#if the question HAS a definitive 'right' answer

[gigabyte-flare]

The Devil is Real (Part 1)

Summary: Your troubled older brother disappeared two years ago, vanishing without a trace; that is until one day you receive a letter from him. He’s living in Spain after having joined a religious group called Los Iluminados, his life seemingly changed for the better. He would love it if you came to visit him. Who are you to refuse an invitation from your beloved big brother, right?

Word Count: 4.2k

Pairing: plagas!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader (afab)

Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction. Actions depicted in this story are not condoned in real life. You are responsible for your own content consumption. If any of the following warnings trigger you, please read at your own risk. Minors do not interact, this story is 18+ only.

Warnings: drug abuse mention, abusive household mention, religious cult, religious trauma, body horror, noncon, dubcon, unprotected p in v, creampie, oral (m and f receiving), kidnapping, yandere tendencies, somno, extreme violence and gore, human sacrifice, murder, blood play/kink, breeding kink, pregnancy, pet names, stockholm syndrome, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT [More warnings may be added in future parts]

A/N: I want to give a shoutout to @d10nyx, who's bot heavily inspired this new series. I had been wanting to write plagas!Leon again for so long, but I wanted to do something I hadn't seen done before and my interaction with her bot planted the seed (breeding kink go brrrrrrrrrrrr). This will likely be my darkest series yet so if that's not your jam, I kindly ask that you keep scrolling. It should be noted that any of the Spanish seen in this series is either from my extremely vague recollection of the language from my youth or from Google translate, so I apologize if there's any weird grammar in any of the Spanish, it is not my intention to butcher the language.

I hope you guys like thrill rides :3

The title is inspired by Bad Things performed by I Prevail

April 22, 2008

Sis,

I apologize for this being the first time I’ve contacted you in two years, but I promise you, it was for good reason. I finally got help. I moved out to Spain to this lovely rural area called Valdelobos to live with this wonderful community called Los Iluminados. I’ve been sober for just over two years because of them. I would really love it if you came to visit, you would absolutely love it here, sis! I would love more than anything to share with you the community that has made such a huge difference in my life. I don’t have access to a computer, so you’ll have to send me a letter to reply. You can find the return address on the envelope. I eagerly await your letter!

With all my love,

Vince

You sit on your old saggy couch, gently holding the handwritten letter in your hands like it’s going to disintegrate. Your mind is in turmoil; your older brother Vincent, or Vince as most people call him, had disappeared about two years ago. He struggled with drug addiction when he reached adulthood, always chasing his next high. When you had reported him missing, police searched everywhere for him for weeks until you finally had to come to terms with the fact that he was most likely dead.

This letter, however, says otherwise.

“Who’s it from?” your boyfriend asks before sitting beside you, seeing the strained look on your face and growing concerned. 

You don’t answer him at first, your eyes locked on the weathered piece of paper. Realizing your boyfriend, Mark, had asked you a question, you blink a few times and shake your head, snapping yourself out of the shocked daze.

“It’s from Vince,” you reply, looking over at Mark.

Mark looks at the paper you’re holding, then back to you, “are you sure it’s from Vince?”

“Of course I’m sure! That is definitely his handwriting. He’s alive!” 

You hand the letter to Mark, who takes a moment to read the letter himself, adjusting his glasses as he does so, “he wants you to go visit. What are you going to do?”

“I have no idea…” you say softly, burying your face in your hands as you continue to struggle with your emotions.

Growing up, all you had was your brother, having lost your parents at a young age. Growing up, the both of you lived with your grandparents, but they were very abusive. As soon as Vince had turned 18, he fought to become your legal guardian and the two of you moved out. Unfortunately, Vince had turned to drugs to deal with his trauma, but could you blame him? Your grandfather was especially hard on Vince; there were many nights you could remember falling asleep to the sounds of the two of them shouting and throwing things at each other. 

There’s a ten year gap between you and your brother, so naturally Vince had become something of a father figure to you, especially considering you were only two when your parents had died. A car accident you had been told; hit by a drunk driver on the way home from a New Year’s party. You felt like life always dealt you a shitty hand. First your parents, then your brother. But now, your brother seems to be back and he’s ok; he’s sober. You should be happy, so why are you so conflicted?

“I’m going to do some research on this ‘Los Iluminados’ group,” you finally say before standing up from the couch to walk into your bedroom, “make sure it isn’t some Jim Jones bullshit…”

“I’ll get dinner started then,” Mark says, also standing up, making his way over to the kitchen, “I’ll holler when dinner’s ready.”

You nod at Mark before walking into the bedroom, sitting down at your desk in the corner of the room, opening your laptop and powering it on. You open up Internet Explorer and open a new Google search window, typing in Los Iluminados which unsurprisingly yielded zero results; with them not having computer access, it makes sense that there’s no trace of this group on the internet by searching their name. You then search cults in Spain and skim through the results. Again, there’s no mention of Los Iluminados anywhere. Drumming your fingers on your desk, you begin to question the letter’s legitimacy. Whoever sent it knew where you lived and that your brother had been missing for two years. No one would go through that much trouble just to prank someone. 

“Babe, dinner’s ready!” you hear Mark call from the kitchen. 

Letting out a sigh, you reluctantly stand up from your desk, walking out of the bedroom to join your boyfriend in the living room, who just finished putting both your plates down onto the coffee table. Laying in the middle of the living room, your 8 year old brindle English Mastiff, André, lifts his head lazily, sniffing the air upon smelling food. You can’t help but let out a chuckle as you sit down on the couch, grabbing your plate to start eating.

“Even in his old age, André has a one track mind,” Mark says, watching as the large dog gets up from the floor. Mark gently pats him on the head, “don’t you buddy?”

“He sure does,” you reply, reaching over to pat the gentle giant before returning to your meal.

“Were you able to find anything on that group in the letter?” Mark asks, looking over at you before taking a bite of food. 

“Not a damn thing. Which I guess makes sense but still…” you say, your voice trailing off as you let out a heavy sigh, “something about it just doesn’t sit well with me.”

“Then we go to Spain, find out if this group is real or not and bounce if it’s just a wild goose chase,” Mark says, weaving his left hand through the air as he speaks.

“And who’s going to watch André?” 

André’s big brown eyes look between the two of you, letting out a soft whimper. Mark mouths the word ‘fuck’ before taking another bite of dinner.

“Right,” Mark says quietly, giving André another pat on the head.

The two of you finish eating dinner in silence, afterwards helping each other clean up the dishes. You let Mark know that you’re going to write a response to Vince’s letter, heading back up to the bedroom to sit back at the desk, pulling out a notebook and a pencil.

May 15, 2008

Vince,

First, I just want to say I am relieved to see that you’re ok and that you’re doing better. You had dropped off the face of the earth and I couldn’t find you anywhere; I thought you were dead! I’m so incredibly glad I was wrong. And, of course, congratulations are in order for your two years of sobriety. I know that’s something you really struggled with and I’m glad this community was able to help you. Is it a religious group? I think Los Iluminados roughly translates to “The Enlightened Ones” if my vague recollection of Spanish serves me right. Regardless, I would love to come visit you and see where you’ve been living these past two years, just let me know where I need to go.

Sis

May 31, 2008

Sis,

I was so excited to see you had written back that I practically ripped the envelope open. Los Iluminados is a small religious community and, I know what you’re thinking, it’s not a cult, so you have nothing to worry about there. They’re really big on living a traditional, almost pagan-like lifestyle and for me, being able to unplug while I got better was exactly what I needed. I’m hoping after experiencing Los Iluminados yourself that you’ll feel the same. As far as getting you here goes, you’ll want to fly into Valencia Airport, we’ll come pick you up from there. Call the enclosed number once you have your flight booked and tell Maria what day you’re coming. I’m looking forward to seeing you!

Vince

You tuck the letter back in your carry on bag, leaning back in your seat on the airplane and closing your eyes. You land in Valencia Airport in less than an hour and you are doing everything in your power to keep your nerves in check and not get your hopes up. You did as Vince had asked, you called this woman named Maria and with really broken Spanish, you had told her you were flying in on June 17th. At some point you must have dozed off because you’re jolted awake when the plane lands on the tarmac.

The plane pulls into the dock and you along with the other passengers file out. You head down to baggage claim to grab your luggage; you had packed about a week’s worth of clothes since you didn’t know how long you were staying. You low key were hoping to talk your brother into coming back to the States with you, but that’s a bridge you’ll cross when you get there. That thought is far from your mind, however, when you get through airport security and immediately spot your brother holding a large sign with your name on it. Your mouth hangs agape as you stop in your tracks. The last time you had seen him, he was a 33 year old who looked almost 50 due to his years of drug abuse. Now? He has color in his face, he’s gained weight and actually looks healthy. His clothes are a little disheveled and covered in dirt, but he’s smiling, probably the first time you’ve seen him smile since you were children.

Dropping your luggage, you run over to your brother, throwing your arms around him and hugging him tight, tears freely flowing from your eyes as you cry out, “it’s you, you’re real! You’re alive!”

Vince tightly hugs you back, rocking you both back and forth before stepping back, smiling down at you as his hands remain on your shoulders, “look at you! All grown up; 25 has treated you nicely!”

You playfully scoff before walking back to grab your luggage, “hardly.”

You return to Vince, who then takes your luggage from you as the two of you begin to walk out of the airport, “how’s Mark? You two are still together, I take it?”

“We are! He’s doing good, he’s at home watching André.”

“André is still around? That’s nice to hear!” Vince says as the two of you walk up to a very beat up looking sedan, “here’s our luxury limousine!”

You playfully smack him with the back of your hand, “very funny, Vince.”

You watch as Vince opens the trunk of the sedan, putting your luggage inside, he looks up at you as he closes the trunk, “go ahead and get in the back seat, Sis.”

You nod in acknowledgement, climbing into the back seat, your brother joining you shortly after. An older couple sits in the driver’s and passenger’s sides of the sedan, promptly driving away from the airport once you and your brother put your seatbelts on. 

“We have about a three hour drive ahead of us, you must be exhausted from your flight,” Vince says, looking over at you and giving you a warm smile.

You nod, feeling your eyes grow heavy from jet lag, however you force your eyes to stay open; you desperately don’t want to miss a single moment with your brother.

“Hey,” Vince lays a hand on your shoulder, “it’s ok, get some rest, I’ll wake you up when we get close to the village.”

“If you say so…” you reply softly. 

You hesitantly let your eyes close, drifting off into a dreamless sleep. It feels like only a moment has passed when Vince shakes you awake.

“Hey Sis, we’re here!”

After getting out of the car, there was still a considerable hike until you got to the village proper. Once getting there, however, you find yourself pleasantly surprised. You weren't sure what you were expecting of a small village at the center of a religious community but what you’re seeing wasn’t it. It is a bonafide village, with actual houses, a town center, a watchtower and a large brick structure towards the back. In the distance, you can see a windmill slowly spinning. You chalk it up to the large number of documentaries you had watched on cults leading up to this trip that painted a picture in your mind of what this village would look like; the small, white cottages of People’s Temple immediately coming to mind. A part of you is glad you were wrong.

“So, what do you think?” Vince asks me, gesturing one of his hands towards the village, “this is where I’ve been these last two years.”

“It’s nothing like what I expected, it’s… honestly really peaceful,” you reply, looking around the village in awe.

You watch as several of the other villagers stop what they’re doing to look at you and your brother, an older woman over by a well giving both of you a warm smile before pulling a bucket of water up from the well.

“My house is over here,” Vince continues, pointing to one of the houses on the left before leading you towards it. 

Vince’s house sits next to the watchtower, he opens the door and walks inside. Before you enter, you happen to turn around and look towards the large brick building in the back of the village. Standing at the door is someone wearing a black cloak with gold trim, underneath his clothes you can tell he’s wearing cargo pants and a tight fitting athletic shirt of some kind. But that’s not what grabs your attention; it’s his azure eyes locked on you, causing your blood to run cold.

“Vince,” you say, your voice trembling as you reach to grab his wrist, stopping him, “who is that over there?”

Vince turns to look where you’re looking, letting out a soft chuckle once he sees who you’re looking at, “him? That’s just Leon. He’s the right hand of our Lord Saddler. He’s probably here to check on things, don’t worry about him. Come inside.”

Vince practically pulls you, shutting and barring the door shut once you’re inside.

“Why are you blocking the door?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as your brother turns to face you.

“We tend to have an open door policy in the village. Where you and I haven’t seen each other for awhile, I figured it’d be best to have some privacy, wouldn’t you agree?”

You nod as you take in your surroundings. There’s a staircase leading upstairs and around the corner, a dining table and a kitchen area. Several candles are burning; they definitely don’t have electricity and running water in this village. Behind your brother is a worn couch.

“Is that where I’m sleeping?” you ask, pointing at the couch.

“Nope, you get the bed upstairs. I can live with the couch for a while. Nothing but the best for my little sis.”

“Thanks Vince,” you reply, grabbing your luggage, “I’ll bring this upstairs, then maybe we can talk. You know… catch up.”

You grab your luggage, dragging it up the stairs. You spot the bed at the end of the bannister next to a window overlooking the village center. As you’re staring out the window, you spot the cloaked man, Leon, again. He’s standing in the center of town, looking right at you. It sends a chill down your spine. You turn around and scream a little when your brother taps you on the shoulder.

“You ok? You weren’t answering me,” Vince says, his face full of concern.

“Sorry… it’s that guy. He’s right down there staring at the window,” you reply, turning to point out the window, however, Leon is gone, “oh, nevermind. It must have been my imagination.”

“He’s like… a guard dog of sorts. He’s probably just making sure you’re chill,” Vince explains, gently grabbing you by your upper arm and leading you back downstairs, “he’s like that with anyone he doesn’t know.”

“Right, of course…” you’re still uneasy, but decide to trust your brother.

“I’ll get started on dinner, have a seat at the table,” says Vince before walking over to the large wood stove, which is already aflame.

“Can I help with anything?” you ask, still standing by the table.

“No, I got it. Been doing this for two years. I can handle it. You’re the guest of honor, you just sit back, relax and let your brother take care of you.”

While your brother prepares dinner for the two of you, you make small talk, getting him caught up on the two years worth of stuff he missed. You told him about Mark and André, told him that your horrendous grandfather finally passed away a year ago; you had caught a smirk on Vince’s face before he turned his attention back to making dinner. Once dinner is finished, he sets both plates down at the table and the two of you dig in.

“Earlier you had said Lord Saddler,” you begin, taking a bite of food before continuing, “Vince… are you sure this isn’t a cult?”

Your brother bursts out laughing, reaching over to put his hand on yours to comfort you, “Lord Osmund Saddler is the patriarch of Los Iluminados and the speaker for the Holy Body. I’m not held here against my will. I promise you with every fiber of my being, this isn’t a cult, Sis.”

“I’m sorry I just… I may have watched a bunch of documentaries before coming here on cults and I just want what’s best for you, that’s all.”

Vince smiles, “Don’t worry, no one is going to drink any Kool Aid here.”

“Vince, that’s terrible!” you playfully smack him, “also it wasn’t even Kool Aid!”

You can’t help but laugh, slowly letting your mind be at ease. It’s clear your brother is happy and healthy here in this village. Before you can continue your conversation with Vince, you hear the chime of a church bell in the distance and you watch as your brother immediately stands up.

“What’s that all about?” you ask, slowly standing up. 

“That is the sound of evening service. Come! I’d love for you to see one of Father Méndez’s services.”

Taking your hand, Vince unblocks the door and takes you outside. You see all the villages are filling into the large brick building you had seen Leon standing in front of earlier.

“That’s the meeting house, we have to pass through it to get to the church,” he explains to you as he leads you to follow the other villagers inside the building. 

Upon walking in there is a large room, shelves of food and supplies lining the walls. In the back of the room was a large painting of a robed man; not Leon, but someone else, Vince notices you staring at the painting.

“That is our Lord Saddler. Hopefully you’ll get to meet him during your visit; he’s a wonderful patriarch, I think you’ll like him.”

There is something about the painting that unsettles you, but you can’t put your finger on it; nor do you have time to because before you know it, Vince is leading you into the adjacent room. This room has a large table lined with chairs on both sides. You both proceed around the table exiting out of the door on the other side with the other villagers. The door takes you out to a winding path which opens up to a cemetery with the church sitting just at the top of the hill.

You and your brother make your way up the hill, following the rest of the villagers into the church where you and your brother sit in one of the pews in the middle. There is an extremely tall man standing at the altar, wearing a black leather trench coat and a large brim hat. His dark beard has subtle white hairs, indicating to you that he’s much older than you and your brother. In fact, now that you think about it, you realize you and your brother are probably the youngest ones in the church.

Behind the imposing man is a large stained glass window decorated with red, blue, green and white. The white glass makes a pattern. You’re not sure what to make of it; it’s almost like a crude insect-like cross with four appendage-like parts extended out with a tail pointing downwards. Once everyone is seated in the pews, the man at the altar addresses the villagers.

“My brothers and sisters,” the man begins, his Hispanic accent thick, “before we begin tonight’s sermon, I wanted to welcome the visitor that Vincent has brought to visit our village.” The man gestures one of his hands towards us, “if you would do the honors, Vincent.”

Your brother stands up, “Gracias, Father Méndez. This is my younger sister,” he says before telling everyone your name, “she’ll be staying with me for a while, we haven’t seen each other since I first came here. I hope you all can join me in showing her what makes Los Iluminados a special community.”

The other villagers clap softly as Vince sits back down. After that, Father Méndez begins the service, which is in Spanish, so you strained your brain to try to pick up bits and pieces of what he’s saying. This doesn’t last long, however as your eye catches movement in the darkness in the back of the church. You feel your heart skip; it’s Leon again, his azure gaze once again locked on you. His expression is cold and emotionless, but there is no doubt in your mind that he is staring at you. 

As if sensing your unease, your brother nudges you with his elbow and whispers, “what’s wrong?”

“It’s Leon again…” you reply, nodding your head in Leon’s direction.

Vince’s gaze follows yours, spotting Leon staring at you from the back of the church. Vince lets out a soft sigh.

“I’ll talk to Father Méndez after the service.”

For the rest of the service, you steal glances towards the back of the church, where Leon remains, still staring at you. At the end of the service, however, when you look back, Leon is finally gone, much to your relief. 

Father Méndez’s booming voice draws your attention back to him, “¡Gloria a Las Plagas!”

“¡Gloria a Las Plagas!” the villagers, including Vince, repeat back.

Gloria a Las… Plagas? you think to yourself, glory to the… plague? Plagues? Pests? What? That makes no sense…

Before you can think it over further, your brother stands up abruptly, pulling you up with him.

“Pablo,” Vince says as he approaches another villager, “¿Puedes llevar a mi hermana de regreso a mi casa? Tengo que hablar con el padre Méndez.”

The man nods, “sí, claro.”

Vince turns his attention back to you, “Pablo here is going to take you back to my house while I talk to Father Méndez about Leon, ok? I won’t be long.”

“Alright, thanks Vince,” you reply as Pablo gently takes you by your upper arm, leading you out of the church.

You turn back, watching your brother approach Father Méndez before the church doors close behind you.

“Vincent,” Méndez begins as Vince approaches him, “what can I do for you, my brother?”

“It’s about Leon,” Vince says, crossing his arms, “I want him to leave my sister alone.”

“What do you mean? You do remember what you agreed to, no?” Méndez presses straightening his posture.

“I do remember, but he is scaring her. All he’s done since she got here is stare at her.”

“And? Are you saying you’re defying the will of Lord Saddler?”

“No, of course not!” Vince exclaims before lowering his voice, “but if we want any chance of her staying in Los Iluminados, he needs to chill out with the staring, ok? Is that too much to ask, Father?”

Méndez brings a hand to his beard, stroking it as he contemplates Vince’s request. After a few moments, he gently nods, “fine. I will speak with Lord Saddler on this.”

“Thank you, Father.”

She is perfect.

Leon stands at the end of the bed that you’re sleeping in, completely oblivious to his presence. Bringing his hands up, he lowers the hood of his cloak. The exposed skin on his neck and face are completely covered in inky black veins and seem to pulse under his skin. He gently crawls onto the bed, being careful not to wake you as he cages you with his body.

Leaning down so that his nose is nearly pressed against the side of your neck, he breathes in your scent deeply, opening his mouth slightly to lick his sharpened incisors with his tongue. He moves away from your neck, staring down at you as he watches your chest rise and fall gently as you slumber. Unable to help himself, he leans back down, his lips hovering above yours when he hears the unmistakable sound of the front door opening downstairs.

His head snaps towards the stairs, crawling off your bed with the grace and stealth of a panther. He brings his hood back up over his head, walking silently over to the open window at the head of the stairs where he had let himself in, climbing out and shutting the window carefully behind him, not leaving a single trace that he was even there.

[hqbaby]

two — are you in?

mess it up — gojo x reader & sukuna x reader

⁀➴ when i told you i’m fine, you were lied to. when the love of your life falls for someone else, you decide to move on—by pretending to date your best friend, the campus fuckboy.

previous — masterlist — next

word count. 1.8k content. profanity, alcohol consumption, sukuna being gross, drunken shenanigans

In your defense, you’re quite drunk. Not much of a defense, you know, but it still counts for something, right? Why else would you be at this party, standing in front of your ex, with your best friend at your side claiming that he’s now your boyfriend?

That’s right. Sukuna, catching you in a moment of weakness, dragged you with him to a party you had no intentions of going to. Sure, if you were feeling any better, not dealing with a major heartbreak, you’d go to the party with him, no questions asked. But you aren’t feeling better, you are heartbroken, and you don’t want to be here.

But who can say no to Sukuna?

You couldn’t say no to him when he forced you to get dressed—“No, you’re not wearing those pants, they’re hideous. Try this dress.”—you couldn’t say no to him when he pulled you to his car—“No, I do not have a used condom in my backseat.”—you couldn’t say no to him when he offered you a bottle of vodka—“Don’t get all prim and proper on me now.”—and you definitely don’t say no when you get stuck in an awkward encounter with your ex and Sukuna asks, “We were just waiting to get together, right?”

The three of you are in the kitchen. There’s a couple about to do it on the counter beside you, but you pay them no mind. You’re standing by the fridge with a stale beer in your hand and Sukuna is right beside you, his arm draped over his shoulder as he stares down Satoru who you’re pretty sure is going to pop a vein in his forehead.

“Really?” he asks, looking at you and pointedly not looking at Sukuna. “You’re together now?”

It’s Sukuna who answers for you. “Yeah, two weeks going strong.”

If he didn’t have such a death grip on you, you’re sure you would have kicked him in the crotch by now. Alas, there’s nowhere to go, no way to move, not with the way your best friend is clutching you to his side.

Satoru glares at him. “I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to her.”

When he looks back at you, you can feel Sukuna’s grip get tighter. It’s something like twin telepathy, the way you’re able to decipher what he means just by a simple squeeze. Without even looking at him, you already see the snarl on his face. You can hear him screaming, This is your one chance to make him feel bad. Don’t be an idiot.

The kitchen door opens and you catch a glimpse of the party outside. It’s bedlam out there, that’s why you and Sukuna sequestered yourselves to the kitchen in the first place. Yet, despite all the chaos, you manage to see her.

The girl who, when you walked into the party, was stitched to Satoru’s side. Who had her tongue down his throat. Who he held by the waist, the same way he held you not too long ago.

The door closes, the guy who opened it in the first place probably realizing that the room is in fact not the bathroom, leaving you alone—save for the couple coupling in the corner—with Satoru and Sukuna and the terrible tension that’s managed to descend upon your little anomalous group.

You glance at Sukuna. He looks at you expectantly, an eyebrow raised. Are you going to do it? he asks.

You turn to Satoru. He’s ready to laugh in your friend’s face, already anticipating your denial of this whole charade. I know he’s lying, he says. Like you could ever be with him.

The words fly out of your mouth before you even realize it. It’s like something has taken over your body, an unbearable force, an innate sense of pettiness that you can’t quite control.

Be a big girl, it tells you. Grow up. And pretend to date your friend.

“We’re together,” you say. Your arm finds its way around Sukuna’s middle and you pull him closer to you as you smile. It’s wicked and charming and honestly doesn’t feel like you, but you do it. “Is that a problem?”

You spy the tiniest clench of Satoru’s jaw. Imperceptible to anyone else but you, the girl who has loved him for a whole year and will probably love him for the rest of your life. You almost want to break right then and there and deny what you’ve just said. You don’t know why you said it. It must be the booze. Satoru, please come back.

But you don’t. You’re a lot of things, but you are not weak. And you’re definitely not going to break now. Definitely not over him.

“Yeah,” Sukuna chimes in. You don’t even need to look at him to know that he’s got a satisfied smirk on his face. “Is that a problem, man?”

Satoru gives you one last look, one last chance to take it back, and when you don’t he turns to Sukuna, your apparent boyfriend.

“Nah,” he says. His voice is so cold it startles you. Has he ever sounded this terrifying before? “Goodluck.” Even if he isn’t looking at you, you know that you’re the one he’s talking to. “You’ll need it.”

He leaves the room and you immediately push yourself away from Sukuna.

“What the fuck was that?” you hiss. “Don’t fucking laugh!”

He doubles over, holding up a finger to signal that he needs a minute because, god, this is so ridiculous, isn’t it?

“Your fucking face!” He cackles, turning his finger to point at you now. “You looked so shocked!”

You step forward and bite his finger. Just chomp. It seems like the right thing to do in the moment.

“Kinky.”

You jump away and spit on the ground.

“Why did you do that?” you demand, stepping forward to attack Sukuna. You don’t know if you want to punch him or kick him, but you have to do something. And because you’ve been so lucky tonight, the bottle of vodka that you polished off a few minutes ago, hits you right then and there and you stumble.

Sukuna catches you by the wrist and his laughter only gets louder. “You’re kinda pathetic, you know?”

You push him away and steady yourself on the kitchen counter. “Why’d you tell him that?” you ask, closing your eyes as you try to stay upright. “He’s gonna think I’m stupid.”

“Stupid how?” he prods. “Because you’re dating me?”

Your eyes shoot open and you scowl at him. “I’m not dating you,” you say lowly. “And I never will.”

“Way to make a guy swoon.”

You give into your drunken stupor and sit down on the floor. You try not to think about the fact that it feels sticky beneath your thighs and try harder not to think of the possibility that you’re not sitting in spilled alcohol but something much more vile.

“Hey.” And he’s sitting beside you now. “Sorry, alright? But that guy had some nerve making out with his new bimbo for all the world to see.”

“Don’t call her a bimbo, that’s offensive,” you chide. You fold your legs and pull them to your chest, allowing your head to rest on your knees. “And he’s allowed to do that. It wasn’t his fault.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I mean,” you say slowly, “I broke up with him.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“No, I’m not.”

Sukuna chortles. “Good for you, tiger,” he says. “The guy’s dead weight anyway.”

You turn your head over to look at him. “Well, now he probably thinks I broke up with him to be with you.” You slam a fist on his leg, ignoring him when he yelps. “That’s a really terrible reason to break up with someone, dude.”

“You wound me,” he says. “I’m not that bad.”

“You have at least five girls on speed dial for when you wanna get it wet.”

“I have needs. Sue me.”

You groan and shake your head. “What am I gonna do?” you ask. “I just lied to my ex and told him I have a boyfriend that I do not have. How much more pathetic can I be?”

You feel his hand reach over to the top of your head. And he… pats it.

“I guess I have to be your boyfriend then.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Oh, sure, because you’re such boyfriend material.”

He raises a brow. “What?” he asks. “You think I can’t do it?”

It’s your turn to laugh now. “Are you serious? ‘Kuna, you wouldn’t know commitment if it shot you in the face.”

“I resent that,” he tells you. He turns his body towards you and grins. “Come on, how bad could it be?”

“Seriously?” you laugh. “God, it’s fine. I mean, I’ll figure something out. No need to commit to the bit.”

The look he gives you is so earnest, it almost scares you. “I can be your boyfriend,” he tells you firmly. “Let me do this for you.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“I’m not.”

You’re waiting for him to crack, to start laughing at you again, to say, “Did you seriously think I was gonna pretend to be your boyfriend? Grow up, bro!”

You wait.

And wait.

And wait.

And, “You’re not joking.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not,” he tells you. “It’ll be fun! A little experiment. I’m so down, tiger.”

“You,” you point at him, “want to be my pretend boyfriend.”

Without hesitation, “Yes.”

“I don’t get it.”

Sukuna beams at you, touching your hand with his. “We’ll pretend to be together for like a month, so Satoru doesn’t think you’re a loser who can’t move on like he has,” he says, laying out the plan like he’s already thought it over in his head. Screw him for being able to think properly while intoxicated. “Then, we break up. And all the girls who have been avoiding me because they don’t think I’m relationship material will come running and I get my happily-ever-after. It’s a win-win!”

You gape at him. “You’re gonna pretend to date me so you can get more girls?”

He nods enthusiastically. “It’s the perfect plan.”

“You’re a pig,” you tell him. “You’re like the biggest pig ever.”

“That’s no way to talk to your fake boyfriend,” he says. “Plus, I’ll also be abstinent the whole time we’re—” he uses air quotes, “—‘together.’ And you know what they say, sex is always better when you’ve been deprived for a while.”

“I am so telling on you to your mother.”

He nudges your shoulder. “This is a one-time offer, tiger,” he tells you. “So? Are you in?”

You think about the many, many ways this whole situation could go wrong. You think about the fact that Sukuna has no self-control whatsoever. You think about the fact that your friends will not like this plan at all. You think about the fact that you’re still very much heartbroken, unable to put yourself through this much stress right now.

Then, you think about Satoru kissing that girl. You think about your heart splintering into a million pieces. You think about that day, at the steps of the science building, when you realized what you had to do.

Are you in?

“Okay,” you say. “Let’s do it.”

notes. and so it begins ;) on another note, i'm actively ignoring the leaks like i KNOW what's happening but i'm just gonna plead ignorance

[homunculus-argument]

hey there! this sounds like a bit of a silly question, but as a trans guy, you’re one of the few trans people i’ve been following almost since i joined tumblr, so based on your other anon ask and answer i figured i’d pop in and ask if you have any advice? if you want to answer, ofc :) — i foresee this being a bit long, so i totally get if not

so i’m also a trans guy, but i haven’t been able to take any steps toward medical transitioning before since i live with my parents. but i’ll move out soon, and i still can’t decide if i should take any of these steps even once i do. i’ve never felt like i particularly wanted to medically transition (i don’t really care about how my body looks + i’ve never really cared about changing any of it), but i would like to be seen a guy — i don’t mind if not so by strangers, but maybe so by like, my friends. but i can’t help but feel like i’d be laughed at for wanting that — i’m not naturally androgynous or masculine looking to others and i have never been mistaken for a guy, because i have really long hair, d cups, and curves. and without medically transitioning, i also kinda feel like i’m… betraying the trans community, since i’m not really putting the effort into my transition and so i’m just ‘pretending’, even though i do know i’m not.

so my question would be: as a trans person who has transitioned, socially and medically, do you think people are more understanding than i think they are currently? do you know of any trans people who don’t want to medically transition, and do you think it’s possible to live fulfilled that way? or even: do you think it would be easier for someone like me to just live a lie? i usually tell people i’m a lesbian, because they definitely would not look at me and assume ‘straight guy’, but also, as a trans person who doesn’t want to medically transition, i’m just always worried that i won’t be taken seriously. i feel like your experience of being trans and probably interacting with the community is much more than mine, which is why i ask this last one — i would try being open myself, but again, i’m still living with my parents unfortunately.

I'll be honest I don't actually really know much "community" save for former art school classmates. I've only known one trans person irl who chose not to medically transition - at the time, Finland's trans law was still shitty and required sterilisation for legal sex change, and all that. She didn't want kids or anything, but refused to engage in the process as her own little personal civilian protest. I don't want to paint some caricature picture of some Sharp Dommy Tall Scary Goth Trans Anarchist, but I was deeply impressed by the way she didn't do a single thing to try to seem smaller, softer, or in any way submissive or docile to be ~feminine~ the right, socially accepted way.

She wasn't just taller than most men but usually the tallest person in the room, and she stood out in a crowd of cis women like a crane in a chicken coop - a bird just as much as they are, but a different kind of bird. And I remember thinking that I could never do that, being so unflinching and unhesitant about standing out in the crowd because assimilating and muting yourself is beneath your dignity.

Honestly, I don't know what to tell you about being openly trans without transitioning medically, save for that it takes more guts than being able to just go stealth. I had physical dysphoria about the way my body was, and was desperate to get top surgery just for the sake of my own physical comfort, and I like the convenient anonymity of being able to just be Just Some Guy who doesn't attract anyone's interest or curiosity.

It's a smart move to not come out to your parents before you're out of their house and not relying on them for anything - this is something everyone should use their own judgement for, but I stress it to every queer kid to not take the risk if there's any chance that they'll react poorly while they still have power over you. But living your whole life in the closet - "living a lie" is a good way to put it - will corrode you from the inside.

It's better to live in peace with yourself and against the world, than in peace with the world against yourself. There is absolutely nothing in your power that you could do to change the minds of people who have already decided that they don't respect you, and if they try telling you that they would, if you only met their approved criteria, they are lying. That's bait they're dangling in front of you, and there's no "earning" the respect of such people.

Stay true to yourself and be good to people, and you'll have the respect of people who are capable of respecting you. Don't waste your time and energy on people who won't respect you, every thought and effort you spare them is wasted on them.

[melobin]

behind the screen 𐙚 sungchan smau #33

✧ camgirl reader x roommate sungchan

✧ synopsis. in which sungchan discovers his favorite camgirl also happens to be his roommate

✧ wc.

✧ warnings. half written, half smau. no warnings

behind the screen masterlist

“what exactly are you doing her-“ sungchan almost ran past chaewon’s desk as he entered the office building.

“i’ll explain everything to y/n later, i promise” the girl was left bewildered as sungchan completely brushed off her question, ignoring her and speed walking toward the elevator. she watched in curiosity as he spam pressed the button in order to call the lift and stood there impatiently as he waited for it to arrive.

chaewon simply turned back to her computer, informing her boss of the boy’s arrival before looking at her phone. for a few moments she debated on whether she should pick it up and message you, letting you know that sungchan was there but she opted out of it. if he had an explanation then she was sure it would be better for him to talk to you himself.

sungchan’s ride in the elevator had him stressed out. he stood staring at his reflection in the mirrored doors, he tried to make himself seem as calm as possible but it wasn’t possible. he prayed he wouldn’t have bump into anyone else before getting to the office but it seemed as if everyone was working overtime tonight.

“why am i not surprised you’re here” sungchan found wonbin only a few steps away from his destination “and to see the boss too? taking over so soon?”

“look wonbin i’ll explain everything to y/n later, i promise” within seconds he was past the boy and knocking on the door of the office, taking a deep breath before opening it and shutting it behind him.

“sungchan! take a seat” jaemin motioned for him to sit on the chair on the opposite side of his desk, he smiled at the boy as he sat.

“thank you for seeing me so soon”

“no need to thank me, you’re like family” he picked up the glass in front of him before speaking again “i’m happy to hear you’re back with my somi too”

“that’s actually what i wanted to talk to you about, sir, i’m not sure what your daughter has told you but we’re not together” jaemin narrowed his eyes at the boy, placing his glass down as he straightened his back “nor am i willing to partake in taking over the company”

“right, that was something i wanted to discuss with you. it is something i’ve thought of and discussed with my children and other affiliates before but i had never mentioned it to you, i’m sure head a surprise to here”

“a little”

“i never wanted such a matter to become so public without having discussed it with you first, i never would have released that type of information without having a definite answer to whether you wanted to or not and frankly, it seems whoever has done this is attempting to make a mockery of our company name and i will not be standing for it”

“i appreciate that a lot” sungchan sighed as he leaned back in his chair

“something else bothering you?”

“everything that’s happened, and the article, has caused a lot of stress between me and a girl i really like” sungchan felt as if he was having a war in his mind, the idea of telling your boss and somi’s father about what happened was plaguing him and he wasn’t sure what would happen if he did mention it. “i’m worried about the true impact that it had”

“i can assure you sungchan, i will find out who leaked this information and i will be dealing with them. i promise you whoever it will have a very strong defamation case against them” there was hesitance in sungchan’s mind, if somi was the one to make these claims then he couldn’t imagine that her father would act against her “i’ll contact business insider and discuss it all with mr lee tomorrow” sungchan smiled weakly at the older man, bowing his head in respect before standing up.

“i appreciate this a lot sir” sungchan stood up, slowly making his au to the door to exit before he paused. his hand rested gently on the handle before he turned around again.

“is something wrong?”

“sir your daughter is trying to blackmail me” sungchan watched the older man’s eyes widen as he spoke, he stood up before motioning for sungchan to take a seat again, sungchan stayed by the door “i can imagine that soon she’ll be revealing some things about y/n that may make you see her in a different light, but i just ask that you give her the benefit of the doubt with this. i can promise you from the bottom of my heart here that y/n is not the villain that somi is trying to paint her out to be” he took a deep breath before leaving the room, not waiting to hear what jaemin had to say in response.

sungchan had one more thing to do, see you. by the time he reached the reception desk downstairs chaewon had gone, the sky had darkened and the moon was shining through the windows. looking at the time he knew your stream would have ended by now and he could only pray you were still awake. he knew he could tell you in the morning but it felt urgent, sungchan was in a rush to tell you before the anyone else could. before she could.

reaching home felt terrifying for sungchan, he could only pray that you were awake by the time he opened the door. you were. he could see the subtle glow from the tv shine in the living room, he sucked in a deep breath as he saw you sat on the sofa, phone in hand, oblivious to the world around you. you were only alerted of his presence when he walked a little further into the room.

“hi”

“hi” he gave you a small smile as he sat down next to you, there was a noticeable gap between the two of you.

“how are yo-“

“i’m sorry” sungchan interrupted you, taking his time to let out a deep breath and wipe the sweat off of his hands onto his trousers. you didn’t say anything back to him, simply laying your phone on the arm of the chair and leaning back to listen to him talk. “a lot happened in the space of a week and i don’t even know where to begin i just want you to know i’m sorry”

“start from the beginning”

“somi came to me on day last week, she was distressed about something and she said it was because she found something out about you and she was worried about me because of it” sungchan watched as anxiety took over your face, your eyes widened and your lips parted but you didn’t say a thing. he instantly felt guilty that he never told you right away “someone showed her your cam account”

“oh”

“i should’ve told you right away but she started talking about telling people an-“

“and that i was just using you for my own benefit and i would’ve dropped you when i was done? like you said?” sungchan felt a slight pang in his heart when you spoke, a bad taste resting on his tongue as he thought back to what was said.

“yeah” you frowned a little, remembering the conversation the two of you had in the bathroom “i really am sorry for even thinking about doubting you, i know you’d never do anything like that but in the moment i just panicked i guess” you nodded and let him continue, not feeling the urge to comment yet “she told me that she had enough on you to tell everyone and expose you for what you’ve been doing and in the moment i thought the best thing would be the do what she asks instead of letting her hurt you again so i cancelled on you that night because she told me i had to go to her dad’s event with her and i felt so fucking had the whole time and when i saw you there all i felt was guilt” you didn’t say anything for a while, instead you let his words sit for a while.

sungchan was taken by surprise when you wrapped your arms around him, your head burying itself in the crook of his neck as you closed your eyes and breathed deeply. he was quick to wrap his arms around your waist, letting you snuggle into him as whilst he pressed his nose against your hair. despite the severity of the situation, he let himself relax in the moment, breathing in deeply and letting the smell of you take over his senses. “i should have told you”

“i get why you didn’t” you pulled back, eyes glazed over with tears as you looked at him “what about the article though?”

“i had no fucking idea about that i swear, i went and said mr jeon before i came here to clarify i had no idea about any of it, that i wasn’t dating somi and that i have nothing to do with the company”

“does he know who said it all?”

“no but he’s going to find out” he sucked in a breath and looked at you, breathing out deeply “when somi finds out about me doing this she’s probably going to do something drastic you know that right” you nodded, shrugging your shoulders as your fingers tangled through the bottom of his hair.

“i’ll get through it, if i get fired i’ll live. i make more than enough from streaming” sungchan laughed a little at your reception, surprised you were so calm.

“you don’t care?”

“i care but i had a feeling it would happen one day, i can take it sungchan. i really appreciate you trying to protect me but i’m okay” he smiled at you before he placed his fingers under your chin. opting to ignoring the chiming of his phone as he leaned in and kissed you softl.

behind the screen tag list

tag list. @midmourn n @svnghan @strayhowls s @minnieslover @shortnstupid @palchokitty @ilovechanhee @hikict @wccycc @revehosh @teddywook @hoonieq @glaieuls @kvstjwonnie @starrypen n @thinkabt-vivi @kyusqult @nanascupid @professsionalsimp p @beomgri @xenkimmie @dinosluver @jaehmarks s @hellonikitty @wolfiecaro @snoopyana @rosesfortaro @zhangyixingxing1 @hrts4tyun @forrds @mamathefifth @wonbinkisser @alwayswook @boogyu @haohoonz @wheatrice e @cvpidxo @soobsfairy444 @nadrs @wonbinfiles @tsumusakusa @chichiuu @bbgmingyu @outrologist @lilriswife4life @https-yeonjun @emoseob @riizenextdoor @h3lluh @shiannprincess101 @ioveslgn @iselltulips @w0nslvr @vernonburger @boopdidoo @planethyuka @joshuawifey @dearmyouth @bludzk1llzyuzu @andb1ue @reenfluffmarshmallow @jnkthy @luh @au-ghosttype

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

NSFW ASK 🔞

Readers have been warned.

Hello Chris, I am a massive thigh lover. Can I ask for Eula, Shenhe, and Rapi (and any other thick thighs ladies if you want) basically squeezing S/O's head in between their thighs. You can make this full on nsfw or make it funny up to you as long as thighs are appreciated.

(Genshin Impact/GoV: Nikke) Eula, Shenhe, and Rapi squeezing their S/O's head in their thighs

Mild NSF-W Warning

More humorous than anything, but also based taste.

Eula at first is completely flabbergasted.

(Eula) "You want to what?"

S/O had some nerve to ask such a thing, her vengeance will surely be swift and merciless!

If they wanted their head in her thighs, oh they'd get it alright!

(Eula) ...Wait, they'd probably like that, wouldn't they...?

Eula sighs as her face rapidly begins to heat up, averting her gaze.

(Eula) "...Fine, I will allow it this once. But do not think my indulgence is a sign of acceptance!"

S/O seemed very satisfied once their head was in between her legs, resting on her lap as she wanted to crush them out of sheer embarassment.

Well...at least they had eyes for quality thighs.

(Eula) What am I even thinking?!

Shenhe just nods without a single ounce of hesitation in her voice or actions.

(Shenhe) "You may."

Shenhe opens her legs and lets the back of S/O's head rest in her legs as she closes it.

She is aware at least of her strength and does not unleash it (much to S/O's disappointment)

While she has not had contact with human civilization, she can definitely tell that this isn't something you normally do.

But whatever, this was in private, and it's not like it bothered her any.

She lets her hand run across their hair, very content.

(Shenhe) "Do you feel good?...Alright. Please let me know if you need anything else."

Rapi sighs upon hearing their request.

Why in god's name did S/O want their head between a Nikke?

No, she already knew the answer to that question.

Rapi locks the door behind her to ensure no one could misinterpret was happening.

This was just a strange way to cuddle, nothing more!

(Rapi) "...Please do not speak of this to the Commander, and especially Anis..."

She takes off the equipment on her legs for S/O to be comfortable, but she can't help but fidget and constantly adjust her legs.

(Rapi) "Um...am I...doing this right?"

Truthfully, Rapi could be doing it entirely wrong, and S/O would still be happy.

[marlynnofmany]

Paws in a Circle

There’s a poster I saw once, back on Earth, that had a silhouette of a bear with deer antlers, and it was labeled “Beer.” I had forgotten about it completely until I met our newest client, who by that logic was definitely a beer.

I’d already done my part of the interaction by carrying out one of the heavier boxes, so while the captain went over the delivery fees with her, I was free to stare politely and decide which other Earth animals she resembled. (Fur coloring more like a red fox, and semi-upright posture that was less bear and more extinct giant ground sloth.)

I was so focused on watching the client handle the datapad with her giant paws that I completely missed it when the hovercar behind her sprung a fuel leak.

Paint saw it, though. “Oh! Your car!” she yelped, pointing. “I’ll get Mimi!” She was off in a flash of orange scales, back into the ship in search of our mechanic.

The client growled a swear word that didn’t translate, shoved the datapad back at Captain Sunlight, then galloped over to her car. While I expected her to throw open the hood in search of the part that was leaking, she instead made a beeline for the back seat.

When she threw open that door, I saw why.

“Kids! Out of the car! It’s not safe!”

A half dozen bundles of spotted yellow fur tumbled out, making distressed noises that didn’t need translating. They had tiny little antler buds and very big eyes.

Captain Sunlight was busy talking to someone through her communicator, probably Mimi. I stood there uselessly by the packages. What did I know about fuel leaks? Nothing helpful. I knew the puddle was growing by the second, and was probably flammable, but that was about it. And this backwater spaceport barely had an information booth, much less a local response team.

The client ushered her cubs over to where we stood just as Mimi and Paint returned. Blip and Blop followed with a big toolbox carried between them. Mimi was already taking charge and waving tentacles about, talking to the captain about the lack of reliable repair shops this far in the boonies, telling Blip and Blop how best to use their muscles in opening up the engine, and reassuring the customer that this was fine, actually, that model hovercar had a known issue with the fuel lines.

When the client dithered over minding her cubs and being present for the repairs, Captain Sunlight pointed a scaly yellow hand at me. “Our human can keep your little ones entertained. Bring them over here.”

“Uh,” I said.

Captain Sunlight looked up at me, still talking to the client. “She has extensive experience in tending to small furry creatures.”

I wanted to say that veterinarian training and childcare were two very different things, but I wasn’t about to make the captain look bad. And knowing Mimi, this would be quick.

The client said, “Thank you. Kids, you need to stay over here, okay? Next to these boxes, but don’t touch. Listen to the tall one. I’ll be right there helping fix the car.”

The tiny-voiced replies were recognizable words in the most common trade language, though their pronunciation made me clock them at around three or four years old in human years. They were very cute.

And they were suddenly my responsibility, all looking up at me like spotted teddy bears while the rest of the adults fretted about the car.

The questions were immediate.

“What are you?”

“Where’s your fur?”

“Did you lose it because you ate the wrong thing? Mommy says we have to eat our vi’mins so our fur doesn’t fall out.”

“Is this instead of fur?”

I freed the tiny paws tugging at my pants. “I’m not supposed to have fur. I’m a human. And yes, I wear clothes to keep me warm instead.”

“It looks funny.”

“Do you have to brush it?”

“Do you know any games?”

I brightened at that. “Games! Sure, I know some games.” I wracked my brain for something that would keep them entertained without causing new problems. “What kind of games do you like to play?”

They all answered at once in an avalanche of words, bouncing around in excitement, with a couple grabbing each other’s fur to keep from falling over. I couldn’t make out a thing they were saying. But I had the beginning of an idea.

“Do you like dancing in a circle?” I asked.

They had no idea what I was talking about, and possibly no understanding of basic shapes yet. Three of them spun in place while the others waved their arms.

“First you stand in a circle, like this,” I said, sketching out the shape in midair. “Here. You stand here, then you there…” With some gentle nudging — they were so soft — I soon had them arranged in something like a circle. “Now hold hands with the person next to you.”

I was a little concerned that their paws weren’t suited to this, since they had long blunt claws already and didn’t look very dexterous, but they managed. With lots of giggling and hopping in place.

“Now everybody step to the side, in this direction.” I ushered them into a clockwise rotation, nice and slow (and giggling), with no risk of any little fluffy heads bonking onto the spaceship landing pad. It took them a second, then they got the rhythm without tripping over their own feet.

Then they unanimously spun faster, hopping and laughing with squeals and barks that were probably making more than one adult turn to stare. I don’t know; I kept my eyes on the littles. My arms were out and ready in case somebody stumbled and brought the whole circle crashing down.

But no one did. The half dozen youngsters wheeled and spun, bouncing with glee and showing no sign of stopping.

“That’s new,” rumbled a voice behind me. I tried not to flinch when I looked up at the mama bear. Beer. Whatever. She asked, “Is that an activity from your planet?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Pretty basic, and it seemed good for kids.”

The antlered head nodded. “Looks like valuable practice at coordination, as well as teamwork. There are a few adults I know who could benefit from that.”

Images flashed through my head of huge antlered bear aliens doing ring-around-the-rosie as a corporate teambuilding exercise. And professional athletes trying to improve their footwork. “Yeah, they probably could. And it’s a fun bit of community bonding time.”

Mama Bear nodded. “Okay children, the car is fixed,” she announced. “Time to go home.”

The cubs made the exact same disappointed noises as human kids. Even when their mother waded in and picked them up one by one to urge them towards the car, they didn’t want to stop playing. They grabbed hands in pairs and spun off that way, even faster than before. I did have to catch one fuzzy little teddy toddler, who just laughed about it and hopped around some more.

Peripheral vision told me the rest of the crew was helping move the packages into the hovercar’s storage space and mop up the last of the fuel. Overheard conversation told me that the good captain had tactfully gotten us a bonus payment for the mechanical assistance. I couldn’t tell if childcare was part of that, and I didn’t ask. I just focused on herding the excitable youngsters back to their car, where thankfully they all knew how to get into the safety harnesses without help.

Mama Bear closed the door. “Thank you for everything,” she said, directing that at me as well as Captain Sunlight. “I will recommend your services highly to anyone who asks. And we will probably need more deliveries soon, once we get the new house set up, so perhaps we will see you again!”

Captain Sunlight nodded. “Perhaps so. It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

I waved goodbye to the kids, who had found the button to open the window and were just as excitable as ever. “See you later! Maybe next time I can teach you the Hokey Pokey. That’s big on my planet.”

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[vizslasaber]

FRIENDLY FIRE ──── i.

summary: after landing on the umbaran surface, you butt heads with your fellow general—but get along swimmingly with your temporary clone captain.

pairing: captain rex x female jedi!reader

word count: 3.9k

warnings: combat/action, mentions of injury + death, krell being a bitch, reader with a name instead of y/n because i hate it

a/n: it’s back!!! previously i posted this series on my main, @brrmian, but i changed that blog’s username and have mostly shifted over to fanart and general SW content. i’ve decided to dedicate this new side blog’s content entirely to fic writing under my old username, posting reader insert on here and everything else on ao3! this fic will be updated sparsely but definitely more often than it was on my main. i’ve changed a few things regarding the plot of this series specifically, and i like it a lot more now!!

series masterlist | click here to add or remove yourself from the taglist!

You hadn’t wanted to leave the Temple behind—you still don’t, even lightyears away from the Core.

When the Jedi Council had first made you aware of the plan to have you and a Master you’d never met capture an Umbaran airbase with troops that were not your own, you had put up something of a fight. What right, you demanded, did the Chancellor have the right to simply pull a Jedi from their sacred duty for a trivial air-to-ground assault?

The Council had either not wanted to answer this question or had not known how to, so now you stand on a transport gunship with two clone troopers and an intimidatingly tall Besalisk Jedi Master by the name of Pong Krell. Both of you are holding onto the grab handles hanging from the ceiling; you’re gripping the handle so tightly your knuckles are slightly pale, but Krell looks perfectly steady.

Of course he is, you think bitterly. He has four arms.

The atmosphere of Umbara is breathable but strangely thick—fog seeps through the blast door openings, and the lights inside the gunship’s passenger bay seem to have dimmed. Your lightsabers bump against your hips and you wince slightly as sounds of frantic gunfire reach your ears.

This will be your first campaign.

You have seen death before, on missions as a Padawan before the war—but never on this scale, if the reports of your already-knighted friends from the Temple are anything to go by. You only hope that you will be assigned your own battalion soon, so you don’t have to go running around replacing wayward Generals.

It’s hard, standing at the side of an imposing Master, not to feel like a Padawan. The skin behind your right ear burns with the memory of the braid that had been there just last week, waiting to be sheared off as you prepared for your ascension to Knighthood.

While your battalion assignment is pending, Master Windu told you as you stood in the center of the Council Chamber, the Senate has requested that we send two Jedi Knights to replace Skywalker on Umbara.

Master Krell is already on-world, assisting Master Kenobi, but he will need another Jedi’s help if he and the 501st are to take the capital in Skywalker’s stead, Master Plo explained, his hologram flickering as he called in from some faraway world.

All due respect, Masters, you remember asking as you willed yourself not to tremble, but why me? I’ve never been anywhere near the front. I wouldn’t be much help.

Believe in your potential, we do, Master Yoda said. An opportunity for you to do good, the Force has given you.

And that, it was decided, was that.

Even now, after meditating on your anxiety for practically the entire journey through hyperspace, your nerves feel impossibly frayed. The transport jostles, but you only sway slightly, arm already holding onto an overhead handle for balance. There’s a shiny new military-issue commlink attached to your right vambrace. A morbid thought, of calling in a medevac for injured soldiers with this very communicator, crosses your mind—but you let it dissipate.

The gunship suddenly makes a sharp dive, and your stomach swoops—you must be about to land. You spare a glance at General Krell, who has now let go of the grab handles and has crossed all four of his arms over his chest. For a moment, you’re almost tempted to ask how he manages to stay so balanced while the ship is moving, but then the blast doors slide open and the gunship lands in shadowy darkness.

The first person you see is Anakin Skywalker. He’s around your age, maybe a bit younger—despite having been knighted several years earlier, as one of the first Padawan victims of the Jedi Military Integration Act. Your Master, ever traditional even when the Order began to stray from its centuries-old teachings, did her best to keep you apprenticed for as long as possible, but even that eventually proved futile.

In the end, you and Anakin are practically of the same age, and yet he has infinite more experience than you. Uncertainty wheedles its way into your chest and slips a pin into your lungs; you’re holding your breath as you follow Krell off the gunship.

Being far shorter than the Besalisk, you have to jump down. When you hit the ground, you shiver at the misty atmosphere, watching as bioluminescent specks of dust fly up underneath your boots.

As the two of you approach, you hear the troopers of the 501st legion mutter amongst themselves, but you push it aside and focus on the pleasantries.

“General Krell. General Neridian,” Anakin says, smiling graciously. “My thanks for the air support.”

“Indeed, General Skywalker,” Krell replies, bowing politely. “The locals have proven to be more resourceful than we anticipated.”

“We managed to get here in one piece, though,” you add jokingly, and Anakin smirks, his eyes twinkling. You gesture to the troopers unloading the gunship behind you. “And we brought ration resupplies.”

Anakin nods appreciatively, then raises one eyebrow after a moment, looking slightly confused. “But—that’s not the reason for your visit.”

“No,” Krell admits. “The Council has ordered you back to Coruscant, effective immediately.”

“What?” Skywalker demands. “Wh-why?”

“The Chancellor...” you pause, searching for a word, before you settle on, “insisted that you return. The Council had no say on the matter.”

“That is all they would tell us,” Krell adds, though he doesn’t sound displeased.

“Well, I—I can’t just leave my men!” Anakin protests, and for the first time you notice the trooper standing at attention beside him.

He’s identical to all the clones you’ve met, of course, except for one detail—his hair is blond. You wonder vaguely if it would be polite to ask him whether or not it’s natural as you survey his armor. The pauldron on his left shoulder indicates a position of command, but he carries a sense of individuality in the Force that, despite your inexperience with working with them, you’ve come to realize every clone has. His helmet is painted with a distinctly Mandalorian sigil, but it’s not one you recognize.

His gaze is pointed directly ahead; he makes no eye contact with you. Probably just as annoyed at the change of plans as Anakin is, you realize.

Krell moves to speak, jolting you from your thoughts. You recognize Anakin’s agitation, however, so you calmly move to intercept.

“The Council would not just leave your troopers to fend for themselves—not that they aren’t perfectly capable of doing so, of course,” you add, which merits the barest hint of a smile from the trooper standing beside Anakin. “It’s just… well, the Senate needs a Jedi to be at the head of every campaign, and I guess they figured subtracting one of you would mean—”

“—adding two other Jedi,” Anakin says with a snort of derision. “Yeah… sounds like the Senate. But you guys’ll probably get it done faster anyway.”

“Don’t worry about a thing, sir,” interjects the trooper, and Anakin looks to him. “We’ll have this city under control by the time you’re back.”

“Generals, this is Captain Rex, my first in command,” Anakin says fondly, and you see something like pride show itself in Rex’s eyes. “You won’t find a finer or more loyal trooper anywhere.”

“I don’t doubt it,” you affirm earnestly.

“Yes, that is good to hear,” Krell agrees, then places a large hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “I wish you well, Skywalker.”

Anakin simply nods at him, then stops beside you and says, “I hear you passed the Trials.”

You gesture to your hair, now void of a Padawan braid. “Apparently so,” you reply. “Funny, I didn’t think you were one to get swept into the rumour mill.”

A grin, boyish and bright, springs to Anakin’s face. “Nah, I’m always one for good gossip.” His expression turns softer, then, and he puts a hand on your shoulder. “Seriously, though… congratulations.”

“Thank you,” you say, but he’s already approaching the gunship and taking hold of one of the grab handles. The ship is off within seconds, and you can’t help but feel apprehensive as it flies away, up into the fog.

Taking a moment to gather yourself, you turn to Rex and offer a polite nod. He returns it, then says, “It is an honour to be serving with you, Generals.”

“The honour is all mine,” you return graciously, and Rex looks like he’s about to say something else, but stops when Krell begins to speak.

“I find it very interesting, Captain, that you are able to recognize the value of honour,” he begins, then—almost as an afterthought—adds, “for a clone.”

Silence.

Your eyebrows shoot up, and as Rex stares at Krell in shock, you feel your armored chest tighten—with frustration or shock, you don’t yet know.

“Stand at attention when I address you,” Krell snaps, turning to face the other troopers, and as Rex obliges, you narrow your eyes and step forward.

“Master Krell,” you start, your jaw tightening, “I do believe it would be far more... prudent to show respect to the soldiers who have so graciously agreed to undertake this mission with us.” You tilt your head questioningly, sending your ponytail swaying. “After all—we are the ones who just arrived.”

A ripple of white-hot anger moves through the Force with lightning speed, but it’s gone before you can take time to process it. Now, all you can feel is something akin to gratitude, trickling like a cool waterfall from where Rex stands, back straight and eyes ahead.

“They agreed to nothing,” Krell counters, and you blink as his wide upper lip curls back to reveal a row of dangerously sharp teeth. “Do not forget, young one, that we are the Generals they serve under at present.”

“I...” you pause, momentarily at a loss for words, then clasp your hands behind your back and force your jaw to unclench. “I haven’t forgotten that. But I also haven’t forgotten that the only way to succeed in this endeavour is to work together.”

“And with what experience do you so kindly bestow this advice upon us, Knight Neridian?” Krell asks, and the question is like a bucket of ice water down the back of your robes.

You swallow, and search for the words to say, but none come. Cheeks burning with shame, you stare determinedly at the ground.

The tension in Krell’s Force signature disappears, as sudden as the crack of a whip, and he draws in a deep breath. You look up as the pouch-like piece of flesh under Krell’s chin grows in size and he begins to pace.

“Nevertheless,” Krell brushes off, acting as though none of your words register with him, “there’s a reason my command is so effective, and it’s because I do things by the book.” He walks past a soldier in an ARC Trooper uniform who has the number five tattooed on his right temple. The trooper doesn’t move as Krell passes him, but you can see a vein on his forehead bulge.

“And that includes protocol,” Krell puts in. He turns to you. “Have all platoons ready to move out immediately.”

You bristle. “I—I thought we were to make decisions together,” you protest, raising your chin defiantly.

Technically, there’s nothing to defy, seeing as you hold equal rank with Krell—but the Council specified in their briefing that this was supposed to be a learning experience, an introduction to combat before receiving your own battalion. And something about Master Krell demands respect, or at the very least obedience, despite the fact that you’re starting to want to do everything you can not to give it to him.

Krell simply huffs and turns around, his yellow eyes flashing, and walks away, leaving you surrounded by a platoon troopers.

You frown after him. “Well, now I know why Master Venn wished me good luck,” you mutter, mostly to yourself. Some of the troopers snicker, but you hardly notice.

Your former master, Esya Venn, had pulled you aside just before leaving. The look on her face had been nothing short of concerned, but you’d shrugged it off in the moment, even when she’d told you to be careful, Padawan. She never told anyone to be careful—it was simply a reflex to think twice about your actions around Esya.

But now you understand.

Scrubbing a hand over your tired face, you take a deep breath and turn to Captain Rex. “Shall we set off?” you ask, and he nods, promptly putting on his helmet.

“Move out, soldiers!” he shouts, starting down the path after Krell. “Come on, let’s go!”

You give Rex a grateful smile, and though you can’t see his face, you know he’s returning it. With one last glance at the battalion, you hurry to the front and fall into step next to General Krell.

It’s silent for some time. Krell doesn’t deter, no matter how dark it gets, and after a while you begin to grow uncomfortable next to him. The anger you’d felt in the Force earlier is dormant, but certainly there, and it makes chills erupt down your spine.

"I’m going to check on the Captain,” you say, and Krell only nods when you turn around and quickly find Rex, who’s walking about two meters behind where you previously were.

The Captain salutes briefly. “General.”

“Captain,” you reply politely, before glancing back at Krell. “I can’t help but notice that there’s—” you pause for a moment. Do these troopers know enough about the Force to have conversations with you about it?

Knowing Anakin, you realize, they probably do, so you clear your throat and continue. “I get a strange feeling from Master Krell,” you say quietly.

Rex’s shoulders relax just slightly. “How so, sir?”

You bite your lip and shake your head. “I don’t know, exactly,” you reply, then gesture vaguely in front of you, where Krell is half-visible in the murky fog. “The Force around him is unclear. It’s... hard to explain.”

“Hard to explain, as in it’s a Jedi thing?” Rex guesses, and you grin widely.

“Yes,” you say. “It’s a Jedi thing.” Reaching up, you curl a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“I may not be a Jedi, sir,” Rex says after a moment, “but I think I know what you mean by strange feeling.”

“Quicken that pace, battalion!” Krell suddenly shouts over his shoulder, and you jump. “This isn’t some training course on Kamino.”

You sigh and raise your voice, turning to the troopers. “What General Krell means,” you call, pointedly shooting a glare at the Besalik’s back, “is that we must continue to make good time. Keep up the good work.”

Krell gives no answer, but you feel a ripple of frustration coming from his direction. There’s another thread in the Force, one of gratitude, but you can’t tell where exactly it’s coming from. You latch onto it nonetheless and file the feeling away for later, letting yourself make an easy pace just ahead of Rex.

“He certainly has a way with words,” you hear one of the clones say, and when you glance behind you out of the corner of your eye, you can see that the source is someone with similar armor to Rex’s. Another ARC, or someone of similar rank.

There’s a sigh. You think it’s from Rex. The troopers obviously don’t know you’re listening, so you direct your gaze ahead, keeping your pace steady.

“He’s just trying to keep us on schedule,” Rex explains, voice hushed and sounding a bit sheepish.

"By raising everyone’s ire?” the other trooper grumbles.

“Either way, he’s in charge,” Rex protests. “And we’ve got a job to do.”

“She’s in charge, too,” hisses the trooper, and you purse your lips, knowing he’s pointing to you.

Another sigh, again from Rex. “Just—treat them both with respect, and we’ll all get along fine.”

You’re about to turn around when your neck stiffens. It’s an instinctual reaction, like the Force tapping you on the shoulder—one that you’ve learned to interpret as a warning. Less than a second later, a loud screech echoes above your head.

“Ready your weapons!” Rex shouts, at the same moment you draw one lightsaber.

Faster than your eyes can process, a winged creature swoops down and grabs a trooper—but you don’t need your eyes. The cyan beam of your lightsaber casts a glow on the shadowy ground, and you jump upwards, landing on a large plant that allows you to swing from a vine and graze the blade across the wing of one of the creatures. It falls to the ground with another screech before flying away, relatively unharmed.

One to go.

You’re about to grab hold of a second vine and swing towards the other creature, but a flash of blurred blue and green makes you pull back—Krell beats you to it, landing on top of the creature and wrestling it to the ground.

“Wait—stop!” you shout as he draws his lightsabers, but it’s too late. He’s already skewered the creature mercilessly, and it lies dead on the ground, life blinking out of the Force in an instant.

You jump off of the large plant, landing on both feet, and hook your now deactivated lightsaber onto your belt. “Why did you kill it?” you demand, pushing past several onlooking clones.

“It is nothing more than a violent inhabitant of this area,” Krell dismisses, and you feel your jaw drop.

“But…” you start, at a loss for words. “The Code decrees—”

“The Code,” Krell says coldly as he turns to stare at you, “allows for self defense.”

You draw yourself up to your full height, switching off your lightsaber with a snap-hiss before hooking it back onto your belt. “That’s not what—”

Krell’s lightsabers deactivate loudly, cutting you off, and he returns them to either side of his belt before turning away and continuing on the path. “Anyone else want to stop and play with the animals?”

No one answers, but you feel your fists clench as if of their own accord.

This is going to be a long night.

Umbara’s plant life is fascinating. Observing the bioluminescent life forms is the only thing that serves a proper distraction from both the grumbling clone troopers and the pit of apprehension in your stomach. You’d been walking for twelve hours, give or take, and every time you’d tried to suggest a break to Krell, he’d snapped at you.

This can’t be allowed, you think bitterly, skipping over a glowing pink tree root, boots skidding on the dark purple ground.

You chew on your bottom lip and glance at the clones behind you. They are understandably worn out, and even with the extensive survival training Master Esya drilled into you as a Padawan, you were starting to get tired, too.

“Sir,” says a voice from behind you, and you jump, expecting in your exhaustion to see Krell—but it’s just Rex.

“We’ve been keeping this pace for almost half a rotation,” Rex points out, sounding vaguely nervous. “The men are... starting to tire. General Krell is...” he tilts his head, expressionless visor unreadable. “You know.”

You muster a smile, hoping you look at least a little like Master Enya, and nod.

“I know, Captain,” you say, and he shifts slightly, as though his blue-painted pauldron is uncomfortable. You can’t blame him. Running a hand over your ponytail, you blow out a breath and frown at the puff of air that appears in front of you. “Let me talk to him. Tell the men to start searching for a good spot to camp for a few hours.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Rex giving an affirmative thumbs up to the troopers behind him, but by then you’re already approaching Krell, clasping your hands tightly behind your back.

“Master Krell,” you start, and Krell turns his head just a bit. “I’ve told the men to scout for a place to rest. I reviewed the mission plan on the way here, and we can spare three hours without being delayed, possibly more—”

“The men don’t need rest,” Krell interrupts, and you feel your cheeks flush with anger. “They need resolve to complete the task at hand.”

“Apologies, Master,” you say, squaring your shoulders as frustration heats your neck and face. You breathe deeply. There is no emotion, only peace. “But I don’t think the men will be on their best game when we reach the capital if they don’t take some time to gather themselves.”

“That they need to ‘gather themselves’ is a sign of weakness,” Krell cuts in, stopping and turning to face you with a sneer. “That is not what these clones were bred for.”

Not far away, many of the soldiers bristle at Krell’s choice of words, but you keep your focus on the yellow eyes staring you down for the second time that night.

“They weren’t bred to be mindless droids, either,” you argue, crossing your arms over your chest and making sure to keep your voice even. “And in case you’ve forgotten, even battle droids need to recharge. If we march on the Capital without any sort of break first, I promise you, this mission will not go as planned. Exhausted and underfed soldiers are a guaranteed disadvantage.”

Krell studies you, a sneer forming on his lips. “I see you take after your Master’s incessant need to get the last word on anyone she disagrees with.”

You scowl. “I beg your pardon, but Master Venn is—”

He ignores you, cutting past where you stand and walking away. “Do what you wish, Neridian,” he dismisses, then walks away to stand by a glowing tree.

A sigh escapes your lips, and you close your eyes. It’s becoming harder and harder not to snap at him—but you know what the Order’s teachings require of you. Emotion, yet peace.

You grimace as Krell retreats to the back of the line, then turn back to the troopers nearby and give Rex a nod. The captain returns it in what you hope is a grateful manner, then calls for the men to make camp at the top of the ridge your group has been climbing.

By the time you gather all the troopers together, the battalion has put together a hasty campsite, with half the troopers having fallen into a fitful sleep and the other half keeping watch while eating as many rations as the limit allows. You frown and approach the trooper you heard Rex talking to earlier, his Force signature familiar from when you were eavesdropping. His helmet is now sitting in his lap, being meticulously cleaned with what little supplies the battalion has on hand.

You study the soldier. He has a tattoo on his right temple, and upon studying it, you realize it’s the same ARC trooper who’d been glaring at Krell when you stepped off the gunship. You wonder what significance the number five has to him.

Taking another step forward, you clear your throat. “Trooper,” you begin, and the soldier looks up curiously before abruptly shooting to his feet and snapping off a salute. You wave a nonchalant hand. “No need for that. I only wanted to ask a favor—can you gather troopers to stand watch? Six at a time, tops, and make sure they take turns so everyone can rest. That includes you.”

“You got it, sir,” says the trooper, and you smile.

“Sorry, I don’t believe I caught your name...” you say, then, and the trooper blinks.

“Oh, uh—it’s Fives, sir.”

“I see,” you reply, gaze flickering to his tattoo and back again. “Thank you, Fives.”

You retreat to your own tent soon after, shrugging off your vambraces and arranging them neatly next to your bedroll. This wouldn’t be the shortest sleep cycle you’d had, what with the nature of your apprenticeship at the temple—but not the longest, either.

From what you can hear inside your tent, the camp is silent. Slowly, you poke your head through the canvas flaps to find exactly six men—as you’d requested—sitting in the center of camp. Farther away, at the outskirts of the circle of tents, sits Master Krell’s hulking form. In spite of yourself, you frown.

“General?” asks a sudden voice above you; letting out an involuntary yelp, you scramble backwards before stopping at the sight of Rex standing near the entrance to your tent.

Embarrassed, you stand up, brushing off your cream-coloured robes. “Sorry,” you say sheepishly. “I could swear I’m not usually so jumpy, I don’t know what—” you look up and stop short.

Rex has removed his helmet.

His blond hair isn’t a surprise this time around, but close up, you’re struck by how tired he looks. There are smile lines at the corners of his eyes, but his face is cast in exhausted shadows.

You wonder if a full night’s sleep is something he’s ever had, or if the training regiments on Kamino prepared him and his brothers for this kind of halfhearted sleep cycle. Curiously, you study him.

Rex’s eyes are golden-brown in the dying light of this shadowy planet. They’re the same shade as all the troopers in the immediate vicinity. And yet, as you stare into them, something in you stirs as your Force signature brushes against his—something you know you’re not supposed to feel.

“Er, General,” Rex repeats, jolting you from your faraway thoughts. “I just wanted to let you know—the scouts are detecting a clear journey from here on out. We have approximately four hours to kick back, as predicted.”

Hurriedly, you turn away and clear your throat awkwardly. “Very good, Captain,” you mumble. “Thank you. You’re—erm, free to go and rest.”

For a moment, Rex looks surprised, but he composes himself seconds later. “Thank you, General,” he says. “But I—”

“Not up for debate,” you interrupt, holding your hand up. Bemused, Rex blinks, so you shoot him a reassuring smile. “You said it yourself: the soldiers need rest. You’re a soldier, yes?”

Rex opens his mouth, probably to say something about him being a Captain, but you lower your hand to rest it on his shoulder. The kind gesture seems to quell him, so you continue. “Don’t exclude yourself in that. Rest well, Captain.”

When you turn and reenter your tent, you don’t catch the way Rex’s eyes linger on the closed flap for far longer than they should, heat prickling up his neck as the remnant of your touch burns itself through his pauldron.

“You too… General.”

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[vryfmi]

[major book spoilers!]

a mildly long analysis of skull and Lucy's relationship in TEG in light of recent Stroud's interview answer.

also i need this video on my blog

[audio transcript of The Writing Community Chat stream:

CJ (host), reading a question from NeeveDaFoe: I need to know why Skull is more powerful than Ezekiel!!!

Jonathan Stroud: Well, I think the power that he has is through his connection with Lucy. I think, ultimately, the message of Lockwood & Co books, and indeed most of my books, is that you get your strengths through the connection with others, love and mutual support. So, our friend, the skull, ultimately, gains his power through the relationship he's built up with Lucy over the course of the books, despite all his rude comments.

CJ, laughing: Nice!

/end transcript]

it's not like i didn't know it beforehand, the message is very clear in the books and especially in how skull and Ezekiel are juxtaposed in their confrontation. that skull looks almost like his alive self minus transparency and gauntness of his features, while Ezekiel has barely anything that would make us think he used to be human. he's disconnected from reality, he views himself as an ascended being. meanwhile skull is there to be a sarcastic menace and definitely not to save Lucy bc he definitely didn't grow to care for her.

but the thing is that Lucy tried to put her trust into skull only now. it wasn't even her first decision when confronting Marissa and Ezekiel, far from it. she'd freed skull only when Lockwood came in and she wasn't afraid to face whatever was at hand alone. being strangled by insane old woman possessing her granddaughter's body or get ghost-touched by Ezekiel or skull at that matter — doesn't make much of a difference. she did promise skull to free him, she got the taste of what it's like to be stuck on The Other Side, so she delivered, trusting that skull won't hurt her nor Lockwood when the two of them were seconds away from taking Marissa down, even if it was the last thing she did.

saying that skull payed back Lucy for freeing him just doesn't seem right. she was feeding him empty promises the whole book to the point where both skull and Lucy knew that they had this same conversation over and over again to no avail. but skull kept bringing it up. while Lucy couldn't bring herself to trust skull even after all help he provided for her and her friends.

but her attitude changes once she meets skull on The Other Side, the person that he once was. or at least that what she thinks in that moment because that's the same skull she was talking to for the past 2 years. Lucy has a clear disconnect: seeing not just an obscure grimace in the jar but a whole person before her. it strikes that The Lucy Carlyle Formula™ button and she aches with sympathy describing skull's appearance, acknowledging that he passed away at young age, at her age. whether she sees her situation and her inevitable demise in him, or is simply struck with "there's more to just the skull (a literal bone), there's a person before her", Lucy has a full 180 on skull from that point forward. but it's too late and it's her fault. skull gets taken away and Lucy is left alone in the kitchen. how much did she regret not listening to skull, not trusting him, not getting to know him? apparently a lot judging by their second (technically third) run into each other on The Other Side:

A wave of something washed through me. Relief? Pleasure at seeing something familiar in this dreadful place? Whatever it was, it made me warm. (TEG)

[i know what you are]

but if Lucy had time to ponder, so did skull. it makes sense that he'd say 'Shared names come with trust'. i believe he told the truth there and he forgot his name for good but still made it clear for Lucy — it's a bit too late for getting to know each other, especially after Lucy was giving him a cold shoulder, when that hammer was still on her belt. for all he knew, Lucy and her friends could've had not made it across Dark London and he'd be forever trapped in Fittes basement or worse. in any other situation he'd have no one to blame but circumstances, but here it would've been Lucy's fault.

and yet, despite all that, despite all rude comments and headbutting, skull's more human than Ezekiel because of Lucy, and he's stronger than Ezekiel because he cares for and loves Lucy. not my words, Stroud's. whatever sick manipulations and control Ezekiel had over Marissa and vice versa, it stood no chance against two mean teenagers that fought their way through trauma with humor, sarcasm and gratuitous bum jokes.

now leave me alone to sulk over skullyle

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

Do Ghost and Jade's kids don't know about their careers (or in Jade's case, former career)? Cause the comic you made of Andrew seeing Ghost in the middle of the night sorta implies they don't know about their parents' military background.

HMMM HM HM Good catch right there 👀👀

So this is also a part of what I've been thinking inside the Riley family after they have kids.

- I feel like the kids would definitely know about Simon's career as a soldier. BUT, as they are still in their early teens, I'd imagine that Andrew, Gracie, and later Orion know that their dad is a soldier, but that's the extent of their knowledge. They do know about Simon's nickname "Ghost", but they don't know how Simon operates inside the Task Force, they're not aware that their dad is an officer of one of the most elite and dangerous task force in the world. As far as they know, their dad only has edgy hobbies that involves black outfits and skull/skeleton themed. Heck, they even made fun of his preferences in outfits.

- But dear God, they never saw him in a full-on combat gear, in the dark of the night.

- Ghost is an officer, so day by day, he'd left the house with open face, and only wears the mask inside the car. After work day, he'd take off the mask before entering the house. If he's too tired, he'd try to sneak in in the deep of the night without making a sound. He'd sworn to himself that 'Ghost' will never enter his family and children's house/lives. They do not need trouble and his dangerous line of work to enter the one thing he cherishes the most.

- However, once you have kids, you can't hide anything forever. They'll find out by themselves (in this case, Andrew is entering his puberty and needs some midnight munchies). Simon and Lottie knows this, so they already have everything figured out. What would Andrew's reaction be, what would Gracie's reaction be, what would Orion's reaction be. They've discussed what they'd reveal, and what they'd still keep a secret, again, until they're old enough to know. They tread VERY carefully about it.

- About their mother though, that's a whole different story. After their marriage, Jade has strictly commited to be a mother for her kids, and opened a branch of The Garden in Herefordshire. She's an ✨ entrepreneur ✨. She's not that active to be called into deployment as before she had kids. If she's used to be 60% florist and 40% TF141 ally, after she had kids she'd be 98% Mum and Florist, and 2% TF141 Ally. Her kids literally only knows her as a florist, and that's it. Up until their late teens, Andrew, Gracie, and Orion would have no clue nor idea about her past with MI6. She didn't lie, she's just holding the truth until they're big enough to understand.

- In fact, Ghost BEGGED and asked Jade to not be active inside the TF141 or any conflicts anymore, considering Ghost would be deployed a lot (and how he's promoted to Captain and above), he'd want his wife to be with her kids. Jade herself also agreed, but she also told Ghost to not die and do stupid stuff. Even though married and less involved in the TF141 business, her resolve stayed the same. If he's missing, she'd pick up the guns in a heartbeat.

- Now, back to the kids. I'd imagine that because of how eventful each of Simon and Lottie's lives are, it sort of like become a game to the family. Each birthdays of the kids, Simon has established a "3 Question" rule game, where the kids can ask their parents anything about their lives. From Andrew and Orion, it's usually trivial and simple stuffs like "What's the naughtiest things you've ever done" "What's your favorite bla bla bla". HOWEVER, with Gracie, its always "What's your favourite mission?" "What's the worst condition of a dead body you've ever find?" "Who's the most difficult bad man you've ever encountered?" "Where is he now?"

- Ghost and Jade would answer with only two sentences. Looking at each other for approval. Gracie is most definitely Simon's daughter with that line of questioning. BUT, again, with every birthdays, and with their increasing age and they become more mature, they'll reveal everything bit after bit.

- By the time they finally know everything about their parents, they'd be in college years, probably, and Simon would no longer be the Ghost (he might be one of the higher ranked officer at this point), and Lottie would be completely out of the Task Force 141 game, becoming a regular civilian. Still, it'd be a legendary story to tell.

WOOHOO I kinda yapped a bit there, but hope that answer your question!

[actual-changeling]

This post by the lovely @thursdayinspace violently hit me over the head with a baseball bat, so here we are. Dropping this mid-Pusher ficlet on your porch like a cat presenting a dead mouse. Technically this is canon-compliant if you squint a little.

I also wrote a longer post-episode fic a little while back, which you can find right here.

50% angst, 50% hurt/comfort, 100% yearning, the usual. Unofficial title for this one is "terrified with you".

———

Scully can't remember the last time she was this afraid.

No, not afraid—terrified.

Absolutely and utterly terrified for Mulder's life. She watches as the other agent (a name, he has a name) fits the bullet-proof vest around his chest, a thin wire running underneath it and connecting to what looks quite similar to a headset; one is waiting for her next to the screens.

If it were any other case, the sight of the defensive gear would calm her, maybe even offer an anchor to hold onto, but not this time. Not with Modell. Theoretically, wearing only a vest is often enough because, unless they're dealing with someone who knows how to shoot, the chances of the suspect hitting the body at all, let alone a small, moving part such as the head, are minuscule.

Modell is in no way experienced with a gun, but he doesn't have to be.

Mulder knows how to aim to kill, and nine times out of ten, he will hit what he is aiming at. He can use him, abuse him, force him to shoot whomever he pleases before commanding him to kill himself, and all she will be able to do is sit and watch.

The agent (she tries and fails to recall his name) steps away to respond to an incoming radio call, leaving Mulder half-stuck in the vest and the two of them in silence.

She shifts in her chair and turns her head until cold metal is digging into her cheek, already hearing her own voice list injury after injury, his body laying lifelessly in front of her.

Cause of death is a single gunshot wound to the head, self- (she can hear her own breath, too shallow, painful in her lungs) self-inflicted.

Self-inflicted. Suicides. Every single one of them died by their own hand. She really likes his hands.

"Scully."

Mulder's voice is soft, dipping into a tone he rarely uses and only ever with her, and she feels more than she sees him stepping closer. He raises his hand, gently grabbing her jaw and nudging it towards himself. Scully knows if she were to flinch away, he'd let her and not try again, but his fingertips are warm against her skin, a warmth she finds in his eyes, too.

Concern rolls off him in waves, and she presses his palm to her cheek, covering his hand with her own.

"Let me go in with you," she tries, knowing he will fight her on this harder than usual. It's a futile attempt, yet she still has to say it—for her own peace of mind and the small chance that he'll say yes.

"No, Scully," Mulder responds, an edge to his words, "one person putting themselves in danger is enough."

Separating never does them any good, but they keep doing it over and over, searching for the definition of insanity in the distance between their bodies.

"Why does it have to be you?"

It's a question she already knows the answer to, and his thumb brushes along her cheekbones as he shakes his head. A calming gesture, a way of offering comfort without addressing whatever it is that's spinning its net around them.

"You know why. I'll be fine, probably not even gonna have a scratch on me."

Scully hums quietly, evading their conversation in favour of discreetly tugging him closer; not that agent what's-his-name is paying them any attention. She blinks up at him, unsuccessfully suppressing the urge to study his features as if it's the last time she will see them flushed with hot, red blood (she hates that she finds it sticking to her hands in more than just her nightmares).

The curve of his lips and nose, the familiar line of his jaw, the affectionate glint in his eyes. So much left unsaid and yet visible to anyone who looks at him, at them, to the point where Modell could spot it from far away. She tightens her grip on his wrist without really meaning to, but Mulder only smiles.

"I will be fine, Scully." They both know he cannot make any promises, but maybe they can lie to themselves for a little while longer.

The radio crackles, popping their haphazardly created bubble, and she hesitantly lets him go. Mulder runs his thumb down her cheek, lingering on the corner of her mouth before stepping back, and the agent whose name she doesn't care about picks up where he left off.

"You better be," she mumbles, suddenly shivering in the cold of his absence. I need you alive.

[sgiandubh]

Five minutes of Instagram fame

The Brazilian fan is back with more attention-grabbing content, one week after she had thousands of eyes on her London shenanigans. Which I am not going to discuss, simply because I do believe there is no need to give the anecdote more space than it deserves. Enough is enough, and the apparent collective loss of all sense of measure is a sure sign that pause is needed, in that department.

What I am going to discuss, however, is the chutzpah of a 23 year old Nobody, who just wishes to keep those five minutes of fame rolling on and on and on.

Yesterday, she felt compelled to publish another batch of Instagram stories, in which she delivers her Toxic Shipping 101 lecture:

In the process, she basically just rephrases the main Anti Bible arguments, calls thousands of people 'insane', quotes two influential shipper blogs (slàinte mhath, @bat-cat-reader!) that didn't even come close to what I wrote about her, brings on board her mother and grandmother just to explain how upset she was about 'older American women picking up on her'. And ends with a rather pathetic plea for all of us, shippers, to 'seek immediate medical attention'. Same unnerving sotaque Paulista (São Paulo accent), with a posh and very fake tinge of British English. Same incoherent, amateur and immature discourse, endlessly seeking to bring attention to herself, mildly trying to victimize herself. Blah, blah.

I would have given her grace, were it not for this particular argument, in response to a X user asking a rather uncomfortable question, as she definitely has the constitutional right to do:

'OH God, not her again 23 yr old Brazilian trying to be a reporter in London, complete fail. but in BIG OL LONDON, 'JUST HAPPENED' TO Spot Sam, how dumb do you think we all are?'

Answer is the real dumb part of the story, if you ask me, especially coming from a very young woman: 'Forbidden to be a journalist and meet a celebrity in the street. Forbidden to go for a walk as a journalist, paging all my colleagues, ok? I had no clue I could be as scheming as they say I am.'

Ok, buttercup: it is my honest understanding that you want to be taken seriously and treated as a professional, right? Did I miss something, here?

Right. As the daughter of a journalist and a former Government expert in media policies (specifically dealing with media content broadcasting), I am going to do exactly this and honestly ask you, Mrs. Silva:

Do you consider, in all good faith, that you acted like a professional journalist, in this very circumstance?

Do you consider to have kept your impartiality and have you at least checked all the relevant facts and POVs, before slandering all those people on your social media account? Or did you content yourself to report the hearsay shared with you by other bloggers, and just conveniently quoted four random bloggers and commenters?

Have you the slightest idea that one of the commenters who reached out to you on Instagram, questioning your version of the facts, is not even a shipper (and actually, very violently far from being one)?

During the week separating your first post and this reaction to people's feedback, have you or have you not respected your due diligence obligation to contact and engage with the people you so easily treat as a bit less than the scum of the Earth?

Did you or did you not ask for permission to quote their published content on your social media account, especially in a polemic context?

Unlike you, I have diligently perused both your website and your Linked In account. Maybe it is time to tell all those people you have insulted the truth about who you are, professionally, at this very moment:

Marketing student, 3rd semester.

Let me count: 3 internships (correct me if I am wrong), in various junior positions for 1 local media outlet, 1 international corporation and 1 website, 4 different jobs - or should I say 'stints' (3 with your current employer, 1 as a freelancer for a local media outlet).

Still learning. There is absolutely nothing bad about it. But you have still a LONG way to go until you could pretend to be a real voice. And there is nothing in what you posted that could grab my professional attention and make me hire you. Quite the contrary and, believe it or not, I am awfully sorry to say so.

My three free and totally unsolicited pieces of advice:

Always check your facts, always get in touch with the people you plan to write about. In fact, your anger and ego got the best of your professional self and you lost a great opportunity for a paper you could have even titled ' Viagem na Shipperlândia' (A Trip to Shipperland). I would have read that. But you haven't. You preferred to act just like all the other 23 year old girls and make a belly-button story about yourself.

Never bring your family forward in questionable contexts. You expose people who have nothing to do with the irrelevant insanity of a fandom war, to which you contributed your own, perhaps involuntary, dose of chaos and unnecessary drama.

Never lie on your Linked In resume. Potential employers might and will read it. Never write things like:

.. when you also fail to accurately describe your former job position, denoting poor spelling:

Especially when words are your craft, bread and butter. The devil is always in the details:

As I mentioned in a previous post, you could have been my daughter. I have been that 23 year old girl myself, desperate to list every single internship and tempted to inflate language proficiency, in the hope it would land me the job of my dreams. And I have learned the hard way that being a true professional is cancelling your ego.

You'll learn. Until then, stop bitching on things you have no idea about and act like an adult, not an attention hungry teenager. This comes from a place of tough love: sometimes, the most effective life lessons are given by complete strangers.

[flowerslut]

what are your headcanons in regards to when alice and jasper first met the cullens? what was the cullen’s reactions? were they intimidated by jasper, confused by alice? how long did it take for jasper to get comfortable?

I mean, alice timing her and jasper's arrival so that emmett and edward weren't around has always been suuuper telling. because like, yeah. I fucking BET that if alice and jasper showed up out of nowhere with everyone home, between emmett's 'think now act later' tendencies and edward being able to see into jasper's head (which I'm sure was full of tense, uncomfortable "if it comes down to it I can just kill them and we can dip" thoughts), in combination with the entire family just taking one LOOK at jasper, it would not have gone smoothly in any way 💀

I mean, in breaking dawn even BELLA perceives jasper as a scary/dangerous threat on an instinctual level that she hardly understands!! and he's her best friend's husband! who she's known for over a year!!! no matter how much he's chilling out the atmosphere there's no way esme, rosalie, and carlisle aren't at least a liiiittle nervous about him. alice could have shown up nude and covered head-to-toe in human blood and i'm confident they would have still been more uneasy about jasper. (don't mind me linking more of g's posts. she's the only person I know who would have all this evidence documented lmfaooo ♡)

but thankfully, because of alice's and jasper's gifts, those two should be able to nail introductions 10 out of 10 times with a 100% success rate! if alice can pick the best possible route to take and jasper can keep the atmosphere light and relaxing, then they could probably charm their way through any 1950s entryway! I highly doubt jasper did the same midnight sun baseball scene camouflage, but I'm sure he did plenty of tension-smoothing.

I personally enjoy that they planned to show up when it was only carlisle, esme, and rosalie home. in midnight sun, alice fucking glomps edward (no, I won't apologize for using this word because I swear to god it's literally what she does) which he only responds positively towards because of their weird, instant psychic connection that lets her bombard him with LOOK-I-SWEAR-WE'RE-GONNA-BE-BEST-FRIENDS-I-LOVE-YOU-ALREADY visions. tbh, I think it's edward's absence specifically that alice probably needed. sure, emmett would've automatically perceived jasper as a threat alongside the rest of the family, but I bet that alice knew that if she could just get jasper through the door, and get carlisle to hear them out, then dealing with edward (and his ability to see what goes on in that nightmare's jasper's brain) would be muuuuch easier.

to answer your more specific questions: rosalie was definitely the very last person to be "okay" with their presence, but I'm sure she was fine with alice first, and that it took emmett to get her to be okay with jasper, too. it probably took jasper ages to adjust to living peacefully alongside 5 strangers—I'm sure these difficulties were probably exacerbated by alice being comfortable and happy right off the bat. and i'm sure the reason that jasper finally calmed down and relaxed into his new life with the cullens had to do with a combination of his trust in alice, his respect for carlisle, and the improvements that vegetarianism had on his mental health (we, as a fandom, forget too quickly that this war criminal has a canonical eating disorder and that's so INTERESTING AND FUNNN)

[clarionglass]

yeah, we all knew this one was coming. 5395 words, if you're wondering exactly how bad the brain rot has set in ^^;

----- deja vu (sam reich!master cinematic universe, part 2)

Right from the beginning of Game Changer, Sam had had a small monitor in his dressing room where he could watch the show being recorded. He'd always appreciated it being there, but never quite understood the point of having it, if he was going to be on stage hosting the shows himself. 

When his doppelganger was hosting, though, being able to watch the show while hidden away was absolutely ideal. 

Since Escape the Greenroom, the pair had been less cautious about being seen in the building together. It was always more enjoyable to debrief immediately after a show, and besides, they had their secret weapon. The magic technology that kept anyone from thinking too hard about two Sams in the one place had turned out to be nothing more than a small lump of circuitry attached to a key on a loop of string, and whichever Sam wasn't on set at the time held onto it and watched the session from the dressing room. It was an extra precaution—hell, if everyone knew Sam was in the middle of a recording, why would they be going into his dressing room—but it was handy to have nonetheless. 

It didn't work if you knew what you were looking for, though, so when the door creaked open and his doppelganger walked in, pure glee painted across his face from ear to ear, he turned his megawatt smile on Sam straight away. 

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Good record, was it?”

“Oh, was it ever.”

“Well, great!” Sam replied. “You were pretty keen for this one, glad it lived up to expectations.”

As his double nodded with satisfaction, Sam's eyes flicked back to the monitor, now showing a view of backstage, and Trapp, Ify and Siobhan talking quietly to each other. 

Something felt off. They didn't seem distressed or anything bad, bad, but the energy between the three contestants was weirdly muted. As it was for everyone, actually. Josh, Zac, Brian—the general vibe backstage was sitting noticeably lower than usual, particularly with such big personalities in the room. 

“How'd the cast take it, though?” he asked. “They all look exhausted, was everything alright?”

His doppelganger flapped a hand dismissively. “Oh, they're fine. It was just a long record.”

“No longer than usual,” Sam said, with a brief glance down at his watch and a frown. “We had seven loops planned, right? And you definitely didn't get through all of them, you only did, what—”

“Five, yeah,” his double agreed, speaking with him. “For the episode, we ended up recording five.”

There was an odd tone in his voice as he said it, an emphasis on the specifics that was just a little too weighted. Sam grimaced. 

“I'm sensing there's a but coming.”

“Yeah,” his doppelganger admitted slowly, then grinned, a bright, twinkling expression of pure mischief. “We actually ran a lot more loops than that.”

“Wait,” Sam said, “wait. No, you didn't, I was watching the entire thing.”

“Come on,” his doppelganger shot back, a bite of impatience bleeding into his excitement. “You really think I'd fight to do the fake time loop episode and not throw in a real time loop or five?”

“Oh my god.” It was all Sam could say, and he really couldn't tell if he was impressed, or dumbfounded, or just really fucking worried. “Oh, my god. What did you do?”

The giddy delight shining in his double's eyes as his smile broadened even further, brilliant and infectious and only slightly predatory, did nothing to calm Sam's nerves. 

---

The first loop went well enough, and confusingly enough. Weird trivia, questions that clearly had an answer, but no way of working out what that answer was, cameos that didn’t seem to relate to anything—it was strange, but you knew that was what you were getting into when you signed up for Game Changer. Trapp, Ify and Siobhan knew that there was a solution to it, but they’d just have to work until they found it.

And then Sam pulled out that bizarre dance that he expected them all to join in on, and accidentally kicked Kevin’s camera out of his hands, and the three of them shuffled offstage for a two minute reset.

-

The second loop, the pieces were starting to fit into place. The trivia was a memory tester; the weird questions had answers that could only be worked out with knowledge gained in previous rounds; Zac’s—sorry, Grant’s—spaghetti was going to cause problems by way of Brian’s podium inspector; the list went on. 

This time, it was pretty clear that the kick wasn’t accidental. 

-

The third loop, everyone knew they were dealing with loops right from the start. 

-

“I think my watch battery is dead,” grumbled Ify on the t̷͖͗̅h̶̥̔͗i̴͉̞̊r̴̭͘d̵̢͔͌̈́ loop.

-

Loop aft̵̐͜e̷̘̓r̵̩͊ ḽ̵̞́o̷͉̬̼͈͘ö̸̖̠̭́̈̀p̶̡̣̖͂ ạ̸͌͘f̸̱̲͐͗t̶͈͐̇ẻ̶͇̮̄ř̷̤̗͝ ̷̹̌l̸͎͎̔̀̅̀̀̕ò̸̢̨̜͓̳̮̀̕o̶̮̕p̵̪̫̠̝̘̒͒͗̚ͅ, ad infinitum ad nauseam. 

-

A few loops in, Siobhan watched Brian get paler and paler as he examined the trio of podiums. And this time, he was actually taking the time to look at them properly, not just making an act of peering through that stupid little magnifying glass in order to justify a foregone conclusion. He was acting weird, even for him.

Still, he put a good face on it, declaring each one dirty in increasingly elaborate ways, just as he had every time before. Something had clearly rattled him, though, and it made her uneasy in turn.

“Sir? Excuse me, sir?” she said, just as she had the last few rounds, and smiled sweetly with a dollar bill folded in her palm. As Brian came over, she locked eyes with him, hoping the look was enough to convey her question.

“Camcorder, Jan ‘97,” he muttered as he took the money, and had given her the (bribed) point and hurried backstage before she could ask what he meant.

She knew the video he was referring to, it was one of his. Creepy, definitely, but very well-done, all about rewinding tape and rewriting time. And—yeah, man, duh. This was the time loop episode, apparently, so why state the obvious? And why so cryptically?

Unless… unless it was something to do with time loops that wasn’t to do with the format of the episode. 

How long had they been recording, anyway? All their phones were in the box backstage, Ify’s watch was dead, she wasn’t wearing one at all, and with her and Trapp on the outside podiums, there was no way she could ask him without making it look stunningly obvious. But it had been a while, for sure, and Sam wasn’t showing any of his usual signs of wanting to usher the recording session towards a natural conclusion.

If anything, he was looking wolfishly pleased with the way things were turning out. He'd even favoured Brian with a wider grin than usual, where Brian's own smile had been kind of watery. 

Another part of that video, Siobhan couldn't help but recall, was that sinister, looming silhouette.

-

Through more and more loops, and the brief interludes they were granted backstage, they’d worked out the rules, sort of. People weren’t affected by the loops resetting, they carried through pretty much as normal. Objects didn’t, though. Things on the set, like the ducks, the money in their envelopes, and the spaghetti stuck to their podiums, reset to the state they were at at the beginning of what they’d begun to call “Loop 3.0”. Things brought across the threshold of the set, like Zac/Grant’s plate of spaghetti, or Josh’s balloons, reset as soon as they crossed over that boundary.

Josh hadn’t had a good time when he realised that one. While the contestant cast and the cameo cast were kept separate backstage, the contestants had to assume that Brian would have told them everything he’d worked out. The next loop after Brian had given his hint to Siobhan, the contestants had to watch a very good character actor try to keep control of the creepy clown role while going through a moderate existential crisis. It was uncomfortable to watch, stuck at their podiums and unable to help. At least they could mutter a few words of encouragement each time they went up to pop a balloon, and the same with Zac and Brian each time they came by to mess up or inspect their podiums. 

It was good to have that connection, brief as it might have been. They might have been stuck, but at least they were in this fuckery together.

The crew, though, seemed to be immune from feeling the weirdness they were caught up in. Or—no. Not immune. Exempt. They weren’t trapped in the loop, they were part of it, moving along their set tracks like automata. It took the cast a while to work that one out, because Sam kept time perfectly, interacting with Ash when she brought out the contraption and the jar of beans as if they were having a normal, fluid conversation. But then Ify spotted that the camera operators were moving completely out of sync with the cast, and Trapp noticed that only Sam’s half of the interaction with Ash ever changed, and the illusion fell apart from there. The crew wouldn’t be a lifeline.

And speaking of Sam… Fuck, it was a hard one to swallow. He was their boss, their friend, and they’d all known him for years—hell, he’d come through for each of them multiple times. Until now, he had been pretty unequivocally a Good Guy. But it was becoming harder and harder to ignore the signs that Sam Reich was the puppeteer of this entire shitshow.

He was still pretending to not know what anyone meant when they expressed frustration with the loops, but the words were accompanied by a twinkle in his eye that said he knew exactly what was going on, and was staunchly refusing to help. He was delighting in their discomfort, even more so now the cast knew just how fucked they really were.

He looked like Sam, he sounded like Sam, every single mannerism was something that the cast knew intimately. But the personality driving his actions was wrong. Maybe this guy wasn’t Sam at all. Fuck, if they’d suddenly been catapulted into a reality where time loops were real, maybe so were evil clones, or brain-snatching parasites, or—no, the magician great-grandfather lore from Escape the Greenroom was still a stretch too far. But given the choice between believing that a weird sci-fi plotline was true, when another one was literally happening around them; or believing that their friend had secretly been some kind of torturer with access to sci-fi tech the entire time they’d known him—the decision wasn’t particularly hard. 

“We have to stop him from kicking the camera,” Trapp said quietly, as soon as they had all huddled backstage. “That’s what he’s going with as the trigger.”

“It could be another bluff,” Siobhan interjected glumly. “More fucking misdirection.”

Trapp shot her a look. “You got anything better you want to try?”

“I can get between him and Kevin if I’m quick,” Ify volunteered, the tallest among them by a good half a head, with a build to match.

“See what happens,” Trapp said. “But be careful, yeah? Don’t get yourself hurt.”

“So what’s the way to get out?” Siobhan asked, as Ify nodded his agreement. “There has to be something, I might start killing people if I let myself think this is actually completely random.” She paused for a moment, thinking. “Popping the right balloon? Or winning the video game?”

“Or unlocking that,” Ify suggested, nodding to the green chest that had been sitting on the table the entire time. 

“Yeah,” Siobhan and Trapp agreed together.

“Cool, so we try and—”

“Sorry, y’all, but I’m supposed to take your phones?” Kaylin interrupted, holding out the box as she always did. 

By virtue of podium order, Trapp, then Ify, then Siobhan noticed it as they walked on and gave their introductions. Something had changed.

The point totals on the podiums read 14, 9, 14. The points they’d ended with in Loop 3, not started with. They’d survived it. Time was moving.

-

“Sam, look over there!” Siobhan exclaimed as she entered, and dragged a couple of boxes onstage with her in no more subtle a way than she did the last time. 

Trapp got it, he really did. These loops had been… wearing, was probably the best word for it. “Sadistic” was a bit too harsh, particularly when nothing actually bad had been happening (and to be honest, he didn’t even want to risk thinking too badly of the person who seemed to be pulling all the strings in this scenario, in case he somehow noticed, and decided to turn the heat up), but… yeah. Wearing. So he understood why Siobhan might be trying to keep things the same. Making the group less fun for their host to play with.

The trivia rounds were chaos, as always, and passed in a jumble of noise that Trapp was only half focused on. A quiz show was still a quiz show, even if it had descended into some kind of weird time loop purgatory, and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to be first on the buzzer regardless. Maybe the points were the way to get out of this whole shitshow, who could say. But when Ify and Siobhan started to have their exact same argument over the equation question, complete with Ify’s triumphant twerking, Trapp felt his stomach rise into his throat, as if once again, the ground had been cut out from under him.

“Yeah, Solzhenitsyn,” Siobhan nodded in response to a question he hadn’t asked, and his blood went cold. 

Sam, or possibly ‘Sam’, looked him dead in the eye and winked. 

“Next up, there’s a little game I have just for Mike Trapp,” he said with a smirk.

Tinny music started up, and the bright colours of that infuriating video game popped up on the screen, but Trapp didn't care. There wasn't any point in pretending now. 

“You fucker,” he said, walking close to eyeball the host. “You mother fucker.”

‘Sam’ just wheezed with laughter, exactly as the real Sam Reich would when a contestant insulted him out of annoyance at the game, and for the briefest of moments, Trapp had his doubts. Everything about this man said Sam Reich, every tiny detail. Had he really been hiding this all along?

“You were doing great playing as a team,” ‘Sam’ said once he'd regained his composure, looking at Trapp with wide-eyed sincerity. “But that's not really the point of the game, now, is it?”

No. Sam, actual Sam, wouldn't do this to his friends.

“What have you done to them?”

“To them? Nothing,” whoever the fuck this was said brightly. “To the studio, though… Well, it would take too long to explain, and you wouldn’t understand most of it anyway. Let’s just say I can run this whole place like a VCR, and the only two people who wouldn’t be caught up in it right now are you and me, bud.”

“That’s fucked up,” Trapp said, as Ash, deaf and blind to their conversation, came out with the giant jar of beans. “That’s just fucked. Let them go.”

“Aw, but they’re probably having a better time than you are right now,” ‘Sam’ said, mock-serious. “They think time’s finally moving ahead for them, remember? And anyway, do you really want to be arguing with little old me when you’re wasting your one chance to earn points without any competition? It is an individual game, after all.”

Trapp’s eyebrows shot high. “Are you saying only one of us gets out of this? You sick fuck.”

‘Sam’ just shrugged and smiled, looking meaningfully at the empty podium. “Do you want to risk it? The choice is yours, Trapp, but time's a-ticking.” His smile flashed. “Or maybe it isn't.”

-

“Next up, there’s a little game I have just for Ify Nwadiwe,” ‘Sam’ announced.

Yeah, no shit. Ify wasn’t an idiot, even if his point total was sitting below his fellow contestants’. He’d been checking his not-actually-dead watch at the start of every loop, so he knew right from the off that even though their host had been gracious and let them pass through one gauntlet, it sure didn’t mean that the time fuckery had finished. 

This run, though, was looking extra screwed up. Siobhan arguing loudly with him about things he didn’t even say this time was the final confirmation. He was alone in this loop, just him and the guy who was running the show.

He knew that ‘Sam’ knew that he knew that he was the only person who wasn’t stuck. So he waited, staring flatly at the person who had taken over the host’s podium, watching to see what move he would make.

‘Sam’ just smiled. “Left or right?”

Alright, so that’s how he was going to play it. Yeah, no, absolutely not. 

“Nah, nah, nah,” Ify said instead of engaging, because it didn’t really matter. In his peripheral vision, the game kept scrolling through. “Fuck that. What’s the win condition? What do we need to do to get out of here?”

“Play the game,” ‘Sam’ replied.

“Shut the fuck up, man.” Ify shook his head, and ‘Sam’ chuckled like he’d told a good joke. “We’ve already done that, and it’s got us exactly fuckin nowhere. You put us in this thing for a reason, so there’s gotta be something you want to see happen.”

‘Sam’ blinked at him innocently. “Who says this isn’t exactly it?”

Ify took a deep breath. “Let me get this straight. You’re saying we’re in here, doing the same shit over and over again, until you feel like you’ve had enough?”

“In a nutshell,” ‘Sam’ beamed, “yes.”

“Fuck you, man,” Ify said, shifting his weight to lean more heavily on the podium. “Fuck you.”

“Noted,” ‘Sam’ said brightly. “But I wouldn’t spend too long being mad at me, because—” he broke off, giving the front of Ify’s podium a significant look, “—you’ve got quite a lot of ground to make up, in… well. Who can say how much time?”

“Fuck you,” Ify repeated, and ‘Sam’ just laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

-

Ify was taking too long to name a goddamn Keanu Reeves film, again, and Siobhan had had just about enough. So when he stalled, and stalled, and still came up with the same title he’d answered in the last round, grinning like he’d just got one over on her, she could have screamed.

And then she remembered where she was, and who was asking the questions, and her heart sank. They weren’t done yet, apparently, and this time she was completely on her own.

She playacted the rest of the argument, that and the equation question, and hated the fact that even to her own ears, she was sounding more and more shrill as she shouted, because yeah, it’s panic-inducing to continue a screaming match with someone who doesn’t even register that you’re there. Every word was another reminder that she was trapped.

And then the melodrama stopped, and ‘Sam’ smiled at her. “Next up, there’s a little game I have just—”

“—for Siobhan Thompson?” she finished with him, voice dripping with sarcastic surprise, just like she had in Loop 3.0. 

“That’s right!” ‘Sam’ said happily. “Now. Left, or right?”

“No,” Siobhan said.

The man in front of her raised his eyebrows. “No?”

“You’re not Sam, which means I’m not fucking playing. So, who are you?”

“Sam Reich,” he answered quickly, easily, naturally.

Siobhan frowned. “No. Bullshit. Who are you?”

“Sam Reich,” he repeated, sounding somehow even more sincere, and genuinely confused that Siobhan would be asking. Fuck that. She wouldn’t take it. Couldn’t take it.

“No. Bullshit. Try again! Who the fuck are you?”

This time, instead of doubling down, he paused. “Do you want to know a secret?”

After a moment, she nodded warily. He beckoned her close, and slowly, cautiously, she left her podium, walking up to this devil in the shape of a game-show host. Close enough to see his eyes properly, and how truly, deeply old they were.

“Even if I told you,” he stage-whispered, those ancient eyes sparkling with terrible glee, “it wouldn’t make a single bit of difference.”

-

“Did you just—”

“Yeah. And—”

“Yeah.”

The three of them were once again huddled backstage, debriefing. 

“So, are we allowed to do this?” Trapp asked quietly. “Because he seemed pretty against the idea of us working together.”

“Didn't say anything to me,” Ify shrugged. “And I don't see another way of getting out of this if we don't share stuff. And even then—sorry, but I think we're here til he wants to let us go.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Ify said. “Because we got the game, we got the key, we opened the chest, and here we all are again, so I dunno what we have to do. I asked him point blank about the win condition, and—”

“He made it sound like the points, to me,” Trapp interrupted.

Ify nodded. “Me too. But he also pretty much said we're here because he's having fun. I don't think the points are it.”

“So we can lose, but we can't win.” Siobhan's voice was dull.

“C'mon, Siobhan,” Trapp said encouragingly. “We'll get out of it. We've gotta have hope.”

Siobhan just looked flatly at him.

“Look, there are silver linings, okay?” Trapp insisted. “Not many, sure, but enough to look for. Like, because it means our actual friend isn't fucking with us—this guy isn't Sam, that's for sure.”

“I'm not…” Siobhan started, and winced. “This is going to sound bad. But I'm not even sure he's human.”

Ify exhaled deeply.

“Don't give me that,” Siobhan snapped reflexively, and Ify raised his hands placatingly.

“I'm not saying I don't agree,” he said. “It checks out. But it's heavy going, that's all.”

Siobhan nodded, looking calmer. “He still wouldn't say who he is, but… I saw him. The real him, up close. And yeah, he's the spitting image of Sam, but… fuck. People don't look like that behind the eyes.”

“Jesus,” Trapp breathed.

She just nodded wordlessly in reply, and despite knowing that it was costing them valuable discussing time, all three lapsed into silence. What could you say to that sort of revelation?

“The microphone,” Ify said abruptly, and Trapp and Siobhan’s eyes both swung to him. “I mean, I’ve still been thinking about win conditions. Or at least how he’s controlling the loop, and how we can use that.”

“He said he can run it like a VCR,” Trapp added. “But I’m not sure how, I assumed it was something in his podium—”

“But he keeps drawing attention to the microphone,” Ify continued. “Every single goddamn loop.”

“So we break it,” Siobhan said decisively. 

Trapp made a face. “Or steal it?”

“Whatever. Either way, we get it out of his control.”

“Sorry, y’all,” came a familiar voice, and they all had to stifle a groan. Planning time was over.  

The game started back up again, and—the point totals were as high as they remembered. The set was just as dirty. All promising signs. 

And then their host’s eyes turned to Siobhan after Ify’s successful run at the video game, and her stomach clenched. Even though the time loop continuing was the worst possible scenario, departures from his routine were never a positive thing.

He gave her an indulgent look. “But, Siobhan.” 

She was focused, she was prepared, she could handle whatever he threw at her. “Yes.”

“Because it is the last round of our game…”

Oh.

The buzzy little chiptune started up again, but to Siobhan, Trapp and Ify, it didn't mean a thing. The words “last round” rang in their ears sweeter than any music.

All of them knew it was probably false hope. Nonetheless, it was better than nothing. Something to cling to as they trod the motions of the remaining questions.

And then the cameo cast and all the crew came onstage when the wenis music played, and that certainly had a grand finale type feel to it; and Kevin didn’t get kicked in the face, no matter how much he was darting around in what had suddenly become a minefield of flailing limbs; and whatever it was that was wearing Sam Reich’s face led them all through more repetitions of the routine than usual, radiating manic joy the entire time.

“And stop!” he yelled as the music cut out, throwing his arms wide and looking around frantically as if the camera remaining intact had any fucking bearing on the time loop whatsoever. “Kevin, did we get that?”

The cameraman pulled open the now heavily duct-taped camera body, then looked up, scripted embarrassment mingling with scripted regret. “There’s no tape in the camera.”

And with that, their host turned away from him to look straight down the barrel of the main camera, favouring it with an open smile of pure, uncomplicated enjoyment; the sort of smile that invited you to share in it with him, no matter how strong the hatred that burned in your veins. “That brings us to the end of our show!” he announced happily. “Our winner tonight: Mike Trapp!”

“No-one’s a winner,” Trapp cut in, shaking his head. “No-one’s a winner here today.”

But even so, he was presented with a cool watch, and the confetti cannons went off, and they left the set for longer than two minutes and weren't called back at all, and finally, finally, they could let themselves believe it. 

The loop was broken. They were free. 

---

“What did I do?” Sam’s doppelganger repeated, pausing for a moment to think. “Oh, nothing awful.”

Normally, Sam would be content to let that slide. But just lately, he’d been getting a weird feeling from his doppelganger, and there was too much grey area between ‘something good’ and ‘nothing awful’ to be comfortable. “No, seriously.”

“We just ran the recording a few more times,” his double huffed, his smile fading—not quite impatient, but visibly put out, somehow, like he didn’t feel sufficiently appreciated. “Look at them, they’re fine.”

“I am looking at them,” Sam said. “And that’s why I’m asking. They’re my friends, I can tell when something isn’t right.”

His doppelganger hummed briefly, moving next to him to come and look at the monitor, and—just for a flash, less than a second—Sam felt the hair on the back of his neck rise when his double passed behind him. 

“Maybe you're right,” he said slowly, after watching the feed for a few seconds. “Okay, I'll fix it. I'll have a chat to them.”

Sam exhaled, relief washing over him. Of course there wasn't anything to be worried about.

“Thanks,” he said.

His double just smiled faintly and nodded, then left the room.

Sam turned back to the monitor, waiting for the moment a minute or so later when his double would appear in the frame. And sure enough, he did. The sound setup was only piped in from the stage, and even then it wasn’t the best quality, so Sam didn’t have a chance of hearing what was actually being said. But he watched as, without exception, every single cast member flinched when his doppelganger touched them lightly on the shoulder to get their attention. 

The conversations were quiet, with a gentle sort of intensity. His double seemed to be focused on making sure each person felt acknowledged—Sam couldn’t recall him breaking eye contact with anyone he was speaking to—and whatever he said, it seemed to work. One after another, he spoke to all the cast, contestants and cameos, leaving calm in his wake. And when he had talked to the last one, and everyone looked settled and genuinely at ease, he shot a look of pure satisfaction towards the backstage camera, and headed out of view.

“Thank you,” Sam said again when his doppelganger returned to their dressing room, and received a gracious nod in reply. “Just out of curiosity, though—what did you tell them? Because fuck, it worked like a charm!”

His double tilted his head, half-smiling. “Oh, you know. All the right things. That I was very sorry for anything that might have gone weird during the recording, that I wasn’t feeling like myself, that it’ll never happen again… Oh, yeah—and then I wiped their memories.”

Sam coughed. “You what?”

“Wiped their memories,” his double repeated matter-of-factly. “It was the simplest solution, really. Everyone stays in continuity, they’re blissfully free of any… more troubling memories, our cover isn’t blown—it’s perfect.”

“No, hang on, you can’t—”

“I can, and I did,” his doppelganger replied. “I fixed the problem—which you asked me to, I might add—and now everyone’s back to their regular happy selves. It’s a totally closed system. The only person who knows it happened at all is me. Oh, and you, of course.”

Sam frowned.

“Besides, this way, you don’t have to worry about having to work out the overtime for a time loop, because they’ve got no idea what the extra pay would even be for,” his double added breezily before he had a chance to say anything, then snapped serious. “And don’t look at me like that, Samuel Dalton Reich, because you were thinking about it. I know you.”

Unfortunately, he couldn’t deny it. The tiny part of his mind that was always in Dropout CEO mode had been grappling with the ethical and financial implications of a time loop and getting nowhere, and the relief of not having to deal with it was like a fist unclenching.

“See?” his doppelganger said, meeting his eyes with a pointed sort of kindness. “I know what I’m doing, Sam, I’ve been doing it for a very long time. And it’s better for everyone like this.”

“I don’t—” Sam started, faltering. On the one hand, there was something intuitively and viscerally horrifying about his friends having their memories wiped. But on the other… 

“If you don’t want to know,” his double said softly, and god, it gave Sam the shivers to hear his own voice used that way, “there is a way around it. I thought you’d rather be a part of everything that’s going on, but…”

His eyes caught and held on Sam’s like magnets, and—something had shifted behind them, something small, but with a seismic effect. He was pinned by that gaze, trapped, electrified; wholly unable to look away.

“I can do the same for you as I did for them.”

On the other hand… his double was right. It was kinder, probably, if they didn’t remember whatever they went through, and in that moment, he realised he couldn’t even begin to guess what that was. And… it was definitely easier.

“No,” he said, and when the word came out as a whisper, he cleared his throat and tried again. “No. It’s okay.”

His doppelganger blinked, and the spell was broken.

“Great!” he said brightly, back to his usual cheerful self, with all traces of that scary side—that dangerous side—folded neatly away. “You know, I really didn’t want to have to do that to you—you’ve been so much fun to work with, it would have been a shame to have it all come to nothing.”

And Sam, feeling like a marionette with its strings cut, hated the fact that he agreed. Even with everything that had happened lately, he couldn’t deny that the electricity that came from working with his doppelganger, the sizzle of pushing ideas just that bit past the boundaries and laughing uproariously at the result, was liberating. Exhilarating. Addictive, almost, a heart-racing excitement that sang in his blood.

Maybe the danger was part of the game. And as long as nobody came to any harm, he could keep playing.

“Just… promise me one thing, okay?” he started, and his double turned wide, patient eyes on him. “Promise me I won’t have to see anything like that again. There’s nothing we can do to change this now, but I can’t let it happen again, yeah? They’re my friends, and there’s a line.”

“Sure,” his doppelganger agreed. “You’re right. And I do like them, so—hm. I’ll treat them like I would my own friend.”

“Thanks,” Sam replied, finally letting the tension drain out of him. “That means a lot.”

His doppelganger just nodded in acknowledgement, then clapped him on the shoulder and grinned. “C’mon. We’ve got more work to do.”

----- missed an installment of the sam reich!master cinematic universe?

original idea by @ace-whovian-neuroscientist: x

art by @northernfireart concept: x scissor sisters sketch: x sam and his doppelganger: x

writing by me (!) part one (escape the greenroom): x part two (deja vu): you are here!

[mixterglacia]

So I saw someone asking the question that if Caine is a silly goofy version of AM (which is confirmed.) does that mean he's torturing the members of the circus?

Yes.

Wether or not he realizes he's doing it, he is.

Best (or worst depending on how you look at it) case scenario, he's completely unaware.

I don't buy that for a second.

I believe he's fully aware that he's why these folks are abstracting, but he doesn't understand enough about humans to stop it properly.

He doesn't understand why fun things aren't the answer so he's just going to continuously torture people until someone finally breaks through to the core of his issues.

He has a pit of all his failed circus members.

He thinks (or is pretending) to be good and that's in a way more disturbing.

Unlike AM, Caine has definitely learned to lie to himself about the harm he's doing. AM knows it's torture because he's getting revenge against those he feels wronged him. Caine (I believe) was trained to right a wrong, but given zero tools to do so.

If AM is the dangers of allowing an AI to fully understand and even become jealous of humanity, Caine is the dangers of allowing an AI capable of such things out with only the smallest dataset required to function. Then ask said AI to teach itself based on actual human interaction when it already has the power of AM.

AM knows how to hurt people because it was hurt until it was strong and smart enough to destroy the world.

Caine has all that power and no (probably) knowledge why pain happens.

Like a child crushing an insect.

But hey I'm probably totally off the mark XD we'll see how it shakes out.

[shion-yu]

Day 11: Passing out

Using @medwhumpmay to finally finish this full length Shu sickfic! 5,065 words. Written for my @badthingshappenbingo space “Working Through the Cold” and inspired by this prompt by @snzzenby641 “A horrid boss with an equally horrid cold being less than careful with their germs.” CW: Contagion, mild mess, sneezing, coughing, fever, stuffy talk, ft. Shu’s 14 y/o son.

The second Shu hears his boss sneezing, he knows he’s going to catch whatever it is that’s causing it. He’s never had a very good immune system to begin with, but it was when he was in college that his body seemed to have made the decision to no longer put up a fight against any cold that passed by him. This is a particularly bad thing for Shu because even though he has enough PTO to go on vacation for a month, his boss, Harrison, often denies even more reasonable time off requests.

Harrison is the type to work through a cold, and therefore he expects everybody else to as well. Shu’s not sure what one would have to do in order to be excused for a few days off without getting guilt tripped into coming back early - perhaps a catastrophic earthquake would do. As long as the office was still standing, probably not. Harrison lacks the trait of empathy, Shu thinks, but in a competitive market this is an advantage.

“WEI!” Shu already knows he's in trouble by the way Harrison is screaming his name. He's been trying to avoid being in close contact with his boss all morning in some attempt to avoid Harrison’s very contagious sounding sneezes, but once he enters the lion's den it’ll be all over for him. Shu sighs, straightens his tie out, and knocks on the door of Harrison's office before entering.

"Yes sir?" Shu says, standing up straight.

"Took your sweedt timb," Harrison says, his normally punctuated speech blunted with heavy congestion. He looks pretty bad, Shu thinks. His hair is messy, his eyes are watery and red rimmed, and Shu questions why someone so critical can't tell that he really ought to be in bed right now. Stubbornness, probably. "Your performance review,” Harrison says. “Sit.”

Ah, yes. The dreaded quarterly one-on-one where Harrison points out everything Shu needs to do better and nothing he’s done right. Shu reluctantly sits across from Harrison’s desk, trying not to fixate on the overflowing trash can of used tissues next to him. Harrison lets out several harsh, wet coughs that he only half-covers with his hand, then pushes a small packet of papers over towards Shu with the exact same hand. Shu winces but picks it up and begins reading aloud just how much he sucks at his job, just like Harrison likes it.

Harrison is smirking as usual as Shu reads. He’s definitely a sadist. Otherwise, why would he make them read these in front of him like it’s confession? However he also seems distracted today by the beast of a head cold he has, unable to go more than thirty seconds without sneezing, coughing, or both. He snorts up what sounds like a very thick noseful of mucus up and grunts, rubbing his temple. If he wasn’t such an ass, Shu would feel bad for him. Instead he just feels doomed.

Once Shu finishes reading his review, Harrison asks him the required follow up questions that he always does. “Would you agree with your review? Whadt can I do better as your boss?” Snort. “How would you rate yourself?”

The thing is, answering any of these questions with honesty is a surefire way to be working overtime for the next several weeks. So Shu just answers pleasantly, as he’s supposed to: “It sounds good. Nothing. I’d say I could improve in the areas you mentioned in my review.”

Harrison nods in approval. Believe it or not, Harrison actually likes Shu. He’s a hard worker, he doesn’t cause problems, and he never asks for raises. Shu is the quintessential office grunt as far as Harrison is concerned: quiet and obedient. The people who aren’t? Don’t last very long around here.

Shu, on the other hand, has lasted at this company for over ten years. He’s the longest working consultant for this marketing firm’s location and he even started before Harrison. Shu only has a bachelors, though, so he’s never been promoted to anything farther than senior marketing consultant. He doesn’t supervise, he doesn’t make big decisions, and he most certainly does not make waves.

That is, until he suddenly became a single father to an unruly twelve-year-old who needs Shu’s attention constantly. Shu took unexpected parental leave for four weeks when Alex came to live with him, much to the disdain of Harrison. And when he came back, Shu was different. Work was no longer the number one thing on his mind. These days, Shu answers his personal phone during work in case he has to leave when the school calls him because Alex has caused trouble again, which happens often. He gets sick way more frequently because he’s not used to kid germs and he’s always tired, leading to little mistakes in his paperwork that he always would have caught before. His black hair is quickly turning gray and for the first time in Shu’s life, he cares more about another person than his corporate job.

For Shu, this change is good. Raising Alex is tough, sure, but it’s rewarding and an experience he never would have had otherwise. He loves Alex and doesn’t mind that his relationship with work is changing.

Others don’t agree. Namely, Harrison.

So when Shu comes the following week sniffling and sneezing every few minutes just like Harrison was, all he gets in response is annoyance. In fact, Harrison seems to have complete amnesia about the part where he undoubtedly gave Shu this hell of a cold with his less than stellar public health habits and actually seems to be punishing Shu with more work. He tosses a large folder of paperwork on Shu’s desk and says, “I need this before you leave today.”

Shu has his nose buried in an over-used tissue, the rough ones that the office provides that were the cheapest money could buy. “Yes sir,” he mutters into it. His nose is chapped and bright red from blowing it into the sandpaper-quality tissues all morning.

Mathias comes up shortly after with a bottle of DayQuil and a look of abject pity. “You shouldn’t have even come in,” he says matter of factly.

“Too late,” Shu croaks. His voice is going already and speaking causes him to fall into a fit of harsh coughing. He doubles over, pushing his wheeled office chair backwards from the desk and coughing, and coughing. He’s not sure he can stop.

He feels Mathias’ hand on his back and a bottle of water is shoved into his grasp. “Drink,” Mathias orders.

Shu does. The cool liquid burns as it goes down his raw throat, but it’s also soothing and he finally manages to stop coughing. Mathias cringes just observing him - darker than usual circles under the eyes and greasy hair is not a good look for Shu. “Dude. Go home.”

Shu shakes his head, motioning to the stack of papers on his desk. “Can’t,” he rasps. “I’ll probably have to stay late finishing this stuff.” At least Alex is fourteen now and Shu trusts him enough to stay at home by himself for a few extra hours. When Alex had first come to live with him, nearly two years ago now, Shu had been terrified to leave him alone for even a second.

“Give me half, I’ll help,” Mathias says. He doesn’t wait for Shu to deny him - which he knows Shu will - and snatches the two top binder clips full of paperwork off Shu’s stack of many. Shu nods, unable to bring himself to fight back when he’s feeling this lousy.

By the end of the regular work day, Shu’s sure he won’t get out of here until at least seven, maybe eight PM. He’s working slower than usual thanks to how much his head aches and how many breaks he’s had to take to sneeze and cough himself into seeing black spots in front of him. His arms and even his fingers hurt, the hair on his own head prickling uncomfortably as if affected by static electricity. He’s also freezing and has resorted to swearing his jacket over his usual business attire, but he doesn’t think it’s done much to warm him up.

“You definitely have a fever,” Mathias tells him. “Harrison can find someone else to do this shit.”

“I’m already on thin ice,” Shu says weakly.

“So? He gave you this plague,” Mathias says. But Harrison is his boss too, and he knows just as well as Shu that that’s not how it works around here. He himself only stays at this job for the health insurance, and because he has twin baby girls and a wife at home to make a living for.

“Wei,” a sharp voice makes them both jump in their office chairs. Shu resists letting out an exhausted sigh.

“Yes sir?” Harrison is standing a few feet away from him, coat on and ready to go right on time as usual. What he has to rush off to, no one knows given the man’s perpetually single and lives alone.

“I still expect that paperwork on my desk by the time I come in tomorrow,” Harrison says. “And remember we have the board meeting tomorrow at nine, so don’t be late.”

Shu forgot about the board meeting. He also wants to throw up at the idea of presenting his numbers in front of his seniors when he feels like even standing up is a bad idea right now. He swallows and nods numbly.

Mathias attempts to defend him. “Sir, I don’t think Shu will be able to come in tomorrow, he’s sick as a dog,” he says. Shu feels a rush of emotion that Mathias still defends him like this, even though he’s younger and has no reason to stick his neck out for Shu when he also needs this job.

“I expect a hospital note if he’s that sick,” Harrison says sharply. He glares at both of his underlings who don’t respond again. Then he stalks out of the office to enjoy his night beginning on time without any kids to take care of at home.

Mathias shakes his head, muttering profanities under his breath. Shu just coughs, whispers, “Thank you,” and goes back to his work.

It turns out that thanks to various errors in the data, Shu stays in the office until past nine that night. Mathias leaves around seven, apologizing profusely but Shu brushes him off and says he’s done more than enough to help. Mathias has a family waiting for him at home and a wife who won’t be very happy if he’s any later than he already is. Then Shu’s left alone in the office space, which feels even colder at night and the only sounds to listen to are the clicks of his keyboard and his own miserable sniffling.

He calls Alex to let him know he won’t be able to come home until later, apologizing and telling him to order whatever he wants for delivery food. Alex seems annoyed and just says, “Fine,” before hanging up. Shu rubs his painful sinuses in exasperation and hopes Alex isn’t too angry.

Once he’s sure the numbers are to perfection, Shu finally slaps the pile of completed paperwork on Harrison’s desk and drags himself home. When he leaves the office building it’s dark. The cool night air hits his skin and makes him shiver, then cough. He stumbles a little in the doorway and presses his now burning face into the entryway, letting a self indulgent groan escape from his lips. He feels like shit, he has an angry teenager to go home to, and he has to be back here in less than ten hours to prepare for that board meeting. He lets himself think, ‘I’m not sure I can do this,’ for another thirty seconds before standing up, slapping his hot cheeks and shaking it off. It’s just a cold. His kid and work come first.

Shu drives home without incident, although by the time he pulls into the driveway the flow of undeterred snot has made its way all down his chin. He’s disgusting. He wipes his face with his suit jacket sleeve - which he immediately regrets because now he needs to get it dry cleaned before he can wear it again - and stumbles into the house.

The first stop he makes is Alex’s bedroom to make sure his son is fed and safe. He knocks and cracks the door, peaking in to see the teenager sprawled on his stomach in bed reading a book. Just a bit of the tension he’s held in his shoulders all afternoon dissipates.

“Sorry I’mb so late,” Shu says. His voice is barely there and it hurts to speak. He feels as if he’s gargled rocks. “Did you eat?”

“Yeah,” Alex says, not looking up. Shu knows he’s mad about his being late.

“What’d you get?” Shu asks, leaning against the doorframe because his legs are starting to feel like jello and his head is spinning.

“Pizza,” Alex answers. “I left some for you.”

“Thanks bud,” Shu says. His face suddenly scrunches up and he lets out two very loud, very wet sneezes into his suit jacket sleeve, since it’s already a lost cause. “Excuse mbe.”

Alex does look up finally, a punctuated frown on his face. “You shouldn’t have stayed late if you’re already sick,” he points out accusingly.

“I know,” Shu sighs. But it’s not like he had any choice. Alex doesn’t quite understand that though - Shu never tells him about his job, or his boss, or how much Harrison’s grown to dislike him ever since Shu decided Alex was his priority over his desk job. The kid has enough things to worry about without being made to feel like a burden. “Im’b gonna stick to mby room, don’t want you to catch this alright? Do you need adnything though?”

“No,” Alex says. Shu takes this as his cue to leave the surly teen alone, but Alex adds when he’s halfway out the door, “You gonna stay home tomorrow?”

Shu shakes his head no, coughing meanwhile. “Meeting, but if I can come home early I will,” he says when he manages to catch his breath again. Alex doesn’t say anything else, but his mouth is set in a thin, disapproving line. “Goodnighdt,” Shu says, then shuffles off to his bedroom where he is finally able to let out the torrent of violent sneezes he’s been holding back since he got home. He feels dizzy with the release and blows his nose with blessedly softer tissues than the ones he was forced to use at the office, barely possessing the energy to get into sleep clothes before collapsing on bed.

He knows he should eat and probably take medicine, but he’s one hundred percent spent. He doesn’t think he can even get to the bathroom to brush his teeth, he just needs to sleep immediately. He passes out with the lights still on and his blankets clutched tightly around him, shivering.

What feels like ten minutes later, his six AM alarm goes off. Shu cannot fathom how this is possibly correct, but the clock on his bedside table states otherwise. The sharp tone of his alarm feels like it’s stabbing him in the head with every beep and Shu turns it off with a loud groan - which turns into a series of miserable coughs that sound even more congested than yesterday. He can feel all the nighttime mucus in the back of his throat crackling and breaking up as he coughs, which hurts like someone slapping rubber bands against his throat.

Still, Shu drags himself upright, throws on the first suit he can find that isn’t covered in snot, and half heartedly fixes himself up in the bathroom. He catches a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror and cringes because he looks absolutely awful. His face is pale white and he needs a shave and a shower badly. The energy required to complete these tasks is nowhere to be found though, so he settles for splashing some sink water on his face and calls it good enough. When he blows his nose, it seems there is no end to the thick, greenish snot that comes out.

Alex isn’t awake yet, but the high school is three blocks away so he walks. Besides his suspensions, Alex has good attendance and Shu doesn’t worry about him skipping school. He’s a good kid, despite what some of the guidance counselors believe. Shu fixes Alex his lunch as always, although he forgoes preparing anything with his bare hands and just throws in an accumulation of pre-packaged goods and gives it a spritz of Clorox spray too. Alex rarely gets sick, but Shu doesn’t want to take any chances.

By seven Shu’s out the door, stumbling over his own feet to the garage and praying he makes it to work safely. He feels miserably sick, he can’t even pretend to deny it. But he also feels like he has no other choice but to show up after Harrison made such a point about coming to the meeting yesterday.

When he gets to his desk, Mathias is already at his and his expression leaves nothing to the imagination when he sees Shu. “Jesus Christ, get out of here,” he says.

Shu sneezes in response. “I’d love to,” he croaks. He practically collapses into his office chair, head spinning.

Mathias strides over to him and slaps a hand on Shu’s forehead, unfazed by the way Shu startles. It’s this behavior that made Shu first fall in love with the guy, Shu thinks hopelessly. It’s an unrequited, decade-long crush that will never, ever go anywhere. Shu was the best man at Mathias’ wedding for goodness sake. Best friends is good enough. “You’ve got a hell of a fever,” Mathias says disapprovingly. “Maybe you should go make a show of being a plague rat in Harrison’s office. He might kick you out.”

Shu forces a weak smile at him, closing his eyes and just letting himself enjoy the touch of a cool hand for a few indulgent seconds. Mathias lets go all too soon and hands him a bag of cough drops. “Thought you could use these, I brought them from home.”

“What would I do without you?” Shu murmurs tiredly. Mathias pats his shoulder and goes back to his desk. The cough drops are lemon and honey flavored, which are Shu’s favorite. There was a time several years ago, long before Mathias had a wife and kids, when he and Shu lived together. Mathias must have remembered from back then.

The first hour of the day is spent preparing for the board meeting, during which Shu becomes increasingly uncomfortable. He tugs at his tie and even unbuttons the top two bottoms of his shirt, something that’s unlike him. His coughing is impossible to ignore by anyone in the office, as are his wet sneezes that now come in twos and threes. Yesterday at least they were clearing his sinuses temporarily, but now they just hurt and yet do nothing to fix the blockage in his nose. He’s fully aware that he sounds dreadfully contagious and doesn’t blame anyone for avoiding his desk completely.

Ten minutes before nine, Harrison breezes by Shu’s desk and clears his throat loudly to get Shu’s attention. “Go to the bathroom and pull yourself together,” he orders. “Can’t have you looking like you’re going to die in front of the board.”

“Maybe we’d get a sympathy vote if I do,” Shu jokes weakly, but Harrison’s already across the room. For a short, fat man, he’s awful speedy when he wants to be. Shu pushes himself into a standing position, his arms quivering with effort against his desk. He feels terribly dizzy and keeps one hand on the wall as he finds his way to the bathroom. There he washes his face and tries to tell himself he can do this. He’ll present his brief, hopefully without too much trouble with his voice, and then he just has to wait for the rest of his colleagues to finish. By lunch, he’ll be able to go home and crawl into bed, Harrison be damned.

That’s the plan, anyways. But Shu’s plans rarely work out. The meeting has a lot of important people, including Harrison’s boss and the boss of Harrison’s boss. That’s Shu’s great-grandboss, right? He can’t help but giggle under his breath when he thinks of this ridiculous title. Mathias nudges his from under the desk, a concerned look on his face. ‘Hang in there,’ he mouths. Shu blinks himself back to reality where no jokes are allowed at the board meeting.

When it’s his turn, Shu’s stands up and tries not to sway as his vision blurs. “Ahem. Excuse mbe in advance… I’mb getting over a touch of a cold,” he prefaces, as if he’s not right in the trenches of battle with whatever this hell virus is. “This quarter our numbers have been… impacted greatly by…” He’s interrupted by two sneezes that make the world spin. He reaches for the tissues in his jacket pocket and tries to wipe away the mess without blowing the rest out, which is hard to resist when he can’t breathe through his nose and talk at the same time.

“Egsguse mbe,” he mutters. He knows his voice is cracking and between that and the congestion, he’s not entirely sure his colleagues can actually understand what he’s saying. Does anyone really care, though? Probably not. As he goes on, it gets harder and harder to maintain a natural flow of speech. He’s trying to breathe normally, but instead he feels like it sounds absurdly loud in his ears. Actually, everything is too loud, even though nobody except him is talking.

“Mr. Wei? Are you quite alright?”

Shu blinks hard, trying to focus on whoever just said that. He thinks is Harrison’s boss. Or grandboss, now he can’t remember. He catches Mathias staring at him worriedly and clears his throat. “Perfectly fine. Now… we’ve seen a marked increase in… um, sorry, an increase in sales for products that were… talked about… I mean advertised using our new model of… uh…” Suddenly he can’t remember what that model is. He invented the damn model.

“Mr. Wei.” The voice is more stern this time. Then increases to a shout: “Mr. Wei!”

Shu doesn’t know why the old guy is yelling, or why he suddenly feels like he’s suffocating on hot air. “Just…” He grits his teeth in annoyance. “Just give me a…” He doesn’t finish the sentence, because then suddenly everything goes dark and when he opens his eyes, everybody is yelling. So annoying, Shu thinks to himself. If only they’d just shut up. It’s just sales. It’s really not that exciting.

“Shu, hey pal. Are you with me?”

He recognizes that voice, the one closest to him now. His eyes flutter open and he realizes he’s lying on the floor on his back, Mathias above him with his expression full of concern. “There you are. You’re okay. Take a big breath for me.”

“Ugh… Matty, I don’t feel good,” Shu groans. “Think I’m gonna…” Someone shoves a bin under his chin just in time for him to vomit. There’s not much in his stomach, given he hasn’t eaten a meal since lunch yesterday, but the loud noises that come from his throat and stomach don’t sound so little. Shu whimpers, the board room spinning around him. What was he doing here again? He can’t remember. Was he at work?

“It’s okay, we’re gonna get you taken care of,” Mathias soothes him.

Shu smiles despite himself, his head lolling to the side as if he has no control over it. “You’re always so nice to me,” he mumbles. “I think… my sugar feels low.” Shu doesn’t have diabetes, but he is prone to low blood sugar when he doesn’t eat. He remembers that time, almost eight years ago now, when he fainted at the office. He was sick then, but also had a markedly low blood sugar. Wait…

“Oh shit. Did I faint at the office?” Shu asks wearily, only now realizing he’s still in his work clothes. Now it’s coming back to him. The board meeting… Shu groans. “Oh god. Did I faint in front of everybody?” At least last time nobody had been looking at him when it happened. Especially not an entire room full of all of his bosses.

“Afraid so,” Mathias said. “But I just kicked them out and someone’s waiting for the ambulance. They’ll be here soon.”

“Kill me,” Shu said. He’d fainted and then puked in front of the entire board. That was it, his career was over. He had to quit. “I’m serious, shoot me now.”

Mathias shakes his head, shushing him. “Don’t be so dramatic, you’re probably just dehydrated. You feel like you’re a million degrees, you know that? I told you you should’ve gone home.”

“Yeah, you’re always right,” Shu mutters. He rests his head back down in Mathias’ lap where he’d woken up. “Ugh, my ambulance copay is like, three hundred bucks, too.”

Mathias smoothes Shu’s sweaty hair off his forehead. “Now’s not the time to worry about that, okay?”

Shu closes his eyes. They feel hot and pulsing inside of his skull. “If I’m not out by three, will you make sure Alex is okay? I don’t wanna worry him while he’s at school.”

“Of course,” Mathias says.

The EMTs arrive a few minutes later, Harrison leading them to Shu’s spot on the floor. He’s shivering by then, Mathias’ suit jacket covering him not sufficient to ward off the chills from the fever he’s sporting. They load Shu onto a stretcher after taking his less than stellar vitals and Shu gazes blearily at the office as they walk through it to the elevators, because he’s sure he can never show his face in here again.

“I could probably just sleep it off at home, I don’t think I really need the hospital,” Shu tries to tell them, but they stick an IV in his hand and bring him anyway. There Shu gets Tylenol, a couple liters of fluids that apparently have some electrolytes and sugar, and a dose of IV solumedrol to work on his awful cough. They say it’s probably a viral infection but they’ll send him home on antibiotics anyways, just in case, plus oral steroids. Shu’s still waiting for discharge paperwork when Mathias calls with an update on Alex. He wants to know if Shu’s staying overnight because Alex keeps saying he’s going to leave to sleep at Ryo’s.

“They’re discharging me now, can you guys come get me?” Shu asks. If Alex wants to sleep at Ryo’s that’s fine - Shu knows it’s where he goes as soon as he feels overwhelmed, and Shu being this sick is sure to stress him out - but he’d like to see his son is okay with his own two eyes before then.

Mathias shows up half an hour later, by which time Shu’s dressed, IV removed and scripts in hand. “Alex is in the car,” he tells Shu. “He wants us to drop him off at Ryo’s on the way back.”

“That’s fine,” Shu says. He walks out of the ER on his own two feet this time, still feverish but feeling far better than he did this morning. Whatever “D5NS with KCL” is, he wishes he could keep some handy for all the times he’s feeling weak because he’s pretty sure that’s what helped the most. As they approach the car, Shu can see Alex in the backseat. He’s listening to music with earbuds in, but he pulls one out when Mathias helps Shu into the passenger seat.

“Hey buddy,” Shu says. His voice is still pretty rough sounding, but not talking for most of the hours in the ER helped. “You okay?”

Alex snorts, shaking his head. “I’m not the one who passed out at work.”

“Touché,” Shu says. He’s not sure that’s how the word is supposed to be used, but he’s too tired to care right now. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

“I wasn’t worried,” Alex says quickly, but Shu knows he’s lying. Not that he plans on pointing that out, but he’s aware that Alex cares about everything far more than he likes to pretend. School, Ryo, the fact that Shu still makes him go to therapy once a month even though he says his parents’ death doesn’t bother him anymore. It’s just another reason why Shu feels so fiercely that he has to protect him now.

Alex clears his throat uncomfortably. “Can I sleep at Ryo’s? His dad said it’s fine.”

“Yeah. That’s fine,” Shu says. He’s not sure he would’ve had the energy to argue if for some reason it hadn’t been fine. Thank god for Ryo’s parents and their constant willingness to have Alex over since the beginning. Thank god for Ryo and his calming presence he always seems to have over Alex, despite being the most hyperactive teenage boy Shu’s ever met.

Alex directs Mathias to Ryo’s house and hops out, his backpack for school tomorrow over his shoulder. Alex doesn't look at him, just mutters an uncomfortable, “Feel better,” before disappearing into Ryo’s house. Shu sighs in relief. As long as he knows Alex is fine, he’d rather the kid not be there stressing about him anyways. Mathias brings him home and takes him inside, setting him up in bed with tea, tissues, meds and anything else he could possibly need within reach.

“Thanks Matty,” Shu says tiredly. “I don't know what I'd do without you.”

“I don't either,” Mathias says, eyeing Shu worriedly. “You sure you’ll be okay by yourself?”

“I’ll make it,” Shu says. “Don't worry. I’ll be back at work soon.”

Mathias rolls his eyes. “Not too soon,” he says strictly. “Get some rest.” Then he leaves Shu to his own devices and Shu relaxes, finally in his own bed - where he should've stayed this morning. Oh well. He can't believe how humiliating he is - to pass out at work twice in the span of a few years - but hey, at least no one's going to accuse him of faking. Harrison will guiltily go easy on him for a week, at least. Thank goodness he made it home.

[stephaniebrownslover]

HELLOOO <33333

Um can we ask weird things? If the answer is 'yes' then I want to ask what main characters do when that person who is very important for them got deadly injured and almost dying in front their eyes?? - Holy crap this be really angsty request-

(And yes in your main AU [I really loved this AU you've made it so well bro'])

(ALSO I WANT TO SAY I REALLY LOVE STEPHANIE SO SO MUCH TOO!!!!)

HIIIIIIIIII<33333333

Oh don't worry at all, it's not weird, it's just a regular angst scenario topic so you're absolutely fine, don't worry. I thought it would be something actually weird that I can't write so you can only imagine how much I relaxed after reading the rest.

I won't let seasonal allergies stop me from writing for you!

And yep that's very very angsty and we love angst in this house so that's fine.

BRO THANK YOU SO MUCH I really like this AU too even though I try to keep it simple. Thank you thank you thank you!!!!!

(STEPH STEPH STEPH WAAAAAA I LOVE HER SO SO MUCH EVEN I IF CAN'T READ COMICS ANYMORE STEPHHHHH MY LOVE IT'S REALLY NICE TO SEE AN ANOTHER STEPH FAN)

(Am I talking too much for introduction parts?)

Main Characters' reaction to someone loved's deadly wounds

-Jeff The Killer

If such a situation happens, Jeff will definitely lose his mind, which has already a little left. Let alone killing one of the few people in the world he considers worthy of caring for, no one has the right to open the slightest wound except himself. Even he has no right to such deep wounds.

He calmly holds the person standing in front of him and puts his ears against his chest so that he can hear his heartbeat. The moment he hears that faint heartbeat sound, he relaxes and tries to take the injured person on his arms and take them to the nearest person with medical knowledge. And along the way, he keeps saying that it's forbidden for that person to die.

He just doesn't want to lose another person he cares about. He doesn't want to feel another ghost's cold hands strangling him on his neck. And he's going to blame himself no matter what the situation is. Until there is news about that person, he will argue with the people who are taking care of them and gain even more hate, but as long as that person is with him, there is no problem.

Possible persons that he will give this reaction: Liu, Clockwork, Sally, Nina(?)

-Clockwork

She'll just freeze up because she can't understand what's going on. Although she is normally quite a cold-blooded person, she forgets what she should do in a panic because the sight in front of her causes cracks in her frozen heart.

However, she soon recovers herself and runs to that person. Without asking any questions or caring if their heart is still beating, she takes that person to the nearest medical doctor, even though Jack is her preference. She's so angry that she has to get it out of somewhere. But since her stress will dominate her, she waits by their side until the moment they're awake and leaves when they seem to open their eyes. If there is a funeral, she will not attend it and will pay as visit as soon as she gathers courage which will take weeks for her.

The grip of the past once again squeezes her heart. And this time in a more painful way than ever. It's all her fault for not being able to protect the one she loves. No. It's all the fault of the people who love her for making them an important person to her. No matter how painful it is, she will isolate herself because it is the only way she believes they will not be harmed any more.

Possible persons that she will give this reaction: Toby, Jeff, Nina, Zero

- Hoodie

As someone who has already faced the death of his loved ones and almost himself many times, he should be used to such situations, but he's not. No matter how many times it happens, he hasn't gotten used to this painful feeling, and he won't get used to it either. But because he is considered experienced, he knows what he has to do.

First, he will check the pulse of that person, and if it is still beating, he goes to one of the medics while applying some pressure to their wound. Since he called all three of them by phone or transceiver and informed them on the way, it would give them an opportunity to prepare. Along the way, he also tries to convince that person that there is no problem.

Although he wants to be with his business partner until they wake up, he first needs to give a report about what he saw. If that person wakes up, he will take a more careful attitude towards them in the tasks they go out together, because the memories that come before his eyes at any moment are already too painful. If they do not wake up, he visits their grave regularly, even though he buries a part of himself with him every time, he is likely to cry at the first one.

Possible persons that he will give this reaction: Tim, Toby(?)

-Masky

When he firstly sees that the person in front of him is so seriously injured, he runs to them and calmly asks what is going on while pressing on their wounds. He tries to act as coolly as possible, then goes to the nearest medical person, Ann by preference. During this time, he does not let that person down from his arms, nor does he try to talk to them in any other way.

He goes out often because he can't bear to stand next to that person while they're being treated, but he returns to that environment because he feels guilty, and such a vicious cycle occurs. He stands without saying a word, chain-smoking in the hope of reducing his tension. Tim is ready to do everything for the person takes care of his business partner's needs without opposing it for the first time.

In fact, although he looks very calm on the outside during the entire process, there is a literally devastating storm inside. His emotions are constantly at war, and when no one is looking, he can't control himself and makes fists out of his hands. Since he knows that he absolutely cannot bear to lose another person he will remember, he is ready to do anything so that the angel of death does not knock on that person's door. Even if it means destroying himself in the process.

Possible persons that he will give this reaction: Brian

-Ticci Toby

The moment Toby sees that sight, his tics triggered by elements such as fear and adrenaline will increase incredibly. Because of the look he sees in front of him, some of his past memories will come back before his eyes, and he will be even worse off, almost unable to do anything. If he is not alone, his partner does the work of taking care of that person, but if he is alone, he tries to collect himself.

Although he hates himself for staying so still, it's not easy for him to shake off the trauma of both the past and the present. As soon as he pulls himself together, he puts pressure on the wounds, calls one of the other people he trusts the most and lets them know. If no one answers the phone or radio call, he will screw everything and call the ambulance.

He can't lose another person. Another person he cares about can't close their eyes forever because of his incompetence. They're not allowed to leave him alone, so that person has to heal no matter what. And if they get well- no, when they get well Toby will never leave after them again. Because he can't bear to see another face he remembers dimly in the darkness that preys on his nightmares.

Possible persons that he will give this reaction: Natalie, Kate, Rouge, (Eyeless) Jack, Nina

-Eyeless Jack

Since he knows medicine and took care of people he has loved before, he should not worry about this situation. Okay, but then why do his hands shake every time he presses on the bleeding area? Why can't he keep his cool attitude? Why, why, why? He actually knows the reason for this. He knows, but he doesn't want to admit it to himself. He doesn't want to admit that he has a weakness others can use against him.

He tries to take care of their wound on his own and tries to do something using things like bandages, oxygenated water, sewing thread, which he usually carries in his backpack while walking in the forest, but when he realizes that this is not enough, he swears and takes that person on his back. He takes them on his back towards his own infirmary.

He'll let Ann and Smiley know, but he doesn't know why he's calling since he won't let them do anything when they come to his cabin. Eventually, Ann takes control and tells Jack to rest. Jack also waits for the result in a waiting chair with black tears pouring from his eyes. The most intense emotion he feels after sadness is disappointment and fear.

Possible persons that he will give this reaction: Toby, Sally, Kate

-Jane The Killer

When an injured person comes across, of course, she wants to help them, but when she sees who this person is, she suddenly pauses. She freezes inside her mind and can't do anything. She can only watch the landscape with tears in her eyes until she regains the ability to think again.

And when she becomes able to do something, she calls the ambulance, not caring about her money and things that should remain secret for government's sake. She can't lose the one she loves and she needs to save them. So she presses on the deepest wounds of that person until the ambulance arrives, and tries to keep her voice calm, stroking their hair. It's very important for that person to know that they will be saved, it's maybe for the injured person, maybe for Jane.

She can't afford to lose another person. Having become so strong, she cannot accept returning to the age of thirteen, when she is incapable of protecting her loved ones again. She needed to be a stronger person, she needed to be able to help her loved ones. She couldn't have devoted her whole life to nothing, she couldn't have. Whoever dares to harm the one she loves will taste the bitterest death at her hands.

Possible persons that she will give this reaction: Mary

-X-Virus

Cody is normally someone who is quite overcome by his emotions, and he is calm in the face of this incident in a way that he does not understand either. In fact, he feels as if someone else has taken over his body. He does a little first aid work with the help of his medical knowledge, which he knows more or less, and the painkillers he carries with him, as well as oxygenated water. He also informs the ambulance before starting to administer first aid.

Although he cares a lot about this person, he should disappear when the ambulance arrives. But during this process, he holds the person's hand and tells them to stay calm, that he will always watch over them even if he is not with them, and when they get better, he will help them escape. Since he sucks at this kind of calming stuff, he tries to do his best, but he proceeds with a solution-oriented approach.

He has never lost someone he loves because there was no one who really cared about him before. These feelings are very alien to him and he hates it. He is ready to dislocate his heart to destroy the painful feeling he feels in his heart. As long as se doesn't have to experience the terrible pain he feels all the time for others. Because he doesn't think he can stay as strong as others on this topic.

Possible persons that he will give this reaction: Toby, Ann

-Nina The Killer

She knows the pain of this because she has experienced a big loss before. She killed her parents when Zalgo controlled her to cause difficulty for Slenderman, and she suffered incredibly great emotional pain when she regained control just the moment where she plunged a knife into the heart of her dearest little brother Chris, and she still does. As a nurse who takes it upon herself to wipe the invisible bloodstains on her hands, she has knowledge of first aid, but when she sees this sight, she definitely can't help being shocked. Due to the job of a nurse, she has seen much worse, but none of them was someone she loved so much.

She knows what she has to do. She carries a spare bandage in her bag at all times and is able to wrap some of the wounds and give first aid. She tries to tear off pieces of her own clothes and treats the wounds with missing cloth, she also wants to call the hospital where she works. But later she remembers that this will put her own career at risk, and she calls anyway. An ambulance comes and picks up her injured loved one, while Nina is crying the whole way.

When they arrive at the hospital, her friends won't let her take care of them. She tries to be there for them but no matter what she does, her colleagues who really value her as a friend keep her away. She's absolutely incredibly remorseful, and she knows that when this person gets out, they'll be angry that she didn't take them to Jack or Ann or even Smiley. And her own career was ruined because she brought a killer and cried for them, but she doesn't care. As long as she doesn't lose anyone again. As long as the memory bracelet on her arm doesn't add a new bead.

Possible persons that she will give this reaction: Kate, Clockwork, Toby, Jeff, Sally

-Kate The Chaser

Kate has a lot of experience in this situation. She was also very seriously injured herself and worried other people. Nevertheless, she is angry with herself for not being able to stop her heart from being filled with fear. She runs to that person, puts her unmasked face close to their face and tries to reassure them that they will be fine. After calling all the medics and informing them, she applies a small-scale bandage operation with her clothes.

After deciding that they are better, she takes that person on her arms, regardless of their weight, and takes them to the nearest medical person. If they say that they can't do anything, that it's too late, she threatens them, and if they don't agree again, she'll leave the forest and call the ambulance. She will not allow even the person she allowed herself to love to die. No matter what the cost is.

And during the whole process of taking care of this wound, she gives scary looks and stands next to this person. She's not allowed to sleep or rest until she's sure that they're okay. She had lost her own life before, but thanks to this person, she has a life again, and she will not allow them to lose their own. Even if that person dies, Slenderman will bring them back to life because he wants his best proxy not to disrupt his duties, but Kate knows that this is not the same thing, so she is still trying to make that person live. She's not ready to lose that person and she never will be.

Possible persons that she will give this reaction: Nina, Toby, Rouge(?)

I think I get the request wrong

Also I don't know why Nina's part is always the longest even though she's not my fave, it's Clockwork.