#sorry this post is a little more disorganized than before

[justagalwhowrites]

Yearling - Ch. 27: Found

You try to figure out what you want. Joel and Ellie go on patrol.A continuation of Yearling ch. 1-26 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Angst. CLEARLY. It's me. Homophobia. Smut-adjacent. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ Only 

Length: 11.3k (THIS IS GETTING TO BE A PROBLEM I'M SO SORRY)

AO3 | Chapter One | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Late August, 2027 

“You’re making this hard on purpose,” Ellie’s nose scrunched as she held her guitar. 

You laughed. 

“Promise, Kiddo, I’m not.” 

“Sometimes I really don’t like you, you know,” she grumbled. You snorted. “I’m serious! Swear you make me do shit the hard way because you fucking enjoy watching me struggle…” 

“You learn better when you do it yourself and do it the hard way,” you shrugged, leaning back against a post of your porch. You stretched a leg out onto the step below and picked a little at your guitar. “You’ll never learn if I just give you all the answers.” 

“Yeah yeah,” she muttered, leaning to the side to add more of her disorganized scrawl to her notebook. “Swear you didn’t have to work this hard at shit…” 

“I started a lot younger than you,” you replied, picking up the pace on your guitar and adding slaps and pops, no real rhyme or reason to it, just what your fingers felt like doing. “Everything is easier when you start young. And hey, you’ve got a leg up on any asshole who tries to learn when they’re my age.” 

“Because you’re a dinosaur?” She looked up at you from her notebook, a small smirk on her face. 

“Nah,” you replied. “They’d been dead like three years when I was born, I’m not THAT old.” 

She laughed and went back to her notes as you kept playing, looking out down the path from your yard to the road beyond. 

It was sweltering hot and you’d never been more thankful for a breeze or the fact that it was your day off from the stables. The hair that had pulled loose from your braids stuck to your skin and you’d been sweating all day, waking up with your sheets balled up at the foot of your bed and your tank top damp even with the ceiling fan on. You hadn’t even put on jeans that day, throwing on one of the few dresses that had made their way into your closet in the almost two years you’d been in Jackson. The first you’d taken when Maria mentioned seeing one she thought would fit you, not long before things fell apart with Joel. You’d intended to wear it to the Tipsy Bison on a night there was dancing once it was warmer, opening the door to Joel when you were dressed like what your mother would call “a proper lady.” You’d pictured dancing with him, his hand sliding up the inside of your thigh when you sat down to have a drink until you couldn’t take it anymore and you practically dragged him home, riding him with the skirt bunched up around your waist the second you were in the door. 

That had never happened. That dress stayed tucked safely away at the back of your closet, not able to bring yourself to part with it and the image of that night with him. 

The other dress was perfect for days like today, long and loose and thin cotton that made the oppressive heat of late summer tolerable. Even if Ellie had looked at you like you had two heads when she saw you in the damn thing. 

You didn’t mind, though. You were just glad that you had gotten to the point that you liked spending time with Ellie again. That you’d started feeling much of anything at all. 

The first month you got back was hazy. You didn’t really leave your house at first, not able to contribute much at the stable and not seeing a reason to move otherwise. 

You weren’t entirely sure how many days passed before there was the first knock at your door. 

It wasn’t an Ellie knock. The sound didn’t carry her chaotic energy or almost audacious nature. Instead, it was hesitant but sturdy and firm without being forceful or insistent. You stayed flat on your back, staring up at the ceiling of the closet for a minute to see if the knock would come again. It didn’t. You stared at the ceiling a while longer but, eventually, you had to pee. You forced yourself to move and, on your way back from the bathroom, passed your front door. You hesitated for a moment before you went and opened it, to see if whoever knocked had left a note. 

On your porch was a box filled with crackers and jerky and fruit and carrots and celery. All things you could eat without needing to cook or, really, do anything at all. You knew it was from Joel, even though it hadn’t sounded like his knock, either. There was no one else who would have brought it because no one else knew why you were locked inside your home. But he was no where to be seen. He didn’t leave a note. 

A few days later, you forced yourself to go to the stable to check on the horses. The fillies and the colt weren’t making much progress without you - you’d have to probably start nearly from scratch with them once your arm healed - but you were able to feel somewhat useful, brushing horses down, checking on their hooves to see when they’d need to be shoed, just giving them some love and attention. That helped you feel a little more like yourself. 

Ellie started coming by again a few days after that. She showed up one afternoon with a CD and a sandwich from the mess hall, marching into your living room like nothing had happened, complaining about another kid in town and how Joel wasn’t going to let her patrol with anyone but him for a while. 

“I could get partnered with Dina but no,” she drew the last word out, sprawled on your couch, rolling her eyes as she did. “The old man is convinced I’m going to drop dead if he’s not looking out for me for five minutes…” 

“I’m sure he’ll ease up once he sees how capable you are,” you said, sitting on the loveseat and picking up the CD case she’d brought with her. The Clash this time. “Mick Jones and Joe Strummer, nice choice. Why do you want to go out with Dina, anyway? I thought not everything was about girls…” 

“Shut up.” 

“Nah.” 

You were’t sure if you were really doing better or if you’d just found a way to push the hurt down inside yourself again. You weren’t sure there was a way to recover from this, from the idea that you’d probably never see your child again. Clinging to the possibility felt so necessary but so foolish. You weren’t sure if it was reason or denial but it didn’t really matter. You weren’t sure you could live without that possibility dulling the jagged edges of your grief and pain. 

The boxes of food made regular appearances on your porch. You never saw Joel. 

When you were close to getting your cast off, Ellie came by your house but didn’t shove her way inside the way she usually did. Instead, she hovered on your porch. 

“OK don’t be mad,” she said, a serious look on her face. 

“Off to a great start,” you replied.

She glared at you for a second before pressing on. 

“Joel sent me with a message,” she said. “He wanted me to tell you that the movie tonight was something called Ever After and that he thought you would like it and that he wasn’t going to be there so you should go. And to not be mad. I think you shouldn’t be mad, too, by the way.” 

“Not mad,” you smiled a little. “I just… I don’t know…” 

“Come on, Bambi,” Ellie said, dropping some of her pretense now. “Dina’s going with Jesse and I’ve never seen it and I really don’t want to be stuck sitting by them while they suck face.” 

You sighed, looking back over your shoulder in the direction of Joel’s house. You found yourself looking that way a lot. 

“Alright,” you said after a moment, looking back at Ellie. “I’ll go. But only to save you from your crush…” 

“I’m going to ignore that last part and just be happy you’re going,” she said, a little smug. “Even though you’re annoying about it.” 

“So annoying,” you agreed, stepping into your boots, turning on the lamp and following her out the door. 

It was strangely easy to adjust to being around the people of Jackson again. Ellie gave you something to focus on, busy trying to distract her from the Dina and Jesse acting exactly like you remembered some of your friends in high school acted with their boyfriends. 

“What’s this movie about, anyway?” Ellie asked as the two of you settled in toward the back of the room. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen it,” you said. “But I think it was like Cinderella.” 

Ellie looked at you and made a face. 

“Like the fairy tale.” 

“Yup,” you replied. She stared at you and you laughed a little. “What?” 

“I’m just trying to picture you liking a fucking fairy tale.” 

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms as best you could with one in a cast. 

“What?” She teased. “Don’t tell me you like some stupid story where love solves everyone’s problems…” 

“What’s wrong with that?” Julie, the woman you’d seen a few times at the Tipsy Bison and when she went out on patrol, appeared alongside Ellie, a large bowl of popcorn in her hands. 

“It’s bullshit,” Ellie said. “There’s a reason they’re stories for little kids.” 

“Maybe you just haven’t loved that way yet,” she smiled a little before nodding to the chair on the other side of you. “Seat taken?” 

You hoped you didn’t just stare at her for too long. People didn’t just talk to you in Jackson, not without a reason, let alone try to sit by you. You weren’t entirely sure what to do with it.

“All yours,” you said, tugging your legs in close so she could pass you and sit down. She settled in beside you and smiled, holding out the bowl. 

“Thanks,” she said. “Popcorn?” 

“Sure,” you said after a moment, taking some with your good hand. “Thank you.” 

“Course,” she smiled a little bigger in a lopsided, almost cocky way. “What’s the point of popcorn if you don’t share it?” 

The movie was good. You’d only seen it once or twice before the outbreak but you’d liked it then, too. Cinderella was smart and capable, the prince was handsome and kind and you liked to imagine the way life was in that period of time. 

“OK so that wasn’t terrible,” Ellie said as you headed out with her and Julie. 

“Told you,” you teased a little. 

“No one told me that sometimes the girls in fairy tales got to be badasses,” she replied. “I might have liked the stories more then!” 

“The girls are always badasses,” Julie said. “They just try to hide it, scares the men otherwise.” 

Ellie snorted. 

“Sounds right.” 

You reached Joel’s. There was a light on in his living room and you felt the familiar tug in you to go inside and join him. Just let yourself in the front door and settle in like it was yours. 

“I’m gonna go tell the old man that his taste in movies isn’t totally awful,” Ellie said, heading up the front walk. “Still want help tomorrow at the stable?” 

“Stalls ain’t gonna muck themselves,” you replied and held up your still healing arm. “And this isn’t much help.” 

“Ugh,” she groaned good naturedly. “Night!” 

You watched until she made it to the front door - not that the precaution was really necessary here but it made you feel better - and you turned to Julie, your good hand stuffed in your pocket. 

“I’m that way and to the left,” you said. “So…” 

“Mind if I join you?” She asked. “Nice night, figure I’ll take the scenic route.” 

You looked at her for a moment. 

“Sure,” you shrugged. “Not much to see though.” 

“See, that’s where you’re wrong,” she smiled one of those lopsided smiles and fell into step beside you, walking a little slower than you and you slowed down to match her pace. You looked ahead. “So, how’ve you been doing? Don’t see you at the Bison much anymore.” 

“Fine,” you shrugged. “Just haven’t felt like going out.” You looked over at her and had the passing thought that she was pretty. Young, with long, dark hair and bright eyes and full lips.“How about you?” 

“Oh you know,” she waved you off. “Same old, same old. The berries are coming into season though, have you been to check out the orchards and stuff?” 

“I’ve ridden past them,” you said. “Haven’t exactly spent time there, though.” 

“You should!” She brightened at that, even more than she already was. The two of you came to a stop at your front walk. “Think you’d like it. You should come with me sometime, it’d be fun.” 

“Yeah, maybe,” you smiled a little tightly. “This is me, so…” 

“Nice place,” she smiled back, looking more genuine than yours felt. “Well, whenever you want to check it out, let me know. Hope to see you around.” 

“You too,” you said, standing there awkwardly for a moment before turning and heading up the walk and into your house. 

You went to the mess hall the next morning for breakfast. Dinner, too. And soon, your cast was off and you were going there for most meals, even if it was just to grab something to bring home or go to the stables. The food boxes stopped showing up on your porch. 

Instead, you’d come back from the stables and find new guitar strings waiting for you there or a CD that you didn’t have or a copy of Titanic on VHS, the one that took two tapes and you had to get up halfway through to change it. 

You’d told Joel he should move on. You weren’t sure if you really wanted him to - you doubted you’d be able to stomach seeing him with someone else - but you didn’t want him to be alone, either. You didn’t want to drag him down with you just because you couldn’t separate his past from your own. 

“OK so I think I have it,” Ellie said, pulling you out of your head and making your fingers still. “Can you look?” 

She shoved the notebook your way and you leaned over your guitar to look at it, fingering the chords but not playing them. 

“Yeah,” you said after a minute. “I think that’s probably closer to what you’re looking for, give it a go.” 

You pushed the notebook back towards her and she set her guitar on her lap, adjusting it for a second before playing it. You nodded along, watching as she scrunched her face, getting more and more frustrated before she groaned. 

“That’s not right either,” she leaned her head back on the post at her back. “Song writing shouldn’t be this hard. This is bullshit.” 

“The shit that’s worth doing is hard, kid,” you shrugged. “Why don’t you try thinking about it again for a minute. Do you want it to feel urgent or slow and confident? Both are strong but they’re going to have different vibes.” 

She sighed and closed her eyes. 

“I don’t know.” 

“Well,” you shrugged, settling back with your guitar. “Figure out how you’re feeling and what you want the song to say about it. It’ll come to you.” 

You went back to playing as Ellie picked her notebook back up, gnawing on the end of her pen. 

“I didn’t know you played!” 

You stopped and your head shot up from its place on the post to see Julie standing at the end of your walk, her hands in the pockets of her shorts, her thick hair piled on top of her head, her arms looking sculpted and strong in her tank top. 

“Sorry,” she laughed. “Didn’t mean to scare you. Can I come up?” 

“Um…” 

“Sure!” Ellie said before you had a chance to really think about it. Julie reached over the short fence and unlatched the gate before opening it and coming up to your porch, sitting on the bottom step so she was looking up at you and Ellie. 

“Didn’t know there was a guitar club in town,” she said, folding one leg into her chest and looping her arms around her shin. “Don’t stop on my account! What song was that?” 

“Oh, that wasn’t anything,” you said, running your fingers up and down the neck of the guitar. “Just… fidgeting, really.” 

“Yeah, Bambi is fucking awesome,” Ellie said. “Best guitar player in town, easy.” 

“Ellie,” you gave her a look but she ignored you. 

“Seriously, you name it and she can probably play it,” she said. “She knows so much about music it’s insane.” 

“Not really,” you cut her off. “I just like music so I learned about what I liked, that’s all…” 

“Oh bullshit,” Ellie rolled her eyes. “She’s a human juke box, try her.” 

“Do you mind?” Julie asked, looking at you with her brows raised. Her eyes were bright green and almost sharp. 

“As long as you’re prepared to be disappointed,” you shrugged. “I can try.” 

Ellie scoffed and Julie ignored her. 

“I remember this song from when I was a kid, just before the outbreak,” she said. “It actually took me a while to track down the name of it after and you might think it’s silly but… I’m With You? Know that one?” 

You smiled a little. 

“I know that one,” you said, settling the guitar on your lap. “Haven’t tried to play it before, though. Avril’s not really my wheelhouse, so… go easy on me.” 

You couldn’t remember exactly how the song started but you remembered the chorus and you remembered a verse from there. The music just trailed off at the end, not really remembering how the song ended either, and you awkwardly drummed your fingers on the body of the guitar when you stopped playing, Ellie and Julie both watching you. 

“Right, well,” you said. “Like I said, not really my wheelhouse and…” 

“That was fantastic!” Julie cut you off, her broad smile making the freckles on her cheeks rise. 

“Told you,” Ellie said. “She’s the best.” 

“Well I figured that much,” Julie rolled her eyes a little dramatically but smiled that cocky smile as she did before looking back to you again. “Thanks for letting me put you on the spot.” 

“Any time,” you said before you really had a chance to think about it. She smiled a little bigger. 

“Hey, so, I hadn’t meant to break up the jam session,” she said. “I was actually coming by to see if you wanted to come with me tomorrow afternoon, I was going to head out to the orchards for a bit. You’re welcome to join, get outside for a bit. It’s nice, promise.” 

“Um,” you said for what felt like the millionth time that day, trying to picture the stable schedule. “I think that would work, I have some patrols leaving that morning but should be able to step away for a bit in the afternoon…” 

“Perfect,” she said, getting up. “I need to get down to the Bison but I’ll meet you at the stables tomorrow?” 

“That’s where I’ll be,” you smiled in a way you hoped was genuine. “Looking forward to it.” 

“It’ll be fun,” she said. “I’ll see you then. Bye, Ellie!” 

“Bye Julie,” she dragged her name out and gave you a look. You seriously considered kicking her. Julie laughed and started down your walk, only making it halfway to the gate before turning around and walking backwards, looking back at you with her hands in her back pockets. 

“Nice dress, by the way,” she said. “It works for you. See you tomorrow!” 

You went back to messing with your guitar as you tried to not watch her walk up the lane. Ellie was far less delicate, craning her neck until Julie turned the corner. 

She spun to face you and swatted your leg. 

“Oh my GOD,” she half whispered, half yelled at you. 

“What?” You asked, fingers stilling on the strings. 

“That!” She said. “All that fucking flirting!” 

“Ellie…” 

“Oh come ON,” she cut you off. “You may as well have fucked right on your porch, Jesus Christ…” 

“OK I will say this again,” you said, setting your guitar down beside you. “Who is and isn’t between my legs? Not your business.” 

“Well that’s just not true,” she rolled her eyes. “You’re the one who fucked Joel and made it my business.” You sighed and went to reply but she held up a hand. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d rather you two work your shit out and get back together. But if you’re not going to figure it out then you shouldn’t just be miserable and lonely forever and Julie is hot as fuck.” 

“Ellie!” You hissed. 

“What!” She replied, her brows raised. “She is!” 

“Jesus…” 

“Just saying!” She said, her hands up in mock surrender. “Julie’s cool. And hot. I think you’d have fun. And you should at least try to have some fun sometimes instead of just being miserable all the time.”

“What if I like being miserable.” 

“Just don’t chicken out,” Ellie said, ignoring you and picking up her guitar before getting to her feet. “But I’m getting hungry. Think I’ll go see what the old man is doing for dinner. You’re welcome to come along if you’d rather not be miserable with us…” 

“Ellie.” 

“Right, right,” she rolled her eyes. “I mean it, fucking go tomorrow. You big chicken.” 

“Go home, you little brat,” you replied. She cheerfully flipped you off before heading back toward Joel’s. 

You sat on your porch for a while longer, absently playing and watching as the color of the sky slowly shifted from blue to pink to deep, inky black. The darkness seemed to swallow everything, like there wasn’t anything beyond what was right in front of you. But you knew that if you walked far enough, followed the light of the north star, you’d find things beyond what consumed here and now. 

It was late when you finally went inside, scrounging in your kitchen for the last of some of what Joel had brought you even though you weren’t particularly hungry. You turned on the stereo and just let whatever CD you’d put in last play, not really paying attention 

You found yourself thinking about Julie. About what Ellie said about Julie. 

It had been a long time since you’d had a woman flirt with you. You’d been with your fair share of women since the outbreak but flirting hadn’t really been part of it. Marisa was the first woman you’d slept with and, after Savvy came along, you stopped seeking out that kind of connection with men and kept it to strictly women. It just seemed safer. After Marisa, it had always been casual - you didn’t think you could bear another heartbreak like that - and it had always been fairly blunt. You could generally tell if they were interested in letting off some physical steam and, if they were, you had fun for a few days before they moved on. 

But things with Julie reminded you of one of your first crushes, a girl who did trick riding on the same circuit as you when you were a girl. You’d first noticed Courtney when you were both 13. She was so beautiful you couldn’t help but stare at her. At first, you’d almost resented her. She was good, damn good, and she was full of charismatic smiles and she dusted glitter across her collarbones that peeked out from the top of her costume. She was exactly who your mother wished you were and, as much as you loved bronc and bull and roping, part of you wanted to be who your mother wanted you to be. You wanted to be satisfied with what she wanted for you and you wanted to be happy being who Courtney was so effortlessly. Life would be simpler and happier if you were content with that and Courtney was proof that life existed. And you wanted it.

You settled for beating her, for a while. Narrowing your eyes at her when you passed her between rounds at competitions, looking her way when you saw your scores narrowly eclipse hers on the board. You loved it. The only thing you wanted more than beating her was her. 

Hell if you knew what to do with that. 

In hindsight, you weren’t sure she knew, either.

The first time she’d said more than two words to you was when you’d smirked at her as you held the first place trophy. You went to the locker room after the awards ceremony and you had the place almost to yourself, most of the other girls already cleaned out. The third place winner - a girl who’s name you didn’t remember - left and it was just a few seconds later that you heard the door slam into the wall. You looked up to see Courtney stalking over to you. You could see the glitter on her collarbones and her cheeks, her eyes hot and her lips full. 

“Want to tell me what the hell your problem is?” She demanded, getting so close to you that you could smell her body spray. It was almost sickly sweet and floral but on her it smelled good. “What did I ever do to you? Why do you hate me so much!” 

“I don’t hate you…” you said. 

“Could’ve fooled me!” She cut you off. 

“Why do you care?” You snapped. “We compete, we’re not friends, who cares if I hate you?” 

“I care!” She snapped back. 

“Why!” 

“Because I like you!” She yelled, breathless. You just blinked at her for a moment as she caught her breath, her eyes drifting to your lips. “I like you and sometimes…” 

She didn’t get a chance to finish. Instead, you kissed her. 

It was clumsy and deeply uncertain. You’d never kissed anyone before and you had no idea what you were doing, your hands locked tight at your sides as though touching her anywhere at all was against the rules but you were risking it, anyway. Her mouth was warm and soft and it seemed oddly wet even though that made sense when you thought about it. 

After a moment you pulled back from her slightly, your eyes wide, not really believing what you’d just done. 

“I’m sorry,” you said, your turn to be breathless now. “I… I don’t know…” 

“Shut up,” she kissed you that time, pressing you back against the lockers, stretching up to better reach your lips, her body hot on your own. You kissed her back, trying to focus and take in everything. How she tasted, how she smelled, how her costume hugged the slight curve of her waist. 

“Courtney!” Her mother’s shrill voice from the hall made her jump away from you and wipe her mouth on the back of her hand. “You about ready honey?” 

“One minute!” She called back before turning to you. “Do you have a some paper?” 

You just nodded and fumbled in your bag for a notebook. She turned to a random page that happened to have some history notes on it and wrote her name and number at the top. Her handwriting was soft and curved and feminine and you envied that, too. She drew a little heart next to it. 

“Call me,” she said, pressing the notebook into your chest. “OK?” 

“Yeah,” you said, staring at her. You couldn’t help but stare at her. “Yeah, I will.” 

“Good,” she smiled. “See you next time, superstar. Maybe I’ll finish on top then.” 

“Courtney!” 

“Coming!” She grabbed her bag out of a nearby locker and gave you an almost sly smile before she ran out to meet her mother. 

From then on, most of your time with her was flirting. In between rounds at competitions or on the phone when you were far apart, carefully crafting your words so you’d have plausible deniability with your parents but know what the other meant. You wrote each other letters when you were apart, counted the days until you got to see each other again. When you found an empty spot when you were in the same place, you ended up tangled up together, kissing and fumbling against each other, figuring out what seemed to stoke the fires deep inside yourselves in the small moments you could find for just the two of you. 

That continued for just over a year when Courtney came to a tournament with a somber expression on her face. You frowned but she gave you a subtle shake of her head as she passed you and you kept quiet. It took a few hours before you were able to get her alone and she told you the truth of it. That her mom had found your letters to her - thankfully not signed so she had no idea who had written them but still obviously from another girl - and had told her daughter that she, unequivocally, would end it. 

“But…” you protested, trying not to cry. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice thick. “But… she threatened to send me to one of those camps if I don’t and… I can’t go to that, OK? I can’t, I don’t think I could make it and…” 

You held onto her as she cried, her tears making little rivers in the glitter on her skin. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I really… I think I…” 

You kissed her before she said it. 

“Me too,” you said quietly when you pulled away. 

She sniffed and smiled a small smile.

“Maybe in another life, right?” 

“Right,” you smiled a little back. 

She dried her eyes as best she could and you watched from the stands as she gave the best performance you’d ever seen. You did the opposite. Your routine ended with a full Stroud Layout but your top foot slipped when you were getting into position and you fell off your horse, tumbling over and over yourself in the sand of the arena, the feel of it gritty in your mouth as your head spun when your body finally came to a stop. 

You didn’t make the podium and your mother didn’t push you to compete again for a while. You never saw Courtney again. 

You weren’t sure how to navigate things with Julie. You weren’t sure what you wanted to navigate with Julie. She was beautiful, yes. And she seemed kind and funny and smart. She seemed like someone you could have fun with and could care about. 

But she wasn’t Joel. You weren’t sure you could feel like you felt for him for anyone else. It seemed silly to even try. And if you couldn’t feel like that, what was the point? 

You tried to sleep but gave up eventually. After a while, you found the moose carving you’d started when you were out with Joel, looking for Savvy. It was getting closer to being done, though it was still a rough hewn thing. You weren’t sure anyone who didn’t know what it was supposed to be would realize what it was without help. But still, it felt good to make something. You let yourself be absorbed by carving it for a bit, until it felt like you’d shut your mind down enough to sleep. You set the moose down on the nightstand, arranging him so it was like he was watching you sleep, the red splotch from your blood still staining his chest.

You brought him with you to the stables the next day for something to work on when you needed the distraction. Just sitting there with your thoughts when you had downtime seemed like a bad idea. 

“You’re gonna tell me all about it, right?” Ellie asked as you gave Shimmer and Ares a final once over that morning. 

“I don’t need to tell you every time I hang out with someone,” you replied. 

“Whatever,” she said. “Just don’t chicken out. Actually go, you need a social life…” 

“What, getting sick of keeping me company all the time?” You teased, handing her the reins. 

“Yeah, you’re pretty fucking boring,” she smirked a little. You snorted. “I’m serious though. Promise you’ll go.” 

“I’m going,” you said, giving her a gentle shove toward the door. “Get out of here. Be safe on patrol, see you back tonight.” 

“Not if you’re at Julie’s you won’t,” she waggled her eyebrows at you and you rolled your eyes as you watched her lead her and Joel’s horses out of the stables. 

Time dragged until that afternoon and you found yourself feeling oddly nervous, waiting for Julie to come by. You weren’t sure what time she was supposed to get there and, you realized, you didn’t know what to actually expect with any of this. 

Yeah, it had felt like flirting. And Ellie seemed sure that it was. But Ellie was a kid and your recent experience in that department was so limited you really knew fuck all about it. What if you’d read the situation completely wrong? What if Julie was just a nice woman who wanted to be friends? 

“Hey you,” Julie’s voice surprised you enough that it made you jump, water sloshing over the side of the bucket you were carrying to top off one of the horses. “Shit, I’m sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you…” 

“You’re fine,” you said quickly, refilling a waterer and setting the bucket down. 

“Now still good?” She asked. “Because I’m not in a rush, today is my day off…” 

“Now’s good,” you said quickly, trying not to think too hard about what she was wearing. Her long, lush hair was softly braided and hung over her shoulder, loose strands framing her face. Her shorts were short and her legs were long and sculpted and she wore a few long necklaces that settled into the curve between her breasts. She smiled. 

“Great!” She held up a bag you hadn’t noticed before. “Brought snacks. Not that we’ll need much, it’s peak berry season out there. We could eat ourselves sick and not make a dent.” 

“Don’t tempt me,” you smiled a little. 

“Oh, I intend to,” she smiled back. 

Julie led the way out of town, smiling and chatting with the guards at the gate for a moment before heading toward the orchards just east of town. 

“So why are you heading out here on your day off?” You asked, looking over at her. 

“Well as I think you know, one of my main contributions to the good people of Jackson is tending bar at the Bison,” she smiled. “But that’s because I just really like drinks. I found this old cocktail book when I was a teenager and I just kind of became obsessed, I guess? There was that and these books and magazines that showed what it was like before and I wanted to do that. Have the experience of going to a bar when life was different, you know? And yeah, we make some pretty decent booze here in town - or I think we do, anyway, didn’t really get to try any before - but that’s not all it takes to make a good cocktail. I can’t make a Coke or anything but I can make the syrups and infusions and things. I like to experiment in my spare time so I come out here, pick the supplies I need, and give things a try at home before I bring my ideas into the Bison.” 

“Do I get to know what you’re working on?” You asked, brows raised. 

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” she smirked. “But I will need a guinea pig before too long if you’re game…” 

“Far be it from me to turn down a free drink,” you replied and she smiled bigger. 

The orchards were, indeed, beautiful. You followed her to a particularly dense spot and she pulled a blanket out of the bag, spreading it on the ground in the shade of an apple tree. 

“I won’t lie,” she said, sitting back on her hands and closing her eyes, taking a deep breath. “This is probably my favorite spot.” 

“I can see why,” you nodded, drawing your knees into your chest and looking around. “It’s gorgeous here.” 

“It’s quiet here,” she laughed a little. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Jackson. Way better than the QZ we were in when I was a kid. It’s a good place with good people. I love the people, truly, I do. But everyone knows everyone and knows everything about everyone and it’s so hard to have anything for yourself, you know?” 

“Yeah,” you nodded. “It’s a great place but… it’s definitely a lot.” 

You talked a little about your pasts. You told her - vaguely, lightly - about your time before Mitchum. She told you about her time in the Denver QZ and you almost fainted when she said she was only 31 years old. 

“How old were you when the world ended?” You gaped at her. “Do you even remember?” 

“I was seven,” she laughed. “I remember a bit. How old were you?” 

“Older than that,” you replied. “Jesus…” 

“Not that old, clearly,” she said, picking a blackberry off a bush and holding it out to you. “This is a good one, you should have it.” 

“Old enough,” you replied. “And if it’s good, you should have it.” 

“I have them all the time,” she said, stepping close to you. You were suddenly acutely aware of the fact that you were wearing the same clothes you’d been wearing when working with the horses all day and you hoped you didn’t smell. She pressed the berry to your lips. “Try it.” 

You obeyed, taking the fruit into your mouth and biting into it, the juice bursting on your tongue. 

“See?” She smiled. “Told you.” 

The two of you ended up back on the blanket and you stretched out on it, looking up at the clouds drifting lazily past overhead, arms bare - too hot to wear anything more than a tank top - but not feeling overly exposed. Julie lay next to you, her arm brushing your own. 

“Is it weird that I sometimes don’t feel like I missed out?” She asked. You felt her adjust next to you and you glanced her way to see her lying on her side, facing you. “I mean I know there was a lot before that we don’t have now but… I dunno, I guess I still wanted to be a ballerina when the world ended. It doesn’t feel like I really gave up all that much, you know?” 

“Think that has as much to do with Jackson as anything else,” you replied, adjusting so that you were facing her. “But I get that, in a way. If I’d found Jackson when I was younger, I think I’d feel the same. Shit, what I’m doing now is exactly what I grew up wanting to do. If it wasn’t for all the time in between, the end of the world would have just turned into me getting just what I wanted. Besides all the death anyway.” 

“Think you’re right about the Jackson thing,” she smiled a little. “It’s a special place with good people. Like a few better than the others, though.” 

“Yeah?” 

She reached out and brushed some of the hair that had fallen from your braid back from your face and trailed her fingers down your cheek and your chin. 

“Yup.” 

She leaned in then, moving slow and holding your gaze, giving you all the time in the world to stop her if you wanted. 

You didn’t. 

Her kiss was soft and gentle, her lips smooth on yours. She tasted and smelled sweet and her hand went to your hip, tugging you against her. 

Julie’s body was softer than you expected as she pressed against you and, in so many ways, she felt safe and comfortable there. But she felt foreign, too. You’d become accustomed to a different form on yours, one that was larger and broader and firmer. 

You tried not to think about him as her kiss deepened, as your hand went to her waist and trailed over her side but stopped short of cupping her breast. 

She nudged you onto your back and she settled on top of you, her chest pressed tight to yours, her hips starting to rock gently against you. You ran your hands over her back to the top of her ass but didn’t go lower, not able to shake the subtle wrongness of kissing someone and feeling someone who wasn’t Joel. 

After a minute, she pulled away from you. 

“I get the feeling you’re not as into this as I am,” she said, panting a little. You opened your mouth to argue but she silenced you with a look. “If I misread things, I’m really sorry. But you should know that you don’t have to fuck me just because I’m trying to fuck you.” 

“You didn’t misread anything,” you said quickly. 

“Good,” she smiled a little. “But… It doesn’t seem like you’re feeling this.” 

You winced. 

“I don’t know what I’m feeling,” you said. “But… I don’t think I’m feeling what you are.” 

“Well shit,” she laughed a little and rolled off you, lying flat on her back beside you. “I really am sorry if I came on too strong or did something you didn’t want…” 

You laughed a little. 

“Definitely not that,” you said. “Just have… other things on my mind. And you deserve someone’s full attention.”

She turned her head to look at you and you turned yours, too. 

“It’s Joel, isn’t it?” She asked. You winced a little. “Sorry, I’m not trying to dig into anything that’s not my business, it just… seemed like you guys split up a while ago so I thought it would be OK. I’m sorry.” 

“No, it probably should be,” you said. “It’s got nothing to do with you, trust me.” 

“Well,” she said. “At the risk of this being the most awkward hang out ever… want to help me get some raspberries?” 

“Sure,” you laughed a little. “I’d like that.” 

She smiled. 

“Good. Me too.” 

It was awkward for a bit, but by the time the two of you started back to Jackson, it was lighter. Easier. Like you’d never kissed at all. 

Julie walked with you back to the stables, not too long before you were expecting patrols that weren’t out overnight to return. 

“Even with everything today, I hope we can be friends,” she said. “I do actually like you. Not just because I’d like to fuck you.” 

You laughed a little. 

“Yeah, I’d like that, too,” you said. “I’m sorry I’m not… in the same place on the fucking front…” 

“I’d rather pretend we never found that out,” she laughed a little. “Maintain some of the mystery. But, you know. If anything changes, it’s a small town. You know where to find me.” 

“That I do,” you said. 

She turned to leave but seemed to think better of it and turned back. 

“If he’s it for you?” She said. “I think you should figure out a way to make it work. No point in wanting something and acting like you can’t have it when it’s right there, you know? And yeah, it’s not really my business and yeah, I don’t know you all that well but… something tells me you’re not going to be feeling any different anytime soon. And I don’t think he is either. Just… my two cents.” 

She smiled and leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

“Thanks, Julie,” you said quietly. She gave your arm a squeeze. 

“See you around, Bambi.” 

You watched the door she left through for a few minutes after she was gone before you went back to work. 

The patrols all made it back without incident, Ellie returning her and Joel’s horses. She asked how things went but you just waved her off and she deflated a bit. 

“I keep trying to get some excitement around here,” she said. “You are no fucking help, you know that?” 

“I am so sorry my romantic life isn’t more entertaining,” you said wryly. “I’ll work on that. Entirely for your benefit, of course.” 

“Well you’re clearly not going to do it for your own.” 

You just rolled your eyes as she headed back home. You stayed late at the stables. Not for any real reason, you just didn’t want to be at home alone and going to the mess hall didn’t sound like what you wanted, either. You worked on the moose carving, pleasantly surprised at the progress you’d made on him. 

You ended up working on him until, almost suddenly, you realized he was done. Fully formed - or as close to it as you could get him - with four legs and jagged shapes for the antlers. But he looked like a moose, broad and steady and strong. You turned him over in your hand a few times, running your finger over the arch of his back and the curve of his neck. 

“What am I going to do with you?” You said quietly, holding it up in front of you, looking where his eyes would be if he had them. The bloodstain was still crimson on his chest. 

After a few minutes, you got up off the floor of the stable and did your final check for the evening before locking up behind you and heading home. 

You took the long way. 

It was dark but not so late that the Tipsy Bison had closed for the night, a warm glow coming from the windows. With the sun down, you were a little cold with bare arms but you didn’t mind. You walked slowly, watching the stars as you went. 

You stopped at the end of Joel’s walk. The lights were out. You thought he probably went to bed early - he got tired after a patrol - but he could be at the Bison, too. Either way… 

You all but crept up his walk, holding the moose tightly in your fingers. You stopped at the base of his stairs and held the rough-hewn animal in front of your face again. 

“Keep an eye on him for me?” You said quietly to the wood. It didn’t say anything back. You stepped as lightly as you could up the stairs but the same step as always squeaked below you. You set the moose on Joel’s doormat before turning to go, making the step squeak again. You made it almost all the way back up the walk when the lights inside turned on and you picked up the pace. 

It didn’t matter. You heard the front door open just as you turned onto the street and your eyes darted over toward him before you could help it. 

“Bambi?” He called, not too loud. He was in his blue cotton plaid sleep pants and a black t-shirt that hugged his body just right, tight across his shoulders and upper arms, highlighting the soft curve of his stomach. You stopped for a moment and just gave him a tight smile before continuing on home. 

When you went to bed, you found yourself looking at the spot on your nightstand where the moose had been before, part of you wishing he was still beside you.

***

“Hey. Hey Joel.” 

Joel smiled a little to himself. He recognized Ellie’s tone. 

“What’s up, kiddo?” 

“Wanna hear a joke about pizza?” 

He sighed, trying to sound annoyed. He wasn’t sure if it worked. 

“Get the feeling you’re gonna tell me either way.” 

“Eh, never mind,” Ellie said, sounding a little put out. Joel looked back at her, frowning slightly. And then she smirked. “It’s too cheesy.” 

Joel groaned. 

“That one’s bad, baby girl.” 

“No it’s not!” She rode up alongside him even though the trail wasn’t really wide enough for that. “That was a good one!” 

“Nope,” he shook his head. “It was terrible, three out of 10.” 

“Bullshit!” 

“What would you give it?” He asked, brows raised. “Because I’m questioning your judgement here…” 

“At least a six.” 

“No.” 

“Yes!” She laughed. “You’ve just got shitty taste, old man.” 

“Uh huh,” he laughed. “And what’s that say about you then, hm?” 

“Broken clock is right twice a day,” she replied. “You were bound to accidentally do OK every now and then. Will Livingston, however, is right every time.” 

“You got that entire book memorized?” He teased lightly. “If not, you gotta be close…” 

“I’m getting there,” she said. “Saving the best for last.” 

Joel just shook his head a little. 

He loved patrolling with Ellie. Even more than he thought he would. It was so much like when he’d first come to know her and care for her. It was a time, he realized now, that made him understand that he could still love. That he had it within himself to care for another person, that he could cope with the fear of loss that came with attachment because Ellie was worth it. He liked spending the time just the two of them and getting to know her better as the young woman she was becoming instead of the little girl he’d come to know years earlier. She’d grown so much, come into her own in a way that was only possible in a place like Jackson. She had friends and hobbies and had become part of the community there. Every day with her was reassurance that he’d done the right thing. That every life he’d taken that day in the hospital was a worthy price to pay. 

Joel had left Jackson with Ellie plenty before patrolling with her, back when she was still speaking to him. Before she found out the truth of everything. He’d loved it then, too. But this was different. She was still his baby girl but they were out here as partners, working together to protect the community they both loved. It was a glimpse of the future they had, one where their lives moved along side by side and he got to watch her find her place and fall in love and have a family of her own and just be happy as herself. 

They were only a day out from Jackson now, heading in from a three day long patrol. It was Ellie’s first overnight patrol and she’d been so excited for it, even as she tried to pretend like she wasn’t. The days before they left town, Ellie was over at his house every night, going over the list of what she should bring and looking over the map. She’d lit up when he said they could bring a guitar, something else that made Joel smile. 

It had been more than a month since she’d gotten him back into playing, showing up at his house with a guitar and saying she wanted his opinion on something. She played American Girl, one of his favorites, and set the guitar down when she was done. 

“That was amazing, baby girl,” he’d said, more than a little in awe of her. “Where did you learn that?” 

“Bambi,” she replied. “But do you think it’d sound better with two? I feel like it would. But you’re the musician so…” 

It was an obvious ploy but it made him smile a little. The idea that Ellie would do that much to make him play again. That you’d help her. 

“It might,” he said, getting up to get his instrument. “Let’s give it a try.” 

Joel tried to not think of you too much. He usually failed. But he was getting better at not drowning in the memories of you, of not letting the loss of you consume him. 

It helped that he’d found a way to care for you while respecting the distance you wanted. He couldn’t bring himself to just abandon you, not when he had a sense of how much you were hurting. So he brought you food. Selfishly, it served two purposes. It meant you were, hopefully, eating something. But it also meant he knew that you were still alive. That he could leave a box on your porch, walk by a few hours later, and see that it was gone. He could check on you without forcing you to talk to him and that eased the steady drumbeat of worry inside him. 

When he heard you were back at the stables, he shifted from things you needed to things you would want. He brought you the things he found that made him think of you, things he’d have given you when he came home to you in another life. 

It also helped that he knew you thought of him, too. At least occasionally, enough that you’d left the carving you’d made on his porch a few weeks before. He thought he was hearing things when the first squeak woke him up from his place on the couch, but then the step squeaked a second time and he was sure he heard it. He’d thought it might be Ellie, needing something but  not necessarily wanting to say it. He hadn’t expected to see you heading down the street, the first glimpse of you he’d had in so long. Your arm was out of the cast and you looked good. A bit thinner than you’d been the last time he’d seen you but still good. Still beautiful, still soft with sharp edges. Still what he wanted to sink into and wrap himself up in every chance he got. He picked the moose up and brought it inside, tracing the outline of its frame for a moment. You’d finished it. It was rough, you were clearly a beginner, but you’d finished it and given it to him. His thumb brushed the wound on its heart, where you’d bled. Before he really thought better of it, he brought the figure to his lips and kissed it gently before setting it on the side table and turning out the lights. 

The two of you were set to leave Jackson again in just a week, another gap in the patrol schedule that you could leverage to search for Savvy now that you were healed. He hoped this search led somewhere. He couldn’t imagine what it was like, living like that, not knowing what happened to your child. The closest he’d come was the torturous time that Ellie was with the monsters who’d taken her in Silver Lake. He was so frantic, so terrified of what he’d find but even more terrified of never finding it to begin with. He needed to save her, protect her. But if he couldn’t do that, he needed to know what happened to her. He needed to know who to destroy before he destroyed himself for letting it happen. Living in that for years would be unbearable. 

“Hey Joel?” 

He could hear the frown in her voice. 

“Yeah Baby Girl?” He looked over his shoulder, Ellie and Shimmer falling behind him again now that the trail had narrowed further. She stopped and so did he.

“That’s something we should be watching for, right?” She nodded toward something off the trail, a small frown on her face. Joel followed where she was looking and he froze in his saddle. 

It took an eagle eye to spot it, just brush amongst brush, but it shocked him when he saw it. The gentle arch of a sapling, stretching down toward the ground, held there with rope. 

“Yeah,” he said. “It is. Stay with the horses.” 

“But…” 

“Just one second,” he said, dismounting and going for the trap, trying desperately not to get his hopes up but his heart was racing. It was a common set up for a trap. It could be anyone’s.

This trap was far fresher than the one he’d found with you, the dirt where the pin and been put in the ground still disturbed. The trap itself was still baited and the pins were smooth, almost artistically carved. It hadn’t been here long. He looked around quickly, looking for some indication of where the person who set this trap might have gone. It took some doing - whoever it was covered their tracks well - but he found it, the edge of a boot print. 

He went back to his horse and mounted up. 

“Ellie,” he said, voice serious. “Need you to listen to me, OK?” 

“OK,” she frowned. “Joel, you’re acting weird…” 

“We’re gonna track someone,” he said. “But when we find them, need you to not shoot them until we talk to them, OK? And… and if its a teenaged girl, need you to not shoot them even if she pulls a gun on me, OK?” 

“A teenaged… Joel, what the fuck are you talking about?” 

“Just trust me,” he said. “Please.” 

He started with the boot print and found little hints of someone moving through the brush from there. Disturbed leaves, a splotch of dirt that looked misplaced, a small branch that had snagged on another when something about human height passed below it. 

“Joel,” Ellie said after they’d been tracking for about 20 minutes. 

“Still looking,” he said gently. “It’s OK…” 

He heard something rustle down low up ahead and he adjusted Ares’ path to check on it. He didn’t need to go far, the source of the sound only about 100 feet away and next to a large rock. Standing there, beside to a large horse and a large dog, was a girl. She was a little taller than Ellie, with gangly arms and legs, a rifle held high in her hands. 

“Stop right there!” She said, her voice sharp with a familiar southern twang. The dog moved in front of her, getting down low and bearing its teeth. “Don’t wanna shoot you but I will. You can move right along, this spot’s taken.” 

Joel lifted his hands and caught a glimpse of Ellie raising a gun next to him. 

“Ellie!” He said sharply. She looked at him, eyes wide. “Gun down. Now.” 

“But…” 

“Now.” 

She huffed but lowered the gun slowly, her eyes back on the girl in front of her. 

“Won’t shoot you in the back,” the girl said. “Just turn around and go.” 

Joel fought to focus. The girl in front of him… she looked like Sarah, so so much like Sarah. The same shock of curly hair, same brown skin, same bright eyes. If he didn’t know better, he’d think they were sisters. He fought to stay here, in the forest with Ellie, not getting swallowed by his own memories. He’d found her. He was all but certain of that now, he’d found her and he was going to bring her back to you. 

“You out here on your own?” He asked gently, his hands said up. 

“Don’t see how that’s any business of yours,” she said sharply. “All that matters to you is that I will kill you, don’t try me.” 

“I understand,” he said. “Not going to hurt you…” 

“Bullshit.” 

“We’re not,” Ellie snapped. 

“Ellie.” 

“What!” She said. “Joel, I swear, if she shoots you…” 

“Remember what I said,” he replied. 

“But…” 

“I mean it,” he cut her off. “Don’t, OK?” 

He turned back to the girl. 

“Not going to hurt you,” he said again. “Just… just hear me out for just a second, OK? We’re from a settlement, about a day’s ride from here…” 

“Good for you,” she said. “Better head that way then.” 

“It’s a good place,” he said, ignoring her. “With good people. Including… including your mama, I think.” 

Her eyes went a little wide and she lowered the gun ever so slightly. He caught a glimpse of Ellie’s head whipping around to look at him but he kept his eyes on the girl. 

“Your name’s Savannah, right?” He pressed on. “Your mom, she calls you Savvy, right?” 

She raised the gun again. 

“How’d you know that,” snapped. “You one of the assholes that took her? That it? What, you kill her? Get her to tell you about me first? That what happened?” 

“No honey,” Joel said, his throat tight. He’d found her, he’d found your daughter. “No, she… she escaped them, few years back. She got hurt real bad doin’ it, we brought her in, got her fixed up and she stayed. She’s been looking for you but she’s still there…” 

“Why should I trust you?” She snapped. “Why should I believe a damn thing you say?” 

“Because I know her,” he said. “Been helping her look for you. She’s… I know her. She trains horses, guessin’ she trained the one you’ve got? She trained the one I’m on, too. She runs our stable for us, she…” 

“Bambi?” Ellie gaped at him. “Bambi’s her mom? Bambi has…” 

“Ellie,” Joel said again, cutting her off and looking back at Savvy. 

“She’s there,” he said. “She misses you, she misses you so much. Told me how you liked to read to the horses when you were little. How the dogs liked you better than her. How you’re real good at carving… Recognized your trap, found another one of yours a few months back. She told me how your pins are always smooth and even… Let us take you back with us. Won’t take your guns, just… just come back with us. Please. She misses you so much, she’s been so worried…” 

“We’re not people to be afraid of,” Ellie said and Joel glanced her way. She was looking at Savvy now, her face serious. “Well, as long as you’re not an asshole. I know Joel seems scary but he’s not. Promise. He’s safe.” 

She lowered the gun slowly, looking between the two of them before looking down at the dog. 

“Gattling,” she said. “Heel.” 

The dog dropped its defensive stance and went alongside her, looking up and waiting for a command. She looked back at Joel and Ellie. 

“You really know my mom?” She asked quietly. “She’s… she’s really alive?” 

“She is,” Joel nodded, lowering his hands to the saddle horn. There was a knot in his throat. “And we can take you to her. Please.” 

She hesitated for a moment. 

“She teaches me stuff about music,” Ellie said quickly. “How to play some stuff on guitar, too, but more about music in general. She’s cool. Really. I’m… I’m sure she wants to see you again. And Jackson’s nice. And so are we. Just come along, OK?” 

She took a deep breath, looking down at the dog for a moment, adjusting her grip on the rifle. 

“OK.” 

***

“She’s in rare fucking form this week,” Olivia said, watching as you steadied Persephone, one of the fillies you were working with. 

“She’s just got an independent streak,” you said, the horse’s feet stomping impatiently in the dirt. “That’s OK. I get that. So do the best of us, right?” 

She huffed and jerked her large head. You smiled a little. 

“You’re sure she’s not gonna throw you?” Olivia asked, sounding a little worried. 

“No,” you shrugged. “But I’ve gotten thrown off horses before, nothin’ new. Only way to break her is to break her, no point in stalling. You in a good spot?” 

“Think so,” she said, stepping a little further back from the horse as you got ready to mount her. 

“Then let’s go,” you said, all but jumping onto Persephone’s back. You barely got your foot in the stirrups before she started really bucking, Olivia moving even further away. You clutched the reins in one hand and let your hips go loose, digging your heels down toward the earth to stay seated. You let your body move with her as she hurled herself through the air, desperate to dislodge you. But you weren’t going anywhere. She gave you a good shake that made you grab the back of the saddle but otherwise, she didn’t get anywhere close to throwing you. After a while, she started to calm, her movements still sharp and harsh but closer to the earth, her hooves staying on the ground more often than not. Eventually, she mostly stilled, just tossing her head and huffing indignantly. 

“See?” You said soothingly, reaching forward to pat her neck. “That’s my good girl, you did so well…” 

“Bambi,” Olivia said, catching your eye. She nodded toward the gate to the paddock and you frowned a little before you followed her gaze. 

Standing there was Joel and Ellie, their reins in their hands. But between them was a girl. She was young, a teenager, with springy curls and brown skin and wide, soft eyes. 

You knew those eyes. You knew those eyes and that hair and that skin. For a moment, the world shrank to a small point centered on her and you wondered if, maybe, you’d finally lost your mind. If something had finally broken so thoroughly that you were seeing things. 

But you weren’t. She was here. Your daughter was alive and she was here, in Jackson. 

“Savvy,” you breathed and Persephone bucked below you. You weren’t paying attention to the horse and you flew off her back and into the dirt, landing with a brain rattling thud. You didn’t care. 

You scrambled to your feet, throwing a glance back at Olivia to make sure she had Persephone so Savvy wouldn’t get hurt, and ran for her. 

“Mom,” she said, her voice thick as you reached her and pulled her into yourself. You clutched her to your chest until you thought you could feel her heartbeat alongside yours, clinging to her too close to even kiss her or look at her but you needed to feel the life in her first, soak up the vitality of her before someone took it away. 

“You’re alive,” you managed, voice thick. You buried your nose and mouth in her hair, breathing her in. “You’re alive, you’re here, you’re OK, you’re…” 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” she said wetly and you pulled back from her just enough to look at her. Tears slipped down her cheeks and she sniffed as you took her face in your hands. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, I thought you were gone, I…” 

“I’m so sorry baby,” you kissed her forehead before pulling her against you again and clinging to her. “I’m so sorry I let you go, I’m so sorry I didn’t get to you, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…” 

“It’s OK Mom,” she said, her hands holding your elbows. “I’m OK, it’s OK, I promise…” 

You just held on to her, trying to memorize everything about her that you could. That she was taller now, that her shape had changed, that it seemed like she hadn’t had a chance to really grow into her limbs yet. 

You looked up at Joel who was still there, his eyes wet, watching you hold your daughter. 

“You found her,” you said softly. 

He just nodded. 

“Found her,” he said. “Couldn’t have without you, though. With everything you told me about her, was able to find her.”

You just nodded, running your hand down the back of her head as you held her. 

“Thank you, Joel,” you whispered, holding her so tight that you were worried you might hurt her but too afraid that she’d slip away to stop. “Thank you.”  

Next Chapter

A/N: AHHHH SAVVY'S HERE!!!!

And Joel found her. I'm so happy that Bambi has her baby back, for real. Things are getting there. I promise.

Thanks so much for reading and sticking with this story! Don't forget that you can get updates on my updates blog here.

Love you!!

Taglist: @ashleymsnodgrass@planet-marz1@kalea-bane @juneswonderlust@ilovepedro @h-annahayy @starstruckmusiciansartghost@beccerjune@mumma-moonchild@netonetoneto@mellymbee@purplelye@n7cje@flugazi@evyiione@randomhoex@aliengirl99@orcasoul@reds-ramblings@pedropascalsbbg @fupoola @tinypotatothing @knopes-waffles @lilmizmoz @ayamenimthiriel@jenispunk@panda-pascal@sarap-77@flugazi@your-slutty-gf@daniegraceg@partyofone3413@cumberpegg@noisynightmarepoetry.@fifia-writes@grumpygrumperton @srmacaroni @txlady37 @bigboiseason123@ashleyfilm

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #yearling #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc

[always-together]

Just a Little Something Up Ahead

(Aka: A very long overdue apology, where I’ve been, where I’m going, and the future of my blogs (Spoiler alert: I’m not going anywhere, but updates are needed))

Tagging everyone I remember writing with frequently on my blogs in the hopes they see this and read the whole thing: @pcrplevenom , @nxtleftbehxnd , @misfitxofxfriends , @ssatxr , @advnterccs , @opportunistic-chicanery , @trickywanderer , @twistytwine , @automaton-otto , @monmuses , @raktanag , @dragonizens , @alicerozen , @arianatheangel-girl , @saltygempearl , @castleofmxses

Please take the time to read this whole thing if you can. This has been a long time coming and I don’t want anyone to feel as if my absence has been anyone’s fault, because it absolutely has not been, under any circumstance. It’s been entirely me, and my own inability to maintain all of my blogs during college.

Hello everyone. If I’m remembering correctly, this is my first non-reblog post since last October, when I vowed to come back and respond to the Halloween threads I attempted to start and obviously, disappointingly (most especially to myself), never did. I felt very bad then and still do, because it was going to be my first time interacting with several new blogs and I just…ruined my chance to make a good first impression because all will to write Garnet completely vanished. Some of the people that I tried to start interactions with are tagged in this post, and to both you all and those I write with all the time, but especially the first-timers, I apologize deeply and hope you can forgive me for letting you all down like that.

I know there’s a million worse things to be guilty of on the internet than abandoning your rp blogs because you have no muse, but this has all been just as bad as those worse things to me. Although I’ve undoubtedly been having fun on my Spamton blog I’ve also been feeling incredibly guilty, and for leaving you all in the dark as to my thought processes and IRL reasons why I went away I once again deeply apologize. No words can properly express to every single one of you all just how sorry I am for disappearing this past year and a half. It’s been a long time coming, but now that my fall semester at college is over I feel now is a good time to explain everything and talk about where me and my blogs are going from here.

The number one thing is, of course, college. Even in my freshman year, prior to my Spamton blog, I was having trouble maintaining multiple blogs and characters at once due to work sapping all of my writing energy. Coupled with the jobs I ended up getting, especially the one I’ve had since June, trying to run five blogs at the same time proved impossible. So, foolishly, I took the easy way out and stayed put at the one I had, and still continue to have, the most muse for. I don’t regret doing so, as it made balancing everything much easier to handle, but I do regret not telling you guys somehow first and leaving you all behind like I did.

The other main thing is…hard to explain through just text with no tone indicators, so please bear with me and know that, again, me leaving most of my blogs and you guys behind was no one else’s fault but my own. Attempts to properly come back here and apologize have been stymied by me finding my prior writing style and tagging system cringy and disorganized, respectively. Of course, it was only a matter of time before I felt this way: This blog has been around since I was 17 and now I’m 20, with much more writing experience behind me and the ability to refine my tagging process over the course of my different blogs. This blog feels stuck in the past in comparison to my Spamton blog, my newest blog, in a certain way, in regards to that. Especially with the disorganized tagging. What was I thinking 🤦‍♀️

That’s not even getting into the muse pages across all of my blogs, further worsened by the fact that I’m primarily mobile and can’t edit them at a moments notice or create fancy Caards like all of my mutuals. They make me cringe more than my writing in some ways. Please do not look at my About the Mun page on this blog, I will be removing that when I can 😬

Returning here eventually became associated with regressing to how I was back in 2020 in my mind, and soon that began to spread towards how I felt about my other blogs, too. I was rigid in replies and sticking to plots, barely sent partners memes yet inwardly expected to be sent them in return, and never really IMed or communicated except through tags. I am happy to say that over the past year of silence I’ve gotten better at all of that, but you all shouldn’t have had to suffer while I figured my shit out. But nevertheless I still left, and hid away at my Spamton blog until now.

I want that to change, desperately. I miss you all. I miss Garnet. I miss all of my other muses, too. But considering I’m a junior in college now, with my capstone/thesis fast approaching, I don’t know how difficult that’s going to be. And of course, I don’t want to abandon my Spamton blog, either. Whatever I end up deciding, however, I need to update all of my information pages to reflect my current standards and make my tags more easier to navigate, like they (mostly) are at my Spamton blog.

So until I can find the time with my busy holiday work schedule to do this necessary work on all of my blogs, all activity is currently at @thebigshotman . Feel free to send in memes, random asks, and interact/IM me there, if you’d like! I’ve gotten a lot of crossover threads going lately, and much like the Haunted Mansion there is always room for one more 😊 So please, if you’re still interested in interacting with me after all of the shit I’ve done, head there for now.

I’ll be reblogging this on all of my other blogs tomorrow so as many people see this as possible, and know I didn’t forget about everyone. Changing everything looks like it’s not going to happen until after New Years, so consider coming back to everything my New Year’s resolution-except unlike many resolutions, this one is actually going to happen.

Thank you for taking the time to read all of this, if you indeed still are. Like I said, I’ve missed you all dearly, and I want to come back. But I can’t until I’ve done some very overdue updating and organization. (Everything old will stay tagged as it is, but going forward things will be easier to find.)

I’ll see you all soon. And this time, that’s a promise.

Love, Mun Bri ❤️

Relationships/friendships with Garnet and all of my other muses will remain the same unless you or I message each other agreeing otherwise

#(sophomore year also made me realize putting too much focus on my hobbies was a recipe for disaster 😵‍💫) #(so off I went and I did what I did. but I’m going to do my best to try to change all of that) #(no matter how shakey my activity ends up being ❤️) #(no tags. this is the start of the clean slate) #(I WILL COME BACK. this I promise 🤝)

[streets-in-paradise]

Anonymous Hero - Hector of Troy x (Fem)Warrior!Reader (requested)

Troy (2004) Oneshot 

Requested by @g-m-kaye​ 

“ (...) If you’re still taking fic requests for TROY (?) I’d be super duper excited if you’d write an AU fic for Hector x reader character where Hector, instead of being married to Andromache, falls for a slender Trojan warrior who has his back in the first melee… but unexpectedly turns out to be a woman when Hector demands the warrior remove his helmet & reveal “his” identity 👀 (I’ve always loved the “girl masquerading as boy” trope - ever since Shakespeare!) … and pls do make it as steamy as you like!! Lol (...)” 

Hope you will like this, darling! I loved writing it. 

Word Count 2.5 K 

Warnings: Hector going through a Li Shang bi panic, Single Hector AU ( sorry, Andromache. You are great, but we love your man). Very few proofreading ( it’s almost 3 AM and i’m tired, but wanted to get it posted)

Summary: In the heat of battle during the arrival of the greeks Hector ends up  greatly impressed by the courageous response of a singular soldier, but this stranger refuses to claim ríghts on the feat. Feeling even more intrigued about him afterwards, the prince is determined to find him in full unawareness of how the peculiar fighter has quite a few more surprises to give.  

Tags: @mysticaldeanvoidhorse @helie-brain @rfkfan​

The sound of the bell brought the expected news nobody wanted to hear. Greek veils in the horizon, a thousand ships about to reach trojan shore, giving the impression that Agamemnon had emptied the continent to avenge the insulted honor of his brother. As the city observed the spectacle with horror, heralds were calling all the available men to fight in what would be the first defense in a crushing war. The disastrous numerical difference forced desperate measures and the army commanded by Prince Hector needed to engross its lines somehow. For so, many soldiers who weren’t in optimal conditions were needed: young lads stepping into combat too soon and old men following the example of Glaucus. 

Fillment additions, men that were there for numbers but weren’t warriors in the heroic sense of the term. They had very little possibilities of success against the myrmidons, fearless and bloodthirst beasts that were presenting a hard challenge to the Apollonian Guard even before the landing of Ajax. If some of the best in Troy were suffering because of them, arming that sacrificial reserve sounded like pointless cruelty. Those men were doomed to be nothing more than fresh meat to engross the downs of Achilles and Ajax, easily removable obstacles slowing down their encounter with more qualified enemies. No one would have expected much of them, at least until one proved the assumptions of the strategists to be completely wrong. 

After Achilles performed miracles throwing a spear that killed Tecton from an impossible distance, doing so with a cocky bragger naturality, the elite warriors were completely discouraged. Even Hector experienced true horror for the first time in many years, sensibly affected by the death of the friend who had always got his back in the battlefield. Despite the myrmidons being implicitly warned to leave him for their leader, many tried to take that contextual advantage doing their shots in trying to take down the prince. Clearly, not everyone was willing to listen after being exhorted to fight through a hubris induced speech about reaching immortal glory. 

In that spirit-wrecking point of the battle, with a temple destroyed and priests slaughtered by an enemy that knew no limits, the disorganized crowd of elite warriors fleeing left a chance for the relegated men of Troy to shine. A small, slender soldier that could have made Ajax laugh if he would have faced him courageously assumed the role of Tecton protecting the prince in the chaos. Hector was equally moved and amazed by the man fighting beside him. He looked weaker than his brother, probably a young lad from that desperate aid reserve, yet he was fighting with the push of a man twice his size. He followed all the way through the carnage inside the temple and would have gone to the end of the line accompanying him to the encounter of Achilles, if Hector himself wouldn’t have commanded otherwise. The sacrificial devotion of that soldier felt personal beyond any measures, it left a mark on his memory that eclipsed the shocking first impression Achilles wanted to feel being causing him. 

Although relegated due to his fragile appearance, that nameless young man fought with the kind of honor the famous greek warlord lacked and Hector was finding a strange sense of hope in that. He also couldn’t help admiring some of his gracious movements at times, wondering if he could perhaps have been a disguise of the god defending his altar. That would have at least explained the most incredible aspect of the situation: his unexplainable attraction towards him. 

No details of the episode were referenced in the war council that night. Archeptolemus, his political rival in religious circles, would have used it against him and the prince was already very much irritated by his misuse of religion to discredit him. If the soft looking soldier was Apollo fighting beside him or just a regular mortal he had just fallen for, he would have to figure it out by himself. The hopeful reminder of him helped the prince tolerate the newest terrible choice of his brother. Although Paris promised an easy resolution meant to take place the next morning, he was walking to his death and he wasn’t ready to let him die. Unlike his mysterious new favorite, the youngest prince didn’t possess any dormant courage to be released in a critical situation. 

Paris needed to meet that man, either to exhort miraculous bravery in him or to make him desist from that purpose. It was the excuse that Hector invented to himself in his mildly desperate search for him. 

“ Troy is worth fighting for because even the simplest of our men can make a difference. “ He was saying to his men in formation during the motivational speech that morning.” Agamemnon brought to us a parade of famous heroes without any inside cohesion. He expects us to tremble upon him because his battalions are all commanded by one of those, but yesterday we learned a valuable lesson. Their army is weak where ours is stronger. They are glory seekers harangued by leaders who think like arrogant children, we are men fighting for our country. We don’t rely on the fame of our heroes, but in the strength of our hearts!”  

Ovations cutted him off for an instant, but he waited enough to continue and evaluated the reaction. 

“ Yesterday we lost a hero, a man I loved like a brother, but that loss didn’t paralyzed us.Someone else made his way reclaiming his spot beside me. Not a fighter in a chariot, not an apollonian, but a simple man. He performed heroic acts worthy of being sung, but disappeared without claiming any authorship for his feat. While greeks are too preoccupied with making history to care about each other, even the smallest trojan is already a hero.” 

Hector roamed the extension of the front lines on his horse,visually searching for the reaction revealing the man in question.  

“ We have humble anonymous heroes that double theirs in courage and worth, and I now command this man to show himself and reclaim the honors he deserves.” 

A tense silence followed the end of his speech, soldiers looking at their sides full with confusion searching for the one refusing such a high reward. 

“ It is an order.” Hector finally reminded them. “ In the name of the loyalty he displayed, I demand him to give one step ahead.” 

Suddenly, a slender figure emerged from the crowd and the prince got off his horse as he approached. His evident satisfaction made Paris hold a chuckle, especially because he noticed how his brother observed him. 

“ I want the army to be a witness of my gratitude. “ Hector explained to him once he was finally standing in front of him. Only a shorter distance separated them. “ In a battle won by men desperate for recognition, you saved my life asking nothing in return. You have won my admiration and sincere affection; Troy must remember your name.” 

The multitude started cheering until the honored fighter removed his helmet, surrendering himself to the pressure about knowing his identity. A sepulchral silence followed his movements, confusion spreading even further than before and the youngest prince was the only smiling face easy to spot. 

Hector discovered a beautiful woman staring back at him and never before he had found anyone so desirable.His lips slightly parted despite him trying to pretend he wasn’t observing her in complete awe. 

“ Do with me what you judge properly, my lord.” She fearlessly exclaimed. “ I surrender myself to you for disciplinary action.” 

He recognized her, a young maiden from a remarkable family of trojan aristocrats. Firstborn daughter and her only brother was fifteen years old. The boy was named Ilus, at least he remembered that, but he couldn’t remember much of her and it frustrated him. 

" I must assume you are here as a replacement for Ilus Peiroide. " He asked her in an affirmation. " A young boy, too young. His frame provided an easy hideout for you. " 

" He is my brother. " The lady replicated. " Is the king of Mycenae the only one who can fight for his brother? I would rather bring dishonor to my family than burying Ilus. " 

Her words resonated deeply with him. Not only his fondness of her kept increasing, Hector simply couldn't blame her. However, he had to act as a leader. 

" At least allow her to plead her case, i like her." Paris commented, doing his brother the favor of saying what he couldn't. " This is my war, one that is being fought over a woman I brought here. Wouldn't it be a blatant hypocrisy if we don't let  this girl speak?"

She smiled at him, only deviating her attention from Hector for a brief instant, to what Paris replied with a friendly wink. 

" You don't have much time, the greeks will arrive soon..." Hector pointed out. " Your brave acts are not being questioned, but you must make yourself accountable for your transgression. Not to me, but to our countrymen." 

The intense eye contact going on between them was loaded with a tension that didn't resemble a grudge of any kind.  

" Look at them and tell them why you did this. " 

" I listened to your speeches and felt the call deep inside, in my heart. " She provocatively replied, admitting reasons beyond the initial sympathetic motive palatable to their societal perceptions. " My prince, you harangue the men speaking about freedom, but the rules of war don't threaten theirs as heavily as they menace ours. Are we all going to pretend we don't know what happened to Princess Briseis just because the King can't stand the shame? A woman doesn't simply disappear or dies in war, she is taken by the winner. Women don't get the privilege of dying, we are the ones who will be reduced to slavery if the city falls. If Helen came here searching for her freedom to love... Why can't I defend my own freedom, and all my countrywomen? " 

Even the ones who had reason to present objections couldn't argue with that, the presence of Helen was a disruptive element for trojan society. Her existence there had proven to challenge the traditional conceptions for quite a few established institutions, marriage being the main in the list but not the only one.   

" If this ends in battle, you have one more chance to prove your value to the city. Only one, and i am granting it to you in honor of the great service you performed for me yesterday." Hector warned her. " Consider my debt paid with this indulgence. " 

She smiled and that time it was for him. Hector had to pretend coldness, but he would have done anything to see that again. 

" I will not disappoint you, my prince. If you pick me, I will follow you to the gates of Tartarus. " 

His pulse accelerated hearing that, making him feel the improper effect that the woman had on him.

The promise turned out to be true, since another opportunity for fighting presented itself and she did something impressive. Trojans weren't as surprised as the greeks were when Hector slaughtered Menelaus to save Paris from that hopeless combat, unleashing a new battle through the breaking of the pact. To them it was clear that the story of the shieldmaiden who defied the concept of honor replacing her younger brother to save him must had inspired the heir prince. Curiously but not casually, a great victory was obtained and both performed the highlights of it. Barely after Hector triumphed in his solitary combat against Ajax, the lady forced the definitive retreat of the greeks for the day by attacking the mycenaeans. 

Her spear throw killed the charioteer of Agamemnon. Not satisfied with that, she wounded him with the sword as he was attempting to control the horses. Nothing severe, the blade barely caressed his arm, but it reminded the power delirious king that he was a mortal and in that opportunity she did reclaimed the feat knowing it would increase his humiliation.  

The very same men who were judging her in silence that morning celebrated her alongside Hector in the afternoon. She was invited to the palace, where King Priam allowed her to be acknowledged through his son's choice of allowing her involvement. She promised him to help in the case of her niece, if she could be allowed after the immense offense she gave to the supreme greek king. Helen herself praised her bravery, granting hers and Paris' support altogether. 

It was like a dream, a very vivid dream where she was getting noticed being who she wanted to be. Even Hector, the man she had hopelessly loved in silence for many years, was looking at her in a different way. 

Among the ladies of trojan high society she never felt particularly special and nothing made her feel that way. Despite being daughter of one of the local nobles in his own city, Hector barely noticed her. She used to be one of the many silly girls looking at him with pointless adoration at some special social event while his eyes followed only the frame of Princess Andromache of Thebe. A woman who represented everything she wasn't, a perfectly adjusted lady any man would want for a wife.

The order of the world was turned upside down, Hector couldn't take his eyes of her. Even without the disguise he still seemed to admire her and she felt it hitting way deeper than what the moral undertones of his speech implied. 

" If I have been an inspiration for you, let me say I can finally repay you." He shamelessly admitted her as soon as they were left alone. " You inspired me today, sometimes you need strength to leave your honor behind for love." 

" Is that an invitation?" She teased him. " Don't keep me waiting, I'm not a child anymore."

Hector sipped some wine without breaking eye contact through the action, then left the cup to subtly lay a hand on her cheek.

" Then you must be aware of how you are making me feel." 

She lifted her head just a bit, showing how delighted with his touch she was. 

" How can I doubt it when you are looking at me like this?" She purred with want. " I fully meant what I told you this morning. Pick me, I could be yours if you want me. "

Infatuated as he was, he could have proposed ríght there after that suggestive comeback, but he límited himself to kissing her hoping that could help him slow down. 

#troy 2004 #hector of troy #eric bana #hector x reader #hector of troy x reader #eric bana x reader #troy fanfiction #troy

[beezabub]

A small amount of Ninjago rambling about something I realised! Sorry it's so disorganized..

Tl;dr Zane and PIXAL's whereabouts during the season 3-4 timeskip are a mystery, but I think it has something to do with the Mechanic

Bonus theory (which also has notes below the main rambles): The Nindroids are all Pixane children technically

Main theory thing:

The gap between seasons 3 and 4 is a large one.

Jay had a TV show that ran for over 70 episodes and had a Christmas special

We're looking at a minimum of 2 years here for him to A get the show and B film the episodes, realistically bringing this closer to 3 years

We are shown something which we assume to be Zane rebuilding himself in the S3 ending

So why didn't he tell anyone he was alive? And where were him and PIXAL during this three year gap?

How did 2 nindroids with 1 person's fighting experience between them manage to slip completely under the radar for so long? Where did they go?

The Mechanic was arrested at some point before the ninja were and showed a particular interest in (and familiarity with) Zane

This could be explained just by Zane being a Robot and thus naturally interesting to him, but there are a few other factors to consider

The mechanic was already in Cryptarium before we ever meet him so he's kinda a mystery, asides from one little detail

He drives a Chen's noodle truck

He also shows more interest in taking apart Zane than PIXAL, as shown when he doesn't kidnap her while she's incapacitated in Ninjago Confidential...

Perhaps because he has already done so? He already knows how she works so she is of little interest to him

Zane wakes up on Chen's island with no memory, and PIXAL has already been dismantled, but oddly not destroyed entirely... Almost as if she's still being studied

I like the idea that Zane used his own blueprints and so gave himself a memory switch (bad idea) that someone used on him pre-season 4.

For angst reasons this could be PIXAL trying to spare him in the only way she is able - by protecting his memories.

If this is the case? He remembers everything. All 3 years of hiding out together, of being in love, of everything she means to him, being removed entirely from his memory.

And if this was done by PIXAL, then she must feel so sad being the only one to remember, potentially feeling like she can't tell him what he's missing

It's worth noting that their motives are really unclear, as they have money (billionaire Borg) and no need for revenge (it's only season 3 and the Overlord is gone, so there aren't really that many people left) which leaves... Love.

It still doesn't entirely make sense though, because what reasons would Zane and PIXAL have to go completely no contact, not leaving so much as a whisper in the streets of their whereabouts for so long, leaving behind grieving friends and family who assume they are dead.

Mini-theory:

PIXAL scans Zane and later uses his blueprints to create the Nindroids

She swaps out some of the parts (~50%) so the product is half Zane's design and half her creation

She then makes these things. A lot of them.

I doubt she counted them. Just kept going until they literally ran out of materials (remember Mindroid?)

So technically they had hundreds of children together after literally 1 conversation lmao

Bonus points for is Zane and PIXAL realise this suddenly post season 8 (when it is established she has her own body back) that they literally have So Many Children

Anyway Cryptor isn't Zane's evil twin, he's Zane's Kylo Ren (I don't know shit about Star Wars. Assume this means Evil Son)

#ninjago #ninjago theory #ninjago thoughts #ninjago textpost #zane julien #ninjago zane #zane #ninjago pixal #pixal borg #zane x pixal #pixal x zane #pixal #pixane #ninjago season 3 #ninjago season 4 #theory #rambles

[gemapples]

Rant away my friend

apparently a few people wanted me to vent about the kirby novels so head in hands ig i'm gonna go for it LMAO (this is inspired directly from @desultory-novice 's posts about it)

ALSO IM SORRY IF THIS IS SO DISORGANIZED gonna be honest i forgot a good half of what i wanted to talk about. But Anyways. please note that all of this is entirely My opinion you ofc dont need to agree and despite everything i actually really love and enjoy the kirby novels a lot !!

so okay after hearing her talk about the reason we're likely not getting a magolor epilogue novel and knowing takase's erm.... Infamous reputation regarding how she handles magolor's character that had me thinking a lot and. Wow i'm kind of Really nervous for how this magoland novel will turn out actually because a lot is kind of at stake here when you think about it

takase will either be forced to actually develop magolor's character, or she will just completely scrap everything that happened earlier, remove any mentions of the epilogue and go straight back to square 1 where magolor is -- once again -- the villain of the story. Don't get me wrong i like evil magolor a lot lol i think if done right it can be a very enjoyable portrayal of his character. but there's only So many times you can make a character the antagonist before it just gets straight up exhausting y'know

i think it's ESPECIALLY different in terms of magoland. This might be a cold take idk lmao but merry magoland isn't just some wacky little theme park magolor created out of the blue for no reason. It's something that signifies and sets in stone how he's a changed character. Merry magoland is magolor's dream he's had for a really long time by his own words and truly shows that all he's wanted to do is make people have fun and be happy. if you make him the antagonist in that, that completely just fucks up Everything relating to his character and renders that entire development null and also invalidates all the hardships he's gone through to make that happen

i do think takase's portrayal of magolor is fun! i do enjoy it and i do appreciate how he has a hard time communicating his desires and showing true friendship. i think that's important. one of magolor's most significant flaws is how he has a hard time understanding how friendship is supposed to work and what to do when you have friends. but maybe instead of making him the villain. Over and over and over again you could idk... have him Learn?? and actually Develop from his issues??? i know waddle dee is a completely separate character but for the sake of comparing to another person who has gone through a huge amount of development in the novels -- why can't magolor do the same? why is it constantly so insistent that he be the one causing all the problems for no reason other than haha it's funny (in most cases at least. i know dreamy gear was different and i will give it a giant shoutout for that)

i'm so sorry if i sound too harsh here i literally don't know how to word it otherwise lol i think it's important to emphasize that despite everything i do like seeing magolor's character in the novels. but it just gets to a point where it's Grating to me at times and depending on the scenario is just completely inaccurate. that's why i think magoland is such a huge point for us here with a lot on the line -- if she chooses to not make magolor the antagonist and make it accurate to the game's actions and desires, that will be an essential key for his development and showcase that we're actually making progress with his character. but if she chooses to make him the antagonist again, the potential for him being something more than a villain -- which is RIGHT there -- is completely wiped

afaik magolor and kirby's friendship was also mentioned and i just want to throw out there. merry magoland happened because of kirby. merry magoland happened because of magolor's friends. kirby, meta knight, dedede and bandee are the reason merry magoland exists. so if takase chooses to not acknowledge any mention of that and make magolor go against them all, that also erases the potential of magolor's relationship with other characters as well yknow... the characters he's gone against for this whole time? it also makes no sense whatsoever??

so yeah this is a bit long but there's just a lot to either look forward to or dread about this novel -- or even both lmao -- the more i thought about it. i want to have a decent amount of hope that i could be wrong here, maybe takase will take advantage of what she has to work with game wise and create something truly special. but throughout all of magolor's appearances in the novels... *hand on mirror* it seems like all of his character is constantly scrapped in favor of treating him like some apathetic irredeemable character with no regard for others or understanding friendship. so that's kind of a hard pill to swallow

#ask

[queenburd]

okay that post already has 3 votes for “one now, one later” so here’s part one of “the narrator is taking forever on this surprise”

warning for some existentialism, spiraling thoughts. this is a heavier chapter overall, confronting issues of putting your own needs aside for other people. there are references to my Zending fic as well.

i genuinely can’t think of a catchy title for this one. i’ll figure it out when it goes on ao3.

-

Stanley is feeling… unhappy. No, out of sorts. Upset?

It’s complicated.

His narrator hums gently as the protagonist folds his elbows onto his desk and rests his head on his forearms. “Stanley? Anything I can do?”

No. No, he doesn’t think so. He can’t even necessarily place what’s wrong. He’s just come back from the Museum, after quietly sitting in the small dark room with the narrator’s voice, and the room with emails flicking by.

(He’s done that ending loads of times. Every time he tries to tell the narrator about it, the fellow expresses confusion. He knows Stanley isn’t lying, he’s even taken a peek at the memories with Stanley’s consent, but try as he might he can’t find its map or codes. It’s another mystery of the parable.)

“You always seem a little, well, morose after we reset from that ending. Is—is it the crusher? Because, I would change it, if I didn’t worry it would make that aspect of the game inaccessible to you. I don’t know if it would figure out how to compensate. Sorry.”

No. It’s not the crusher. Stanley’s died in plenty of ways, all fairly quick and painless. The crusher isn’t the problem.

The narrator is quiet. There’s the strange sound of fingers fidgeting on a desk. He has such fascinating sound cues, for not having a form.

“I—if you figure out what’s wrong, will you tell me? I want to fix it.”

Stanley inhales sharply. That’s what it is.

“What?” Anxiety creeps into the fellow’s voice. “What is it?”

Stanley would offer him the memory, if it wasn’t one that they both had. As it is, all he needs to do is think of a single, ugly word. The narrator’s breath hitches.

Villain.

-

then

Stanley stumbles out of his office, paler than the voice has seen him. Half of the narration spills out on autopilot before he catches himself at the sight of Stanley, leaning back hard against door 430 and sliding down to the floor, arm curling around his knees and a hand shielding the back of his neck. He hides his face against his kneecaps. His breathing is unsteady.

“Stanley? Stanley, what’s wrong?”

It only catches traces of Stanley’s thought patterns—they are scattered, disorganized and stained with a dawning horror and a deeper, ugly hue of shame. It hasn’t—

The narrator hasn’t seen a reaction like this since he bloody yanked out the memory of the Zending from Stanley’s head.

God, please let it not be another Zending. They weren’t anywhere near that room!

“Stanley please, you’re scaring me.”

He—he doesn’t think he can take it if Stanley begs him not to hurt him. After everything they’ve been through and after the narrator’s own attempts to change, he can’t bear it again.

Something fundamentally changed in him, that run. He’s looked over it many, many times, trying to understand the shift in dynamic. It wasn’t a rapid onset that he was aware of, but that was the run that the narrator… realized something about himself. About Stanley.

He didn’t want Stanley to be scared of him.

He’s not a good person. Of course not, he’s not even a person, really. He’s a god, a creator, and he made a story with a simple protagonist and a happy ending. And then, when his protagonist suddenly became more than a simple puppet, but a person, convinced he was trapped and desperate to rebel and escape, the god that made him became vengeful. Sent a flood to kill all the world, but there was no rainbow afterwards, no promise to not do it again.

So Stanley struggled, and the narrator looked at his creation that had somehow eaten the fruit of knowledge, and he punished him. He demanded the protagonist fulfill the role he’d been given, play the story the narrator had lovingly crafted for him.

Somewhere along the way, far too soon after this game of tug of war began, the narrator forgot that the whole point of his story was to give the man a happy ending. Stanley’s happiness, the original goal, was lost under the anger and the pride and the offense that his story wasn’t appreciated.

He’d been an idiot. He’d been cruel. He’d waved his power around over the man and abused it, and Stanley had done all he could in the face of it to get some kind of retribution, but in the moments he found he could hurt the narrator, he despised himself.

Stanley was a good person, and the narrator was not, and this knowledge had plagued the voice since then.

He’s tried to be better. He knows he can’t make Stanley trust him, he knows the scales are tipped so much more in his favor. He controls this parable and that in itself means they can never be equals.

That—

It—

It’s okay that Stanley will never trust him, he doesn’t deserve it. He just wants Stanley to know that the narrator doesn’t want him to suffer. That this was all supposed to be about his happiness. The narrator did all of this for him, and is going to try to make it right.

If Stanley only ever sees him as the jailer, that’s… fine. Better a jailer than a torturer.

The narrator is afraid to touch his thoughts again, he can’t bear the thought that Stanley’s mind will be pleading [ I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t hurt me too badly ] again.

So he drops his voice to a near whisper.

“Stanley? I’m not going to hurt you. I promised, remember? I told you I wouldn’t. Whatever it is, we can figure it out together.”

This, more than anything, distresses Stanley more—his breath hitches into a sob.

“Oh, no, I’m sorry, I didn’t—“

He only ever makes things worse, doesn’t he?

Stanley shakes his head rapidly. He places a curled fist on his chest, over where his heart would be. Presses circles into his shirt.

[ sorry, sorry, sorry ]

The protagonist scrubs his eyes, trying to control himself. The narrator hears himself swallow.

“It’s… it’s okay, it’s going to be okay. We’ll get through it, whatever it is.”

Stanley grimaces hard. Rests the back of his head against the door. Sniffs angrily.

He tries to sign, but his hands are shaky. Fiercely, he gestures to his head, flicking his fingers towards his temple, as though to say [ just look, just look at my thoughts ].

“I… you’re sure?”

Stanley nods.

The narrator brushes over it again, gentle as a breeze. He’s not sorting through the memories, he’s just touching at the surface information Stanley offers him, in Stanley’s own words.

Stanley had gone down that hall with the word escape pointed at it—the one that leads to the crusher. He’s gone there many times before, though the narrator doesn’t understand why. If he wants death, there are quicker routes for certain.

Now, he turns over the simple explanation that there’s a secret ending there, one he did not make, one which houses a different voice. The information unsettles him deeply. How did something like that get into his creation?

And then, the true horror.

It isn’t his creation at all. It never was. He’s just a piece of a creation, designed to believe—

He’s not the god of this world; he’s simply a piece of code. All he ever claimed Stanley was, and the narrator is no different. Just a character in someone else’s story.

He doesn’t realize that he’s been muttering “no, no, no, no,” for a near minute until Stanley cringes again. He forces himself to stop.

Stanley’s shame rolls off of him in waves, and the narrator cannot for the life of him understand why. He touches the man’s mind again, feather-light.

[ trapped in here with me and there’s no freedom for either of us and I just kept blaming him and I knew he was alone and I knew it scared him and I kept trying to leave but I can’t leave we’ll never leave this is forever this is forever the end is never the end is never the end and he was trying to be better and I didn’t care and I didn’t listen and why did I do that why did I do that? What sick person sees someone trying and just keeps taking their frustration out on him, what’s wrong with me? Maybe it’s built in hahaha coded in I’m not even really a person he wasn’t lying she was right Stanley was already dead ]

No. That—that’s not acceptable.

The narrator has a lot to process here. He has the distinct feeling that if he thinks too hard about this, he will spiral just as badly as Stanley is. His whole worldview has tilted almost 180, and he knows if he tries to deal with it right now, right this second, it might break him.

But Stanley is already breaking, and worse, Stanley is—is blaming himself, for fighting back after all the narrator has put him through.

His Stanley, his good, mischievous, gentle Stanley, is calling himself all sorts of terrible things. That takes precedent.

The narrator does what he does best.

He performs.

“Right,” he snarls, “that’s enough.”

Stanley looks up with an audible gasp. It hurts to hear. He pushes on.

“Do you really think I’m so simple as to be so easily manipulated by your actions? Think what you want, Stanley, but don’t think I’m so weak-willed and dependent on you for my own happiness. This is my story,” he continues, unable to hold back the slightest waver. “This is my world. I exist here to tell you where to go and what to do, I hold the power here. That hasn’t changed, do you understand me?”

Stanley is… staring at his knees with a furrowed brow. The narrator caresses his thoughts in the way one might tuck an errant curl behind an ear. He shapes his next words with care in response to what he finds.

“You decided a long time ago you were the hero of this little narrative, hero of my parable, and I was the villain. Have you forgotten that? I am the villain, Stanley. I am the enemy, the unyielding force which you rage against to no avail.” He chuckles in a manner he hopes sounds cruel and contemptuous, and not desperate. “Did you really think that would change? No, no, not at all, Stanley. In this world, I am the villain. You focus all that loathing towards me, and you remember that I hold all the cards, and that so long as I am here, you cannot give up.”

He’ll be the antagonist, he’ll be the monster that needs to be slain, if that’s what it takes. If that keeps Stanley from taking all that hurt and frustration and fear and pointing inwards at himself.

Not his good, stubborn, Stanley.

Stanley rests his forearms on his knees and stares into the middle distance. His face has flashed through confusion, resentment, realization. Now he is deep in thought. The voice doesn’t dare peek this time. It finds it is afraid to.

All this work trying to show Stanley it's been trying to make amends, and now it has to go back to how things were before. So the one person it cares about has someone to aim all his hurt at.

Just bury the distress deep, deep down. It will be his cross to bear, the fact that he only wants this man’s happiness and yet he can never share it with him. He will have to be the opposing force forever. Forever.

Stanley looks up.

[ No. ]

The narrator scoffs a bit. “No? What do you mean, no?”

Stanley signs slowly. There’s a determination in his eyes, one the voice hadn’t realized it was missing very badly. Now it shines, his mouth set in a firm line.

[ You’re not the villain. You don’t want to be the villain. You just want me to think that. Why? ]

Damn. He really thought he’d put on a good show there.

“Don’t you want something to strive against? Some nefarious force that you can blame for your suffering?” He tries to keep the harsh tone, spitting the words as condescendingly as he can.

Stanley shakes his head.

“You… don’t?”

[ Tired. Done fighting. No point. Want… ] He trails off, unsure how to complete the statement. Inhales deeply. Lifts his hands.

[ Want to tell a new story. Like you talk about in Confusion ending. ]

“The confusion ending…?”

[ New path, new story. Just me and Stanley. ]

It doesn’t make sense that Stanley would talk about himself as a different entity—oh! Oh, Stanley is trying to quote him!

[ We’re in the journey. ]

He hears himself inhale sharply. Asks the next question with trepidation.

“What do you want our story to be?”

Stanley—smiles.

-

now

He hears the narrator clear his throat nervously. “That was quite a long time ago, Stanley. Does it still bother you that much?”

No. He’s grown resigned to the fact that this place is his eternal home. It’s small, limited, but the companionship is fine and even after thousands of runs they keep managing to find new things to do and new ways to entertain each other. Resignation has long since turned to acceptance.

No, it’s—

Stanley’s mind reaches out and grasps at the whisper of frustration. He tries to hold it up to the light.

“I want to fix it.”

That’s what the narrator had said, when he realized Stanley was not happy. For years, he’s done everything in his power to make Stanley happy.

Once upon a time, the voice only cared about its perfect story, and they were enemies. Once upon a time, it hurt Stanley again and again for disobeying.

Sometimes it feels like the narrator has spent all this time trying to make up for it. Stanley knows it’s more than that, that there’s care between them, but it’s always about what Stanley needs, what Stanley wants, Stanley’s well-being.

He remembers coming back from the Museum that run, shaken and disgusted with his own behavior, and wanting to become so small that he would cease to exist, because how could he still be hurting someone who was trying to be better? How could he call himself a decent human being? Well, he couldn’t, he wasn’t even human.

He remembers feeling so completely off-center that it felt like the laws of gravity had twisted completely around him, and feeling like he would never find his footing again. There had been no way to ground himself.

And still, the voice had tried. First with overwhelming tenderness Stanley didn’t deserve, and then with faux antagonism in the hopes it would be a familiar enough enemy that he could find his balance.

He could hear the crack and waver in the words. The words themselves, little clues, little ways to read between the lines. Lines like “focus all that loathing towards me” and “you cannot give up” and “don’t you want something to blame for your suffering?”

Even then, even with the logic of the world shifting monumentally for both of them, the voice was worrying for him. Trying to give him solid ground.

“Yes,” the narrator says, a touchy huffy and sheepish, “you saw right through me, I know.”

Doesn’t the fellow get it? Doesn’t he see what Stanley is trying to get at?

“I dare say I don’t.”

Fine. Another example. The skip button.

The narrator inhales sharply. Stanley feels, for a fleeting instant, vindicated.

“Wh—why? What about it?”

He. Had left. The narrator. Alone. For eons.

“But—we’ve been over this, you didn’t have any options—“

And the moment they got back the narrator focused entirely on comforting Stanley! Calming him down, trying to forgive him, again and again giving him so much care and attention—

“You needed—“

But the narrator never let himself process it! Stanley had never been able to return the favor, not really, not truly! Not ever!

“But—I told you, I’m fine—“

How could Stanley even know? For all his narrator is dramatic, expressive, he doesn’t talk about these things! He avoids them!

“There’s nothing to discuss! Clearly it doesn’t bother me as much! Why are we arguing about this, Stanley, what have I done wrong?”

Nothing, but that was the problem!

“I don’t understand!”

Stanley tugs at his hair a little in frustration. How can he be more clear?

It’s not an equal exchange. Stanley can’t do things for the narrator the way the narrator does things for him, and part of that is because of his limitations on what he can control.

But part of it is the fact that the narrator still thinks he has more power than Stanley does, and so he must dedicate everything to him. He thinks only ever about Stanley, at the expense of himself.

The narrator sniffles. “What am I supposed to do? You’re my friend, and—and I do have more control over this place than you, so why is it a problem that I shape it to do things for you?”

But what about the narrator’s wants?

“I don’t—“

He absolutely has wants! He has feelings, desires, he cares about his story!

“The story doesn’t matter!”

It does! Why does he think Stanley still does it? It’s the only thing Stanley can ever do to try to really make him happy!

“You… you don’t do it for yourself?”

The voice sounds utterly heartbroken. Stanley’s heart sinks.

Fuck. This is getting out of control.

“You don’t like it? You don’t have to do it—“

Listen to himself! Listen to the things he’s saying, please!

The fellow is just… giving up pieces of himself for Stanley. He puts all of his own feelings aside. Stanley knows he feels emotions deeply, they both do, but the narrator never actually—

He never expresses any of it. He never processes his own trauma, his own sadness or fear or hurt. He just puts it all aside for Stanley. He won’t let Stanley return the favor.

He’s not human, he’s further from real humanity than Stanley is, but the narrator is still a person. He still has experienced terrible things. He still needs to confront it. Process it. He’s still allowed to want things for himself.

How can Stanley ever show him how much he really, truly cares, if the narrator won’t treat him like an equal on this?

Ah, damn. He’s crying a bit. He hadn’t realized. Stanley scrubs at his eyes.

It isn’t that he’s sad, at least he’s not sad for himself. He just… this is important. It worries him. It frustrates him. And he’s trying so hard to not make it about himself, because that’s the trap!

The narrator—whimpers. Just a small noise, hurt and distraught, a sound lodged deep in a throat. Stanley sniffs hard to try to collect himself.

“Do you want me to go?”

No, that’s—

Stanley takes a deep, deep breath, and reshapes the thought.

What does the narrator want? Does the narrator want space? What can Stanley give him to show that the protagonist cares about his happiness?

“I…” It’s said very quietly, full of uncertainty. “I don’t know. Can I have a minute to think?”

He can take as much time as he needs. Whatever he needs. Stanley wants to be there for him.

Quiet. The room seems to hold its breath. Stanley takes deep breaths and rubs his hands over his face, finding his calm. His heartbeat slows. He keeps his thoughts quiet, on the off-chance the fellow is still trying to see if Stanley wants or expects a certain reaction.

“I… I think… Stanley, can you step out into the hall?”

Yes, absolutely. He stands by the divider next to the copy machine and waits patiently.

“Thank you. Can—“ a swallow. The narrator composes himself. “Would you please close your eyes?”

Stanley does so, obedient, if a bit confused.

“Okay. Now, I need you to promise me something. Promise me you will keep your eyes closed, and not open them, no matter what. I’m going to be very, very quiet for a few minutes. Just be patient with me, and don’t open them until I say you can. Okay?”

He sounds frightfully nervous. It leaks into Stanley a bit, because—because what is this about?

The voice hesitates, then says very softly, almost shy, but absolutely certain.

“This is something I need.”

Stanley takes a deep breath. He puts a hand over his heart.

He will keep his eyes closed. He promises.

“Okay. Just… just give me a few minutes.”

Stanley waits.

He slouches where he stands. Lets his head drop a bit, leans against the divider. Silence creeps in around him, which makes him a little nervous, but he was warned and he made a promise. The narrator is not going to leave him. He wouldn’t. He knows how it makes both of them feel.

So Stanley waits. And waits.

[PART 2 TOMORROW]

#The Sparrow Parable #May writes #the stanley parable #tspud #tsp

[themarginalthinker]

RPM

(Prompt for @ria-coolgirl, who suggested a sleepover with the boys listening to cheesy pop music! Sorry if this kinda got away from that, but hopefully you'll think it's cute lol)

Paul likes music, and wants something to keep him and everyone occupied. He decides to hit up his favorite record store.

-

Call him crazy, call him a tippy-tapping fool, but if ever one was to meet Paul Harris meandering down the Boardwalk, you'd almost have to call it dancing.

Always a tune in his head, always something playing that only he could hear the melody of. Paul danced to the beat of his own drums, and it was some damn good music if he did say so.

Such wandering, feeling the rhythm, took him lots of places. Little pop-up stores that happened over the summer months, here and gone again for the warm nights. Markets and art fairs that stayed active after sunset were fun, Marko liked those. Sometimes he'd mosey into a shop just following an idle thought, see what was about, and under the stares of the clerks (who tried their best to pretend they weren't staring) he'd make his way back out. Usually with something tucked into his jacket or pocket they weren't aware of. (Hey, you can't leave a store without getting something, that was just stupid.)

Tonight, the music in Paul's head was quiet, and disorganized, like a radio you just couldn't get to pick up a signal. It needed tuning - and he needed something to sink his (metaphorical this time) teeth into.

Streetlight Records, his haven away from haven.

Tucked neatly between two much larger buildings, the door for it almost hidden away just around the corner and in an alcove, one might have almost walked right past it. The doorway, however, was lit with garlands of twinkling lights they put out in the summer, and the base of something was humming out into the street, advertising for all who wished to open their eyes and ears, and take a chance.

Paul slips into to the doorway.

The shop was longer than it was wide, and it wasn't a whole lot of that to begin with. Along the left wall and down the straight middle isle, starting basically at the door so close you'd bump into it if you weren't careful, shelves upon shelves of LPs and EPs. Bins filled, racks a mash and collection that a vinyl dragon would go green with envy over. Some were arranged by year, others by genera. Artists' faces in posters and their album art, if they were popular enough, hung from the light strands wound around the ceiling and support beams. Under those were cases of cassettes, displays for tape recorders and the empty tapes to go with them.

The right side was a little less packed, but no less interesting. The glass case under the counter top and register boasted more gift-shoppy material, for those who only knew what played on the radio and when confronted with the font of auditory wonders before them, chose to stay in shallower waters. Racks of post cards, books of music history for the well-listened eggheads, more expensive maintenance tools for people's instruments.

And speaking of, further in the back sat displays of sound equipment for bands. Paul had spent more hours than he could reliably remember giving the old Fender some much-needed love and attention, here with lights and amps where it's rich, rolling sounds could be appreciated.

The place was a feast for anyone looking to discover something about themselves, and Paul was never satiated.

Paul slips past the immediate shelves to get to the front register, hands finding the glass surface and beginning to tap along to the muted cacophony in his head. It was deserted for the moment, but you didn't need supernatural senses to smell that someone had been here not too long ago, partaking in something that made the music sound even better. Paul leans over the desk and eyes the thick, beaded curtain that lead to the back rooms.

"Hey Randy! If you don't come out here someone's gonna come in and steal your signed Grateful Dead shirt!"

Indeed, said shirt was hanging up, proudly displayed on the wall behind the counter. It was a much prized possession - and in some real amount of danger from some fingers more sticky than not. It was also a surefire way to get the attention of a certain shop owner.

There's some sounds from behind the curtain, shuffling and maybe something falling over as someone jumped up, either at the threat or the owner of the voice issuing it. Paul hears the shout back before he can actually make out the words. If there were words being said at all.

Judging from the practically-visible cloud that follows the man who emerges from behind the curtain, it's more likely the latter.

Randy's and older dude, not 'old' but certainly a decade and a half Paul's (visible) elder. His hair is crow black, shoulder length and wavy, held back with a tie and a wrapped, psychedelic bandana. His eyes are blown to space, he's got a red press mark on his face, clearly the picture of a man getting ready to close up for the night and getting the evening come-down started a little early.

He'd probably known who had come in from the shout, but seeing him at the counter changes something in his face. How his back straightens. Eyes dart to the doorway, and then into the depths of the store. Looking for people who follow like ghosts in each other's wake.

His shoulders only relax a little when he finds it's only Paul, still looking at him expectantly. His half-smile could simply be the weed, and being tired. Paul lets it be.

"The man of the hour," Paul says, holding out a hand.

Randy huffs a laugh, and reaches out to take it, grasping it and pulling it in to touch forearms. To his credit, he no longer reacts to the cool skin as it touches him. One too many smokes - or maybe one too many touches with something like Paul to bother reacting.

"Yeah, sure. Only for you."

Paul takes his hand back and places it on his chest. "I consider it the highest honor, dude."

Randy nods a little.

These were words exchanged back and forth easily enough. Informal formalities, but a certain script maintained all the same. Like the glass counter between them. Crystal clear, but a barrier.

The shopkeep shrugs, and leans on his elbow. "Well, you got me here. What's up?"

Paul keeps drumming his fingers on the counter. A pattern only he can make sense of.

"Well, believe it or not, I'm actually not here for anything in particular," Paul says. "I'm uh. Actually looking for something along the lines of. New."

Randy blinks, cocking his head a little. "New?"

"Ya."

Believe it or not, immortality came with downsides. Well. Maybe not downsides so much as reoccurring stumbles. One of which being that the 'new' turned into 'old' faster than one would think, and even for someone who could listen to the same song on repeat for a whole day, there was a whole world of new things being made. New songs, new artists, new sounds. Collecting them to preserve perfectly forever like all the trinkets of the past stored in the cave. Immortal memory.

Randy however, looked over Paul like he'd started growing a second head. However, he knew better than to quibble. The script had run out, and Paul was looking at him expectantly. He was the expert in these things, and his customer had asked for goods.

"Well, we do got some stuff here, towards the front-"

Paul knew what Randy was pointing out, but he shakes his head. The silver bangles Marko had threaded into his hair shake with a metallic clicking, his blade of his earring glinting in the low lights. Randy stops mid-sentence, not about to waste Paul's time on the air it took to make the words. He knew better.

"Nah, man, I don't mean like, new releases. I mean just. Like. New. Somethin' different."

Something to scratch the constant itch of eternal stagnation amidst constant, unstoppable change.

Randy is silent, looking at him. There isn't much of a semblance of the polite, sleepy smile he'd been wearing earlier. Paul keeps looking right back at him, fingers drumming, drumming, drumming away at the counter. Nails clicking against the glass. Dragging.

It's only when Paul moves, shifting from one foot to the other, in a fidget, that Randy comes back into motion.

"Right. Sure. Okay, yeah, I just- hang on."

Paul nods a couple times, a little 'sure' thrown in as well as Randy moves off with maybe a little too much pep in his step, especially considering it's back behind the curtain and into another room. Where Paul's relaxed stare isn't on him the whole time.

There's the sound of boxes being moved, the clack of plastic cases - ans to ears more sensitive, dark mutterings. Paul pretends it's the rattling of the old water pipes along the ceiling.

He reaches over, to one side of the counter, and snatches up a couple jacket patches from the bins left out for sale. Marko had mentioned wanting to potentially start a new jacket project soon. Paul tucks them into his pocket.

Randy comes back after a few minutes. In his hands is a box, and in that box is a mess of things. A couple records, their sleeves looking a little battered, more than a few cassette tapes that looked much more recent, though one had a cracked case.

Paul reaches forward before Randy can say anything and pulls out something from the lot - a magazine, and from the provided pouch in the back of it, a small disc.

"Oh, I love Flexis!" Paul says, grin wide. "They're not making them much anymore."

He holds up the small, colorful record disk, and Randy's shoulders relax a little. He'd pleased the beast.

"There's not a whole lot, I think they only ran that edition with the Flexi for a while, but I had it kinda lying around, so."

Paul snorts. "What, you're using this to pawn your junk off on me, man?"

He flicks a finger at the box, tapping it rather harshly. Randy, again to his credit, doesn't flinch. But from the twitch under his eye, it's a near thing.

Paul grabs the box from him before he can try to say anything else. "I'm joshing you, dude. Jeez. You need some stronger stuff if you're this wound up. You know I'll take anything. You got good taste."

Randy lets Paul take the box from him, fingertips meeting for only a second. Paul's nails are sharp against his skin.

Paul tucks his prize under one arm. With his other, he digs into some pocket or another in his coat. From it, he produces a set of bills. He slaps them down on the countertop.

"You're a pal, Ran-the-man. Catch ya next week!"

Without waiting for Randy to open the till or count the money, or even a goodbye, Paul is already out the door. Barely a sound follows him, just the now empty store, playing its low background music under soft lighting.

When the man does blink out of his stupor, and counts the amount given to him for his motley collection of odds and ends, it's enough to make even his mouth go dry.

He doesn't ask, though. Never does. He simply straightens out the notes, and sets the stained paper in the drawer.

-

"Oh, I wanna dance with somebody! I wanna feel the heat with somebody!"

The music echoed in the main hall, the voices rising and falling with it perhaps not the most in-tune, but the enthusiasm was all that was really necessary.

David watches Star try to keep her smile down at Paul as he strikes a pose, singing into an invisible microphone, swaying her own head side to side with the melody. He lets himself smile with her.

Marko and Dwayne occupy the couch on either side of her, critiquing the performance.

"Good hip movement."

"You know, if he permed his hair, he might actually kinda look like Whitney."

"I vote eight point seven."

"No way, this is freestyle, tens across the board."

"No, there's always room for improvement."

The tall blond shimmies his way over to her, and Star can't help but let out the suppressed giggle at his exaggerated lip-syncing. She protests a fair bit as she's pulled up, and brought to the 'dance floor', her eyes flitting over to David who only raises an eyebrow, before Paul is pulling her in, spinning them around in a dance that doesn't exist and is made purely of the need to move and feel the music.

"Yeah, I wanna dance with somebody! With somebody who loves me!"

The tune in his step matching the music in his head, and all around him. Harmony.

#the lost boys #drabble #prompt #my fic #music #there was so much research for simple throw away lines lmao #on the other hand I learned a lot and might want to try looking into vinyls #it seems cool #Streetlight Records is a real place and it's in Santa Cruz! #some artistic liberties have been taken with its building description

[infoglitch]

The rose reaper and her shining dork knight: tunnel vision of love

(Yes this is a Lancaster post. Does this conflict with the fact I ship white knight. No. Because I wanna write something cute. So fuck you I'm doing this.

Very sorry for the horrible characterization. It's been a while since I've seen rwby. Anyway enjoy motherfuckers.)

Jaune was sitting in his dorm cleaning of crocea mors as Nora and ren had gone of to gods knows where. Leaving jaune on his bed humming to himself as he finished the cleaning process before grabbing the sheath and placing away his sword. Then the door bust opens as a groan was heard as none other than ruby rose walked in as her face was plastered with a look of exhaustion.

Jaune: hey crater face how you feeling.

Ruby walked to his bed before face planting on it as she let out a loud muffled yell.

Jaune: oh that's not good. Wanna talk about it.

Ruby looked at him as she nodded before jaune picked her up and placed her on the opposite end of the end of the bed.

Jaune: so what's the big thing.

Ruby: it's yang. Ever since her and Blake got all buzz buzz-

Jaune: buzz buzz? What's that supposed to mean.

Ruby: yang and blake had this combo attack I called bumblebee so now that their dating I've been calling their little moments buzz's.

Jaune: so it's just a joke referencing an old attack name. yeah now I see why yang always made puns. No offense rubes.

Ruby: none taken. But my point is. Now that their all buzz buzz and now that Salem's been taken down. Those two barely pay attention to anything else except each other.

Jaune: remember ruby their only a recent couple. Love can sometimes put people in a state of tunnel vision. To busy running to the one thing they want they cant see anything else. But now I ask why is this bugging you?

Ruby: ok so me, yang, Weiss, and Blake were chase down some grimm that were terrorizing a town and the grimm were obviously disorganized because ya know their queens dead. So it was easy right?

Jaune: and I know where this is going. Let me guess yang was being stupid and flirting with Blake. Causing atleast one grimm to good knock in. Right?

Ruby nodded profusely as jaune sighed before pulling ruby in and hugged her small frame.

Jaune: people tend to have tunnel vision when in love rubes. Remember how I was in beacon?

Ruby thought back to the old days of beacon before snickering as she remembered that one time jaune showed up to team rwbys dorm with a guitar all just to ask out Weiss.

Ruby: yeah you were pretty dumb back then. Not gonna lie I probably would've been left speechless if you did that for me.

Ruby looked at jaune with her silver eyes peering Into him with a soft gentle gaze.

Ruby: but I am happy for yang. Those two seem great together. Even if it's an pain in the butt to deal with them being dumb dumbs.

Jaune: that's just love rubes. That's just love.

The two stared at each other before pressing their foreheads together as they just stay there. Content with everything. Before a low growl could be heard from ruby's stomach as the two look down at her stomach before looking at each other.

Jaune: let's get something to eat. My treat.

Ruby: it better be vomit boy~.

Jaune: pfft. Ah shut it crater face.

(sorry this was so damn short I just wanted to make something because Im bored. And I felt like being basic. Anyway I'm gonna get put on a pike now because I'm pretty sure a few people are going to be hunting my head. See you all when I bring more garbage writing. to your front door.)

(god I stayed up way too late I can feel death getting ready to crawl up my spine and suck my- no. This ain't Wattpad.)

#rwby lancaster #lancaster #jaune arc #rwby #ruby x jaune #rose reaper and her dork knight.

[jmdbjk]

2022: it’s a wrap.

2022. It’s been real. Too real. Not exactly how I thought it would unfold. But it’s the end of December and now we know. 

THEY knew 2022 was THE year. Time was working against them because of Jin’s age. But shit happened in the world, in their country. Or I should say, shit DIDN’T happen that they perhaps expected or hoped.

There was no brand new BTS comeback album, but a compilation which was wonderful, rich and retrospective. Each of the members reflected on their “proof” and why they chose the songs they did for the album. 

They teased PROOF at the end of the last PTD concert in Las Vegas in April. They knew long before that how 2022 was gonna play out.

Even though they hinted at the end of 2021 that there might be a world tour, there was no new comeback album and no new world tour for it, but as it happened, they gave us a single, amazing one-off concert that was free to the entire world. Immediately it was fraught with controversy, negativity and disorganization. But they pulled it off spectacularly in grand BTS style. Bangtan Bangtanned. 

The Festa dinner in June truly revealed their turmoil. It was a hard year for them and they worked and fought so hard to make it as good as possible for us. It was so heartbreaking to see them struggling to tell us they were committed to staying together but they needed to step away from the group in order to work on themselves as artists and to find out who they were as people. 

We started getting their solo work in the form of Jack in the Box and Indigo and The Astronaut. The individual artistic growth is already amazing. We already see Joon resolving some of the internal conflicts he was facing this past summer. The more we see him during interviews the more he is smiling and looks happy. It’s a big relief.

We will never know how truly heartbroken and frustrated they were this year. They may never reveal the reasons why they hinted at a world tour that never happened. And all the other bullshit they went through, especially Jimin and his privacy breach and how that may have influenced changes. I am so sorry and sad they felt they had to make the decisions they did but Jimin said they did EVERYTHING the best they could, ALWAYS keeping ARMY in their minds and hearts.

Their military service has been announced and is now underway. It has been a very emotional month for us and the members, seeing Jin off to begin his enlistment obligation.

Yes, we all hoped beyond hope there would be a military exemption. But they really set it up so we could process it little by little so that by October, when they made the announcement, we were ready to accept it even though we were still hoping they had an out somewhere.

As the announcement says: “...it is a promise, there’s much more yet to come in the years ahead from BTS.”

Emotional rollercoaster for everyone is the best description of 2022.

We saw some changes as far as social media presence on their parts. As far as the guys are concerned, Twitter has mostly been abandoned for Instagram and Weverse. The Weverse platform had a total makeover this year. 

Jimin, who used to be the king of Twitter selcas a few years ago, dropped off the face of the social media universe for a while and is now posting on Weverse more than he visits his Instagram account. Jungkook continued his very erratic usage, wiping his entire Instagram at one point, “just because,” and starting over. He posted on Weverse for Jimin’s birthday, his first post there since July 2019 on that platform.

Hobi and Namjoon are our social media kings on Instagram now. Followed by Tae, Jin and Yoongi. Useless debate still rages TODAY on how significant their social media usage is, who they post pictures of, who they comment or like, what does it mean, if anything?

Now we look forward to 2023. 

A New Years custom in South Korea is to watch the sunrise on New Year’s day. Throngs of people go out in public places waiting for the sunrise. 

It is an optimistic way of greeting the new set of twelve months. A fresh new year, a new sun, a new day. We need all the optimism we can gather. Take a deep breath. This is a kumbaya moment! (lol).

2023 will bring new thrills for us as we look forward to new solo music and appearances and content. New documentaries, new Run BTS! So many rumors flying about tv dramas and collaborations. There is a lot in store for them and us in 2023.

However, it will all be severely tempered with each new heartbreak watching each one of them finally take that big step and enter the military for their service (assuming they all go in 2023).

We will probably see less and less interactions on social media, of course especially after they all enter the military. We should expect nothing for birthdays, anniversaries, holidays or when milestones are reached or awards achieved. We will have to get used to their silence on social. 

All we can do is support them the best way we can. And stick together and try not to create too much negativity among us. When it gets overwhelming, just step away for a while, there’s nothing wrong with that. Take time, think about why you love Jin, Yoongi, Hobi, Namjoon, Jimin, Jungkook and Taehyung.

We already know we get to start off with a brand new episode of Run BTS!

ANYWAY! Happy new year to you all and I hope everyone gets to start it on their best note. So bring it on 2023! FIGHTING!

#pep talk! #BTS fighting! ARMY fighting! #2022 wasn't quite 2020 too #but close #2022 don't let the door hit you in the ass when you leave #2023 i already know you're gonna be a motherfucker #jin will be back in 2024 #2025 will be the year of BTS #its not that far off #the pandemic started 3 years ago #in 2025 i will be army for almost 6 years #maybe jimin will send us a new years message #last year he drunk texted us at 5 a.m.

[theredtours]

-> https://www.tumblr.com/theredtours/746963474643615744/youre-doing-gods-work-as-usual-with-those-audio?source=share Does the obsessive swiftie hoarding disorder apply to pre-reputation content as well (not just the cds) ? cause some of that is either hard to find or wiped off the face of the earth. and happy early birthday btw, just had mine on the 4th (ok to post publicly)

Happy belated, my dear! I'm sorry I missed it! 💖

It absolutely does. I've been able to track down a lot more than I thought as of late--my internet archaeology levels up each morning, I swear! It's been a really fun (but infuriating) project gathering lost data. In terms of digital data, I mostly stick to videos and audio.

And this is the point at which I guess I should plug my side blog again (@swiftarchives) because everything I find video-wise ends up there. It's a little disorganized at the moment because I'm re-tagging everything and re-uploading videos I've found in better quality, but it's definitely worth a peek. For one thing, I managed to locate every single Instagram video posted before 2017. But, before people start saying, "Chloe, those are still on other peoples' Instagram," I'm gonna put a halt on that because some were INCREDIBLY hard to find (i.e. her rocking out at Coachella to Rihanna with the squad back in 2016).

Forever diggin'.

#I'm really blown away by the content I HAVE managed to find and am focusing on that rather than what's lost. #enchantedtv #ask #text

[thschei]

Well. I had a post typed up about my cat and then the tumblr app crashed and I lost everything I typed. So I'm going to try to retype it all and I'm not gonna be cranky about it ❤

I'm putting a read-more bc it'll get long and be more of a stream of conscious/disorganized ramble and discuss animal death/injuries, alcoholism, and familial abuse, so please don't feel like you need to read it, I'm just getting my thoughts out.

Hurhghughhghugh . yeah that's how I feel send post

No um let's see. I usually try to be more organized with these posts but I started writing this at 6 in the morning and my back really hurts, so sorry if it's disjointed and has any typos.

First of all, I debated making this joke but it's my grief and mental illness, so

Every time I try a new antidepressant something bad happens, and I felt especially wary because something bad also happens every birthday too. But I was out of refills, wanted to try something else, couldn't get in until Dec 27th, & felt silly putting it off for a superstition I don't fully believe in. All that said, when I got home and took my first lexapro at almost 5 in the morning, I hoped that it would make these next few weeks easier.

Anyway, it was around 11:30pm, and I wanted to go to bed but I was trying to stay up to spend more time with my pets. My 🅱ack still really hurts from petsitting, so I was on the heating pad with my glasses off.

My mom called for me using my name, not a nickname, which she only does when she's in pain or distressed. It took me a minute to find my glasses, so she called again, and that got my brother's attention bc again, hearing "Erin" = something's wrong.

I don't remember what she said, probably that there was something wrong with Buttercup. I followed her and immediately saw he had a bloody gash on his eye. When he saw my brother and I he started meowing and tried to walk, but his legs buckled. My brother scooped him up and took him into the bathroom to see where he was hurt. I noticed blood on his tail and on 3 of his legs, but couldn't see where he was bleeding from.

There's really not enough room in our bathroom for 3 people and a big cat, so my mom started calling emergency vets while I got the cat carrier ready with a clean towel.

My brother wanted to grab gloves as a precaution before putting Buttercup in the carrier in case he got defensive and asked me to watch him while he left. I sat down next to him and he meowed to me, panting, and pressed his head into my leg for comfort. I petted his head and told him it'd be okay. I didn't think it was going to be okay.

I changed into a warmer shirt and brushed my hair, my brother and I took turns using the bathroom. We each grabbed a water bottle and headed out.

My brother knows my 🅱ack hurts, so he asked if I was sure about holding the cat carrier the whole time. I really didn't think we would be bringing Buttercup home, so I said yes. I didn't want the jostling of the car to scare and hurt him more than necessary, especially after he was seeking comfort in the bathroom. My brother could, um, drive fast, and I could hold the carrier as still as possible and stick my fingers in the gaps of the bars. He would be scared and in pain, but cats are smart; he would be able to understand he was being cared for.

The entire car ride, he cried frantically and pushed his head into my hand through the cage. I meowed to him and told him it was okay and I was sorry he was in pain. The closest emergency vet was an hour away and we had to stop for gas. My 🅱ack was definitely aching but I think it was worth it.

We got there and everyone was very nice and attentive and quick. They called Buttercup handsome and quickly gave him a painkiller. After 10 minutes he was still hyperventilating and they were concerned about his oxygen intake, so they took him into a little transparent cubby they could filter oxygen into. At one point I heard a tech mutter that his oxygen stat couldn't be "that"; he'd be in a coma if it was. He took the reading again and said that it made more sense. I can't really know for sure this is the case, but I know from experience both with my mom's time in healthcare and previous pets that animals can hold onto survival out of sheer will and stubbornness no matter how impossible it seems.

It was difficult to watch him struggle to breathe. I could tell he was still meowing for us. I wanted to ask them to give him another dose or possibly just sedate him, but I knew that it would suppress his respiratory system further (hospice babey), so I tried to just bear watching him suffer without being able to comfort him.

An hour later they gave him another dose and quickly did an ultrasound and xrays. They explained the respiratory system thing I just mentioned and that that was why they were hesitant to give him more, but they did give him another dose soon after that because he was still so agitated. After a few minutes we noticed that his breathing stopped. They started CPR and I wanted to ask them to stop, but my brother had gone to the bathroom and I didn't want to exclude him from the decision. He got back, we made eye contact, and we both asked them to stop doing CPR. It had been 8 minutes.

They told us they were really sorry for our loss and explained what the xrays and ultrasound revealed. He had no fractured bones, but there was a hernia in his chest, his heart had moved away from the surface of his chest cavity, and either his lungs or diaphragm were punctured because there was a lot of air in his chest, causing pressure/pain in the chest and difficulty breathing.

They didn't really need to come out and say it: even if his heart hadn't stopped, the internal damage was so severe that there wouldn't have been anything they could do to save him. We knew that was most likely the case even before the tests, we just couldn't let him suffer and die at home in that much pain.

Because of the gash on his eye and the punctured organs, they thought it was more likely to be a big bird that picked him up and dropped him when he started struggling than a car impact.

They wrapped him in a red blanket and took us to a private room where we could say goodbye. I held him, kissed his head, held his paws, and cried with my brother. We called our mom to tell her and she cried with us. She told us that my dad's sister offered to pay the bill, and I wanted to say that she (my aunt) could go to hell, but we really aren't in the financial position to refuse. So I didn't say anything ❤ And she texted my aunt's payment info to my brother.

I don't want to fully get into our relationship with her but as of writing this, my dad's sister is already emotionally blackmailing us. And that's the least abusive behavior from the people in my family I don't speak with anymore ❤

Anyway

I tried to process and piece together what all the test results meant. He was most likely picked up by a big bird and then dropped from a pretty decent height, causing severe pain and internal damage. Either he was dropped in our yard and didn't have to go far, or he was dropped far away and managed to hop the fence to get back into the yard despite his injuries. Once there, he cried for help and comfort from his trusted humans. Despite the pain and lack of oxygen most likely making him delirious, he didn't get defensive at all, completely trusting us. He didn't even hiss.

Cats are notorious for finding a quiet place to hide when they're injured, especially if the injuries are lethal. None of my cats have ever done that; a testament to the mutual love and trust we're able to build with them.

We spent a little more time with him and then made the cremation arrangements and payment. We almost forgot the cat carrier in our... state. It was late and we'd been crying a lot.

When we got home we all tried to make lighthearted conversation, but ended up all crying anyway. My mom apologized and said she knew he was "my" cat, but she still loved him a lot. I told her she didn't need to be sorry and that I was glad that he was loved by all of us.

We got Buttercup for my 21st birthday.

Alcoholism and abuse is prevalent in my family, to put it lightly, and people kept pressuring me to go out and drink for my birthday. I didn't want to have to share my childhood trauma to get people to leave me alone about drinking. I was, like, possessed with terror that I'd try one drink and then either spend the rest of my life burning for alcohol, or give in and become one of the monsters in the family. My brother could tell this was really weighing on me and suggested we adopt a cat for my birthday. In 2017 our 24 year old cat died, and in 2018 our 21 year old cat died, so I was still grieving them and we had the room. He said he'd never seen my eyes light up so quickly as when he made the suggestion. I think what he left unsaid was he didn't realize that all it would take to make me look less haunted would be to suggest taking in a new cat.

It sounds cheesy, but I think to me, taking in a new pet for my 21st birthday was a physical reminder that I wasn't doomed to repeat the same cycle found in my family. My future was mine to decide, and I could make it one where I put love and kindness into the universe. Being 21 didn't have to mean living in fear of hurting children the way I was hurt.

I had every intention of walking into the shelter and taking home the oldest cat there. But I saw Buttercup and just felt a connection. He was around 12 weeks old and the cutest creamy orange color. His ears and paws were too big for the rest of his body. He looked lonely and scared. I circled the shelter multiple times until both my brother and one of the staff gently said it was okay if I wanted to take a kitten home.

My brother's more of a dog person, but when we got Buttercup, he started really trying to research and understand cats, and I could see it in his eyes how happy he was that Buttercup saw him as a paternal figure and not just me. He was worried about Buttercup being too young to eat real cat food, he wanted to help potty train him. He started carrying Buttercup around on his shoulder and showing him parts of the house he was curious about. I had a migraine the day Buttercup was scheduled to be spayed and my brother said he could do it on his own. He spent the whole day checking in on him and nervously asked me if this or that was normal, when his appetite would return, when the anesthesia would wear off.

This was a turning point for my brother. Usually every time we took in a new cat, I was the one socializing them and helping them adjust to the house. This enthusiasm and love for Buttercup made my brother start putting in effort to bond with all our cats too. It was really sweet to watch unfold.

When we got Buttercup, my mom was working a grueling job really far away, so she had to get up at 5AM for the commute and sometimes didn't get home until 9PM. She almost always had to go straight to sleep, had no time for herself, and felt very depressed because of this job. So for the first year that we had Buttercup, he barely saw her and was quite shy around her.

After she was able to find a different job, she had more time and was much less depressed. She made it her mission to become Buttercup's friend, and within a few months he became her morning buddy. Suddenly he was knocking her eyeliner out of her hand so her hand was free to pet him, and he had gotten over his fear of the sound of running water because he wanted to stay in the bathroom while she showered. My mom stopped dreading mornings because she could look forward to spending them with Buttercup.

So... there's a lot I could say about my "family", defined as people who I'm related to by blood. But I'm not in the right mental space or time-frame to talk about it without saying things I can't take back. But I've cut contact with a lot of the people I share DNA with, and the only ones who I consider to be my "family" are my mom, two brothers, and one cousin. (My dad is dead, for the record, he didn't do anything heinous; he's just in an urn). In this small family of mine, our greatest strength is that we have an endless well of love for all living creatures.

So I don't want my mom or brother to feel guilty for being heartbroken. We loved that cat together; we made him feel wanted and cared for and loved. So we can mourn him together too. There's no hierarchy here.

#erin talks #text #first time being this emotionally vulnerable on this blog lol #the tone of this started like 😃🔪 but became 🥰 . what catharsis will do for a motherfucker

[youngster-monster]

I KNOW THAT THE DISCORD WIPS ARE A TRAVESTY BUT PRIOR TO THAT THE LAST TIME I OPENED A GOOGLE DOC WAS IN LIKE 2018 TO MAKE AN OC SHEET THAT AMOUNTED TO 100 WORDS AT THE VERY MOST!!!! I DID NOT REALIZE GOOGLE DOCS WAS EVEN AN OPTION I JUST USED IT FOR MY BAD CHARACTER SHEETS

also i cant in good conscience act like the discord wips were ancient history... it is with Shame that i kneel before your askbox and admit that it was in 2020 until like late 2021... after that i realized i could use google docs and now i swear on my life that my fics are organized i SWEAR

ive been hibernating since february (last fic completed let alone worked on Properly) so i am more skeletal than rotted at this point but surely . surely it will come back to me and i will go crazy again

LITERALLY IT IS SO DIFFICULT INTRODUCING CHARACTERS i tried to write oc content recently and it went so bad that i couldnt even stomach the idea of it anymore it is so DIFFICULT but fanfic? fanfic is so much Simpler in my brain. in terms of work i mean because at the point that im writing fanfic about something ive already gone so deep into the lore that i could name 8 niche quest npcs and their full backstory + all of my headcanons in the form of 300 very lengthy discord messages

oh my god. sorry but midway through this ask i just remembered that i still have something of a discord wip channel in use right now, but its not for full works and it IS for snippets. sometimes i have these little ideas in my head but theyre not good enough for a full fic so i just jot em down in a discord channel for (hopefully) later use.... the discord wips will never die

real talk? what you said about any finished work being an accomplishment makes me feel alot better about how irregular my fics are because i end up feeling guilty about how by the time my writers block is over, the fandoms are completely different .. and to be honest when you stop thinking about it it IS kind of funny because theres a. wow fanfiction and b. anime fanfiction. i wonder sometimes if people go to my page and have an aneurysm looking at the fandom list

WII RP???????? WII RP???????????? i wasnt allowed to do really anything with our wii because i was really REALLY young so perhaps this is only insane to me because i never did anything except use the wii to watch pucca in 240p but ON THE WII??????????????????

im going to be wojack pointing at the m3:r wip until the end of time and you can count on that, these two dead elves (and particularly how you write them!!!) have carved themselves into my brain and they refuse to pay rent

2021..... damn bitch you live like this!!

7 months of hibernation... you're getting preserved in a bog it's Fine. I spent a whole year writing Nothing, just rotting mostly, and now look at me ( < not normal) (writing though!)

Fanfics are so easy... and you get other people to bounce stuff off of too like if I crave content I can go yell to my friends about it. For OCs you need Context.... Lore..... who has the time!!! I mean I do I am a known oc enjoyer but still. What work

I do also have the snippet channel. And the snippet notes app. And the snippet google docs. And the snippet paper scraps. And– yeah okay I've escaped the indignity of discord wips but not that of Disorganized WIPs

I'm glad it helped! There's no such thing as 'moving on' for a fandom!!! I know anime fandoms tend to be fast moving but if you let your wip age some more you too can become 'the only person still writing this ship', and profit 😈

Listen. My parents could ground me from using my PC. They could take my DS. But by god they couldn't take away ALL the screens and if I had to point and click my way through writing a post about my sparklewolf daughter of hades then I WOULD. And did!! My wrist will never forgive me

#Asks #Anonymous #Love it when fic authors have wildly different fandoms #'final fantasy' 'baseball rpf' what. Okay. #Shaking Kael. Start paying rent richboy #It's good that you like my characterization of them because Christ alive I don't think it's in character anymore

[wolfsbane-if]

THAT UPDAAAAAAATE!!!

SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER FOUR JUST IN CASE ANYONE SCROLLS BY THIS BUT HASN'T GOTTEN A CHANCE TO READ THIS CHAPTER!!!!

I chose to make my MC childhood friends with Garamond (my first option for a playthrough every update before I try the others because that route is my favorite - second being weredad - but I absolutely love the little bits of text we get with the other options), then had him turn MC, and that line you get referencing back to how MC wondered when they would become a werewolf really added to the scene.

I am curious though how MC's mom would react. My MC suggested visiting home when everything was over and just the thought of trying to explain to mom how her child suddenly grew somewhere from a couple inches to a couple feet and is significantly harrier than the last time they visited is both hilarious and terrifying 🤣

(...Though I feel it might be harder to explain if her child's skin had grown pale and cold, their heart had stopped beating...I don't even know if vampires can eat, so they probably wouldn't even be able to enjoy her roast anymore 😢...I'm suddenly a lot more sure of choosing to make the childhood friend MC a werewolf...)

I can't wait to see Pamina, Cal, and Katja again! And I especially can't wait to see their reactions! I do hope Pamina won't blame herself though, I would feel terrible if she did.

Not even going to bring up Maverick's uncle because I'm sure I'd be going on a full on rant if I did 😤 but, yeah, definitely looking forward to the next update!

(I've finally managed to work up the courage to post something. It's super early in the morning, like 4 AM, (yes, I did play this all night and I regret nothing) but I had to comment about this before I went to bed. Sorry if it's a bit disorganized or a little all over the place, and I probably didn't really get my point across, but I guess what I'm trying to say is great work as always and I'm excited to see what's next!)

Oh gosh, thank you so much! I'm so happy that you enjoyed the update and I really appreciate you taking the time and working up the courage to share your thoughts! I absolutely love getting to see people's excited reactions the events of the game like this, structured or not, and it means a lot to know that the game resonated with you to a point where you felt compelled to reach out :D

I'm very glad that the tiny changes in text depending on the chosen backstory aren't going unnoticed; I love trying to make little callbacks where I can and I felt it made sense that the MC's mind would reflect on that moment given the circumstances. I'd also like to go back and add some more bits of unique text for the other backgrounds sometime, too

And it's a good thing to be curious about, I think! You're definitely correct that the MC turning and the resulting changes to their appearance have the potential to interfere with visiting family again, and it's even something that can be mentioned in-game in the vampire route given the physical changes are, like you said, much more obvious and drastic

(You're also correct that vampires can't eat regular food, so sadly that means no more home-cooked meals for them; but on the plus side, at least the traveling rations will last longer? If you feel like being an optimist haha)

Werewolves on the other hand at least have the advantage of still being able to pass for humans in most cases, and clothing can be used to hide the additional bulk and hair; but anyone who's familiar with the MC's appearance already will probably still be able to notice a difference. The change to height is only a couple of inches, though, so you don't have to worry about suddenly towering over everyone. I've commented before about werewolves generally being quite tall but that only applies to born lycanthropes, and they grow into it naturally overtime much like a tall human would

While the MC can only speculate on what their family's reaction to their change would be, I can say that: 1) none of the living family members have done anything to this point to indicate they would readily embrace the MC's status as a supernatural, and 2) the mother from the childhood friends backstory has the strongest relationship with the MC, so if anyone would accept the change, it would be her; while the family business backstory Wolfsbane parents are the least likely to be accepting (and indeed the MC can say as much)

As for Pamina and company's reactions... we'll have to wait and see haha. The MC can at least be confident that Pamina is far more accustomed to the supernatural than most, but it's still no small thing

And the dislike towards Isidore Rosenway is certainly understandable lol, even if he does genuinely believe himself to be doing the right thing (depending on your choices to that point, at least)

It was fun to get to discuss some of these things! I think you were perfectly coherent and your enthusiasm brought a big smile to my face and really brightened my day! Thank you again for the message, and I hope you get some good sleep 🧡

#leftski answers #wolfsbane spoilers #Gary just needs to invest in a pair of platform boots and then the MC will still appear to be the same height relative to them #foolproof #also sorry it took so long to reply D; #still working my way through the inbox flood but I'm getting there! #wolfsbane worldbuilding

[baltears]

hello spookyshai!! its cool if u dont want to, but i was wonderin if you'd elaborate on what you like about william? i just like thinking about/mentally rewriting westworld and its characters in my free time, and your fascination with william's got me fascinated, mostly bc i see him as a stinky bastard. so obvs you'd definitely have a more nuanced take on him, which i'd also like to develop for the imaginary westworld rewrite fic that i'm never going to write ;)) regardless if u answer or not, just wanted to say i'm a fan of your blog and i hope you're havin a good day!!

omg so first of all thank you so so much for sending this, especially asking unprompted about a character you don't even like and giving me a chance to explain my feelings about him which is just incredibly cool of you. i love and am obsessed with william so giving me any excuse to talk about him at length is like gifting me $1000. if you want to know more about my meta thoughts about him after reading this, (I'm gonna talk A Lot – sorry – but i can't possibly get through everything because he's just a very complicated guy and it's a very dense show), you can always look in my william tag. I have a lot of text posts about him, but I also often talk a lot in the tags of my own posts as well as reblogs. This is gonna be a lot of totally disorganized and unedited infodumping of a lot of different meta, but i've talked about all of it at length elsewhere too and I can also totally elaborate more if you have any specific questions (you could send another ask if you wanted, but also feel free to just message me about it anytime). I'll do my best not to get too emotional (lol) but it'll be tough because this character is so close to my heart. but I'll try!

this is a huge wall of text lol so i'll also be adding more bold and italics than i normally would just to make it a little easier to read.

so first of all let's be clear, he completely is a stinky bastard. he is a horrible, awful, faithless, pathetic specimen of a man. not liking him is totally justified. just wanted to get that out of the way. personally I think not liking anything for any reason is totally valid and justified, but there are certainly good reasons why a lot of people don't like william. he is not a good dude, at least not after a certain point. No one is obligated to relate to him, empathize with him, feel bad for him, whatever... like, no one's obligated to like anything, but especially this guy. sometimes people can get a little shirty about the fact that i do, like me liking him means i think they have to. I don't think that. I do love finding other william stans, and i am very unapologetic and open about my love for him, but him being widely hated makes complete sense to me.

sigh like why i love him so much though… it's kind of hard to even put into words. on one level it's just extremely personal, like, there are a lot of things about him that i really resonate with and identify with, although I know that sounds weird (it's definitely gotten some very shocked reactions before, lol). i'm a villain liker in general, i tend to be able to relate to those types of characters easily and it kind of takes a lot for me to really dislike one on a personal level (though that's true of any sort of character, i just tend to like the majority of the characters in any work that i genuinely enjoy regardless of how shitty they are – to me the only truly bad thing a character can be is annoying, like, the kind of annoying where you just want them off your screen). Characters being any degree of evil or shitty or problematic doesn't bug me at all, personally, I tend to feel no deep internal urge to have them 'held accountable' for the things they do, unless they exist in a narrative that genuinely doesn't seem to understand that they are in the wrong, which does irritate me when it happens. But anyway, I don't want to get too oversharey but there's definitely a very high level of just personal resonance to the character for me in terms of the kinds of conflicts he has, the things he struggles with, the dominant emotions of his life, etc. so that's part of it. also though he's just… a very complex and beautifully constructed piece of character work, so I also love him just on a technical level as a writer.

He has such incredible significance in the story too, being the thematic representative of humanity, both to dolores and to the wider narrative – his capabilities for good and evil are humanity's capabilities for good and evil, right. Dolores' opinion of humanity and feelings towards humanity are very colored by her opinion of him and her feelings towards him, and thematically their relationship is sort of a microcosm of the broader relationship between hosts and humanity and very much a central piece of the narrative. Even when it's out of direct focus it's being constantly referenced and pointed back to, such as with the caleb storyline in season 3 – caleb himself is basically one big callback to william in s3, parallels out the wazoo, and his function of turning around dolores' opinion on humans is very much related to him reminding her of william – hence why her storyline in season 3 ends with her remarking on how her memories of william as a young man indicate to her that humanity is capable of goodness, because caleb's capacity to choose echoes william's capacity to choose, caleb's goodness echoes william's goodness, it all goes back to that, etc.

So… I guess I'll just jump in lol. William's Thing, the fulcrum of his character, the main feeling or sentiment that underlies all of his evil actions and kind of his general turn away from the kind and gentle person he used to be, is alienation, right. He lives his whole life (as he tells dolores in 1x07) not fitting in anywhere, not making connections anywhere, not having any sort of community or any experience with love or companionship of any kind… he's just been totally alone and alienated his entire life. like, the closest thing he had to a friend was logan, and he hates logan. I think this is the major thing people miss about him – there's this perception that his turning evil was out of some form of entitlement, that he was just angry that this woman he liked didn't like him back and it's just an issue of wounded masculinity, but to me that completely misses the mark. Like yes wounded masculinity is a piece of his character (the way he performs and weaponizes masculinity in general is… really fascinating, I'll go into a bit more detail about it, but the kind of showy machismo that he displays is definitely a tool that he intentionally developed for his own use rather than a really integral part of who he is) but it's not at all the core emotion happening there.

To William, Dolores was not only a person he was in love with or a person he was attracted to. She was also his first and only genuine human connection ever. She was his first true friend, she was his first love, she was the first suggestion anywhere in his life that it was even possible at all for him to experience a sort of deep mutual understanding and care, that somebody could actually genuinely see him and let him see them. He literally just had not ever experienced any level of real emotional intimacy before, which is a feeling i actually think a lot of people relate to if they grew up feeling very lonely. And then ultimately not only was that relationship taken away, but it was kind of retroactively deleted. When he saw her again back in sweetwater, his thought was not, "i don't have this relationship anymore," but "i never had this relationship," and further, "the single person i've ever thought i could have this kind of relationship with is actually not capable of having any kind of relationship with anyone, including me, and i literally just made all of this up in my head." After losing Dolores he is not just sad and lonely – he literally comes to the conclusion that he can never have any kind of intimate human connection or be genuinely loved, ever, because the one person in his entire life he thought he connected with is not even a person at all, but just a thing. It's very much a rug pull moment on a level that's hard to describe, it kind of takes some thought-experimenting to get to that emotional place because it's a level of shock and hurt and betrayal and like, paradigm-shifting that most of us don't regularly experience (which I think might be part of the reason why a lot of people don't seem to really understand his character or be able to parse what's going on with him emotionally). Suffice it to say it's a wound deep enough that he was pretty much never going to recover from it.

After that happens he is completely destabilized, he loses all sense of meaning and self, and he never gets a grip on it again. He had totally reconstructed his idea of his life to include the genuine possibility of meaning, and meaningful relationships, when he met Dolores. And with the loss of her, all of that suddenly went away and he basically was just left with nothing. So that alienation that he grew up with is now not just a part of his life, not just a thing that he suffers from, but he starts to feel that it's inherent to him and that it comes from him, which is partly why we start getting all the anti-social behavior he displays later in life. He develops and kind of fosters that lack of empathy in himself not because he's truly incapable of empathy (as we see when he's a young man and at a couple of later points here and there, he is in fact very capable of it) but because he feels fundamentally cut off from other people – he can't reach them and they can't reach him.

So that fundamental sense of alienation is really what informs 90% of the things he does after that point. He starts building this persona, inside and outside the park. The real world feels meaningless to him at this point because the only hint of meaning he's ever had in his life was in the park, so he buys the park, and simultaneously starts trying to "win" at life in the real world like he would in the park. The real world honestly doesn't feel any more real to him than the park does, he just knows rationally that it's different and so he behaves differently outside the park… he builds all this wealth and power for himself, he becomes a famous philanthropist. Inside the park he starts creating this character for himself, this sort of hyper-masculine, hyper-competent, totally emotionally composed, merciless, badass villain. And he makes a very concerted effort to stay in this persona as often as he can.

It's all a performance, though, right. As early as 1x05 we have Ford pointing out (to his face! legend) that his barely-hidden desperation to find meaning in the park is giving the game away. In that flashback near the end of 2x02 we get a glimpse of what's underneath, because he's performing this cold, heartless persona in front of Dolores literally while his voice is shaking because he's having to try hard not to start crying as he's talking to her. Deep down he is still very wounded, he still loves her, he still desperately wishes deep down (as jimmi simpson explained) for her to just tell him that all of it was real, for her to be real and truly be a person the way he thought she was. When he's an older man that wish is still in there, it's just been buried very deep, covered up with a lot of other things, twisted. But it's always there, it's his most closely held desire, the only thing he truly wants, and it comes out all the time in the things he does. All his tormenting of dolores, and especially his desire to make the park "real" in order to find meaning – that's that. That sense of deep confusion that's always there in his character too, the constant inner monologue of "who am I, what does this mean, does anything mean anything, what is real or not real, what is going on," that's that too, that's his destabilized sense of self and reality and meaning that came out of losing Dolores. And by this point he has also come to feel, as he says in 2x09 to his wife, that there is something very fundamentally wrong with him, in a way that's kind of at odds with how we as the audience have historically understood him.

The thing is, we saw him be a kind, loving, gentle, thoughtful person. He certainly was not perfect, for instance his later narcissism started out as a sort of basic self-centeredness, but he was a fundamentally good-hearted person who put most of his energy into trying to do the right thing. But he starts saying that he feels like that wasn't the real him, that he thinks deep down he was evil and poisonous all along, that his turn to darkness was inevitable, and that there's a sort of helplessness to his evil. There's this deep sense of shame that permeates his character along with his loneliness and alienation and resentment. He hates everything, he hates the world, but above all he hates himself – kind of amusing considering the god complex he's developed over time. But that really does seem to be the underlying emotion, that he truly thinks that deep down he was always bad. It's very heavily implied that his philanthropy outside the park and his attention to his family, his kind of good-guy persona, is something that he constructed to try and make up for his true nature, and all but stated that he doesn't feel like he's succeeded. To him, no amount of good he does will ever balance his level of evil, evil that as he says doesn't come from anything he's done but something deeper than that, something immutable, something he is. So that's why we eventually have him getting to the point of going "I might as well not bother with this anymore. I might as well just be evil, because I can't change what I am."

I've also said in other posts that the things Juliet says to him come off as obviously abusive. Like, she's technically correct that there's some sinister things going on with his private life, but listen to how she says it. You're a virus, not a person, a thing that mindlessly infects and destroys and has no other purpose. And he agrees with her! He doesn't question it at all, he just says, yes, you're exactly right, I'm not a human being with good and bad attributes, or potential to do both right and wrong. I'm a virus. Like, again, I know people get weird about having empathy for villain characters, there's the whole "cool motive, still murder," thing, because we don't want to be excusing anyone's bad actions with a sad backstory (personally I don't really care, but I understand where the concern comes from). But when he said that to Juliet it just… like I don't know how else to put it, it broke my heart. He really believes that about himself. And later he starts to question it because he's not sure anymore if he actually chose to do any of the things he did… but the way his hallucination of Emily puts it, these are his two options: you are evil, or you had no choice. One or the other. He never puts aside the idea that he is a monster that does not deserve to live, and his suicidality persists from season one (when he encourages Dolores to shoot him in the head and reacts with honest disappointment when she can't) to the end of season four when he actually does manage to engineer his own death. He is deeply, agonizingly, pathetically miserable existing the way that he is, he seems to see his even being allowed to live at all as some sort of cosmic injustice. But he doesn't know how to change back to the way he was.

All that having happened, though, we also keep getting these repeated suggestions in the story that he actually is still capable of goodness somewhere in there. The narrative keeps asking what William is exactly, what his fundamental nature is, and keeps refusing to land on one answer, instead choosing to keep things ambiguous in a way that would be sort of odd for your garden variety villain. In 2x04 we see him experiencing regret, feeling empathy and pain on behalf of others, and acting genuinely heroic, only to later backtrack and say it didn't mean anything. In 2x09 Emily tells him he is in his essence "a lie" but makes no attempt to locate what the "truth" of him would then be. In 3x06 he tries to figure out the answer to what's going on with him again only to decide he still doesn't really know, in 3x08 we get this reminder that he still stands for Dolores as a representation of both humanity's evil and its goodness, in 4x05 when his host duplicate asks him what he is, he says "Jury's still out." He is too far down his current path to turn back, but he still does not and cannot definitively and finally choose evil, because despite his self-loathing it seems like he senses deep down that his other side is still in there. All that to say I think he's getting a redemption arc in season 5, if we get a season 5 – season 5 is supposed to be the do-over season, and the character who most desperately needs and could most benefit from a do-over is William.

Um, closing thoughts… I think he's really funny. Sometimes intentionally, like, I do laugh at his little quippy comments, but I also just think it's really funny how pathetic he is and what a mess he is and how he basically imploded his entire life on accident. I do feel a lot of very genuine care and empathy for him (obviously), but he's also such a garbage fire of a human being that you sometimes just have to laugh. He's just my funny little guy, also he sucks, also I love him and he's my lil angel, also he's the worst man ever in history and deserves to be drawn and quartered (said with love). You get it. :) There's dimensions.

Trying to think of other characterization notes for your imaginary fic… oh, did you notice he puts on an accent in the park? He does this fake Southern drawl when he's playing his park character, but it's not his real accent and he drops it at other times, kind of like how Dolores sometimes does or doesn't use her "rancher's daughter" accent when she's being Wyatt in season 2. Uh… Total nerd, at heart, seeing as "all he had as a kid were books." (I kind of suspect that childhood memory might not have been totally real, by the way… made a post about that recently that's a little ways down in my tag if you're interested.)

There are more things I could say, but I think I've probably gone on long enough for the one ask lol so I'll cut it off here. Thank you again, so much, for sending this. I hope you enjoyed and got something out of this response, but if not I still do very much appreciate you asking and being curious. I hope you had a great day too!

#westworld #his brain is a conference call #william westworld

[asterlizard]

UK trip summer 2019

(Argh! I’m sorry for the delay! I meant to finish this back in June, but I haven’t had much time to finally get around to it)

I haven’t been to the UK in 3 years, and while the feelings were admittedly mixed, because it involved a lot of cleaning up and donations of my grandparents’ items, I did get to have a bit of fun and do some new things on this trip.

Our flight would leave in the middle of the day, but we still had to wake up early so that we could arrive at the airport, do airport security, and get to our boarding gate in plenty of time.

This started off by waking up at around 7:00 in order to meet a Lyft driver (for a first time rideshare, Uber failed to find someone for us) who would take us to a bus stop, which would take us directly to the airport.

As we were arriving at SFO, I could have sworn I saw some beehives in a patch of grass between the weaving roads. However, researching it doesn’t seem to bring up anything. Hmm...

I was looking forward to eating pizza at the selection of restaurants before the security checkout, but unfortunately it was closed, and all of the other restaurants seemed to have been replaced. So the only thing that appealed to me then was Chinese food. It was pretty tasty though.

The entertainment on the flight was a little different than what I’m used to (then again I haven’t flown in a few years). They had more limited music options, and the only decade available was the 80s. I could also zoom in anywhere on the map, which is a horrible distraction for someone like me :P Also, the food was pretty tasty, especially the mango sorbet, which was the definite winner for me :P

Cool view of Alcatraz just before we flew past it

I witnessed an airplane halo, also known as a ‘glory’!

Since we travelled light, we didn’t have to wait to collect our luggage afterwards. We also breezed through the passport check, since we’re British citizens.

I like this mirror effect, but the distortion made it extra cool

At this point, it was 7 in the morning, and we had to meet up with a family friend who lives in London, where we would stay at overnight before progressing to our destination. Along the way I saw some students using the Tube to get to school (it was a school day after all). This was kinda interesting as someone who grew up in America and never had to wear a school uniform.

We actually had to meet our friend by walking from the nearest Tube station to her house (which is fine, I don’t mind walking! Especially after a 9 hour flight). Not long after we met up, she showed me this little fox sleeping outside her window (I don’t think I’ve ever seen one in person before!) It likes to do this when the sun is out. Unfortunately for it, it was sleeping next to a couple of squawking magpies.

We then went on a short walk along the canal. There we saw a swan family and a coot family (and babies!!)

We would then head over to the British Museum. Our friend told us in advance that it would be hosting a manga exhibit, and we arrived the day after it debuted. Just before heading over, she brings up that the Rosetta Stone was also there. I didn’t anticipate this, because I thought it was held in a different museum. So I was getting more excited to see the Rosetta Stone over seeing the manga exhibit xD (I joked that I was about to meet my ‘rock star’)

It was about ￡20 to enter the exhibit, so only I went, while our friend and mum explored the rest of the museum. The exhibit started off with a ‘trip down the rabbit hole’, in reference to perhaps the most influential British work in Japanese media, Alice in Wonderland, and its appearances in manga over the years.

Then it showed the history of manga, manga influences, a brief manga how-to, and genres of manga. I saw some familiar works, like Astro Boy, DragonBall, Sailor Moon, a work from the creator of Akira, One Piece, Golden Kamui, Saint Young Men, etc. I also saw some works that I've never encountered that I'm interested in (a rugby manga, a wheelchair rugby manga coming soon, a murder mystery manga at the British museum, a manga about a saxophonist)

There were also some video exhibits, whether it's clips from anime next to their respective manga, creators/staff talking about their creative process, artists drawing their manga, or a series of clips from Ghibli films, but you weren't allowed to take pics of these.

At one point, I even saw an Attack on Titan cosplayer! (ready to take down the giant inflatable titan head I presume)

It’s difficult to read, but this is Morohoshi Daijiro, and it says that Hayao Miyazaki was strongly influenced by him. I’ll have to look at his stuff sometime.

I probably spent about two hours in there, longer than I expected. Admittedly I was tired, and my legs were getting sore, and a little over half an hour before I was done I needed a loo. I was feeling all sorts of physically gross at this point, and I had no idea how much of the exhibit I was actually absorbing even though I tried.

Before the end of the exhibit, I waited in line to get a photo taken, so the machine would add a comic-like gradient to it and insert it into a comic panel. Once I was done, I made a beeline to the nearest loo (for a split moment I panicked that they would be the ‘pay-to-use’ loos, and I didn’t have any money on me, as all of my stuff was with mum, thankfully it wasn’t).

After meeting back with mum and our friend, we headed back to our friend’s home, as I was feeling too exhausted to do anything else.

By the way, I did get to see the Rosetta Stone, but I would need to see it again when I’m not jet-lagged and there’s less people. By the way, I also learned that the figures on the pediment over the British Museum were created by my ancestor, so... y’know, there’s another reason to revisit the place.

I finally went to bed after some dinner, dessert, and a refreshing shower. I had been awake for about 32 hours!

The next day, mum and I stocked up on food (most of which I missed after a long time of not eating them. I still wish I could eat them more often!) and travelled by train to our destination.

The train also was different than what I’m used to. The livery is different, and instead of there being a ticket(?) on the top of an occupied seat, there was a red/green light above the window that indicated whether the seat was occupied or not.

At some point our passenger neighbours were cracking up and couldn’t stop laughing, which was contagious enough for me and a few other strangers to laugh. It was a great moment. When we arrived, we met up with my aunt, uncle, and cousin, and we had fish and chips and a good chat.

The day after we arrived, we already got started with clearing my grandparents’ house. At this point, I already made peace with the fact that we would need to sell the place (nobody in the family wanted it, plus it needed a lot of work done to it, which would have been pretty costly). Unfortunately, because they had a lot of things, we had to be a bit ruthless with what we had to get rid of, because we certainly couldn’t keep it all. I also let go of a few things I grew up with that I was willing to part with and donate. Still there were several items we were able to keep and bring home with us. Thankfully mum’s friends also would try and keep other things for us. It was still a bit of a heartbreaking process though.

I also finally (after a long time) had a 99! It feels good to walk into an ice cream shop and order one, and they'll know what you're talking about :P

Speaking of food, according to my friend, it’s apparently a crime that I haven’t been to a Gregg’s yet, so I tried some of their food, which were delicious! Unfortunately, they didn’t have an iced split, which my friend has, and is apparently really good. (I love international chats, because my friend can say something like 'try a 99 with monkey blood', and it will make no sense to non-Brits) Even the berries are tastier here! idk if it’s because we’re closer to berry farms, but they’re sweeter and juicier than the ones I get back in America.

Speaking of which, the shops in town are different than what I remember. Only a few places I visit regularly remained.

I also got to see a circus for the first time. Although the acts were amazing, my favourite part of the show, believe it or not, were the clown segments. They consisted of a father and 10-year son duo, and the antics were amusing (the duo trying to run and hug each other but missing and in the end hug ‘around’ each other instead, the father getting an audience member to throw a potato onto a carving fork held in his mouth and epically missing, the father getting some audience members to ride an invisible motorbike with him, etc) Unfortunately the show did have some strobe lights and animal segments (even if they weren’t hurting them, I still don’t see the appeal of watching wild animals doing unnatural things :/ )

One of the things that hadn’t changed was our local cobbler still being in business. Even before the trip, mum wanted to pay him a visit so that he could repair her shoes. He's one of the last relics of the old town, he's 78, and has worked for 57 years including 7 years as an apprentice. He was even one of mum’s first memories from when she was small! There’s something charming about a town shoe shop having several piles of stuff, topped with a huge pile of shoes and the smell of glue and shoe polish while a shoe repair motor runs in the background :)

The local bookshop owner also had a charming shop, with piles of books everywhere. And yes, it’s so small and narrow, only one person at a time can visit. We visited his place a few times to donate most of my grandparents’ books, as well as old items like maps and photographs. We can breathe a sigh of relief that they will be protected and given a new home.

Went for a 2.5 hour walk, first along the beach, then through a newer and more secluded area of town that I’ve never visited before (I ALMOST saw a robin, I’ve only seen the American robin in person)

At one point after shopping, I was holding a leek in my hand, and a lady passing by quipped to me, “I know we’re Welsh, but that’s a bit excessive” :P

Also, idk what made me think of it, but I imagined, instead of dog shows, there would be snail shows. It would last for hours, walking the snail would last for 10 minutes instead of 10 seconds, and the awards would be something like: 'Largest Snail', 'Fastest Snail', 'Hungriest Snail', 'Perkiest Snail', 'Longest Antennae'...

>:U

(I took quite a few panorama shots during this trip)

Unfortunately, a pathway I like to take was closed off

We visited some friends of ours, and some friends of ours visited us. My family and I also did a little burial ceremony for my grandparents (originally mum wanted to buy sweet pea flowers, as they were my grandmother’s favourite. I then ask if my grandfather had a favourite flower. Mum didn’t really know, but she did remember he would always buy my grandmother a rose because he loved her so much. So we bought a red rose as well (afterwards I learned from a friend that sweet pea flowers are a symbol of protection and goodbyes, which is INCREDIBLY SWEET BUT SAD 😭))

The next day we had miserable weather due to Storm Miguel. It was surprisingly the only bad day we had weather-wise. And yet, for some reason mum and I decided to eat out at an Indian restaurant (the food was pretty tasty)

During most of the trip, my family have been fervently trying to research who the people in my grandparents’ paintings were and how they were connected to my family. The only thing I got out of it so far is that my family might be more Scottish that I thought!

Went shopping in Carmarthen (and crossed a bridge next to some sheep, close enough to hear them), but I had to make a train that arrived half an hour after I woke up! Ate at Pizza Express (the food was tasty, but the strawberry still lemonade was PERFECT) Unfortunately we had to cut our shopping time short, because our earliest trains to catch were at around 14:30 and 17:30, and we would rather get back home as soon as possible. We were able to get most of what we wanted though.

One day while I was hanging out with my younger cousin (we chatted a lot during the trip, he does Irish dancing, and he taught me the difference between the different dances), he introduced a couple of fun games that the family got to play: Camping, and Spoons

Camping: Preferably played with 3 or more people It's a rotation game in which the rest of the group has to figure out what the leader's pattern is Starting with the leader, each person says 'I'm gonna go camping, and I'm gonna bring...' and then a noun. When the leader says their phrase and noun, they have an unspoken pattern they decided to follow, whether it's a bit of subtle body language they make while saying it, or if it has to do with the nouns themselves. The next person then says the phrase and a noun in hopes that they will follow the pattern. If they do, the leader will respond to their phrase, 'you can come', otherwise 'you can't come'. After the pattern is revealed, the next person becomes the leader, and the cycle continues. Players are allowed to guess the pattern depending on how many people got it (eg: you are allowed to ask for hints if stumped, and if everybody gets it, the pattern can be revealed) In hard mode, if your attempt is part of the pattern, regardless of whether you know the pattern or not, you have to sit out the rest of the game. (examples of patterns: saying whatever while having both feet on the floor and hands on lap, dog breeds, alphabetical succession between players (eg: 'hedgehog', 'iodine', 'Jamaica'...), the nouns have to begin with the same letter as your eye colour (lol I never got this one because I don't regularly make eye contact with people), the noun has to begin with the same letter as the cardinal direction you're facing, the noun has to begin with the same letter as the colour shirt the player after you is wearing)

Spoons: Preferably played with 3-13 people It's a game of speed, similar to musical chairs There are n-1 spoons in the middle of the table for n number of players and n number of ranks One player becomes the leader, in which they shuffle the cards and deal four per player. When the leader says 'go', every player including the leader removes a card and places it for the person to their left to grab, while each player must always end up with four cards per 'go' (when saying 'go', the key is that there shouldn't be much time for thinking, the game must move quickly, but there should be about a second or two to organize your cards if needs be, so roughly every 3-5 seconds per 'go') If a player has four of one rank, they must grab a spoon, and all of the other players must grab a remaining spoon as quickly as possible, in the hopes that they won't be the last player without a spoon A player that ends up without a spoon loses a life, and after three lives are up, they're out of the game. With this, a spoon and a group of four of a rank also sit out of the game When it's down to two players, one of the players sitting out must shuffle the remaining deck, so that the two remaining players don't know what kind of deck to expect, and say 'go'

Went for a lovely walk near the beach

Tiny friends!

Ah yes, this bed of rocks looks comfortable to sit on...

I also got to finally try a 99 with monkey blood, though the syrup isn’t called monkey blood where I’m from apparently. Mum and I also tried to feed the sparrows, but larger birds were lurking and wanted to sabotage the efforts.

After some final decisions on what to bring and what to keep, mum and I left the house for what might have been the last time. We will miss it though. I did take some videos of the place not long before we arrived, as a kind of snapshot of the place, not only for memory, but for a potential reference in one of my stories.

At the airport, I got a pat down for the first time in my life because I had worn the wrong trousers that had more metallic fixings on them >:[

During the flight, I chose a better selection of films on the plane:

旅猫リポート: Cute but kinda sad film about the life of the man who adopted a cat and why he has to give it away to someone he can trust.

Christopher Robin: Very charming film, and the British wildlife scenery was depicted beautifully

Wonder Woman: Well-written film

(I’m curious to know where this is near London)

Overall, this trip was different than what I’m used to, not just because it was less of a family visit, but rather a lot of aspects of what I’m used to have changed a lot over the years. I’m hoping, even if I never live in that house anymore, that I can still pay the town a visit somehow in the future, as it’s still a dear place to me that I had grown up with all my life.

#my posts #my photos #sorry this post is a little more disorganized than before #1) it's been a while since I wrote a travel post #2) tumblr kept undoing my progress several times which was aggravating #I might do a part 2 post with photos from my proper camera #the photos in this post are all from my mobile

[zukuist]

𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐦𝐬

“just really random mannerisms they like about you”

my 1.5k special

fandom/s: 僕のヘロアカデミア // boku no hero academia [bnha]

includes: several characters

your name is shortened to y/n, gender neutral!

side note: lol i’ve been gone for 22 days 💀 so sorry for the wait guys! it was finals week during the first half of the month. but now that i’m done with the 9th grade, i can post more! there’ll be more to come later this week

thank you all for 1.5k !!

—

bakugō katsuki

— SPIN

when you do that cute little spin when you’re showing off your outfit for the day, especially before dates

he claims that he thinks it’s dumb, and that you should ‘knock it off’ or ‘quit fuckin’ spinning around like that’ but he actually thinks the opposite, believe it or not. he’ll still react like ‘🙄’ and smirk, like he’s going to make fun of you. however, if you look closely, that smirk of his is actually him smiling at you genuinely, and endearingly. i don’t think katsuki would be someone that would shower his s/o with presents constantly, especially with things like clothes (like.. you could just borrow his sweater, if you needed one) but! he finds himself buying you more clothes, just so you could sit him down, and do that little spin for him.

but, as to be expected of him, he’ll never outright admit that he finds it adorable. but maybe if you push the right buttons, the blond will admit it under his breath.

midoriya izuku

— GESTURING

when you start talking with your hands during conversations and debates.

usually, he’s the one that rambles, and you’re the listener. and though he’s very grateful that you’re his #1 listener, he also really enjoys returning the favor by listening to you too! especially when he gets to stare into those heavenly eyes of yours. but! how can he do that, if you’re the type to speak with your hands? there’s something about it that intrigues him to no end. izuku doesn’t point it out right away when he first notices, but he tends to stare at them like ‘👁👁👀👁👁’, not at all conscious of his own stare, and until someone, or something snaps him out of it. try not to tease him about it, he’s just so infatuated, it’s excruciating for everyone to witness.

he probably has this mannerism written somewhere in his notebook. it’s not at all creepy, but the fact that he thinks it’s important enough to be written in his notebook makes you happy.

todoroki shōto

— QUICK FIX

when you fix his hair, or appearance when he himself, doesn’t notice the disorganization

todoroki shōto is not a messy person. he’s organized, level-headed, and most of the time, he knows how to keep his appearance clean. but like everyone else, there’ll be that instance where he just.. doesn’t see it. and this is where you enter! he dislikes it a ton whenever people try to touch him, but when you do it, he really can’t find himself being angry about it, despite initially hating the idea of being touched without permission. if you’ll go out of your way to fix his appearance, he’ll be grateful! especially when you fix his hair, so his middle part is split nicely and perfectly.

of course, there are other things, like fixing his tie, and making sure that his collar is centered, and even smoothing down his eyebrows with your thumbs. sometimes, he’ll even mess up his appearance on purpose! he’s whipped.

kirishima eijirō

— SQUEAL

when you squeal whenever you’re surprised, and most especially when you see something you like and dislike

it actually does aid him a lot, in a weird sense. not sure if it’s because he finds these sounds helpful, or if he just finds those little squeals, and sounds of approval or disapproval adorable. it also helps him a lot, if you weren’t talkative in the first place. either way, it does help him navigate what you like or dislike. some may say it’s because it gives him an ego boost, or that eijirou gets a weird kick out of it, but it can’t be less genuine than this. whether if it would be a sound of adoration that escaped your lips when you received a post workout selfie, or if it would be a sound of disapproval when you feel the leftover hair gel in his scalp. either way, he finds it super adorable, 10/10.

but.. if you were to ask him, the faux red head would say that he liked your sounds of appreciation more than the ones of disapproval (duh). eijirou kirishima takes pride in making his s/o happy!

kaminari denki

— VICTORY DANCE

the victory dance you do whenever you accomplish, or win something

it’s actually quite iconic at this point. the first time denki witnessed it in person, he was elated, mesmerized. first of all, where did you get those moves? and second of all, do you know how attractive this actually is to him? at this point, he should pull out a camera every time you do your little ‘dancey dance’ because he would like to learn the dance itself. i don’t care if you think the moves are absurd or random, nah. absurd is out of the question, because denki will just admire you, as you danced cheerfully.

people will sometimes ask him “out of all of the things he could’ve found cute, he chose this?” and he’ll just be like “yep.” shamelessly.

shinsō hitoshi

— TOYING

when you start toying, or fiddling with his fingers out of nowhere

please, as if this man’s oblivious about his level of attractiveness. newsflash, he’s aware. he knows that some people like his hands, but in his honest opinion, hitoshi doesn’t know why. he doesn’t have a physical quirk, so he doesn’t need to rely on his hands 100% of the time. but that doesn’t mean that this habit of yours didn’t catch him by surprise. you even did it when you guys weren’t officially together so, he kind of just.. allowed you. so that’s how things are. you’d talk to someone, and your hands would reach to play with his fingers under the table, and when you were a bit nervous than usual, you’d do the same.

he didn’t have to ask you too much about this habit, raising a brow when you first did it, only to receive a sheepish look in return. either way, he finds this habit really cute, and he’ll even start offering you his hand.

amajiki tamaki

— GRASP

grasping onto his hand, especially when you’re anticipating something, or when you’re nervous

he’s usually the one that needed some form of encouragement, support, or comfort. it’s always been that way for him, and there’s a part of him that desperately wished that he just woke up with mirio’s personality. he wishes he could be stronger, and the timid soon-to-be hero wishes there was an instant remedy. which is why, tamaki loves this habit! yeah sure, it flustered him, reducing him to being beet red, and a stammering mess, but moving past the first touch, he adores it. i mean, he doesn’t know if there’s a way he could say it, without making it seem weird but.. it feels nice, knowing you’ll grab onto his hand for comfort.

it makes him feel.. strong. knowing that he’s the one that’s doing the comforting, and not the other way around like how it’s always been. even if not a lot of words are exchanged during these times.

monoma neito

— FOOT POP

when you go to give him a hug or a kiss, and your foot lifts off the ground

yeah, i’m kind of referencing the princess diaries here. but out of everything neito could find cute, this would be at the top. man didn’t notice it at first, because well.. he’s usually kissing you, too absorbed to even notice anything else. but when he realizes it when your foot pops at a little peck on the cheek, he’s proud, boastful like how he usually is. this habit is very dreamy to him, something straight out of a old romcom, or a fairytale. to him, a good kiss would also be defined by this habit. he’ll smirk, “ohoh, your foot did the foot pop! guess i’m that good” he wants to see more of this little habit (habit or not, he still wants to see it)

he’ll boast about this cute habit to everyone, especially when the chance to boast arises. “can you make your s/o’s foot pop?!” he’ll erupt in laughter, absolutely proud of himself despite everyone not really knowing what that even is

—

© zukuist 2021, bnha|mha belongs to horikoshi kohei. do not steal ❕

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha x you #bnha headcanons #bnha x y/n #bakugou imagines #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #mha x you #🖋epiphany.writes #shinsou imagines #shinsou hitoshi x reader #shinsou x reader #shinsou x y/n #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki x reader #midoriya izuku x reader #todoroki imagines #midoriya imagines #midoriya x y/n #midoriya x reader #kaminari imagines #kaminari x reader #kaminari denki x reader #bnha fluff #kirishima x reader #kirishima eijirou x reader #kirishima imagines #amajiki tamaki x reader #monoma x reader