#Presuming he didn't know about the Dream Nail

[illmoraineakoi]

What if the Pale King locked himself away in the Dream Realm to recreate what he did to the Hollow Knight? After the Vessel leaked and he realized that it most likely had capability enough to suffer, but far far too late to even hope to do anything to fix it. He was beyond the point of no return, there was nothing he could do to undo the Sealing. And even if he could, there were no other options that he could think of of what to do about the Blazing Light.

He had no choice but to keep the Vessel sealed. No choice but to watch his kingdom crumble. There was nothing he could do.

Nothing, but to seal himself away in a self-imposed punishment in the exact same way he imparted onto his only (known) living child.

A weak attempt to impose the same agony onto himself as he forced onto them.

And should the people of his kingdom stop worshiping him and forget he exists, dwindling his power and life to a pathetic end?

Well...

Perhaps that might've been for the best.

[cemeteryspider]

A Helluva Rescue

Fizzarolli x Succubus! Kingpin! Reader x Asmodeus

Summary: Inspired by season 2 episode 6, "Oops". Luckily Ozzie puts his best man/woman on the job to get Fizzie home safe

Trigger Warnings: Violence, guns, abduction, sexual themes, strong language, and general dark themes

Word Count: 1860

Being a famous Hellborn gave you some perks that so many did not have the gull to dream about. It gave you access to powerful people, and you climbed your way to the top of the Hellborn food chain. This is how you met the Sin of Lust, Asmodeus. You often provided protection for his dancers and other employees when they left the Lust Ring. Or when you personally delivered goods from other rings to the sin.

After a few years of this you met Fizzarolli, who's spunky attitude you had come to adore. You found yourself at Ozzie's nightclub more than you'd like to admit, and one night you had a red envelope with gold lettering sitting at your usual seat.

I have a different proposal for you tonight, meet me backstage after the show and we'll discuss

~Ozzie

As anyone who wanted the Sin and his imp could imagine, the rest was history.

Despite your relationship with Fizz and Ozzie you spent most of your days in Greed. Dominating the heart of Greed Ring, your empire sprawled amidst towering skyscrapers that gleamed with the opulence of wealth. The air reeked of ambition and desperation, the constant hum of financial dealings echoing through the crowded streets. You reveled in the cutthroat atmosphere and the relentless pursuit of wealth that defined this particular part of Hell. 

Still many days were spent traveling to other rings. You went to the Pride Ring a couple times a year, and looked after some business dealings there. Though you couldn't own a human soul, it didn't mean you did have proxies to deal in them for you.

The Envy Ring granted you access to different sorts of people who were willing to spend money to get things from unsavory means. You want authentic blood sapphires, you got it. You want real human teeth, it'll be x amount. You want to get your nails done by Pride's top sinner without ever stepping foot there, well you were sure it could be arranged.

Your favorite place however, was the Lust Ring. Not for the slobs who insisted that just because you were a succubus you wanted to bang, but for your loving and doting partners.

~~~

Ozzie large hands massaging your back, "Oh darling, these knots are deep, you simply must come visit more often"

Fizz's jokes at the club, "I know you're jealous, the people I bang are 1000 times hotter than you losers"

The pampering, the caring, and god the sex was amazing.

~~~

This time however, Ozzie called you while you were in a meeting with a new client who was in debt to a loan shark. Quickly you had your assistant take over the meeting and you stepped out into the hall.

"What is it Ozzie-bear"

"Hey Doll, Fizzie had some meeting in Greed today and I was wondering if you could maybe send someone to look after him, ya know, without him knowing"

"Why didn't you send people with him, Ozzie?"

"You know how he gets sugar, he gave me the puppy eyes"

With a little smirk and a roll of your eyes, you told him you would get your best and most discreet people on the job.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

"No biggie Ozzie, gotta keep our boy safe and sound"

After a quick good-bye, who are you kidding with either of your boys, good-byes were never short. A long string of I love you's and see you laters was given before eventually the new client and your assistant left the meeting room.

~~~

Seated behind your lavish desk, you sifted through an imposing mountain of meticulously organized papers, each document representing a different facet of your empire. When your phone starts to buzz. 

"Boss, something bad just happened, Fizzarolli got into a fight with some imp then they were both grabbed, me and Hen are going up to find him but-" Two shots could be heard from the other end, and two thuds presumably the two hellborn you hired to protect Fizz.

You growled as you crushed the burner phone in your fist.

"Jazz, get my jacket, I gotta teach some bitches a lesson"

~~~

Fizz started thrashing on the floor of the cage they were put in, and Blitz looked as though he was about to explode. Then you waltzed in the door with your tail swinging in circles from your right hand.

"Hey Crimson, Hey Striker, long time no see boys' ' You jumped on a crate and crossed your legs. "I hear you have somethin' of value"

"Hey, Darlin', I sure missed yer face", Striker walked up to you and took your hand in his and placed a long wet kiss to your knuckles.

Internally you groaned, but you were going to get Fizz out of this no matter what. You pressed your lips together and crossed your legs a little tighter, "Mhm, Could say the same about you, Striker".

Striker chuckled a little and got back to business, discussing prices for Fizz like he was a slab of meat.

"I don't know Striker, we have a pretty lucrative contract on the books" Crimson teased.

Your brows scrunched, who could it be, and how did they get the word out so quickly. It took you less than an hour to get from your office to this dump.

"Hmm, I think I could find a quick buyer for the real deal Fizzarolli, I'll pay double what the other guy is paying" With that everyone in the room looked at you. Their eyebrows raised and a sly grin on their face.

"Double and I get to spend the night with ya, that's offers always on the table for you babe," As Striker propositioned, a flicker of irritation crossed your face – a testament to your aversion to these negotiations 

"How about I see the merchandise first?" You tapped his nose with your fingernail and gave him a smirk.

"Anything for you sug" With a quick nod the cage descended from the ceiling and you hands went to the guns on your hips.

Two goons dragged Fizz and another imp from the cage and tossed them at your feet. You almost let your emotions get the better of you when Fizz hit the floor with a groan.

"Can someone untie them? I want to see the merchandise before I buy it, and I haven't got all day" Again another nod from Striker, and the two were untied.

Fizz had his hands over his eyes and was silently crying to himself. Despite you wanting him to look at you, to give him some reassurance, you also hoped he didn't just in case he revealed your relationship with him. Unlike Fizz and Ozzie, your relationship to them was more discrete. The other imp was still shouting, and you saw a gun holster, minus the gun, on his hip as well.

"I'd take the other imp, off your hands as well, he'll make a delicious snack for whoever buys Fizzarolli" Striker walked up to Crimson and started to discuss pricing on Blitz, with the right numbers Striker would give him to you because, as you learned, everything has a price.

You stalked over to Blitz, though the affiliation with guns was the only thing you knew about him, walked around him for a moment, quickly cutting the tape that still bound his hands with your sharp fingernail. Making eye contact with him you pressed a finger to your lips and shoved a gun in his hand without anyone noticing.

A smile spread across Blitz's face as you grabbed Fizz and threw him over your shoulder and started to make a run for it. You shot everyone you saw on the way down the stairs, while Blitz covered everyone behind you.

Once Fizz was safely in the car you continued to cover Blitz until he made it as well. However, before you could get in the car and signal to the driver to get away Striker pressed the hot barrel of his gun to your temple.

"Well sugar, I guess this is checkmate" But just before he could pull the trigger, Asmodeus appeared, snatching the gun from his hands and throwing it across the street.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" Ozzie growled in Striker's face. Ozzie grabbed him by the throat and squeezed. You just put a hand on his huge forearm, and he threw Striker to the ground.

With a growl the great Asmodeus shrunk and fit himself into the limousine with the two imps and succubus.

The driver peeled out of the place as soon as the door was closed and you collapsed into the nearest seat. Fizz huddled in a dark corner, his breaths coming in rapid gasps as panic gripped him. Your heart sank at the sight, a mix of worry and determination flooding your thoughts. Despite the familiar smell of wherever he was, he couldn't shake the danger of the gunfight or being held captive so quickly. Blitz stood over him leveling the gun at your forehead.

"Does ANYONE want to tell me what the FUCK just happened"

~~~

The screeching tires signaled your escape, but the tension lingered in the air, still adrenaline was high in all parties involved. 

You explained the situation to Blitz while pulling Fizzarolli in between you and Oz who smiled up at the both of you.

"Ah Fizz you could've just told me you were fucking them", Ozzie, sensing Fizz's discomfort, shot Blitz a stern glance, causing him to back off immediately.

Blitz was waiting for the car to stop where he could get out and call someone who's name was Loona.

Once that happened you, Fizz, and Ozzie snuggled up in the backseat with both Fizz and Ozzie tearing up.

"I'm so sorry that happened Froggie, you will be getting a full escort the next time you even leave the mansion" Ozzie coddled Fizz all the way to bed and you tucked him in and told him that you and Ozzie had to talk business for a minute.

"Thanks for the save back there Ozzie, I would've been done for, if it wasn't for you" The slight burn on your head pulsed, a persistent reminder of the close call, but you dismissed it, not wanting Ozzie to worry unnecessarily.

"Sweetheart, you didn't tell me you were hurt" He grabbed your right shoulder and inspected the bullet wound that must've just grazed you, and the small burn on your temple you tried to hide with your fingers.

"I didn't even notice it Ozzie" Still he sat you down on his desk and bandaged you up.

"There, Doll, all better" You smiled as he kissed the white bandages, and picked you up to take you to bed. "By the way, Doll, you did all the heavy lifting".

You snuggled in a little closer to his chest and breathed out content with the moment.

"Breakfast tomorrow?" You mumbled already falling asleep.

"Always, pancakes with extra whipped cream" He set you between him and Fizz where you usually slept.

Your boys tangled their limbs with your and scooched as close as they could to snuggle up with you.

[itsmyfandomandilikeit]

An episode of Star Trek Prodigy that I have to assume won't exist

So I've been thinking about how the story could "end". My understanding from official announcements is that season 2 will be the end of this part of the story, and that if the series continues after that, a new arc will start.

So of course I've been trying to figure out how "this part of the story" ends, and I keep getting stuck because the way time travel works in Star Trek is really inconsistent, so it's hard to nail down what's possible. So here's a possible season 2 finale that would get chucked in the writer's room garbage and replaced with something more thematically coherent:

So since I finished season 1 I've been paranoid about what happens to Gwyn if she actually does save Solum from itself. In the 2009 movies, Spock is able to live freely in the Kelvin timeline despite being from somewhere else, but in ENT S3 "E Squared", for example, the main characters meet their grandkids who got thrown back in time to save them, and after the rescue mission is complete, the descendant ship disappears and everyone forgets this happened. It's my understanding that the second type of time travel is more common in TNG than the former.

This concerns me because it could happen to Gwyn.

I mean, she's literally going back in time to stop the thing that caused her to be born. There's two timeline branches, and in one of them, nearly everyone is dead or about to be rescued from it. As far as I can tell, they could evacuate the other timeline and if it collapses on the way out, literally the only casualty would be Gwyn. (other than Ascencia, whom I assume will not be around by the end of the story for other reasons.)

So let's say she does it. She goes to Solum and makes first contact on behalf of the Federation and influences them to make the right choices and there's no civil war!! Good job!! Solum joins the Federation, everyone is happy, and the morning after the papers are signed Dal wakes up in the hammock under the engine of Nandi's ship like nothing ever happened.

He's older than he was the last time he was here, but Nandi doesn't seem to think he ever left. Apparently he's been doing bigger and bigger jobs and has amassed an impressive pile of crap in his corner made of things he took from people some way or another. Behind a panel somewhere he even finds a hidden pile of money, presumably so he could eventually buy his own ship.

He starts to wonder if he dreamed the whole thing, but eventually is able to get to the edge of the quadrant and pick up news from the Federation. Around this time, the Protostar has returned home from its first excursion and Chakotay is about to go right back out. He says he's had all sorts of adventures, including a mention of going through a wormhole and having to find his way back, having met a Federation society from some point in the future.

So, Dal realizes that this is the world in which Solum never goes back in time to save itself because it doesn't need saving. Chakotay is fine, Nandi didn't sell Dal as an "unwanted", Dal became a better con artist and thief. With some heavy research, he's able to find the show where Rok-Tahk used to perform, and ask where she was sold if not to the Diviner. Another mining colony. He doesn't really have enough information to find anybody else, but has to assume they were sold elsewhere, slaves on other colonies throughout the Delta quadrant.

So he goes to Janeway. Explains to her that he's from a timeline where some things were different. Everyone else has forgotten, but because his brain is DNA soup, he's immune to some complicated temporal effects. He has to give Chakotay's command codes to prove he is who he says he is.

The thing is, at this point in the story, Dal knows where Solum is. Season 2 has already happened, Chakotay has been found and rescued, but the Federation hasn't made first contact with them. Dal has a choice.

He isn't trusted, but he could regain the trust he once had. Janeway believes him. He knows an awful lot about her and he's familiar with all the Starfleet regulations a cadet would have had to memorize. He knows the advice she tends to give. Dal could make contact with Solum on behalf of the Federation. He knows where it is. He's the only one.

But how he does it determines how well it goes. He could ensure everything goes over perfectly, and proceed with his life as planned - fighting to get into Starfleet Academy so he can be the captain of a starship, armed with the knowledge of a failed alternate timeline other cadets can't learn from. He might even be able to bring Rok-Tahk with him. Maybe she doesn't like science in this timeline but he can make sure she's okay.

Or, he could screw it up. On purpose. Tell them that the Federation wants them for their superior technology, and that they have to change their ways to fit in. Stoke the fires of civil war, and leave. If he does this, everything goes back to the way it was. Maybe even enter a stable time loop where Gwyn fixes things and Dal screws them up over and over.

I think this is a fun concept to think about but I am 95% sure I'm off the mark about this having anything to do with where the story is going.

See, if Gwyn gets erased from the timeline, she's basically died for her abusive slave-owning father's sins, and while I don't think it's impossible to make that work narratively, I think it would be really difficult. I think what would be most empowering as a story is if she takes up the mantle of saving Solum in a peaceful way and gets to move on with her own life.

Which is why I came across the question of how to save her. I think if given the choice she'd sacrifice herself for Solum. Needs of the many, etc. The show demonstrates that the reason she likes Dal is that he puts her first when no one else does. So it's... workable that Dal would have a hand in figuring out how to keep her from being lost conceptually to the timeline. At the same time, Dal is supposed to be getting better, not worse. Siccing him with the choice of saving his love interest's life / saving his teammates from slavery against upholding Starfleet values is, again, not impossible to make work but really hard without breaking the bounds of moral grayness Dal himself tends to be subjected to.

Finally there's the complicated case of writing about slavery overall. In this story, you would have to do some onscreen math about whether the Delta quadrant is better or worse without the influence of the Diviner. Realistically, everyone would have been sold to a different slaver, but a decrease in the number of penal operations has to mathematically be a good thing. Dal choosing between the two timelines ultimately chooses whether to give the Diviner a pass for his many, many crimes, which is, again, probably out of the scope of this series.

Still, I'm enjoying parts of it as an AU. What would an older Dal look like if he'd eventually become more successful as a protege of Nandi? What would Janeway and Chakotay do in the absence of his capture? How can the story avoid the problem of erasing Gwyn?

Ultimately I think they're going to have to go with the explanation of Spock from the 2009 movies. She exists here, she just does, matter can't be created or destroyed and her matter is standing on the bridge with us.

Still, I'm not sure.

[firewalkzwit]

runt // jonathan crane x reader. (15)

Chapter 15

cross-posted on AO3

masterlist

first, a little poem ☺️

Profane words

Out of your pure mouth.

All my sweetness,

Hovers over you.

Light of my life

Fire of my loins

My sin, my soul.

Hesitation was precursor to decisions prone to be regretted after the sunlight began to surface over the Gotham skyscrapers, its red light reflecting on the fragile reflective glazing. Fragile, brittle and bound to shatter. His calloused fingers grazing gently over the silk of her skin, intoxicating her chastity, reminded him of such fragility. The word must be interpreted with care and a tint of subjectivity, as most words that may seem mere verbiage or even to be interpreted literally must be subject to a wide variety of abstract, wild interpretations. Chastity, in a sentence where the prose seems to lead who reads it to presume the protagonists are engaging in intimate and literary candy-coated sex, still must be taken with certain caution. He didn't even bother to ponder over the question of whether she was a virgin or not, frankly who does? Such questions are to be made by teenagers whose individuality is still frail, and who grow to believe possessing someone else's first time puts them in a privileged position. Chastity wouldn't be the adequate word for someone who isn't pure in the eyes of God, but he still felt like merely his lecherous, vulgar touch on her body that, in that moment only seemed to radiate light of innocence, was a corruption of her chastity. Once again, reader; innocence is not to be taken literally. Y/N was not particularly naive, just too good, more human than most.

It was because of this that, unlike what most would expect, it was apprehension on his behalf that occasionally interrupted the even flow of intercourse between the two. He felt sick, like he didn't often. Concerns of morality weren't often what stopped a man like Jonathan Crane from satisfying his urges, even the most evil and unsacred ones. Yet something about the instrumental way her moans vibrated on the edge of his ear, or how her nails dug into his skin without causing any pain beyond the pleasure of her lewd scratching, made him feel like his body against hers was vicious filth grazing untarnished motherhood.

He could tell her head occasionally motioned towards his face, wavering to be so cruel to allow her to kiss him. She was too good and he couldn't do that. Jonathan Crane was very open about his misanthropy. However he felt he'd encountered the embodiment of grace and femininity, which he associated with images of motherhood and selfless devotion to loving. Loving whoever and whatever, but the act of loving in its most pure state is inherently altruistic. He believed selflessness is the most pure act of humanity, a step further in evolution, and often his concept of womanhood embodied this idea. The true Übermensch, to Crane, should be the one that can acheive the selflessness only the mothers in the figments of his imagination could. However, this often collided with his misanthropy, and his encounters with women combined with such high expectations were bound to result in disappointment. He hated most women, but not because they were women, but because they were people. His hate was even greater than his lust, which could only imply that he hated with fervour.

He often even hated her, but not because of the same reasons he hated most people. He hated that he couldn't grasp why or how she'd managed to make herself so mothering in his eyes. No one ever could or should, he felt it provoked him to deflect from pursuing his purpose. Initially, he was being impulsive. He didn't know if he actually wanted to have sex with her, or if he genuinely intended to aid her in the discovery of her dreams. Something in him simply ignited the familiar curiosity, a subtle covet to unveil a lode in her intimacy, her secrecy. It wasn't the first time he felt a need to morbidly shine lights on her every corner, especially when he'd visit her apartment. However he'd never gone as far as to comply to his urges, lowering himself to the standard man. Now that he had cracked, the same erection he'd held in his hands when he had lewd dreams of her now opened her folds and was wrapped around the warmth of her insides.

How or why Y/N had agreed to have sex with Crane got lost in translation. It didn't take an explicitly worded 'yes' from her mouth, or immediate agreement, but rather a tacit understanding. The way her fingers softly tapped the champagne glass, or how her knees would anxiously tap against each other after he'd asked so bluntly. Initially, she'd deflected from the question, avoiding an answer she feared she'd regret, which applied to either options. As they'd continue to talk, she tried to decode the reasons behind his question. There are many reasons why a man could want to have sex with a woman beyond lustful desire, and whoever believes otherwise is guilty of simplism that did not exist in her thought process. Everything branches out into multiple reasons and options, of which she tried to possess as many as she could.

However, the evening reached a point where they both knew the second they got into the car, they'd be driving home to have sex. The whys or hows were questions neither could answer, but something in the silence gave away that they just knew. It mostly happens like that, an implicit understanding, and despite Crane breaking this stereotype by bluntly inviting her to have sex, the rest flowed smoothly like it did most times. At least most of it.

Crane was a weird man, in all aspects, even in bed. She discovered the latter in his strange fretfulness. He was apprehensive, and often wouldn't know what to do with himself. He'd fumble around and his limbs would jitter erratically. This didn't particularly startle her, as she was just as awkward, but he seemed unexperienced and even afraid. Clearly, he didn't fear her, as he'd demonstrated so before, yet as she lingered on the thought as she woke up the next morning feeling the lack of his weight on the opposite side of the bed, Y/N pondered on the idea that perhaps she was hypocritically guilty of being simplistic. Why would she assume that because he didn't compose himself as afraid of her, meant that he actually wasn't? The possibilities were endless, and she rewinded on his refusal to kiss her.

To this she refused to even begin to search for an answer, as she lacked fundamental elements beyond simply sleeping with him to even begin to carry out research. To start drawing conclusions she'd need to know more about his past, his personality, his fears and taboos, finally demonstrating that he did actually experience the dread of repression, too. Even a man like Crane, who seemed to show to the world that he didn't have a care or qualms about anything.

Oh, how do we go on from here...?

[vaccerelli]

the town below looked like shit but they all did these days -- everyone said the frontier had lost the light, gotten ugly, was nothing left but mud and blood, all the gold and dreams and full mines and beautiful whores and noble lawmen had left. the old law was over, people said. and so regulators and road agents ruled the unsafe roads and a rifleman was posted up outside of about every town just to make sure some small outlaw army wouldn't roll in on screaming horses with hands full of fire and burn the whole town down. not here, though, the old man on his horse thought, taking a peek at the lookout. nothing up there but rotted boards and a torn tarp. probably wasn't worth enough protecting here. 

old law was over but the world wasn't, the man on the horse reckoned. his hair was a fading, steely gray, starting to come out white at the temples. he wore a black vest over a tattered gray shirt and a pair of oiled, fierce black revolvers slung low at his hips. the wide-brim hat he wore was gray and tattered, but so was he and he surely looked like the father of all road agents and his eyes were so dark as to be black in the shade under his hat. he rode into the town and looked at the sign that greeted him at the top of the dusty hill. 

ESCHMEYER 

THE FINEST MINE THIS SIDE OF THREE GATES

below it, tacked on in scratchy handwriting; 

50 EAST TO DEAL CITY  50 WEST TO WAXTON 75 NORTH TO SNAKEBITE GULCH 100 EAST TO IRON'YOTE (RAIL)  LAWMEN AND LAWYERS SEE THE SHERIFF NO LANDIES NO SOUTHIES NO ESCAPES

the old man on the horse shook his head. Deal City was Turner, the city of deals, though likely by now it was more a city of the half-dead. Iron'yote was the name for where Iron Pass met Coyote Junction and the railway started up again, though the old man didn't think much was going to be going on there, either. if there were a hundred souls left in any of these towns he'd be shocked. never been to Snakebite or Waxton but he presumed they were as hollowed out as anything. didn't know what landies or southies were, but no escapes meant no escaped prisoners from the old mines trying to pass themselves off as something else. not that they could, they all had that rattling voice and bent backs, same way men who ate rotten tobacco stained their teeth and spit black blood. 

time to hitch it up. he rolled into town, taking note of the places still open; the mill, the general (with a teetering Duke, Hurst & Hoag logo barely hanging by a rusted chain), the undertaker, the smithy, the doxology house, the hotel and the whorehouse across the street, both looking the only places occupied. he tied his tired ride to the post and walked into the hotel, looking for the bar. town was too small to have a proper saloon, or someone had burnt it down. the bartender eyed him with the unease of small-town men and the old man gave him a look that made him real nervous. not call the gunnerupstairs nervous, but keep an eye on the bat studded with nails behind the bar nervous, for sure. the house doxy, Tawny -- one on loan from the whorehouse -- eyed the man too, though for purposes far removed from a drink. 

I'm looking for two things, the old man said to him, making him jump a little bit. Shooter Lazarone or Rattler McQuinn. if you can't point me their way, I'll need a drink and to know where I can get some lead for my machines. 

don't knowin those names well, mister, the bartender said. you oughta check with the marshall in town, he keeps track of all the wanted men. 

ain't the law that wants them, it's me, the old man said. nothing to do with the new law. ain't no justice or peace in the new law. 

don't be lettin the marshall hear you say that, the bartender tried to say, before the old man looked at him with such blazing contempt his mouth just worked the air for a moment. be poured a drink of warm scotch for the man. 

marshall will be finding me soon enough, the old man said. now then, where can a man put his feet up here? how much? 

six silvers for a share, ten for a private, the bartender said. need you to sign here. got a deposit if you don't holster your gun with us. need a signature here. 

a battered gold coin slapped the bar. you can go ahead and keep that if you send up a book and a drink. he signed in a quick scrawl and looked around. don't matter what book. just need something to read to help me sleep. 

the bartender took a look at the signature and laughed. Odin, eh? like Odin Hesh? sure mister, you don't have to sign your real name. we get a lot of Smiths and Johnsons here, don't you know it. 

that is my real name, the old man said, and glared. the bartender took a full step back, trying not to stammer. send up a book and a drink. and I'll be keeping my shooting irons. 

the old man walked up the stairs, not in the way doddering old men do, but in the way men expecting something from any angle do. it was that wary, hand-on-the-gun walk that convinced the bartender that this might truly be Odin Hesh. 

-- 

Marshall Silas Eddington wasn't much for Eschmeyer. it was a posting, and he went where the service told him, but it was a shit town, in a shit part of nowhere. wasn't too near the frontier, and glory knows it wasn't near enough Turner for him to catch more than the slightest heat, but mostly he had to keep highwaymen and marauders from making trouble in the hotel. lost a few whores and a few settlers over the years, but mostly what cost Eschmeyer the population was the same thing going around. everything had lost the light and the old law was over. Eddington was part of the new law now, and he had the means to enforce that, in badge and gun, but he was damned tired some days. like today, when he spotted Frakes, the dimwitted barkeep from the hotel, practically sprinting across the thoroughfare towards him. 

what was it this time? a ghost in the livery? the Bullkelly gang sending spies? 'dart not paying his tab? 

Frakes burst in, because he couldn't open no door like a normal person. Marshall, you ain't gonna believe it. I just checked in -- 

you're damned right I ain't gonna believe it. who'd you check in, Frakes? Charles Francis Hoag? or the mayor of Turner? or maybe someone running to be our new mayor, our new sheriff? hell, let's put our feet up, Frakes. we'll both be out a job then. 

why you always gotta put fun on me, marshall? I just checked in Odin Hesh hisself. 

Eddington scoffed, and put his feet down. Odin Hesh would be pushing seventy if he were still above ground, and he most certainly ain't. went down in the territory war like all them old law boys. if he managed to dig his way out the grave and come here, he certainly ain't in the kinda shape to make any trouble. 

I wouldn't put my weekly on it, marshall, Frakes said. he wanted a book and booze and a room. he's up in 114. if you wanna come over to the hotel I'll put you up free til he shows again. 

smiling to himself, Eddington stood up. why Frakes had to come and make up some story about Odin Hesh was beyond him. some old bandito was up in a room and he wanted someone with a badge in the hotel when the man came out, just to prove the law was still around. Frakes just didn't want the hotel safe empty come the end of the month, because he still wanted to get paid, beyond what everyone knew he skimmed. hotel owner didn't care apparently, just didn't want to come to Eschmeyer and figure it out his damned self. 

where's Hank? Eddington asked. Hank Mitchum was the only other lawman worth a squirt of piss in the whole county, and Hank was always off on some soak or another. but put him in a room full of bad men and Hank could use his fists to fix the situation long before the gun came off his belt. Eddington shook his head. never mind that. alright Frakes, I'll come sit. I won't even make you pull out the good gin. Eddington looked at the rifle case and then decided just the hip-iron would hold him. wasn't gonna be no Odin there. 

-- 

the book that Frakes sent up was some queer text of some arcane history of the ruins that dotted the frontier. half of it was mystic nonsense, the other half was a bunch of guesswork about the ruins. ancient and mythic civilizations of wise priests and wicked sciences. likely written by one of those wisdoms that babbled about glory and triumph all the time but wouldn't get within a hundred yards of a ruin without staining their trousers with piss. wasn't too hard to find books, but it was damned hard to find a good one. Odin had a couple of laughs. things he'd found in the ruins would make a fella like this have to rethink a lot of things, but he knew better than letting any glory-lover know about any of the gifts in his tack. 

fist banged at his door and the gun was out of the holster slung on the bed and in his hand before the second knock hit. it's dinnertime if youse feeling it, mister, came a girl's voice. since youse staying the night you can get a plate for just a half-silver. 

on the other side of the door, Tawny heard the click of a gun being uncocked before a hoarse voice said something quiet on the other end. didn't sound quite like a yes or a no to her but she replied well then I'll see youse downstairs, mister. fella was real quick on the trigger sounded like, but this was an old town without much going on and she knew how that could make some men nervous. she knew a few ways to make men far less nervous, though. probably get more than a half-silver for that, if he was of a mind. when the door opened she was on the stair and she started back for a sec, for she thought he'd be younger, and handsomer, but he was old and had a long scar under the thin gray stubble that made it look like someone had tried to cut his jaw out of him. the way he moved, looked like that might not be the only scar he had. he didn't even look at her on the way down the stairs though, even though her tits and totsies were out for the fresh air, he just looked at the hotel lobby and bar like a man looking at weathered rocks on the edge of the desert. there was something frightening about the vacancy in the way his eyes traveled over her, like she weren't worth seeing. she didn't like that none, Tawny, but she also knew making a fuss over it was a good way to earn a bloody nose or a lecture from Frakes about her lady's comportment. working the hotel was far better than working the house. 

--

you got another book? Odin set the book down in front of Frakes, who kept trying to peer past him to make eye contact with Eddington. this one's full of bad ideas. bad ideas are like cowards. they ain't good to travel with. 

I ain't got much here, said Frakes, but I can see if we can't pull something from the dox. Odin waved a hand at that. I think the tripe and tales in here are because of the dox, so I'd rather read something that came from people attached to the earth. 

you ain't for glory, mister? Frakes saw an advantage, now. the local wisdom wouldn't take much to a wanderer who scoffed at glory. gives a lot of folk comfort. gives some of 'em purpose. 

I get my comfort from beds and my purpose from getting out of them, Odin replied. in the mirror behind the hotel bar he spotted Eddington trying to suss him out over a yellowed newpaper. since there weren't no newsman in the town, Odin suspected he wasn't reading anything but old news. tell you what, I got another idea. 

Odin turned and strolled the dozen feet over to Eddington. 

marhall, he said, tipping his hat. when you're done with that paper, might I take a glance at it? 

Eddington gave him a slow up and down. there was something menacing to this fellow alright, but Odin Hesh? he didn't look anything like the old faded posters outside Fort Clutt. wanted for major crimes against the southern arc and the inner ride, which was what southies called the curve of the frontier where it hit the badlands, which was where all the goddamn troubled had really started. which meant Eddington didn't give a tin shit about turning him in, be damned if he'd help any southie. but this old man, radiating a kind of bored savagery, had politely asked him for his paper. 

here you go, pal, Eddington said. I'm Rep Marshall Silas Eddington. new law round these parts. he stuck out a hand. 

Odin looked at the hand, then at Eddington. and slowly as if he would creak like an old machine, he reached up and grasped it for a moment, though he didn't shake it at all. Odin, he said. but I reckon yonder barkeep probably already gave you that news. 

Eddington grinned. so it was an old man just named Odin, and because he had a bit of a spook on him, and carried big calibers, Frakes got himself twice as worked up as he needed to be. it was all coming together. ain't no legend here, ain't no southie-killer who had gotten the whole frontier worked up into a froth in the territory war, just an old deadshot with creepy eyes. 

you looking for work, old man? Eddington hissed in through his teeth as he handed the paper over. had that paper rattling around the marshall's office for damn near six months now. probably wouldn't see another one til a big coach came through. I got some things to fix around town, and you don't look like a man afraid of some hard work. 

hard work I'm not good at, Odin replied. I'm good at only a couple of things, like finding folks or knowing when to walk away. 

good, all I need from you is a little help finding some folks. you know the Bullkelly gang, maybe? 

Bullkelly ain't my problem. Odin scoffed and looked at the paper. nothing. date on the paper was damn near long enough ago he'd have gotten more information from the young whore eyeing up him and the marshall. Shooter Lazarone or Rattler McQuinn, you know anything about either of those fellows, we can talk. 

I do know quite a bit about those fellows, the marshall said. Rattler McQuinn danced without no shoes at the end of a rope in Turner for rustling and road agenting. said the shit fell out of his pants when they brought him down to put him in the grave. befouled himself at the threshold. Shooter Lazarone is holed up in Brackett's Purchase, way east of even Iron'yote. the marshall said it like an outsider would -- Irawn-yoht. think Black Narrow Bill is on his tail.

Skinny Bill ain't gonna get in my way if he sees me on the trail, Odin replied. you're well informed for a man working a town with less than a hundred souls in it.

got the telecaller in my office, beeping warrants at me all day and night. half the time it ain't barely done finishing spitting out the warrant before the kill note comes through. Eddington smirked. beats the paper though, don't it?

[lonespektr]

Well shit right out of the gate

Boys already in the trunk

Already in a secondary location

Oh not cut back to 6 hours earlier

They live... Somewhere vold apparently

They are little friends

I thought they were strangers

Boyhood intimacy that dissolves when toxic masculinity sets in

Playing ball

They are to be clear

In apparent middle of nowhere

No frame of reference for location

Wind and trees so you already have the appearance from this scene they are two boys alone in the middle of nowhere

Despite the fact that they are children, they can't be alone and they are dressed for a ball game so clearly there's a school a house a community.. something but we are estranged from that

WOAH

Violent spree no lure

Back to the trunk

Kid is a fighter

They are doing a good job of not aging up this young black boy

Think this is assisted by the boys constant voice cracking and the intimacy of the shots prior

Juxtaposition with ocean cuts... California, the dream

The other boy was separated (taken out of the trunk first)

Artsy cuts interspersed

The black kid makes a break for it then realizes his bestie in the house and he turns back

We are still very much in the middle of nowhere

Stealth is not this boys expertise

Luck and being in the middle of nowhere has helped him evade notice thus far

Oh shit there's two men this just got bad

Cash in hand

The other one leaves

He gets caught quickly

Chase

Through the house obvious creeper tries to placate the boy everything is locked so it's not a hostile chase as an adult (sicko) trying to calm a boy down

Luck is on the boys side almost physical comedy he gets his own self killed slipping into a knife basically trying to pretend hes not going to hurt the boy (bobby)

Now we see the watch again 38 mins on the clock

Kevin is ahackled in the room which is why he ain't done anything

Bobby after an unknown length of freak about apology session for the dead kidnapper

Goes to find kev

Keys to the room and presumably shackles are unlocateable

But keys to the car are in dead kidnapper no 1 pocket

Bobby tries the car to go get help

But bobby is fucking 8 or some shit and not only cannot drive but definitely can't drive a fucking a manual from the sixties EYE can't drive a manual from the sixties that shit didn't even look like it had power steering

Bobby finds a rotary phone

Kevin knows how that shit works lol it's 2020 and their 8

The watch beeps

Time is up

I will note the car rolled down the drive which might provide cover ??

The use of sound is to isolate small noises and pump them to 11 the watch beep a nail crack a screw turn

The kid dials 911 and the 911 operator calls him " sir"

It's obviously a small child

The dialogue is limited (as with most horrors) and the supplemental info is radio and tv soundtracks

With specific narratives

Kevin unscrews a heating grate (it's an old fracking house it's thin iron wrought

And tries to chop his foot (before interruption)

The emphasis at the age of these kids is highlighted at every turn because that will most certainly not work it's not heavy enough hes not strong enough etc

Bobby struggles like hell to move the corpse and it's only assisted by the pool of blood that slicks the way

He is TERRIBLE at cleaning like children are there's a lot of blood and it's almost comically bad how he can't get it come out

Failed to mention the rotary phone was in a chest of otger little boys bloody clothes so here we are

Bobby successfully temporarily hid the body and the car rolled in a ditch so as predicted he seems like he left

I don't know that this scene is even necessary but the boy is at least covering all the angles

The kidnapper #2 comes back and access a safe and goes elsewhere the boy then acesses the safe and finds a shit ton of cash and pedo paraphernalia

As if we don't know, and does the kid need to know? Did we need an innocence further lost moment

Best guess is an explainer that these men are human traffickers not pedos themselves and that is why the boys are in immediate bodily harm?

Because the photos were staged that speaks to sale and gives the audience a time explanation for why they are alone for so long, this is a stash house???

Bobby injures himself trying to get kev out again reinforcing they are children and complete idiots

Hes caught again

911 rolls up and instead of smashing the window he just starts screaming

The intensity of this film is relaying to the audience just how young and stupid these kids are

Theres a woman now

Not surprising snatching two kids at once is a multi partner operation

Local cop

PLOT TWIST the other guy is a woman there are only two .so far

Local cop tips his hand that there's a kidnapper traced to the area???

This a stupid cop trope or a woman aren't suspicious commentary

Cop clocks woman cut her hand is being obviously go fucking suspicious AND her attempts at banter are off putting in a way that's clearly designed to put him on the defensive

Lady decided shes been caught and shes putting down local cop because she just leaves him at the front door

A small black child runs out of a white womans house and says help us

Local cop is like oh fuck this is real situation

Cop down/ which means help is on the way later because... dispatch is gonna ask soon, even if it's in podunk no where

Shinning reference/ axe door

The gun obviously comes out now because obvs she was trying to protect the merchandise

She found her partner in crime

Lil reference to even racism in trafficking she was going to leave him in the car to die presumably because she can't get money for black kids

Not presumably she just said it

Annd now shes aging him up as a "fighter" because he's trying desperately not to get trafficked, classy

Bobby gets the drop on her she's clearly illustrated she gets smol white boys probably with lures and probably makes her partner do the fighting

Despite getting the drop on her and handcuffing her to a pipe he literally left her with the gun (kids are dumb)

He gets grazed but hes 8 so getting shot isn't ideal

WTF does kev got on his neck??

There's racial implications here in the non black child

(I don't think kev is white tbh)

Really seen just panicking and not doing shit to save himself, he's less mobility due to being chained but after his one idea of self harm is concluded he is largely seen just screaming and crying no survival instincts

Is this appropriate for a child yes

But there's clearly a race element as who is expected to be saved and who anticipates their own rescue even when bobby is doing anything and everything he can injured fighting adults kev is just crying don't leave me as if he hasn't been there the whole time when he could have left

It's a shock collar

But it's janky as shit and clearly made from AA batteries only after bobby LITERALLY passes out from pain and blood loss does kev find it in himself to save his own ass and does the decent thing to collect his bestie to

I'm not convinced had the cutters to the shock collar not been with bobby kev would have just dipped

The got into the police cruiser and at least kev is a boy scout he's doing first aid once again the radio dispatcher is trash and tells them to get off the channel

They evade long enough for the cops to come in the nick of time

Apparently they make it to California the boys carry we never see the parents their house their lives anything it's wholly insulated

For instance what's the context be if we see the parents ( not saying we should have) but it's two boys from separate families meantto attend a ball game

Yesterday

These under 12's have neen missing overnight there would already be an amber alert

Two boys who say their first and last names say they have neen taken

That should have illicited a response

Anyways solidly constructed

Child in the cupboard playing with mice

Blood and screams coming from above the floor boards

Fast forward

Man digging bog is big news in small town

This woman doesn't want her mother picking up her kid from school

There's a dig bog adjacent, mummified corpse

Bog digger saw something and died

Intruder in the back yard??

Mom has seizures ( for the record immensely poorly imitated seizure, it seems hard for actors to do that for some reason

It's poorly researched ??

It looked like a literal tremor including the bed

Researcher comes into town, flirty with woman who has dark family history

(Murder of granny to start with)

Home invasion of woman - one of the guys on the researcher team says they're making me do it

Attacks them, steals milk??

Let's out a scream in a voice not his own womans voice

Lady protag not too terrified to clock it

WTF?

Mom is gonna get stabbed in mouth obligatory horror phallic intrusion into mouth 🙄🙄🤮🤮 everybody take a drink

Dad saves the day

With a hammer no serious injuries except to research tram member

The guy comes by to apologize on behalf of his employee

Saying he's literally the nicest guy on the team and he had to have snapped thru have known him for years

She tries to connect it to the past but the head researcher says he would have been a teenager when that happened and also not in this country at all

UH OH

I knew the old man knew something he says bog man was very nice to before he started digging crazy bogs and

It's starting again DUNT DUNT DUNNN

Mom not buying it but she drops they go to get an mri and a demon child if following her around the hospital ???

Why did u stay in the elevator with a demon child?

Why are taking their hand they chanting somi

Ghost behind you!!!!

Omg lol the child passed ou and she left it in the elevator 🤣🤣

Chant translation: she never died

Dutch traditions of bog whispers legend of Feike

Who's helen?

The bog digger is referenced to by his father as a sensative

He's saying his son probably heard a whisper

Like the elevator

The woman fights with the researcher in the car about not being crazy and asking genuine questions about what the bog the digging and the woman they are digging up have to do in common

The researcher says hes not going to tell her if she's paranoid

They immediate counteract her point by having her jump out of the car into the middle of the night screaming than pounce on the guy and have sex in the middle of the field 🙄🙄

Cut to the dig site

Four women all throats cut

Oh yea the dead set up nature cams

Graphic take for a children's play even as town lore

And moloch didn't even save the woman she action does but ruling over prosperity and resolving town poverty is a big get

Dad setting up traps instead of serving the play the daughter played feike

[tea-coffee-and-poetry]

The most precious treasures are the ones you cannot reach.

We can all agree that Sleeping Beauty is among, if not the best chapter of Ludwig Kakumei series. Not only because of its bittersweet poetic spin, but also its lasting impact on the rest of the series.

"Why are princes all nice guys in fairy tales? And princesses beautiful and pure, waiting to be rescued?" Using the premise of the original tales, the author deconstructed the conventional cliches and reconstructed her own Grimm's world with their shattered illusions.

Sleeping Beauty chapter started as it's usually told, flavored by macabre and plot twists in classic Kaori fashion. When princess Friederike was born, she received the blessings of 12 witches. The 13th witch, uninvited, was enraged. She cursed Friederike doom by a spindle on her 15th birthday. The 12th witch, not having made her blessings, twisted the curse: She wouldn't die, only fell asleep, until a true love kiss awakened her from slumber.

That's where the similarities draw to an end. Princess Friederike actually had a complex personality not cut out of cardboard. Since birth, she desperately pushed herself to be perfect in everyway, but no one acknowledged her apart from her superficial status and beauty. On her 15th birthday, her world fell apart as she discovered the blessings, coupled with parent issues, drove her to the tower to prick her fingers on the spinning wheel. She hoped she would be fine and they'd all turn out to be an ugly lie, but well, she fell asleep. Soon the castle was covered in thorns, and many years passed.

That's where our perfect and terrible prince appeared. Ludwig, handsome, cunning, and irredeemably perverted, was at the first destination of his wife-hunting journey. He found Friederike pocket watch (buried in her spiral), which became the bridge guiding their dreams to each other.

Honestly, I don't know what about Friederike moved the capricious prince's heart. The purity and vivacity of the silver-haired, bare-feet maiden playing on a bed of flowers? Fragile yet stubborn, naive yet plagued by doubts? Or was it their mutual loneliness? The harm their thorns inflicted on others - misguided attempts to protect themselves from this crapsack world? There is no doubt that the Prince saw himself in the Sleeping Beauty, though. The speech he gave to her, after hearing her story, was cruel and uncaring on the surface, while deep down he thought about himself, a child alone with his shiny toys.

Never had Friederike been loved by anyone as her true self. Never had Ludwig truly loved anyone but himself. On that fateful day, the word "never" changed into "for the first time".

Thus, he regretted hurting her - "For the first time since I was born, I hate the cruelty of my own thorns."

(In a way, it's hilarious that Friederike was the opposite of Ludwig (presumably) ideal type. He liked big cups, Friederike was an LCD. He boasted about his women collection for their quietness and obedience, Friederike was proud and animated. I get a feeling that Ludwig was actually drawn to good virtues (aside from beauty). He "loved" Blanche in her deep coma state, but soon lost interest when she woke up and revealed her vile nature. He gave up his necrophilia hobby after Blanche, also the only princess we met before Friederike. He didn't dislike Amalie, found Rapunzel more beautiful after her giving birth and working, and plenty other examples later in the story.)

Cliche or not, true love did change Ludwig for the better. When the chapter begins, he complained the thorns would damage his beautiful nails. As the story was rushing to the end, about the bleeding nails when he tried to reach his love, Ludwig spat "I won't die from a broken nail or two." - which statement completely shred away Lui's shallow and hedonistic mask. The narrative gradually shifted back to the original fantastical prompt.

The Prince overcame the thorns and delivered the true love kiss, awakening the Princess from eternal slumber.

And they lived happily ever after, till death do they parted.

The beauty of this story lies in its tragic conclusion. Despite everything, the Prince cannot get his happy ending. It served as some poetic justice, I suppose, as Ludwig had committed a lot of horrible debauchery prior to his encounter with Sleeping Beauty.

Friederike was the only person Ludwig truly wanted, and the one he could never have. She'll forever remain an illusion, an ideal, a dream he can never forget.

[mycharacterdump]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐙𝐍𝐈𝐀𝐊 𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒, 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟏 — 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟕

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐔𝐌𝐍, 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟏

Nothing cut worse than a father wound. Maisie had been tended to her whole life, ever since she failed the first hearing test when she was a few weeks old — but nothing could mend the gaping hole that yearned for more than what she was given. It felt selfish of her, when she reflected upon it, because her mother was wonderful and she had the best siblings she could've wished for. Yet every time at night when she and her twin were tucked in and he asked for a story, and their mother would recount a tale of her days at Hogwarts alongside their nameless, faceless father, she felt the full weight of herself hanging off this unconquerable mountain. She reached out for a guiding hand, but all she could feel against her skin was a gentle breeze. At some point she would have to let go; free fall into the trenches of uncertainty and doubt, but she clung on until it ached through her bones, radiating down to the marrow. Her hands were calloused and her nails reduced to rounded nubs that made her fingers look boyish and a little gnarled. She would never be a beautiful thing for as long as she held on, she deduced. And she didn't care. Her mother taught her a lesson than remained paramount: beauty was to be admired, not sought after. True beauty could be found in the glint of someone's eye when they look at the stars; the shine in their smile as they were paid a compliment; their whole body whenever they thought something was particularly invigorating, like her twin when he spoke about wandmaking the same as their grandfather, or her little brother Sebastian while he was sat square in front of the television to watch a Quidditch match. Maisie had found some odd sort of peace in knowing her beauty had yet to come. She would blossom eventually, but in the mean time she would cling onto the hope that, someday, her father would come in miraculously and change everything before she did; even as a shadow, even as a dream.

It was the last day of summer holiday, before she and Max would be attending Hogwarts as first years, whenever things finally began shifting for her.

"Little star?" Reina spoke up in a hum as she tapped her oldest child's shoulder, who was perched on the windowsill of their seaside home in Liverpool, gazing out the opened bay windows and lost in thought. "What are we doing?" she chuckled softly, moving so she could take a seat beside her daughter.

Maisie swallowed self-consciously and looked down at her hands. Her tired, aching hands. Still, she flexed her fingers and went to sign a quick, I'm sorry.

"Why are you sorry?" Her mother immediately moved so that she could comfort her, rubbing her upper arm gently. "Is this about that incident over breakfast? Because you know how passionate Honey can get about her politics."

That morning, Maisie and her younger sister, Honey, a spicy nine-year-old, had gotten into a particularly nasty argument regarding the fates of the dark wizards that had begun populating a broader area of Europe as of late. While Maisie was a pacifist like their mother, something that set her sister apart was her insistence that justice be swiftly delivered in the form of an unspeakable curse. But she didn't blame her. After all, Honey was only three years old whenever they fled the Burrow and were apparated to what they had eventually reconstructed as their safe haven, escaping the man that had infiltrated their home and presumably took the life of her father and triplet sister.

It's not about Honey. I told her I was sorry already. Maisie signed in return.

Reina wrapped an arm around her eldest for a moment, resting her head atop the other's so they could sit together in silence and bask in the moonlight that was filtering in through the cloud cover. She pressed a kiss against Maisie's crown, then pulled away so the younger girl could read her lips. "It's about your father, isn't it?" she presumed.

All Maisie could do was nod.

"Alright. Would you like another story?" Reina offered as she pulled away, leaning back against the window. "You know I'm always happy to tell them."

Maisie ruminated on the question before she gave an answer. Tell me who he was. Truly. All you ever tell us is the good parts. I want to know it all. she signed. Every ugly bit.

Reina pressed her lips together contemplatively as her gaze lingered on her daughter. She straightened her posture and placed her hands in her lap for a moment, entwining her fingers while she percolated on what to say. How was she supposed to go about this? Looking back, she had developed a habit of painting their father as a martyr — but if Maisie wanted the truth, she would have a rude awakening.

Mum? Maisie signed, seeming more desperate.

"Okay," Reina said as she released a breath and tried to keep her composure. "... Your father was a singular being. There was no one else like him in the world. I promise you this. He made sure he was the one and only, but, if we're honest, I didn't pay him much mind in the beginning. Your Aunt Lainey told me he was too much trouble. Admittedly, I liked trouble. But when I looked at him — I didn't see some whirlwind romance. I saw everything. And it scared me," she began.

Maisie remained silent, keeping her hands folded in her lap so she didn't interrupt. Her brown gaze was focused solely on her mother in that moment.

"— but when we spoke for the first time, I could tell everything he'd presented himself as had been a façade. He wasn't any trouble at all, actually. He was just a boy. He liked to spend the money his father gave him, the money he thought he was entitled to by birthright, and he liked everyone knowing that he was worth something. I wouldn't have it. When we first started dating I paid for everything, and I let him be himself. He was... He was intense. Very passionate about me, about the family name, and I — well, I was intrigued. But he liked more than material or physical things. He was the first person who ever asked me about who I was, what I wanted. He cared about others more than others cared about him, ultimately."

Pursing her lips, Maisie raised her hands again. So he's a superhero?

Reina chuckled softly and shook her head. "You didn't let me finish," she said. "He was impulsive, too. A true Gryffindor. He wanted the whole world for us. For a long time, I didn't think I'd be enough for him. And maybe at sometimes I wasn't, but that's... That's human nature. Everything changed when you three came along," she gave a melancholy smile. "He only ever wanted to do right by all of you. He messed up sometimes. We almost didn't make it. But I gave him a second chance. And he stood up for us everyday until — until the end."

Maisie noticed tears developing in her mother's eyes and she reached out so she could wipe away those that had broken off onto her cheeks. "Momma," she said quietly, just above a whisper.

"Oh, I love hearing your voice," Reina smiled at her as she grasped onto her wrists gently. "You need to speak up more often, Mai Mai. You're more alike than you know."

The younger Hufflepuff furrowed her brows, her head cocking sideways in curiosity. "Me and who?"

"Your father," Her mother said. "When you speak, the whole room lights up."

Maisie chuckled to herself. She couldn't quite believe that, as much as she pressured herself in the mirror to be bolder and edgier, like her siblings — well, minus Seb. "... What's his name?" A dangerous question, considering her mother and grandmother had avoided speaking his name for the last thirteen years, as if it would breathe life back into him. "Will you ever tell me?"

"When you're older," Reina promised as she squeezed her daughter's wrists and finally let go. "Then I'll tell you everything. You need rest right now, though, alright, little star?"

Nodding along, Maisie allowed Reina to guide her to bed where she was securely tucked in and left with a kiss on the head. I love you, Reina signed, seeing how truly exhausted her daughter was by the heaviness underneath her brown eyes. For always and forever.

"For always and forever," Maisie whispered in return.

𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆, 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟑

Max would never be enough for his grandfather. He learned this lesson when he was thirteen years old. Only a third year at Hogwarts, he was routinely berated by Walter Wozniak for his lack of promise in his work as an apprentice wandmaker. He would send owls to his shop in Diagon Alley, attached a wand prototype he perfected in the quietness of the basement where the Hufflepuff dormitory was located, and each time they would be sent back. He must've had two dozen by the year's end hidden underneath his bed. His mother consoled him as best she could; she had reminded him that Walter's affection was a scarce thing, and pining after it would only result in heartbreak. But, much like his father before him, he was obsessed with pursuing a meaningful relationship with the patriarch of the Wozniak family. He had begun losing hope as the years wore on. His first year of school came and went, as did his second, and by the time he was a teenager his perspective warped. It was fractured and jaded. He had made an outcast of himself, that was until he returned home for spring break and ventured into his attic room.

On the edge of his bed there was a folded piece of paper and, confused, Max hesitantly approached it and slowly picked it up. It had three names written on it: SPITFIRE, LIONHEART, and SILVERTAIL.

As he opened it carefully, he quickly took note of the fact that it was a map. In the middle, the lettering revealed its name, The Marauder's Map. Who were the Marauders? He sat down on his bed and began to connect the pieces, eyes widening as he realized it was a fully fleshed out map of the castle. He remained tucked underneath his blanket with his wand lighting up the dark confines so he could pick out each detail from what he could see on the pages.

It seemed to be a magical document that revealed all of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Not only did it show every classroom, every hallway, and every corner of the castle, but it also showed every inch of the grounds, as well as all the secret passages that were hidden within its walls and the location of every person in the grounds, portrayed by a dot. It was also capable of accurately identifying each person, and was not fooled by animagi, Polyjuice Potions, or Invisibility Cloaks; even the Hogwarts ghosts.

When he inspected the bottom of the map, he noticed a note had been written.

For you, who dreams of bigger things. Lionheart will always be here.

He used the map daily. As soon as he returned to Hogwarts, he would utilize it as a way of keeping track of his siblings who roamed the halls and attended classes and Quidditch games. They quickly became concerned with how involved he suddenly was in their day to day lives, but at least he had something that kept him occupied. He hardly even thought about wandmaking anymore — naturally, that made the future all the more frightening, as now he wasn't certain what he'd be doing, but maybe this would lead him to something bigger and better, if he could figure out the magic behind the map.

He took on Magical Theory as an elective and threw himself into his work, eliciting responses from his professors that caught him off guard at first. You remind me a lot of that Jensen boy that went missing. Always looking for new ways to showcase his talents. What are you trying to prove, Maxwell? He'd always scrunch his nose up and deny the similarities, as all he'd heard about the Jensens had been awful.

The more he studied the map, the more engrossed he became with the creators. Who were Spitfire, Lionheart, and Silvertail? They were clearly aliases, juvenile ones at that, so they couldn't have been much older than him. And it seemed that Lionheart was looking out for Hogwarts students — or maybe it was just him. It had to have been, right? He tried not to get too distracted by their possible identities, knowing it was more important he learn about the mechanics behind such a rare magical object.

"Whatcha got there, Maxie?" His twin spoke up one afternoon as he was watching their brothers race between Potions and Transfiguration. Brown eyes cut a glance while he released a sigh.

"Just a map," he dismissed, beginning to fold it neatly so he could return it to its rightful place beneath his pillow.

Before he could tuck it away for no one else to see, Maisie trotted over and snatched it from his hands. He protested at first, but she pretended as if she couldn't hear while she inspected the map. "... These dots," she said, squinting at the names that were displaced above each one. "They show where other people are? Here?"

Max gave a heavy sigh and crossed his arms. "Yes. What about it?"

"Where did you find this?" Maisie asked, gaze lifting so she could read her brother's lips as her hands were occupied.

"... It just showed up on my bed one day. I dunno," he said dismissively.

Maisie hummed, not seeming convinced as she sat on the edge of his bed and finally noticed the nicknames jotted down on the bottom of the map. "Who are Spitfire, Lionheart, and Silvertail?"

"That's... What I've been trying to figure out. Lionheart's the one that left it." Max slowly began explaining. It was always difficult to shut down his twin — she was notoriously nosy and stubborn. She must've inherited that from their grandfather.

A silence lingered in their conversation while Maisie tried to decipher what the nicknames could've hinted. Suddenly, she perked up and turned to her brother with bright eyes. "Silvertail," she repeated. "Mum has a streak of white in her hair. From when dad..."

"... You don't think ...?" Max trailed off, moving to take a seat beside her.

"It would make sense," Maisie said as they both analyzed the map. "And she said that Aunt Lainey was spicy. A spitfire. Like how Honey can be sometimes."

Max swallowed dryly, glancing over to her. "And Lionheart?" he asked, despite knowing the answer.

Leaning her head on his shoulder, Maisie couldn't resist smiling to herself as she trailed her fingertip over the chickenscratch nickname. "Father. Father was looking out for you, somehow."

"Somehow," he echoed, then rested his head atop hers and gave a sigh.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑, 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟓

Harrison was the smartest in his class. He outranked even some professors at school, which made summer holiday dreadfully boring with nothing to do but watch television and occasionally crack open a new book whenever his siblings weren't dragging him outside for one activity or another. He generally liked spending time with his family, but he also valued his alone time, something that was practically nonexistent when he got the privilege of seeing them everyday. This time, they had coaxed him out of the hole that was his bedroom and ushered him onto the beach nearby so he could catch a few rays of sun and walk the halls of Hogwarts next year with a fresh tan that his mother assured all the girls would appreciate. In all honesty, he cared very little about the opinions of others, except for Briar — the girl he'd been not-so secretly pining for since the moment he saw her during their sorting ceremony two years prior. So, he kept a stiff lip and carried a book down to the shore alongside the rest of his family for a day of rejuvenation.

Wearing headphones and listening to his newest favorite muggle band, R.E.M. and, naturally, reading a book on the history of magic for one of his upcoming classes when the next school year began in a few weeks. It was the tail end of summer, where the heat wasn't so unbearable anymore and he could actually enjoy the sun rather than cower away from the heatwaves that infiltrated their home. Not even the ocean breeze could clear up the thick swathes of hot, dry air that permeated in the atmosphere.

Halfway through his book, Sebastian came up behind him and tugged off his headphones. "We're supposed to be having fun," he nagged, holding the headphones up so Harrison couldn't grab onto them.

"I am having fun," Harrison insisted with a huff, reaching up higher for the headphones, which his brother didn't relinquish as easily as he was hoping. "Come on. Don't you have a volleyball game or something to get to?"

"Not everything is about sports, Harry," Sebastian chuckled as he fitted the headphones over his head and began listening to the song, humming along once he caught onto the rhythm. "... Briar would like this." he blurted before he could catch himself.

Harrison shuffled in his seat, side-eyeing his brother. Their rivalry over the Jensen girl had waged on for about a year at that point, which baffled Max, who couldn't see any redeeming qualities in a Jensen — while Briar was nice, the twin knew something was off-kilter with that entire family. Respecting the dead be damned, her father was a Death Eater, and as far as that strange, overachiever Slytherin that shared her last name went, she was even worse. But neither Harrison nor Sebastian equated a person's worth to their name. If they did, then they could've all easily been judged as unsentimental assholes like their grandfather.

"Give me that," Harrison grumbled as he snatched the headphones off of Sebastian's head and adjusted them on his own again. "Go on, then. Go bother Indie or something, since you two are so attached at the hip."

Sebastian chuckled warmly and gave a shrug. "It's called youngest girl and youngest boy bond, Harry. You should understand that." he said, remaining in place. "And she seems just fine with Hon right now."

Glancing over, Harrison noticed that their sisters were building a sandcastle together, and a smile quirked in the corner of his mouth before he cleared his throat and returned to his book. "Then go cream over Briar somewhere else." he dismissed.

"You should give that to her," Sebastian said as he finally stood up and dusted off the sand that stuck to his legs and swim trunks. "I mean it. She'd like it a lot. I don't think she listens to much muggle music."

"Thanks for the advice," Harrison said dismissively, turning up the volume on his Walkman so he could drown out the rest of what his brother was saying. Eventually, the younger one backed out of the one-sided conversation and returned to having his own fun. Visibly relaxed, Harrison would occasionally glance over his sunglasses to where his family was playing in the sand and ocean. Admittedly, he never thought he quite fit in with them. He functioned much better in an academic setting, as that's where he thrived mentally. Anywhere else and he fumbled hard. It's why he'd been so fixated on Briar all those years; he never saw her over the summer, and associated her with the comfort of Hogwarts.

He tried imagining Briar on the beach. Suntanning in a bikini, maybe. A grin appeared on his lips, albeit a faint one. Or maybe she'd partake in the same activities as his sisters. Or maybe, just maybe, she would rather sit on the sidelines with him and read a book and relax underneath a cool umbrella. They could exchange thoughts about the narrative and he could actually take Sebastian's offer on showing her the album he had bought on cassette.

Redness developed in his cheeks and his eyes drifted back to where he'd left off in his book. Sometimes, he wished he had his father around so that he could give him advice he could truly count on. No matter how pure Sebastian had always been, he was just as competitive, and Harrison saw through that veneer better than anyone. They were brothers, after all. One blood. He didn't often find himself missing their father, because he was only a year old when he disappeared along with one of the triplets, but when he did it always came as a surprise to him, as he never knew that kind of life. How do you miss something you never truly had? Quite easily, you'd find.

But he brushed the thought off once more and began reading again, content in his spot out of the sun and to himself.

𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑, 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟕

It was the last game before winter holiday — Gryffindor versus Slytherin. Sebastian was always happy to go head to head against his rival house, as they never failed to disappoint. They made the crowds go wild and he adored the attention he received from everyone as the Seeker. Since it was the last game, all his siblings plus his mother had shown up for the event, inspiring him to push through until the very end. He could see them in the stands, wearing yellow, red, green and blue, and he did slow down the team at times from waving so much at them out of pure, unadulterated excitement. He was most excited to see Briar, however, who he could spot from a mile away without even blinking first. She looked ethereal, as always, and he found it difficult to focus when he knew that her eyes were tracking his every movement as he ducked and dodged the other players so he could capture the snitch and secure another Gryffindor victory. He even entertained the idea of inviting her to the afterparty they would throw in their common room, but part of him thought he was getting ahead of himself and he chose to focus on the moment for the sake of his teammates.

He looked up at some point and, just as he spotted a gold streak zip across the sky, he witnessed two players from opposite teams crash into one another and pinwheel out of the sky. His eyes widened, careening his broom so that he could meet them at the bottom of the pitch where they had landed. A medic was swiftly called for them yet Sebastian was the first on the ground. To his horror, he had recognized one of the players as one of his closest friends, and he reached out instinctively to latch onto his hand.

"Lockwood, are you alright?" Sebastian asked, worry lacing every syllable as he squeezed the other's hand tightly in assurance that he wouldn't leave. He might've been his rival, but he was still a person, someone that cared about Quidditch just as much as he did. When he only received a groan in pain as an answer, he forced himself away so that the medics could tend to him. "Make — make sure he's okay." he said weakly as the other was carted away on a cot.

Subsequently, the game was postponed, and Sebastian trudged himself into the locker rooms so he could shower and change out of his sweat-stained clothes before he met his family for dinner. Instead of heading directly for the dining hall, however, he made a b-line to the hospital wing in the hopes of checking in on both his teammate and his friend. Alas, he was shut down by one of the nurses and told only immediate family were allowed in as they recovered from their extensive injuries.

"Can I wait here until I can see them, at least?" Sebastian asked. There would be plenty of family dinners, he thought, but only one chance where he could prove how much he cared about Noah in his time of need.

The nurse relented, and Sebastian found a seat in the waiting room as the hours ticked by. He nervously rubbed his hands together, glancing up at the clock while each minute ticked away painfully slow. Gradually, he watched as their family members arrived and began making decisions for them, which he found a little ridiculous — they were all almost grown, coming up on their eighteenth birthdays. But he knew it wasn't his place to interfere, so he remained on the bench for the first time in his life. He tried to put himself in their position; if it were one of his siblings, or someone like Briar, who he saw as an extension of his heart, he would want privacy as well. As night fell, one of the nurses approached him again and asked if he wanted to return to his dorms.

"I'll take it from here," Reina spoke up. She offered a kind smile to the nurse, who side-eyed her before retreating behind her desk once more. "Sebby. What are you still doing here?" she asked gently, sitting beside him and placing a comforting hand on his back.

"I... I had to make sure Lock— Noah would be okay," Sebastian answered, feeling relieved at the calming touch.

Reina nodded along in understanding. "I'm sure he'll be fine, sweet boy," she hummed. "You Quidditch players are tough eggs to crack. Your father — he tried it once, it wasn't his cup of tea." she indulged with a blithe chuckle.

Sebastian's eyebrows knitted together as he looked down at his hands. She hardly ever mentioned his father nowadays. It was like she was actively trying to forget he ever existed. It would've hurt less if she hadn't already filled his head with fantasies of what he used to be like when he was a baby or before he was born.

"... I don't want to talk about him anymore." Sebastian said honestly. He glanced over so he could see her reaction, watching as her expression fell and her complexion paled. She seemed embarrassed, or maybe upset with herself for bringing it up. Maybe both. Either way, he knew he needed to cement it that if there was no chance of ever meeting this mysterious father of his, he would rather not hear about how perfect life was before he evaporated in thin air.

His mother swallowed and pulled away from him. "I'm sorry," she apologized. "Force of habit."

"It's just — he isn't here anymore, y'know? I never had him the way that the twins and Honey did. India doesn't even remember him," Sebastian continued, word vomit forming in his mouth the more he talked. "He's just... He's just a ghost. And I don't want to be haunted by all of what could've been."

Reina brushed some curls out of his face, her soft smile making him melt inside. "Okay," she said quietly. "I understand, Sebastian. I do. I hope your friends get better soon."

He nodded along, looking down at his shoes. "Yeah," he murmured. "Me too, momma."

[sor-vette]

four, circus!! (index/description)

☜ three, an all-out fight club!!

☞ five, dots!!

t/w: dead bodies, mention of overdose

"This has got to be the dumbest thing I've ever seen," Yoongi thinks to himself as he blankly stares at Jimin, transferring the PPT file to the projector.

123 slides in "Reasonable arguments as to why we should date, _̵͚̾͌_̶̢̛̘̅͛̕_̶̡̧̝͗̒̋̌̚_̴̮̒̍̿̃͠ .

"Wrong PowerPoint bro," Jungkook grunts with closed eyes. No doubt the idiot had tried to stalk you throughout the night. It's been three days since Erik had officially enrolled.

Namjoon also has his eyes fixed on the projector, his expression giving nothing away.

"Resigned to death, poor bastard, as you should."

Jimin momentarily looks behind him to see why Jin had started to snort in laughter before scrambling to choose another file.

56 slides in "What do we know about Erik and what to do about it?"

"The title could be less verbose," Jin remarks, spinning his chair around the room.

"You're one to talk, literally," Jimin sneers but, there is very little malice in his voice if any. Besides Namjoon, V and Hope, who actually stuck to his word of minding his business, Yoongi didn't know anyone personally in the room. Though he sure has heard of the connections they had with you. Each weirder than the other.

Namjoon, the CEO, the one who went overboard in commitment and scared you off. Rumour was he offered marriage before the first "I like you." But that as well could be bullshit.

Hope, with the most cordial contact out of all. And also the most distant. You two had fundamentally different perceptions of how the world worked. Incompatible match, as the saying goes.

Jin. Despite the grandeur of his character, Yoongi knew very little of him. Even less as to why you left. He presumed the lack of commitment on both sides.

Jimin, the almost. For five months Yoongi had to hear nothing but coy whispers of just what good friends you two were. What good time you both had jumping back and forth from Paris and home. And then with zero explanation, you weren't. Every once in a while, he'd see the two of you in the hallway. Working hard to suffer through an exchange of pleasantries between long awkward pauses. The whispers had been effectively stomped to death, with no one the wiser as to what the hell had happened.

V, the one you hated and the one who hated you. How the two of you even met was beyond anyone's understanding. How you didn't rip each other's throat out even more so. Why he was here? God only knew.

And the last one, JK. Your trainee before Erik. The one who'd shamelessly bounced, leaving you in the dust when the enrollment came with a nary of thank you. After that, you officially joined the cleaner department and largely went missing from the public eye.

And, of course, Yoongi himself. The only official boyfriend. The one who officially broke both of your hearts.

"If all of you could please focus!" Jimin snapped, standing with a wad of paper in hand, waving it like a teacher in front of particularly annoying group of students.

"He even made notes," Namjoon whispered faintly.

"More like a manifesto," Yoongi snickered, letting his eyes wander over the sheer thickness of the file.

"Silence!" For a split second, Yoongi wanted to make a jab about a chihuahua being able to bark, but having considered his own height, he chose to be silent.

"So, let's start with basics. Erik Genyer. Joined two and a half years ago through a recruitment agent. He's 24, lived in Seattle before moving here. No known parents or siblings." Jimin recounted with ease.

"I hope you didn't look through his records," Namjoon frowned at the screen. "Because I did not authorize that."

"Does it count as looking if it's a brief glance?"

"Yes."

"And yet here you are benefitting from it." Namjoon could only breathe through his nose a tad harder.

"Why are you telling us this?" Jin interjected. "Mr CEO here could just give us his file - we'd read for ourselves."

"I will not. That's against company policy."

"And what you're doing here is completely legal and non - invasive." Jin raised his eyebrows, not phased even in the slightest that he was much below Namjoon's position.

"Silence!" Jimin yelped again at the front. "Has anyone here worked with Erik?"

"Hope definitely has," V piped up from his seat, looking as uninterested as one could. Yoongi narrowed his eyes at him. V took the piercing glare in stride, haughtily turning away.

"Well, yes but..." Jimin shuffled on the stage almost awkwardly. "He has strictly declined the invitation to our little... boy band."

"Wait does that mean he could tell _̸̢͉̦͔̣͈̱̅́́̓͊̇̂̓́̕͝ͅ_̸̨̙͚̻̬͖͉̻͔̑̓͐͜ - I mean R.D.?" Jungkook suddenly asks, eyes wide. Even Yoongi blanched at the thought. Everyone straightened in their seats. This was all fun and games until the moment you knew. Oh, you'd rip each and every one of them a new asshole. All of them could kiss goodbye to any attempt of trying to mend bridges. By that point, there wouldn't even be a river stretching underneath.

"I sincerely hope not." Jimin whispers and they sit in a moment of silence, weighing the risks.

"Heh, hope not." Jin suddenly gives a breathy laugh solely to be met by a general aura of disapproval.

"It's not funny." Namjoon scolds slightly but, Jin being Jin, openly looks him into eyes and goes -

"I know."

Amidst the banter, JK raises his hand shyly.

"I trained with him for a short while."

"And what is he like?" Jimin's eyes almost sparkled at anyone giving an actual insight.

"He must be wearing contacts or something," Yoongi mused, pushing the cap of his water bottle around the table. He knew Jimin to be attractive. No one in the entire company would shut up about it, nevertheless, something about him seemed almost supernatural.

JK shrugged in response.

"A bit rude and careless but talented. He finished training early."

"Did it seem like he was particularly going after her?" Namjoon interrogated further. There was a deep scowl of resentment on his face.

"Uhh, no. I think he was interested in the cleaner department in general. Apparently, he spent most of his orientation there."

"He also spent a month in surveillance. Did you speak with him...V?" If V was surprised by Jimin addressing him personally, he didn't show it as he continued to inspect his nails.

"Didn't even know he was there."

"Why did he stay so long in the cleaner department?" Yoongi asked as he ran over the information on the screen. Besides the already mentioned month in surveillance and a week in networking and relations, this Erik hadn't even tried to apply anywhere else.

"Poor communication skills. I had to throw him out. That's why he was only there a week." Jin explained.

"So you spoke to him?"

"Well, no, Irina," he was interrupted by a hollow thud. Without prompt V had dropped his steel thermos onto the desk, tea splattering everywhere and staining JK's jacket in the process. Both of them fumbled to clean it up with anything they could. V dabbed the desk harshly, the wood creeking at every aggressive wipe. Yoongi saw Jin looking sideways, the same confused expression echoed on his face.

"Well, as I was saying, Irina, R.D.'s friend, I'm sure you're familiar, came to me, said he was causing trouble and asked to refer him."

"And you sent him to R.D.?"

Jin gave a deeply suffering sigh.

"No, I did not send him. I referred him to general management and they gave him to the cleaners ."

"Ok, I get all of this. But what are we supposed to do about him?" Namjoon interrupted, jaw set in a tight grip.

Jimin fell silent at the front of the room.

"Yeah, this was the main question." Yoongi thought bitterly.

It was all a question of ethics, wasn't it? JK could pretend all he wanted to be above it all, to be respectful but then he trailed secret circles around you. Whether from guilt or perhaps a sense of entitlement. Yoongi didn't know or really care. Nevertheless the kid clearly had a hard time differentiating between what he said and what he did. Yoongi was however surprised to see Namjoon be so eager. He quite fancied making himself bald from worrying about the nature of evil. Just how easy it was to hide it behind big aspirations of providing aid. But it seemed as of late all of that was tossed aside.

Jimin was the one who orchestrated this in the first place, and so naturally, everyone looked at him for guidance. He was still shuffling around, nervously fiddling the blue pen.

"Well, first of all, I think we should talk more to R.D." A huff passed around the room.

"Talk to her?" V asked sceptically, mouth set in a straight line and heavy wrinkles carved between brows.

"Do you have any idea how difficult that would be?"

"Certainly it would be for you," Yoongi snarled, earning a harsh glare.

"Listen, at the end of the day, it's not really about us trying to force her into something. It's just to make sure... she's living a safe life. Well, the safest that's possible." Jimin said with enough sincerity to trigger certain insecurities within Yoongi and by the look of it also Namjoon.

It was no secret that between the seven, they were the most possessive over you. Both having the wrong idea that you were theirs. Which is why you left and why you probably were so caught up in Jimin. The purity and sheer selflessness of his sentiments acted like a punch to the gut. The genuine care that he reflected like a sun made the raw wound in Yoongi's chest seep even more. To be loved like that would be a dream come true. Yoongi shifted his attention to the laminated floor.

"We talk to her, find out what her life is like, keep a close eye on what Erik does. Talk to other cleaners about him, and once we find out, she's happy. That's. The. End. Of. That." There was no uncertainty. Jimin was dead serious.

The meeting was adjourned, quite amicably actually, but Yoongi knew that the rest of them had ulterior motives and plans. He had them too.

Jin and JK were no threat. Both were too uncertain of what to do with you.

Jimin had some deep-seated self esteem issues. Despite his 123 slide presentation, the way he spoke made it clear. That's probably why the abrupt parting, Yoongi mused. Both of you most likely shared the same anxiety about not being good enough for the other.

V was just V.

Namjoon was the only one Yoongi was truly worried about. Even from looking at his back, walking headstrong up the stairs, Yoongi could see how stubborn Namjoon was. In a way, it was like looking in a mirror. The possessiveness, the mulish mindset. They'd saw you, all of you and had decided that this was it. Yes, Namjoon would certainly be the toughest rival. However, Yoongi was very good at playing the long game. Especially if he wanted something so bad it felt like his thorax slowly being ripped out.

All that was left was Hope. But he wasn't even a viable player. After all, he hadn't even shown up.

***

"Why the fuck is he so heavy?" Erik grunted, swaying left and right and holding onto his dear life to the bagged pair of legs.

"Rigor mortis...set in," you huffed in answer, from the upfront of the body. "At least he wasn't rotting already. That's just nasty. 1, 2, 3."

Both of you lift the body into the van and let the poor bastard drop with a soft thud. Sweat pooled underneath your white hazmat suit with plastic glasses digging straight into your brain. You banged hard against the "EMT" van, and it drove away, carrying Dr. Martin Leyster to the morgue.

Should the neighbours see anything, it was a sad story of a depressed psychiatrist accidentally overdosing on his own meds. The evidence of him manipulating his most vulnerable patients into bankruptcy erased in you any stray feelings of sympathy though.

"You have the peroxide?" You rifled through the cleanup bag, but instead of answering, Erik began to actively point somewhere behind your back. A cold chill ran up your spine as you realize someone has been watching you stuff the body in the trunk. It quickly dissipates when you see a familiar smile.

"Hard at work, I see," Hope whistled, bounding towards you more like a kid on a school trip, rather than what the reality was.

"May I borrow your mentor for a bit?" He asked politely, still smiling up at Erik. There was no warmth in his expression.

"You are after all now an official member of the cleaner crew. Surely you can handle this on your own."

Erik looks at you for a moment before giving a loud sigh and trudging back to Leyster's office, the white toolbox angrily swishing back and forth in his hand.

Without hesitation, you remove the glasses from your head, revelling in the ease of pressure. Hope had stopped smiling altogether, looking quite pensive.

"What brings you here?" You ask lightly. To see him here is not worrying per se, but certainly interesting. He gives a quick shrug.

"Nothing much. Wanted to see how you were doing after that runt's little stunt." You only laugh at the shallow animosity. Erik's talent to drive people out of their patience was truly remarkable.

"I'm doing fine. You know... working. What about you?"

"I've been working as well."

You both fall silent.

"You ever thought about leaving the BH?" He suddenly asked, and you quirk a brow at the question.

"Not particularly. Have you?" Hope focuses a blank gaze at the grey walls of the multi-story apartment complex.

"A little bit. Last few days especially." You stand in muted shock. Hope was the last person you thought would quit. He was, without doubt, the most devoted, the most passionate out of all the hundreds of employees. He lived for the cause, he himself said so. And yet now he stood uncertain in front of you. Not really the bright and friendly Hope everyone knew, not really the strict and somewhat terrifying training teacher. He was just...quiet. It was an upsetting scene.

"Do you want to go for a drink or a lunch, maybe?" You offer, reaching for the zipper of the white suit. Yes, Erik could handle this on his own. He was a big boy. Hope hastily placed his hand atop of yours, pausing the movement. Even through the fabric, it radiated warmth. No wonder people called him sun. He frowned at the conjoined hands, lightly stroking his thumb over your knuckles before lighting up like a Christmas tree.

"No, no. I don't want to burden you with my problems." You didn't believe his smile for a second.

"Well, I won't steal you away for much longer, the pup might get anxious." He turned around, by the looks of ready to sprint off.

"Hey, wait!" He paused, not looking back.

"Do you why JK has been stalking me?"

"He has?"

He had. The first time you noticed a shifting figure in the background, you wrote it off to the combination of hangover and exhaustion. The second time he'd run off into the night faster than you could catch up. The third time you nearly flung yourself off the roof when seeing a pair of doe eyes staring back at you from an empty apartment building.

"There isn't like an alliance going around between some of my... acquaintances?" Truth be told, you found the very idea ridiculous, but it had wormed its ugly way into your brain and was now near impossible to get out. JK, Jimin, Yoongi and Namjoon wouldn't even get along with each other. Even though those four were most likely to meddle in your business. However, if looking realistically, it was probably just your paranoia taking an intensive round. Seeing suspicious cars, watchful eyes and snooping noses where there were none. Hope threw you a sardonic smile.

"That would just be stupid."

(a/n)

In this story people have their names and codenames and will be often used interchangeably. It all depends whether in the story the POV character knows the names of others or not.

[dojae-huh]

Hii I’m the anon that watched the NCTtheory videos made by the Kfan hehe do you think Story of Favorite kind of confirms his role of being one of the members tht can see the future? (If I’m not mistaken thats the role the Kfan theorized…🤔) or honestly this has been hinted since NCIT and Stick Together?

one more thing, the part of the writing that talks about everyday is the same, is it talking about the cycle of dream stages? like a reminscent when they are stuck in a dream? It reminded me of The 7th Sense lyrics.

You didn't name the neo, anon, but I presume you mean Yuta? He is the one said to know the future in that kfan's theory (also Taeil and Kun).

SM likes threes, NCT has 3 main colours, and I think that kfan nailed it saying that Black on Black teasers tell us the roles.

Tae, WW, Jisung - they are the original dreamers. They start the empathy chain. Maybe even create dreamscapes? Dream's stories happen in Jisung's dream. WW fell and WayV began. Tae and the NeoCity.

Ten, Doyoung, Johnny - the ones that know about the dream reality from the beginning, prevent others from leaving. Do and JN are the experimenters. Ten - ? Possibly, make dreams for others (the dream lab machine, the keyboards).

Yuta, Taeil, Kun - the seers, they see the future events. Two were passive, Kun has been active from the beginning.

Jeno, Chenle, Jaemin - ?

Renjun, Mark, Haechan - lucid dreaming, can change/affect dreams.

Lucas, Jaehyun, Jungwoo - can enter dreams, switch dimensions. Maybe go to Reality from the beginning.

Yeah, I think this is "trapped in a repeating dream", trapped in dream reality. Vampires are just a nice allegory, but NCT is about dreams first of all.