#i try to fill in a section and it starts erasing instead. like. my guy. you’re a marker. not an eraser

[magicicephoenix]

whiteboard doodles !!

[thunder-at-dawn]

Old Memories

Word count: 2,474

Summary: Late in the night, the king receives an unexpected visitor, who attempts to help him remember his past.

I spent way too much time writing this goodbye

warning: this is a sfw tickle fic! don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable :]

OH also if you tag as ship i will block you <3

Why couldn’t he remember?

It was a simple question that burned in his mind.

Why. Couldn’t. He. Remember.

Eret sighed, sitting on his throne as he reflected on past events. It was late at night, he should probably be sleeping right now. However, his mind was racing with thoughts of Foolish, the peculiar totem-shark hybrid that he had previously befriended. He was kind and comedic, but his talk of a “wither cult” in a previous conversation had swarmed Eret’s mind.

It was incredibly frustrating. He had asked other people on the server, and none of them have heard of a wither cult. Even Phil had no clue what Eret was asking him about.

Maybe there were books that had the information that the king was looking for. Maybe there was something in his castle. There was no way that this was just...erased from history. There had to be something.

With a yawn, Eret stood up from the throne and equipped a torch in his left hand, as the castle could be quite dark in some areas at night. The king wandered through the halls until he approached an area of the castle that acted as a small library.

This room had bookshelves that were lined along the walls, as well as a table with chairs in the center of the room. There were also some bookshelves that started at the walls and then expanded out into the center of the room. Everything was lit by one hanging lantern in the middle of the ceiling.

While it was a small library, there had to be something on the history of withers. Eret believed that this wouldn’t be something that would disappear without warning. He scanned through the bookshelves, looking for anything that could be useful, when something caught his eye.

“The History Of Withers: An Analysis.”

The black hardcover book sat on a bookshelf next to the table. It had a fairly large spine, and Eret knew it would be packed with research. He set the torch on a nearby wall, then reached towards the book. However, what the king didn’t expect to see behind the book’s place on the shelf was two emerald eyes greeting him.

“AH!” Eret yelled in surprise, dropping the book and covering his mouth.

A soft chuckle was heard as a familiar friend emerged from the other side of the bookshelf. “Haha, sorry about that! Did I spook ya?”

A small groan left Eret’s mouth as he checked the clock momentarily. He wasn’t exactly mad or annoyed, just shaken up. “Foolish...it’s nearly one in the morning! What are you doing here?”

“Just passing through the area!” The totem nodded. “I was wondering if you could have any spare lapis that you weren’t using? I need some for my summer home.”

“...Yeah, I should have some in a chest on the second floor in the tower left to the entrance of the castle.” The king said after a moment of thinking. “Grab as much as you need.”

“Got it! Thanks, old pal!” Foolish said before turning to leave the room.

“Old pal.”

Every time that nickname was brung up, Eret felt like he was being stabbed in the stomach.

Why. Couldn’t. He. Remember.

“...Foolish, wait.”

The other turned back around. “Yeah?”

“Can you...” Eret paused, struggling to find the right words. “Can you come back in here with me when you’re done? I wanted to talk with you about some stuff.”

“Oh, sure! No problem, buddy!” Foolish nodded with a grin before walking out the door and out of sight.

Once Foolish had left, Eret let out another long sigh, leaning down to pick up the book that he had been scared into dropping. The king mustered his strength to lift the book onto the table, as it was heavier than it looked. After taking off his crown and setting it on the table, Eret sat down, starting by looking through the table of contents.

Behavior of Withers. Wither Powers. Myths and Legends. Nothing about a wither cult. Damnit! Why was this so hard to find?

Myths and legends...maybe a cult would fall under that category? He flipped to the page where the section started, skimming through the first few paragraphs.

“I’m back!” Eret looked up to see Foolish making an entrance. The totem pulled out a chair and sat next to Eret. “You said you wanted to talk?”

“Um, yeah. That, and I want you to stay here and take a break from building.” Eret nodded.

Foolish groaned, slouching in the chair. “But Eret, I want to build! I have so much energy, I could build so much right now.”

“You’ve been building almost daily ever since you got here, you need to take time to rest.” The king rolled his eyes with a smile.

“...Fine.” He sighs, playing it up and not actually upset. Well, he was a little bummed, but Eret was right, he needed to rest. His eyes averted to look at the book on the table. “What’cha looking at?”

Eret looks up as his friend, then back at the book. “Well, I wanted to do some research on what you mentioned to me a while ago. About...a wither cult.”

Foolish blinked in surprise, before leaning over and examining the book. “...Myths and Legends? No, that’s not right.” Without hesitation, he stood up and started quickly flipping through the pages. Eret let out a small gasp of surprise, but didn’t question anything. After about a minute, Foolish sat back down. The book was now open to a page with some gibberish writing as a chapter title.

“I...What?!” Eret examined the page, unsure of what information it had to offer. “Foolish? How did you-“

“Eret. I’ve been alive for years, I’ve had plenty of time to do some light reading.” The totem interrupted, a sarcastic tone in his voice.

“Whatever you say.” Eret mumbled, starting to read the first paragraph. Despite the title, this section of the book was in english, and started with talk about an ancient being named Ronan. Foolish looked over his shoulder as Eret repeated the words from the book into his head.

“Anything of memory coming to you, old pal?” Foolish asked out of curiosity.

“Old pal.”

Damnit, that stab was there again.

“...No. I can’t recall any of this at all.” Eret said calmly, trying to hide his frustration. “So, apparently we fought against this...this Ronan guy and his army of cultists?”

“Yep! That’s the guy! Leader of the Wither Cult. Never liked him, still don’t like him.” Foolish nodded. “...You’re sure you don’t remember anything?”

“Nope.”

“Hmm...that sucks.” Foolish’s eyes averted to the lantern on the ceiling. “We had some epic battles. Definitely worth remembering, I’d say.”

Eret raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah! You were pretty good with a sword back in the day.” He nodded, then sighed. “I just wish you could remember it all.”

“You and me both.” The king agreed, looking back at the pages of the book.

“Back then, it was awesome. On the battlefield, we were a force to be reckoned with! With your sword and my lightning, we were unstoppable.” Foolish spoke, reminiscing about the past. “And even when we weren’t taking down a cult, we were still pals! We would practice sparing together, go on adventures, scale mountains, and...”

Eret looked up, taking notice of his friend trailing off. “...And? And what?”

Foolish paused, looking around at the castle walls. “Eret...are these walls soundproof?”

“What?” That was quite the peculiar question to ask. However, Foolish was a peculiar character, this was nothing new. “I don’t believe they are, why do you ask?”

“Just curious.” Foolish shrugged, before standing up from his chair. “Alright, I need you to stand up for a second.”

Eret obeyed, standing up and pushing his chair in. “Are you...taking me somewhere?” He asked.

“Good guess, but no. I’m gonna bring up some old memories, but you have to trust me. Do you trust me, Eret?” The king nodded, and a small smirk grew on Foolish’s face. “Okay, now I need you to lift up your arms, above your head, and close your eyes.”

“I need to what?” Eret asked, intrigued, but clearly confused.

“I promise you, just trust me on this one.”

Eret hesitated, then closed his eyes while slowly moving his arms upwards. “What are you going to do, arrest me?” He asked sarcastically, letting out a chuckle.

“Hmm, no.” Foolish shrugged, stepping closer towards Eret. “Instead, I’m gonna do...THIS!”

Eret’s eyes shot right open after Foolish’s plan was put into motion. His arms shot straight down as he could feel the hallows of his armpits being scribbled upon. “W-WAIT! Fohoholihish what are you dOHOHING?!” He asked, his voice filled with small snickers and giggles.

“We used to have tickle fights all the time back in the day! Don’t you remember?” The totem asked.

“Nohoho, I dohohohon’t!” Eret said back as the other once again shrugged.

“Really? Aw man, I guess I’ll just have to help you remember!” He grinned, moving his hands down to Eret’s sides, causing him to double over laughing. Eret tried to get away by slithering out of his grasp and moving closer to the floor, but Foolish was quick to lightly tackle him onto the ground, scribbling at his sides and stomach.

“The old “sneak onto the ground” strategy, eh? Nice try, but you’ve already used that against me tons of times back in the day! Don’t think I don’t know your hidden plans!” Foolish grinned, teasing the other.

“DAHAHAMIHIT!” Eret shouted, the laughter spewing out of his mouth and filling the library. He wanted to be quiet and not risk anyone waking up, but it was just too hard with Foolish absolutely destroying him at the moment.

“Remembering anything now?”

“Mahahaybehe I could thihihink and fohohohocuhuhus wihihithohout youou TIHIHICKLIHING MEHEHEHE!” Eret’s laughter pitched upwards when Foolish started to stretch and knead at the kings hips. Who knew some tickling could reduce a powerful ruler into a squealing mess on the floor? Foolish knew, and he had been waiting for the perfect time to use this information to his advantage. He didn’t even want anything like a confession of some sorts, or something like that. He just wanted to see his friend smiling again!

“Wait, I know just what will jog your memory!” Keeping one hand on Eret’s hip, Foolish hovered the other one over the king’s ribcage. Eret, who’s laughter had died down a little bit, immediately noticed this.

“Fohoholish. Foolish.” Eret tried to sound intimidating, but the giggles escaping from his mouth made it hard take him seriously. “Foolish, no.”

“Foolish, YES.” He now hovered both hands over Eret’s ribs, anticipating him for what was next to happen.

“Foolish, I swear. Do not.” Eret repeated. “Foolish. Wait, we can talk this out. You don’t need to do this. You don’t- Foolish wait. Foolish- Foolish wAIAIAIHAIT!”

Wheezy cackling filled the air as Eret’s worst spot was targeted. Foolish skittered his fingers all over Eret’s ribs, playing them like a piano to see what spots were the worst. Anytime Foolish spot found a good spot, he would zone in on it and drill his fingers into the spot, making Eret’s laughter even louder, higher-pitched, and wheezier than before. After switching to scribbling at his stomach once again for a couple extra moments, Foolish stopped, giving his friend the time that he needed to breathe.

“You doin’ okay, old pal?” He asked with a grin, laying down next to Eret on the castle floor. “Hopefully I didn’t overdo anything.”

“No...yohohou’re fihine.” The other looked at the ceiling, still a bit giggly.

“Old pal.”

That stabbing feeling. It wasn’t there anymore.

Foolish frowned, just a bit. “So...nothing came to you during that? No memories?”

“No memories.” Eret repeated with a breathy sigh. A silence formed between them for a moment until Foolish spoke up again.

“Y’know, honestly? Who cares about old memories?”

“...What?”

“I mean, sure, we can dwell on the past. Or, we can look forward to the present and future.” Foolish continued. “Obviously, I want you to remember stuff as much as you want to, but maybe, for now, we should focus on making new memories instead of focusing on old ones. We could have our adventures again, and you hopefully won’t forget about them this time!”

“I...I suppose you’re right.” Eret nodded, sitting up after taking enough time to catch his breath. “It would be nice to know more about what happened back in the old days, but...it would also be nice to focus on what’s happening in the world now.”

“See? Exactly!” Foolish agreed, standing up and reaching a hand out to help Eret off of the floor. “We can make a ton of new memories, like how I just wrecked you.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll definitely remember that, so you should watch your back.” Eret chuckled, playfully sending a jab into Foolish’s side. The totem yelped in surprise, instinctively backing away. Another silence formed between them, both registering what had just happened into their minds.

“...Oh! Well, would you look at the time! I have to get back to building, it was very lovely talking to you Eret!” Foolish sputtered out, turning around and heading towards the door.

“You shouldn’t be building this late at night! You can stay here and rest more!”

“Nope! Nope Nope Nope. I’ve already rested enough.”

“Are you sure about that?” Eret playfully raised and eyebrow and started to follow the other.

“Yes, I’m very sure. Bye Eret!” Before the king could get a chance to speak again, Foolish closed the door on him. Eret let out a small laugh under his breath, waiting for a moment until he opened the door.

“Foolish, wait, relax.” He said, watching the totem hybrid turn around as he was leaving. “In all seriousness...thank you for stopping by. It really means a lot, even if it was at one in the morning and I may have waken someone up.”

“It’s no problem, Eret. Anytime, I’m happy to help.” The other nodded. “Just call me over if you need anything in the future.”

“Of course...” Eret paused before finishing his goodbye. “I’ll see you soon, old pal.”

Foolish paused, a soft grin forming on his face. He couldn’t remember how long it had been since Eret had called him that.

“Right back at ya, buddy.” He said to the other before waving goodbye.

And with that, Eret closed the door and headed back into the library. He had no idea what time it was. What he did know was that he had more knowledge about the wither cult than he previously did earlier that night, a stronger bond with his old friend, and the knowledge that in the morning, someone might tell him about hearing strange laughter in the middle of the night.

[chiropteracupola]

So I’ve been asked “HOW DO YOU EVEN. DO THAT. GOD.”  and other questions approximately in that area.  Well, you can find out, through the power of the ridiculous number of progress photos I took while making these!  I’m pretty much self-taught, so some of these steps might be a bit weird and convoluted, I’m just out here trying my best.

Alright, let’s start out with materials.  Most of the construction is done in Super Sculpey Living Doll, which is the creepiest possible name they could have given this clay.  It ends up slightly translucent when baked, and it’s surprisingly durable as well, which is excellent if you are like me and drop it on the floor constantly.

First step, schematics.  I was intending these as scale drawings, but then I decided not to go through with the larger size and more complicated joint system.  Having a sense of the shapes you’re going for does make it a lot easier later on.  I ended up leaving out the double-jointed knees, as well as changing the shoulder and ankle joints somewhat as well.

For the rest of the materials, I’ve got superglue, something to spread the superglue with, pliers, pencil and eraser, sewing pins, felting needle, pipecleaner wire, ruler, acrylic paint, matte varnish, watercolor pencils, paintbrush, purple marker, aluminum foil, non-serrated knife, fork, and permanent markers.  You can use something closer to actual sculpting tools, or more paint, but this is just the stuff I had lying around the house.

I bought a couple of kind of sketchy molds off I’m not even sure where on the internet anymore.  They are not intended for doll-making, they are intended for those little sugar figurines you put on cake.  Do I care?  No.  I mostly hand-sculpted these guys anyway, and here are the major shapes I ended up constructing.  Particularly for Jack, some of the pieces are sculpted around an aluminum-foil core.

Here’s a view of my desk, partway through the sculpting process.  This posture is not recommended for sculpting, but I had found a hat and wanted to feel like I was some kind of noir detective.  

Heads are a pretty simple shape.  Sculpting the face basically consists of sticking on a triangle for a nose, then smoothing in the edges and poking it around a little bit to create the vague idea of cheekbones, eye sockets, and so on and so forth.  Sculpt in some collarbones if you are, like me, very emotionally invested in collarbones.  This is perfectly normal.  

Before baking the clay, make sure to poke a hole in all the joints to glue in wire later.  The first diagram shows where these need to go.  DO NOT FORGET TO DO THIS.  (I forgot to do this.)  This is a cross-section of how the wiring for the neck will sit eventually.  (Except in the case of Stephen, because I forgot to do this.  If you also forget, this situation could probably be fixed by drilling a hole with a very small drill, but I’m very afraid of power tools and instead spent an inordinate amount of time doing foolish things with knives, and his head still won’t stay on.  Be better than me.)

Another view of my desk.  Craft pipecleaner wire is fairly sturdy, and I haven’t yet found an alternative to removing the fluff with pliers and using that.  It is very tiring and time-consuming, make sure you have snacks and maybe a video to watch.  Stay hydrated, nutritioned, and entertained, and remain calm.  This is a long and torturous process, do not torture yourself more if you don’t have to.  Also, you’ll live if you get superglue on your fingers, but be careful anyway.  If possibly, work in a ventilated area as well.

The process of joint creation went largely un-photographed, as I was engaged in the more attention-consuming process of cursing at tangles of wire and cloth tape for hours upon hours.

I wrapped the wire connections and the ends of the clay pieces in some sort of cloth tape I found in a closet, and where necessary, filled in some gaps with wool and pieces of craft foam.  (Very Small Jack is about 30% craft foam, which means he is Huggable and Pleasantly Squishy.  Tiny Stephen only has these adjustments around the knees, and he is, in comparison, Stiff and About As Huggable As A Desk Lamp.)

The process for shoulders is slightly different.  Instead of a wire connecting the two clay pieces, the arms have wire hooks connected directly through the torso by a tiny rubber band.  (Dental rubber bands are truly fantastic and I don’t know what I would do without them.)  I’ve added some cloth tape wrapping here as well, for added stability.  

Next up, hair and faces.  I’ve added some color around the joints in watercolor pencil, added eyes and so forth in permanent marker, and painted in the hairline and eyebrows with dubious paint I got from my neighbor.  A little bit of color on the cheeks in watercolor as well, particularly for Jack, and scars in white watercolor pencil.  I added a little bit of matte varnish on the fingernails for some contrast.  (I had leftover clay, so I also ended up making a tiny dragon, which shows up in a couple of the photos.)

The hair is made of brushed yarn (I’ll make a separate post to talk through that, as it’s a bit of a process in its own right.)  I’m gluing on longer pieces in a spiraling pattern.

Gluing on hair, bit by bit.  He looks a bit like Henry Le Vesconte and I’m not sure how I feel about that.

After some trimming and styling, he’s looking good!

Now, my favorite trick here is what can be done with a lavender marker.  This is just a fairly light-colored standard purple felt-tip, but in combination with the slightly translucent clay, it makes really nice false shadows that add a lot of depth to the faces.  Go crazy with it, it’s fun. 

So yeah!  That’s how I do what I do!  This got quite long, so I think I’ll do the the rest of the explaining (clothing, shoes, etc.) in a separate post sometime later.  Hope this was helpful, and thank you so much for all the love and kind words, it means a lot to me!

[lexa-lives-in-us]

Yasha finding out about what really is going on behind the scenes with the A.O.I (Angel of Irons) Organization. Break my heart please.

Part 13 of ???

Read 1 - 2 - 3 - 4  - 5 - 6  - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12

Dairon doesn’t get the full story until lunch time rolls around.

Caduceus, Veth and Marion whip out a full three course meal in the span of one hour, and Dairon has finally the chance to see the last room of the base.

They limp towards the kitchen, ignoring Beau’s offers to help, and crash on the nearest chair, taking a good look around.

It’s a poorly lit, big room, with stoves, fridge and countertop across the opposite wall from one of the two doors. Dairon sees Veth disappear behind another, and they make a note of exploring it later. In the middle of the room, a long table is already filled with silverware, food and drinks. It can host up to fifteen people, but the Nein plus Marion crowd the side where Dairon is already sitting.

Marion meets their eyes and Dairon averts their gaze, barely suppressing a smile.

The woman takes a seat next to them, and Dairon gets immediately kicked in the shin. When they look up at her, Marion is looking straight ahead with a smirk on her face.

This woman.

***

They devour the food in silence, everyone too absorbed in their own plate, still too exhausted and recovering from last night to dare speaking.

Dairon themselves barely looks up from the delicious meal, too famished to partake in even the smallest of conversations.

Only when every dish is cleared and Caduceus is readying the kettle, Dairon sits back.

“So. Does anyone want to explain?” they ask.

The Nein look around the table, exchanging a series of glances. Jester clears her voice.

“Remember the A of I?”

Dairon nods, but next to them, Marion shakes her head.

“Not going to lie,” Dairon adds then. “I can use a refresher on what you guys did. I only remember it involved Yasha and then, of course, all of you.”

They all nod, the mood suddenly very dark.

Marion reaches for Dairon’s hand from under the table, and Dairon can’t negate that request. Their fingers intertwine.

Above the table, though, Beau is doing the same with Yasha. Their hands join, and Beau looks at her wife and her wife only. Yasha smiles at her and nods. She thanks softly Caduceus as he places a steaming mug in front of her, then takes a deep breath.

As Caduceus gives a cup to everyone, Yasha starts recounting.

Yasha sticks her head around the corner, making sure that nobody is present. It’s not like she’s never been down in the basement, but it’s also not one of her favorite places, and it’s most certainly somewhere she should be without a specific order. She is ready to lie, of course, but she would really rather she didn’t have to.

She is a terrible liar after all.

Obann doesn’t keep her around for her charisma, that is for sure.

Yasha rounds the corner, hand near the leg holster, ready to whip out her weapon at any suspicious movement.

Luckily for her, the hallways seem to be empty.

She can’t hear a single sound coming from either direction, so she keeps walking, and finally uses the key she’s borrowed from one of the others to open the door of the record room.

She sneaks inside, locking the door behind her and turning the light on.

The neon lights come to life with a buzz, illuminating the rows of shelves with a sick green ray.

She roams around them for a few minutes, trying to find a sign that tells her where the files starting with N are.

Finally, she notices a very faint labeling system at the bottom of each row, and then it’s a matter of minutes before she finds a bow with NT-NZ scribbled on the front.

She extracts the box, hesitating for just a moment.

She shouldn’t be here.

She should be upstairs, where Obann and the others are resting, or getting ready and trained for the next mission. Not down here. Not sneaking around like a criminal, looking over files that could-

Files that could either confirm that Beauregard Lionett is indeed the enemy or that could instead destroy every single certainty she’s had of her adult life.

Yasha bites her lower lip.

Because one thing is unfortunately very true.

She doesn’t remember her childhood. At all. She remembers coming to terms with a sort of amnesia, a result of having hit her head too hard during training, or during a mission, but that is pretty much it.

Obann has told her she is being with the Angels of Iron since birth, where she has being trained and educated, loved and cared for. And Yasha has never really questioned anything. She simply does what Obann tells her to do, and although sometimes some mission is not exactly her cup of tea, Obann has always been very clear and reassuring in telling her that they’re doing it for the best of causes.

But Yasha isn’t as dense as her companions believe her to be.

And Beau.

Because there is Beau.

Beautiful, strong, smart Beauregard Lionett.

A CIA Agent.

And Yasha isn’t well versed in American politics or whatever, but she’s pretty sure the CIA is supposed to be the good guys. Or something like that. But Obann hates them. Obann has told her to eliminate any CIA threat on sight.

Yasha doesn’t understand.

Because Beau has talked to her. They’ve talked a lot, actually. And Beau has told her that the Angels of Iron are not, in fact, good. Quite the opposite, really.

And Beau... Beau has kissed her. Beau has looked at her in a way that Yasha only remembers being looked at once, although the details are still blurry.

There’s a woman, a young girl, in her past, that Yasha doesn’t remember. She has a name, but she can’t remember a face. Zuala, the name is. She’s asked Obann about her, but he’s just shrugged and told her to move on.

And Yasha had.

But now she can’t.

Not anymore.

Because Beau has pushed her away from danger, Beau has almost gotten a bullet for her, no longer than a week ago, and Yasha can’t stand the idea of not knowing anymore.

So she places the box on the ground, sits cross legged on the cold concrete floor and finds her file.

Nydoorin, Yasha.

It’s a thick one.

Yasha takes a deep breath, then opens it.

The first page is a birth certificate, in Russian. Born in Novosibirsk, Siberia from [REDACTED] Nydoorin and [REDACTED] Nydoorin. Yasha blinks. She presses a finger on the black rectangular lines, where her parents names have been erased, possibly forever.

Swallowing a lump of tears and bile, Yasha flips the page. It a report, once again with several sections erased, with the Angels of Iron’s letterhead.

Yasha skims through the document, of several pages, noticing how entire sections seem to have been cancelled off.

“The child is above average. The vitals are [REDACTED]. The child appears to be healthy enough for the project. [REDACTED] and [REDACTED] Nydoorin have refused to sign the child off to the organization. [REDACTED] might be necessary.”

“Obtainment of the child is an asset.”

“Approval from [REDACTED] has been received.”

“Proceed with obtainment.”

Yasha remembers witnessing a car crash, one day, a few years back. She remembers how horrible it had been, to see the bodies burn and the people scream without being able to do anything to help them.

It’s exactly how she feels now.

She wants to close everything and run, but she can’t stop reading.

She flips another page, and a set of pictures clipped to a paper appear in front of her.

One is a picture of two adults, a man and a woman, smiling in a hospital room with a newborn baby in their arms. The woman has gentle features, gentle eyes, big hands, large shoulders and long, wavy hair. The man is very tall, with an athletic build, and a nose that Yasha sees in the mirror every day.

The baby is asleep, a small fist curled and closed on her mother’s thumb.

They look peaceful. Happy.

A tear falls on the picture, and Yasha wipes it away slowly, hesitating with her finger on the shape of her father’s face.

She forces herself to move on and look at the other pictures.

A child, with long, dark black hair collected into a braid, stands next to two more girls, one of them with red hair, the other with dark brown ones. Three year old Yasha’s eyes are focused. Her little body is not all that little, compared to the two other children, standing tall above them.

They all seem to be wearing the same uniform.

Other pictures show Yasha’s growth, in that same uniform, and picture her fighting other girls, training in both hand to hand and weapon combat.

The reports the pictures are attached to talk about her.

“Agent Y is skilled.”

“Agent Y mastered the course.”

“Agent Y is fit and ready for combat.”

Yasha keeps going through pictures and files, and every report she reads confirms her suspicions, confirms what Beau has told her about the Angels of Iron.

She starts to see a recurring pattern.

A woman, next to her or behind her or in front of her. A woman with gentle eyes, dark hair and a shit eating grin. Yasha knows immediately who this girl is. As she goes back to the first picture, she recognizes her as one of the two other toddlers in uniform.

“Zuala...” Yasha whispers.

Yasha reads everything once more, looking for signs. And she finds them.

“Agent Y and Agent Z work well together.”

“Agent Z has punched another Agent who was making fun of Agent Y. Investigation required.”

“Agent Y and Agent Z have been found within Agent Y’s quarters, in a compromising situation.”

“Agent Y is a precious asset. Agent Z has been removed from the project.”

Attached to that one file, a single picture.

A black bag, with a dark skinned arm poking out of it. In the background, Yasha sees herself, spine ramrod straight, no emotion on her face.

Yasha stares at the picture, and presses a palm against her mouth, to prevent...

To prevent her to scream, or to puke, or both. She’s not exactly sure.

She stares and stares, and details form back into her memory. Details of Zuala. Of nights together. Of days together. They’re blurred and they’re vague, but they’re memories.

She exhales, trying to swallow a surge of vomit into her throat, and flips the page. It’s a medical report.

She skims through it almost in a haze.

An injection. A cocktail of drugs. An experiment.

Memories being wiped.

A new life. A new Agent. A new Yasha.

More obedient, now that she doesn’t remember. More loyal, now that she has being cleared of distractions.

The last page is a picture in colors.

It’s recent, way too recent. Yasha remembers this one.

It’s herself, her recent self. And next to her, staring with adoring eyes...

“Beauregard...”

Underneath, a few words.

“Possible distraction. Liability. Kill on sight.”

Yasha slams the folder close.

Tears have dried on her face, but it doesn’t matter. She might not know everything, but she knows enough.

It’s time to go.

Silence falls into the kitchen.

The Mighty Nein are all looking down into their mugs, pensive expressions on their faces. They all know the story.

Beauregard’s hand is still on Yasha’s, and her free one is clenched onto a fist. She hasn’t looked away from Yasha’s face for a single moment during the whole story.

Dairon can see the same rage, the same horror they feel, reflected on their kid’s face.

Marion’s hand has been squeezing theirs painfully for the whole duration, and when Dairon turns to look at the woman, they see tears streaming down her perfect face.

“Yasha.” she says, broken voice and broken soul. “My child.”

Yasha closes her eyes for a moment at the word, a single tear escaping her.

She grabs Beau’s hand with both of hers, and takes a deep breath.

A soft voice speaks up from the corner of the table, making both Dairon and Marion turn.

“We found more intel, a few weeks ago.” Jester says, all her usual cheerfulness now gone. “We’ve been trying to dismantle the project for years, now. It’s not easy. They have connections everywhere. Mafia and Ndrangheta in Italy. The Cartel in Mexico. Triad, China. You name it. They’re everywhere.”

Veth takes over.

“So we started setting up traps. All over. We’ve been trying to collect intel about customers, buyers, sellers, anything. We started suspecting on someone who was once seen with one of Marion’s old... Clients.”

Marion is quicker than Dairon to understand.

“The Gentleman.” she says, in a whisper. Her hold on Dairon’s hand loosens just slightly.

Jester nods.

“I talked to him. He didn’t seem to have anything to do with them, this time around. But we didn’t trust that he would just leave it alone, so we had Beau and Yasha at the Hotel, as security. We were going to tell you, Mama, as soon as possible. But then...”

Everyone turns to look at Dairon.

“Then the CIA got wind of a possible meeting of drug lords in Paris, and the Gentleman’s name was made.” Dairon continues, finally piecing everything together. “I was sent in to gather intel and protect the source. Marion, we assumed.”

Everyone around the table nods.

Beau, finally turning away from Yasha, places her palm on the wooden table.

“As you can see, Dairon... We have work to do. You are welcome to stay or to go, once you’re feeling better. But we’re going to do this with or without you.”

The table turns to look at them.

Dairon looks at Marion, and the woman blinks, her beautiful face pale as a ghost.

Dairon turns to look at Beau.

"I’m in.”

[crystalninjaphoenix]

Visits & Visions

A JSE Fanfic

This story is about a page shorter than my usual stuff, but it’s still a lot of pages. There’s a lot of setup with not as much action this time around. Chase visits more people. We check on Schneep again, finally returning to his POV. And then Anti acts like an evil asshole, because he is an evil asshole. Yeah, not much to say about this one. Hope you guys like it regardless :>

You can find the other stories under the pw timeline tag!

Chase opened the curtains on the bedroom, letting in a wash of sunlight. The bright light was quickly absorbed by the dark blue paint on the walls, but still lit up the desk and swivel chair, dresser and closet, shelves with books and knickknacks, and the bed with the nightstand next to it. Marvin, lying in bed, pulled the blanket up over his head and groaned.

“Sit up and absorb the Vitamin D, bro,” Chase said, sitting down in the swivel chair. Marvin’s cat Ragamuffin was lying on the desk nearby. On top of Marvin’s laptop, to be exact. He peeked open his eyes when Chase sat down, then dismissed him and closed them again.

“No,” Marvin said stubbornly. “I’ll eat a lemon or something instead.”

“Well, first of all, that would be really sour so, uh, maybe not,” Chase pointed out. “And second of all, that’s Vitamin C.”

Marvin groaned again, this time clearly putting on an act. He pushed away the blankets and sat up, running fingers through his messy hair in an effort to semi-comb it. “I look like shit,” he muttered.

“Didn’t you have a hairbrush in here somewhere?” Chase asked, looking around. “Oh, there.” He stood up and walked over to the dresser to grab the brush, which he then handed to Marvin.

“Thanks,” Marvin said, accepting the brush and running it through his hair. He managed to untangle some of the worst of it when he stopped and put the brush on his nightstand. His eyes were cloudy, staring out the window with a vague, far-off gaze. Then he lowered his head into his hands. “Fuck this,” he said, a sob catching onto the end of his voice.

“Oh geez.” There was a tissue box on the dresser as well. Chase picked it up, pulled out a tissue, and handed it to Marvin. 

Marvin accepted the tissue, mumbling another “thanks” and pressing it to his eyes. He...well, he’d looked better. Chase was pretty sure he’d been in bed for at least a whole day. Which, Chase had to admit, he could relate to. Sometimes it was tough. And having your friend kidnapped wasn’t easy, for obvious reasons. Jameson had been missing for about three weeks now, and Marvin was having trouble with that. True, he hadn’t reacted this strongly when Jackie disappeared, but even then, he’d had to take a week to himself. And Chase knew that Marvin was pretty close with JJ. He hadn’t been crying about it as much lately, but it would still happen, seemingly triggered by him just...thinking about the situation.

“You need to drink some water, bro,” Chase said. “Losing all this, uh...moisture isn’t good.”

“Moisture?” That momentarily distracted Marvin as he raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“Well, I wasn’t going to say ‘fluids.’ You probably would’ve called that out, too.”

“Ah, fair, I guess.” Marvin crumpled up the used tissue and dropped it into the trash bin he’d recently moved near the bed. “Anyway. What’s up with you? What’ve you been doing?”

“Hey, I’m serious about that water thing. You want me to go get a glass from the kitchen?”

“I...yeah, sure. I have a hydro flask in one of the cupboards, use that, not a glass. I don’t want to knock anything over.”

“Great. Be right back.” Chase stood up and hurried to the kitchen. He quickly found the water bottle in one of the cabinets, filling it up with tap water and a few ice cubes before heading back to the bedroom. When he returned, Marvin was lying down again, slowly petting Ragamuffin, who was sitting on the pillow nearby with his head on Marvin’s neck. Chase raised an eyebrow. “That can’t be comfortable.”

“Shhhh. You don’t know the fluffiness,” Marvin said.

“Yeah, I do. I’ve pet him many many times before.” Chase handed Marvin the water bottle. “Good thing I used the lid with the spout thing. Here. Drink that.”

“Mmm.” Marvin started sipping through the attached straw while Chase retook his usual position. After a while, he said, “Soooo...can I ask you what you’ve been doing now?”

“Well I mean...a lot,” Chase said. “I’ve been visiting Schneep and Jack. Both of them are looking a lot better. You should really come with one time, they’d both love to see you, probably Jack especially. Though I mean, talking might be a bit awkward at first. You ever heard of a communication board?”

“Of course. Is Jack using one of those?”

“Yeah, exactly. Cause his, uh, talking and moving isn’t up to par yet.” Chase rubbed the back of his head. “Also, uh...I’m trying to find out more about...Anti.”

“Wh...” Marvin stared at him. He set the water bottle down on the nightstand next to him. “Why?”

“I don’t know, man, I’m ju—I’m tired of not doing anything,” Chase said. “I thought, hey, maybe if I can find something out, I can...I dunno, really. Just help a bit.” He sighed. “I mean, it’s not exactly easy.”

“Oh I can imagine,” Marvin mumbled, reaching up to scratch Ragamuffin’s ears.

“Yeah, he’s a criminal, you know? And a good one. We didn’t even know he existed until Dr. Laurens escaped and confirmed that he did.” Chase made a frustrated noise. “So I mean, looking up news sources is hard. I’ve been trying to find mysterious deaths in the area, going back a few years, but that’s still a lot. And like, he’s gotta have a base somewhere, right? Where he’s keepin—where he has supplies and shit. But how do you find that? God, how did Jackie do this? Seriously, how do you be a detective?”

“Well Jackie, like, went to school for this,” Marvin reasoned. “He knew—knows tricks. What do you mean by news sources? Like, online?”

“Yeah. Why, do you think I should go to the library? Check out old newspapers?”

“I mean...if you’re looking online, maybe he has a website.”

Chase stared at Marvin for a solid thirty seconds. “I’m sorry. A website? A website...for a guy who kills people?”

“They exist,” Marvin said casually. “You remember how I got almost killed back in March?”

“How could I forget that?” The whole story was still pretty unbelievable to him. Marvin had been working for a seemingly normal clothing shop, but because of suspicious activity, decided to look into it. And he’d soon found out that the shop was a front for some sort of smuggling operation, with firearms involved. Not long after that, he’d been attacked on his way home from work, and very nearly died. It hadn’t taken too much thought to realize the shady people behind the operation were behind the attack. “That’s the whole reason you left suddenly.”

“Yeah.” Marvin nodded a bit. “Well, I got curious. I was like, how exactly do you hire someone to kill someone else? So I took my old laptop that I left at my grandma’s house, because like, whatever, it probably should’ve been e-recycled a while ago, or whatever they do. So it didn’t matter what I searched up there, cause I was gonna get rid of it after. And I searched up stuff. And long story short, there is...totally an online market for stuff like that.”

“I...you’re serious?” Chase asked, gaping at him.

“I wouldn’t mess with you about this.”

“It just...seems unbelievable. If there were websites like this, couldn’t the police find them?”

“Sometimes they do.” Marvin’s eyes darkened. “But...there’s a whole...section of the Internet that...isn’t...good. It’s like...for that exact stuff. And if Anti was hired to kill me, he has to have some way for people to...to contact him for stuff like that. A website would be good for that.”

“Oh,” Chase said softly, looking away as he contemplated this new information. It made sense, really. It was more that he didn’t want to believe there was something like that out there. But he had to. So he took a deep breath. “You, uh...know how I’d go about finding something like that?”

Marvin nodded slowly. He gently pushed Ragamuffin away, who didn’t seem to mind and just rolled over, and then sat up. “Hand me that spiral book and one of the pencils from the desk,” he said, pointing. Chase did so, and he started writing down a few things. It took a while, since he would occasionally stop, think about something, and erase and rewrite, but eventually he tore the page out and showed it to Chase. “Here. These are some of the websites I remember, mostly because of the, uh...memorable URLs. Don’t—don’t use a computer you want to keep or have a bunch of information on.”

Chase took the page, scanning the URLs Marvin had written down. There were five of them, and...yeah, he could see why these stuck with him. “Are you gonna do some searching, too? It’d probably go faster with two of us.”

“No.” Marvin immediately shook his head. “I only have my laptop right now, and I really don’t want to compromise that with viruses or anything. That model was expensive, and it’s so much trouble to replace.”

“Oh. Yeah, good point.” Chase hesitated. “Do you...I mean, if you wanted to help me look for Anti, that would be...good. Too. In whatever way.”

Marvin hesitated. Chase could see the battle going on mentally, his usual fiery nature contrasting with the lack of energy he’d clearly been having lately. “I mean...I guess I’ll help you if you need anything,” he finally said after a while.

“That’d be great, bro. I can talk about it when I come over,” Chase said. God, he’d been doing so much visiting lately. Going everywhere, all over the place. It was...tiring. And that wasn’t even including the weekends when he had the kids over at his house. Another reason he hadn’t been able to find much on Anti was because he just didn’t have the time to do any thorough searching. But this website thing seemed easy. He could do it when he got home. “Anyway, keep drinking water. You, like, really need it. And you don’t really get it until you don’t have it.”

“Speaking from personal experience?” Marvin asked, raising an eyebrow.

Chase laughed. “Ah, you caught me. But seriously.”

“Alright, Chase, I understand.” Marvin picked up the water bottle again and started to sip.

——————

As it turned out, searching for illegal websites was not easy.

Chase had an old computer that he’d been keeping in his closet for ages, ever since he got a new, better one for playing and recording games. He dragged it out, booted it up, and set it through a factory restart, since Marvin had advised against having much personal information. From there, it was a bit of...a shot in the dark, really.

The search took a while. Chase was sure that looking at these websites was putting him on some sort of watchlist somewhere, and he couldn’t help but glance around the room every few minutes. Wasn’t there a video game like this, once? Jack had played it on his YouTube channel. Some game where you searched the messed-up dark side of the Internet. Yeah, that was the one where Jackie showed up in the second episode to help him with the puzzles and stuff. But that was just a game. This was real, and he was paranoid that someone would pop up in the window, staring at him.

By the time he found what he was looking for, it was well into the night, and Chase was positive that his browser had logged this worrying activity and possibly sent it to some agencies somewhere. But the search was a success. He’d clicked on a link reading ‘Antiseptic: For Taking Care of Infections.’ Harmless-sounding, if it hadn’t been on a website that listed several other websites, all somehow involving hiring someone to do shady shit for you.

The website from the link was, admittedly, pretty professional-looking. It could have been for a proper business. But it wasn’t. This was a website where you hired a hitman. And that hitman was Anti. Chase unconsciously leaned back from the screen as he clicked around the webpages. Something about rules, something about rates, something about reviews from customers (all anonymous, of course.) And an About page. Chase hesitated, then clicked on that.

The page that popped up had a bright red banner plastered across the top, reading: ‘IMPORTANT: I am not taking any new jobs for the time being. How long, you ask? Until further notice. Why, you ask? Something needs to be taken care of. Wait for your killing. Or go hire someone else.’ Blunt and to the point, while still being vague. Chase didn’t like the sound of ‘something needs to be taken care of.’ He had the strong suspicion that ‘something’ involved Jameson, and possibly Jackie.

He should tell the police about this website, right? It could be an important lead, not only in finding Jameson and Jackie, but in catching Anti altogether. Chase thought about it, and decided he would. But just in case, he’d keep the computer around and remember this URL. So he could search through this website on his own time.

It was late. He really should go to bed. Well, he might be too anxious to, after spending so much time looking at stuff like this, but he should try. But before he shut down the computer, he decided to check out the reviews section. What sort of reviews would a mercenary have?

He glanced at a couple of them, not wanting too many details, but suddenly stopped. The lowest rated review on the front page—god, killings had ratings, that was messed up—read: ‘Left a complimentary review in March when I thought he efficiently killed the target. But now, turns out the bitch is alive, and this bastard made me pay just for the CHANCE of going after him again. And he hasn’t even done it yet! Hurry up, you’—Chase winced at the word used—‘that Irish fucker could tell anyone by now!’

It was probably just a coincidence, but...the attack on Marvin’s life had happened back in March. And Marvin was Irish. And it had happened because some criminals thought he would tell...no, it was probably just a coincidence. It was a big world, after all.

Chase quickly wrote down the website’s URL and, just in case, the path he went through to get to it. He then closed the browser and shut down the computer. This was intriguing, but he’d have to look it over more later. He had to go tell the police about this the next day. It would have to be early in the morning. He had plans. More visiting to do.

——————

By now, Chase was pretty familiar with the visiting room at Silver Hills, as well as the visiting procedure. Enter, sign in who you were and who you were there to see, go wait in the visiting room, and after a while, the patient you were there to see would show up, along with a doctor in tow. Or, well, maybe the doctor was just for a few patients, to keep an eye on the ones who were somehow risky. Either way, the procedure hadn’t changed at all. He breezed right past it today, as always, and didn’t even have time to sit down before the other door in the room opened.

“Chase, my friend!” Schneep gave Chase a quick hug. “It is good to see you again so soon.”

“So soon? It’s been a week, like always.” Chase patted Schneep on the back before pulling away. “But it’s always nice to see you. You look good.”

“Ah, thank you.” Schneep smiled, a bit nervously, twisting his medical bracelet around his wrist.

“I’m serious, Doc.” And it was true; Schneep looked better than he had in a while. His skin had more color, and he’d gained a bit of weight. He was still pretty pale and thin, but it was a welcome, and noticeable, improvement. “Like, your hands aren’t shaking anymore.”

“Hmm?” Schneep looked down at his own hands, holding them still for a moment. “Oh yes. I hadn’t even noticed.”

“Well that’s good,” Chase said encouragingly. “I mean, it’s gotta mean that they’ve figured out, like, medication and stuff.”

“Yes, I think so,” Schneep said, glancing over to the corner of the room where Laurens was sitting, working on something on a clipboard. “Things have stopped changing.”

“Great.” Chase sat down on one of the couches, patting the cushion next to him so Schneep would sit down, which he did. “Anyway, you said last week they’d be moving you back to your first room. Have they done that yet?”

Schneep’s expression brightened. “Yes, they have! Chase, it is so much improved. Even just looking through the window at the ground—well, the window does not open, which I understand, but even just that is so much better. I do wish they would let me wear my own clothes again, but I think that is happening soon.”

“Well it should.” Chase folded his arms, eyeing the plain white shirt and pants Schneep was wearing. “I don’t even understand. Is it that much of a risk?”

“Ah...” Schneep reached up to rub his neck. “Well, not for everyone. You say you do not understand, but I do.”

“If you’re okay with it, then,” Chase said slowly. “Oh, by the way, I brought you something.” He shrugged his backpack off his shoulders, pulling it around to hold in his lap while Schneep watched quizzically. “Stacy and the kids were baking, and they decided to drop some off, and I-I thought, well, I don’t know if there are like sweets in the hospital cafeteria or something, so...” After a bit of rummaging, he pulled out a plastic ziploc bag with a pair of chocolate chip cookies inside. “Here.”

“Oh really?!” Schneep gasped, immediately taking the bag.

“Yeah, really.”

“Thank you!” He wasted no time in opening the bag and taking out one of the cookies, biting into it.

Chase laughed. “I was right, huh? No sweets in the cafeteria?”

Schneep swallowed so he wouldn’t answer with his mouth full. “Well, there are sometimes. I think there is a schedule, maybe for every other day, I do not know. I only started going into the cafeteria...well, I did at the start, but then there was an incident, and—anyway, the point is, I have not been...attending, is that the word? For long enough to learn a schedule. I have only been allowed in the cafeteria and the, ah, rec room recently.”

“Really?” Chase kept a positive note in his voice. “That’s good, right? People say you need a change of environment.”

“Yes.” Again, Schneep glanced over at Laurens. “I hear it is advised. Which is one of the reasons why that—that other doctor was not good at her job.”

“Boy, you are so salty,” Chase said. “But you know what? Go ahead. She was an asshole.”

Schneep laughed.

Chase smiled. “Go ahead and be saltier than those, uh, fucking salt flats in America, or whatever.”

“S-salt flats?” Schneep was laughing so hard that it devolved into coughing. He had to take deep breaths to calm down.

“Yeah, they like, test the speeds of cars out in this spot in the middle of nowhere because it’s so flat. And it’s, like, made of salt, I think.”

“Is that a fact?” Schneep asked, amused.

Chase pulled out his phone. “Well I’m about to check if it is.”

The rest of the visit flew by. They talked about nothing, which was a welcome change of pace. Briefly, Chase considered telling Schneep about Jameson’s disappearance, as he had for the past two visits. But, just like those previous times, he decided against it. It would probably just upset him. And he didn’t even really know who Jameson was, apart from that one time he freaked out after seeing him. And that encounter certainly didn’t leave a good impression. So they talked about little things. Music, and movies, and what was happening with Chase’s kids. Small talk, yes, but it was the only chance they got to have this small talk each week.

Eventually, the time was up. Chase said goodbye and good luck, which Schneep returned, and left, heading back towards the front desk so he could check out.

Shortly after signing out on the visitor’s sheet, he heard footsteps. Chase looked up to see Dr. Laurens had followed him out. “Hey,” she said.

“Hey.” Chase nodded in greeting. “Uh...everything okay?”

“Yes. Why, are you expecting it to not be?”

“I dunno, it’s just that usually when a doctor talks to you after you finished visiting someone, it’s usually with some sort of news.”

Laurens laughed. “No, it’s all fine. Schneep is doing really well, you know, making a lot of progress. Obviously, it really helps that, ah...the head doctor is no longer holding me so tightly to regulations.” She said it delicately. “So he can actually get the help he needs.”

“Yeah, a doctor with a revenge plot isn’t exactly helpful,” Chase commented. “He wasn’t even the right person for that plot in the first place,” he added, muttering.

“Well I-I guess if you want to be blunt about it,” Laurens said. Clearly, that had never been her style. “Anyway, yes, everything’s going great. I just wanted to ask, I was going through his files recently and I noticed you were down as an emergency contact. Are you still okay with that?”

“Yeah, sure. He doesn’t really have any family who’d respond,” Chase said. “Am I the only one?”

“No, your friend Marvin is there, too,” Laurens said. “We, um, tried to contact his wife—or, uh, separated wife—Mina. She hasn’t responded, so I just thought I’d confirm.”

“Really? Did you, like, call her or mail her or something?” Chase asked, intrigued. Mina had sort of been a distant figure for a while. And even before she and Schneep separated, he hadn’t been too familiar with her. A bit odd, really.

“Yes, Schneep gave us her number and mailing address,” Laurens confirmed. “I guess he could have misremembered it, or she could have changed those. But the point is, no response. So you and Marvin are the only contacts.”

“Got it.”

“Great.” Laurens paused. “Um...do you need anything? I-I understand your other friend woke up, Jack. You’ve got to be pretty busy.”

“Yeah, really.” She didn’t know the half of it. It was...actually really tiring. But he refused to let this stop him anymore. But...Chase considered something, then leaned closer, and quietly said, “Hey, uh, you’re a therapist. Do you know any, like...other therapists? Not here, like, more casual places. That you go visit.”

“Oh yeah! Hang on a second.” Laurens flipped through the pages of her clipboard, unclipping a blank sheet at the back. She took her pen out from behind her ear and wrote something down. “Here. This is the agency I worked for before here. Well...I mean I worked here before. But then I quit and worked there, and came back here—you get the picture.” She laughed awkwardly. “Anyway, there’s a website I’ve written down there. They have listings for different therapists, sorted by specialties and methods, and including, uh, short biographies so you can get to know them a bit before you actually make a booking. So you can know what you’re looking for.”

“Thanks.” Chase took the piece of paper and looked it over. “That was...more information than I thought, really.”

“Well I wasn’t about to just recommend someone,” Laurens said. “That’s for you—or, uh, anyone who’s therapist-shopping.”

That got a laugh out of Chase. “Alright. Anyway, thanks again.” He folded up the paper and put it in his pocket. “I’ll see you next week.”

“See you,” Laurens waved as Chase left.

Yes, next week. Assuming nothing went wrong and she had to contact him beforehand. But it probably wouldn’t.

——————

The recreation room of Silver Hills was a large, wide room on the second floor. Schneep hadn’t been in there much. Of course, for a long time Dr. Newson hadn’t allowed it, on the basis of it being dangerous. But even when he first checked in, he didn’t go down to this room that often. Maybe once, to see what it looked like. He hadn’t exactly been in the right mental space for recreation at the time. Too...well, he supposed ‘paranoid’ might be the right word. He didn’t want to get too attached to the space in case this whole thing turned out to be a trick.

But now, he thought he should give it a try. Maybe it would be helpful, to have more to do. He might be able to take his mind off things.

The room had a wall with windows overlooking the front of the hospital, and two doors on the walls to either side. Because of safety concerns, the entertainment was a bit limited. For example, some rec rooms might have a pool table. Not here. Some might have cabinets with board games. Not here. But there was still several playing card games, some pinball machines, and a TV with access to television channels and able to stream movies. There were three tables, each with a cluster of chairs, a couple sofas and armchairs near the TV, and paintings on the wall as decoration.

There were several people already in the room when Schneep peeked in. Mostly patients, with a few orderlies sitting around, identifiable by their uniforms. A group was sitting at one of the tables playing a card game, a couple were at a different table talking to each other and drawing with crayons—maybe a bit childish, but Laurens had stated that colored pencils weren’t allowed—and a few more were sitting around the TV, watching. A few of them had paused whatever they were doing to look over towards the door when it opened, and Schneep immediately froze.

“You okay?” Oliver, the usual orderly, was accompanying him to the room. They still hadn’t lightened up the rule about him being able to walk around on his own, though Laurens had said she was working on it. “Do you want to go back?”

“Nein, no no, I am fine,” Schneep muttered, stepping further into the room and looking around. He couldn’t help but notice he was the only one wearing the standard-issue white shirt and pants. Was that why some of them were staring at him? Or did they just like staring at people?

“Alright, just tell me if there’s anything wrong,” Oliver said, walking in behind him and keeping to the edges of the room, as he usually did.

Schneep nodded vaguely, glancing around to give everyone in the room a second look. Unfamiliar, all of them. There was one, part of the group playing cards, who was really staring at him, but everyone else had turned away, so that was probably her problem more than anything. Folding his arms—well, it wasn’t technically folding his arms, he just sort of grabbed each elbow with a hand—Schneep walked over to the seats by the TV and sat down in the nearest empty armchair. This was fine. That one other patient had stopped staring by now and looked back at the card game, which meant that nobody was looking at him. And that was good. Well, Oliver was there, keeping an eye on things. But nobody was watching him. Really. Nobody was. He didn’t see anyone looking. Everything was fine.

Okay, time to see if he could distract himself. What was on the TV? Schneep took a deep breath as he checked it out. It was definitely a movie of some kind, live-action, but not one that was familiar to him. It had that appearance of an older movie, something in the grain of the film or the delivery of the lines giving away that it was at least a couple decades old. Huh. That was...interesting.

“Hey.”

Schneep jumped, looking to the side. A man was looking at him. Sitting on one of the sofas, near the end closest to his own chair. “Ja? Um, yes?”

“Are you new here?” The man didn’t look too intimidating. Sandy blonde hair and freckles, wearing a blue t-shirt. He had a medical bracelet on his wrist, too.

“No, not at all,” Schneep said. “Why?”

“I just didn’t recognize you. I’ve been here a couple months, I think I recognize the usual crowd in the room. How long’ve you been?”

“Um...” Schneep paused for a second to do the math. It was now November, so that was...“A half a year.”

“Oh.” The man’s eyebrows shot upward.

“Yes, I, um, have not been in this room much. I was not—things were not...not good,” Schneep said awkwardly.

“Ohhhh.” The man nodded in understanding. “I see. I’m Finn, by the way.”

“Henrik.”

“Henrik? Are you—I mean, I don’t want to assume, but your accent, uh, are you German?”

“Yes.”

“Cool. Nice to meet you.”

“Thank you. The same.” This was starting to feel a bit awkward. Or maybe it was just him, Finn seemed perfectly comfortable. Schneep turned away, looking back at the TV. “What...is this?”

“The movie? Uh...I don’t know.” Finn shrugged. “I came in when it was already playing. I think Kellie chose it. But it’s, like, something about cars? And this family where the dad’s an inventor? I don’t know. It’s a musical.”

“Hm.” Schneep glanced around the room again. Was there anything else to do? The card game group was starting something new, one of them shuffling the deck. No, no. He didn’t want to interrupt. Maybe he could ask for some drawing supplies from the two who were coloring. Laurens did a drawing exercise with him once, and it had actually been kind of fun. Oh, wait, was there someone new here? There was something moving in the corner of his vision. It could just be in his head, but he turned to look anyway—

The moment he caught full sight of the movement, he cried out, jumping backwards and awkwardly falling out of the chair. He landed on his back, legs still up in the air, but quickly scrambled to his feet, looking back towards what he’d seen.

No. Nobody was there. But it was near one of the room’s doors, what if he left? What if he was—everyone was staring at him. They all were, they all had to be.

“Are you alright?” Finn asked, a concerned expression on his face.

“I-I-I—” Schneep backed up, once again assuming the folded arms position from before. “Don’t—look at me.”

“Oh, uh, sorry.” Finn looked away.

Schneep shuddered a bit, eyes fixed on the point where he saw—he couldn’t really have been there, it must have been in his head. It’s happened before. He’s seen him before...in his head. It. It was the same now. Had to be. Just. Just in his head. Not real.

But he couldn’t fully convince himself. Slowly, he backed up until he hit the nearest wall. Oliver, who’d been sitting nearby, stood up and walked over. “Do you need anything?” he asked quietly.

“I-I—am—will go back to safe—to my room,” Schneep stammered.

“Alright, let’s go then.” Oliver gestured to the door. Not the one that was close to...what he’d seen. Schneep nodded vaguely, and walked over to the door and out, with the orderly trailing behind him. Once they were out of the room, Oliver asked, “Anything else?”

Schneep took a deep breath in, then out. In, then out. It was a relaxation technique, and concentrating on that helped. Gave his brain something to do. “I...the hospital is—is very secure, yes? You cannot break in?”

“It’d be very difficult,” Oliver agreed. “You’d need a key card. And we do have security cameras. Someone would notice.”

“Good. Very good.” In. Out. In. Out. Laurens had reassured him many times before. Anti couldn’t get in here. So what he saw...it must have been...not real.

I’m real as ever, Henrik.

Schneep almost responded, but then firmly shut his mouth. It didn’t help to acknowledge the voices. It didn’t help to acknowledge any of them, even if he wanted to. Everything was going to be okay. This was a safe place. He didn’t have to worry about anything.

He kept reminding himself of these facts even hours after the incident. Anti couldn’t get in here. It wasn’t possible. This was a safe place. Everything was going to be okay.

——————

Well that was a failed test run.

Anti flipped the keycard between his fingers, watching it twirl through the air as he leaned back in his desk chair. He hadn’t been expecting to be spotted. They didn’t know what he looked like, and he had a small disguise, just in case. He thought that hiding his scars and darkening his hair would be enough to prevent him from being noticed. But apparently, he’d left quite an impression on the good doctor.

No one would believe him, of course. Judging by that psychiatrist’s notes, the one in the turquoise notebook, spotting Anti was a common hallucination of Schneep’s. No one would know that it was real, this time. But still. It was the principle.

Sitting up straight, Anti swiveled in his chair to face a computer monitor. The screen was divided into four sections, each showing a different angle of a single room with pale yellow walls and a pair of bunk beds. Maybe four cameras was overkill, but better safe than sorry. It looked like the two people in the room were having a conversation. He turned on the audio so he could listen in.

“—never had any siblings,” Jackie was saying, slowly swaying from side to side where he was sitting in one of the chairs. “Mom wasn’t very, uh—I-I was a miracle baby. Though sometimes I joke that I had a sister, but really it was me before I transitioned.”

So I’m the only one in the group, JJ signed. He was sitting in the other chair at the table, across from Jackie. Each of them had a plate in front of them with a sandwich and a bottle of juice.

“Yeah. Unless you count Chase’s sister-in-law, but eh. None of us do.” Jackie shrugged.

JJ laughed a bit, which soon faded. I should have asked about your family sooner, Jackie. Even before...all of this happened. I’m sorry.

“No, it’s fine,” Jackie reassured him. “I mean, family was probably a thing for you, right? Considering...this whole situation.”

Jameson nodded, looking a bit paler.

Watching the conversation, Anti frowned. That was hardly fair.

Anyway, I’d much rather talk about other people’s families, for obvious reasons, JJ continued. Like...for example, your friend Henrik. He doesn’t have any siblings either?

“No. And, uh, before you can ask about his parents...they’re assholes.” Jackie’s voice turned bitter. “They don’t live here, they’re back in Germany, and he’s very glad for that.”

Ah. Sorry for asking.

“No, it’s fine. Really.” Jackie frowned, and sat up straight. “You, uh...I-I don’t remember you apologizing as much before,” he said slowly. “Are you...okay?”

Jameson started to sign sorry, but then caught himself. He leaned over onto the table, briefly hiding his head in his arms before signing, I was working on that with my therapist. But now, it’s just all...He couldn’t even find the words and just threw his hands up in the air before hiding his head in his arms again.

Jackie leaned forward and placed his hand on Jameson’s arm. “It’s fine. We’re, uh...under a lot of stress. It makes sense that you’d, uh...things would happen again. It’s not wrong or anything. I think you’re doing great.”

Anti switched off the audio and looked away. Nothing was wrong with apologizing. It certainly wasn’t something you needed to talk to a therapist about. In fact, why did Jameson even need a therapist? He was fine.

Well...no, he wasn’t. Because he was different. Anti had backed off for a bit, giving him space to adjust, and then started talking with him again. Not for very long, but he’d come into the room, Jackie would back off and stay quiet, and he’d talk to Jameson. The goal was to regain trust, but it just wasn’t working. Jameson was anywhere from unresponsive to aggressive towards him. He didn’t get it. Yes, the initial approach wasn’t good, he’ll admit that. But what else was he supposed to do? He was trying to make up for it. The room was starting to get a bit crowded with all the things he’d given him. Books, a music player, even a beanbag chair. Anything he wanted.

Well, almost anything. He couldn’t give him everything right away, otherwise there would be nothing left for good behavior.

Anti sighed. And once again, he twirled the keycard through his fingers. And it gave him an idea. What if...one of those rewards...yes, that might work.

That might work indeed.

Anti slowly grinned, and opened up his calendar to figure out when would be the best time to enact the plan that was forming in his mind.

[springday-aus]

SVT’s Wonwoo: Daytime Scares

—

Fic Written by: Admin Grandma of @springday-aus​

Moodboard Link: created by Admin Grandpa

Main Characters: Y/N [fem. reader] and Seventeen’s Jeon Wonwoo

Other Characters: OCs [Ae Jae, Mi Jeong, Yoojin, and Minjae], Chaeyoung (BlackPink), Yongsun (Mamamoo), Seventeen [Seungkwan and Mingyu] 

Genre: fluff, romance, comedy, college!Wonwoo

Type: one-shot writing piece

Word Count: approx. 11.6k

Plot Summary: Wonwoo is nothing more than an attractive stranger in your ethics class. You have no relation with him whatsoever, but that changes when you suddenly have a nightmare that he tries to kill you. That’s a whole level of psychoanalyzing you would rather not dive into. But now things get weirder when he’s starting to talk to you. 

→ Based on the AU prompt: “I had a dream that you tried to kill me and now I’m scared of you” 

Sleepovers typically mean movies, gossip, and face masks. It’s a fun time to be with your friends and it’s good for lowering stress after midterms. The only level of stress here is would be finding a movie to watch—which probably should have been selected beforehand. But, in your defense, it was hard enough to schedule this hang-out; who has the time to actually schedule the activities? 

So, right now, you lay comfortably on the carpeted floor of Ae Jae’s studio apartment with Mi Jeong. You two are on your phones, trying to find a movie to watch. Meanwhile, Yoojin scrolls through her laptop—connected to the projector—browsing through her Netflix account. 

“What about Hustlers?” Minjae asks. 

“I could really use some J.Lo right now,” you say with wiggling eyebrows. 

“Ugh, we can all use a little more J.Lo,” Mi Jeong says. 

“That movie is too recent,” Yoojin says. “We can’t find that on a streaming site.” 

“Hello?” Ae Jae says. “Have you heard of Dailymotion?” 

“Do you want me to just pull up one of those illegal websites?” Minjae asks. 

Yoojin turns around to face her. “Ma’am, that’s called pirating.” 

“Exactly.” 

Mi Jeong laughs at them. Yoojin gives her a pointed look, but you all know it’s no bad intentions. 

You set your phone down and sit up from your previous position. “Might as well. We can probably browse through the other movies and figure out some other options to choose from.” 

“What I’m hearing is,” Ae Jae says, “is that we don’t have to pay to watch these new movies.” 

Yoojin rolls her eyes and moves out of the way of her laptop. “I guess we have nothing to lose.” 

“No fear of the viruses?” you ask. 

“Potato, potato,” Minjae says. 

Yoojin shrugs. “Fire away, Minjae.” 

You watch her practically jump over from her previous spot to the TV to type in one of her illegal sites, which you may or may not have frequently used—thanks to her. You can only laugh at her antics. 

It’s nice to be with your friends again. It’s been a while since you had properly sent time with them. With the assignments and overlapping work schedules, you’ve all kind of distanced yourselves from one another and, with midterms coming up, things were just piling higher. After midterms week finished, when things calmed down, you and your friends aligned your schedules to catch up with one another. 

But who knew it would take nearly two hours to figure out what to watch? Granted, one of the flaws within your friend group is the fact that most of your friends (you included) are incredibly indecisive. 

As Minjae moves from one page to the next, everyone else silently scans the movies presented in front of them. 

“The live-action Lion King is out,” Mi Jeong says. “That could be an option.” 

“Hm,” you say. “I’m pretty sure it’s just the same as the original one.” 

“It is,” Minjae says. “But we can just put it on a list of things we could watch. We can still look.” 

“Let’s just do that,” Yoojin says. 

About ten movie pages (and a list of six possible movies to watch) in, Minjae gets into the horror movie section. You tense up from the movie covers—each one making your stomach twist in apprehension. The one thing each one of your friends know is that you get easily scared, which means you dodge horror movies like the plague. 

“Oh, what about It: Chapter 2?” Ae Jae asks. 

You start to whine, realizing where this is going. “Nooo.” 

You’re ignored. 

“I still haven’t watched the first one,” Minjae says.

“What?” “That was literally everywhere.” “How did you manage to miss one of the biggest horror movies?” 

Minjae shrugs off the questions. “I just never got to it.” 

“It’s a good movie,” Mi Jeong says. “Right, (Y/N)?” 

You scowl at her. “No, it’s not.” 

Yoojin snorts. “You probably didn’t even watch it.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Since (Y/N) and I haven’t watched it,” Minjae says. “Should we just watch it?” 

“NOOO—” 

Everyone ignores you. 

“Since it’s kind of old,” Ae Jae says. “They’ll probably have it in higher quality.” 

“NOOOO—” 

“You’re probably right,” Yoojin says. “Oh, 1080hd. That’s fancy.” 

“GUYS. IS ANYONE GOING TO LISTEN TO ME?” 

“I found it!”  

You let out a long sigh, kissing a month’s worth of sleep away. You mumble under your breath. “Guess no one cares about my well being and health.” 

You move yourself to properly lay between Mi Jeong and Minjae, throwing another pillow down. All three of you are on the carpeted floor with too many pillows to count. Ae Jae moved herself and now, she lies on her bed with Yoojin. A blanket is placed on your head and shoulders, ready for cover whenever Pennywise’s face appears on the screen. 

You’ve never wished for poorer eyesight until now. You will never understand the trolls that found this clown attractive. A shudder runs down your spine, seeing his face flash in the lightning from the sewer. You quickly pull the blanket over your head to erase the image. 

You feel a couple of tugs. 

Mi Jeong’s pulling on it. “Jesus Christ, it’s just a clown!” 

“John Wayne Gacy was just a clown too and he turned out as a murderer. This one just happens to be supernatural!” 

Minjae starts to tug down the blanket as well. “Be apart of the friend group!” 

“NO!” 

A pillow is flung towards you, in courtesy of Yoojin, who yells down at all of you. “Be quiet!” 

“I want new friends.” 

It’s 3am—you’ve all moved on from It and onto some generic cartoon movie. You were the main advocate for another movie, in an attempt to rid yourself of the horrific images Pennywise provided. Mi Jeong and Minjae are both asleep on each side of you—both with pore strips still attached on their noses. Yoojin snores lightly from Ae Jae’s bed, whereas Ae Jae is up with her elbow propping up her head. 

“Hey,” she says. 

“What?” 

“You up?” She gives you a teasing smile. 

You roll your eyes at her. “This is your fault. Of course, I’m up.” 

“What? You really can’t sleep because of the movie?” 

You stare at her, but refuse to actually move. “Believe it or not, terrifying images of a killer clown that’s telling me I’ll float isn’t a good sleeping mechanism.” 

She opens her mouth, closes it, then opens it again, once the words come to her. “They help Mi Jeong sleep.” 

“She’s got a different way of thinking.” 

“Hmm, you’re right,” Ae Jae says. “Do you just want a melatonin instead?” 

You’ve got nothing to lose. “Sure.” 

She manages to get up, without waking up Yoojin, and walks over to the bathroom. She opens the cabinet, looks through it, and pulls out her melatonin gummies. She pops the lid open, walks towards you, and hands it over. “Take two and you should be asleep in thirty minutes.” 

“Thanks.” You take a couple, as she advises, and hand the jar back to her. You slowly chew on them, keeping your eyes on the screen in front of you. The images start to pass like a blur and you can’t retain what you’ve just watched. 

About twenty minutes later, your eyelids start to droop, feeling the melatonin kick in. You begin to feel a bit tired, so you fully close your eyes and drift off to sleep. 

You find yourself in a sewer, blindly moving through a lightless tunnel—with no clue as to how you ended up there. It’s dark, you note to yourself, and it smells foul. The muddy water splashes with each step and it rises as you go through, practically filling your boots. There’s a mist as well, blocking nearly half of your sight of the tunnel. You try to squint through the fog, trying to make out what’s ahead. 

You’re able to see a small light at the end. As if you had no control over your body, you run towards it—but it never gets any bigger. You can feel your heartbeat pounding against your chest as your legs keep you running. 

But then you slip. 

You swear you had felt a pull on your leg, but you couldn’t tell due to the murkiness of the water. You end up on your hands, your lower half is soaked, still in the water—you can’t even make out your reflection. You look closer at it, trying to see what could be underneath it. Suddenly, a hand pushes your head down. 

The dirty water fills up your nose and you struggle to escape from this person’s hold on you. As you’re submerged, you hear it. The familiar voice, but you can’t pinpoint where you’ve heard it. 

“Can you float?” 

You freeze, hearing those words. 

The hand lets go and you resurface, taking in a deep breath of much needed air. You look up at your tormentor, who looks down at you with a smirk. His teeth are sharpened, shining with the little light of the tunnel. His eyes are dark and long eyelashes curl on top of his eyelids. Raven-black bangs stick to his forehead—from sweat or water—you couldn’t tell. You look up a bit further, spotting the deviled horns on his head. 

You put it together. 

It’s Wonwoo. But, what’s he doing here? 

He tilts his head at you, pitying you as if you were a lost kitten. His lips fully curl from a smirk to a sinister smile. He lowers his head closer to you. 

“Can you float?” he asks. 

You don’t have the words to answer him; you don’t think you can find any. 

He asks again. “Can you float?” 

Before you say anything, he shoves your head underneath once more. 

It’s been two weeks since the sleepover (and the last time you had proper sleep). Classes have started up again, but you’re already tired. It isn’t even from the goddamned workload (which you are definitely not doing). Since the sleepover, you’ve had the same recurring nightmare over and over. Same place, same face. 

Right now, you sit at a table in the dining hall with a single coffee mug that’s already empty. You wait for your friends to arrive at the table, tapping away at your phone, trying to make yourself busy. 

“What’s up,” Chaeyoung says. She takes the seat in front of you and sets her plate on the table. She spots the sad coffee mug and looks between it and you, before asking. “Is that all you’re getting?” 

You set your phone down. “No, I also had a bowl of ice cream earlier.” 

“(Y/N), it’s noon.” 

“Sugar means energy.” 

She lets out a sigh—not surprised, just disappointed. You would think after knowing you for so long, she would get used to your horrible eating habits. She is your meal buddy after all. She takes a stab at her food. “So how was your mid-semester break?” 

“I think we both know that break is a joke.” 

“Still.” 

“Well, I got to meet up with some of my old friends, spent some time with family—you know, all the good stuff.” You lean on the table with an elbow propped up and a hand underneath your chin. “How was yours?” 

“Eh, I did the same thing. It was nice to chill for a bit, but then I remembered how many readings I have to do.” 

You force a smile at her. “I haven’t done any of mine.” 

She throws her head back with a laugh. You start laughing too, at yourself and at her. 

Yongsun comes around to the table. She sets down another cup of coffee for you, which you previously asked for, and her own plate as she sits herself next to you. She looks between you and Chaeyoung. “What’s going on?” 

“Nothing really,” you say. “Just talking about how oh-so productive we’ve been since break.” 

She gives you a bitter look with regret evident on her face “That break is a joke. I got nothing done either.” 

“Glad to know everyone is on the same track.” You take a sip of your coffee. 

“No offense,” Chaeyoung says. “But you look really tired. Are you okay?” 

Yongsun laughs, nearly choking on her food. “It’s the exams creeping up, that’s why her eye bags are a darker shade.” 

Your eyebrows slightly rise. “Not wrong, but doesn’t mean I don’t feel attacked.” 

“Are you having trouble sleeping again?” Chaeyoung asks. 

Yongsun takes a closer look at you. “You know, now that she’s said something. She’s not wrong. Are you okay?” 

You sigh and take another big sip of the coffee. “My friends made me watch It.” 

“That’s all?” Chaeyoung asks. 

“Kind of.” You set the coffee down and lay your head on the table. “I’ve just been having the same nightmares for a while now and I can’t sleep.” 

“What do you see?” Yongsun asks. 

“Why? Are you going to psycho-analyze them like you do with the others?” Chaeyoung asks. 

“Absolutely.” 

“Oh my god.”

“Now,” Yongsun says. She fully turns to you, pointing at you with her spoon. “What happens in your nightmares?” 

You hesitate. “The nightmare overall…. it makes sense but there��s a piece that I can’t figure out.” 

“What?” Chaeyoung asks. “You know what, just explain the entire dream and we’ll figure it out.” 

You scratch the back of your ear, feeling a bit sheepish of the whole thing. “Do you guys know Jeon Wonwoo?” 

There’s a silence, but you can practically see them racking their memory for him. You look between them, seeing if either one of them would know him. It’s ideal that they don’t, but if they do, they could probably picture it better. 

“Jeon Wonwoo,” Yongsun mutters under her breath. She speaks louder the second time. “That name is so familiar but I can’t pinpoint where.” 

Chaeyoung looks confused as well. “I get that. I feel like I know him too.” 

“What does this have to do with anything?” 

You let out a long sigh. “Because my nightmares are essentially him just trying to kill me.” You don’t take notice of Yongsun’s frantic typing on her phone. “I don’t understand why it’s him specifically.” 

Chaeyoung hums, nodding along to what you’re saying. “Maybe it’s just a random face from memory—you could have just seen his face and now it’s stuck. Is he ugly or something?” 

“He’s in my ethics class,” you say. “And he’s definitely not ugly.” 

“So he’s attractive and trying to murder you?” 

“Mmhm, basically.” 

“Is there a kink you aren’t sharing with us?” 

“No, who wants to be murdered?” 

“There’s lots of college kids who want to be murdered, (Y/N),” Yongsun says. 

“Okay, fair point.” 

“In other news though.” Yongsun pauses and sets her phone down for all three of you to see. “I found him and I can confirm that he is hot.” 

You take a peek at the Facebook profile—the familiar face is in the little profile image and you shudder out of habit. You move away from the phone, feeling uncomfortable from his face. “Yup, that’s him.” 

“Jesus,” Chaeyoung says. She grabs the phone and zooms in on the image. “This is the face you’re seeing? How can someone look like that?” 

You grimace. “I can’t.” 

“What do you mean?” Yongsun asks. 

“I sit in the front, far away from him, so I don’t have to look at him anymore.” 

“What do you think this means?” Chaeyoung asks. 

“From my perspective,” Yongsun says. “Maybe you’re scared of how attractive he is.” 

You and Chaeyoung squint at her, both not understanding. She continues. “This can mean a lot of things. I need the context.” 

You try to recollect your dream memories. It isn’t hard, considering the fact that you’ve had the same nightmare for a couple of weeks. Although, there have been odd additions every once in a while. Just last night, you were on an empty road rather than a sewer. Sometimes there was the pile of children there and would start floating in front of you. Wonwoo stood in front of it, just staring at it, before turning his head to you to start shoving you into the water. 

You shrink in your seat. You feel like throwing up. 

“Well?” Yongsun asks. “Any details?” 

You grimace again. “I would rather not share while we’re eating.” 

Chaeyoung looks at you with a bit of worry in her eyes. “Do you think you’ll be okay?” 

“Yeah.” You drown the rest of your now-cold coffee down. “It’ll be fine. It’s not like Wonwoo’s a friend. How hard could it be to avoid him?”

Another restless week passes and you’re convinced your sleeping schedule will never bounce back. You rub your eyes, trying to wake yourself up somehow—it’s your third cup of coffee of the day and it’s done nothing for you. 

It’s 11:20am and class is supposed to start in ten minutes. The class is already half full of students. Everyone else fiddles with their phones, or talks to others about weekend plans. You sit in your seat with a laptop out, fully blanking out, but attempting to stay awake. Granted, you can just ditch, but attendance counts and if your GPA is below 3.0, you can kiss that scholarship goodbye. 

You groan from the thought of being in this class for an hour. You lay your head on the table, feeling the cold table pressed on your cheek, and closing your eyes for just a moment. 

Suddenly, a chill comes over you and you feel more awake than ever. You open your eyes, only to see Wonwoo walk in. His backpack is slung over one shoulder; he wears a soft, black cardigan that’s tugged on his hands to form sweater paws. He has his hair down, tousling through his bangs with his long fingers. He looks like such a soft boy. 

Despite his boyish looks, you felt your body physically react. Chills run up your spine and you felt the hairs on your arms raise. You feel more alert than you’ve been in weeks. You quickly sit up and straighten out your back at his presence. That’s right: you’re in ethics. You always forgot, until you came to class, see him and the nightmares become daytime horrors. 

You let out a sigh. Somehow, you feel more exhausted than before, despite feeling more awake in Wonwoo’s presence. Once the professor arrives, she immediately starts her lecture. Frankly, you can’t even remember what she’s talking about. It all goes in one ear and out the other. You simply type away, your note page expanding as each minute passes. 

An hour eventually passes and you let out a breath of relief. 

“Alright class,” she says. “Remember for the next class, we will be working on our papers, so bring those laptops fully charged and be prepared for discussion.” 

Everyone, including yourself, groans. 

“We need to start preparing for the final and, from my previous feedback, I hear this is really helpful. So, prepare yourselves.” Your professor shuts off the monitor and starts to shut her books. “Now, get out.” 

No one had to be told twice; everyone practically floods out of the room, ready to take a nap or eat, or whatever else college kids do. With the combination of your previous exhaustion and the lecture, you were moving slower than usual, not wanting to tire yourself out further. You could feel your body nearly shutting down again. You close your eyes once more as you rotate your neck around. Once again, you feel the chills creep up your back.

You follow your instincts and open your eyes, spotting Wonwoo from the corner of your eye. Unknowingly, you flinch, immediately looking away from him. He tries to smile in your direction on his way out, but you move your body away from him, trying to look preoccupied as you shove your books into your bag. 

Once he leaves, you let out a long sigh you didn’t realize you held in. Resting your head on the table, you close your eyes—only to see the images of Wonwoo from your nightmares with devil horns. You sit back up, rubbing your eyes and trying to shake the sight of him out of your mind. 

This is going to be harder than you thought. 

“Paging Sleeping Beauty, are you awake?” 

You slowly sit up from the library table, trying to keep your eyes awake as you lean on your hand. “Yes, sir. I am physically present.” 

Seungkwan raises an eyebrow at you. “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“When am I ever okay?” 

“Fair.” He sets down his books in front of you and takes a seat. “How much did you get done?” 

“I just finished the draft and took a lil nap.” 

“In a public space?” 

“I didn’t get robbed. I’m fine.” 

He blinks at you, shakes his head and tries to move on from the odd comment. “Anyways,” he says, pulling out his laptop. “I finished my essay earlier during class, so.” 

“So it might be garbage?” 

“Hell no.” He opens the laptop, mindlessly moving the mouse around. “I’m just saying, consider the conditions when you read this. I was in a highly stressed environment.” 

Seungkwan and you have the same professor for ethics (just at different times), so it only made sense to work together for this paper. You two knew each other from a previous class and bonded over a mutual friend of yours, Soonyoung. Obviously, suffering is the only way to bond with other college students, hence your blossomed friendship with Seungkwan. 

You rub your eyes, trying to keep yourself awake in front of his laptop. But, it doesn’t help and the words start to blur together. After the third sentence, you lean back and close your eyes in an attempt to regain your focus. 

“Hey.” You feel his hand on your shoulder. “(Y/N), are you sure you’re okay?” 

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine.” You reopen your eyes, to see concern in Seungkwan’s eyes. He doesn’t even have to ask for you to answer. “I just haven’t been getting much sleep lately and there’s only so many sleeping pills a person can take.” 

“Is it stress?” 

“Not… not exactly.” 

He raises an eyebrow, leaning his chin on his hand. “Do tell, (Y/N). If not stress, is it a lover?” 

You give him an unamused look at his teasing. “Ha ha. No.” You shift in your seat. “I’ve been having nightmares about this guy in my class.” 

“Ooooh?” 

“Stop it.” 

He pouts. “Can you at least tell me who? I might know who it is.”

You rub the back of your neck, feeling a bit apprehensive. The problem is that he does know everyone. Apparently, everyone else seems to know Wonwoo, one way or another. He does have that reputation of looking like a moody emo bad boy. The fact that he’s good looking means he gets away with being creepy. But then again, he is polite to everyone—a very well mannered boy. You sigh, feeling the exhaustion hit all at once.

“I have a suspicion that you know who it is,” you say. You let out another sigh. “It’s Wonwoo.” 

His eyes sparkle with interest. “Jeon? Jeon Wonwoo??” 

You let out another sigh and place your head in your arms, muffling the groans you make. “Jesus, of course you know him.” 

He makes a face. “Why?” Before you can answer him, he leans closer to you. “What’d he do?” 

You can feel yourself inwardly cringing before the words even come out. You feel embarrassed about making a big deal about this small thing. “He’s done nothing to me. He’s just scary.” 

“Wonwoo is one of the least scary people I know.” He moves away, looking off into the distance as if to collect his thoughts. “Minghao… He’s on that list, but Wonwoo? He’s like a scared cat…” At this point, he’s just mumbling to himself. 

You look up, resting your head on your folded arms. “Earth to Seungkwan?” 

“Right, back to you.” He pauses. “So these nightmares, are they that bad that you’re losing this much sleep?” 

You nod. 

“Wow, is he that scary to you?” 

“Well, considering in the dream that he’s trying to murder me… I would say he’s pretty scary.” 

“Okay, but what’d you think about him before?” 

“Before what?” 

“Like, before you started dreaming about his face and death.” 

You blink, staring at him for a bit, lost in thought. You haven’t really thought about Wonwoo without the devil horns, but then again, you don’t really talk to him. It’s a required class, so there’s a lot of people in this lecture hall. Also, it’s a lecture hall, it’s not like people have a chance to interact with one another. The only reason why you’ve heard of him is because of your mutual friends. You admit though, he is attractive. 

But you couldn’t let Seungkwan know that. He would never let it go and he’s friends with Wonwoo. Who knows what he’d do with this information. 

“I was neutral about him,” you say. “Since I don’t really know much about him.” 

He raises an eyebrow. “You don’t even find him attractive?” 

You grumble as you begin to sit up. “Can we not talk about this and go back to suffering?” 

“Ugh.” He throws his head back in a dramatic fashion. “I wanted the tea though.” 

“This ain’t a tea shop honey, so I’m not giving you any.” You put your attention back to his laptop. “Let me just go over this draft and you can trash mine.” 

You push your laptop towards him with the draft of your paper open. 

He clicks his tongue in disappointment. “Fine, but I want details later.” 

“Boba break?” 

“Boba break.” 

Your professor sets down her books on the podium. “Alright class, please pull out your drafts. Your classroom partners are already assigned on the classroom page. If you can’t find it, it’s also on the projector.” 

Your eyes don’t move away from your computer screen. The list of peer review partners has been pulled up and you scroll through it to find yours. You can only stare once you spot it. 

(Y/N) and Wonwoo

This can’t be right. 

You look from your screen to the projector. Your names are clear on the screen. 

(Y/N) and Wonwoo

Someone clears their throat, snapping you out of your inner panic. “You’re (Y/N), right?” 

To your right, Wonwoo stands with his messenger bag, a couple of textbooks in his hands, and a polite smile on his face. You can only nod, feeling the chills run up your back. He takes the empty spot next to you and sets down his things. Having him sit so close to you… it’s even scarier than you even imagined. 

He glances at you with a small smile. Ugh, he is handsome. You’ll give him that.

As he turns his head, you get a closer look at his profile. In an instant, you see the devil-horned image of him flash. You shudder, turning away and wordlessly setting your laptop closer to him. 

You manage to speak up, but it gets quieter as you talk. “Here’s my draft. You should be able to make comments… suggestions or something…” 

He gives another smile (although you don’t see it) and hands you his laptop. “I have my draft on here too. I’m sorry, but it’s still a bit messy.”

His voice is so soft, despite his cold features. You take another glance at him to take his laptop. Your hands brush against his and you try to ignore the goosebumps that raise on your arms—whether it’s from fear, you can’t tell. 

For a while, it’s quiet. Everyone is working on peer-editing their partner’s drafts, including you and Wonwoo. You both read through one another’s drafts. Ugh, he’s such a good writer. This was supposed to be a rough draft, but he makes it look like the final draft. This thesis makes sense; the support from the text is present; the counter-argument is made and redirected back to the thesis. Meanwhile, your draft probably looks even more half-assed than you originally intended for it to be. 

You go through the document again to try to give some feedback on his draft, despite how hard it is to make something up. By the end, you only manage to give him three comments. Turns out, you had finished earlier than you’d thought. You look around, seeing everyone still working and interacting with their partners, before looking over at him.

He stares intensely at your screen, still scrolling through the hot mess you call a rough draft. Every couple of seconds, he types a comment and you feel yourself flinch at how hard he presses on the keyboard. You knew it wasn’t the best, but there’s no way for it to be the most awful thing you’ve written. You hadn’t even realized you’ve been staring until he turns his body towards you. 

You lightly flinch at the sudden eye contact and, unconsciously, inch away from him. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, he sets your laptop next to you. 

“I wrote a couple of recommendations as to how you could expand on your argument further. I think you have a solid thesis and the evidence you provide from the texts are very strong. I didn’t know what else I could add, so I did the best I could to add some comments to help. You don’t have to use them, but they were just some ideas I thought you could use.” 

He gives you another smile and you couldn’t help to feel a bit touched. Typically, people half ass these types of assignments. To see that he actually put effort into it and even added in ideas you can use... 

You push his laptop further away from you and he immediately scrolls through it, before you can get a word in. That’s probably why the word vomit began and you haphazardly try to explain things, without even looking at him in the eye. 

“I couldn’t really add in as much as you did. I thought it was really well thought out and made some really good points. I just made a couple of comments on word choice, grammar, and how it all connects. You’re a really good writer so you don’t have to really pay attention to these things. They really don’t make a big difference or anything. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you anything particularly helpful…” 

You trail off from your nervous rambling, glancing up at him to take in his reaction. He looks rather sheepish; his hand rubs the back of his neck and light blush dusts his cheeks. 

“It’s really nothing… I’m not that good…” 

This vision of Wonwoo is definitely a 180 from your nightmares. The stoic and heartless image of Wonwoo with devil horns flashes once again. But then, you take another look at him. All you see a shy boy, flushed from a couple of compliments from a classmate he doesn’t even talk to—well, at least, until now. 

You both sit there for a bit in silence, fiddling with your laptops in an attempt to work on your drafted papers. From what you can read, he put a lot of thought into his recommendations. After about five minutes, as the conversation around you begins to stir up again, he turns his body to you. 

“Are the comments okay?” He pauses. “Were they able to help you?” 

You hum and give a small nod. “I think with your suggestions this paper will be a bit easier to write.. I’m sorry for not being able to help you much with yours.” 

He speaks in a small voice that you almost don’t hear. “You did help though…” 

You give him a sheepish smile. “Not really. I gained more from this than you were able to… it’s unfair, sorry...”

“You shouldn’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong, you tried your best.” 

You let out a light laugh. “Did I though? I’m sure you’ve gotten more helpful feedback from other people.” 

“Well, most people here don’t really care about this since this doesn’t ‘count for points.’” 

“You’ve got a point.” 

“Alright,” your professor says. “Considering how much you’re all talking, I’m assuming you’re done exchanging your drafts. If you’re done, you can leave. Consider it a reward for finishing early.” 

You start to pack your things, as does Wonwoo. The both of you remain silent for a while, but, as you get up to leave, he speaks up with a soft voice. 

“Did you want to work together on this paper later sometime?” 

Before you can answer, he continues. “I just meant, like… I know you and Seungkwan work together and I was wondering if I could join you two or something. You don’t have to! I was just curious since Seungkwan and I work on it together too and I just thought it would be good if we all meet up.. together or something…” 

“Oh…” Frankly, you didn’t even know they were working on the essay together too. No wonder Seungkwan’s draft was so good—that son of a bitch. On one hand, you already know Seungkwan is most likely to agree. On the other hand, you are still unsure you’re mentally prepared to willingly spend more time with him. 

He’s nice, but you’re apprehensive as to how your brain is going to interrupt this. Who knows what your unconscious can unload? What if he transforms into a demon in your next dream? What if he turns into one of those gross monster-sized spiders and eats you whole? 

Another chill runs down your spine, but you fake an unbothered smile. “I’ll talk to Seungkwan.” 

He smiles back; it’s small, but genuine. 

You sit at the library, tapping your fingers on the table as you wait anxiously for the boys’ arrival. You flip your phone over again, to check the time and any new text notifications from Seungkwan. You were starting to regret all your life’s decisions. Okay, maybe that’s too dramatic—even for you. But, you are regretting your decision of joining Seungkwan and Wonwoo’s study session. 

To be honest, when you said you would talk to Seungkwan, that was 100% a lie. So, when you get a text from Seungkwan… you are more than shocked to find that he has oh-so graciously arranged the study session for you. That also meant getting a couple of pokes from him. 

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. As if he knew someone was talking shit, he enters the library and easily spots you in your usual corner. He drops his backpack onto the table and sits himself across from you, pulling out his laptop and textbooks. 

“Sorry,” he says. “I had a couple of questions for my professor and…. I forgot how much that man likes to talk.” 

“Hm, sounds like someone I know.” 

“Ha ha, very funny (Y/N).” He opens his laptop and starts to skim through his books, but, eventually, he gets bored and looks back at you.

You feel his eyes on you and look up from your own laptop. “What?” 

“From our last conversation, you said you were scared of Wonwoo.” Save it for Seungkwan to be blunt rather than beating around the bush. 

“I didn’t say that—” 

“It was implied.” 

Your lips purse, finding yourself at a loss of words. “What about it?” you mumble, shrinking into your seat. 

“Soooo,” Seungkwan says. “Why did you agree to the study group?” 

You frown, squinting at him. “I’m sorry, but who decided to put us all into a group chat???” Your frown becomes a pout. “You can’t just put me in a group chat, ask about a meeting time, and think I’m going to be the asshole who says ‘oh no, I can’t make it.’ Then have you point out that I’m not doing anything.” 

He shines a bright smile at you, ignoring your negative tone. “You wouldn’t have joined so otherwise.” 

“Ha! So it was a ruse!” 

“Of course it was.” He leans back to his seat. “You were so scared of him—look at you now, you’re making plans with him.” 

“You made the plans.” 

He waves a finger at you, “Semantics.” 

You can only roll your eyes at him and type away, trying to sort out and prioritize on your latest assignments. “Why do you care so much about what I think about him?” 

He blinks and you swear, for a second, he seems to have run out of words. You raise an eyebrow at his silence. 

“Well... “ He stammers. “I—I just... just want all of my friends… to—to get along and be… friends.” 

Your eyebrows furrow and you hum along, but you don’t believe a single thing he says. “It’s all the subconscious. I never had a problem with him in the first place.” 

“Problem with who?” 

You both turn around to see Wonwoo and another boy standing next to you two. From the unfamiliar voice, you can assume it was said by Mingyu—the other participating victim in the groupchat Seungkwan made. 

“No one,” Seungkwan says. “Problem with no one—right, (Y/N)?” 

You can only stare wide-eyed as you glance between them. “Yes, what he said.” 

Mingyu laughs. “Uhm, okay.” 

They both seat themselves at the table with you and Seungkwan—Wonwoo on one side and Mingyu on the other. They both give you a friendly smile and start to pull out their materials. You can only smile back awkwardly, typing away at your laptop. 

“No offense,” Mingyu says. “I’m glad to be here, but I’m confused why I’m here.” 

“It’s a study group and you’re our friend,” Seungkwan says. 

“We’re not in the same class.” 

“Moral support.” 

“For what?” 

He glances at you, which makes you narrow your eyes at him. He turns his attention back to Mingyu. “For things.” 

Mingyu raises his eyebrows, but he doesn’t say anything. 

“So,” Wonwoo says. “Shall we get started?” 

“What should we start on?” you ask. 

“I was thinking maybe the essay since that’s due the soonest,” Seungkwan says. 

You all nod along, even Mingyu. 

“So, I’m not involved either way,” Mingyu says. “This is fine, I totally don’t feel left out.” 

Seungkwan shrugs. “You can do other assignments too.” 

Mingyu pouts and his silent sulking is ignored. 

You and Wonwoo chuckle at their antics. “Sorry buddy,” he says. “This plan wasn’t scheduled well.” 

“Hey!” 

Wonwoo ignores Seungkwan and turns to you. “Were you able to work on the essay?” 

You shift in your seat, feeling awkward from suddenly being in his direct line of vision. “Yeah, I did—it’s coming along. Thanks again, by the way.” 

“It’s not a problem. I’m glad I could help,” he says. “Did you want me to look at it?” 

Your eyes widen, meeting Seungkwan’s, who makes a face. To be honest, you haven’t worked on it since you opened it during class and you’re too embarrassed to say you’ve been procrastinating. It’s due in two days and who says you can’t write an essay in one night (who isn’t a professor). 

“Are you having trouble concentrating again?” Seungkwan asks. Before you can answer, he interjects himself. “Is this because you’re still having sleeping problems? Dude, just keep popping those pills.” 

The other two’s attention have been turned to you. You inwardly groan from the eyes and try to focus on Seungkwan—but your body responds for you with a grimace. “Can you not say it like that? It’s melatonin and they’re technically vitamins.” 

“Hmmm, sure.” 

“You have sleeping problems?” Mingyu asks. 

You sheepishly rub the back of your neck. “Yeah, it’s not that big of a deal though.” 

Seungkwan snorts. “Sure it isn’t. It’s not like you were nearly falling asleep when editing my essay just a couple of days ago.” 

You smile. “I bought you boba though.” 

“But can I really be bribed?” 

“Of course not,” you say. “Because no one can afford your high maintenance.” 

Seungkwan’s jaw drops from your bluntness, but there’s a small smile in it. Mingyu doubles over in laughter and Wonwoo tries to hold his in—the smile on his face gives it away, causing you to laugh as well. 

Seungkwan quickly straightens up in defense. “This is what I get for trying to be nice.” 

You give him another teasing smile. 

“Okay, okay,” Mingyu says. “How bad is this sleeping problem?” 

“It’s..” You click your tongue, recalling as to how bad your sleep schedule has been since these nightmares began. “It’s really bad, dude.” 

“You know,” he says, turning his body towards you. “There are foods good for sleep.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, one time I made this banana almond parfait.” 

“Oooh, sounds fancy—”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Seungkwan says. “But I doubt that’s going to help (Y/N)’s situation.” 

“Why not?” Wonwoo asks. 

You’d almost forgotten he was there for a second. 

“It’s a subconscious thing.” 

Wait a second. 

“So it’s psychological problems?” Mingyu asks. He props his chin into his hands. “Do tell.” 

You stifle a laugh. 

Wonwoo is the one who speaks for you. “Mingyu, you just met her and you already want to open up her psyche?” 

“What’s a better way to get to know someone?” 

“Anything else, bro.” 

Mingyu’s lips purse, then form into a pout. “Booooooooo.” 

“Okay,” you say. “Let’s just move on. We actually have to work on this essay.” 

“Boooooo!” 

“Shut up, Seungkwan.” 

“I don’t care what anyone else says,” Chaeyoung says. “Lizard people are real.”

Yongsun nods along, digging her spoon further into her ice cream. “I’d buy into it. Matthew McConaughey has a lizard smile.” 

You can only sigh in disappointment and put your head in your hands. “Why am I friends with you people?” 

Your comment is ignored and Chaeyoung continues to talk. “Controversial statement: Shawn Mendez? Lizard person.” 

“Oh my God, he kind of does.” Yongsun shows her screen to the both of you. “He has the same lizard smile as Matthew.” 

As the two continue to converse other celebrities with lizard qualities, you sit at the other side of the booth, playing with your food. Dining hall food isn’t great, but it is free. What’s the point of these dinners, if you’re just going to want to throw it back up from these types of conversations? 

A couple of weeks ago, y’all had a whole conversation as to how Ted Bundy got away from his crimes for such a long time (to be honest, he wasn’t even really attractive so….). Then, last week, y’all talked about white boy names—the looks you got from people with those names were absolutely hilarious. Side note: you don’t give a solid shit to anyone named Todd (what Todd have you met that WASN’T an asshole?). 

By now, you’ve just learned to sit back and let these topics just… happen. At some point, these conversations are going to bite you in the ass. 

“(Y/N)?” 

You look up from your plate. 

“I thought that was you,” Mingyu says with a smile. 

You return it with one of yours. “Hey, Mingyu, right?” 

“Yeah! I’m Seungkwan’s friend—although, I’m more known for being Wonwoo’s.” He pauses, before mumbling to himself. “And Jungkook’s…” 

“Wonwoo?” Chaeyoung asks. 

“Jeon Wonwoo?” Yongsun adds. 

“Yeah,” Mingyu says. “You know him?” 

“We’ve heard of him,” Yongsun says, nudging your rib. You smack her elbow away. 

Chaeyoung scoots herself over. “If you want, you can sit with us.” 

“Sure,” he says. “I have class in an hour, so I have time.” He sits himself next to her and looks between you and the other girls. “So, what are we talking about?” 

Yongsun swallows her ice cream, pointing her spoon at him. “Lizard people.” 

You push her spoon out of the way. “Can we please move away from this subject?” 

“They! Are! Here!” Chaeyoung bangs her fists on the table, along each syllable. 

You put your head back into your hands. “Oh my God. You need to stay off the internet.” 

“Lizard people…” Mingyu says slowly. “What is this exactly?” 

You look up, eyes wide and warning. “You do not want to ask her that.” 

“So, there are theories that some people roam around Earth—” 

“And, so it begins.” 

Chaeyoung ignores you. “—as lizards. They are living amongst us and planning to overthrow the human race.” 

“We’ve possibly identified a couple of them,” Yongsun says. “Hear us out. Matthew McConaughey and Shawn Mendez. Thoughts?” 

“You do not have to answer them, by the way,” you say to him. 

As if Mingyu was possessed by someone else, he nods along as he listens. “I could definitely see that. They have weird face structures.” 

Your jaw drops from his participation in your weird dinner discussions. Your respect for him as a person has dropped. “Dude, don’t encourage them!” 

Chaeyoung points at him, as if he isn’t present. “I like him better than that Wonwoo guy.” 

“Ditto,” Yongsun says. 

“I thought you guys didn’t know him?” Mingyu asks. His head tilts to the side—for a second, he looks like a puppy. 

“We don’t,” Yongsun says. She slurps up the remaining ice cream melting from her bowl. “(Y/N) mentioned him and we looked him up—he’s just as hot as (Y/N) said.” 

Your cheeks flush and you flick some of your water in her direction. “That’s not what I said!” 

Her lips purse in response and she continues to slurp from her bowl. Meanwhile, Chaeyoung gives you a look, which you refuse to acknowledge. 

On the other hand, Mingyu’s attention has been turned to you in interest. His eyebrow raises and you start to squirm. 

“So,” he says with a twirl of his fork. “What have you said about Wonwoo?” 

You’d honestly thought this conversation was behind you, especially since you had dodged away from the topic during your study group a couple of days ago. The difference between Seungkwan and these two is that these two have very little regard for your opinion. While they are your friends, they are also very invasive and you are very sure that they will ignore your protests. It’s almost as if they had heard your thoughts—they answer the question for you. 

“She said he’s attractive,” Chaeyoung says. 

“Technically,” Yongsun says. “She said he wasn’t ugly and I think she also said he murders her.” 

Mingyu turns to you with surprise. 

Just when you thought you had died before, you were sure that you have died now and were stuck in your customized purgatory hell. 

“That,” you say into your hands. “Was not what I said.” 

Yongsun squints at you. “Are you sure? Because I distinctly remember you defining your death kink with those weird dreams.” 

You stare at her for a while before deciding on what to say. “Are you on crack? I was sure that your crackhead energy was drained last week during your history exam.” 

“How dare you? I am completely sober.” 

“Debatable.” 

You both turn back to the other two at the table, where Chaeyoung continues to eat and Mingyu stares off with confusion evident in his features. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “But what’s the piece I’m missing?” 

“I’ll give you a short version,” Chaeyoung says. “You see, (Y/N) has been dreaming about Wonwoo murdering her and we think it’s a loo—hey!” She grabs a napkin to wipe her, now, wet hair. 

You give her a bright, fake smile as she playfully glares at you and the glass of water you’ve flicked on her. Yongsun chuckles at your antics and turns to Mingyu. “Either way, it’s 100% repression.” 

“Repression of what exactly?” you ask. 

“Attraction,” Yongsun points out. 

You flick some more water at her, ignoring her yelps. You turn your attention to Mingyu. “Ignore them and everything they’ve said because it isn’t true.” 

“Lies!” Chaeyoung says. “Yongsun’s right. It’s probably repression because Wonwoo is definitely hot—stop throwing water at me!” 

You ignore her once again, flicking more water from your glass. “I did not say he was hot. I just admitted that he wasn’t ugly!” 

As you continue to attack your friends with your water, Mingyu stays silent, but makes note from the conversation. Oh, how things will become more interesting….

You continue to type on your laptop, wrapping the conclusion paragraph with one last sentence. You let out a sigh of relief. “Thank God,” you mutter under your breath. This god forbidden essay is done and you can easily turn it in. You look up from your screen, where Wonwoo continues to type on his. 

His glasses sit on the edge of his nose and his eyes are narrowed, as if to physically focus on the words. You have to admit: the glasses suit him and his oversized sweater. While he has worn them every once in a while, this is one of the rare times you’ve seen him this close up. He looks like a soft boy molded from a John Green book. 

You look a glance around and, seeing how he’s gathered the attention of a few people, you can tell you aren’t the only one who’s noticed. To be fair, if it wasn’t for your nightmares, you would be a lot more attracted to him. 

Admittedly, it has been nice to spend this time with him—you managed to reduce some of those nightmares and get a bit more sleep. You might even admit that he’s a friend more than just a classmate now. 

Speaking of friends, Seungkwan and Mingyu are pretty late. It’s been 20 minutes of just you and Wonwoo. You don’t mind, but you all made a plan to meet here (since the essay is due tonight). 

“Are you done with your essay already?” 

Wonwoo’s voice snaps you out of your inner ramblings. You look towards his direction, freezing from the sudden eye contact. “Huh?” 

He clears his throat. “Are you... done? With the essay?” 

“Ah, kind of. It’s probably bad, but it’s done.” 

“I’m sure it’s fine. Let me see.” He gestures to your laptop. 

“Compared to your English major ass?” You pull the laptop closer to you. “No.” 

“(Y/N),” he says with a sigh. “I’m sure it’s not even bad.” He gets ahold of the top of your laptop, lightly tugging it away from your grasp. You can only pout as the device is taken away from your hold and he begins to read. You place your chin into your hands, watching Wonwoo’s eyes dance from sentence to sentence. 

You didn’t realize how long you’d been staring until he makes eye contact with you and sets your laptop back near you. If he noticed, he doesn’t say anything about it. 

Wonwoo adjusts his glasses, pushing them closer to the bridge of his nose. When his face comes to view, there’s a small smile. “I told you your essay was fine. In fact, you could probably turn it in right now.” 

Your lips purse, considering the idea, even though you were already planning to. Originally, you wanted Seungkwan to check it too—especially since he saw the real rough draft of it, which was a blank document. 

“I kind of wanted to wait for Seungkwan,” you say. “Since we all agreed to do it together.” 

He nods along with your words. “It makes sense.” He looks at you with a head tilt, thinking aloud. “Where is Seungkwan?”

“I was just thinking the same thing,” you say with a small laugh. “Is Mingyu coming?” 

He checks his phone, wrinkling his nose as he squints at the screen and scrolls through his messages. “Honestly, I have no idea—last time I checked, he was supposed to.” 

“Yeah, I ran into him yesterday and I assumed he was coming too.” 

“Oh yeah,” Wonwoo says. “How was the lunch?” 

“It was actually pretty funny beca—” You stop. You didn’t mention anything about lunch… so, how did he know about that? Your eyes narrow at him. “Did Mingyu tell you already?” 

“Uh.” Wonwoo’s eyes shift. “Kind of?” He hunches a bit more over his own laptop, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Mingyu basically tells me everything.” 

Mingyu basically tells me everything. 

Oh, no. 

You try to recall exactly as to the different topics during that one hour lunch with him. He was almost late to his class, since he was in a heavy debate with Yongsun and Chaeyoung as to whether or not Perry the Platypus cosplayers are considered furries… 

It was a conversation that you had to be there for, in order for the context to be understood. 

There was also the topic of whether Twilight should be watched for ironic purposes and/or the cinematic value of it. There was also discussion about what was the weakest element—which Yongsun was debating on the side of water. 

You were getting off track; curse your friends for having such bizarre conversations. That line shouldn’t have triggered you, but for some reason, it feels off—as if there was something you were forgetting. You look at Wonwoo, who’s sitting across from you with flushed cheeks.

Wait a second. 

She said he’s attractive. 

Death kink with those weird dreams. 

(Y/N) has been dreaming about Wonwoo murdering her. 

Just when you thought things were just starting to become normal-ish between you two. 

Your face flushes as you remember all the things your friends said… which were most likely echoed to Wonwoo through Mingyu (seeing how much blush is present on his face). 

There’s only one thing you can say. “I can explain.” 

He lets out a little, breathless laugh—but it sounds more like an uncomfortable one. 

“It’s not as bad as it sounds, I swear.” 

He pushes his glasses up once more. “You—you don’t have to.” 

“It’s okay,” you say. “I should explain myself. It’s not supposed to sound as bad as they made it out to be and it’s not even your fault. I don’t even know why my subconscious chose your face out of anyone else’s. Yongsun said it’s repression, but you probably already know that and—” You sigh. “I’m—I’m sorry.” 

“For what? It’s not really your fault.” 

“Yeah, but I guess, it’s just in general.” Your fingers glaze over the keyboard, absentmindedly toying with the keys. “Over break, I watched a horror movie with my friends and then I started getting nightmares. Again, I don’t know why your face was there, but… it just was.” 

“I’m not mad,” Wonwoo says. “And it’s not your fault—you don’t have to apologize.” 

There’s a small silence, which is just you and Wonwoo looking at one another with wide eyes, unsure as to what happens next. 

“I will say,” Wonwoo says with a small voice. “I’m a bit flattered.” 

“That I dream of you murdering me?” 

“No.” He lets out a small laugh. “That your subconscious ‘chose my face.’” 

You chuckle rather sheepishly when he took the words from your previous rambling. “Yeah… Seungkwan suggested that it was just a face that was most memorable.” You let out a long sigh. “And Yongsun likes to psychoanalyze into things.” 

“So, do you… think my face… is attractive?” 

You look up at him from your keyboard, only to see him dodging your eyes. His Adam's apple moves as he swallows. On the table, you can see that his hands are curled underneath the sweater paws, moving as he fiddles with his fingers. You can feel yourself shrinking into your seat, shyness overpowering you. 

“Well….” you say. “You are… attractive…” You say the last part quieter than you intended, but Wonwoo’s eyes meet yours once the words are said. 

His face turns a shade darker and he smiles a bit wider than before. “Even.. Even if I was part of a nightmare?” 

You nod, but look off to the side to shake off the embarrassment. 

“I think you’re attractive too.” 

Your head turns to him, but his concentration is back to his laptop. While he can act like he didn’t say anything all he wants, the redness of his ears give his emotions away. You press your lips to repress your smile. 

A bag being thrown into the table interrupts your moment. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Seungkwan says, clearly out of breath. “This ladder here wanted to stop by Starbucks and there was a line.” 

“How was I supposed to know?” Mingyu yells. 

“It’s Starbucks! You should have known!” 

“You couldn’t have sent a text?” you ask. 

“My phone died,” he says with a pout. “Speaking of which, do you have a charger??” 

You can only sigh in disappointment, but rummage through your bag nevertheless. “You’re lucky I brought this one.” 

“You’re a lifesaver.” 

“I know, I know. Now sit down and shut up, people are looking.” 

When you open your eyes, you’re running—from what, you are unsure of. This tunnel is nearly pitch black dark. A part of you is calm, but the other is panicking. Probably due to previous experiences you’ve had in this subconscious. You continue to run, refusing to look back at whatever remains behind you, but you can hear its footsteps echoing. 

Your shoes are soaked and continue to splash against the muddy waters, as you continue to run. It stays dark for so long, but then it gets lighter, as if the sun poured itself into the tunnel. The footsteps stop. Whatever’s behind you diminishes. 

But you can’t stop running towards the light, which burns closer and closer. The light embraces you, shining brightly and bouncing along your surroundings. You try to shield your eyes from the sun, only to be greeted by shimmers. Your vision starts to clear, enough for you to identify your surroundings. 

You’re at the park. But what for? 

You stand in the grass, surrounded by trees and rose bushes. The flowers are just in bloom, blossoming towards you, as if you were the sun itself. The skies are clear of clouds and the sun shines down, but it isn’t beating. Butterflies flutter and graze above the ground, but they don’t get close enough to you. The birds are chirping lightly, sounding like a song’s melody. The air is fresh and the aura is soothing. 

As you walk through, you start to soak in the aroma. To the side, you notice a small hill with, no doubt, the best view. A picnic blanket is laid out, along with plates and other objects. 

Someone else is also there. 

It’s a familiar figure, but you can’t make out who it is from the distance. 

You call out. “Hello?” 

The figure turns and there Wonwoo sits.  He has his glasses intact, but, instead of the casual wear, he’s a bit more dressed up—his white button-up showcases his nicely built chest and his slacks reveals how long his legs are. 

He smiles at you, white pearls sparkling and eyes shining—you feel as if it’s almost like the buds have bloomed as well. For a moment, you think you’re stuck in a picture. 

And then the wind blows, brushing his hair against his forehead. 

“Are you coming, (Y/N)?” 

---

Your eyes shoot open. The warmness in your chest is gone and is replaced by the coldness of your sheets. You shift under the covers and attempt to sit up. 

The grogginess stays, but one thing remains in your mind—what was that and why did the dream change? 

It’s 11:15am once again and you sit at your unofficial reserved spot. Your head lies on the desk, awaiting for the other students and your professor to arrive at the lecture hall. Tiredness continues to overpower you as your eyes consistently flutter to shut and reopen. 

A knock on the table interrupts your attempted naptime. You look up to see Wonwoo’s face above yours. He gives you a small smile as he sets his bag on the seat next to yours. From his presence, you sit yourself up and rub your eyes, in an attempt to wake yourself. 

“Are you tired?” he asks. 

You can feel yourself internally curling from his close proximity. “Yeah, I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

He lets out a small, airy laugh. With a shake of his head, he jokes. “Still getting nightmares about me murdering you?” 

A blush creeps up to your face. “Ha… Not really,” you say. It’s not like it’s a lie, but it’s not exactly the truth. You unconsciously move yourself a bit further from him as you recall the image of him surrounded by roses. “It’s probably just insomnia—bad sleeping habits most likely piled up.” 

He nods, humming along as you speak. He rummages through his bag, pulling out his laptop and notebook. His side profile is illuminated through the sunshine that’s reflected on the window. He looks like he’s sparkling… 

You quickly turn away as soon as he moves his head towards your direction. God, you were starting to stare a lot more than usual. You shake your head as you try to refocus on what you were doing. 

What were you doing? 

Closing your eyes, you try to regain your train of thought—only for you to lose it immediately after. You eventually decide to pull out your laptop and open up your lecture notes. On another tab, you see the essay that you’ve already turned in. 

“Oh,” you say. You turn back to Wonwoo, “I almost forgot, did your essay turn out okay?” 

“Yeah, it took a little bit of editing but I turned it in on time.” 

“I’m sure it turned out great,” you say. “You’re definitely getting an A.” He gives you another shy smile and his cheeks start to blush. You shift into your seat, trying to find a comfortable position. “You’re really smart anyways,” you mumble. 

“What?” 

“Nothing,” you say. “Nothing at all.” 

“Well, I’m sure you’re getting an A too,” he says. “It was really well put together. At least, from what I remember.” 

“Ehh.” You shrug your shoulders. “We’ll see.” 

“Give yourself more credit, (Y/N),” he says in a softer tone. “You’re really smart and it’s okay for you to brag.” He turns his attention back to his laptop. His red ears have made a return. 

On the other hand, you position yourself in your seat to straighten up and hide your smile. You take the opportunity to glance around, noticing the other students who’ve entered the lecture hall. Others are starting to enter as well. 

You check the time on your laptop and it looks like it’s time for class to begin. Your professor arrives as well and sets up her materials. 

“Open up your textbooks and turn to page 304. We’ll start with the four categories of ethical theories.” 

Without turning from your laptop screen, your hand hovers over the textbook in your bag, but Wonwoo’s whisper interrupts your movement. 

“Did you forget your book? I’ll share mine with you.” 

You should probably say no, but your hand speaks for you, moving away from the bag. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.” 

He gives another smile, leaning closer as he scoots the book towards you. Your professor continues to lecture, going over the slide’s content, but you can’t concentrate—not when Wonwoo’s this close. He smells like fresh laundry, the kind that you want to wrap yourself in before the warmth is gone. When you look at him, the sparkles return, along with the image of him from your dreams. 

“Hold up,” Seungkwan says. “Yongsun thought that water is the weakest element? It’s clearly fire.” 

“That’s what I said!” Mingyu yells. He sighs in disappointment from the recollection of the conversation and moves his strawberry milkshake to the side. “Fire is just a stupid element that can be destroyed by water AND all living things need water in order to survive. There are so many benefits to water and—” He stops himself with another sigh and takes a long sip of his milkshake. 

Next to him, you shake your head with a small laugh. Taking a fry from your plate for a bite, you can only observe and let the conversation take its course. While your focus remains on the other two, your eyes glance over towards Wonwoo, who sits in front of you. 

“I think earth is debatable,” Wonwoo says. “But, I feel like fire is the weakest due to the fact that it’s more destructive rather than productive.” 

While the essay was already due, Seungkwan invited you to dinner at a nearby diner. You figured that it’d be nice to not eat dining hall food for once, so you agreed. But when you got there, you didn’t expect Mingyu and Wonwoo to already be there—hence your current position in front of Wonwoo, next to Mingyu, in a booth, while they’re arguing about the strongest element. 

You blame Yongsun and Chaeyoung for this chaos; if they hadn’t pulled him into this conversation, he wouldn’t have brought it up now—which also dragged Seungkwan and Wonwoo into the discourse. 

“That’s where you’re wrong,” you say. You continue to gnaw away at your fries, even when all three of their eyes land on you. Typically you’d refuse to engage in these conversations, but you refuse to let them walk around without an argument. 

Seungkwan clears his throat, as if he was asking you to elaborate. Meanwhile, Mingyu continues to sip on his shake and Wonwoo has an eyebrow raised. 

You let out a sigh from the eyes and toss the half-bitten french fry back to your plate before speaking. “You can argue that fire is the weakest, but we cook with fire and that’s what allowed our society to thrive because we started to have less time devoted to farming.” 

Seungkwan and Mingyu’s jaws slightly drop from your point, while Wonwoo smiles. 

“We can technically live without fire,” Seungkwan says. “We can go back to farming and let the animals thrive.” 

“First of all, cold temperatures are a thing and fire provides warmth. Secondly, did you not hear me? Cooking gave us more time to further develop society, so, without it, we would figuratively and literally be unable to live.” 

“She’s got a point,” Wonwoo says. 

“Thank you.” 

Seungkwan’s mouth moves, but no words find their way out. 

“Wow, I left Boo Seungkwan speechless,” you say, as you begin to finish off your fries. “You’re welcome.” 

Mingyu looks on impressively. “Niceeee.” 

“That’s a very hard feat,” Wonwoo says. “I’ll give you points for that.” 

Seungkwan has suddenly regained interest from Wonwoo’s words. He leans his chin on his hand, moving uncomfortably closer to Wonwoo, who attempts to swat him away. “When did you two get along so well?” 

“We have class together,” you say with narrowed eyes. 

“And I sit right next to her,” Wonwoo adds. 

Mingyu smiles slyly. “Since when did that happen?” 

You miss the way he looks over to Seungkwan. Wonwoo blinks at the question and you suddenly have developed more interest towards the salt on the fries. 

“I feel like we shouldn’t be here,” Seungkwan says. 

“You invited me,” you say. “But okay.” 

“I know that,” he says with a huff. “But it just feels like a moment we shouldn’t be in.” 

You roll your eyes in response, but the smile on your face shows no malice. Wonwoo remains quiet—scratching his neck, feeling the heat creep up to his face. 

“So, are you dating yet?” Mingyu asks as he glances between you two. 

“Oh my God,” Wonwoo mutters. He lays his face onto the table with a thud and you almost choke from Mingyu’s directiveness. 

Mingyu goes on, ignoring both of your reactions. “You both like each other right? Well, at least, I know Wonwoo does.” 

“DUDE!” 

“Oops.” Mingyu’s lips pull back. He turns to Seungkwan. “Should we leave now?” 

“Please don’t,” Wonwoo whispers. 

Your jaw drops as you watch Seungkwan nod, smiling at you like nothing’s happened. Seungkwan and Mingyu side out of their side of the booth, but. before they leave, Mingyu drops one hand on each of your shoulders. “Don’t worry about the check. Consider it a present from your cupids.” 

“You owe me one, (Y/N)!” Seungkwan shouts from the door. They both head towards the door, giving both of you little waves with their fingers. 

Both you and Wonwoo sit in silence, not knowing what to say to the other. But, in all fairness, Wonwoo owes you the explanation. 

You swallow, suddenly feeling your throat dry up. “If it makes you feel better…” 

He looks up at you from the table. 

“I like you too.” 

A smile grows on his face and he starts to sit up slowly. “Really?” 

“What can I say?” Your smile mirrors his. “My subconscious chose you before I could.” 

He lets out a chuckle, readjusting his glasses and fiddling with his fingers, before settling them on the diner table. They’re free from the usual sweater paws and tap against the bright countertop. 

“Just to be clear,” he says. “You aren’t scared of me?” 

“Well, I was before,” you pause. “But that was before we even really talked or hung out. And now….” 

“What about now?” 

You blush, remembering the roses, the sparkling, the picnic—it all sounds so… nice. You couldn’t think of the words and Wonwoo could sense that. 

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.” 

A sigh of relief escapes you. “Maybe next time then.”

His smile grows. “So, there’s a next time?” 

You nod, feeling the butterflies in your stomach and your heart pounds in your chest. His hand moves towards you, closer and with caution—so yours meets his halfway. When your fingers intertwine, he looks from your hands to you with sparkling eyes and you can feel the warmth return to your chest. 

This. 

This is what feels right. 

[stayarmytinyzenmoa-l]

Important Asks/Interesting Theories

Beware, this post is filled with spoilers for Zemblanity! Read after you’ve finished the main series, as it’s constructed so that everything makes sense in the end. But if you’re still curious or confused, here’s the guide you need!

Be sure to look at the date of when any of the asks were posted before you send me a new one saying ‘but this isn’t possible because [insert reasoning here]’ especially for the theories. I tried to put a ‘Prior to’ section for all of them but yeahhhhh just check the dates.

So these were originally individual asks on my blog but I got rather lazy to reblog and tag everything (and I’m kind of afraid of hitting the post limit again), so I’ll just type them out here.

Table of Contents so You Don’t Have to Keep Scrolling:

Asks About Zemblanity in Case You Are Confused

Confused about the timelines?

So if TL8 Ten and TL9 Ten merged that means they have the same memories and behaviors? That’s why he remembered to save (Y/N)?

Does jumping from timeline to timeline affect Sector V? For all timelines is there only one Sector V?

So why are (Y/N)’s dreams a thing?

Can you explain the whole TL8 Ten getting sent back to TL9 and everything that resulted?

So why does Kunhang want to drown the system?

So is Yangyang actually in love with (Y/N) or is it just infatuation?

[Not an Ask] Regarding the Dream Sequences in Zemblanity

Interesting Theories About Zemblanity

{Prior to TWN4} Mark Lee is the True Culprit (Personal Favorite of Mine)

{Prior to TIR0} Maybe Yangyang is the best friend in Ch. 4’s dreams…

{Prior to TIR1} Maybe Xiaojun is the best friend in Ch. 4’s dreams…

{Prior to TIR2} Maybe (Y/N) and Ten coming up to the moon in 2004 was a lie?

{Prior to TIR4} Maybe (Y/N)’s dreams aren’t hers and she’s living through someone else’s memories?

{Prior to TIR4} Hendery might have gotten into an accident that involved severe burns…

{Prior to TIR5} Xuxi’s definitely the man in Chapter 2’s dream sequences

{Prior to Chapter 5} Xiaojun knows everything

{Prior to Chapter 5} Xiaojun is the man in the Newton’s Cradle dream

{Prior to TWN5} Hendery definitely has D.I.D.

{Prior to Chapter 6} The Dream Guy in Chapter 5 is Hendery

{Prior to Chapter 6} The Multiple Timeline Theory (Note that many people contributed to these so they may not be consistent)

{Prior to Chapter 7 and TWN6} The Matrix Theory

{Prior to Chapter 7’s Release} Maybe Xiaojun’s the Inmate in TIR6

{Prior to Chapter 8’s Release} The inmate from 2022 (mentioned in TIR6 and TIR8) is Ten

Special Questions

So, what happened to the 2004 Flight Records?

Who was the eighth inmate who killed himself?

Asks About Zemblanity in case you are confused

Confused about the timelines?

Q: Hi, i hope you get this question because it's the first time I'm asking something on Tumblr (I've been here for like a month or so 😅). And I hope I don't annoy with this question or maybe someone asked this already but what about the TL6? Chapter 8 honestly got me so confused that I locked up who belongs to which Timeline and I think we got like 9? TL1-5 is Kun, Xuxi, Xiaojun, Sicheng, Hendery. TL7 is Yangyang and TL8&9 is Ten because they got merged??

A: Hi there!! Welcome to tumblr! I’m honored to be your first ask, love ❤️ Also, fear not, asks never annoy me, I’m actually quite fond of them, because if one person is a bit confused, chances are others are too. Plus, I love to hear from my readers! No one has asked yet, so I don’t mind answering your question! To break it down, the timelines are as follows:

TL1 - Kun TL2 - Xuxi TL3 - Xiaojun TL4 - Sicheng TL5 - Guanheng (Hendery/Kunhang) TL6 - Ten (inmate Ten from TL8) TL7 - Yangyang TL8 - The events prior to Zemblanity, Sector V is established, all 7 members of WayV are inmates. Ten has memories from both TL6 and TL8 TL9 - Main Zemblanity timeline. TL8 Ten is sent back in time within the Warden’s lifespan and merges with TL9 Ten as a result, he loses his memories and starts life again from the age 8 and retains memories from TL9 Ten up to that point.

So technically Ten has been through three timelines (6, 8, 9) Good for him.

So if TL8 Ten and TL9 Ten merged that means they have the same memories and behaviors? That’s why he remembered to save (Y/N)?

Q: question questiooon hehe did tl8 ten and tl9 ten merged?? Like their memories and behavior?? Thats why he remembered to save (y/n) and yet has a different behavior?

A: Yeah basically.

When the Warden sent Ten back during his (the Warden’s) lifetime, Ten ended up replacing TL9’s Ten, or merging, as you called it. Luckily due to Ten’s lack of memories of TL8 it wasn’t a horrible merge, and it allowed him to grow up completely differently than he did in TL8. I’d say that he just wanted to save (Y/N) cuz bestie things, but maybe there was a hidden subconscious feeling of “I must protect this girl with my life”

I could be wrong, but I think I once mentioned how (Y/N) felt that Ten was rather overprotective of her.

Does jumping from timeline to timeline affect Sector V? For all timelines is there only one Sector V?

Q: another question hehe so jumping from timeline to timeline and changing things doesnt affect sector v?? Like for all timelines there is only 1 sector v?? As in it merges all timelines??

A: [I kind of worded this one weirdly in the original post, so let me rewrite it a little] 

How I wrote it in my outline, verbatim, is “Due to Sector V being a locating where neither time nor reality follow their set laws, it remains independent of the other timelines, this allows people of other timelines to be able to walk amongst each other without dire consequence. Although it may sometimes pick up on rifts within the timelines closest to it.”

Amendment: So basically it is entirely possible for another to exist, as long as their timelines aren’t right next to each other (as in there aren’t too many major events, or even small choices that overlap or are similar within both timelines).

Amendment: But when someone, in this case Ten, who is closely linked to the Sector is purposely messing with people who are associated with it (since he was jumping into timelines the inmates were in), this causes the rifts in the Sector.

So why are (Y/N)’s dreams a thing?

Q: OH. so the dreams y/n got while inside the sector were caused by ten jumping thru the timelines??? i guess that would explain why the very last ones she had were of ten in that dark ass room..... but now i cant stop thinking abt how yangyang keeps trying to kill xiaojun because he probably did kill his timeline's xiaojun and now i wanna know yy's story

A: I originally answered this one prior to the story being finished, so allow me to amend this one too.

Yup yup! Our boy royally FUCKED up the timelines.

Amendment: I based this off of the old saying that Dreams are windows to other versions of ourselves, past, present, future, other dimensions, etc. Basically, Ten was trying to merge the timelines enough to get into one of these dreams to communicate with (Y/N), but by the time he succeeded he ended up ripping the fabric of time enough so that (Y/N) was able to talk to the other inmates long before she even got trapped in the Sector.

Also, since this ask spoke about the dreams, the dreams are direct reflections of that inmate’s state of mind. Do with that what you will.

Can you explain the whole TL8 Ten getting sent back to TL9 and everything that resulted?

Q: my brain hurts 🤠 so serial killer ten was sent back in time (and to another timeline?) and had his memories erased... and then he jumped thru timelines to get back to a time before y/n died.... so he can help y/n get out..... 🤠 i'll just go listen to domino on repeat call me when yall are done killing poor y/n HSNSJSJ

A: Time is such a kunfusing kuncept (😀) but that’s pretty much it yeah. If you want the full thing…

So Ten was sent back in time, however in order to keep some events of the timeline (in this case the Sector, the Station, etc.) the Warden sent him back to a time during his lifetime and due to some timey wimey bull shit this not only caused Ten to lose his memories but also caused him to become significantly younger. Hence why he and (Y/N) have memories of them being younger, because they actually did grow up together. 

Later in the story, Ten did travel to six different timelines, all in order to establish that side effect connection that results from fucking with the timelines to get in contact with (Y/N), all of which were both unsuccessful and resulted in (Y/N) being linked to the inmates instead (hence the dreams). The original plan was for him to establish a stable connection with (Y/N) since the server in the Sector is blocked and nearly impossible to get into from the outside and tell her how to get out from there, but we all saw how that ended up 🙃

So why does Kunhang want to drown the system?

Q: “So it’s safe to say that it is this alter who I see trying to drown the body.” IM SCREAMING- WHO IS TRYING TO DO W H A T?! OOOH. WOW. I-

A: The definition of a persecutor, to put it in simple terms, is a “misguided protector.” They typically hold the more traumatic memories of the body that the other alters or the host don’t. Often times the persecutors see it as it’s them against the system (in this case Kunhang against the other alters), and they see things as “oh, the abuser can’t do this to me if I do it myself” then it gets worse from there. Often times they punish the body (and by extension the other alters) by making them relive the trauma. (Note that it’s very rare for Persecutors to take their anger out on other people, it happens, but it’s rare, often times the rage is turned against the system)

So knowing that it’s Kunhang who forces the body to drown…. do with that what you may.

Amendment: In greater context of the story it’s explained in his ending that he was kidnapped and held for ransom by the rivaling kingdom and upon his return it was discovered that he developed DID while in captivity.

Of course through therapy they can be taught that what they’re doing is wrong, which is what we see through Kunhang present day. But yeahhhhhhh

Poor Guanheng :(

So is Yangyang actually in love with (Y/N) or is it just infatuation?

Q: So is Yangyang actually in love with her or is it just infatuation? Ik you said you've changed it a lot but still,,, also the way the only named connections towards Yangyang are "avoid at all costs", "weirded out", and "doesn't want to die" is both scary and amusing

A: When I first drafted Zemblanity (yes there is a first draft that you guys will likely never see) it was pure, unabashed infatuation. In the first draft I actually planned for each inmate to have a certain type of complex (god complex, father complex, etc.) but I figured the topic was both too information loaded and delicate to write about accurately in a fanfiction (I’m already juggling enough with the mental disorders, I’m planning to minor in psychology so I’ve taken a few of the classes before, so I luckily have notes from there I can turn to, all I need is some brushing up) Yangyang’s complex involved him seeking the need for stability, so at the time it was indeed just pure infatuation with no feelings of actual love.

Now it’s a bit different, I can’t give you the full answer for obvious reasons, but I will say he does feel genuine love for (Y/N), and so do the rest of the inmates, there are a few things attached to that genuine love though, but then again who doesn’t have some strings attached. The only thing that separates love from infatuation are those extra things hanging on to the feelings, after all.

Amendment: So now that the series is over, I can explain in full detail. Basically it’s some form of guilt that Yangyang felt, which is explained in his ending. And it was also the need to get closure for how she died, a mix of both. His mental state has already been in disarray, so when (Y/N) showed up at the Sector I think it’s safe to say it wholly broke. And it became something of “I knew she was still alive.”

Also yeah that’s what happens when you’re tipsy and story boarding at the same time, you come up with interesting character relationships lol 😂

[Not an Ask] Regarding the Dream Sequences in Zemblanity

One would do well to distinguish which dream sequences happen real time and which ones happened in the past. In this case I’ll spell it out easy peasy, each dream sequence that is happening real time is linked by one deciding factor: Ten. Often times he’s in the background and is described as trying to tell (Y/N) something important, but she can’t understand him.

Otherwise, the dream sequence happened in the past with exception of Kun’s dream sequences in Chapter 1, which happened real time.

Interesting Theories About Zemblanity

{Prior to TWN4} Mark Lee is the True Culprit (Personal Favorite of Mine)

Theory: Okay so like I know we're all tossing out Zemblanity theories but like consider this: Who was the one who was in charge of all the years? Who else do we know has access to a computer? Who else is associated to (Y/N). That's right. Mark Lee.

Response: THE WAY I CACKLED WHEN I READ THIS

That’s it. Anon figured it out. I gotta rewrite all of Zemblanity now

I’m joking of course but this is TOO FUCKING FUNNY I 😂😂 YOU GUYS ARE SO CREATUVE

Was it Correct? As expected, no.

{Prior to TIR0} Maybe Yangyang is the best friend in Ch. 4’s dreams…

T: Lmaoo my theory is that YangYang was the best friend and whoever he murdered was the boyfriend of y/n. Hes severely mentally unstable so thats possibly why he is projecting the image of that person onto Xiaojun and why he hates him so much. Thats why he knows so much about y/n and why he had her locket.... he was also quite abusive to y/n. Maybe she had her memories of him erased somehow but he feels she abandoned him personally and thats why he tied her up??? Hmmm. Just a theory though

R: But that’s just a theory! A Zemblanity theory! Thanks for reading!

God I hope at least some of y’all get the reference

I will say, you’re not too far off the mark, but you’re not 100% there either. 👀

WIC? Not completely. They did get Yangyang being the best friend correct and that he murdered (Y/N)’s toxic boyfriend (who just happened to be Xiaojun). But that’s about it, and I applaud you on getting that close!

{Prior to TIR1} Maybe Xiaojun is the best friend in Ch. 4’s dreams…

T: OKAY HEAR ME OUT: I think is the case as to why Xiaojun and Yang² hate each other (apart from the theories I left under chp 4). I really think that Xiaojun was actually her best friend and that he helped her out of her relationship with Yang²... and I think Yang² said "he hurt her" cause hes lowkey delusional? And psychotic so he thinks everyone's put to get him. As for Ten, he needed to be her best friend since Xiaojun is an inmate WHICH IS WHY THERES NO RECORDS OF THE DAY SHE CAME TO THE MOON

R: Interesting theory, but like the others, not too far off the mark, but not quite there. Also the lack of records of the day she went to the moon, there’s a reason, but that’s not quite the reason, ahhh that’s confusing but it’s the only way I can say it without revealing too much.

Hint: Look back at the Warden’s Notes, I usually drop spoilers in them on accident and I just forget to delete it

WIC? Ah, Vicky, Vicky, Vicky, you’re gonna give me a run for my money some day. You were SO close I got scared, haha. But, sadly, incorrect. Yangyang was the best friend and Xiaojun was the toxic boyfriend. As for the records part, I thought I left enough evidence for y’all to figure out, but I suppose not.

{Prior to TIR2} Maybe (Y/N) and Ten coming up to the moon in 2004 was a lie?

T: maybe y/n and ten being brought to the moon when they were very little was a lie and thats why the records for 2004 arent there 🤡 im just a simple dumbass i'll just wait until someone smarter puts together a sound theory HSNSKS ALSO ALSO ateez concepts are always so cool i 😔🥺 always my faves

R: Awww but you’re plenty smart, love 🥺 the fact that you can put together even the smallest theory is amazing!!!

But I acknowledge your theory and will put it up like the rest ❤️

WIC? Sadly, no. And I think I should just say it at this point and ruin the spoiler but hmm... I’ll put it at the end, how about that?

{Prior to TIR4} Maybe (Y/N)’s dreams aren’t hers and she’s living through someone else’s memories?

T: WAIT CRYS- WAIIIIT WAIIIIIT WAIIIIT.... okay okay okay are the dreams or memories that appear in the chapters uniquely Yn's? 👁👄👁 (please donr make me feel like a clown cause 😣✌🏾). This is me b4 you answer my last ask BUT what if the memories arent... hers.... what if most of the inmates had girlfriends and for those who committed murder, it was linked to the s/o..? Since Kun has OCD it would explain some questionable and almost controlling behaviour towards a lover and same applies to Yang². Just a thought. A far fetched thought that doesnt make sense (not to add but if Xuxi had a lover, kidnapping would apply to the s/o or another party 👀) ✌🏾... so uh again just a thought... the memories arent... lets say consistent(?). Lkke in one of them, shes a secretary, in the other shes a teacher... okay I'm really gonna go with the theory I had. What if the dreams arent hers? Let's remember she and Ten dont have recollecting of coming to the Moon... and in that one Wardens Note Ten was shocked about info he learned at the end... I'm lost lmao. The memories arent hers, in each chapter theres a memory that may(be) include a character which is why the person is never mentioned. Another thing is that in some of the memories, she explicitly says that she has no control over what shes saying or doing which means that they happened in the past and since she has no recollection of them happening, theres a strong chance that shes experiencing it for the first time... which means that she is experiencing the dream through the original person 🤡

R: I had such half assed responses to these so lets just not type those out--

WIC? No, but also a little. The concept is there, but not really. But you were on the right track with Kun and Yangyang. But this did come out before we established that multiple timelines are a thing in Zemblanity, so I liked where you were going with this one! Technically, the memories aren’t hers, but at the same time they are.

{Prior to TIR4} Hendery might have gotten into an accident that involved severe burns…

T: Actually, I think Hendery got in a severe accident that involved 1st degree burns... and I read somewhere that if you get burned that you should put the wound underwater for 20 mins or waiting for paramedics (I'm waiting til you debunk this hehe) sO then baby was burned and since they in space... you know- gravity! And then since gravity is there, he needs to stay underwater so that he doesnt die cause of his burns 🤠

R: I mean, yes? Like medically yeah it’s best to put burns underwater as soon as you can (cold water preferably) but imagine having to stay underwater for 16 hours for a burn?I like it.HENDERY SWEETIE TOUCH THE STOVE-

WIC? Nah.

{Prior to TIR5} Xuxi’s definitely the man in Chapter 2’s dream sequences

T: OKAY SO LIKE- I'm positive of one of two things, the second chapter dream is (Y/n) and Xuxi cause in the interrogation room part 4, he mentioned how his wife is clumsy and that they havent been married for long and in that memory, the invisible person said how (Y/n) was clumsy and she mentioned how they were waiting to start a family which is a hint that they're married. So I'm pretty sure (watch me be wrong) that Xuxi was the invisible person in Chapter 2 illuding to yn being his wife now ----- but now wouldnt that mean that (Y/n)'s dead since she killed herself? Now listen, we all remember that theory of it being multiple versions of her being with all the inmates right? Well let's say that that theory is true, we basically have some sort of evidence illuding to that. Both versions so far of the wife/girlfriend has died and if it's all those timelines crashed together, itll make sense as to why they all know her (one way or another)... 👁👄👁

R: Ooooh interesting, alright how about the other dreams now 😗 I’m interested in this theory, That is also true, according to the basic logic of the multiple lives/timelines theory

But is it what’s happening in Zemblanity?😗

WIC? Yup. I actually never intended for the dreams to be purposely hidden, like literally the dreams subjects are who’s featured in the chapter HAHA but yeah. The only thing off about the theory is the last part tbh.

{Prior to Chapter 5} Xiaojun knows everything

T: Okay so the girl always dies and there has to be something about her that warrants that. Xiaojun said he knows/remembers more than the other inmates so that could be what he is holding back from the warden.. Maybe he knows the reason why? Maybe he has some other information? All I know is, from what we've learned, Xiaojun really did do "what he had to do" and there has to be some other thing he did that would have warranted him going to Sector V because that can't be it.

R: Maybe so 😗

But that will be revealed with time

WIC? Xiaojun does know what happened in the last timeline, so whatever he learned back there transferred over. So yeah, kind of

{Prior to Chapter 6} The Dream Guy in Chapter 5 is Hendery

T: the dream guy in chapter 5 is hendery cuz the dreams seem royal-ish and the guy gave me “prince” feels and technically hendery’s a prince so yeah. and he said his true self will be hiding behind a facade and hendery seems like he has a split personality. so basically he got his new personality by repressing memories of (y/n) (he was the only one who seem to not know (y/n) when they met). and also the way the “king/prince” said “Don’t.” (tea scenario) and hendery said “Don’t” gave me chills

R: Nice catch 😏 I’ll admit you’re on the same path as many other readers, very good 👍

WIC? Yuuup.

{Prior to Chapter 6} The Multiple Timeline Theory (Note that many people contributed to these so they may not be consistent)

T1: So like my theory is that the boys had met (y/n) in different timelines?? Like for example Kun is timeline 1, and (y/n) had died there??? — jongin smth. And theen on her next time line— she met lucas idk its smth like reincarnation or just like because sector v has a unique time and reality. Like they all lived in different realities but sector v connects all of those realities— in which (y/n) was also in. And another theory (since best friend and boyfriend conflict goes on throughout the previous chapters) each wayv member is like the bestfriend or boyfriend of (y/n) each timeline— like ten in this present timeline Buuuut i cant explain why yangyang is the one on 7th timeline whilst ten was currently the one (y/n) knows personally

Add on: I was reading anons theory and I was thinking the same thing. Because time is different In the sector that allows them to be in the same timeline. (Think ATEEZ new concept where they all knew each other but got separated, but are coming together again.) This would also explain all of the different voices that Y/N hears and how in the warden noted that Ten is starting to piece things together.

R: (½) I said this in the previous post but I actually really like this theory, it’s a very interesting take on what’s going on. Posting this one first so it appears below the first part!! Ooooh this one’s different from the ones I’ve read so far, I like where you’re going with this one anon, props to you for cutting from a different fabric!

Ooooh and the theory deepens, you guys are so creative I love it 🥰

WIC? Not far off the mark, but not a bullseye.

{Prior to Chapter 8’s Release} The inmate from 2022 (mentioned in TIR6 and TIR8) is Ten

T1: So I wanted to write it in the comments but I have an idea and wanted to write "directly" (I also don't use ask option a lot so also It will be multiple part so sorry 🥺🙏) I got a sudden idea while looking at the dates of the newest interrogation room and the dates of when the Inmates were brought to Sector V and... I think I got something... Kun, who was the first one to come to sector V, first came in February but the Interrogation takes place in January and a whole ass moth before it. 

So I came to a sudden realization that there was a 7th Inmate who allegedly killed himself. And then my mind made a connection to Ten who in the MV and promotion shots was shown to have the same V tattoo as the others. Could it be that Ten was the original Inmate? It would kinda add up i think. Like there is a possibility that The Warden (our Father) was fed up with him and killed him but filed it in reports as a suicide. 

It could be that it isn't our Ten because if my Multiverse Theory is right that would open a lot of possibilities. It could be a wierd coincidence to have two Ten's in the same Building (not that I'm complaining) so it could be less likely. But I have two versions of the theory. The second being that neither Ten or we have a recollection of how and why we were brought to the moon station. Which in on itself is pretty fishy. But to assume for a second that Ten was convinced of Murder... 

And maybe he was tortured to the point of amnesia and/or memory loss and then tossed out of the Sector with some false memories but somewhere in his head he “remembers” (something like deja vu) about what happened “last time” and when she wants to meet the others he tries to prevent it. 

Underneath there, somewhere in his mind he knows what he did wrong and tries to prevent it from happening again. He knows that whatever happened to us can happen again if we meet the others. Or we are all in a loop and Ten is like Sans from Undertale and knows it all and has godlike powers. Idk mate it's 1 Am in Germany and I'm basically sleeping at this point. But remember it's just a theory. A Zembalty Theory. (hopefully I wrote it right) also sorry for spamming your inbox 🙏🥺Love you

R: Yessssss, also I like this theory, more answers will be revealed soon. 

That is true 👀 But if I recall correctly, I believe it was the eighth inmate that offend himself 🤔 but it is an interesting theory, I’ll give you that. 

I have grown very fond of the multiverse theory, there’s a lot of space for it to grow. But as for your second theory it would tie in the missing files from both 2004 and 2019 😗

WIC? Ten was, indeed, the original inmate. Also I did allude to their being a “time loop” of sorts in much of Xiaojun’s parts.

T2: Theory time hehehe The inmate from 2022 was actually Ten- and he was bargaining with (y/n)’s father (who i assumed did not die in the original timeline) for smth (like he requested Ten to go back in time since he mentioned that Ten figured out a way to travel through time) *i connected the time paradox here wherein one goes back in time so things change in the future. 

But then Ten betrayed the previous warden and killed him (past of warden)— thats why his death is still a mystery—- and this leads to the current timeline where Ten becomes the warden instead of (y/n)’s father living up till 2022— and this also leads to Ten not knowing what he did on the other “future” and probably not being a criminal— (but that would also mean the deal wont happen right? Idk anymore)

and probably the old warden requested him to go back to 2004??? “As long as you refrain from killing anyone else, you should be fine, I’m sure you’ll remember at least that much.” Also take note of this— its like if Ten* refrains from killinganyone else from the past then he’ll remember atleast some parts of their deal when the future changes

So ye this is me trying to understand the masterpiece called Zemblanity. Kudos to you for making my brain active during quarantine 🥰

oof i forgot a detail —- thats why Ten (as (y/n)’s bestfriend and warden) doubts if he could even trust himself— and why his populace records is a mystery to (y/n) Anyways thank you for taking your time to read these! 🥰☺️

R: Now this is a theory I enjoy! Very well thought out, but I must say, although it hasn’t been explicitly stated I assume is implicitly understood, the Warden has some control over the timelines considering that each inmate is, theoretically, from a different timeline. For Ten to be able to do it, assuming he is the unknown inmate, he would have to have already gained the status of Warden, which is impossible considering that the old Warden is still alive.

Ah yes, a classic time paradox, we certainly love those, don’t we? If only we were at that part in Zemblanity where the rules of Time were strictly laid out, but alas, we are not. So for now we will settle for this paradox that if Ten was thrown back in time and killed the Warden, the conversation will never have taken place, and Ten would have never, theoretically, been sent back in time.But then again if the Warden wasn’t killed and the conversation did take place, that would establish an entire time loop, wouldn’t it? Just Ten constantly going back to 2004 and reliving everything only to be sent back again, and again, I wonder what needs to be done differently, hmm…

This is a possibility, and I was going to mention it in the (2) of this ask, but I actually found that it would make more sense to put it in here. If Ten was, theoretically, sent back in time, how would you explain (Y/N) and Ten having memories of when they were toddlers? Assuming you’re intending that if Ten was sent back in time he’d still be a full age adult.

It’s no problem, I’m trying my best to keep your minds sharp while we all spend our days in our homes hehe… Ohhh and thank you! I’m so glad you enjoy my little (okay actually huge) story of Zemblanity!!!

This is a theory I like a lot, I can tell you put a lot of thought into it! But it would explain why there are some lapses in Ten’s judgment as to who he can trust, and it would also explain why (Y/N) had to search up Ten’s name in her Records database

WIC? Actually, this is probably the closest one to the truth anyone has ever gotten. Props to you, anon!

T3: Did they agree to have Ten stay out of it so he was there to protect YN since none of them could do it cause they clingy af and would of started a war and killed each other 👀🙊 and cause they mental health is deteriorating more and more in the Sector they willing to throw Ten out the way to get her back 🤔🤔🤔

AAAAAAALSO!!!!! Rereading the Warden Notes, there was mentioned of 8 inmates but the 8th killed himself so it was decided to be maxed out at 7.......who be the 7th inmate..... I swear tf if I'm right about Ten imma be needing at least 4 bottles of wine to cope, however if I'm wrong! I'm still gonna need them 🙊 (I'm so sorry, these were all EUREKA moments.....i didn't mean to spam)

R: Ooh I like this one, but I do have to say why Ten? But if this is true, I’d argue that either Kun or Hendery could’ve done it too, Kun’s a patient character and Hendery’s pretty chill. Plus according to the story line Ten and (Y/N) came when they were toddlers and both have memories of such, hmm…. 🤔

FOUR BOTTLES AHAHAHAHA. Also noooo I don’t mind spam at all, love, so don’t worry ❤️ But yes I do acknowledge that I wrote that the Sector is maxed out at 7 but I will also say that it doesn’t necessarily mean that there were seven at the start of the story 👀

WIC? Sadly, no :(

Special Questions

So... what happened to the 2004 Flight Records?

To put it simply, the Warden (Park Hyunjun) destroyed them. The Sector works in strange ways, as seen when the tapes from TL8 transferred over to TL9 for (Y/N) to see them. This is a special power of the Warden, the ability to allow items to transcend different timelines, which is only possible in Sector V (due to it’s independence of most of the rules of time). During his final negotiation with TL8 Ten, prior to sending him back in time to prevent the total destruction of the moon colony, he implies that he’d leave everything in place for the paradox item to find it’s way to Ten, and he’d keep him under watch.

However, Ten didn’t come to the moon in 2004. Now this is on me, I never explicitly said it, only left clues for it to be found. The records were damaged, but why? Every inmate has access to the Records room, but none have an incentive to destroy it, except for the one person it would apply to, in this case Ten. The Warden is implied to have special abilities in the Moon Colony, usually to prioritize the greater good of the Colony (i.e. calling the shots for executions, destroying cards, withholding evidence, etc.)

Now, TL9 Ten couldn’t have destroyed the records, why would he? But, I’ve mentioned on occassion that Ten was “always at war with himself” and, I quote from Ch. 1, “Sometimes [he has] to remind [himself] that [he’s] the Warden.”

There isn’t significant evidence that Ten wasn’t on that flight, but on the other hand there isn’t evidence that he was. All we have to go off of is the damaged flight records and what the Warden said in his tapes prior to being killed.

Do with that what you may.

Who was the eighth inmate who killed himself?

Sadly, no one actually important to the main story. He was just there so I can establish why there were only six inmates in the Sector at the beginning of Zemblanity, and why Ten was able to get convicted in there after the fact.

What about 2019′s records?

That was just a way to throw you all off, haha, it seemed like it worked. I never said that there weren’t any 2019 records, they were just tampered with and Mark had to reenter them, and I’ve long established that their Supervisor tends to make them work more since he’s that shitty a person.

[alltheangstmygifttoyou]

A Real Hero

A/N: Augh I love this part so much. Welcome to part nine of the Learn To Be Prequel and today we are from Jester’s perspective looking at the start of a very important event in her life. Some day I’m going to write this part from June’s perspective so everyone else in the world can have the same context I do but for now everyone is left in the dark and I’m left to cry about a minor character in my own story.

Summery: Jester is given a letter from Father that leaves her upset so she goes to her room to calm down. But while she’s in her room she notices some drama going down with June in the open dormitory. Shit hits the fan.

Word Count: 2647

TW: violence, mentioned child abuse, death

The dinner hall was alight with hundreds of voices excitedly telling each other about their days. On the left side of the hall Jesse sat with a group of friends, on the right Jester sat alone. She could join her twin brother’s table, but it was clear that Jesse didn’t like her there. The only one who did like her at that table was Jackson. To compromise, Jester only sat at that table during breakfast, no one told her to avoid the table afterwards, but they didn’t need to. Jester didn’t want to upset Jesse, but she was tired of being alone. The fact that Jesse didn’t want her around wasn’t surprising but it still left her aching.

 A balding staff member covered in sagging wrinkles tossed a white envelope in front of Jester. Despite the closeness between the tables and bodies the staff member took special care to not touch Jester. Rolling her eyes Jester took the envelope and saw her family seal. The green wax formed in the shape of a shield with four different sections, each with symbols Jester had seen a thousand times before. A fist in the top right for strength, a heart in the top left for love, a thorned rose in the bottom right for defense, and a bloody dagger in the bottom left for a sharp mind. Jester took what satisfaction she could out of breaking the seal but it was gone when she pulled the letter out. As always the envelope carried two letters, one for Jester and one for Jesse. If Jester liked what Mother had to tell Jesse she’d give him his letter tomorrow morning, if not, he didn’t need to see. Jester had already kept two letters this year. Mother could be very harsh in her letters about his grades and choices in friends. Jesse didn’t need that. The most important letter was Father’s anyway, and Jesse never saw those.

Father’s instructions were clear, list out the rest of section fifteen powers from years four and below. The younger the easier to manipulate. Although the last line in the letter made Jester struggle to not crumple the letter into a little ball. ‘Get closer to Jackson, he’ll need emotional support soon, and it needs to be clear the Quinn family will be there for him.’ Jester didn’t know what Father was planning, but he had to be planning something. He was going to hurt Jackson’s mom’s business was Jester’s best guess. She knew he would make her take advantage of the one friend she had. Jester could warn him, but her ribs ached, an echo of Father’s last lesson. Frustration welled up and Jester slammed her fist on the table before grabbing her bag and storming off to her room. The long walk managed to only irritate her further as the halls were filled with people hanging out together, smiling, laughing, things Jester had to spend her day faking or holding in.

The section fifteen girls dormitory main room was empty. It’s dirty dull beige walls less comforting than the pristine white of home. Nowhere should have felt worse than home but this place managed it. The urge to break the two broken chairs completely was causing her fists to shake but she went to her room. June wasn’t in there for once which Jester couldn’t be more thankful for. She tossed the letters into her duffel bag and kicked her mattress as hard as she could. It jumped a little but it didn’t go far. The only result was Jester’s foot hurt. Taking a deep breath Jester tried to think of a productive way to unleash the energy. She had posters she wanted to put up, some nails, and a hammer in the bag she had remembered when packing up. Learn To Be didn’t search bags for weapons and section fifteen didn’t seem to get room checks often. In a dormitory full of dangerous powerful people having a weapon couldn’t hurt her odds of survival. Plus she couldn’t find the tape at home.

With more force than necessary Jester put up five posters, each with four nails. She would have continued but she hadn’t brought anything else to put up. Her photo wall at home was too private to have in a room she shared. The only reason she had the posters in the first place was because they were sponsored by Father’s company. She didn’t put them up in her room at home because they were just random motivational quotes splashed in color, but they were better than plain and stained walls. Jester was sweating but she felt like her chest wasn’t as heavy. She put the hammer and extra nails away and grabbed her make-up wipes and took all of the work she had put on her face off. Tomorrow she would wear something extra nice, have her face done with as much precision as she could, and she would be the manipulative devil her Father wanted, but tonight she wanted to be Jester, whoever she was. A twin with her first friend that she didn’t want to lose.

Jester laid on her dirty mattress trying to figure out a way to show Jackson that she did truly appreciate him. Not because Father liked him but because he was nice to her. He reached out when no one else did. She thought back to Basics and what they would do for each other during the holidays. A handmade card would be nice. All she had to work with was notebook paper, a pencil, and a pen with black ink, which shook her determination a bit but she tried to keep in mind it was the thought that counted. Jackson wouldn’t be judging it for imperfections like Mother and Father.

Jester folded the notebook paper hamburger style and began sketching fancy lettering for the front ‘Thank you’. With the little room left at the bottom Jester tried to draw a bust of a cartoon Jackson. It was lopsided no matter how many times she erased and tried again so she put a heart at the bottom. But that could be confused as romantic and Jester was sure Father wouldn’t like it if she entered a relationship without permission. On the other hand she had told herself she wouldn’t worry about Father tonight. In the end she erased the heart and put an arch of stars differing in size. On the inside of the card she wrote a smaller message ‘for being my friend’ in her regular script. On the right page of the inside she drew two hands holding on to each other, something Jackson and her had never done but she was pretty sure that friends did. Jesse used to hold her hand, but they were twins so their relationship wasn’t a good baseline.

As Jester went through the steps of making the card look nice, lining with the pen, adding contrast through cross hatching, and signing her name on the back, two things occurred to her. One, the broken light in her room had been on longer than ever before, and two, June still hadn’t come in. Perhaps it wasn’t any of her business, June certainly didn’t care about her, but Jester was still worried. She carefully tucked Jackson’s card into her notebook and ventured out of her little room.

The dormitory was brighter than usual, the cracks underneath all the closed doors revealed their lights were working, at least temporarily. Walking into the main form entrance Jester realized that leaving her room was a mistake. There were at least fifteen people in the big room, not close to full, but many more than usual. Three girls blocked the exit and two stood at the edges to the hall. Jester walked toward them. In the middle of the room June faced off against a group of older girls wearing nice clean clothes. Jester recognized a couple from people in upper sections she had talked business and powers with once for Father’s list. There were two guys in the center as well. Something was about to go down. Jester wanted no part in it, but her thoughts needled her about leaving June. This looked like it wouldn’t end pretty for the red head.

“What do you want?” One of the girls by the entrance snapped. She had short curly brown hair and at least five inches on Jester.

“What’s going on? All the lights are on…” Jester was happy to not have makeup on for once. She looked her age a bit more without it. The taller girl’s frown deepened and her hip jutted out further.

“That’s nothing for you to worry about kid, just go back to your room.” The tall girl spat with the haughtiness of a spoiled princess. Jester looked past the tall girl as she spoke to see electricity crackling around a blonde moving towards June. June didn’t back up, she just glared forward. Given June’s power to kill, Jester doubted June had much to fear.

“Go kid,” the tall girl snapped and Jester turned around to head back. Part of her wanted to summon that girl's greatest fear, but that would just cause problems. As Father had told her, patience brings rewards.

Her freshly decorated room was still too boring to bring any comfort. Instead, the posters just reminded her of Father. She was tempted to sit with her ear to the door, but she couldn’t hear anything when the tall girl was in front of her so she definitely would hear anything now with a closed door and thirty feet of hall between them. All that was left to do was wait-- something Jester had practice at. She worked on homework for math but it didn’t take long. The numbers added up tight.

After a quarter of an hour just sitting in thought Jester’s light bulb seemed to shine brighter, but a high pitch whine stung her ears, Covering her ears with her hands and squeezing her eyes shut, she missed seeing the light bulb burst. Glass flew around the room, one piece lightly grazing her right arm. Despite her eyes being shut, she could sense the room darken. While the whine was gone, a muffled yelling could be heard. Slowly Jester opened her eyes and blinked a few times to let her eyes get adjusted. There was no light under the door crack anymore, meaning the other lights had either gone out or shattered too. Despite this as her eyes adjusted Jester could see blobs of motion. Doors were slamming into walls and female voices overlapped all trying to figure out what happened. It would be stupid to go out in that mess, a bunch of dangerous kids stuck in the dark, but Jester wanted to know what was happening first hand. She swept the glass out of her way with the slow movement of her feet before she pulled open her door.

The hallway was full of girls, young and older teens alike trying to push their way to the opening room of the dormitory, their pathetic excuse of a living room, and the only place to exit in the whole dorm. It was easy to follow the flow but once they were closer to the living room itself no one was moving. People were yelling, telling the ones at the front to go but they weren’t moving. Some people started pushing their way through and Jester joined them, although many of those who had been pushing stopped when they got to the front too, Jester just pushed them out of the way as well. Once in the main dorm room she moved out and to the side, out of the way of them all. Everything was difficult to make out but there were definitely people huddled on the floor and two figures yelling at another shorter figure. Unable to understand over the cacophony of noise, Jester edged her way around the room, staying close to the wall, until she was facing the back of the figure on the receiving end of the yelling. Now that she was closer it seemed like the one being yelled at was June, and the guys from earlier were yelling.

“You fucking killed her you psycho bitch!” A deep voice shouted and Jester couldn’t help but look back at the huddle of people. It’s possible they were surrounding a body. The thought made her stomach drop. Jester looked toward the exit to see people running towards it. Opening the doors allowed light from the schools hallways to seep in. June stood in front of Jester holding her left shoulder, the huddle of bodies were mainly the girls from the upper sections. A few of them moved towards the light showing that a body did indeed lay on the floor. From the hallway people in the front began to scream shrill sounds that echoed throughout the room. Many of them pushed their way backwards through the crowd only for the next line of people to see and panic as well.

Jester was acutely aware of the power of fear, after all it is what her power caused, and what fueled her Father’s power. While rage was a good way to get people to lash out with their power, fear had the tendency to make people lose control. The students that had broken in seemed to realize that causing a panic in the dormitory for people with dangerous powers was a terrible idea and began to back away from the screaming mass.

The first sign of trouble came when the darkness itself seemed to begin to move on its own, pushing people back. People were slammed against the walls by the living shadow. Then as the shadows attacked people became defensive, someone began spitting at the shadows, and where the globs landed the floor caught fire. The older students began running out of the dorm, trained to keep their powers in control in a stressful situation, while the younger students had barely begun to learn. The boys in front of June made a break for it, one running incredibly fast leaving the other behind. June watched on, her shoulders slumped. The exit was propped open at this point from the constant stream of people escaping so it was easy to see inside, the fires popping up helped the light situation as well. There were people lying on the floor next to the walls, Jester hoped they were just unconscious. Most of the screams left were guttural and seemed to be from pain more than panic. Shadows waved randomly from the hall, whoever summoning them obviously not in any sort of control. June turned to leave only to spot Jester.

“You said you’d stop following me,” her words were grumbled but lacked conviction.

“This seemed the safest place to stand,” Jester responded shrugging. The fact that this was happening felt absurd. “Are you okay?” That question felt more appropriate to the situation.

“You should see the other guy,” June rubbed her shoulder as she spoke. Jester looked at where there had been the group of people only to see a lone body with blonde hair laying on the floor. Blood seeped out of the nose and mouth, and the eyes appeared to be open. “You should get out kid. This isn’t going to go well.” June always looked tired, but Jester remembered the conviction the redhead had always had. It was gone now.

“Am I going to see you again?” Jester asked, they weren’t friends, but they could have been. Jester could see herself becoming June in the future, if she played her cards wrong.

“You’re going to be the only one in the room, enjoy.” June’s bitter tone made Jester’s lips pucker. “Seriously, go away Jester,” and Jester listened, only because she hadn’t known June cared enough to learn her name.

[mendespideys]

the intern ▿ pt. vi

Pairing: Reader x CEO!Tom Holland

Summary: You’re finishing your last year of university in London, and what better way do to that than with an internship at Holland and Osterfield’s? 

Warnings: Very vague mention of sex and I didn’t proofread 

A/N: Add yourself to my taglist here! I fixed a few things, and I’m happier with how the story is moving along now. I hope you guys like it ♥︎ 

series masterlist 

< previous | next >

IGNORING THE AWAITING HOMEWORK seemed to be easier said than done. So did ignoring the image of Tom’s forearms. For some unexplainable reason, your brain kept connecting the image of his arms from earlier to the memory of his arms from the night the two of you had shared. You remembered how they had caressed you and how he had been holding himself up while thru-

You shiver involuntarily at the thought, bringing yourself back to reality. Get yourself together, you instruct silently. You lean back into the chair, slowly looking around the room. Everyone is still preoccupied with their work and you sigh. No one had caught you daydreaming about things you definitely shouldn’t be thinking about at work. Clearing your throat silently, you make your way toward the bathroom. Every step you take makes you cringe, the sound of your heels sounding twice as loud in the quiet office space. 

You quickly find an open stall, locking the door and sliding down on top of the toilet seat. You weren’t quite sure where all of these thoughts were suddenly coming from. You find Tom attractive, there’s no question about that, and sure, you had found other men attractive before, too. However, you struggle to remember the last time you were this infatuated with a man. That night, when you met Tom, you had spotted him looking at you long before he made a move. His strong jawline and messy hair had caught your attention, but when you were close enough to explore his other features, you quickly decided that his dark brown irises were your favorite. 

The door to the bathroom opens, bringing you out of your distracting thoughts. Two gossiping voices break the silence and you spot two pairs of heels from underneath the door to your stall. They keep talking, but you can’t bring yourself to listen, having trouble dealing with your own almost-drama. That is until you hear Tom’s name, however. Sitting there silently, you listen intently as the two women continue to chitchat.

“I know! Did you see the girl he was with this morning?” One of them asks and you feel your heartbeat quicken at the question. 

“Yeah. She barely looks over twenty. Do you think they slept together?”

“Possibly. Karen told me that someone had seen them arrive together. Poor girl almost fell flat on her arse, but Tom caught her apparently.”

You wince at the memory, realizing that more people had seen your almost-accident. The rest of their conversation all blurs together and before you know it, they’re done touching up their makeup and you’re alone once again. With a deep sigh, you gather yourself and step out from your hiding spot. You glance at yourself in the mirror, almost too tired to care about the dark spots underneath your eyes. With the additional stress of the internship and dealing with whatever was going on between you and Tom, there had been countless sleepless nights. If you weren’t at Holland and Osterfield’s, you were either at school or trying to catch up on homework. 

Knowing you’re about to be done for the day anyway, you ignore your messy appearance and head back toward your desk. Plopping back into your chair with a sigh, you silently start a debate with yourself on whether or not to tell Cecelia about the gossip. Having finished the invitations and the list of RSVPs Harrison had asked for you, you decide to get started on your homework. You log into the all-too-familiar website, navigating your way to the assignment with the closest due date. 

You’re halfway done when the normal buzzing of people chatting quiets down. Curious, you glance up from your computer to inspect the cause of the sudden change. You nearly choke on your breath when you see Tom standing in front of you, his lips pulled into a tight smile. You furrow your brows at him questioningly, not trusting your voice to ask him aloud. 

“You were done twenty minutes ago. Do you really love being here that much?” Tom asks and you can easily detect the teasing in his voice, but you’re too tired to play along. 

“Oh. I lost track of time,” you explain, closing your laptop and gathering your things. Tom is still standing there silently as you stand, throwing your bag over your shoulder and smoothing down your skirt. 

“I’ll take you home,” Tom offers, although it sounds more like a statement than a question. 

Being twenty minutes late, you know you’ll have to wait another forty-five minutes for the Tube, so you just nod and follow him silently. Instead of letting the curious stares get to you this time, you ignore them, feeling slightly confident about Tom offering you a ride home. The two of you don’t talk, but you don’t mind. There’s a brewing pain in the back of your head and all you want is to fall asleep. It doesn’t feel awkward, sharing the silence with Tom, and you feel relieved. 

He opens the door for you when you reach his car, and you climb into the SUV while mumbling thanks. Tom places his own laptop in the backseat before effortlessly getting behind the wheel. The car starts and he fumbles briefly, trying to connect his phone to the speaker system. A few moments later, a song by Ed Sheeran fills the car. You hum in appreciation and Tom chuckles, buckling in before starting to pull out of the parking lot. 

“Did the tea help?” 

“Is this gonna be a regular thing now? Picking me up and taking me home?” You counter, not too keen on talking about this morning. 

Tom stays silent, and you wonder if you’ve overstepped an invisible boundary. Being friendly with Harrison and small gestures like this from Tom makes it easy to forget that they’re both your bosses. You glance at him, watching as his tongue quickly traces his bottom lip. He looks at you momentarily, 

“If you want.” 

YOU’RE IN THE MIDDLE OF writing your fifth page of notes, a now turned-cold plate of noodles next to you when Cecelia walks through the door. You mumble out a greeting, focused on finishing the last paragraph. She puts her backpack down on the floor as you finish the last word, finally looking up at your friend. She studies your work as you stretch your hand.

Tom hadn’t said much after that and neither had you. He wished you good luck with your homework and headache, and you wished him a safe drive home. After some rest and Tylenol, you were feeling a lot better. Although it was the last thing you wanted at the moment, you had reluctantly sat down with your three hundred pages books. You were determined to get ahead on your homework, knowing you would be busy with the upcoming gala and Christmas. 

“How was work?” you ask, allowing yourself a small break.

“Tiring,” she shrugs, shrugging off her coat. “Had the usual amount of tossers. Oh, and Harrison- is that his name? He stopped by.”

You watch as she rummages through the fridge as if she those words hadn’t left her. She puts her ingredients down on the counter and walks over to her backpack. She pulls out an all-too-familiar invitation, the red details standing out against the white, placing it on the counter in front of you. You glance it before meeting her eyes.

“Harrison stopped by? Like, did he know you work there or was it purely coincidental?”

She shrugs, going back to making her food. “Dunno. He was in my serving section and I recognized him from those photos, you know, and I introduced myself. He said you never mention me and he gave me that invitation.”

“He invited you to the gala? Just like that?” You question, ignoring her statement about never mentioning her.

“Well, yeah,” she shrugs. “I didn’t think much of it. Don’t even know if I’ll go.”

You sit there dumbfounded for a moment, watching her silently as she pours the egg mixture into the pan, her omelette beginning to sizzle. Sliding down from the bar stool, you close your notebooks, letting her know that you’re taking a shower. She just nods, scrolling through something on her phone. Your stocking-clad feet slide on the floor as you walk into the shared bathroom, locking the door behind you. Turning on the water so it has time to get warm, you undress, relishing the feeling of not wearing the formal attire you had been too busy to change out of.

The bathroom quickly heats up, the steam surrounding you. Why Harrison had decided to invite Cecelia was beyond you. Technically, you hadn’t even been invited yet. Actually, you weren’t sure if you were meant to go at all. You try to erase Tom’s teasing smirk from your mind as the water runs down your body. And, for a moment, you wonder how different things would be if you hadn’t met Tom that night at the club. Would he still be teasing you? Would Harrison be so nice? Does he even know what happened between the two of you?

You exit the hot bathroom, leaving the door slightly ajar to let out some steam. Cecelia is sitting on the couch, her laptop in her lap, and an empty plate on the table in front of her. You plop down next to her, wrapping the bathrobe tighter around yourself. Grabbing your phone from the table, you unlock it effortlessly, navigating your way to Instagram.

“Do know what this gala is for?” Cecelia asks so suddenly that you’re forced to stop your actions to look at her.

“Some charity. They’re looking to raise money, I suppose,” you explain with a shrug, not too interested. “I just do what I’m told. I don’t question anything.”

“Yeah but,” she looks up from her laptop to meet your gaze, raising a questioning eyebrow. “Do you know what charity?”

You groan, annoyed with her sudden interest. You loved being in the apartment with Cecelia because she understood how little you liked to talk about your internship and the whole Tom-thing. Thankfully, she still doesn’t have a clue about him picking you up or driving you home. You send her a pointed look, as if to explain you’re not currently in the mood to chat about it.

“No,” you admit grumpily. “I don’t. Why are you so interested all of a sudden? I thought you weren’t gonna go. Besides, I’d rather not talk or think about Tom right now. He’s distracted me enough already.”

She just purses her lips, turning her laptop toward you. You realize it’s an informational article about the gala and as you start reading it, you wonder why she had decided to look it up in the first place. You skim through the lines as fast as you can, not really comprehending the information, but Cecelia gets impatient and points a bright red fingernail toward the bottom of the text. You squint, reading the last paragraph word-for-word.

This will be the fifth charity event hosted by Holland and Osterfield’s. The two young heads of the company have often shown their support to various charities and businesses, but this time around, the support hits close to home. The company is throwing a gala to raise money for the ‘Paddy Holland Fund’, a charity founded by the young Tom Holland himself just little over a year ago. Bring your tissues, folks, because it might get emotional.

♡ tagging these amazing people: @hollandandi // @spideymood // @parkerstan // @blueeyedbesson // @embrace-themagic // @hazeyholland // @notimeforthemessenger // @alilblogger // @elentiya02 // @whileinparis //  @errorloadinghappiness // @chamilsanya //  @moose-munch //  @all-the-best-people-are-weird // @starkviibes // @quackson-queen // @hollands99 //  @safetypin-inspace // @aquzrius // @tom-hollands-eyelash // @greenarrowhead // @obsesivesun // @pignolithecookie //  @justmesadgirl //  @satellitespidey // @unhealthyobsessionwithmarvel // @butithasntkilledyouyet //  @smexylemony // @95lover // @spirito-della-tartaruga // @shannonxbarnes // @softspideyboy // @slut-for-fandoms // @ive-got-some-lies-to-tell // @blueeyedbesson // @phoenixherron // @attractiveoctagon // @hermionedeservesbetterthanron // @theclearblues // @blisshemmings // @inneedoftomholland // @competativekook // @love-untiltheresnoloveleft // @spinneret-holland // @whatanight13 // @sherizaraiyah // @thesamebutwonderfullydifferent //

[fireintheforest]

Penance, part II

Skrit, skrit, skrit, skrit.

“What do you think Lillandril told him?” Muraz asked Amara as they observed Saufinril cleaning the main floor of the den with a brush, mainly the area that still held stains of blood and rotmeth from last night.

“Obviously told him what he did was not fine. Obviously upset about the fight.” Amara replied, her hair up in a silk headwrap and wearing her red silk robe.

“Yes but what else?” Muraz asked, “When he stepped out, he looked like he’d just seen a ghost. Do you think he’s getting sent back to the Isles?”

“What is it with your obsession of Saufinril returning to the Isles? He went and came back, didn’t he?”

“Getting sent to a far away place, to learn etiquette. Wherever Altmer go to learn that. And he returns and he’s got no heart so he doesn’t love anymore. Because it was fed to a daedra in exchange for power.”

“If you just spoiled Farida’s second part to me just now, I’m throwing you down the stairs. Also, you damn well know he’s not like that.”

“Fine, but what happened. What did he say. This is the second time this year that these guys are killing me with their suspense!”

“Learn. Altmeris.”

“Yeah, yeah. Amara, what if the guy he beat up was an important customer and he sues the bosses, and we have to close the Den? My great-grandmother’s ghost will haunt me for the rest of my life! And what if Saufinril gets thrown in jail?”

“Well, he has been to jail before, hasn’t it? I…don’t think we’re getting sued nor that that guy was anyone important.” Amara had sounded uneasy at the possibility of the Den closing, however, “In any case, he’s survived jail. It’ll suck, but he’s survived it.”

“But he’d ran into Thalmor, Amara.” Muraz whispered, “And Thalmor jail is worse than jail jail. You go in, you don’t go out. Everyone knows that. I’ve heard they send their prisoners out when they’re going to be executed because here you have to eat people when they die and they don’t want that, they toss them in mass graves!”

“Muraz, that is disgusting.”

“I’m not the one tossing people in mass graves! In any case, what if Lillandril told him to run away to avoid the Thalmor from seeing him when they bust in but he’s compulsively cleaning out of guilt?”

“He doesn’t- well he did wash every single plate, pot, utensil and glass in the Den that one time.”

“What if it was actually-what if they’re members of a cult or secret organization and this was all according to the plan, to some plan, and Saufinril has to pretend it was bad but he actually got initiated and is actually really proud? Look at him! Two days ago he had this…this vague air of a living dead and now he’s scrubbing like his life depended on it. It’s because he became a member!”

Amara slowly turned to look at Muraz, “….by beating someone up in an establishment, Muraz? Also rotmeth stains are damn hard to remove.”

“What if ‘ran into’ the Thalmor is more like, code for joining? Like he tried to tell us but couldn’t tell us? What if someone in the Isles recruited him and he’s doing a mission and Lillandril was talking him out of it and-Oh Amara, oh, Yffre. Amara, remember when we found his room empty? What if that ginger guy was the guy he was seeing Kartan behind his back with, remember? The guy he wanted to marry instead of Kartan? What if the wedding never happened. What if the ginger guy left him at the altar and that is why he returned, and he ran into him twice yesterday and the memory of being humiliated and dishonored and having lost Kartan was what drove him to beat him up, because the guy was also being a jerk-Amara don’t give me that face, he came to the Den and asked for Samin, ok? Right in front of the mer that was willing to ditch everything for love, for him and-”

“First of all,” Saufinril’s voice made them both turn and see that the Altmer had stopped washing and had been listening for a while, “one would never in one’s life join the Thalmor. That’s preposterous. Second, one can hear you two from here. And third, one never cheated on Kartan, Muraz.” that last sentence came out as a particularly nasty snap towards the orsimer.

“You touched a sore spot with K-a-r-t-a-n.” Amara whispered, going to the stairs and followed by Muraz.

“How was I supposed to know he could listen? Also didn’t they break up like, 3 months ago?” Muraz replied quietly. They both got to the main floor, where Saufinril continued cleaning. His tone of voice and expression were back to normal when he looked at them and said,

“You have the nerve to wake up this late.”

“Look who’s speaking about nerve! The brawler. In the middle of shift, of the Den, no less! And to a customer!” Muraz pulled out a seat nearby and sat down, “What was that about, anyways?”

“Rich of you to talk about our waking up hours when two nights ago you’d still be sleeping at this time.” Amara added.

“The man.” Saufinril replied, pointing to the back of his neck and ignoring Amara’s observation, “He came back, pissed one off and…well the rest is history.”

Muraz’s eyes widened. “He came here just to pick a fight with you?”

“No, maybe he didn’t know one was here. But in any chance, one handled it poorly.” Saufinril went back to washing. Muraz observed him and asked, “So…about Lillandril…”

“About him?”

“He took you away so fast, and with how you looked, one thought you were going to pick a fight with him too-”

“No! Muraz, never. With him? Never.”

“I know, I know. I’m just saying, I feared you were going to keep letting your fists fly.”

“What Muraz is trying to say,” Amara interjected, “is that we’d like to know what Lillandril told you last night.”

“Yeah. Well, one wouldn’t ever fight him. If anything,” Saufinril dipped the brush on the soapy water and continued, “one almost wet oneself when one saw him. He just wanted to talk.”

“Yes, but about what?” Muraz urged.

“It’s private.” Saufinril replied vaguely, “And if one sits and tells you all about it, one won’t have time to beat the bedroom rugs, which are a lot and some are nasty as Oblivion. Like yours, Muraz. Probably yours.”

“You’re no fun, you don’t tell me things anymore.” Muraz protested, crossing his arms and leaning back, “I want a divorce. Come on, he literally yanked you away and then you stepped out looking like you came out from a funeral. I need to know. Also, what were you thinking, getting in a fight with someone in the Den?”

“Don’t go there, come on.” Saufinril protested, stopping for a second, “One already got sermons from Amara here and your mother right after Lillandril’s talk. One doesn’t need another one.” Amara just gave him a sweet smile.

“Ok but what did Lillandril say!” Muraz insisted, then stopped, eyes wide, “He didn’t kick you out, did he?”

“Muraz, would he be cleaning the Den if he’d gotten kicked out?”

“You got put in servitude?” Saufinril turned to glare at Muraz, “Ok, ok. Sorry. Don’t beat me up. He said something to get you out of that studio looking like that. Was it bad news?”

“Umm…sort of.” Saufinril moved the container with soap and water to another section that had the liquor and blood. Amara and Muraz both approached.

“I’m guessing it obviously had to do with the fight. The one in the Den. Did you tell him about the market one?” Amara asked

“One had to, yes.” A dip and the brush was back scrubbing the floor.

“Did you tell him of the you-know-who?” Muraz asked, “The guys…them….those?”

“Thalmor, Muraz. Yes, one told him. One had to.”

“And?” Amara asked gently. Saufinril sighed and scrubbed harder, “And one caught their attention and then had a bar fight, do you know what would’ve happened if they’d been patrolling nearby, heard a commotion, gotten in and seen one? And started digging their noses where nobody asked them to? We’d all be screwed because of one. Particularly,” he lowered his voice, “particularly Lillandril and Rialas. And one.” His tone of voice went back up, “So that’s what we talked.”

There was a silence until Muraz broke it with a, “So…you’re grounded.”

“One is 228, one is not grounded.”

“Why are you cleaning the floors?” Amara asked

“Because, Amara, this mess,” he pointed the area around, “was what one made and one has to fix it.”

“Ok, then why are you cleaning the carpets after this?”

“Because tasks like these are not just to fill some ‘oh one is grounded and one will finish this stupid punishment so one can go back to bullshitting again like usual once one’s guardians aren’t mad anymore’ quota. When someone does something wrong, it’s correct to apologize and fix the mistake. One apologized and one has to make things right; not just with cleaning away the shame that one’s actions brought to Lillandril, Rialas and the Den, but also to regain their trust. Everyone’s trust. One handled both situations poorly and that put Lillandril, one and everyone here at risk, and one has to take responsibility for it and reform. One’s slip could’ve caused real damage to people one cares about, and we’re lucky that so far, the Thalmor haven’t rained down on us because of one’s carelessness.”

Amara nodded solemnly. Muraz gave a “huh” and then asked, “Then why did you refuse to let me go with you when you went to see Hekla and Armi at the tavern after the rouge incident and instead sent me to clean all the dishes?”

“Well, because you were grounded.” There was a minute of silence and then Saufinril dumped the brush at the water and continued washing, “Alright fine, one is grounded. But it doesn’t erase all that one just said. One really has to reform from this. That was a shitty way to handle things. One could’ve just had any other bartender take his order and gone clean tables or something. One could’ve just tried to keep the peace and left when that pig’s bodyguard stopped the fight.”

“In any case, you both discussed catching the Thalmor’s eye.” Amara summarized, “Don’t be too hard on yourself. I don’t think they’d be interested in raiding some bar when they have other matters at hand.”

“Yeah, so. In other news, last night before the incident, mother told me there’s a new girl here.” Muraz said

“Really? Name?”

“I don’t remember, I didn’t care. She starts today in the evening, she’s probably sleeping.”

“Do you think she saw the fight and was like ‘oh good riddance, I’m out of here. I’m not working in the bar with the Oblivion Crisis in it’ and legged it?” Amara joked

“’Oh thank you so much for this job opportunity-oh nope. Nope. Bye.’” Saufinril joined in

“How long do you think it’ll take her to realize Rialas is the owner of the Den and not some high-end courtesan only for important customers?” Muraz wondered.

“Is this a bet?” Amara asked, turning to him, “because we need to settle the one about Saufinril. In any case, I say two weeks. Give or take.”

“One week.” Saufinril chimed in, “She can’t be that stupid. Also what is this about a bet with one?”

“No, but Ria could interfere. So I say a month.” Muraz said, passing a hand through his hair, then he stopped when he saw Saufinril’s bruises in his arms and the busted knuckles and chuckled. Saufinril turned to look at him and asked, “What?”

“The bruises and your arm,” he pointed at Saufinril’s arms, “it’s all blue and yellow. Like, just blue and yellow. It’s how you see. We’re seeing how you see.” Amara looked at the Altmer’s arms and immediately started to laugh along with Muraz while Saufinril watched.

“You both are so funny.” He said sarcastically, as they laughed, “A comedy duo.”

“Saufinril, what color is this?” she pointed to her robe, and laughed as Muraz did too. Saufinril gave them the middle finger, unable to hold back the grin anymore, and went back to scrubbing.

[silvrwore-blog]

---------- OOC.

hi im mitch : ) im a big f*king idiot, too. let me preface this by saying it is currently uhhhhhh 6 AM est and i still haven’t slept yet !!! i thunk i started this around 10 PM last night but im slow. really slow. everything about this ??? a hot mess ™ . it isn’t going to make a lick of sense !! but thanks for stopping by sdkjsadklsd. anywhomst im mitch, i’m twenty, in the est, and im ready to rock and roll buckaroo. my guy here? he’s an idiot. but he’s my idiot. therefore, i have to love him. the history is long ( i know because i started there first ) so ill make a little tl;dr with some simplified notes on him. i think that covers ??? everything ?? so far ? im always down to plot in the DMs or i have discord at oovoo javer #4855 mwuah !!

---------- APPLICATION.

( jack lowden, twenty-seven, cismale, he/him ) – have you seen bennett sharpe, the financial strategy student around oxford yet? i hear they can be conforming and convivial, but those who know them insist they’re reminded of beige turtlenecks and plaid blazers, eraser shavings on an old oak desk, and eagerly belting out the latest tunes when they’re around. rumor has it that due to stress, he had a breakdown in high school that put him a year behind his peers and his family has tried to cover it up. is it true? only time will tell… ( mitch, twenty, she/her, est )

---------- HISTORY.

THEY’D ALMOST STRUCK GOLD with bennett sharpe. smart enough not to have to buy your way into college, but not smart enough for his peers to despise him. the gusto of an entertainer and the charm of a damn good politician ------------ but they’d never been quite able to buff out that chip on his shoulder.

the sharpe’s were an interesting case. too good to slum it with the poor folk but not rich enough to always be able to sit at the BIG table. a family who paved their way in law and then literature. blood in the supreme courts and in those scandelous little novels that housewives sipped a glass of wine over. at least that had been his mother’s contribution to the family fortune ----- a wonderful dinner conversation.

--------- “ oh mother, what raunchy debauchery are you slaving away at now ? “

bennett was the oldest of three ( followed by one girl and then another boy ). he was a good son. would have been a real golden child to anyone else --- well, with a little love, care & patience. normal family things. from a young age he had a memory unmatched and a love of strategy games. a youth who loved to test his brain. which was fine and dandy, however, it wasn’t quite leading up to being a judge. he wasn’t following in his family’s footsteps. he’d gotten a little... off track. he had just been better with numbers. money crunching. equations. it had been a tough pill for his family to swallow but swallow it they would. afterall, it hadn’t been their biggest concern when it came to their oldest son. 

it had always been there. carefully covered up with the occasional “ he’ll grow out of it “ or  “ stop it. nothing is wrong. “ maybe that had been the real giveaway to why he’d never amount to anything big. “ he’s FRAIL. no spine. “ a good and competent doctor would have had him diagnosed and taken care of. seventeen and he’s missing classes but not for normal rich kid things. the world’s bigger and scarier than it ever was. college and a future right around the corner, parental pressure, it snowballs until it is all too much. one day of important testing and bennett sharpe never shows. he had not been on campus at all. sometimes when the panic became too much, it did him well to distract his mind ---- go outside. count the blades of grass or the birds in the sky. breathe. it’s what he had done that afternoon. left and tried to sate his mind. but nothing had done it for him that day. nothing to cure him. the world? bleak. the future? uncertain. weapy and tore down. the little devil on his shoulder named ‘ desperation ‘. he needed out. his parents phone and the message becomes crystal clear... 

--------- “ i can’t do this. “

so he’d ‘” turned tail and ran “, branded some sort of listless coward. he didn’t know what was wrong with himself, nor did his parents. the only thing they were certain of was that they would not have a son coming apart at the seams. they’d grilled him. no one was going to take him seriously or he’d never find himself in any important position if he was always going to go chicken. a breakdown never looked good. it did not matter to the rich or the poor, one would still be ridiculed. but corporations wanted someone steely, confident, put-together. all the things bennett was not becoming. so they’d contacted his school - wrote it off as a vacation. save face. “ oh i got bored. decided to go to switzerland instead ! couldn’t miss it, you see a chance of a lifetime had just presented itself to me, so.... “. however, no donations or pleading on his parents part were going to make up lost time. bennett was held back a year for being unable to complete the necessary testing and exams. oh how he would have to sell that vacation. but it hadn’t quite been a vacation, had it? long days trying to put together the pieces. some days were easier than others. some time to try and buff out that chip. the chip remained.

years down the line and one enrolment to oxford and he’s a lot better than where he started. he’s found ways to cope. some good. some bad. he’s more indendent than ever which has led him to branch out and take care of himself. no watchful eye of mother and father needed. perhaps that’s why he now has therapy pamphlets tucked away inside untouched textbooks. away from prying eyes. just an idea, maybe one day he would water it and watch it grow. go see someone. anyone. now he’s cheery. lively. a staple at parties. heeds his father’s advice and brushes shoulders with the right people. finds himself in the right places. the future is looking bright. oxford may soon to be a closed chapter in his life, but the years had been good to him. until, well, they weren’t. 

the riot club had been for the best. extravagant. a little bit of chasing the finer things in life. that had worked out just well for him. death had never been a thought --- or at least it was always kept at a distance. never upclose or personal. a relative here or there, miles away, he’d barely given it a thought. a funeral and they were gone. parties and death were not supposed to intermingle. maybe that was why it was so jarring. the world is a little heavier, bearing down on him once more. he tries not to pay it any mind when he has to excuse himself twice more than usual for a smoke outside. brushes off clammy hands like they’re nothing. accidents happened. he’d find solace in that word --------- accident. 

---------- SPARKNOTES / TL;DR.

voted most likely to be that annoying fuck outside your dorm at 3 am who doesn’t know how to turn down the volume 

dumb enough to try anything once

despite some tough times he’s just ??? full of life ??? life is a PARTY. and he’s making the most of it now, thank you very much. 

“ are you not ENTERTAINED ? “

he’s not the worst,,, but he’s not the best. yknow?

nice enough to get drunk and talk to just about anyone but snobby enough that you bet he’s going to make some insensitive comments. it’s that -- not rich rich enough to be totally elite, but not hurting enough to be able to sympathize with people who aren’t bringing in a f*ck ton of money. 

his family ( on his dad’s side ) has always been involved in law. typically judges, and some who have made it to be top dog in their fields. his mother is a writer who does rather well. she’s published a handful of book and his father has also published law-related books which brings in money. his dad is pretty high up in the field but bennett’s got his suspicions that some of the income might just be payoffs. i wouldn’t envision his father as being someone hard to be bought. he might want to grill his son for being spineless or weakwilled but i’d imagine that’s just a family trait inherited. 

which uhh brings me to my next point. bennett can be a bit of a follower. there’s not a whole lot of “NO” in him. which may also hurt his relationships because he’s not going to stand against injustices or anything if it is going to put him in harm’s way. which may help perpetuate that rich or snobby idea surrounding him because he’s not about to stand up for the common folk if they’re being belittled for their threads or schooling.sure, he might talk to them here or there in the right occasion but he’s not going to stand for them. he’s sitting pretty. he’s not looking to ruin that. 

essentially he’s not going to have your back unless it benefits him. 

as far as his secret goes, i think he’s worried about the stigma around mental health and how he’d be perceived but i think a lot more has to do with his family. because he knows they won’t be happy if it gets out or if something further happens. they just ain’t supportive in that department, chief. but he doesn’t want to be cut off or anything and not just because he’d be worried about who was putting money in his pockets. he just doesn’t want to stir the pot any further, even though he should really seek help. i kind of vagued on it but i’d say he has gad ( generalized anxiety disorder ). 

---------- CONNECTIONS.

am i picky?? nah. if he can fill something, slot him in. we can chit chat. mwuah

i already know this section is gonna get so neglected because im too tired to think

uhh give me an under the wing sort of relationship ?? listen if bennett can’t repair himself maybe he can touch up someone else. someone he might see something in. buds ? who knows ? not me. but it could b cute. 

long time friends !!! doesn’t have to be since childhood but someone(s) he’s known for a while now and they click. 

anything angsty ? is good too. 

typical friends / enemies plots too !! spice things up. 

i need sleep : ) good night !!!!!!!!!!

[marshmallow-phd]

Touch or Dare

Request:  Hi! Can I request something?Something with Chanyeol,where he has feelings for you which you aren’t aware of,but the boys are.You are a quite touchy, dirty minded person who likes to make jokes, often towards him,and he gets flustered all the time,and the boys tease him. One night,playing a game,you have to kiss and Chanyeol says you don’t have to but you’re like fuck it and kiss him and he’s speechless and so flustered. U can write anything u want,I just love teasing and blushing heh. Ty💗💗💗💗

A/N: Okay, so I couldn't really do the dirty minded part. I am not dirty minded at all, in fact I’m the one my friends laugh at because I don’t get dirty jokes. So, everything I wrote that I thought could be dirty was really just horrible and cringey and I had to erase it! I hope you still love it though! If not, let me know!

Genre: Fluff!

Pairing: Chanyeol x reader

“Please tell me that we are still on for tomorrow night?”

You approached the small group of boys sitting in the cafe of SM Entertainment. Working with the production team in the recording booths made you very familiar with a majority of the idols littered around the mega power of Korean pop, but the boys of EXO were the ones you were closest to. They welcomed you with open arms and you hung out with them frequently outside of work hours. There was just something about their personalities that drew you in and you were happy that they seemed to enjoy you as well.

Lately, though, you’ve hardly seen them as they were traveling the globe for their most recent tour. Even from this distance you could see how tired they were. At least they were finally getting rest. You hated how hard they worked, but the payoff was worth it.

Taking the free chair next to Chanyeol, you threw an arm around his neck. Skinship was just a normal part of who you were, having grown up abroad. Most of your friends in Korea were used to your touching, but it never failed to turn the tips of Chanyeol’s ear red. It entertained you, how the deep voiced, flirty-on-stage idol could be so easily flustered. You tended to be touchier with him, if for more than one reason. You once asked if you made him uncomfortable. With a large smile, he shook his head, giving you permission to continue.

Satisfied with his reaction, you removed your arm, getting one last poke to his cheek in before turning to the others. Baekhyun had a mischievous gleam in his eyes and Sehun and Jongin exchanged a curious glance, but you chose to ignore it, seeking an answer for your question.

“We’re on break right now, so coming over should be no problem,” Jongdae replied.

“Good,” you smirked. “I already bought enough food to feed you bottomless pits.”

“And drinks?” Sehun asked slyly.

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, plenty of drinks. But if any of you throw up on my floor, I’m banning you from my apartment.”

Jongdae gave a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Why do I put up with you?” you grumbled.

“Because your life would be boring without us,” Sehun teased.

“Sure,” you mocked. “If I didn’t have you guys, I would have no life at all.” Your sarcasm was apparently missed by the maknae who was beaming at you with pride. Checking your phone, you had a message from your boss, asking you to come back to the booth. “I got to go, but I’ll see you guys tomorrow at seven.”

With one last ruffle to Chanyeol’s hair, you stood up and walked back to the recording studio.

All the food was laid out on your table and the drinks were nice and cold and you were so not surprised that they were late. There could be a plethora of reasons for their tardiness. Your best guess was that they were playing video games and had just lost track of time. It wouldn’t have been the first time. Not one to be too upset, you just sat on your couch phone in hand. Music was playing in the background and you hummed along with it, scrolling through social media.

Finally, the doorbell rang. Slowly, determined not to seem too eager, you got up and went to the door, opening it nonchalantly.

Seven boys smiled at you sheepishly. It made you a bit sad that Yixing was back in China visiting family and Junmyeon was participating in a musical so neither of them could make it, but you were still happy that someone showed up.

“It’s Chanyeol’s fault.” Sehun immediately threw his hyung under the bus, not even waiting for you to say hello.

Baekhyun laughed. “He couldn’t decide on what to wear.”

You looked over the giant who was refusing to meet your eyes. He was wearing a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off and a pair of nice fitting jeans. Taking the hem of his shirt in between your thumb and index finger, you tugged on the fabric playfully.

“You could have worn whatever you wanted to, Loey.”

Like paint had been thrown on his face, every inch of his skin from the neck up turned red. No one but you ever directly called him by his producer name, at least not seriously; it was purely for show in the copyrights section of the albums. But you liked it. It was much better than some of the other ones you’d heard of. They tried too hard to be cool, but Loey was simple and taken straight from Chanyeol’s name making it even more memorable.

“Alright, where’s the food?” Jongdae barged into your apartment. “I’m starving.”

They herded past you and straight into the kitchen, surrounding the table in seconds.

For a while, the group just stayed there near the food and drinks, talking and filling their stomachs. You should have known it was only a matter of time before the beagle line came up with some sort of antic.

“We should play a game,” Baekhyun announced.

You shrugged. “I’ve got a few board games and a couple decks of cards.”

Jongdae waved the suggestion away. “Nah, that’s too boring.”

“Why not truth or dare?” Sehun chimed in. Of course he would be in on it.

You scoffed. “What are we? Teenagers?”

The game was fun when you were in high school, but shouldn’t gatherings with adults be more – well, adultish?

“Fine. Let’s make it interesting.” Baekhyun countered. “Do you have Jenga?” You nodded, getting a feeling of where he was going with this. “Sweet. Instead of just going around the group and asking, whoever knocks over the tower is the victim. The group collectively will get to decide the punishment.”

In your peripheral, you saw Minseok grimace. Poor thing. Jenga was certainly not in his array of talents. You and Kyungsoo exchanged a look of irritation. This wasn’t exactly what you had in mind when you’d invited them over, but you were clearly outnumbered.

Chanyeol was suspiciously quiet during this exchange. His hands were in his pockets as he leaned against the counter, eyes trained on the floor. You shuffled over to him, leaning on the sharp corner. There wasn’t any space left between the two of you and his body heat was radiating onto your skin. You didn’t mind, though. It was comforting, like a blanket fresh out of the dryer.

“Hey,” you nudged him with your elbow, getting his attention. “You don’t have to play if you don’t want to.”

His wide eyes turned to you as he scratched the back of his head. “No, no. I’ll play. They won’t let me live it down if I chicken out.”

You sighed with fake sympathy. “You’re right. The poor shrimps would make your life hell for not playing Jenga.”

That made him laugh. You loved that smile and you loved how it was rarely absent from his face even more.

You mentally slapped that thought away. Nope. Not going there. Not while he is directly next to you.

The kitchen was empty now, everyone else having migrated to your living room. They called out for the two of you to join them, so, giving in, you wrapped your fingers around Chanyeol’s bicep and tugged out of the kitchen as he tripped along behind you.

The only free spots around your coffee table were right next to each other, leaving you no choice but to sit to his right. Not that you minded. If he sat across from you, you would have had a difficult time keeping your eyes off of him. Why did he have to wear a sleeveless shirt? Those arms should be illegal.

“Okay!” Baekhyun exclaimed. “Let’s get this party started!”

Several rounds of Jenga later, you were getting exhausted. You had learned much more than you ever needed to know, including Baekhyun’s underwear preference and an obnoxious and impossible reason as to why Kyungsoo’s hair had been growing so fast lately. Usually, you didn’t mind being the only girl, but suddenly you wished there had been some estrogen on your side of their perverted minds. But, no. Amber had to be stateside.

It was the final round, as declared by the boys since Jongin was practically curled up on your rug ready to fall asleep at any moment. Chanyeol was currently trying to wedge out a piece of wood from the middle of the tower. It looked like a spine by now, bare bones and dangerously teetering with each millimeter of movement.

Your concentration was on Chanyeol’s fingers otherwise you might have caught Baekhyun nudging Jongdae, who you missed replying silently with his eyebrows. Unnoticed by everyone, Baekhyun oh-so-lightly tapped the leg of the table just enough to send the tower crumbling down.

“AAARRRGHHHHH!”

Chanyeol’s cry of defeat was so loud you were worried your neighbors would be able to hear it. Cops showing up because a noise complaint wouldn’t bode very well for the boys.

Clamping a hand over his mouth to stifle any more noise, you tried hard not to laugh. “Shhh. I have neighbors, you know.”

He calmed down and you removed your hand. Jongdae seemed all too happy with the turn of events.

“You know the drill, Chanyeol,” he snickered. “Truth or dare?”

With a cute expression, Chanyeol pouted his lips, murmuring, “Dare.”

All the boys, including Kyungsoo, looked at each other gleefully.

“We dare you to kiss (y/n).”

Your jaw dropped. Never have they made any sort of romantic gesture your way, anything affectionate beyond a comforting hug. To them you were a sister. Or so you thought.

Wide-eyed and stuttering, Chanyeol shook his head fervently. “N-no way. I’ll take the penalty.”

Minseok raised an eyebrow. “You don’t want to kiss (y/n)?”

The poor thing was now as red as his hair from the monster era. “N-no. I-I just don’t want to do that to her. Just give me the penalty.”

You stared at Chanyeol. If he didn’t kiss you, he’d get flicked in the forehead by each of the members, yourself included. There was no way you could do that. You also didn’t want to see him get hurt, giant red welts forming on his face, even if was all fun and games. Plus – if you were forced to be honest with yourself – you did like the goofball. When would you ever get the chance to steal his lips again?

With a newfound sense of bravery, you grabbed his face and placed your lips on his. At first, he was a statue, unmoving against the contact. Sighing at the lack of reaction, you pulled away just a centimeter before a pair of long arms wrapped around your waist, locking you in place. His soft lips began to move with yours before completely taking over, winning the dominance. Cheers erupted in the background, but you barely heard them, lost in Chanyeol’s embrace.

Needing air, you reluctantly pulled back again, which he allowed. He smiled down at you bashfully while you chewed on your bottom lip.

“About damn time,” someone grumbled.

You threw the group a dirty glare. “You guys are evil.”

Innocent looks were sent your way. Baekhyun threw his hands up, palms out.

“He wouldn’t believe us that you liked him back.”

Chanyeol nodded when you turned to him for confirmation. You punched him in the shoulder.

“Of course I like you, you idiot. Am as I touchy with the others?”

That just made him even more shy, hiding his face with his hands. Gripping his wrists, you gently pulled them away, bringing your own face dangerously close to his.

“I’m free tomorrow night. Just so you know.”

[mandaloriangf]

reasons why detroit become human makes no goddamn fucking sense beyond just the shitty allegory (aka i nitpick the fuck out of this game)

captain allen refuses to give connor any information about daniel despite this being a hostage situation and connor is there to diffuse it

also allen says that if connor doesnt take care of it he will and if he could why didnt he??

connor can reconstruct crime scenes with so little information that theres no way he could come to his deduction. for example in the first chapter he figures out that the father was holding something when daniel shot him despite there being NO WAY he could know this

theres segregation despite the fact that androids are servants to humans??? how are androids supposed to work for humans if they’re barred from entering certain places??

TEMPORARY PARKING????????????

unemployment is at 35% yet the economy is booming????

unemployed people blame androids for stealing their jobs despite the fact that androids did not get a choice and were made to do certain jobs. their anger should be directed toward cyberlife

markus shows emotion and has a distinct personality before becoming deviant like why does he even need to become deviant when he clearly already is??

carl’s on the nose monologuing. 

carl says lets see where we left off and when markus takes down the tarp theres a finished painting. carl makes like five strokes lol. 

he also makes the same “oh my god” no matter what markus paints

PRESS X TO SADNESS

how does todd afford kara and alice when he doesnt have a job

and why does he live on ethan mars’ street 

and the biggest issue - ALICE IS AN ANDROID??????????

seriously how do android children work? whats the point???? if people hate androids why would they pay money to take care of one????????????????????

honestly how do they work? because alice can sleep but she doesnt eat????? and shes not gonna age so what happens to child androids? do they just have their memories wiped and get bought by another parent????

and if alice is an android, why does todd say kara needs to help with alice’s homework? she doesnt go to school! its addressed in the same fucking chapter!

and why doesnt alice saying anything to kara like hey stop trying to ask me if i want food i dont eat because im a fucking android

also kara figures out that alice is an android at the very beginning yet just ignores it?? i guess??????

and alice has a picture in her keepsake box of todd, his wife, and his biological daughter?? why???????? kill me

todd leaves his drugs in the laundry detergent, makes kara do the laundry, and then gets mad when she finds the drugs

HE MAKES HIS ROBOT TURN ON HIS ROOMBA LSAKDJFLKSJDFLKJSDF

no one does anything when connor enters a bar that doesnt allow androids

also its never explained in game (i think) why connor does the coin trick. i suppose it can be up to the player (i see it as a nervous habit/fidget device but you could also argue its for recalibration)

no one checks the attic of carlos’ house??? and his android hid up there for THREE WEEKS????????????

connor is designed to work “harmoniously with humans” but they gave him a forensics lab on his tongue so he literally just puts blood in his mouth in a crime scene alsdjflsjflajsdlfjdlj

kara serves alice dinner and alice actually sits there but she wont eat BECAUSE SHES AN ANDROID

the guy that comes on the bus doesnt bat an eye when he sees an android in the human section of the bus (i almost threw up typing that)

leo can survive that????????

carl doesnt try to reason with the cops before they shoot markus

why do deviants self destruct in stressful situations? we dont know. we dont fucking know. 

connor can show genuine compassion to carlos’ android but doesnt seem bothered by it????

why is there such an extensive android scrapyard? first of all theres android resale shops (yuck) and parts are probably expensive, plus androids have existed for what? ten years at the most? theres no way cyberlife would just allow perfectly good android parts to be thrown away this makes no fucking sense

MARKUS CAN JUST PULL OFF HIS LED LIKE ITS A STICKER

A STICKER

seriously if its that easy whats the point? they already dress androids a certain way, why have the led except to know what androids are thinking? and if theyre thinking dont they have some level of free will?? (for example kara’s turns red when todd threatens her)

no one recognizes kara despite being a relatively common model like yeah she eventually changes her hair and clothes but she’s still got the same face lkadjfalsjdfljsdlfj

connor is unfazed when he’s shot but looks like he’s in pain when gavin punches him??? 

connor is able to get a confession from carlos’ android but can’t make small talk asdjflskjdfljdf

the whole chapter where markus finds jericho doesnt like have a lot wrong its just REALLY tedious

though the jump scares are stupid

ra9 is constantly referenced (particuarly in connor’s story) but doesnt go anywhere. at all. unless i missed something. but as far as i know its never explained who ra9 is. 

(i think its markus)

the deviant in the pigeon filled apartment is just chilling in the attic? why do androids always stay in the same place instead of escaping????

the androids in jericho are really just hanging out in an abandoned, rusting ship doing nothing. like theyre shutting down bc they dont have blue blood and incompetents but no one thinks to go get any until markus rallies them. 

also what is up with lucy? why does she talk like she can see the future

THE ENTIRE ZLATKO CHAPTER HAPPENS AT ALL

no seriously!!!!! you expect me to believe kara would just go to the address given to her by some random garbage collector android in the middle of the night which leads to a creepy house with a creepy guy with BLUE BLOOD ON HIS FINGERS who wants to take kara into the basement alone to remove a tracker she clearly doesnt have??????????????????????? she would’ve just booked it

KARA ACTUALLY GETS IN THE MACHINE AND IS SURPRISED ZLATKO IS GOING TO ERASE HER MEMORY

that android that says “whos the real monster” PLEASE MR CAGE MY NOSE IS SORE

connor just fucking breaks the window and jumps in alflskdjflskjfljsdljfkdsfljldsafskdf

putting hank under cold water sobers him up somehow

the game thinks it needs to spell out for me in actual letters on the screen that hank is suicidal despite the fact that you find him unconscious on the floor with alcohol and a gun AND he says he was playing russian roulette. 

connor petting sumo is cute but sumo looks like he’s from a ps2 game

markus magically develops the ability to “convert” androids so to speak. 

im telling you, he’s ra9

the whole eden club thing is very...icky

like the androids are literally put in tubes like wtf

the tracis have a relationship despite club policy of wiping memories every two hours

also im pretty sure they have the same face...?? why is this not addressed more 

hank hates androids but likes it when connor spares them?

kara, luther, and alice dont just stay in the car for the night

luther brings up that theres something off about alice but gets interrupted. this is not the first time it happens. it happens THREE TIMES in total before the reveal she’s an android

the jerrys break the windows like zombies and then are like “dont shoot we come in peace”

the carousel scene is cute but where did the power come from???

connor starts showing signs of deviancy but doesnt notice it??? and amandas just like “stop it” and does nothing about it saljdflsjdflsjkdf

markus does the fake phone call right in front of the person he’s calling

who brought the box up to the bathroom? was it the deviant that connor can interrogate???? explain pls

pick up the bag. carry the bag. put down the bag. open the bag. kill me. 

THEY GET OUT ONTO A WINDOW WASHING LIFT BUT THEN RAPPEL UP?????????????????

a giant screen that says rise as markus and north are going up the building

markus removes his skin for the broadcast (ew) to conceal his identity BUT IT REVEALS HIS SERIAL NUMBER THAT CONNOR LATER SCANS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

north straight up wants to murder other androids for android freedom

no one finds simon on the roof unless connor goes up there

no one hears connor and the deviant fighting in the kitchen and no one hears connor calling out for help

rose is literally just 2038 harriet tubman

she compares what is happening to androids to what happened to black people in the past yet david cage expects me to believe this game isn’t about racism

kara believes that they will find refuge in canada because there are no android laws there, however the reason they dont have android laws is because CANADA HATES ANDROIDS JUST AS MUCH AS THE US

she has literally no reason to believe they’ll be able to survive in canada. theyd have to act like the cullens and move around all the time. 

ntm if androids and their parts aren’t being manufactured, if anything happens to kara, alice, or luther theyre fucked!

markus had to choose between two very black and white options: violence or pacifism. i have a HUGE problem with how this is done bc being peaceful results in the “good” ending while being violent results in the bad “ending 

(and for the record, going with a violent revolution can still result in freedom for androids. its just a LOT harder to keep everyone alive)

basically it completely misunderstands how real life oppression works and assumes that if a marginalized group is peaceful, public opinion will go up

thats not how it fucking works dipshit cage

kamski is literally just a weird combination of oscar isaac in ex machina and jared leto in blade runner 2049

like he’s left so ambiguous that you can’t even come to your own conclusion

connor can remark that chloe is pretty and seems sincere but doesnt question himself????

if you choose not to shoot chloe, you get nothing. you either have to replay the chapter and shoot her or look it up yourself. and im not fucking shooting her.

markus and north become “lovers” during a normal conversation 

seriously. when it happened my mom and i were like ???????????????

yet markus can’t romance simon despite having more chemistry

and on that topic why can’t kara romance luther???? they have a lot of chemistry too.

the freedom march. just. ugh.

like markus really leads a bunch of androids down a street shouting “EQUAL RIGHTS” lkjasldfjlakjfjldf

markus evolves to the point where he can just look at androids and convert them like what

north and josh clearly both have a death wish

if i have to hear “we were going to crack the case” one more time i will kill david cage myself. do cops even talk like that?

gavin just straight up tries to murder connor????

THEY START PUTTING ANDROIDS IN CAMPS?????????????????? AS IF THE REST OF THE GAME WASN’T BAD ENOUGH????????????????????????

kara finds out alice is an android and luther has to spell out all her feelings for her??? like why would she stop loving alice skalfsjdlfkjdlfj theyre both androids

the fact that connor even has a machine story line

carl just straight up dies while markus is venting about his oppression asdjfsjflskjflkejiofjeijfoejflkjsflsj

we dont get any kind of resolution to connor going deviant. he just suddenly is. how does he feel about it? who cares!

“ask us something only the real connor would know”

why is that human couple with the baby so upset about not getting out of detroit? theyre human. they’ll be fine. i feel no guilt in taking their tickets.

alice can arguably forgive todd as he explains he just wanted to prove he’s a good dad. boo hoo. he’s still a dick. 

connor can suddenly wake up androids too???? 

markus can really save the androids by kissing north or singing. 

like

that actually

happens

KILL ME

the president looks like hillary clinton but has a “was a celebrity with no political experience” trump like background

[ezilyamuzed]

There’s no place like home - Part 8

Summary: The reader has had a unique gift all her life. While considering it a curse, she discovers the identity of her real father after her mothers passing. Journeying towards her new life, she finds herself thrown within the Winchester’s world. Is it her destiny?

Setting: End of season 13. This takes place after episode 13.18.

Warnings: Language. Some angst, fluff, drama- a typically SPN episode.  POV may switch after certain sections. 

A/N: I’ll apologize now, what you are about to read is a bit of an emotional roller-coaster, at least it was for me. This was not all in my original plan, but I am happy it had happened. I’ve been rewatching the series and during this time I was on Season 5 where Jo and Ellen die, tears still coming although it was probably the 10th time I had watched it. Amazing how much character’s relationships can still make your heart break years after. I promise more interesting things are on the way. We aren’t even close to done.

Any grammatical mistakes are all my own, because I am human. Remember all comments and feedback are welcomed! If you want a tag in future posts regarding this series or other writings please send an ask! As always thank you for reading! Enjoy!

Sam and Dean had shifted glances to each other, their Adam’s apples bobbing as they swallowed hard, waiting to see who was going to answer your question of why they had brought up the men of letters. You stood there patiently waiting, leaning up against the end table with your arms crossed while watching the apprehension move between them.

“Well, guys? Why does some boy band called the Men of Letters matter?”

“You said a man and woman came to see you?” Dean questioned while raising his eyebrow.

“Yeah, some British guy. Ketchup or something,” you chuckled while trying to remember what it really was. 

Dean squeezed his eyes tight while shaking his head. “You mean Ketch?”

“Yeah that was it, and the girl was Campbell, like the soup. I guess I had food on the brain that day,” you laughed.

“Campbell?” Sam coaxed.

“Yeah, um Mary,” you said looking into his inquiring face. Flashes of your memory went through your head as you tried to recall the details. “She seemed a little uneasy being there… actually, her light was different like yours too.”

Sam and Dean stared back at each other again like they just witnessed a nuclear bomb go off in front of them and were frozen in place. Dean tilted his head slightly to Sam, encouraging him to speak first with his eyes. Sam gave an audible sigh and ran his hand through his hair before speaking.

“Mary Campbell is Mary Winchester, our mom.”

“And the dick with her is a part of the Men of Letters from over the Atlantic,” Dean included.

“We think that your grandfather was involved somehow, here in America,” Sam said while moving to grab the mahogany frame. “This is the outside of their bunker, their safe house if you will.”

You held up your hands to stop them. “Whoa. Back up there. Your mom? But she is…”

“Yeah not so much for a while now,” Dean interjected while sitting himself down on the end of the couch. “That’s a long story.”

“Are there any Winchester’s that stay dead?” you blurted while sitting yourself across from him in a steady recliner, feeling the tension radiating off of them by your words. You didn’t mean to say it, it just…came out. A lingering silence fulfilled the room before you spoke again. “So why do you think that is a picture of their safe house anyways. I mean it could be anywhere. It doesn’t exactly have ‘men of letters hideout shack’ written all over it.”

“Because we’ve seen it. We’ve been there. Hell, it’s our home,” Sam stated while moving to sit next to his brother. “The quote ‘There’s no place like home’ written on there, it’s a reference to the Wizard of Oz.”

“Yeah, so what? Next, you are going to tell me Dorothy is the leader,” you scoffed while shaking your head.

“Well she was definitely a part of it,” Dean replied while sitting himself back further into the cushions.

“Wait. Click your heels three times Dorothy? We’re not in Kansas anymore Dorothy?”

“Her father, L. Frank Baum wrote the stories, he was a member during his lifetime. She was trapped when she had followed him into Oz, so he left clues in his writings for her.,” Sam informed you calmly. “A couple of years ago we released her from her spell with the Wicked Witch, and as far as I know she is still in Oz. Our friend Charlie would have been able to explain this all so much better.”

Charlie rang in your ears, completely erasing the absurdity you had just heard about the Land of Oz existing and one of your favorite childhood stories. The image of her smiling face lighting up the room forced itself into the forefront of your mind. 

“Charlie Bradbury,” you mumbled while moving your face towards the ground. Dean and Sam’s eyes shot at you in confusion to how you could have possibly known. Feeling their eyes on you, you raised your head to meet their stares while giving an audible exhale. You got up to grab the old photo album that you had frantically searched and found earlier. Flipping through the pages you found the one that you were looking for. Hesitating in your steps you watched their curiosity grow for their unspoken question. Walking over to them, you held it open to Sam’s reach.

“Like I had said before, I’ve heard about you two from others.”

Sam’s eyes widened in shock as he looked at the old Polaroids. There was Charlie, with her signature full body smile and you equally as happy. Both dirty like you had just been in a fight, but cheerful nonetheless with pride of accomplishment shining through.  Feeling his brother trying to see what you had given him, he leaned the book over. Dean gulped hard while focusing on the pictures, his eyes shifting furiously over the photos. 

“There was a ghost not too far from where I lived,” you quietly uttered. “She came in looking for information from my mom and found me instead. We took it out together. Honestly, given the circumstances, it was one of the best hunts of my life.”

“Y/N, Charlie…” Sam started to speak with sorrow in voice.

“You don’t have to tell me, Sam. I know what happens on the job,” you interrupted while giving him a tight-lipped nod. Watching Dean still steading his eyes over the pages. “There is more too that you should probably know. Turn back a couple pages.” 

You could feel the emotions from earlier rising again within you as you watched him turn back the pages, stopping when he saw the familiar faces. His mouth dropping in disbelief. 

“Ash,” he whispered while leaning the filled pages to Sam. “Jo. Ellen… How is this possible?”

“Ash is a long story,” you chuckled lowly while remembering your oldest friend. “Basically we were friends in high school and stayed in contact well after. He would help me out with cases and things like that. He was actually one of the few people who knew about me and what I saw. I met Jo and Ellen when I was looking for him, finding her took up permeant residency at the Roadhouse.”

You could feel the emotions trying to push through your eyes as you spoke but you shook them off, putting on your best fake smile you could muster. Sam sat completely still lost in his thoughts, looking out to nothing in front of him. Holding onto the album tight, Dean looked up to you, his glossy eyes meeting yours.

“Y/N…I’m sorry.”

You shook your head before speaking up again. “I know, I mean… I already know what had happened to Ash from Ellen afterward. I kind of figured whatever was going on wouldn’t take long to catch up to the rest.”

“They died fighting,” Sam uttered, breaking out of his thoughts.

You shifted in your seat, feeling anger you had suppressed running through your veins as he said it, screaming at you to avenge your fallen friends by taking down the causes that sat comfort on your couch in front of you.  Your gut and your heart advising you to allow yourself to just sit in the silence, remembering the lives of the fallen with them. You chose the latter, while Dean now was sifting through the album, looking to see if there was more. The old-aged open letter fell out into his lap. You went to say something but the words written on it had already caught his attention. His eyes scanning it over and over while his brows furrowed, before looking up to you in disbelief. 

“I guess I was supposed to meet you a long time ago,” you quietly answered his unspoken question while exhaling back into your chair. “I couldn’t open it. I couldn’t bring myself to… not until today.”

Your anger quickly boiling over that you had worked so hard to hold back. It wasn’t just at them though, it was at yourself. If you had only been brave enough to read a god damned letter, so many things could have changed. Jo and Ellen might still be alive. Charlie would be here. Your dad? You might have actually gotten to know your real father, not just going off of others words, but actually known him. If you would have just opened the god damn letter your whole world could have changed.

Dean had handed the letter over to a curious Sam while you felt your heart beating fast and your muscles tighten as the rage grew inside of you. “Y/N, if we would have known…”

“Known what Dean?” you snapped. “That the people you drag into all of your shit have their own friends and family that you throw into danger?”

The words fell out like vomit, you had no control over them as they spilled out. His face dropped and eyes widened like you had just twisted a knife into his gut.

 “You know what Dean? Save all of your apologies. I don’t want to hear them.”

“You listen here princess,” he yelled while standing straight up in his spot, face turning dark red in the heat of his rage. “That is a part of the damn job. They knew what they were getting into. Every single one of them. We tried to save but they made their choices. Don’t you dare put all of this on me.”

You could feel your breathing turn rapid as you clenched your fist to punch time right in his perfect jaw as he spoke. Looking into darkened his eyes you could see the anger, sadness, and self-hatred all mixed hiding away behind them. A sea of tears trying to escape. You saw the truth in them, not only had you blamed him, but he was still blaming himself. Your words had cut open a wound that time had not healed. You closed your eyes and took in a deep breath, trying to relax your muscles as it set in. 

“There is no point in this. In us yelling at each other,” you sighed, knowing that no matter what you did, the past could not be changed. Moving forward was the only option. “There have been tough choices that we all have made, that I know we all regret.” 

Sam and Dean both nodded their heads in agreement as you took in a deep breath and raised yourself to obtain another beer from the kitchen. Sam followed your lead, leaning on the counter while you popped the top off. He went to open his mouth to speak but you stopped him in his tracks.

“Not talking about it anymore Sam,” you said before taking a large gulp, downing almost half of the contents. You let out a low burp that made him quietly snicker, breaking the tension. “So what is up with the boy band you’re in? The lettermen.”

“The men of letters,” he corrected you as Dean walked in red-eyed, with an obvious tear stain on his cheek. He rubbed his face with both hands while Sam continued. “Basically there were like elite hunters. They complied almost every lore and spell book you could imagine.”

“Were?” you queried before taking another sip.

“Yeah, a bitch knight of hell, Abaddon, pretty much wiped out the membership in 1958,” Dean responded while grabbing for his own beer. “All that is really left is a few legacies, like Sam, me and well I guess now you too.”

“Our grandfather Henry Winchester was a member,” Sam added.

“Yeah, he was an alright guy. Kind of self-righteous,” Dean quipped. 

You pushed your head back in confusion, squinting your eyes to Dean. “He was? You just said she wiped them out.”

“Time travel spell,” Sam responded in seriousness. “He traveled to his next of kin in the future, escaping while luring her here.”

“Through the closet,” Dean chuckled while taking a sip of his beer.

“Anyways,” Sam continued. “He sacrificed himself to stop her, and that was just the beginning of a whole other mess.”

You stood there staring blankly at you beer bottle, frozen in your thoughts. Time traveling grandparents and demons. Resurrected parents. Secret hunters club. Fucking Wizard of Oz’s Dorothy, all things that were real and happened to them. You shook yourself out of your thoughts and finished your beer in a long gulp. 

“Well,” you clicked with your tongue as you pulled the empty bottle away from your lips. “I think you two would definitely be institutionalized if you ever admitted these things to other people.”

“Yeah, being honest usually gets us committed for a few days,” Sam laughed. You gave him a perplexed glare but shook it off instead of asking further questions. The clock behind him displaying the time that could not have possibly been right, making you jump to find your phone.

“Fuck what time is it?” you groaned while moving items out of your way in the search for it.

“It’s a little bit before 5,” Sam informed while looking at his watch.

“God damn time change,” you grunted. “Look, listen guys as much as I would love to sit here and have girl talk, I have less than two hours to get ready for a stupid faculty ball at the University. I also have no idea where half of the things I need are.”

“We can help you find them,” Sam offered, glancing over at his brother that looked lost in his thoughts.

“You really don’t…” you started to reply.

“We would be more than happy to,” Dean added, stopping you from speaking.

“Fine,” you breathed as you rolled your eyes and glanced at the boxes still full of miscellaneous contents behind him. “I need my curling iron, makeup, jewelry and black Manolo Blahnik’s.”

“What is a Manolo Blahnik?” Sam questioned in confusion.

“They’re high heeled shoes,” Dean informed while moving towards the living room. He turned himself back around once reaching an unopened box, meeting Sam and yours surprised stares. “What?”

“Nothing,” you scoffed as you walked past him to another box.

“So what exactly is this thing you are going to?” Sam asked while moving to his own spot amongst the stacks. 

“Basically a meet and greet amongst faculty members,” you answered while pulling away at the tape, revealing yet another box of books in front of you.

“Want some company,” Sam suggested. You gave him a puzzled look, questioning is motivations. “I mean being the new kid and not knowing anyone, might help to have friendly faces.”

You let out a short laugh, imagining yourself walking in with two handsome men head to toe in plaid and denim. “Unless you guys have a tux handy, I don’t think so.”

“I do,” Dean nonchalantly said while rummaging through his boxes contents of beauty products. 

“You do?” Sam and you questioned together in amazement.

“God how many bath beads and bombs do you have?”

________________________________________________________

“A lot. Now answer the question Dean,” Y/N commanded while folding her arms in front of her waiting for him to reply.

“What? So I have a tux in the car. You never know when you might need it for a case,” he answered while pulling out her curling iron from the bottom of the box. “One down.”

“And how often do you need a tux for a case?” she giggled while lifting and fumbling with another box to stifle through.

“You would be surprised,” he laughed, grabbing the box in Y/N’s hands to help her balance it. His eyes met hers in the motion as she mouthed a “thank you” that made his heart skip a beat. Just one look and he felt like a teenager again, sweaty and anxious about the future. What would ever become of this? Did she even feel something for him? Was he just wasting his time here?

That night, that amazing night that he found himself lying next to her, watching her chest rise and fall as she dreamed was one of the best moments he had in a long time. During the drive to her he played around with the thought of if things weren’t so complicated, for lack of a better word, he could see himself doing it every night. Just being with her. Hell, maybe the civilian life in a little house that he could escape the world with her in. 

While he pulled up to her house, he couldn’t help but smile at how it looked exactly as he imagined. The perfect spot for the perfect apple pie life. His smile fading as he remembered nothing about his life would ever be perfect. Not in this lifetime at least. The question of what the hell he was even trying to do or going to do shook up his nerves. He was actually grateful that Sam had been there or else he would have probably tucked in his tail and ran back home before even seeing her face again. 

She hadn’t been as spirited from the other night, maybe she had regretted everything that had happened. That thought made Dean sick to his stomach as he helped unpack the endless stacks of books. How drunk had she been? Did he take advantage of her? Oh God, did she want to gut him right where he stood? The worst possible thought flooded his mind until Sam snapped him out of it. The picture he held in his hands was so familiar like he had already seen it. When Sam spoke up he knew what he was looking at. Home. No place like it. 

His brother was looking to him for answers the same way he had all his life, only this time he didn’t have them. He knew what had to happen next, he had to find out what she knew. The world he wanted to keep away from her was breaking through. Her eyes searched for the details within her memories that only made the sickness in his stomach grow. His world had already met hers, and not only that his mother had brought it to her. As Sam and he spoke, he watched her carefully as she followed their words. Her eyes were searching for reason when she as questioned how it was her that she had brought it to her. A long story he did not want to talk about because the ending still frightened him. His mother could still be alive with Jack by her side in a world he may never be able to reach again. 

As a familiar name hit his ears his heart sank. Charlie. Although he had just seen her face in another world, it was not the real Charlie he had cared for, the one he was unable to protect. He could feel his heart beating faster as Y/N grabbed a book and shown his brother her past, one that included the bright smile on his friends face that he knew all too well as it still flashed in his memories. He felt his emotions burning inside of him, begging to come out when she told him to turn the pages. There they were, more of the family he had let down all those years ago. Ash, Ellen, and sweet Jo, the girl who sacrificed herself for him. His heart was now tearing into pieces.

A worn letter fell into his hands as he sat remembering, feeling the guilt that he tried to push back. Ash had sent her to them. If he had only known he would have found her one way or another if anything to honor his fallen friends' wishes for them to protect her. As he spoke he could see the anger inside of her push itself out as her words hit like acid. Out of instinct, he fought against them as his anger toward himself grew. He watched her face as his muscles tightened to attack her, she wasn’t scared. He saw it in her eyes, her anger still burning and seeing in his that he was as well. She could see it how it still haunted him, his past mistakes. The emotions in her eyes shifted as she watched him. She was still angry, but somehow she could read that he was too and she understood. Understood how the memories would keep him up at night, how given the job things happen to the ones you love, and how if he could take it all back, trading in his life for theirs he would. 

He watched her walk away with Sam following, a tear escaping down his cheek. How would she be able to forgive him when he could never forgive himself? He let out a deep sigh before following them. The subject already had changed as she asked more of her questions. Somehow she was able to push all the words that were said aside and allow herself to pretend that everything was normal. Nothing was nor ever would be normal, not with him around. 

Her smile gave him a sense of calm as they all spoke. She really was perfect. If there had been any chance at something more, surely all that had transpired erased them. Following her gaze to the clock, Dean knew he was running out of time he had with her. Sam offering for them to accompany her was his last shot before he knew she might be gone from him again. When she suggested that it was not going to happen unless they had a tux Dean jumped at his chance. This was it and he was not going to miss it.

“So what time should I be ready for our date?” Dean smiled coyly setting the box down from her grasp.

“Really, I’ll be fine,” she laughed as she tore through the tape to find her other lost items.

“Nonsense,” Dean stated. “You might need someone to carry you home after being bored to sleep all night.”

He watched as she rolled her eyes and chuckled, muttering a “fine” in defeat. He could feel his heart starting to beat faster, this was it. It was happening, and not only that he wouldn’t have Sam to lean on. No, it would just be her and him. The possibility of redemption from the past fueled him to work faster, tearing through the boxes and finding everything she needed. 

“Thanks,” she said while taking them from his hands. “There is an iron underneath the bathroom sink if you need it for your suit.”

Dean nodded as he looked over at Sam who had a smile raising in the corner of his mouth. This was the chance for Dean to find what he wanted, hell what he needed. There was no way he would let anything mess it up.

Y/N had disappeared into what Dean could only assume was her bedroom. He heard the water from a shower run as he went to Baby’s trunk for everything that he would need. While grabbing the garment bag that held the tux he glanced at all the tools that laid organized in front of him. Knives, guns, holy water, bombs and a whole lot of other tools he would usually reach for when going into the unknown. He shook his head as he pushed the trunk back shut. There was no need for any of it, at least not tonight.

After fixing himself in her bathroom mirror after changing, he walked out to have an approving nod from his brother that was short lived as Sam’s eyes moved to what was behind Dean. He turned his head and saw her standing there in a long low cut black dress with her hair falling on her shoulders in curls. Their eyes met as they both whispered that same word in unison, “Jesus”.

“Wait what?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Dean quickly replied as he pulled out Baby’s keys. “You ready to go.”

“Ah ah, Winchester, I do believe I said the next time I was driving,” she smiled while jiggling her keys in her hand.

Dean gave a low laugh while smiling as he followed her outside. He would do anything she told him to do to see her smile and tonight he would do exactly that. Butterflies now fluttering inside of him as they reached her car. She walked to the driver’s side making Dean move quickly on his feet.

“You know, as the guy I should at least drive,” he suggested while opening the door for her.

“No chance in hell Winchester,” she laughed before seating herself in.

Closing the door gently before walking himself around to the other side he felt his smile only growing wider. Nothing was going to ruin tonight. He wouldn’t let it. Everything was just going to be…perfect.

Keep reading to part nine here

Tags: @jaylarkson @waywardbaby @snffbeebee @iamabeautifulperson18 @19agbrown

[shiny-shell]

So I quit the high-paying prep cook job after 2 days.

I feel like a bit of a failure. As if I’m not good enough because I’m “lazy” for quitting a job that requires hard work. But I gotta step back and think with a broader perspective, not just because my natural jerk reaction is to be negative towards myself, but because I can also get so wrapped up in these microcosm worlds in jobs.

Today, I went into work a little tired because I’m still adjusting to waking up in the morning after doing evening shift jobs the past several years. After walking half a mile from my car (parking is awful downtown), I arrived to work early and took a moment for myself in the walk-in refrigerator. I just wanted to stand there a moment and cool down because I was sweaty, and I was also using the time to collect myself and get ready for the day. But a few moments into this, the chef on duty came in and asked me if I was ready to begin work. I started to explain that I was taking a moment for myself, but his facial expression still looked super hard, so I dropped it because I assumed “he’s not going to understand”, and said, “Yeah, I can go clock in and start.”

He told me to blanch certain vegetables we have in house. Mind you, this is day 3 of training and I was only shown how to do this once and only once without doing it myself. Blanching itself isn’t difficult, but I wasn’t sure how best logistically to approach this task, like how to do things most efficiently. So I got my ice bath ready, and I went to wash the vegetables in the back sink. I struggled to lift and carry the very large container therein and maneuver it in the sink.

I was so tired I needed to cry.

I was so exhausted from the previous two days, that I went to the employee bathroom and sat down and cried. I called my mom for support because my partner was asleep and didn’t pick up.

What I told the chef was, “I appreciate y’all hiring me and giving me a chance, but this wasn’t the position I applied for. I’m on the autism spectrum and there’s way too much going on sensory-wise. I don’t think I can do this. You can erase my clocked in time from today since I didn’t do anything.” He asked me if there was anything he could do to help, but by that point I just needed to leave and rest. I said no. He said, “OK. Good luck, then.” in that stern, uncaring voice and walked off. I clocked out and left my apron next to the register.

Why was it so bad for me? Have a list of grievances. Ask any autistic person how they’d deal with this:

Lack of organization. Some things there are VERY organized, but others are not. I had stayed an extra hour during my stage (working interview) to wait until the lunch rush died down so I could talk to a chef and follow up on my interview. They were too busy. I called again a few days after, and again they were too busy to even talk to me. Then I get a call a week later saying my position was filled, BUT they just got an opening elsewhere because of a no-call no-show and would hire me there.

Expanding upon that, I was to work in the pastry section. I felt pretty confident in the area during my stage because I have experience baking. Plus, and this is a huge plus, the pastry area is in the back of the kitchen not next to customers, with a window so I can see outside and get some natural light in. They hired me as a prep cook instead.

Open kitchen. My prep area was RIGHT NEXT TO dining guests, and all the noise that comes with it.

During opening, people played their own music on speakers at their stations. In itself, fine; I like lots of different types of music. But they all played them simultaneously at loud volumes. So my first morning, the restaurant’s background music was playing on the main speakers, while one guy had on country music at his station, and 2 stations over another guy was playing hip-hop. It was an awful cacophony of competing sounds.

No breaks. 8-hour shifts with no designated break time. I was supposed to find 5 or 10 minutes to drink water, use the bathroom, or eat snacks on my own time.

Standing on your feet in the same position for hours on end. I’m fine with standing my whole shift, but standing in the same place kills my feet. I need to be able to walk around a little and change position.

If you don’t finish your task list, you have to stay longer and finish it. I was on the clock almost 10 hours yesterday finishing up an impossible list. The list was meant for one person even! It took an extra 2 hours to finish it with 2 people (me and my trainer) working on it. I hit hella traffic on the way home since I clocked out at 5:20PM.

The vibe from my coworkers was so stale and lifeless. Some of them seemed like friends among each other, but they looked like they were dead inside and were just continuing going because the pay was good.

I didn’t feel welcome. To be sure, no one was outright mean or hostile, but no one cared about me, my strengths and weaknesses, my circumstances. I tried telling my day 2 trainer I’m on the spectrum, and he didn’t say anything about it. Any time I tried to make conversation, it fell dead flat.

The prep tables were very high up. I’m not a short woman. I’m 5′8″ (170cm). My shoulders still hurt, in addition to my palms being bruised from cutting dough (had to press down that hard), and 2 other cuts on my hands from my other job.

Looking at it now, I shouldn’t have to sacrifice my health and mental well-being for a living wage. I really wanted to like this job and I was looking forward to bigger paychecks, but I spent most of today resting to recover from 2 days. I can work hard, but not in environments wholly unsuited to me. I’m not a complete failure. I still have a backup job that I like and feel welcome at. I’m probably underemployed considering I have a Bachelor’s degree, but damn am I trying to live my life.

[secretlystephaniebrown]

Letters to No One: 6/6

Summary: Lucretia writes letters that she can never send over the years. 

Final chapter! Wow this ended up being longer than I expected.

For Taako, we're mixing things up a bit, but I hope you guys still enjoy! Thanks for reading, and double thanks to everyone who's taken the time to leave a comment while I've been writing this! <3

Beginning

Previous

Also on Ao3

Taako sees Lup going through some letters one day, when she and Barold are visiting. He wanders over and grabs one randomly off the pile. He recognizes the gentle curves of the handwriting easily, and sees red.

Taako, like all of them, had taken turns filling in for Lucretia on the cycles when she’d died. He’d filled in his parts of the journals, picking up where her handwriting had left off. After a hundred years of that handwriting, he could recognize it anywhere. (He’d seen letters from the Director and hadn’t thought a thing, because she wasn’t anyone important.)

“Why is she writing to you?”  He demands. Lup snatches it back before he can rip the letter into tiny pieces, like he wants to.

“She did it while I was gone.” Lup picks up another one, keeping a careful eye on him, as if making sure that he doesn’t take a fireball to the table. It’s tempting, he has to admit, but he wouldn’t do it, because she’s the one who can spell shape, not him, and he’d never hurt Lup. “It’s… enlightening.”

Taako fumes. He fumes even more when he sees Barry has his own stack of letters, annotated in red ink, stacked neatly on the desk in the house that Taako has been sharing with the Reapers Three whenever they’re not out in the Astral Plane.

“I think they helped her,” Magnus says when Taako goes to visit him to rant about it. His letters are scattered across his kitchen table, weird carvings weighing them down like paperweights. He’s holding one of them in his hand, looking at it strangely. “Talking to us.”

“Whose fault is it that she couldn’t?” Taako snaps. He doesn’t get it, how they’ve all forgiven her. As if it wasn’t her fault. Sure, they don’t hate her, he understands that, because yeah, okay, maybe he doesn’t hate her anymore. But there’s a difference between not hating and forgiveness and he doesn’t understand how it is that they’ve managed to find it.

Magnus shrugs. “Hers. She knows it. But she still missed us.”

“She doesn’t deserve too!” Taako throws his hands into the air. “We didn’t get to miss her. We didn’t even bet to miss each other!”

Magnus shrugs again.

Merle just pours him a cup of tea. Outside, the sea crashes against the beach. The kids, the kids who are only just learning to call him “Uncle Taako,” even though they should have been doing it their whole lives, are playing on the shore. “I dunno, I thought they were interesting.”

Taako calls Davenport on his Stone of Farspeech that night, because if anyone could understand, it would be him.  

“It’s just what she does, Taako. You cook, Magnus carves, she writes. It’s… comforting.” Davenport is in some far away place, exploring the world. Taako has a postcard from him in his pocket, describing the kind of spiced tea that a port town specializes in. He’s seen postcards pinned to Magnus’ walls and Merle’s, and read Lup and Barry’s out loud to Kravitz.

He wonders if Lucretia gets postcards. He wonders if she keeps them in a scrapbook or something—it’s been over a decade, maybe she picked up scrapbooking.

“Well, why didn’t she write to me then?”

The words surprise him, so he hangs up before Davenport can respond.

He turns that thought over and over in his head, trying to understand it. He doesn’t care what she thinks of him. He doesn’t care that she didn’t try to offer him an explanation, not like the way that she’s offered everybody else.

Some small, rational part of himself that sounds weirdly like Merle, points out that he’s been avoiding Lucretia.

To spite that particular part of himself, he makes sure to kick a fucking tree and tell Mavis and Mookie an embarrassing story about their dad which he definitely embellishes a little. It’s kind of hard to horrify a couple of kids who know that their dad has died a shit ton of times and are aware of his proclivities towards plants because Lucretia’s journals got broadcasted right into their brains, but Taako has never let a little thing like that stop him.

He decides to take matters into his own hands, because talking to Lucretia about his feelings is absolutely overrated, no matter what Kravitz says.

He breaks into the new Bureau of Balance headquarters, which is much easier now that it’s not on the moon, and raids her office, pointedly ignoring the portrait of all of them hanging on the wall. It’s fully restored and he hates how happy they look. Because they were young and stupid and didn’t realize how everything was going to go to shit and it’s not fair.

“Taako? What are you doing?”

Lucretia looks better, he has to admit, now that the Hunger is passed. She’s not younger by any stretch of the word, but she looks less tired, less wary. The dark circles under her eyes which he had for over a year dismissed as nothing have faded away. She’s letting her hair grow too. Not as long as it ever got on the Starblaster, but it’s no longer cropped short like it was when he’d met her once again for the first time.

He scowls and turns to face her, faking a grin that he knows she’ll see right through. “Hear you’ve been writing letters. Wanted to see what you’ve got to say for yourself.” There’s an unspoken challenge there, and they both know it.

Her faces goes blank. “Bottom left drawer,” she says. She waves a hand, and some sort of magical protection dispels.

It’s a lot of paper, all covered in thousands of lines of that same, careful handwriting. They’re tied together with a neon pink ribbon.

Lucretia stands there, leaning against an ordinary staff, and she looks older once again. The world seems to be resting on her shoulders, and Taako should care, but he doesn’t, he doesn’t, because she doesn’t deserve his pity.  

Taako storms out, with the letters under his arm and goes to the school.

--

Taako,

“Sizzle It Up with Taako” is a bomb-ass banger of a show. I went in disguise and sat in the back, just in case. Your act was inspired. It was great to see you back in the kitchen, and the bits I got to taste were magnificent.

You seemed perfectly at home in the kitchen, which was great to see.

I wonder though…

Do you ever notice that the van is large enough for three? My plan was for you and Lup to be a double-act, with Barry as your driver. That might be a bit cruel to Barry, yes, to be relegated to that role, but he and Lup would be near each other. I have no doubt that the two of them would have fallen in love again. How could they not? A century of love can’t just be erased. It’s part of why I separated the rest of you. But at least the three of you would be together. He’d have sent in an application for the University in Neverwinter, so he’d at least have that option, but… I doubt he’d have left Lup.

But even without them, you seem at home there, using alchemy in the kitchen, all flashy and bright. You shine like a sun, in that place. I’m so glad, Taako.

-L

--

It’s not the first letter, but it’s the first one that matters. Taako throws it down and tries to think back to his caravan, thinks about Sazed, who he’d hired, not Lucretia, and he tries to think.

Lup and him both in the caravan, elbows brushing against each other in a space not quite large enough but not caring, because it’s each other. Cooking and laughing, using magic and flare and showmanship in their creations, travelling and never stopping in one place for too long.

Barry, with them, awkward and hesitant like he’d been before he’d known them, slowly getting talked into magical conversations, being a bit of a nerd, flirting with Lup, slowly, painfully slowly, falling in love in the most ridiculous way possible.

Taako shoves the thoughts aside, because it had never happened. Instead, Barry plunged off the Starblaster, killed by Taako, and Lup had been stuck in an umbrella for a decade, while Taako had been alone in that caravan.

He’d been alone and he shouldn’t have been, and Lucretia knew that.

--

Taako,

I hear you’re a hit in the Underdark. Of course you are. I hope you’re enjoying your newfound celebrity.

There’s still no word on Lup. I’m looking, Taako, I promise, and the moment I find her I will bring her back to you.

-L

--

Seeing Lup’s name written in Lucretia’s careful handwriting is more painful than Taako had thought it would be.

He should be mad, he thinks, about Lucretia spying on him. Keeping an eye on him, like she cares.

He’s not though. He just grabs the next letter and keeps reading. He’s not sure why he’s even reading them, because it’s not like they’re going to change anything. He knows what she’s done. Her feeling sad about it doesn’t matter.

Her loneliness does not undo his own.

--

Taako,

I’ve heard about

I can’t believe

You’d never

Glamor Springs was a

When I first heard about Glamor Springs, I sent someone to investigate what had happened. I… I can’t quite believe that it’s actually happened. I know it was not intentional—you’re many things Taako, but I know you’d never kill with your cooking. But an accident… it just seems so unlike you that I can’t wrap my head around it.

You’re a wanted elf now. I can almost hear the jokes we would have made about it once, but it was always different, when we’d known that they’d never see us again after the end of the year. You might be running for the rest of your life.

I considered writing up a version of events and feeding it to the Voidfish. I could give you a fresh start, let you begin from scratch.

But…

The only reason I could do it so effectively the first time was that I knew the material so well. My journals were the story of our adventures—your anecdotes about the mongoose language were there, Lup’s doodles were in the margins, there are entire sections written in Magnus’s handwriting because he didn’t believe I was doing the story justice. Even your history before our adventure, I knew well enough to be able to edit around, because we’d had a hundred years to get to know each other. I knew every detail. I knew what I was doing, and I could handle it all with immaculate care.

I don’t know what happened to you, those years wandering Faerun as a wandering chef. I have broad strokes, but with work like this, I’m terrified of what would happen if I slipped up. If I’m too ruthless, someone else could end up like Davenport. If I’m too sparring, you could end up being wanted but not know why.

As much as it pains me to admit it Taako… you’re a stranger to me now.

And I can’t afford to spare the resources that it would take to learn your story well enough to do that.

I’m sorry Taako. I really am. I just wanted you to be happy.

-L

--

Taako stops reading, after the letter about Glamour Springs. He gets up and shoves them in a desk he never uses, because he doesn’t need a desk, he mostly just have one because Magnus carved it for him and it looks pretty fucking sweet, and then he goes into the kitchen and makes all of Lucretia’s favorite dishes out of spite and then he feeds them to the Bone Squad, ignoring Lup and Barry’s looks.

Lup finds the letters that night. “So you went to see her?”

“Yeah,” Taako says.

“Did you two… talk?”

Taako throws himself onto the couch—not the comfy sofa thing that Barry bought and won’t let him get rid of, but the proper couch, the one that’s for fainting and dramatic flinging.

“No,” he says, once he’s in proper position.

Lup drops the letters on his face, because she’s a terrible sister like that.

“Read them,” she says unsympathetically. “I know it’s hard. But I think it will help.”

“Help what?” Taako wants to say.

But Lup asked him too, so he keeps reading.

--

Taako,

When I heard you had found Merle and Magnus I laughed until I cried. Avi thought I had lost my mind.

I’m so glad you’ve found them again.

-L

--

“Yeah, well, whose fault is it that I didn’t have them?” Taako mutters, flipping the page.

On the back, she’s sketched a view of the Moon Base from her office. It’s just a quick doodle—Lucretia’s a really fucking good artist though, so it’s good.

He stares at it, and he’s shocked to realize that he misses that place.

How fucked up is that?

--

Taako,

I’ve done a lot of damage, haven’t I?

It’s taken me a while to realize just how much removing Lup from the equation has changed you. But it has, irrevocably, completely, and astonishingly. I’ve never known you to be like this; it’s like you’re harder, angrier, somehow. I don’t know if I even have the write words to describe it. You trust less. You were always lonely, but now, it feels infinitely greater. You walk around like there’s a gaping hole, a void that can’t be filled, or even grieved properly.

It’s only now that I realize that maybe removing Lup wasn’t a mercy. In my year alone, the pain was so much that it was crippling. I wished so much that I could just forget, so I could do what I needed to do, because the pain, the grief, was just too much.

I have never believed the adage “It is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.”  If I had realized how long it would be, maybe I would have made a different decision. But I had no idea that it would take me a decade to even get one artifact besides my Staff.

I should have let you keep her, I see that now. It’s too late to change it, but I can see that now. Even though she can’t be here, I should have left her in your story. I guess, somehow, I was always so focused on not seeing you as two parts of a whole that I failed to realize that being separate people didn’t mean that you didn’t need each other.

I’m so sorry Taako.

-L

--

Taako throws the letters across the room. The ribbon is undone, and as a result the paper goes everywhere, individual sheets floating across the room and Taako just stands in the middle of it all, breathing heavily and trying not to cry.

The Death Trio are gone, checking out a rock band that’s possibly a necromantic cult or just is really into a skull aesthetic, and so Taako’s alone, in the house, and he wants to call up Lucretia and give her a goddamn piece of his mind.

It’s not right, he thinks, falling to the floor. Paper crinkles underneath him, but he doesn’t care.

For a century, it never mattered.

They’d all been sold out before, been betrayed, been stabbed in the back—sometimes literally. They’d died, they’d lost, they’d been screwed over, but it hadn’t mattered.

Because the rest of the world didn’t.

All of those other worlds, none of it had counted. They were dust. Why should Taako care if dust betrayed them? They were at best, impermanent and at worst, dead.

Taako didn’t need them. Sure, he’d liked some of the people over the years, but they hadn’t mattered. And so what if they didn’t like him? So what if they betrayed him? So what?

There had been six people who did, who were there for him. There wasn’t just Lup, anymore. There were six other, ridiculous, dumb, stubborn assholes who were there for him and cared about him.

Lucretia mattered.

She mattered, and she’d done this anyways.

She’d left him alone.

And that…

That counted.

--

Taako,

Do you really have to be so mean to Angus? All of you are, honestly, but that boy looks up to you so much.

-L

--

Taako goes to clean up and he doesn’t intend to read any of it, because clearly, what more could there be to say after that?

He looks down at that one, and swallows.

They’re all out of order now, randomly scattered across the room. He can’t help but look at them as he gathers them up and read Lucretia’s notes. There are doodles and recipes and a watercolor portrait of him and Lup. There’s mission debriefs and descriptions of whatever stupid shit she caught Magnus or Merle doing.

He gives in and puts them back in order to keep reading.

--

Taako,

The Grim Reaper?

-L

--

“Shut up,” Taako mutters, but his mouth twitches.

--

Taako,

It’s all my fault, isn’t it?

The Hunger is coming back, and I’m not sure that we can stop it. I don’t know if we can get all the artifacts in time.

And Barry and Lup’s warnings about the side effects of the shield…

I have doubts, Taako.

I can’t stand that. I’ve done too many horrible things to have doubts now. If I have doubts, it means I did all these things for nothing. Everything I’ve sacrificed, everything I’ve done, I did for a reason. It must be for a reason.

But look at what I’ve done to you—my family, my friends.

Would that disaster in Glamor Springs had happened if you’d been aware that you didn’t have a second person that you were used to, checking your work as you went? If you were the full, powerful wizard that I’d known during our century together, rather than someone who is still unravelling the true extent of his arcane powers?

Would Merle’s marriage have collapsed if he’d had a century of wisdom and peacemaking to draw upon? Would Magnus have lost his wife if he had all his skills as a warrior and protector?

These questions haunt me. I tried to give you all happy endings, but did I end up robbing you of the tools you needed to maintain them? You were all heroes. You deserved happy endings, you deserved the world to be kind to you.

You are going to hate me when you remember, I know that. I deserve that. I deserve all of it. I’ve done horrible things in the name of pursuing my goals, but what I’ve done to all of you… that’s the unforgivable.

But does that matter? I can’t bring myself to saying that I wouldn’t do most of it again. I would have changes, yes, but… the wars over the relics needed to be stopped. That I know, in my bones. There were far too many dead, Taako.

But of course, I can’t say if it will be worth it or not until the shield spell works or doesn’t.

If it works…

It will have been worth it.

Right?

-L

--

Taako stares at the letter for a long, long time.

He reads it over and over again, trying to think of what to… well, think.

Because…

Yeah, Lucretia has a good point.

She’d made them worse. Irrevocably, worse. They’d lost purpose, they’d lost their kindness, their bonds to other people, they’d lost a century of lessons learned and skills painfully gained. She’d stripped all of that away and gone off on her own, determined to fix the mistakes that all of them had made.

Taako crumples up the letter again, then slowly straightens it out, because he needs to reread it.

He stares.

Lup was in the umbrella before Lucretia had fed Fisher the journals.

He thinks about her, scrying over and over again, until she collapsed from exhaustion. Taako had never even thanked her, because he was too busy trying to find her as well. She’d been looking.

Over and over again, in her letters, she’d promised him that she’d been looking.

How would they have found her? How long would it have been for them to track down Wave Echo Cave? And would they have looked in the umbrella, or made assumptions that she was… elsewhere, like Lucretia had? It had taken Lup months to gain enough strength to try to message him.

Would Magnus have met Julia? Taako’s visited the grave, walked through the town of Raven’s Roost, rebuilt and in its glory, and now he wonders what could have brought Magnus to that town, made him stay. He’d led a revolution, and he’d fallen in love and gotten married and yeah, maybe he could have saved Julia if he’d been like he is now, but…

She had died while Magnus was gone. Taako knows that story. It had taken until after the Hunger, but Taako knows the story.

And he and Merle went out a few months back and found this Kalen and finished things, because Lucretia was right about that, at least.

Magnus had earned that happy ending.

They all had.

Merle had earned a life on the beach, but… Taako doesn’t know that he agrees with Lucretia. Merle was still learning to be a dad, and he had no idea what he was doing.

Taako tries to think about the world, where Lucretia never did what she did. He thinks about wars, and the Relics blowing shit up, about the way that all of them had been… withering, in those months. Lup had been gone and there was no trace of her and…

Taako doesn’t know if that would have been a better world.

--

Taako,

I was right I guess.

I can’t believe you’d handed Lup right over to me and I hadn’t realized it. If I had just thought, I might have been able to free her from that.

I don’t know what it would have changed, but I could have answered that question so much faster.

The world is saved. I was right, but I was wrong, and I don’t…

I keep trying to think of how we could have gotten here without this, I really do. I know what I’ve done is unforgivable. I’m not trying to justify it. I deserve every ounce of your hatred. I don’t expect you to ever read this post-script, this final letter, this epilogue.

The Hunger is defeated. We finally can move on with our lives.

I just wish the cost hadn’t been quite so high.

I’m not even sure what to do with these letters. You don’t want to come near me, and I am trying to respect your wishes. But it feels wrong, to never send these letters. To never give you at least the chance to have the answers to some of the questions you may have.

I’m not asking for your forgiveness. I don’t deserve it.

But I just want you to know that you are my family, and I love you still, even though I know you want nothing to do with me.

-Lucretia

--

Taako goes to see her.

“This doesn’t make it right,” he tells her. She’s sitting in her office, because there’s no throne room in the new Bureau of Benevolence. Lucretia’s still dramatic, sure, because this office is fucking bombastic as fuck, but now she doesn’t need a giant fucking staircase or a base on the moon. Taako’s not sure where she’s channeling all of her extra, but it’s probably around somewhere. Maybe there’s a secret passage or something. He’ll ask Angus, Angus would have found a secret passage in the first week.

Lucretia looks at him in surprise. “You read them.”

“Of course I did,” Taako says with a lightness he doesn’t feel.

“Taako,” she says. “I know it doesn’t matter. I know what I did was unforgivable. It’s not fair, I know, that your happiness was collateral damage to save the world.” Grief, Taako realizes, is deeply set into her face. She’s old, she’s fucking old, she’s way older than him, and that feels weird. “I know that nothing can ever make amends for that. You deserved so much better, Taako.”

“Yeah,” Taako says quietly. “I did.”

She bows her head and lowers her eyes, and Taako drops the letters onto her desk.

They’re not her letters. They’re written on Kravtiz’s fucking emo stationary. She looks up at him, startled.

“Doesn’t mean you don’t deserve better as well,” he says. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not fucking cool with it—but you know. You kept looking.” He swallows, his throat tight. “That… that matters.”

Lucretia carefully undoes the ribbon—he’d found the ugliest, frilliest, laciest ribbon he could, and then transmuted it to make it worse.

Pages upon pages of letters explode outwards, because Taako had rigged a tiny bit of a spell on there, and Lucretia picks one up.

“Lucretia,” she reads. “So I made some weird pumpkin cake thing that nobody likes and I know now it’s because you’re the only person who likes it and I never could figure out why I’d keep making it even though I kept telling myself I’d change the recipe. Dash, Taako, you know, from TV.”

She looks up at him, her eyes large and watering, pressing the letter against her chest like it’s something precious.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

Taako shrugs. “Don’t make a big deal out of it,” he says. “I’m still mad at you.”

But he meets her eyes, and finds himself smiling.