, accent heavy. 

“Well you did come here for a reason. Didn’t you?” Discreetly, you slide closer to his side, but he doesn’t notice. Apparently lost in the realization that perhaps this was what he’d come here for, to talk to someone, to have someone listen and relate. You’re almost positive he’s never gotten up to share with the group before in all his time coming to the meetings; doesn’t look like the type.

“I came here because I’m going to take better care of myself,” you tell him. “I’m going to try harder.”

“Harder at what?” He blinks as if attempting to come out of a dream.

“Everything. I don’t want to end up like my parents; drunk, angry, alone. I’m scared of it. I’ve avoided at least two of them.”

“I’m afraid of getting older,” the dream moves in his eyes. “That I’ll forget,” he says, but you don’t ask what.

All of a sudden, he seems very real. The swells of grief and loneliness moving through him so similarly, so close to the surface. 

Springing up, you turn to face him and he follows to stand too. You can hear the crack of his knees unfolding, and when he lifts his left palm to stifle a gruff cough, the band of gold around his finger is paralyzing. 

All of a sudden, he’d seemed like what you’d been looking for here too. There’s laughter coming from the church rafters. 

“You’re a widower?” He wants to forget, he’d said he wants to let go. 

Hadn’t he?

But instead, “What? No.” You stare pointedly at the ring, and he looks down at it also. “No,” he repeats. 

“So’re you looking for a fuck, or what?” You try and hold back the bite it comes with, but you can’t.

“No. No. That’s not what I’m looking for.” 

You don’t understand, impaired by your youth, you forget you’d chosen to be gentle with him. “Maybe it’s what you need,” you tell him, turning towards the exit before you can watch him cringe.

He follows at your heels, grabbing his coat from the hook by the doors before he’s stepping out after you into the fall blister. It’s cold and wet and glorious out. 

“Don’t you have a coat?” He demands.

“Nope.” You start walking towards Arlington Street and the park. 

“Did you walk here? It’s freezing out.”

“I did,” you turn back towards him, still moving, and he starts to follow. 

“From where?”

“Downtown.”

“Where?” He scowls at your uncooperation, the married man. Alpha. The truth was that he’d smelt strange to you too. Like no one ever had before. As glorious and shocking as the cold. Like if snow had a scent. Disappointment churns in your gut alongside the excitement at the sight of him stalking after you. 

“I don’t think you know it.” Your backward walk is interrupted as a hurrying stranger bumps into you, sending you staggering. Watch it, the Boston snark spits. The alpha turns to scowl, heavy boot forward like he’s half a mind to follow after the person you’ve just inadvertently assaulted. 

And it occurs to you, “You didn’t tell me your name.” How silly of you. You’d been so distracted you’d forgotten to ask, and what if you never see him again after this? What if you can’t muster the courage to come back again next week? What if he can’t?

“It’s Joel.” 

You think it sounds right. 

“I might—know it.” Where you’re headed to. You smile at the dog with a bone. The disappointment pulses. “Is it far?” He presses. You shrug, looking over your shoulder. You’re going to lose yourself in the garden for a few hours, forget about him. “Why don’t you drive?”

“I like to walk,” you tell him, turning back. 

He looks at you like he doesn’t like the things you say much less the way you say them much less the way you’re grinning at him. Perhaps he can see the disappointment and is disturbed by the sight of it, but the possibility seems too altruistic. 

“You should try it sometime, Joel. You might like it too.”

His huge body seems to be shivering in the cold. 

“I think…” The look on his face has turned suspicious now. He takes a step towards you. “You’re very strange. And you’re very young. I don’t think we should be friends.”

Your heart gives a demanding thump. “We’re not going to be friends.” When you’d first spotted him in the crowd, the strangest feeling had come over you. A tug behind your belly button, a scalding heat at the back of your neck, at your wrists. Perhaps it’s merely imagination, the look of disappointment you think you see on his face right before you turn away from him to continue on walking. “And I’m not that young anymore.”

You’d known today was going to be a good day. Extra cinnamon in your latte, a late start to your morning, warm in bed, no rain in the sky despite the cloud cover. And your director, late for rehearsals after some freak accident had befallen the roof of his house.

“That’s what all young people say.”

Part 2;

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

Updates Blog

[kaciidubs]

Open Heart

❣ Summary: When you don't know what to say or do, when life starts living you, you can always rely on Chris to bring you back. ❣  ❣ Word Count: 3.2k ❣ Warnings: Mental breakdown, existential crisis, implied panic attack, angst, fluff, comfort, crying, Supportive BF! Chris, Reader is a mess mentally and emotionally, discussions of family, careers, life, and the future, self doubt, self deprecation, mentioned disassociation ❣  ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣  ❣ Additional Tags: Chan is referred to as Chris, Channie, Baby, Christopher, and Christopher Bahng [wowie], Reader is referred to as Princess, Baby, Love, Sweet Girl, this is the one that's personal so I'm sorry if you can relate but also you're not alone ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist

“Yeah, dad, I know... Mhm... No, I haven’t heard back from them yet, but it’s only been a week since I applied so... Yeah, I know…”

You paced the living room of your apartment, holding your phone to your ear as you did your best to tame the headache brewing in your head. 

“I know you do, it’s just - there’s so many things I can do with my degree, I’m just trying to figure out what I want to do... I know... Yeah... Okay... Talk to you later... Love you too, bye.” 

Ending the call, you tossed your phone onto the couch with a heavy sigh - the weight of the world piling on top of stress already weighing on your shoulders. 

Everything sucked - almost as if the world was out to get you for simply existing; years of doing what was right, doing what you were supposed to, only for you to still feel like you weren’t doing enough. 

People pleasing. 

A wave of guilt made your stomach turn, tears stinging behind your eyes as you stood in the silence, yet it still felt so loud. 

You knew your dad meant well, your parents meant well, your family meant well, but every question, every poorly veiled nudge of ‘What’s your next big move going to be? You’ve been stagnant for so long.’ ate at your psyche at every turn. You felt like you did everything; you graduated high school in the high percentage of your class, you went to college, you graduated as a first generation student after five excruciatingly long years - yet through all that they still wanted more from you. 

A pleasure to have known. You have so much potential.

If you had a dime for the amount of times you’ve heard those words, you would’ve been a millionaire by now. 

A shaky breath rattled in your chest as you sighed, your hands rising to cup your rapidly heating face. “Fuck... F-Fuck.”

Your vision blurred, salty tears stinging your eyes before burning fiery trails down your cheeks with no signs of stopping. 

When was it going to be enough? When were you going to be enough? 

Your breath hitched, choking on a sob that your body refused to let go - not now, not right now. You were still young, you had so much potential - so why did it feel like you were being rushed? Why did it feel like everyone saw some invisible clock above you, counting down the days until you’d become useless? 

Wasted potential - those words always used to scare you, the famous buzzwords of any educator wanting to instill proper work ethic in their students; the future of the workforce. 

Wasted potential - that’s what you were beginning to feel at your 9-5; a quaint little job you kept throughout your final semester, something that got the bills paid and kept a little more in your savings. 

Wasted potential - that’s what you felt when your days began blending together, when you realized disassociation was your coping mechanism until your mouse hovered over ‘clock out’. 

You wanted to do so much, so much, but there was never enough time in the day - they were never ideas that would earn you a proper living wage, a career path your family wouldn’t agree with. 

Your body shook as a sob finally tore through your silent cries, your head throbbing as air tried to force its way into your lungs - crying never used to hurt like this.

Your world spun, it felt like time froze while speeding up, but all you could do was cry - stand in your living room and cry like a reprimanded child because you weren’t doing what you were supposed to. 

“Princess?” 

Your eyes snapped open behind your fingers, quickly registering a bigger, warmer pair wrapping around your wrists. 

“Baby, can you hear me?” 

Guilt. 

Chris was home early, and instead of relaxing like he deserved, he now had to tend to you - crying over the same thing you cried over four months ago. 

He felt you tense, he could see the spiral of overthinking, and his grip tightened, “Hey, hey, it’s just me - it’s just me, princess.” 

You sniffled, biting back another sob as you shook your head, “’M s-sorry-” 

“Shh, don’t apologize - you don’t have to apologize, not to me, not for this.” 

Understanding - he was always so good at that, making sure you knew you weren’t the problem of anything; he always joked he got better at it from you. 

Another wave of tears surged through you, nearly making you double over at the rush of fresh emotions popping off in your brain, your jaw tensing as you tried to stifle the illegible babbling falling from your lips. 

“I- It’s- I can’t- And- It’s just so-” 

Chris pulled you into his chest, one arm wrapping around your shoulders while the other cradled the back of your neck, his thumb rubbing circles just behind your ear. “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay - I’m here, you’re okay.” 

He blinked away his own tears, the sounds of your cries breaking his heart when he entered the apartment, and now the feeling of your body shaking against his like a fall leaf utterly tearing him apart inside. 

You weren’t sure how long you both stood there, him whispering words of comfort in your ear while you stained his black hoodie with your tears, but you slowly came out of your breakdown with uneven breaths - your hands holding onto his hoodie as if he was your lifeline. 

He was your lifeline.

“Can we go to the bedroom, princess? Can we manage that?” He cooed softly, a soft smile settling on his lips as he felt you nod. “Okay, we’ll go slow, yeah?” 

True to his word, he slowly led you into the bedroom with shuffling steps, noting how you clung to him like a baby koala, as if you separated from him at any point you’d float away into space. 

Sitting on the bed first, he scooted toward the middle of the mattress and you quickly followed suit; crawling toward him before laying your head on his chest, tangling your legs with his while he pulled you into his side. 

It was quiet, save for the occasional hiccuped breath and sniffle, the sound of his heartbeat slowing the thudding in your own head, the rise and fall of his chest reminding you how to breathe again.

“Love?” 

You hummed softly, your free hand nonchalantly playing with the drawstring of his hoodie. 

“Wanna talk about what happened?” 

Dropping your hand to lay flat on his chest, you took a deep breath to fight back another round of tears threatening to come out. “I... My dad called to check in, see how we were doing and all... He wanted to know if I found a different job yet, one that uses my degree, and I told him I hadn’t.” Swallowing thickly, you squeezed your eyes shut as you continued, “He’s worried that I’m not using my full potential, that I’m not getting paid what I should - and I don’t blame him, really, I went to college for a reason and everything, but it just feels like I'm being rushed into making another decision I’m not ready for." 

“Another decision like picking your major?” Chris chimed in - he’d remembered you telling him about your realization of wanting to switch majors in your junior year, but ultimately choosing not to since you were close to graduating at the time. 

You nodded, “I know he means well, I love my dad, I love my family, but it just feels like they don’t understand that I'm just...tired. I’m so, so tired that the idea of getting a new job - when I’ve only been at this one for just over a year - makes me feel like I can’t breathe. Fuck, the fact that I’ve been at this job for a year makes my skin crawl because this isn't what I want.”

Picking mindlessly at a few cotton pills collected on the fabric of his hoodie, a heavy sigh escaped you, “I feel like all I’ve been doing my whole life is performing for other people, catering to other people, to the point that I don’t even know who I am. I’ve always been told all these great things about myself, but-” A hot tear rolled across the bridge of your nose, “I don’t believe them, at all. Everyone sees all this potential in me and it drives me crazy because I don’t see potential in myself.”

Your name rolled off of his tongue softly, with so much care and gentleness that it made your heart hurt more because he’d been part of the crowd singing your praises and you practically confessed that you didn’t believe him. 

“Princess, my sweet, sweet girl…” 

“C-Chris, I’m-” 

“Please,” he cut you off with a gentle squeeze, “you already know what I’m gonna say if the next words out of that pretty mouth of yours are ‘I’m sorry’.”

Sighing softly, you accepted that fate as his right hand slid down your arm to take your hand in his, another gentle squeeze to remind you that he’s right here. 

“I just... I don’t know what I’m going to do.” 

“Well,” Chris hummed softly, taking in the way your smaller fingers threaded between his own, “what is it you want to do?” 

It was almost as if you stopped breathing, guilt and shame swirling around in your head at his question - the golden question everyone had, but never got the full answer to. 

“...open heart?” 

This time it was Chris’s turn to falter, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of your tear stained face. “Open heart, princess, always.” 

Open heart, something you’d both established years ago in your relationship as a way of asking for full attention - reestablishing that you both were in a safe space with zero judgment, remaining heart to heart with one another. 

“I-” You paused, fighting against the will of your mind wanting to keep yourself protected, from being seen. “I... I don't want to do anything…”

Before he even had the chance to breathe, you jumped into the defensive, “A-And I know that’s stupid- I’m in such a position so early on in my life and there’s so much I can do, but, baby, I’m at a point right now that I can’t see myself working a 9-5 for the next month, let alone another 40-or so years of my life!” Panic quickly began to set in as your thoughts ran a mile a minute, your brain begging you to stop but your heart pleading for you to get rid of this weight. “I can’t be a girl boss, I don’t want to be independent, I-I just wanna be taken care of and loved and supported - I wanna take care of all the things at home and be the one helping you reset after those stressful days. I wanna learn about myself and my hobbies and discover what kind of person I really am underneath all of these learned traits. And I’m sorry, I know, it’s pathetic, it’s shameful, it’s selfish to want to put all of this onto you-” 

The sound of your name falling firm from his lips stopped you in your tracks, your blood running cold as you laid as still as you could be against him. 

“Open heart means we can’t speak for each other, remember that rule?” His tone was softer, light and teasing, quelling the tinge of fear spoiling every word you spoke as you nodded. “Okay, good - now, can I say something, or would you like to continue?” 

“Please say something, Channie.” 

“Alright, first and foremost, don’t ever, ever call anything you want ‘stupid’ - your desires are what make you you, and that includes wanting that 24-inch green matcha squishmallow.” 

He felt your body shake - short laugh, a huff of air, a sign that he was breaking through.

“Second, I don’t think you wanting to be provided for is pathetic or shameful or selfish - it takes a strong person to admit that, and at the end of the day I think that’s what everyone wants in their own special form; somewhere they feel safe, cared for, loved. And, you’re not putting it all on me,” he felt you tense, but his hand held firm to yours, “because I want to be that for you. I want to provide for you, take care of you, handle all the things that are too big and scary for you to figure out on your own. I want to give you the freedom to explore and be yourself, pursue what you want and don’t want to do - and if that makes you ‘selfish’ then, princess, I’m the most selfish person of them all.”

“You-” your voice cracked, throat raw and sore, “You don’t mean that, baby, please-”

“C’mere.” He huffed, pulling you up with him as he sat up before tapping your thigh, signaling for you to sit on his lap - and once you were situated, he cupped your face in his hands, “I would never lie to you, you hear me? Since the day we met I knew I wanted to do everything in my power to care for you, even when we were just friends and you would join the kids in teasing me about how old I was even though you weren’t too far off yourself.” 

Your pouted lips morphed into a sad smile and he had to stop himself from cooing over how cute you looked, even with puffy eyes and an even puffier face.

“Plus, I’ve been taking care of seven other people for the better half of five years, what makes you think I don’t want to do the same for the love of my life?”

Teary eyes searched his for any sign of dishonesty, but all you found was overflowing truth and love, a fresh breath of acceptance cooling your lungs like drinking ice water after eating a mint.

“Open heart?” You murmured softly, taking his hands in your own before pulling them off of your, embarrassingly sore, face.

He nodded, ducking his head to press a fleeting kiss to your knuckles.

“I was always a little jealous of you, you know that?”

“Me?!” 

The shocked squeak in his voice made a giggle, a genuine giggle, bubble up inside of you and you nodded in earnest. 

“Yeah, you. I always felt like I was so far behind everyone around me when it came to having their passions in order, having their lives in order, and when I met you all I could think about was how sure of yourself you were - how you were able to follow through and actually do what you love for a living not only because people around you supported you, but because you believed in yourself.” Dropping your gaze to your entwined hands, you traced your thumbs along his knuckles, “You always knew what you wanted and you worked toward it - I always wished I could be like that, I still do.”

“Baby, you know you can’t-”

“-compare my life to yours, yeah, yeah, I know.”

He didn’t miss the lilt of playfulness highlighting your words, a smile finding its way to his face as he shot you a lighthearted glare, “No mocking! But, really, you shouldn’t - we come from completely different backgrounds, and if anything I’m more jealous of you than you are of me; there’s so many things you’ve done that I haven’t had the chance to experience.”

You let out an incredulous scoff, tilting your head inquisitively, “Like what? Work a draining part time job in the food industry?”

“Yes!” Though he was laughing, you could still hear the serious notes in his voice, “You got to work retail, you went on family vacations whenever you wanted, you fucking graduated college before I did!”

“Okay, first of all, all of my horror stories should deter you from ever wanting to become a retail employee in your near future!” Dropping his hand, you poked him in the chest with a faux glare, “Second, I guess you’ve got me there - between how often I’ve seen my family compared to you, I do win that spot… But that last one you definitely have over me, Mr. Double Major!”

“Oh shut up - you’re a graduate, I’m still in classes; you didn’t have to go from having practice at 8 but an exam due at 8:30, while still needing two demo tracks ready for the first listen at 10!”

The two of you dissolved into a mess of giggles and smiles, whatever tension remained melting away with each melodic sound that escaped you.

“Princess?”

You hummed, a soft smile settling on your lips, “Yeah, Channie?”

“Open heart,” Chris started warmly, deep brown eyes sparkling with a love only you could know, “I want you to know that I meant every word I said - I do want to take care of you, physically, mentally, financially, whatever way you’ll let me. And - not to sound cocky or anything, but I definitely make enough to support the both of us with no issue. Aside from that, I want to build a life with you - so if that life includes you being the hottest stay at home wife then it’s the best life I could’ve ever asked for because you’re in it.”

A wave of heat rushed over you as butterflies erupted in your stomach, “Stay at home wife, hm?” 

Of course, you paid attention to everything else he said, but you didn’t think you’d be able to say anything on it without bursting into tears again.

“Would you prefer stay at home mom? I mean, you’ve already got seven kids calling you it anyways - and I can’t lie, it does have a nice ring to it.” He grinned, releasing your other hand to wind his arms around your waist, scooting your body closer to his.

Rolling your eyes at his less than subtle tease, you snaked your arms around his shoulders, nails playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck, “Let’s just start with stay at home girlfriend and see where we go from there, yeah?”

“So you’ll quit tomorrow?”

“Christopher!” You stood no chance in holding back the burst of laughter that escaped you, narrowly avoiding knocking your head against his as you shook with unabashed giggles, “Tomorrow? You sound like you’ve been waiting for this confession to come!”

“Baby, I was one more angry rant of your supervisor ‘springing last minute work onto you’ away from quitting for you.”

Reeling yourself back in, you leaned forward to capture his lips in a soft kiss, your world finally feeling like the pieces were slowly falling into place - or, at the very least, revealing themselves to you. “I love you, Christopher Bahng, wholly and truthfully, there’s no words in the entire galaxy to express how much you mean to me.”

He held you tight, pressing his forehead against yours with a soft sigh, “I love you more, more than you ever know, more than all the stars in this universe and the next. Whatever you decide, whatever you want, I’ll give it to you - just say the word.”

“Does that include ordering takeout for dinner tonight so we can keep cuddling?”

“Find a menu while I change?”

“Order it while I wash my face?”

“Deal.”

Everything sucked, sure, and there was still much left to figure out - but with Chris by your side, you realized that things could get better with an open mind and an open heart.

[sohnric]

[TEASER] partners in crime – j. changmin

after a series of unpredictable events, you and ji changmin, the foster kid with a shady reputation, become partners in crime. in a world where every choice has a consequence, you two must decide how far you're willing to go as you balance on the edge of danger with the promise of a better life.

pairing: ji changmin x fem! reader

genre: criminals au. acquaintances to lovers. coming of age, slice of life. angst, hurt/comfort. thief! changmin. partners in crime au (duh). slight high school au. inspired by a real case of robbery in a jewelry store here lmao. also loosely inspired by the kdrama extracurricular!

wc: for the teaser :: 1k || for the full fic :: approx. 32k

warnings: for the teaser :: existential dread, a fake gun, robbery || for the full fic :: mentions of alcoholism and juvenile behavior, swearing, changmin's character is a little inconsistent at first. changmin is a foster child, dysfunctional families, yn's father is absent. mentions of minors going on dates with older men, a man trying to take advantage of the reader, a physical fight (with the use of a knife), more to be added as i edit lmao

SEND AN ASK/COMMENT TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST! Posting when the editing is done and my beta reader gives me the approval and validation <3 (end of may??)

Eyes catching the glimmer of the silver chain in between your fingers, you press your skin into the metal and drag your nail over the stones in the pedant. You watch over the glass vitrines situated all around the store, various different shades of gold and silver staring back at you, almost laughing to your face with the prize tags slapped onto them, showing prices worth more than your groceries for the month. 

Contemplating your next decision, looking behind your shoulder to catch the security camera watching you, you think over your next steps. Angling your body so that it’s shielding what you’re doing with your hands, you gently take out the drawer that you’ve taken the silver chain out of, pretending to put the jewelry back where you got it from.

Your movements are careful, calculated. You’ve rethought this plan over and over again, birthed in your mind the moment you saw the sign ‘hiring’ on the glass door of the fancy jewelry store in the town center– made adjustments to it, tweaked it around and tried your hardest to make a good impression on your boss so she wouldn’t suspect anything– but now that you’re actually in front of the important part, the one that’s supposed to help you the most in your hunt for money, you can’t really bring yourself to do it.

Who knows. Maybe you could just keep the job– you don’t make much, though, considering you only work part-time. With the way your shifts are scheduled and the amount of time you have to put into working, you don’t really see the jewelry store as a good source of income– you are barely home and have time for anything. 

And it’s not the kind of money you need. Not at all.

Sighing to yourself, you shake your head to clear it off all thoughts– it’s time to do it. You can be sneaky. You can be uncaught. You just have to put your head to it.

Fingers shaking, you move the chain towards the front pocket of your jeans, ready to hide it in there and then sell it in the pawn shop a few weeks later to not raise much suspicion– when the sound of the front door opening brings you out of your thoughts, making you jump in surprise. Eyes snapping to the customer entering the store, you get ready to sport the kindest, warmest smile you can– to seem innocent and not at all suspicious. However, the grin stops growing mid-way as you recognise the appearance of the customer, smile freezing and turning into a concerned frown. 

This is not how you’d expect a customer of a fancy jewelry store to look.

The person is dressed in black, skinny jeans adorning their thighs, the hood of their jacket pulled over their head and a mask covering the bottom half of their face. Before you get a chance to dwell on it any further, they take out a gun– and they point it to your face.

There’s a moment in time where you feel like everything freezes. A moment in time where you just stare the gun into its eyes and wait for the person to shoot you, a moment in time where you can’t even think. Your brain clears, the only thought present at the tip of your tongue being– this is not how I imagined to go.

Your hands start shaking as you put them above your head, pupils dilating in terror. You guess this is something you should’ve expected when taking the job in an expensive jewelry store, but even though you’re aware a situation like this could exist in your timeline, you don’t really expect it. It’s like that with all bad things in life– you keep telling yourself that there’s no way something like that would happen to a person like you.

There’s no way your father would leave. There’s no way your mother’s world would crumble. There’s no way you’ll be left in charge of everything. There’s no way you’ll have to be the one to steal groceries because you can’t afford to buy food to put into your sister’s mouth. 

There’s no way a man would pull out a gun on you in the middle of your shift.

And yet, it happened. Everything.

In a moment of absolute terror, though, it feels like the world starts spinning again and the force clutching your chest relaxes a little when you stare into the man’s eyes. 

Strange, isn’t it?

There’s a sense of familiarity in his gaze. Something mirroring a weird kind of surprise, a weird kind of recognition. A million different thoughts flow through your brain, eyes scanning his figure– the skin of his hands as he grips the gun that you now recognise to be one of the kinds you use when you play airsoft, not a real one– the lean posture of his figure, but most importantly, the spark in his dark orbs that somehow invites you to do everything he tells you to. Not because he’d kill you if you don’t– but because somehow, you know this might be of gain for you.

Trying hard to play out your previous panic, riding off the erratic heartbeat in your chest, you walk over to the cash register and open the drawer. Eyes meeting with the intruder, you precisely take out the bills stacked in the register, throwing them on the counter in a careless, yet seemingly nervous manner. 

“The jewelry,” he mumbles, pointing towards the vitrines with his chin, waiting for you to obey his words. 

It doesn’t take you much to take out the drawers full of silver and gold, letting the man take whatever he pleases, his bag filled with expensive chains and rings, all while he keeps the gun on you to get the full effect. 

You could be given an Oscar for how good your acting performance was in this very moment.

Your eyes lock in another meaningful gaze, one that suggests that all cards are on the table now and you share a secret you will never be able to shake off, before he disappears out of the store into the dark. Acting stunned for the camera, you only reach for the phone when you’re certain he’s far enough to not be caught, dialing 911 and telling the line all about the robbery.

Ji Changmin chose the bad jewelry store to rob.

Or maybe, he chose the best one he could.

[alkaline-wtr]

WE WILL SURVIVE

- - CHAPTER 5 - -

Graves x reader Description: Reader and Graves help a couple of troubled survivors during a stop at a gas station. Genre/Warnings: zombie apocalypse AU, Graves x reader, Ghost x fem!reader, survivor!reader,angst, depictions of suicide, gore, blood, violence, explicit language, weapons, mentions of death WC: 3.3k

My Masterlist

** Woah! Ch 5 is finally done??! This one is intense! Please, consider the trigger warnings before diving in. Originally, I was excited about this chapter but know I'm not too sure. This chapter definitely had the most drafts out of all of them. I think it's decent but, something feels like its missing, it may just need a bit more proofreading later when I've had more time to sit with it. However, for the sake of moving the story along I wanted to get it up ASAP. On the bright side GHOST IS BACK NEXT CHAPTER!! YAY!! Hopefully y'all aren't too mad at him. Enjoy.

If you'd like to be added/removed from the taglist please, let me know.

<< PART 1 / << PART 4

It was quiet from your place in the passenger seat. Only the engine's drone was heard as Phillip cruised down the road. By now, the city was far behind you, and the road narrowed down as you entered rural areas. Miles and miles of fields and farmlands surrounded you.

You sigh, leaning back a bit. Graves glances in your direction for a second before returning to the road.

"Good?"

Graves asked, keeping his question short. You let the silence linger a moment longer. It had been a couple of hours since one of you had broken the silence. It left your lips feeling heavy. It took extra effort to push out the words from your throat.

"Yeah."

Your voice came out crackly and hoarse. You cleared your throat before continuing.

"What's our plan?"

Your voice is soft. The hopelessness had caught up to you at some point in the silence. The fear, existential dread, it all swirled together in your head now that you had a chance to organize all the thoughts and feelings you'd been harboring.

What were you moving towards? Even Phillip couldn't answer that. There was no more meaning, no more goals. This life had been swallowed up by the infected. Nothing more than an aimless fight for survival.

Phillip could sense the sadness in your empty expression.

"Well... for now we need a gas station. After that... I don't know but, whatever it is we'll be okay."

His words carried a tinge of reassurance in them but, it felt empty. You couldn't fathom how anyone could view this situation as panning out 'okay'. There was living sure. Yet, what was left to live for?

"Hey."

Phillip's words pulled you from your thoughts.

"It's going to be okay."

You nod in response. Phillip was right. For however long you had left, you would be ‘okay’. The question was would you ever be more than that? Would the rest of this existence be a miserable fight for survival?

"I'm going to sleep."

The words left your lips but, you hadn't been sure where they’d come from. Phillip however only smiled.

"Alright."

You shifted in the seat crossing your arms over yourself and resting a foot on the dashboard. Phillip just kept his eyes forward on the road ahead as you closed your eyes.

When you woke from your nap the car had stopped. You felt a thin layer of sticky sweat coating your skin. The sun was in its early stages of setting, as the afternoon shifted into evening. You guessed it had to be about 4 o'clock by now.

Sitting up you rubbed the sleep from your eyes. Phillip was standing in front of the car looking down at the hood. You pushed open the door immediately feeling the refreshing breeze as it blew past. It was a contrast from the still warmth inside the truck.

"Sleep well?"

Phillip teased. The passenger door shut with a thud. Broken asphalt crunched like gravel beneath your boots as you moved to stand beside him.

There was a map laying out on the hood.

"What’s this?"

You ask glancing over the busy-looking map.

"I'm looking for somewhere to fuel up. It shows a small station just ahead. Maybe another hour or so."

Phillip explained. You nod.

"Will we make it?"

You ask resting your hands on your hips. The question was valid, you’d been driving for hours, and it was unlikely this truck had a full tank of gas when he’d found it.

He starts to fold up the map.

"Yeah, we should. Let's hope there's gas when we get there, or we'll be doing a lot of walking."

You both head back inside but, as you climb back into the passenger seat Phillip passes the driver's door and peaks into the back instead. Your eyes scan the rearview mirror observing his actions. He seemed to be looking for something in his bag. As Phillip slides back into the passenger seat he hands you an open can. You peered into it,

"Peaches?"

You asked, eyebrow raised.

"You should eat something."

He says, starting up the truck.

"And what about you?"

Phillip shrugs.

"I can eat when we get to our stop. It's fine, go ahead."

The hour passes quickly. Graves pulls into the gas station and turns off the truck with a relieved huff.

"Alright, here we are,"

He gets out and you follow.

"Why don't you head inside, and I'll figure out how we can get some fuel."

He gently slaps your back encouragingly. Was he serious? He wanted you to go inside alone?

"Wait. You want me to clear it myself?"

The anxious pit settled in your stomach. You still weren't confident with your combat skills. It was different to be on a roof with a sniper but, on the ground with a knife?

"I-I don't know, I can't-"

"It's okay. Look, I'll be right behind you, okay?"

Phillip's words only slightly soothed the fear and anxiety. It was a more reassuring thought than being left completely alone. At least he would be there over your shoulder in case you got into trouble.

Finally, you nod and the both of you start towards the doors of the abandoned shop. You pulled the knife from your belt reaching for the door.

"Hold on."

Phillip's voice cut through the air. He quickly adjusts your grip on the knife.

"Stay sharp. And Keep tension here,"

His hand squeezed at your bicep.

"When you're going in blind, you should be prepared for anything."

He points down at your left foot.

"Widen your stance there, You want to be sturdy on your feet just in case there's any pushback."

With all the corrections made, Phillip steps aside.

"Alright."

He gestures for you to continue. Your anxiety had settled more now knowing that Phillip intended to teach you rather than throw you into the ring alone.

You push open the door. The windows had been boarded up from the inside leaving the shop musty and dark. Heavy breaths weighed down your chest as the floorboards creaked with every cautious step.

Phillip trailed behind you, his arms loose at his sides. He himself didn’t seem prepared at all for a fight. You didn't understand why he would trust you to protect him. Especially enough to leave his guard down.

You kept your head on a swivel making sure to take in every corner of the room.

"Don't just turn your head, turn your body with it. You have to have a strong stance. An attack could come from any direction."

You nod taking in his words. You shuffle your feet turning your body as you scan the room.

"Look for all the doors. You need to be aware of every exit, and every potential room every crevice is dangerous in a dark building."

You kept Phillip's instructions in mind counting each door. The door you'd entered through was one. A door in the far-right corner made two.

There were two more in the far-left corner. One is on the back wall, most likely leading outside, and the fourth is on the adjacent wall, which is labeled with a unisex bathroom placard.

"There is nothing here."

Your voice was low and laced with panic. Anticipation hung in the air as you waited for something to emerge from the darkness. Each creak and thump of your boot sounded louder with each step.

"Good, then we are clear."

Phillip says,

"Now, keep alert and move to the next room."

Phillip moved to the middle of the room to watch behind you as you continued forward to the first door. With shaky steps, you continued around the counter. Your chest tightened as you moved further into the shop, peering over the counter to make sure nothing lurked in the shadows.

"Hey Y/N... You're missing something."

You look at Phillip confused. He gestures to the entrance.

"The light from outside won't reach beyond the door. How do you plan to see if there are any threats?"

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment. You'd been so caught up in the anxiety of having to take the lead in clearing the shop that you hadn't even thought of something as simple as bringing a flashlight into a dark room.

"Right."

You take out Ghost's dim flashlight once again and hold it in your free hand, keeping the knife sturdy in the other.

You twist the door nob opening it with a click. Returning to the tight stance Phillip had shown you. Shuffling forward, you used the toe of your boot to nudge open the door.

Behind the door was a small office. Equipped with a computer desk, a filing cabinet, and a few crates.

"Clear."

You call, Your voice tense. Willing your shaky legs to back out. You finished off clearing the rest of the shop. Fortunately, there had been nothing to fight off.

"See, that wasn't so bad huh?"

You shrug. Phillip's approach made sense. It was better for you to get more hands-on survival experience. Shooting stagnant bottles on a rooftop could only teach you so much but, what would have happened if something had been in the building?

"I guess not."

Phillip squeezes your shoulder.

"Go ahead and gather what you can. Anything edible, or useful. I'll be out back."

You nod as Phillip leaves through the back door in search of some way to fuel the truck.

The shop had seemingly been raided already but, you were able to find a few snacks, and sodas as well as a pack of batteries. You carried a plastic bag full of your findings to the truck and placed it in the back.

Phillip made his way around the building with two gas cans in hand. He places the gas cans in the bed of the truck securing them with a cord.

"Alright are you re-"

Phillip's question was cut off by the sound of a woman, her blood-curdling scream sent chills through your body.

"Shit."

He cursed under his breath before sprinting down the road.

"Wait!"

You called after him. Whatever was happening up ahead was bad but, staying behind felt even more terrifying. The thought of something happening to Phillip and you not being there to help? What would you even do with yourself?

“Phillip!”

You called as you began jogging after him.

The woman’s screams only grew louder. You could see a man beside Phillip, helping him fight off a couple of infected. You slowed down stopping just feet away from the scene.

The woman, the one whose screams you’d heard, kneeled in the grass beside the road. The front of her was stained with crimson. Lying limp over her lap was a little girl.

The girl's torso was mangled beyond recognition. Blood pooled in her mother's lap leaking into the yellow grass below.

You covered your mouth with your hands stifling a horrified cry as well as the bile that threatened to rise from your stomach. You were no stranger to the viscera present since the outbreak but, it had been a while since you'd witnessed something this graphic.

Phillip grunts as he plunges his knife into the last standing infected. He wiped his brow with his forearm and started towards the crying woman.

“She’s bit!"

Phillip exclaimed. A gasp left you at the site of the bite wound. The veiny infection had already begun to spread. It was one of those moments that you wished you could rewind and go back to before it happened. Like when you shatter a glass on the kitchen floor and hope to yourself that it wasn't true so you won't have to clean the mess.

"Y/n! Go get the first aid!”

Phillip ordered as he inspected the woman’s wounded arm. You could hardly process Phillip's words. You didn't know these people but something about the scene playing out before you brought up memories of your past. A painful reminder of how you'd ended up alone in the first place.

The man turned to you as you took a couple of hesitant steps backward.

“No! Please listen. You must leave!”

He pleaded, his accent thick.

"They are coming. You must go!"

You paused in your tracks,

“What?”

You begin to ask but he interjects.

"Here,"

The man’s shaky hands fidget in his pockets before pulling out a crumpled paper. He places the paper in your hand. You were unable to speak. Your mind was overloaded by the many things happening.

"Take it. Take it, there is a sanctuary. Please, please. You have to go! You have to go!”

The man was crying and frantic as he tried to usher Phillip away.

“We can help you!"

Phillip says trying to reason with the man. He didn't seem to care about the words Phillip spoke. You wondered if Phillip knew deep down, just like you, that his statement was empty. There really wasn't much you could do for them.

“We have a vehicle.”

He adds holding his hands up defensively.

“No. Go there! Be safe.”

The man cuts him off.

“My wife... She will die.”

The man admits gesturing to the woman. Phillip shakes his head,

“But you can still come.”

The man shakes his head backing away. He was adamant in refusing Phillip's offer.

“When I’ve lost them both, there is nothing there for me.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. He didn't want to live anymore without his family. It made you feel guilty for still continuing without yours. Glancing at Phillip you could see the mental turmoil he was feeling. On one hand, he wanted to help the couple in any way he could. However, a part of him understood the man's decision.

"Our daughter... she was tired. We thought we had time, the horde was far behind, so we rested, and camped for the night. But they had caught up."

The woman explains. Her voice breaks as she begins to cry again caressing her daughter's pale face. Your heart broke for the family.

Phillip thought for a moment. The man speaks before he can.

"Leave us. Go to the sanctuary, you can live."

Phillip nods looking at you with a blank expression. He turns to the man.

"Thank you."

Phillip starts back towards the gas station. You couldn't believe it. Was he really going to just leave? Of course, logically, you were aware that you served no purpose to this couple but, your empathy fought against this notion.

"Wait. No, Phillip, what are- we can't just leave them!"

"Yes Y/N, we can."

His tone was that of defeat. He'd given up.

"No!"

You turned and began to follow him.

"Phillip!"

He turned with an irritated sigh.

"Y/N! He made his decision. We can't do anything."

He snapped. Phillip had never acted this way. Ever since you'd first run into him, he'd been nothing but optimistic and willing to help. How could he choose now to betray his sense of humanity?  

"We have to try!"

You pleaded. You morally couldn't bring yourself to just leave these people to die.

"No. It's done Y/N! He doesn't want to come."

You huffed, Phillip continued walking away. You turn to look at the couple. The man now kneeled beside his wife attempting to soothe her as she sobbed in his arms.

The trees rustled across the road. Hollow groans filled the air, and your heart leaped into your throat. Phillip stopped, whipping his head around.

Infected began to trickle out onto the road. Your eyes widened, and you reached for your knife.

"Phillip! Do something."

Phillip? Why couldn't you do something? You were well equipped. Was it your cowardice that held you back? Keeping you glued in place, unable to take action? He pushes you back and drives his knife into the closest head. The body drops to the pavement and Phillip grabs your arm.

"Let's go! Back to the truck."

You stumbled as he pushed you with him.

"Wait! Wait! What about them."

Phillip seemed annoyed that you were still fighting him on this. He glances between you and the couple with a frustrated groan. Although he wanted to just accept the man's decision to stay behind, he couldn't let you see him as some heartless fool either.

"Alright. Go! I'll catch up."

You nod turning and starting to run back to the truck. Phillip hurries to the couple, he pulls the pistol from his thigh double-checking it's loaded and ready to go, before placing it in the man's hand.

"Hold them off as long as you can. I'm sorry brother."

The man gives Phillip an appreciative nod. He aims the pistol firing a couple of shots. Phillip follows after you. More infected flood out of the tree line and onto the road.

Phillip's footsteps pounded behind you.

"Go! Go!"

You didn't need to be told again. You threw yourself into the passenger seat trying to catch your breath. A couple infected were trailing behind Phillip as he climbed into the driver's seat and started up.

You kept your hands out beside you to steady yourself as the truck wobbled with each sharp movement.

Phillip veered the truck to the left with a jolt. A body thudded against the hood as he attempted to Navigate through the horde.

The scene behind you was like a train wreck, you couldn't keep your eyes off the couple. The man holding his wife protectively behind them as they fought for their lives.

You watched on in horror as the woman screamed, being ripped away from her husband. He cried keeping his grip desperately tight on her hand. It was too late. They'd been surrounded. The infected wasted no time sinking their teeth into her back.

Phillip kept focused on the road. You flinched at the sound of a single gunshot going off once more ringing through the air. The haunting reality setting in as you'd just witnessed the man turn the gun on his own lover. Were you less courageous than him for turning your back on your family instead of fighting to the end like he had for his wife?

You finally looked away when you saw him put the barrel of the pistol to his own temple. His sad gaze aimed at the sky. Another shot. You winced, tears rolling down your cheeks. The guilt weighed heavily in your stomach. This new world was cruel and unforgiving.

The remaining daylight faded away over the horizon. Silence was the only thing in the air anymore. Phillip knew the events of this afternoon weren't sitting well with you. He wanted more than anything to say something, to take away the images replaying in your mind but, he knew better than anyone that there wasn't anything he could say to fix this.

As the moon took its place high in the sky Phillip decided to call it a night. He pulled over on the side of the road and got out of the truck. You glanced over emotionlessly as he moved the bags from the truck bed into the cab. He climbed back in locking the doors.

"It's been a long day. Let's get some sleep huh?"

You follow his lead as he leans back in his seat and gets comfortable. The cab wasn't very big, and with the bags, it was even more cramped.

"You know, there was nothing we could've done right?"

Phillip's voice was barely a whisper. His eyes were full of concern as they lingered on you.

"I know..."

You respond quietly. You'd gone back and forth on the matter in your head all night. You knew just as well, but the nagging voice in the back of your mind was convincing you otherwise. Phillip nods.

"He made his choice. All we could have done is respect it. There was no point in getting ourselves killed too."

His light eye bore into you from the driver's side. You met his gaze. Neither of you spoke. No more needed to be said at that moment. You understood Phillip's actions, and he understood your guilt. Both of you understood the situation for what it was and how complicated the morality of the problem could be.

"Goodnight."

You break the silence. Phillip sighs and gives you a small smile.

"Goodnight, Y/N."

PART 6 >>

Tag list

@yourfavbabigirl @keiraslayz @dcnocap207 @dustycrusty09 @ihavetwoholesforareason @jupiternighties @misspendragonsworld

[sepublic]

In the storyboards for Thanks to Them, Hunter was originally going to see only Belos in the reflection, and cut his hair because of the resemblance. Caleb was later included; My best guess is that in this episode, we already had Luz worrying about her similarities to Belos, and it happens again in the finale. But she has no knowledge/connection to Caleb… Whereas Hunter does, so somebody has to worry about being similar to Caleb between these two! Hence, the addition of Caleb’s reflection, to emphasize Hunter’s clone angst to set up the resolution to that storyline.

And it makes sense because while Hunter knows he defied Belos’ genocide by choosing to question it… Knowing you’re a clone of somebody else is a different existential crisis in its own right that he can’t talk to anyone about, except maybe Vee if she’s also a clone? And so there’s the worry about Caleb being a more informing force for Hunter than Belos could ever hope to be, because Hunter knows from Amity that people can break away from the ones they were raised by. And yes she was related to Odalia, but she was also related to Alador and isn’t an outright clone so um. Yeah.

And tbh I kinda see his storyline in the next episode as also exploring a potential similarity to Belos for Hunter? In his prickliness over the loss of a loved one (perceived on Philip’s end), being unresponsive and bitter to someone trying their best to help. But unlike Belos with the Grimwalkers (one of whom was Hunter), Hunter gets over his bitterness to accept and appreciate Willow’s kindness, and even makes it about her pain too. And Hunter actually had a loved one taken away from him!

[tarabyte3]

Top 5 favourite fanfic tropes?

For my follow up I will allow you a light cheat:

✨️ Top 5 fics (any fandom/pairing)

and (if you would like)

✨️ Top 5 Andy blorbo fics

You know, those ones that live rent free in your mind and you find yourself coming back to even years later (also your choices don't have to specifically follow your trope picks!).

😘

Before I start, I want you to know I only saw the first bit in the preview and was like, "Oh that's fun!" And then got sneak attacked by the rest when I opened it 😂😭 Anon, I respect tf out of you for this, but also I'm going to have an existential crisis lmaoooo

✨Top 5 fanfiction tropes

- Mutual pining/"un"requited love

Especially if it's paired with angst 🤌 want them longing. Yearning, even. Throw in something like forbidden love to kick it up a notch, and, baby, you've got yourself a stew.

- Sex pollen

Particularly if they aren't in a relationship yet to add extra pining and angst. This is a sacrifice (I shouldn't want this). I would do this for you (please let me). I can't stand to watch you suffer (this will break me, but for you it's worth it). That and the smut of it all 😌

- Hanahaki

Being so in love with someone it's literally killing you. It's love made manifest so violently you choke on it. The pain and suffering would end if only you could let the words out, but the thought of rejection—of having to live with that instead—is worse than death. Plus, there's something a little beautiful and poetic about combining pain and suffering with love and flowers. Doom and bloom. Life and death. The Japanese were so real for this.

- Fake dating

I love it when they're both fuckin dying the entire time because they've caught a glimpse of the thing they want more than anything and it isn't real. It's bliss. It's torture. They don't want it to end, but it will destroy them to keep having it just out of reach.

- Getting together

A simple classic, but there's just something about two people falling in love and coming together in spite of everything. And if it's a slow burn? With constant missed opportunities and misunderstandings?! Staple crop of tropes.

✨ Top 5 Fics

I'm going to go with Qui-Gon x Obi-Wan (shocking, I know) because that is the bulk of what I have been reading non-stop so it's at the forefront of my brain. It was difficult to narrow down my 100+ bookmarks because there are SO many incredible works and writers in that fandom that inspire me, and some of them make me want to eat dirt. (I mean that as an exceptional compliment.)

- Shorelines by outpastthemoat

This is what Qui-Gon has done each morning for the past three days, returning to Obi-Wan with handfuls of treasures he has found: Bits of broken glass, polished by the waves, or intricately spiraled shells, a broken piece of chain; perhaps a stone as wide and flat as his hand. But he always returns to the shoreline the following day, and begins his search anew.

This is one of my favorite QuiObi writers (I would highly recommend ANY of her other works at the drop of a hat as well), and I have reread this fic at least once a week for months. Like, I have it open in a tab and think about it constantly. It's an introspective piece—an exploration of a connection and the peeling back of layers to try to understand what waits underneath. There's a beautiful sort of simple yearning, melancholy, and poetry to her writing that makes my brain go brrrrrr. So much is said in all of the things left unsaid. It's two parts of a series and they're both incredible.

- Malalignment by Tohje

The first time is a pure coincidence, all parties could swear it on their deathbeds. The pelta frigate GRS-20 - informally Generosity - is a huge, maze-like, rusting piece of a stronghold with multiple medical wards and cantinas. It is a sheer stroke of luck that 212th and the River Company are accommodated in the adjacent, overstuffed compartments and share the same cantina for their short recuperation periods. There is no thing such as luck, or coincidence, only war (and the Force, according to the Jedi).

Another writer that I adore who has multiple bangers. This one is an AU where QuiGon lives and is part of the Clone War, but in the most Qui-Gon way possible. Combined with Obi-Wan's lingering hurt from the situation with Anakin, the war, and a several year estrangement and by god it's delicious angst. Plus, I love self-sacrificing depictions of General Kenobi. (The smut is also very good)

- That Cold Affliction by Orphan Account

Obi-Wan tries to surprise his Master on a mission with few comforts by making Qui-Gon's favorite tea. Or trying to, at least. As it turns out, tea is a . . . complicated affair. (A little bit like love.)

Short and bittersweet. Forbidden love. Beautiful angst. I'm so sad I don't know the original author because I've seen several of their works pop up that are also orphaned (they have a very specific summary style) and they're all so good and full of similar themes, but I have no way of seeing if I've missed one or not 😭

- Taking Root by sanerontheinside

Obi-Wan thought he was terribly obvious, really. Qui-Gon thought it was Obi-Wan’s secret to share or keep, as he wished.

*banging pots and pans together* QUIOBI HANAHAKI!! This author does a deep dive into the affliction and combines it beautifully with Star Wars world building, plot, and characterization. It's everything I could want from the trope AND the pairing. They're also another one of my favorite writers. And if you're looking for an abundance of excellent smut, you'll absolutely find it in their body of work.

- How to Grow Vegetables and Alienate People by Meggory

Why had Obi-Wan agreed to this? He had exactly no experience growing anything—hell, he'd killed a cactus once, and he'd heard someone say that was impossible—but now he was taking over Bant's community garden share so she didn't feel she had wasted $150 on the plot? He had $150. He should have just given it to her and told her to get blitzed on the plane.

Cute modern AU with a funny af meet cute, excellent characterization, humor, and a simple, lovely plot of two idiots falling in love. Oh, plus gardening. 😌 AND Qui-Gon has a dog. It's the soul comfort food of fics. This author does an incredible job with AUs (pssst you like time loops?) that are great stories so it was very difficult to pick just one!

✨I both adore and dislike this last part. Because on one hand, it gives me the chance to brag about and hype up my friends, who are not only kind, wonderful people, but also very talented writers that deserve it and more. So I truly appreciate you so much for that. On the other hand, there are more than 5 of them that have written Andy Blorbo fics, and some of them have multiple stories and blorbos. And we've all gushed over or discussed many of them at length with each other, so they hold a particular fondness in my heart. Choosing only 5 from that feels like an impossible task.

So I WON'T be narrowing down my top 5 (I'm so sorry, anon, I'm not god's strongest soldier), but I will be taking the opportunity to drop their Masterlists/AO3 accounts 💖😌😇

afogocado | Alfred Pennyworth

amywritesthings | Kino Loy

citrus-moonlight | Ulysses Klaue

eupheme | Alfred Pennyworth, Ulysses Klaue

squidlywiddly87 | Kino Loy, Ulysses Klaue, Liam Black

stargirlfics | Alfred Pennyworth (+ lots of Alfred and Klaue headcanons and blurbs!)

tarrenterror | Alfred Pennyworth, Ulysses Klaue (+ Alfred, David Robey, and Kino headcanons, blurbs, and edits)

viceofdionysus : Alfred Pennyworth, Ulysses Klaue

[gryphonlover]

psssssst you got any other angsty ideas for opossum!Hyrule?

(don't tell Jes)

- hero-of-the-wolf

Hiding secret opossum things under this nice read more. Nothing suspicious here. Just keep scrolling, Jes.

Supposedly, opossums taste kind of like pork. (Stephen Winnick) I am not suggesting anyone should actually eat him, I'm just saying one or two individuals may be familiar with the idea of eating opossums. Personally, I would not recommend eating one, but I would also eat greens from the lawn, so... yeah.

Opossums have also been compared to pigs by some very old, very dead famous colonists, but I don't really see the similarities, myself. Seems like the most they have in common is what they eat and what they taste like. (I would like to point out that their diet is terrifyingly diverse. Opossums have been seen eating just about everything, including "skeletal remains of rodents and roadkill animals.")

I think some parallels can be made regarding estimated lifespan. The generally agreed upon average lifespan in the wild is 2 years. 2 years. That's not very long. Of course, people say that it's short because of predators, and opossums can live up to 10 years in captivity, but the average lifespan in captivity is usually closer to 4 years.

If you assume that there are lots of monsters and barely any support for Hyrule in his home era, then I think it's reasonable to assume that he's going to slip up and die young. As much as I want him to live a long, happy life, in that situation I think he'd inevitably die around the age of 25. Maybe a little older or younger, but he definitely wouldn't make it to Time's age.

Now, I don't know exactly how Dark World forms work, but given that Twilight has a lot of experience with that sort of thing (and Magic Wolf Senses), I rather like the idea that he has some kind of intuition about it.

This is utterly horrible to do to him, but you asked for opossum!Hyrule-related angst, so here you go. I'm finally getting to the point.

What I'd like to see is that Hyrule ends up in his opossum form and encounters Twilight, who figures out what's going on and wants to fix it. (Bonus points if he plays dead and fools Twilight.) One way or another, he puts two and two together and figures out that Hyrule's an opossum because they're terrifying and don't live very long. Maybe they're generally considered a symbol of people who die young or something like that in Ordon. I don't know. Whatever works. This causes a whole long existential crisis because he knew Time would eventually die (see: Hero's Shade) but he didn't realize Hyrule probably would as well and now here he is as a freaking opossum and everyone knows they're dangerous, but they also die all the freaking time. Anyway, at some point stuff happens, and the subject is actually brought up and Hyrule tries (and fails) to reassure Twilight by telling him he always knew he'd die young, and it doesn't really matter anyway because he already died once or twice (see: dolls) so really he's living on extra time and once he dies it's actually for the best for his era (see: Ganondorf ritual). Twilight, being a normal person, is not reassured at all. This would also be a good opportunity to insert one or two random historical documents/folk stories from after Hyrule's era about what actually ends up happening. (Bonus points if he dies even younger than Twilight expected.) Also, they are heroes, so an attempt to change fate is going to be made sooner or later. What happens next is up in the air because that just puts us back at the "is determinism real" debate, and no one has solved that in the last several centuries anyway.

So that's my proposal for an opssum!Hyrule angst fic. :)

[thejesterstears]

My initial thoughts on TADC episode 3 (SPOILERS)

These may be a little scattered because I need to rewatch to fully process everything but here are my thoughts (spoilers beneath cut):

I love further exploring the silly cartoonish capabilities of everyone's bodies in the circus, the opening scene was honestly very cute lol (and then that seemingly goofy scene ended up having a bit of significance later on which was a nice way to tie up the episode).

"Zooble turns straight" oh I'd love to see them try lmaoooo

I was NOT expecting existential Caine angst but I appreciate that there's a bit more depth to his character even though he's ultimately a goofball AI who is perhaps a bit too sentient and committed to his job.

Augh I love delving more into Zooble's character, that they're more sensitive than they initially come across and that they still struggle to come to terms with their new body. I'd actually forgotten that (unless there was another one in between that Goose didn't specify) Zooble was the newest member of the circus before Pomni came along, so it's entirely possible they're still totally adjusting to everything since we don't know how long before Pomni's arrival that they had been there.

Oh god, the Kinger lore...seeing him so succinct and clear-minded, remembering his last moments with his wife, it truly hurt to see but in a very moving way. I loved him from the start but seeing so much more of him like this makes me adore him even more. Knowing that he seeks out the comfort and darkness of his pillow fort for the mental clarity it provides him kind of makes me want to die a little.

ALSO. HE WAS SUCH A FATHER WITH POMNI. I was fully expecting it to be a scene of Pomni comforting Kinger but it was honestly far more touching and beautiful that he was the one comforting her, because she honestly needed that connection with someone actually in the circus who saw how she was struggling and was very earnest in addressing it. I actually got emotional when he told her she was strong, and the way he so protectively held her hand as they escaped ;v;

I will be thinking about possessed Pomni for a month straight now, why did she give possessed Amy vibes from that one Sonic X episode to me lol

I was so, so happy that Pomni had a moment of truly connecting with Ragatha and thanking her for her kindness. That particular bit was something I had hoped to see back in ep2 and was a little disappointed to not see, although revisiting the episode later it made sense why she wasn't in the mindset to do so. But seeing Pomni essentially make amends with Ragatha and appreciate the efforts she'd taken to help Pomni fit in was such a satisfying bit of closure for me, and I hope this means we see more of their developing friendship over the course of the series.

[eternal-armin]

SO, HOW SHOULD i begin this?

this is the first time i'm going to do a multi-part fic that goes beyond like 2 or 3 parts (rip to the chandelier fic.) bear with me ;;;; but i'm obsessed with everything everywhere and i wanted to do something with the abilities evelyn and joy specifically have. and, of course, the angst that can come from it. looked over this as much as i could but im exhausted so my apologies for any errors ;;;

pairing : five hargreeves x male/transmasc reader [he/him pronouns]

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where : five is instantly intrigued by the eighth sparrow, a kid just like himself, which makes him try to seek him out specifically; nothing better than a second opinion about time from another person who knew its intricacies, right? well, he... may have gotten more than he bargained for.

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warnings : future mentions of trauma, fighting and injury (specific mentions of choking), existentialism, reader is just exhausted of life and shit in general, future cheesiness and such because i said so, depression, a whole lot of 'if i can bend reality to my will then how much does it really matter' kind of questioning (later on for the most part.)

the disheartening sight of seven other people—ahem, sorry, and one very confusing cube—was made endlessly puzzling by the appearance of a kid behind them. someone who looked five's age. physically, anyway. they both seemed equally entranced by the other; the kid's eyes were wide, his lips slightly parted, as if seeing someone he had been missing for decades. he furrowed his brow a bit, cocking his head, and klaus found himself peering where five glared.

"well, would you look at that? they've got a little brother, too!"

"zip it, klaus," he hissed, though with a certain degree of gentleness in his voice, even excluding the volume he had to use. looking back at the balcony, he was wearing more casual clothes with a sort of... varsity jacket of the sparrow academy's traditional colors and emblems. he was a sparrow, meaning he was born in 1989, meaning he was around thirty years old. so why did he look thirteen? it clicked then, suddenly; his power could have something to do with time. five felt instantly that he needed to speak with him. and if it needed to be done by force, then...

hands crossed neatly over his lap, barely restraining that very obvious agitation, ben chimed in with, "dad, who the hell are these assholes?"

a chorus of "shit" rang out amongst the umbrellas. five stared at him with the same amount of emotion as usual, mostly overrun by confusion, however his sentimentalities ended there. that balcony, barely a few yards from where five stood, held something—someone, rather—that could be an answer to his predicament. or at least help figure out if he could retire or not. if this world was safe enough to stay in. there was a whole host of colorful characters. if he was the sparrows' number eight, what exactly inspired reginald to adopt him as well? or was it just sort of a convenience thing?

luther stepped forward along with klaus. "is that really you?"

no amusement struck ben. if anything, he somehow managed to look more annoyed.

"and who are the weirdos on the balcony!"

"they are the sparrows. my children." reginald's controlled, vaguely irritated voice was such a contrast to diego's harsh tone.

much to five's chagrin this moment was a bit more important than staring at a boy. he turned on his heel, narrowing his eyes at the old man. "i'm sorry, what do you mean your children? that's not possible, old man."

"of course it is! i think i'd know, wouldn't i?"

well. something was very wrong, wasn't it?

the sound of footsteps and shuffling caught his attention and yet again he looked back forward; all of the sparrows once situated haphazardly on the balcony now stood across the tile threshold. the kid was shorter than he expected, in all honesty, and he seemed to be the least serious out of all his siblings—not to say that he looked like he was having fun or that he was laughing, but that he didn't want to fight. he looked like he would avoid it at every cost.

"everyone else can see ben, right?"

"cute hat, sundance."

"they call themselves the umbrella academy," reginald interrupted, "a group of scheming, perfidious malcontents who accosted me in the fall of '63 when i was away on business in dallas. be warned—they claim to be my spawn." all throughout reginald's little schpiel, five and the other kid maintained eye contact, five puzzled at his existence and him puzzled by five's puzzlement. he seemed to find it weird but, oddly enough, he didn't seem weirded out specifically. occasionally five would glance about the rest of the sparrows, gauge them if he could, and when that happened he would sometimes catch the barest glimpse of the kid looking at two of his sisters with confusion.

should i be worried? he was probably thinking to himself.

with five on his opposition? absolutely.

"claim? look, five, what the hell is going on?" allison sounded like she was moments away from boiling over.

"not sure yet, but it's concerning."

"is he telling the truth?" seeming to sense the steadily-rising tensions, the kid started, very slowly, to back away, retreating to the furthest reaches of the carpet before the battle had even begun.

"not the part about us being perfidious." vanya seemed to kind of placate that cowardice in him. maybe he even smiled at vanya.

"no! no, we're amateur-fidious, at best!"

"but we are his children, this is our house."

"yeah, we grew up here."

"yeah, yeah, we grew up here," alphonso mocked, getting a snicker from jayme, however the kid just shot them both a slightly judgmental look.

"i kind of think we would've noticed you," sloane said, to which luther stated his name and offered out his hand. sloane did not accept, really she didn't do a thing, and some whispers broke out amongst her and her little brother, whispers that five couldn't make out.

"okay. none of you belong here."

"oh! well, then. i guess we'll just pack our bags and move out."

christopher babbled and chittered, milking chuckles from his brothers and sisters. five had to say he looked way better smiling than frowning, though he figured it would probably be the same for anyone.

grace came in to the living room, heels click-click-clicking, holding a plate of cookies in her hand and apologizing that she couldn't do better. five couldn't catch the precise details. it was just kind of nice to see her again, even if she was certainly in need of a... few repairs.

"mom." diego's sentimental mumble caught some of the sparrows off-guard. the kid included.

"she's a robot, you perv."

"it's not a robot."

"don't call him that!"

"or what?" ben challenged.

"come closer and find out." bickering broke out between the two families, vanya and marcus actively trying to keep everyone's heads on straight, and five may have lost track of the conversation. until ben threw the first punch, anyway. he ducked back, watching as luther next was flung like a ragdoll across the room, landing on and breaking the poor couch. he saw the boy duck out and wanted to chase but first kept his loyalties, attacking ben and getting lost in a flurry of sharp punches and occasionally-failed dodges.

"you're alive. that's—great, or possibly horrible, i haven't decided yet."

"is that some weird kind of smack talk?"

"it's more of an existential problem, really, ben."

"awesome. well, here's your next problem." with his arms extending back and torso leaning forward, a grimy tentacle quickly burst from his chest, though not fast enough to stop five before he blinked away and onto the balcony.

"y'know, even though you're a total asshat now," five began, rudely cut off by another attack which he yet again evaded with ease. it was easier to land a punch and he watched as ben crashed into the ground. "it's nice to see you again. really." after seeing a particularly disturbing scene between diego and the cube, he stepped in to save allison from a few of the other sparrows, yet again finding himself on the second-floor balcony.

"thanks," allison managed through uneven breaths.

"no problem." both standing up, both dusting themselves off, they saw someone rounding the corner. it was him. still, that look of passive pacifism remained, now somewhat stoic in nature; he didn't want to fight, but he may need to. he was resigning himself to that fact and five could see it in his setting expression. and most importantly, there was also endless loyalty. oh, well.

five furrowed his brow, readjusting his jacket. "go help the others. i'll handle this one."

his new opponent almost seemed to space out, eyes narrowing just a bit as if being flooded by tons of new information. with grace and precision, and certainly speed, he set into a defensive stance. five blinked behind him to try for an attack and it was blocked. he continued to block, evade, block, evade, as fast as five tried to attack. the only sounds he made for a while were little grunts.

every failed punch and every successful block was adding to five's aggravation and his exasperation.

"y'know, five," he said, and hearing him speak for the first time startled five terribly, "delores wouldn't like you fighting like this! i'm not doing anything to you!" that shocked him so bad he misfired a punch but it landed for the first time because of how he went to dodge. he was weaker than five first surmised, falling onto the ground, and five continued to strike him back down until he was pinned and unable to move. he looked enraged, face twisted, eyes wide, teeth bared and gritted, glaring daggers at the kid, who looked to be in quite a bit of pain.

"how do you know my name?!" he barked. "how do you know her name?!" five got no answer and that was endlessly more irritating. the kid slammed his hand onto the ground and grabbed the first thing he could, a small piece of rubble, but five watched as, in those few fractions of seconds, that small piece of debris turned into a metal candlestick.

a metal candlestick.

the moment five saw that, he teleported, reappearing just a few feet away. he pushed off his total confusion; no time. the kid kept the candlestick in his hand when he fumbled to stand, not getting even a moment before five tackled him into a headlock. he didn't think twice about the look of pain on the kid's face because that wasn't exactly imperative and he didn't hesitate at the sounds he made.

the kid raised the candlestick again and five watched in subtle horror as it flitted between many different forms, each punctuated by a small sound and a bit of light. he only recognized a few of those hundred forms before he saw it land, like a wheel of fortune, on a knife and he plunged it down. five jerked out of the way of the blade. even though he had once been so hesitant to fight, so afraid of hurting other people, he seemed finally able to push that away and actually defend himself. he may not have been particularly strong, but he was swift and flexible while wrenching himself out of five's grip and adept at landing hits that would still make five flinch and pause. the kid blocked a punch and the moment that they came in contact with each other, the world around them... changed.

from the slightly destroyed upper floor of the academy house, it became an office building, papers flying about while people panicked about the violent fight between the aisles of cubicles. in that moment of confusion, he landed a hit on five, right in the gut. after a pained second, eyes squeezed tight, he grit his teeth and kept fighting.

the office building had become a high-rise skyscraper that they were fighting on the edge of.

another punch and they were on the deck of a cruise ship.

another block and they were in a spanning parking garage. the kid advanced and forced five to back up, closer to the edge of the space, and certainly to a painful fall. he continued to evade every attempted hit, no matter how five had calculated them, before pouncing on him and shoving him right out of the concrete monolith, plummeting down toward the ground along with him.

"how the hell are you doing this?!" five shouted, voice swallowed up by the shouting winds. he grabbed his shirt, bunching up his collar tight enough to cut off his breathing. the panic in his eyes welled up very quick.

and then they were back. instead of hitting the hard pavement ground, five lost all the air in his lungs when he thudded onto the carpeted academy floor, gasping for a second as the kid scrambled away from him, coughing and wheezing.

five hadn't even strangled him for that long, what the hell?

five forced himself to sit, to stand, shooting the glare to end all glares at the boy across from him—however he didn't attack yet. after all the disorientation he felt from those few... transitions, he wanted to keel over and vomit. he was in no condition to fight. luckily, however, neither was his opponent.

killing the kid would not get five his answers, no matter how badly he wanted to do it.

the kid was on the ground, propping himself up on one of his hands, his entire body seeming wracked by pained, nauseated tremors. he looked to be heaving, expression conflicted, exhausted beyond exhausted. he held his head the way one would when suffering from a bad headache.

his question went unanswered, which just served to annoy five further. "are you a time traveler or something? no. a multiversal traveler? do you work with the commission? that's the only possibility i can think of." knowing about delores, knowing about his name, certainly knowing his past, instantly transporting both of them to different places, it could all connect to multiversal travel.

but that spacing out part, before he could dodge like some highly trained professional, and that debris-to-candlestick-to-knife part? those still kind of puzzled him.

the kid wrinkled his nose. "that's the only possibility? you've got a narrow range." for someone who sounded so pained and exhausted, he could manage some mouthiness. somehow he sounded more genuine than sarcastic, though. strange. what about him wasn't?

five's eye twitched and his lips pressed hard into a scowl. "a narrow range? a narrow range? my 'range' isn't narrow! i've seen so many possibilities unfold! do you even know what i had to do to get here?" his words hissed with pure venom. that didn't faze his opponent, even whilst he jabbed an accusatory finger at him, as though somehow this was his fault.

"i do, actually," he managed, although still short of breath. "you got trapped in the apocalypse for a few decades, offered a deal from the commission, broke your contract with them and became a fugitive, got back to your family, and have been trying to evade apocalypses ever since. third time's the charm, right, five?" he recounted it all with the cadence and sensitivity of a history teacher summarizing an important, yet complicated, period of time.

"how could you possibly know—stop calling me that! how are you able to do any of this!"

"i'm not gonna stop calling you by your name." he laughed through his words. he laughed.

"is my exasperation funny to you?"

"i-i mean, kinda! do you know how many ways i've seen this conversation going?" five stilled like a statue. "this was the most common outcome. well, uhm, aside from you just killing me. it's just a little funny how you always react the same way." he shrugged a bit, as though this was simply some high school gossip, and not (one of) the most puzzling thing that five had ever been exposed to.

"look," five began, trying to steady himself. "if you don't tell me how you know about me—how you know about delores—this will become a timeline where i kill you. okay? capiche?"

he raised his hands in surrender. they shook. "capiche, five."

"stop. calling me that."

"to even the playing field, i'm [y/n]. there." he sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees, checking his hands. yet again he seemed to space out, just for a moment this time, before going through a grounding technique. he looked determined now, not as tired as before, though it did remain rather clearly in his eyes. [y/n] was just a kid again. he looked like a pathetic, sick kitten. "it's my power. i was born like this. you travel through space and time, i travel through reality. all of reality. alternate universes, as you know them. close by, far away, ones almost exactly the same and some with very distinctive evolutionary branches. the further away the world, the... stranger they get. i can see literally any possibility. so i—i fucking know you, five. i know you. i know your brothers and your sister and your in-laws and your niece and every other niece or nephew you could've had. there are so, so many worlds where i was an umbrella, or your friend, or stuck with you in the apocalypse, or... something like that. that's how i know you, and know delores. i was there."

sister, singular?

fuck, why was that his first take-away?

five narrowed his eyes slightly. "you can see every alternate universe," he said, slowly, as if clarifying something to [y/n] when he really needed the clarification for himself.

he nodded. "use them, too."

"use...?"

[y/n] broke into a little smile. his answer remained unknown because their restrained conversation was interrupted by one of [y/n]'s sisters. just one glance and his smile disappeared, staring at five with now-widened eyes, mouthing something along the lines of 'get the fuck out.'

five didn't need to be told twice. a flit of light and he had disappeared to who-the-hell-knows-where.

"who the hell was that creep," jayme mumbled, watching as [y/n] stumbled to his feet and dusted himself off. she grabbed him by the scruff of his jacket out of instinct to make sure he didn't fall over.

"uh... someone pretty interesting," [y/n] said, staring at where he'd once been, the flash of bright light still burned into his eyes. he wanted to find him. maybe needed to find him. probably because something in the world was very wrong, even if no other timeline had figured it out yet.

if any of the umbrellas knew where to hide out, it would probably be klaus, right? simple solution. kind of. as long as he could sneak out undetected by his siblings.

a good bit of time had passed when you finally had the chance to scope out the hotel obsidian. you had changed into something more casual and lowkey, sunglasses now balanced atop your nose and a nice light scarf about your neck. music played over your headphones and you wandered inside of the place, stricken with the sight of heavy art deco. it was rather nice, actually, when you took the time to appreciate it. then again, your mind was rather preoccupied with what was probably a very big deal. on the other side of the lobby, in the little bar and lounge area, you could spot a few of the hargreeves siblings. most notably five, now wearing a white bathrobe. soon his eyes glanced to you and you could feel his gaze sharpen. he looked back at his brothers and excused himself, stepping off the stool and teleporting to you before his feet hit the ground.

"what are you doing here," he hissed through gritted teeth.

"i mean, our conversation got cut off earlier. seemed right to continue it, y'know?"

five looked back at his brothers and then at you once more. klaus was staring after him but you didn't know if he recognized you; luther and diego were still totally enraptured in their chinese food.

the look on five's face told you a whole lot; it was critical to him to talk with you, figure things out, because he guessed—and guessed right—that you weren't just here to politely finish a conversation. something weird was going on, whether he wanted to know or not. "alright. okay. fine. just," he grasped your shoulder after a second and then you were both gone, reappearing instantaneously in a room you assumed to be five's. small cot in the corner, bunk bed opposite, and a couch.

god, you wanted to throw up. you clutched your stomach, squeezing your eyes shut for a minute.

he crossed his arms and looked at you. "so where exactly did we leave off?"

you paused to scrub your mind, trying to recall. a few blinks broke the few seconds of spacing out. usually you weren't this forgetful, but, uh, today was an interesting one. "i said i can use those universes and that confused you. and then jayme came around and i told you to leave."

"right," five muttered. "what exactly did you mean by that?"

"well, obviously i can use them for information." your voice was somewhat soft, actually, which was mighty strange to him.

"hmph. how could i forget." five's flat voice was thick with sarcasm.

you managed a smile. "but i can also use them for skills and stuff. the dodging, earlier; i can't really do that here. there's a world where i star in fighting movies and stuff, where i'm good at dodging and i'm fast and flexible, and i can... link my mind, i guess, and use those skills. and the... the candlestick. knife. thing. i can change things to whatever another me is holding. i can change my clothes. i can change reality."

"so, in essence, your mind is able to find every other instance of you across time and space and access them? and... communicate with them, i suppose, in some way or another."

you shrugged a bit. "about explains it. but the—... can i ask you something?" you suddenly sounded sheepish, hesitant, like you were constantly rethinking what you were about to say. five furrowed his brow, a little surprised to see that look on your face, and he really didn't like it.

"depends on what that something is," he responded, speaking cautiously.

you found yourself spacing out again, but this time not to access some alternate plane of existence. every other universe had its own noise, and every other universe was persistently audible; that loud buzz was starting to give you yet another headache. it was probably possible to overdose on tylenol, right? suddenly that constant look of exhaustion on your face was even more obvious to five. for a moment, he seemed almost sympathetic to that. he could certainly understand it, at the very least. "you've got about twenty-eight years of experience on me," you began, forcing your voice to be steady. "do you have any clue how to deal with the, uhm, existential part of it all?" lightheartedness seemed to be a skill of yours. five could respect it.

you doubted, sincerely doubted, that there could be anything in the world to help you from the persistent noise. or from the pain and exhaustion of swatting from world to world to world in the span of thirty seconds during a fight. it was a wonder you were still walking.

"why should i help you with that, exactly? your family tried to kill mine."

"i didn't try to kill anyone. i hid upstairs the entire time. well, uh, almost the entire time. i can be an ally to you guys. i'd... prefer to be allied with you guys." if anyone else in the world knew about the ins and outs of the umbrella academy, five had no doubt in his mind that it would be you and your presumably-torturous ability. it would probably be a smart idea on their side as well, to ally with you.

"before i agree to help you at all, how can i be sure your family isn't using you as some sort of... puppet? some sort of inside man?"

you shrugged a bit after a second. "i wouldn't be a very good choice."

"seriously? do you think i'm stupid or something?"

you crossed your arms, looking at him with narrowed eyes. "no. i know you aren't stupid. and i'm pretty sure that your first choice wouldn't be a 'weak thirteen-year-old kid with a power that cripples him with headaches and exhaustion whenever he uses it,' either. not to mention that said kid can't hear what's going on sometimes because of literally every other sound in the expansive multiverse." the words were sarcastic but the tone was very genuine, almost excruciatingly so.

"i have... so many more questions now."

you shrugged a bit. "i can answer some of them, i guess." considering that you knew almost all the ins and outs of his life, it seemed only fair to share some of yours. you were too tired to steer the conversation back to why you had came. perhaps you'd already forgotten it.

"why exactly are you thirteen? you were born in 1989, you had to be."

"... i chose to stay this age."

"how can you just choose to stay that age?" exasperation met with confusion in a very strange voice of five's. even after all he'd gone through and learned, you were just springing question marks all over the place. god damnit.

"i can manipulate almost every aspect of reality, five," you said, softly, in response. "it's not out of the realm of possibility to stay thirteen. not for me."

five nodded slightly after a second. that nod steadily turned into a shake of his head. "jesus—i should've grabbed some coffee." he pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. "just give me a second."

"oh. uh, no need." glancing about the room, there was a small corner table, atop it an ice bucket and some plastic cups for water. he watched, for some reason a bit puzzled, as you placed your hands on it. spaced out. and it flitted to a fresh coffee pot and a mug. they seemed like something from a diner.

well, that would make sense, wouldn't it?

you poured him a cup and handed it, still steaming, over to him.

five scowled a bit, staring down at the filled mug, before his sharp gaze landed on you again.

"it's just coffee, five. it's not poisoned or anything. here." you plucked it back out of his grasp and took a sip, waited a few seconds, and handed it back. "see? you're fine."

after a second, he nodded. "right." he didn't find himself bothered by drinking from the same mug you had. he'd done a lot worse things, hadn't he?

"so... what were those other questions?"

after taking a few healthy swigs, he cleared his throat. "your ability—it really taxes you? even after all these years?" five would never admit it, but the coffee was pretty goddamn good. whatever diner your alternate-self worked in was worth a visit, if it existed in this world. "is that why you were shaking and panting so much earlier?"

you felt a bit embarrassed. "yeah," you mumbled. "i trained with it a lot, but, i wasn't very strong to begin with." you sat down carefully on the sofa, pulling a bottle of painkillers from your coat pocket.

"when's the last time you had a dose?" five asked, mug to his lips, shooting you a side-eye.

"... maybe three hours ago. why?"

he clicked his tongue and shook his head, plucking the bottle out of your hands. "not now, then."

"dude! what the hell! i-i need those!"

"well, i can't keep asking questions to someone sick from taking too much tylenol. and you can wait three hours."

you groaned but didn't complain, just settling back against the comfortable cushions. "fine. i'll wait." and you mumbled 'you're just like sloane' under your breath.

"good," he mumbled, sitting down beside you after tossing the pills onto his bed. "you said you could hear every sound in the multiverse. something tells me that isn't a hyperbole."

you nodded a bit and slouched down, trying to figure out a decent analogy. "when you remove a door from its threshold, you can always hear what's on the other side, unless you actively tune it out. just, for me, there were never doors. it was always like this. every single feasible universe is out there, fighting for my attention, almost every waking moment." you recounted with a deep sort of mourning. five couldn't blame you, he supposed. you had been robbed of silence, of pure solitude, of privacy. his heart almost ached for you.

had you been born with the doors off their frames? he wanted to ask, he really wanted to ask, but it was probably going to be way too... private of a thing. personal. from what he could tell.

"and i thought wrangling that crowd of toddlers was bad. i can't imagine hearing everything they do, everywhere, constantly," he mused.

you cracked a smile. it had been a while since you were able to joke around with someone, even if that someone had interrogated you like a police investigator. "oh, it's the worst," you giggled, and he laughed along. "i mean, it's bad enough knowing what your brothers do into their socks, it's even worse to walk in on them over, like, over two thousand times."

"i've known you for a very short period of time, but something tells me that's the worst thing you've ever said."

for someone in a very persistent and terrible bout of pain, your laugh, and your smile, were incredibly bright. five couldn't really say that he was expecting this when first appearing in the umbre—ahem. in the sparrow academy building, but he wasn't exactly complaining. this could be nice. he really hoped it would be, anyway.

silence fell on you two for a while. the overbearing static was starting to edge back in now that you had nothing more to say. the pain was ebbing.

"... something's wrong." you sounded deadly serious, it was horrifying.

"s—sorry?" five felt like he had whiplash after such an extreme diversion from the topic.

you seemed to be fighting that urge to space out a whole lot more. this was important, you needed to stay on track, and yet your stress was doing exactly the opposite of tunnel vision. shit.

five noticed; and he kind of needed you to talk, as fast as possible, so reached out and pinched your neck, successfully getting you to tense and wake up, in some sense of the words. offense was replaced with gratitude in your eyes. "i don't know exactly what. no other universe has figured it out. but you aren't supposed to be here, this isn't your timeline, that's—a very big problem. it could potentially 'rip a hole in space and time.'" five muttered along with you, cussing and hanging his head.

"why didn't you say this first?" he hissed.

"i'm sorry!" you sounded very genuine and he felt rather bad. "i-i—the interrogation and then the pain and then the... getting along with you, i forgot." it was another world, some utterance of 'not normal yet' that brought the thought back to you.

your voice was cracking. you felt far worse than five could ever make you feel.

"... it's fine. it's fine."

"it very much isn't. you know that."

five knew it all too well. he groaned, pinched the bridge of his nose, and downed the rest of his coffee. "fantastic."

"i mean, it may be a problem we can solve." you shot him a smile, a tired and weak little thing, but it did comfort him a bit.

"the universe will really mind if seven dumbasses stick around?" his humor had soured, but it was still there. you felt very guilty, unable to look him in his eyes, shoulders slouched as if defeated in some great thing.

"she's a stickler for rules."

"hmph." he scowled a full-face scowl. "no retirement yet, i guess."

out of all the things you could ever have seen, heard, felt, and known, one thing seemed... important. emotionally, anyway. "if it's, uhm, any consolation... retirement did look good on you, by the way."

he couldn't help but smile a bit. somewhere out there was a world where you and five were friends well into his retirement, be that at his confusing age or his chronological age from 1989, where he was happily retired with no time-threatening anomalous issues to draw him out. even if he was bound to die in this timeline, there was some comfort in knowing many other timelines saw him content. "i'll take your word for it."

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Angst (8) Masterlist

part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, part six, part seven

a night to remember (ao3) - grievingwarwidow

Summary: roxie, who prefers the label exotic performer over stripper, is a star amongst people who are out when the sun goes down. who better for a close-minded phil who has despised what he labels as lowlifes to suddenly obsess over than Roxie himself?

aka the one where phil gets pathetically hung up on dan, better known as roxie and is desperate to get to know him better.

Aftermath (ao3) - firephan311

Summary: What happened during that week in March when Dan abruptly stopped taking his antidepressants.

Angelfish (ao3) - PyroStormIsBae

Summary: musings on phil’s anxiety, self image issues, and new hair + how dan loves him through it all.

(TW) Catch You on the Flipside (ao3) - Amorist (dead_on_the_inside)

Summary: Dan is holding himself together by the seams after running away from a religious cult. He has to ask himself why he keeps going, but deep down, he knows the answer already. It's the same answer it was long before his parents packed up and moved him to a thinly-veiled conversion camp in America—Phil.

Or, my excuse to write self-indulgent angst, because sometimes we need that.

Chips (ao3) - philsmeatylegss

Summary: Dan struggling with the concept that all healthy couples should fight.

Coffee by Chappell Roan (ao3) - danswideslit

Summary: someone on tumblr mentioned needing a dnp fic with the narrative from coffee and I felt inspired because I love that song a whole lot

Comfort in Chaos (ao3) - Anonymous

Summary: Phil wakes to Dan having a nightmare that he struggles to rouse him from. It later transpires that there is a reason behind his unsettled and panicked behaviour.

crushing grief (there is no remedy) (ao3) - shandril

Summary: When Phil comes to get the last of his things, Dan has one more chance to ask him to stay.

Deceit and Devotion (ao3) - Thatonefunhun

Summary: Phil Lester has it all. A successful career doing what he loves, a “bestie” who's always got his back, and a can-do attitude! He’s living the life! But what goes on beyond the camera? And is everything as it seems…

Falling for You (ao3) - Anonymous

Summary: Dan is at the front door waiting for Phil, eager to get outside so he can put his secret plan in motion when he hears a chilling thud of his partner colliding with the bathroom tiles.

First Love/Late Spring (ao3) - leewritesstuff

Summary: Dan and Phil are a ranch metaphor.

Dan and Phil are the moon and the ocean.

Dan and Phil are first loves.

Phil left in late spring.

frozen in time and space (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: It’s 3:30 in the morning and Dan hasn’t been able to stop looking.

I Hardly Feel Anything At All (ao3) - BREAD2000yeet

Summary: Dan in a depressive episode spends his night at Phil's apartment to "do laundry" while there he finds what home truly means, some existential stuff, Phil is kinda unaware of depression (so is Dan in this fic, de-nial is a river in egypt) but he still cares

I know you, hands under my sweatshirt (ao3) - midorijpg

Summary: “How are you?”

It's with an undertone of fear that he dares ask that, as always, even if he knows that he’s lucky if Dan even decides to answer. And as he imagines, Dan just tilts his head, looking at him as if lost in thought, swinging the bottle with his hand before just resting it on the floor.

“Make room,” he just says.

“What?”

“I said, make room.”

or, something something about having bad days and growing up and realizing you don't (completely) fit in couches anymore.

I try to picture me without you but I can't (ao3) - solarpower21

Summary: After Dan's tragic death, Phil starts having a bunch of strange dreams where he is still alive. But are they really just dreams?

Or: Phil's soul consciousness can't cope with Dan's death, so he starts hopping between different universes, trying to look for him.

I’ll be the light that you can’t make (ao3) - MANIAvinyl

Summary: There was suddenly a tightness in Phil’s chest, put there by guilt and fear, and he couldn’t find the words to respond. The gravity of Dan’s depression was creeping up on him, like a realization he didn’t want to admit.

Or; Dan is depressed and Phil cant help but feel that the sickness in his best friend is a mystery to them both. Hurt/comfort and angst

It's either bathmat green or agony (ao3) - sunshine_and_storm_clouds

Summary: It was day 34 of Dan being gone on tour, and Phil had only left the house to see his parents or the occasional friend. The breeze from the fan brushed his chilled skin, and he shivered.

----

Phil really, REALLY misses Dan when he's away.

Peach and Lime (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Phil doesn't do relationships. And then he meets Dan. He still doesn't do relationships, but he has a fun angst-filled night.

(TW) Perfect (ao3) - Anonymous

Summary: Phil is going to make TATINOF perfect-whatever it takes to get there.

Proxy Requests (ao3) - philsmeatylegss

Summary: A story about poop and fear (unrelated)

Stir Fry (ao3) - ottertrashpalace

Summary: Dan never cooks unless he's feeling guilty. Phil waits.

The Anniversary (ao3) - Anonymous

Summary: It is fifteen years to the day since Dan's suicide attempt, and Phil endeavours to make the day as normal as possible.

The Beeping Penthouse (ao3) - gaydreaming

Summary: Set during the events of How Phil Nearly Died. Dan does his best to take care of Phil after their traumatic day, despite being terrified himself. As is to be expected, things dissolve into softness and silliness rather quickly, until they're both able to feel okay again.

the inherent romance of washing the sheets (ao3) - jonsaremembers

Summary: Laundry is a bit meditative when you know how to do it, Dan reflects as he sprays stain solution on the sheets.

to love somebody the way i love you (ao3) - howell_slide

Summary: Dan and Phil return home from the hospital, and Dan’s Going Through It emotionally.

trade all my tomorrows (ao3) - SylvesterLester

Summary: It's 2014, and Dan Howell is screwing up in life. Fresh off of potentially ruining his just-started acting career with a heavily-memed public freakout, he's ready to hide away for the rest of his life. Until a stranger reaches out, who might not be such a stranger after all.

when i walk in the kitchen, my heart hits the floor (ao3) - aura_sky

Summary: a phivorce fic

based on the Renee Rapp song (In the Kitchen)

or

Dan walks into the kitchen and he misses Phil.

wikihow to stop a divorce (ao3) - ivorycastle

Summary: ❝(...) but then suddenly one day you make a life change, and the flames feel no different..❞

You're Perfect To Me (ao3) - ticklishraspberries

Summary: Dan is feeling insecure about his body, and Phil can’t have that.

[amoebaforce]

Maybe a lil drabble of erenville and viera!wol talking abt their naturally long lifespans and outliving their non viera friends?

Yknow just some normal existential dread bggnngn

you're breaking my heart, anon.... so of course >:)

what was meant to be a drabble turned into a mini-fic, but i ain't mad at it. i took a few liberties, since Erenville has no confirmed age. hope you enjoy! :D

tags: angst, death talk (etc), viera!WoL, WoL uses they/them wc: 1.2k

It was the end of another long day in Labyrinthos. The Scions' mission had succeeded months ago, but Sharlayan researchers and gleaners were still hard at work undoing their own half-completed evacuation protocols. Thousands of artifacts and specimens had to be unpacked, re-cataloged, replaced on their shelves, returned to their habitats... not to mention the paperwork.

It was the kind of work Erenville loathed. Dull, tedious, and unfulfilling. He'd much rather be out in a field, or a jungle. Hells, even an arid desert wasteland would make for better scenery than the inside of this storage facility. At least in the wilds, there'd be a chance for something interesting to happen. By the time his supervisor cut him loose for the day, stars were already twinkling in the artificial sky. Erenville stood staring at them, chin tilted, and groaned.

Looked like he'd be heading to The Last Stand for dinner. Again.

Twenty minutes later, Erenville plopped into a seat at the edge of the cafe, so ravenous that his head was starting to spin. The nightly special glistened on his plate: Thavnairian curried hamsa. It was just the sort of spicy, hearty meal he needed to rekindle his energy after a marathon of boredom. With a thankful sigh, Erenville shoveled a bite into his mouth, then another, and another, eyes slipping closed around his fork.

But just as the gleaner settled into his meal, a familiar sound rang out across the plaza.

"Erenville!"

His eyes shot open, swiveling until they found the source of the noise: the Warrior of Light themselves, standing on the tips of their toes in the middle of the plaza. Waving to him. Erenville choked on his rice. The Warrior flitted to his table, their smile so bright it rivaled the waxing moon.

"Fancy seeing you here!" they said cheerfully. Erenville couldn't help but smile back, even as he was still suppressing a cough.

"I should say the same to you, Warrior," he replied. "I thought for sure you were busy with the satrap."

"I am! But there's a project here that requires my attention, too." They made a show of looking over their shoulders, as if to check for eavesdroppers, then leaned over the table with a mischievous look on their face. "It's something for Tataru."

"Ah," Erenville chuckled. "Say no more, my friend." The two shared a knowing laugh.

"Say, I have an hour or two to kill before I'm due elsewhere. May I join you?" the Warrior asked. Erenville nodded, gesturing to the seat across the table. "Thanks. And don't stop eating on my account! I've heard they've been working you lot to the bone."

Erenville gave a little grimace, unable to deny their claim. He spooned another bite into his mouth, reminding himself to chew slower now that he was in polite company.

"Where'd you hear that from?" the gleaner asked.

"Krile. She said Labyrinthos is a proper mess right now."

"Hmph. I wouldn't call it a mess, but... Well, I guess me eating dinner after dark is a good indicator of how it's going."

"Fair. At least the food looks good," the Warrior offered, tilting their head sympathetically.

"It is good," Erenville admitted. "A little paler than the stuff you'd get in Radz-at-Han, but decent enough."

A strange twinkle passed through the Warrior's vibrant eyes, and the tell-tale twitching of their ears betrayed amusement. Erenville shot them a pointed glance. For the first time all day, a smirk curled at his lips.

"What's so funny, then?" he asked them.

"Nothing," the Warrior hummed. "It's just... For a moment, I forgot how well-traveled you are. That's silly, isn't it, considering your line of work? I mean, you've visited places I've never even heard of."

Erenville laughed. "The opposite is true, too."

"Ha! Fair enough, my friend." They paused, smile flickering briefly downward. "I guess I forget that other people have had just as many adventures as me."

Something about their tone sent an apprehensive prickle down Erenville's spine. It was the same kind of feeling he got when he was standing before a locked door, key in hand, wondering what he'd find when he finally crossed the threshold.

"Not many people," he said. "You and I are luckier than most."

"Of course. Our chosen professions are both... unconventional. To put it lightly. They take us places we'd never go otherwise."

Erenville took another bite and chewed it slowly. "Aye, you're right about that. But even if we were regular people, working regular jobs, we'd still have a better chance of seeing the world than most."

The Warrior's brow furrowed. "Why's that?"

The gleaner took a sip of his water. Washed the taste of curry from his tongue.

"Because we're Viera."

He watched the Warrior's eyes drift to the empty space between them, bottom lip tucked between their teeth.

"Right," they said quietly. "Of course. We have... more time."

Their expression went glassy in an instant, and Erenville knew he'd made a mistake. Guilt twisted through him painfully, screwing his expression even tighter.

"I'm sorry," he blurted. "I wasn't thinking. I forgot all your friends are..." He couldn't bring himself to finish the thought. "I didn't mean to ruin the mood."

"No, no," the Warrior insisted, ears jerking upright to emphasize their words. "It's okay. I mean, it is sad, but... It's the truth."

The pair exchanged a long look, silent yet full of meaning. They had not grown up together, but Erenville saw in the Warrior the same clawing, festering fear that he himself carried. He saw it in every other untethered and outcast Viera he met.

"Has it happened to you?" the Warrior asked, daring to break the silence. "Losing someone."

Erenville swallowed air, his mouth sandpaper. "Yes. Once."

"...My condolences."

"Thank you. It was a long time ago." He smiled bleakly. "Another lifetime."

The Warrior gave a mirthless snort. "I don't know what I will do. When the time comes."

"Neither did I. But the time came anyway."

"It always does."

Erenville nodded, memories dancing in the wings of his mind. Urging him back in time, to a terrible moment he could not bear to relive. Not now. He shook the feeling away, focusing instead on the friend before him. One of the few people on this planet who shared his plight.

"They will tell you not to mourn," he said. "Especially the hyurs -- they always say that. You'll mourn anyway. It's only natural. But eventually, things will not hurt so badly, and life will go on. You'll find pieces of them everywhere you go. You'll tell their stories to generations they'll never see. And your memories will last as long as you do."

The Warrior of Light wiped a tear from their eye.

"Well, I suppose we are lucky, then," they sniffed. Erenville clapped an encouraging hand on their forearm.

"That's the spirit. Now, come, you have to tell me all about your business with the satrap. And all the Hannish gossip you've heard, too."

The Viera laughed, feeling the knots in their stomachs come undone.

"Of course," the Warrior agreed. "But after that, I want to hear a story about your old friend."

Erenville smiled. "It would be my pleasure."

[the-sunhold-coven]

So I have it where my Mc is going after Alarik...which is questionable lol. But Mc can't help it 😅. But I love playing a shy Mc and also how protective he is with them. But i also hope we get to question ourself on falling for them and get to talk about it. Bc I just imagine them questioning it bc of everything and what not.

But I hope we get to see more of the ros point of views. Especially once they start crushing on our witch. 😊

Also sorry for the long ramble and everything lol. But do keep up the good work and make sure you take care of yourself. 🥂

There is nothing to apologize for. While I was reading I was sitting here like 🥰

I fully support your MC's questionable choices! Alarik is incredibly protective as a person, although misguided at times *ahem* Witch hunter *ahem*.

I don't want to spoil too much but you shouldn't worry, I have so much angst planned for that route. You'll be able to have an existential crisis later on in the romance, or even more than one if you feel extra angsty.

[dib-thing-wannabe]

I WATCHED THE PILOT FOR THE AMAZING DIGITAL CIRCUS AND OH MY GOD I CANNOT STOP THINKING ABOUT IT-

(No spoilers under cut, just me going insane)

THE IMMEDIATE EXISTENTIAL CRISIS FROM POMNI WHEN SHE ARRIVED?? THE ALREADY DEEP SEATED LORE ABOUT NOT BEING ABLE TO ESCAPE?! ALL THE POSSIBLIES ABOUT WHAT COULD, CAN, AND SOMETIMES EVEN W I L L HAPPEN!!

If you have been a follower or a mutual of mine for some time now, you wouldn't be surprised to hear that Jax is what got me into it originally, nor be surprised that I am thinking about him the most out of the cast. What probably will surprise you is what I'm thinking about exactly.

What I'm thinking about is what will be done with him in the story. Will he be considered a villain? Will he be considered a good guy, despite him being a bully to the other casts? Does he know more than the others at the circus does? Who knows!! He has the potential for everything!

Something that I am struggling though is what headcannons I should have for him though-

He definitely is one of us fruits, but my question is which one?? He definitely seems like he could be mlm, especially with the energy he gives off. But I cannot stop thinking of transfem Jax no matter how hard I try not to- Because, like, I can totally see it being 100% canon!!

Just imagine the angst potential involving it, because he probably wouldn't know what he's experiencing and he might think that he's starting to extract! But yet the gender disphoria (idk if that's how it's spelled, but you'll get what I mean if it's spelled wrong) was always there for him, even before he joined the circus! And some of you probably know that Goose themselves have started to think about having Jax wear a dress in future episodes, and hooo boy, am I having thoughts about that!!

Imagine this: For the latest adventure, Jax is made to wear a dress, as a disguise. He is just complaining about it the entire time, not even going to look at himself as he's wearing it as he "probably looks silly and stupid in it". Once the adventure is over, he stomps away from everyone to go and take it off, feeling as if he was being made a fool of by them, even though they had been complimenting the way he looked the entire time (even if some of the compliments had laughter in them). In a similar fashion to the scene where Pomni stopped in front of the mirror when she saw herself in the digital circus for the first time, Jax walked passed a mirror and decided to take a look to "see what they were making fun of". When he looked at himself while he was still wearing the dress, he couldn't help but stare at himself. He thought, for the first time in forever, that he didn't just look good, that he looked right. There's wasn't any other way to explain it. He just looked right. He looked and felt like he was what he ever wanted to since he was a little kid. He twirled a little in the dress, making sure to get a good look at himself as he's wearing it, not being able to help but just softly smile at himself as his eyes were majorly dilated. This goes on for a few minutes before his first moment of gender efforia (again, don't know how to spell it-) is interrupted by Pomni and Cain, who were going to see if he was done with getting dressed. Cain just simply says something along the lines of "Wow, you finally decided to take a look at yourself, Jax? My, I thought we would never see the day!" Which results in an embarrassed scoff from Jax as he rolled his eyes at him. But Pomni saw that he was actually happy with the way he looked like never before, and tells him that he could wear dresses more often if it made him happy. He acts like he was deeply insulted by it and said that he wouldn't ever even think of doing this again, but later on he starts wearing dresses in his free time (where no one could see him, of course) (Except for Pomni, she'd probably help him pick out the dresses tbh).

If anyone wants to draw the little imaginary scene I made up, do it!! Draw it! Just tag me in it so I can see it!

[toastedjeans]

I'll post this to AO3 some time later, but for now..

Somebody order some Queenie angst?

Ever since a few days, or however long it was in this digital world, it had been taunting her. Appearing and disappearing wherever she went, always too far away to reach, or even to take a proper look at it. The first few times she saw it, she was sure she was just imagining things. But the more frequent the sightings became, the less she believed it to merely be her imagination.

Once again, a bright red exit door appeared right in front of Queenie's eyes. She stood motionless for a few moments, her hand shaking. If she had lungs, she'd be breathing heavily. A quick glance wouldn't hurt, would it? Of course, she wouldn't leave without notice, as much as she longed to escape this nightmarish realm. Not without taking the other performers with her, and especially not without her sweetheart, Kinger. If she could prove that there was a way out, everyone would finally be free again.

As the curiosity got the better of her, she pressed the handle down, ready to peer back into reality once more, even just for a moment.

But she wasn't fast enough. The door practically disintegrated into tiny red particles, floating up into the air before she could see the other side. This must have been the closest anyone had ever gotten to get out of the circus. She'd have to notify as many of the others, tell them to look out for the way out. Then she'd be able to take as many of the trapped performers with her, back to their former lives. Back to the real world.

---

Ever since her close encounter with the presumably only way out, she'd have visions of her past life. During many of Caine's adventures, memories of her life back home flashed before her, sometimes causing her to nearly break down mentally. Kinger would always be close by, holding her, comforting her, keeping her just sane enough to not lose her mind completely.

Queenie was strong-willed. She usually wouldn't be brought down like this that easily. And yet, the memories were relentless, projecting images of her children from the real world into her mind. With every day, the once so strongly woven thread she held onto seemed to fray more and more.

A gentle hand was placed on her shoulder, bringing her back to reality. Well, if you could call life in the digital circus that.

"My love, are you alright?", the soft voice of her husband spoke, "You've been staring at the wall for quite a while now."

Kinger tried not to sound too worried about her, after all, everyone in here went a little crazy from time to time. But Queenie was the most stable of them all, or at least she was good at hiding her struggles. She and him were among the people who were trapped here the longest, that must have affected them on some level at least. Or maybe they'd grow desensitized to their existential dread after so long. Who could tell.

"Kinger, darling...", she whispered, her voice shaking, "If you saw an exit door.. would you go through it?"

Kinger was taken aback by the question, tilting his head like a confused puppy. He then took his wife's hands in his own and knelt in front of her, looking deeply into her big amber eyes.

"I would never leave. Not if it means leaving anyone behind."

The queen's expression shifted to disbelief, one of her eyelids twitched. She shook her head, "You wouldn't? But what about-"

Kinger shushed her by placing a finger on the spot of her face where her mouth would be if she had one. He didn't like interrupting her like this, but he couldn't bare seeing her so distraught over this elusive exit. While he was certain that some sort of way out of this place did exist in some form or another, he had never seen a door randomly spawning into the room. It wasn't that he didn't believe his beloved partner, but to him, such a thing would be merely theoretical until he saw it himself. Or until he'd get confirmation from Caine about it.

"Let's not think about that now, my love. We have one another, and that's what's most important.", her husband spoke in his softest, most calming tone he could manage, gently leaning his forehead against hers.

But Queenie snapped. She pushed Kinger away from her, causing him to fall over to his side.

"So you're saying my children aren't important, then?", she said in an incredulous voice as she stood up. Her hands shook as she repeatedly balled her hands into fists, as if wanting to strangle somebody.

"N-no! This isn't at all how I-"

He reached out towards her, but was only met with her uncharacteristically furious gaze. He had never experienced his wife so angry before.

"They're all alone, Kinger. They need me, they need their mother!", her body started shaking more and more. "You don't understand. If I can't leave this god forsaken place, they'll have nobody taking care of them!"

She leaned down with every word until dropping to her knees, as if her body wouldn't be able to withstand the pressure any longer.

"What if..", she whispered to herself, voice weak. She couldn't bare finishing the thought, tears forming in her eyes as she broke down on the floor, holding her head.

The king slowly crawled towards his queen, reaching out a second time in an attempt to calm her. Even if she was usually the one keeping him in check, she needed his emotional support from time to time as well.

But he was too late.

As Queenie shook harder, her body started shifting and glitching, until she eventually corrupted beyond recognition. Kinger couldn't help but stare in horror, unable to comprehend what he was looking at. Her current body almost reminded him of some strange insect. What was happening to her?

As much as he wished to help, to take away the pain and agony she was going through, he didn't know what he could possibly do. He reached out once more, his hands trembling in terror, and still he held out hope for her.

She lashed out in an almost animalistic fury, launching him into the nearest wall. The abstract body's thousands of multicolored eyes focused on his now heavily glitching body as it ran forward, slamming its limbs into him. It attacked relentlessly, before launching the king into another wall.

"Now what is happening he-", the ringleader himself appeared right in front of the injured chess piece, stopping himself as he spotted the giant, dark mass that was raging through the circus. It now charged directly towards him, attempting to strike his head, or jaw rather, which he barely dodged. He quickly floated next to Kinger, who could only manage to weakly press out his wife's name in a digital stutter, holding a heavily shaking hand out towards the strange monster. A moment of silent realization followed as he turned towards the threat once more. This.. thing was Queenie?

He quickly shook his head, focused yet again. Being an AI, Caine was used to coming across glitches. Yet, the corruption of circus members, his performers, and most importantly, one of his friends, was something he'd never even thought of experiencing.

Luckily, he knew how to deal with bugged code. Caine simply snapped his fingers and crossed his arms over his chest. Kinger, still in a tremendous amount of pain, stopped going in and out of existence, appearing like his former self again.

But the deeply abstracted, giant body still stood in front of them, ready to charge again. Whatever was going on here, it certainly wasn't good.

Caine tried snapping his fingers another time, and another time, to no avail. Queenie had gone so far that even his powers weren't strong enough to fix her. But what was he supposed to do now? He couldn't just lock her away until he had found a solution to turn her back, could he?

Actually, he thought, that wasn't such a bad idea after all. Not exactly the best one he had, but under these circumstances, it would have to do.

Just as she was about to attack the two others once more, the ringmaster took hold of her via a sort of drag-and-drop feature he normally used to move various props around. To ensure everybody's safety, he opened a hole in the ground, which led into the out of bounds region underneath the circus, and lifted his old friend into it.

"I'm sorry, Queenie. But it's for your own good."

With that, the hole closed shut, leaving the corrupted entity behind, nothing but darkness engulfing her.

Caine rushed back to the king, who was still trembling after the horrors he had witnessed.

"My.. my queen..", he whimpered, lifting his head to face his saviour, "Y-you can fix her, r-right, Caine?"

He didn't answer. Couldn't answer. Not even he knew if he could. Instead, he took Kinger's hands in his, and brought him to his room.

---

Several minutes passed, in which the AI had summoned a large amount of pillows into the other's room. So many in fact, that half of it was occupied by them, and a tired, still traumatized chess king right in the middle of them. He had tried buidling a fort out of them, but in his haste he just piled all the pillows on top of each other. It would have to do for now.

"If you, uh, need anything. Just call for me. I'll be there as fast as I can, okay?" Being an artificial intelligence, Caine still had to learn a lot of things regarding emotions, especially the more complex and subtle ones. He never knew what to say or do to comfort people. Some preferred to be left alone, while others liked to have somebody close by to talk to. But in an extreme situation like this one, he was utterly unclear on the proper way to act. He figured since most other performers wanted him to stay away as far as possible after they had a mental breakdown, surely this must be what he had to do now as well.

But a tug on his wrist told him otherwise. He turned, his friend now sitting upright on the soft "walls" of the makeshift fortress. Or, as upright as one possibly could on a surface like this.

"Can you.. stay with me?", Kinger almost whispered, his piercing blue eyes meeting Caine's, "I don't think I can handle being alone right now..."

With a look of slight surprise, the ringleader slowly took the other's hand in his and floated up, placing himself next to the other figure. Big, gloved hands gently grabbed his small body, pulling him closer, imitating an embrace. At least it felt like one. Without arms, it was sometimes difficult to tell what the king's intentions were when he held somebody. Hesitantly, Caine hugged him back, providing his friend with as much comfort as he could give him. Warmth engulfed his entire body, and if he hadn't already experienced this feeling before, he'd assume that his processor was just overheating.

Before long, the two figures lay even closer together in a tight embrace. Their grip tightening, they held onto one other as if they'd drift apart if they'd ever let go. No more words were spoken between them, just the occasional rustle of pillows and blankets, and some quiet sniffles could be heard. Caine and Kinger had been close before, and the mutual grief over the loss of a loved one would only bring them closer.

[winvyre]

[Valerie's Story] Trivia 1 :)

Something light and fun that doesn't require too much thought on my end to finish off the weekend. If you're into behind-the-scenes type content, this is for you!

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Kell's placeholder name was Benwick. He got his final name when I suddenly started calling him "Kell" in my head instead. I like to think that he chose it himself because I don't know where it came from. I like it!

Ondu used to be a character. In earlier generations of the story, dragons were intelligent. Ondu was a dragon that Valerie befriends. Now Valerie's stuffed bear and later sword have the name instead.

A few years ago I wrote an alternate universe where Valerie had died in the climax and the younger version of her from the start of the story showed up on the first anniversary of her death. There was angst all around. They still defeated the big bad so that wasn't a problem. Dead_Valerie would occasionally appear to Not_Valerie_Valerie and all-in-all it was a very existential experience.

Valerie used to be the "missing child," not Maurin. Valerie was an amnesiac who showed up in Archfell and was taken in by Oakley while they tried to find her parents (that Oakley had no other children and wasn't even called Oakley). That version of Valerie spontaneously came into existence the moment the story started as a being of pure magic and grew to know the world over the course of her adventures so she wasn't really a missing child but the "Missing Children Incident" was still a plot point. I decided that wasn't very interesting so now Valerie has ties from the beginning. She feels more like a person that way. I think I originally made her untethered because the story was my escape from reality and 12-year-old me wanted to be somewhere where no one knew me.

Valerie used to have an edgy pallette-swap/super-powered evil side. As a being of pure magic, Valerie was in tune with all aspects of magic, including dark magic. This was leveraged for angst when she fought Not-Bellona. There's no such thing as "dark magic" now, magic is just magic, it's how you use your powers that matters.