#it’s about the horrors it’s about the suffering it’s about projecting yourself onto a man plagued by visions

[becpng]

assorted needle & thread sketches from the past month!! happy last thursday to those who celebrate

[kaeyazuha]

𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬

❝  I was wondering if I could request Diluc, Childe, Kaeya, Zhongli, and Thoma comforting the reader who struggles with nightmares and has a particularly bad one that leaves them shaken up. The nightmare could be about loss maybe? ❞

; Hey there, love! I’m so sorry- in my haste I accidentally wrote for Xiao instead of Thoma (don’t ask how) so I ended up writing both, and I made the dreams more vague (not about loss specifically) so I really messed up-- I hope it’s okay regardless, I’m so sorry! (っ °Д °;)っ

; 5/16/22

; Fluff/Comfort

; CW: sharing a bed, nightmares, mentions/descriptions of monsters, light gore/violence, etc., physical touch

     𝗗𝗶𝗹𝘂𝗰 𝗥𝗮𝗴𝗻𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗿

✧ Diluc is a man of strength, willpower, success, and power. Those who see the bags under his eyes assume he’s simply overworking as businessmen do; however, what they don’t see is how those eyes are often bloodshot and teary as his body’s drenched in a cold sweat day after day. The Darknight Hero both protects Mondstadt and himself, saving him from having to suffer through the nightmares he sees every time his eyes close. Though because of this, he’s not that good at comforting you after a nightmare, especially not a particularly bad one. However, after all of his time spent with you, and after all of the buried thoughts he pretended not to have about someone comforting him during those times nobody did, he ends up lulling you back to sleep with a smile on your face anyway.

✧ After years of nightmares and being frightened awake by the sound of the rain pattering against the window, he became a light sleeper. The moment you start tossing and turning, gripping onto the blankets with a sleep-ridden yet pained expression, he’s sitting up and gently pulling you back to the real world with hushed whispers and light touches. Calloused thumbs stroke away your tears and caress your cheeks while he hushes your panicked cries soothingly. If you weren’t so blindsided by the horrors that projected over your eyes just moments ago, you’d want to tease him for acting like a lovesick teenager. But you couldn’t find it in you; not now, not when he held you like he was afraid of letting go, not when he could care less about the endless tears and muffled cries soiling his silk night attire, not when he held you so close to him with the promise of forever cradled in the hands that caressed your skin.

✧ He has a very soothing presence when he’s not trying to scare people; like a warm campfire on a cold night, the glowing embers dancing in the smoke and creating little fireflies amidst inky black, the warmth emanating from the burning wood acting as a blanket and shield from the cold. If you’d like, he’d silently listen to you recount your nightmare after helping you grab a glass of water- “You need to stay hydrated after crying like that…” he’d remind calmly. If you’d rather just go back to sleep after being so cruelly pulled from it, then Diluc would hold you to his chest in silence, allowing the night sky and the quiet sound of crickets, summer wind, and the thrum of his heartbeat lull you back to sleep. This time, the images that greet you aren’t horrific or miserable, but lighthearted and sweet. Even in your dreams, he stands there with his hand extended to you and the sincerest of smiles on his face.

- ✧ -

The sheets felt burning hot under your hands, the uncomfortable heat almost suffocating as you gasped for air. You frantically sorted your hands through the blanket, searching amidst the darkness for the face you were always so excited to wake up to, the scarlet eyes filled with light- anything, anything to fix what you just saw behind closed eyes. It hurt, it burned-- even without a fear of the dark or monsters in the unknown, you found yourself looking over your shoulder over and over again while trying to muffle the cries escaping bitten lips. 

“Mmn…Dearest?” Diluc groggily spoke, sitting up and blindly waving his hand around until he reached the lamp switch, flicking it on and then gasping when you practically flung yourself at him. Please, you begged, ‘m sorry, you cried, and you burrowed yourself as far as you could into his shirt.

His hands found you, one hand rubbing over your back and the other cupping the back of your head. “It’s okay, I’m here now.” He leaned closer, messy locks of hair draped over his shoulders and tickling yours and he smiled while brushing away your tears. “You’re safe now.” With that, you only cried harder, gripped his shirt tighter, hid yourself in his shoulder further, and he held you ever closer. “That was but a dream, my dear.” He murmured for only you to hear despite being in an empty room, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your wetted cheek. “You’re here, with me, and we’re alright.” 

It’s not alright, you wanted to yell, but couldn’t find the words to do so. Every sound you could make became trapped in a bubble lodged in your throat, and all that came out was silent, choked cries. It must hurt, you’d think while subconsciously digging your fingernails into his back, clawing at whatever you could to keep you grounded. Yet, he didn’t seem to mind at all. He simply held one of your hands in his own and held it tight, and never did he let go until your sobs died down into small hiccups.

“...’m sorry.” Why were you apologizing? How long has it been? Everything was blurry after being dragged out of sleep by the ankles and feeling your emotions leak out from your eyes like water from a faucet. You almost felt absent from the world after waking up; colors and sounds being about as vivid as a speckle of white paint atop a blank canvas, and time seeming almost nonexistent.

He seemed to wonder the same question, pulling away with almost an offended look while cupping your cheeks in his hands. “Don’t apologize. You had every right to be upset after a nightmare like that…” And only after those words did you piece together that through your frantic rambles, you’d explained (or tried to, at least) the nightmare that plagued you. “I’m simply sorry that I couldn’t prevent the dream from happening in the first place…” Diluc sighed, biting down lightly on his lower lip and letting out a small laugh when you huffed, easing it out from between his teeth. “Sorry.” He mused. “Are you feeling better, at least?”

You hummed, wiping at your eyes and inwardly cringing at the sticky feeling of your cold sweat and dried tears. “...I think so, yes.” Another pause, and then your head whipped towards the grand clock just across from the bed, and you gasped. “Diluc it’s four in the morning! You need to rest!” You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at the calm, almost sarcastic response he gave just after.

“I’m sure Adelinde can handle things if I sleep in an hour or two and,” He averted his gaze and guided your head to rest on his shoulder. “You’re my first priority now and always. Please, don’t belittle your struggles or hide them from me. The very same way you take care of me in times like this, allow me to do the same.” You smiled at that, and he relaxed for the first time that night. “Let’s try this again, yes? There’s still time until the morning.” He fell backwards until his back collided with the plush sheets, and his hands extended outwards to you in an inviting plea.

With the sudden lack of adrenaline, you couldn’t help but practically collapse in his arms. You found your fingertips still digging lightly into his shirt, and your hands still trembling; but when you rested your head on his chest and relished in the sound of his heartbeat and the sight of his sleepy smile, you decided yes-

Let’s try this again.

     𝗖𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗱𝗲 '𝗧𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝗮'

✧ As a child, Tartaglia was often plagued by nightmares. Frightening beasts from his father’s tales, his family being broken apart, even the vivid feeling of just falling endlessly often woke him up with a cry. He was used to being comforted and lulled back to sleep by his parents and older siblings and thanks to this, was well-prepared for your frightened gasp and the timid way you shook him awake. He was ready to give you the kindest smile he could muster while half asleep. He was in his element as he held you to his chest and coaxed your cries out from bitten lips, rocking you back and forth within his hold. It was almost surprising, just how gentle the ruthless harbinger could be. But it was more than welcomed, especially when he slowly replaced your nightmare with images and stories more beautiful than a sunset over rippling water, or snowflakes dancing amidst ivory skies.

✧ Despite the groggy lilt to his voice, and the hazy film over crystalline blue eyes, he still appears so beautiful as you stare up at him through teary eyes. He’d give you a moment, just holding you in his arms and humming an old Snezhnayan lullaby while allowing your muffled cries to fill the silence. Childe opts to let you guide what happens from here; allowing you to either speak your mind about what happened, or fall back asleep in the comfort of his arms. He makes no move to force words out of you or demand what happened when you closed your eyes, but the way his fingers dance along the curve or your back and the soft plush of your cheeks tells you all the words he’d say if he were more than half-awake.

✧ To be honest, unless you start a conversation, he’s mostly silent. Every once in a while, the smallest of whispers would grace your ears with sweet nothings. But for the most part, his quiet hums and the sound of his hands brushing over your back fills the silence. In the morning, he’d check with you to make sure you’re alright with it, and then he’d ask you about your dream. Now that you’ve slept on it and hopefully feel better about it, he hopes you can tell him about your nightmare in a way that doesn’t hurt you. Then he’d do everything in his power to keep the same thing from happening again- he hates seeing you so frightened, it scares him just as much. And so, the following night, you’ll feel him hold you just a bit tighter to him.

- ✧ -

You ran, as far as you could and as fast as possible. At one point you stumbled, wincing at the pain but persevering nonetheless. Tears streaked down your cheeks and your heart pounded in your ears, the wind permeated the sound of the night sky and you could barely make out a voice in the frenzy of your panicked gasps and muffled cries.

“....n”

“Y….”

“Y….n”

“(Y/n)!!”

You wanted to scream back, you did, but you didn’t have the chance to until you were jostled so hard you almost screamed earthquake instead of childe. At the sight of his panicked yet sleep-ridden expression, you looked around the room and found that the only thing real about everything you just saw was your erratic heartbeat and the tears dripping down your skin.

“There, there~. C’mere, love.” The bed shifted when he scooted closer, wrapping his arms around you and chuckling when you burrowed your head into the crook of his neck. “Want to tell me what happened?” You shook your head, the thought of having to relive that again being too much in the moment. He hummed, pressing a sweet kiss to your temple and then leaning back to leave one more kiss over your forehead. “That’s okay, don’t force yourself.” It hurt, you wanted to say, but found yourself pausing when the pain from just a moment ago started to ease even a little bit. His hands traveled up and down your back and arms, his cheek pressed to the side of your head and crystalline blue eyes fluttered closed while he hummed a familiar tune.

Eventually, you recognized it to be an old lullaby; a favorite when he was younger. You smiled at that, recalling how fondly he looked when he recalled that song, and told you how it reminded him of you. Gentle, like your kind gaze. Calming, like your presence. Lovely, like your eyes. And so, so very dear to him, just like you. The sleepy gravel in his voice added a deep tone to his melody, one that coaxed your eyes to slowly flutter and eventually close, and he smiled at that. Childe swayed you in his arms slowly and lightly, relishing in the way you relaxed into his touch. Your grip on his shirt started to ease into a light hold instead of a death grip, your pounding heart slowed into a smooth rhythm, and the tears that dried onto your cheeks began to fade away into nothingness.

“Feeling better, sweetheart?” Childe mused happily, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “You don’t have to tell me what happened right now, but,” He cupped your cheek. “I expect a full report in the morning, sergeant.” You laughed at his faux serious tone, voice still watery and throat dry, but you couldn’t help but smile when he looked at you like that. Like…like you hung the stars he stared at so dreamily, like you were the sunlight that caressed his frostbitten skin. 

Your fingers danced along his arm, tracing the freckles you could barely see in the dark room. “Yes, sir.” You saluted playfully, and he hummed, seemingly satisfied with your answer. 

Childe tapped his cheek as if he were in thought, and you couldn’t help but marvel at the sight of his sapphire eyes practically gleaming under the brilliant blue tint of the moonlight. “Are you good enough to sleep? Or should I tell you a bedtime story? I know Teucer’s favorit-”

“That won’t be necessary, thank you very much--” You held a hand up, pressing a finger to his lips and cringing dramatically when he nipped it. “...Really though, thank you.” He raised an eyebrow, dragging you down into the sheets again with him.

“For what, being a good lover?”

“You know what.” You sighed, but he ignored it and simply smiled at you, albeit sleepily.

“I do. It’s my honor, angel.” Scarred fingers caressed your back, up and down in soothing shapes. “Rest well now, m’kay? I’ll see you in the morning.”

“...I love you.”

     𝗞𝗮𝗲𝘆𝗮 𝗔𝗹𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗰𝗵

✧ As a man who has his peaceful nights poisoned with nightmares almost daily, Kaeya’s is very well-acquainted with nightmares and what to do with them. Frightful images of his past, the sneer of his father as he left for the last time, the terror in his brother’s eyes that night, the thundering clouds and pouring rain, there wasn’t a single day that passed without those midnight eyes being filled with bitter tears. Thanks to this, he’s become a light sleeper-- if he sleeps at all, that is. The moment you jolt upright- cold sweat running down your spine in chilling droplets- and gasp out his name, he’s right there cupping your cheeks and reassuring you the world is alright so long as you are breathing.

✧ Kaeya’s the type to mourn with those he cares for. Your pain is his pain, and every tear you shed brings another to his eyes. If it takes the both of you crying your eyes out for the overwhelming sense of dread you feel to be replaced with tranquility and comfort, he’d happily oblige. But, if you’d prefer not to talk about it, he instead has you recount your favorite memories with him! If you can’t, being too tired yet anxious all at once, he’d start reminiscing for you. That time he heroically saved you from a band of treasure hoarders (to which you huffily reminded him it was the other way around). Or the day he took you out on an extremely romantic date (you sighed and reminded him that it was to make up for his antics the previous day) and then on and on, until you started to laugh at the absurdity of his stories. Then, and only then, did you see him truly relax.

✧ After the matter, his first priority is getting you back to sleep. While he’d absolutely love to just lay in bed with you and talk about nothing and everything, watching you laugh for hours on end, he does value his and your beauty sleep. He’d lay back down with you, wrapping your arms around his torso before nuzzling against your warm body and kissing the top of your head. A moment of silence made room for the words he spoke just after. It almost startled you, how his clear and baritone voice cut through the quiet air. Why do you look surprised? He never did tell you what his favorite memory was, did he?

- ✧  - 

You felt empty. Not frightened, not agonized, just…empty. You stared at the graves with hollow eyes, heated tears dripping down your face and onto the solid stone in a fluid motion. Then, it all started to spiral. Faces, events, time, everything melded together into one amalgamation that made your head spin rapidly-- you cupped your hands over your ears, gasping and choking on air as everything hit you at once. No, no, don’t go, I’m sorry- sorry- no, come back, come ba-

“Angel~.” Despite his gentle, coaxing tone, you felt like you were just torn away from sleep kicking and screaming. Kaeya hummed, taking in your disheveled appearance and sighing sadly before leaning back, taking your hand in his and lightly tracing his finger over it. “Darling, can you look at me?” You didn’t want to, for the fear of his disappointed expression was too much to bear. Kaeya clicked his tongue, cupping your cheek and tilting your head upwards before kissing your forehead, his messy hair tickling your skin and bringing the smallest of smiles to your face.

“There they are~.” He cooed, voice laden with sleep and leftover grogginess from whatever dream or nightmare he tore himself away from. “What’s going on, love?” Your eyes watered once more, the sights and memories flooding back into your tired mind and he lightly tapped your cheek. “Ah ah- focus, if that’s alright. Don’t think too much, just…” His fingers trailed down your shoulder and to your hand, where he held it gingerly and traced along the different lines. “Do you remember that expedition we were sent on together? Our very first mission, where you thought I was a recruit?”

Through tears, you scoffed and rolled your eyes at the memory- how he pretended to be a rookie just to watch you try and teach him, watching the other actual rookies look at him absolutely bewildered. Though, it was cute, how earnestly he listened to your teachings despite knowing everything. “Aww, you do remember~. And people say my charm is fake.” Kaeya mused, leaning against the headboard. “I remember when Jean assigned you to me, and I couldn’t help but ask for your name…then she told me to get it myself, and you know how that went. Archons, I was so nervous, I might as well have been a rookie.”

You laughed, swatting his arm playfully and relishing in his soft laughter. “You didn’t look nervous!” Resting your head on his shoulder, you held his arm between yours for comfort. “I kept thinking you looked too calm for the situation, I’m surprised I didn’t see that it was all a ruse…though, it was cute.” He gasped lightly, placing a hand over his heart dramatically before reaching over to wipe at a stray tear gliding down your cheek. 

“Oh? So you did notice, yet you didn’t say anything? Now, why is that?” His eyes, fully unveiled under the night sky, glinted in the light and you swore you could count the stars within them. 

“...I liked talking to you, and I figured it was a strange question to ask.” Honestly, you were too entranced to really think about it. The way he smiled so sweetly, yet knowingly always left you breathless. The way his smug aura relaxed around you and felt more genuine, more sweet, always brought a smile to your face. And now, with his bedhead and sleepy eyes, you laughed happily despite the sweat and tears clinging to your skin.

“Feeling better, sweetheart?” Kaeya’s hands felt warm to the touch when they cupped your cheeks, his thumbs swiping under your eyes and then over your cheekbones soothingly. At the sight of your tired nod, he hummed and pulled you into his chest once more. He held you close, closer, until he could rest his chin atop your head and cuddle you against his torso. “...Then let’s see if we can get that pretty head of yours some more rest, yeah? I’m right here, I’ll make sure you dream nothing but sweet dreams tonight.” 

Too tired to really respond, you nodded and held his hand tight in yours- holding it to your chest like a child would cradle a stuffed animal, he wanted to coo at the sight. Yet he didn’t, finding favor in watching your expression slowly shift into one of peacefulness with a gaze of pure adoration.

“Rest well, my dear (Y/n).”

     𝗭𝗵𝗼𝗻𝗴𝗹𝗶 '𝗠𝗼𝗿𝗮𝘅'

✧ As a man of memory, his mind often takes the reigns the moment he closes his eyes. Archons don’t need sleep, but with him growing accustomed to mortal life, Zhongli tries to indulge in all the pleasures of man. Sadly though, his first night of rest led to memories and thoughts he sealed underground with many gods and demons decided to resurface, plaguing him one by one and subjecting him to live his worst nightmares. As a result, it’s rare to see him rest, and he’s not very good at dealing with those emotions. You’re the exception, as usual. The moment you jump out of bed with a broken gasp and shaky legs, he’d ease you back into bed while quietly questioning you. ‘What happened, my dear?” “Are you alright?” “What can I do?”

✧ Zhongli has an overwhelmingly comforting presence. Just being near him is like being wrapped in a warm blanket doused in the scent of lavender and glaze lilies, his voice sounds like velvet and his eyes the color of fresh honey. Even if you don’t feel like recounting the frightening images you saw in your dreams, you can feel the stress and fear starting to melt away as his hands hold onto yours. Despite how much he just loves to talk, he prefers to stay mostly silent during these moments. The faraway sound of the stars dancing amidst inky skies and evening winds brushing over the walls do most of the talking for him.

✧ As you start to drift back to sleep, then does Zhongli start to speak. Quietly, softly, he uttered the words under his breath so as to not disturb your drooping eyes. Tales of joy from the past, his favorite memories of the both of you, beautifully-described images of your favorite places, anything and everything you love. His hope is that these words would etch themselves into the storyline of your next dream, and send you off to sleep with a smile on your face. Only then would he allow his eyes to close, his fingers to enclose around yours, and hopefully drift off as well with a matching smile. 

- ✧ -

The room was black, and your skin felt like an old candy wrapper left on a rain-slick street. Dirt clung to your hands, droplets of sweat glided down your arms; stray remnants of regrets and decisions you wish you didn’t make clung to your skin and refused to let go even as you frantically tried to wash away your sins, only to realize the water was scarlet red, and carried the scent of metal. You screamed, you cried, and you squeezed your eyes tight in hopes of seeing anything more than the taunting smile of your horrors--

“(Y/n).” Instead, you harshly awoke to the concerned frown of your dearest Zhongli. Gods, he looked like a mess. Wisps of hair flew astray, golden eyes squinted under the barely-there light of the moon, and he looked as if he’d just seen a ghost. You paled, frantically grabbing at your arms and torso- shocked to find a lack of red, the absence of dirt and grime, the only evidence of your pains being the sheen of your sweat slicking your skin. “My dear, are you alright?” Zhongli questioned earnestly, cupping your cheek and patting down your forehead with a cloth he kept near the bed.

“Yes, yes, I-” Your chest heaved with every careful breath, fingers still trembling under your iron grip on the sheets. “-It was just a nightmare, I think, oh archons-” Too frightened to see the irony in your statement, you clung to his shirt and fought to catch your breath, finding solace in the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat. He hummed softly, cupping the back of your head and stroking your hair while rocking you side to side in his arms. Zhongli bit back the urge to recount a tale of old times, knowing that’s what soothed him- but right now, he focused on you. He focused on the way you quivered in his embrace, the faraway look in your eyes that broke his heart, your raspy gasps and broken cries, and he could only stare at you with a kind stare that apologized a thousand times over for the horrors you beheld just moments ago.

“You’re alright now, beloved. You’re safe, I won’t let anything happen to you.” He held you closer, and you whispered out a thank you before he started speaking again, voice laced with determination. “Not now, not ever again. You’ve been so very brave, but now please, allow me to share your burden.” Your eyebrows furrowed at his words, and you felt his hand guide your head to tilt upwards and face his kind expression. Golden eyes the color of honey practically oozed warmth and you couldn’t help but lose yourself in the pools of amber until he pulled you back to reality, a kiss to your forehead snapping you out of the mini-daydream. He pulled you over to rest in his lap, your right shoulder pressed to his chest and your left protected from the cold night air by his hand. 

“What do you mean?” You inquired curiously, finding it much easier to breathe now.

“I’d like you to tell me about the thoughts that plague you, if this dream held significant meaning. If not, and it was just a fright, then you can tell me about it if you’d like. Or,” He rested his chin atop your head. “I can tell you a story that I’m sure will bore you to sleep-” You laughed at that, not missing the mischievous glint in his eyes. “-and I’ll watch over you to ensure you rest peacefully. There’s still ample time before the sun rises once more, so take your time.” 

“Can you…just hold me? You can tell me a story if you want, I think I’m okay now either way.” You wrapped your arms around his torso and snuggled against his chest, allowing your eyes to flutter closed and finding yourself pleasantly surprised when you weren’t frightened out of your skin from the newfound darkness.

“Oh? Well then,” He kissed your temple. “I’ll tell you my favorite story, it’s a rather simplistic yet meaningful one.”

“How about the story of how we met?”

     𝗧𝗵𝗼𝗺𝗮 '𝗞𝗮𝗺𝗶𝘀𝗮𝘁𝗼 𝗙𝗶𝘅𝗲𝗿'

✧ Thoma’s dedicated his life to the service of others. Taking care of their every need is his livelihood and honor, and he’s become well accustomed to being completely aware of everyone’s tiny cues and notions. Though, he’s very good with nightmares specifically. After being awoken by a horrified scream or a frightened gasp from one of the Kamisato’s after their mother’s passing, finding them sitting up in a cold sweat with tears streaming down their eyes, he’s trained himself to become exactly what they need after a nightmare. When he finds you in the same state, he switches from ‘sleepy boyfriend’ to ‘concerned parent’ within the span of two seconds.

✧ He quickly reminds himself that you’re not a mission nor are you a Kamisato, but his dearest lover. With that revelation, he calms down and pulls you into his chest before humming a soft lullaby from his childhood. If you feel like talking, he urges you to let everything out and listens intently. Even through bleary eyes, you could see his focused expression as if you were the finest work of art and he were a connoisseur. Thoma has a very warm and bright presence, like the first rays of sunlight or the blooming of a sunflower, and you find yourself easily lost in his light. He drops everything to take care of you, and it’s obvious in the way he fans you gently to cool your overheated body, in the way he dabs away your sweat with his sleeve, how he quickly fetches a bottle of water for you, even in the simple kiss he presses to your temple.

✧ If you let him, he’d lightly massage your tensed shoulders as you spoke. As quickly as you started, you find sleep starting to overtake your overwhelmed senses. He’d help you lean into his chest while he continues to hum a few of his favorite tunes; and as his hands glide along your shoulders and back, he replaces the horrors behind your eyes with visions of comfort and tranquility. Or at least, he does his best. After you fall asleep, he’d stay awake just a bit longer to ensure you slept peacefully. If he sees the slightest sign of another nightmare, he whispers gentle coaxes and sweet nothings into your ear until he sees that soft, sleepy smile on your face once more.

- ✧ -

The last time you felt so afraid felt far away, it felt miniscule in the face of the horrors you beheld in this moment. Wide, blinking eyes stared through your soul and almost past your figure, yet you could tell they trained on you. They watched you. They saw every movement and every twitch of your eyes, every small step back, every stuttered breath, and the slow blinking seemed to taunt just how quickly your heart raced within the confines of your chest. One step forward, you took one step back. It moved faster, you took off running.

Running, 

Faster,

Faster,

FASTER

And you ran clear until your legs gave out, not once did you hear more than the roaring of your blood in your ears or the wind rushing past you- but you fell, you fell and you couldn’t move, you couldn’t look back. And so as the ground shook with heavy footsteps, you simply closed your eyes tight- tighter, until you awoke with a shout of your name and the concerned stare from emerald-green eyes. “Ah, there you are! I was worried I lost you for a bit,” He sighed in relief, dabbing at your cheek. “With you looking so pale, I nearly had a heart attack.”

You paused, focused on the feel of his warm hands over the cold sweat on your skin, on the sweet expression that rested over a tired face, and you cried. Thoma gasped at the feel of your arms slung around his torso, but he chuckled soon after while wrapping his own arms around you and giving you a light squeeze. One that let you know he was there, one that carried the silent reassurance of safety. “I’m sorry, I should’ve come to bed sooner- I know you’ve had a rough couple of days.” You shook your head against his chest to tell him it was alright, and he hummed in response. “No need to reply, just…let me fill the silence for a bit. I know I wouldn’t want to sit in the dark after whatever you just saw.”

Despite his words, a moment of silence passed. Comfortable silence, the beat of his heart and the quiet thrum of the rain outside brought a light smile to your face. Though, you jumped at the feeling of his hands suddenly resting on your shoulders. “Oh! Sorry, sorry, I should’ve warned you.” Thoma apologized hastily, patting your shoulders before starting to massage them gently. “Is…this okay?”

“Yeah, thank you…feels nice.” You hummed, turning your head to press a kiss to his wrist before resting on his chest again. Your body relaxed in his hold, still sleepy from being torn out of rest so violently. With a yawn and a soft murmur, you found yourself allowing your eyes to close under the watchful care of your beloved. “Keep talking, please.” You mumbled, to which he chuckled at before humming in thought.

“Well then, I suppose I could tell you the story of the fox in the dandelion sea. I know that was a favorite story of mine as a child…” Thoma’s voice carried a tone of nostalgia, like he was looking back at his homeland with a fond gaze and a full heart. You smiled at the mental picture of his surprised expression and delighted gasp when you handed him a bouquet of windwheel asters, which you later found to be his favorite flower when you noticed them a week later in a decorative vase. Despite being in a new land, those flowers remained so vibrant and healthy. The reason became clear; Thoma’s sweet words of reassurance every time he fed or watered them, his upbeat humming and singing while cleaning around the floors, the way he smiled so brightly when those flowers never wilted-- a real ray of sunshine, the boy was.

With this thought, and the distant sound of Thoma recalling his favorite story (each line he recited carried a soft tone that only coaxed you further), you slowly fell asleep once more. This time, it wasn’t a frightening beast or horror from the past that greeted you. Rather, a vast field of dandelions, and a cheerful fox running around the fluffy wisps- you couldn’t help but notice how those emerald eyes seemed so similar…

     𝗫𝗶𝗮𝗼 '𝗔𝗹𝗮𝘁𝘂𝘀'

✧ Xiao doesn’t sleep; he finds it offensive to allow himself such pleasure and tranquility when he bears the sins of Liyue on his back. Instead, he has nightmares with his eyes wide open. Over and over again, the sight of his fellow yaksha’s faces twisted in agony. The sound of their broken screams and pleas for mercy. The smell of their blood spilled over each other’s skin like paint spilled over a canvas. The wider he opened his eyes, the more he tried to take in the scent of Liyue’s winds, the further he ran and ran away from it all, the tighter those memories held him by the throat. And so, he can only feel sorrow when he sees your sleep-ridden yet wide eyes filled with tears you didn’t know you shed, and he can only feel apologetic when he finds himself lost for words after you called his name so desperately.

✧ He’d silently brush away your tears and hold your cheeks within his scarred palms as if you were a flower petal and he were a board of nails, you almost want to slap him for treating you so delicately. After taking a breather, he’d bring you into a tight hug (one that hid his face from you, heaven forbid you saw the anguish on his face) and quietly murmur the only words of comfort he could offer- “It’s okay, I’m here now.” Finding the words trapped in his throat after choking those ones out, he simply rocks you back and forth within his arms while allowing the words he was too afraid to speak flow from his touch.

✧ His left hand traced over your back, “Don’t be scared.” His right hand protectively cradled the back of your head, “I’ll keep you safe.” His torso pressed against yours and his heartbeat synced with yours, “I’m here for you.” The tufts of his hair tickled your cheeks, “Please don’t cry.” His eyelashes fluttered against your skin as he blinked back tears of his own, “It’s okay.” And you’d feel tears well in your eyes once more from how gently he held you. This was different than moments ago. Before, he was afraid. Now, he was kind. Xiao still walks on eggshells with you, but in moments like these, he sucks in a deep breath and bears the pain of running over the sharp edges in order to meet you on the other side. 

- ✧ -

You’d never seen a more gruesome sight. The lush grass that covered the mountainscape wilted under the dizzying smell of metal, scarlet red dyed the green grass a color that made you want to scream. The atmosphere, once so light and airy, now felt heavy under the echoing, bloodcurdling screams that reverberated throughout the open skies. Overwhelmed from the sight, you tripped and stumbled- only to wince as a sharp edge dug into your leg. You looked down, finding what caused your fall: a broken mask, the edge of it (what appeared to be a horn) held the blood it stole from your skin. A pause, you recognized this. A brilliant green painted over the mask, one that resembled a demon’s. Fanged teeth, sharp horns, a menacing aura- though not as menacing when it was broken in half. At the realization of where you’d seen this before, carried around in the hands of a lonesome yaksha, you screamed. You cried, and you couldn’t find it in yourself to care when a single droplet of blood dripped from the horn onto your leg- then everything grew hazy.

You cried out, the only name you could think of in your sleep-ridden haze-- but a startled gasp replaced your words when glowing eyes greeted you within a cloud of dark smoke. Your heart leapt to your throat, but rather quickly did you relax and let the tears that welled up drip down your cheeks. 

“Xiao.” You whispered, feeling your bed dip under his weight- and you couldn’t help but extend your arms to him, hoping that maybe, just maybe he’d be okay with it…please? 

“...It’s alright, I’m here.” He hummed, slowly (fearfully) bringing you into his arms. Wisps of glowy, emerald strands danced around his pale cheeks as he pressed a tentative kiss to your tear-stricken skin. His hands felt warm as they glided over your back and shoulders as they trembled with every cry. Your head felt cloudy, like you had just woken up from hours of sleep when in reality it’d only been a half hour, and you tried to ignore the way sleep still ebbed at your eyes that stung with tears. When you rested your head on his shoulder, you couldn’t help but tense at the smell of blood once more-- and you pulled away without thinking, only to see his pained and wildly distraught expression.

“Xia-?”

“I’m sorry.” You wanted to ask what for, but he held up a hand as to ask for a moment to think. Throughout this, he still held one of your hands securely in his. His thumb stroked over the back of your hand, the scarred and calloused skin still felt so gentle, as if he were holding precious glass in his hands. “...I’m no good at this. I want to help, I just- don’t know how. But, I’ll keep you safe. No matter what, I can and will do that, and I will not fail. The both of us will be alright.” He cupped your cheek with his other hand, the most earnest of expressions resting on his face, and you smiled at the sight. Yes, he’ll be okay, you silently reassured yourself. His mask rested on the bed beside you from where he hurriedly tore it off, still completely intact and clean of all grime and blood.

His clothing, though dirtied, carried no blood that was his. Your fingers, which no longer trembled, trailed over his hands; you couldn’t help but marvel at how dainty they appeared despite the years of constant toiling. “No, please, you’ve been perfect.” Came your warm response, the softest of smiles on your face at the sight of him looking around like a lost puppy. Almost immediately did the boy clad in armor smile like a fool in love, which he was (though he’d never admit it) and he carefully pulled you back into the sanctuary of his arms. 

“...I’m glad.” The silence filled the air for a while, moonlight casting a beautiful glow over your figures and he held you ever closer. “Rest now, flower.” You wanted to laugh at the ridiculously sweet nickname he reserved for you, but the sight of his soft gaze shut you up immediately.

“I’ll keep you safe, and ensure your dreams are nothing but pleasant.”

“So long as you are mine, and I am yours, I’ll always protect you.”

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚✧˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

Word Count: 6809

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚✧˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

- Ky♡♡

𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧; 𝗳𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺 𝗼𝗿 𝘀𝗲𝗻𝗱 𝗮𝗻 𝗮𝘀𝗸 𝘁𝗼 𝗷𝗼𝗶𝗻!

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@storytravelled ; @irethepotato ; @paradise-creator ; @lordbugs ; @straymoon96 ;  @hoshikistarlette ; @lianglee11 ; @sup-zfam ; @myaaki ; @roriver ; @rizakari ; @httpshaolvr ; @leena-shii ; @kaerui-kaisen ; @akaiyuki

[worldwidebt7]

Hell[L]ing || 05

§ — Pairing: Chimera!Taehyung x Empath!Reader (with mentions of Reader x Other Members)

§ — Genre: SciFi AU, fluff, angst, smut, horror

§ — Wordcount: 2,974

§ — Rating: M § — Warnings: None. Just an awkward AF encounter.

§ — A/N: Gone for so long, but not forgotten! I love this story, and I don't plan on letting it die any time soon~ I need a manager-- I've got way too many projects! Anyone want the job? LOL

Summary: You moved out into the wilderness to live a calm, peaceful life. Your abilities made it impossible to live in crowded places, so even if you wanted to you couldn’t return. But when something happens outside the realm of even your normalcy, you start to think that maybe having everyone else’s emotions bearing down on you isn’t such a bad alternative to being trapped with your own.

You were definitely beginning to question your decision-making skills, or lack thereof. Any sane person would never let a man they met once into their isolated house on a rainy day— it was an exact recipe that stereotypical horror films follow. And you were to be the soon-hunted lead female. Whether or not you get killed milliseconds before the credits started rolling depended on how you treated the situation henceforth.

Standing in your bathroom, you contemplated your options as your fingers ran over the plush fabric of the grey towel you intended to hand to the soaking wet gentleman currently standing in your kitchen. First, you could continue on the path you were currently set on: heading back down the stairs to help the supposedly sick boy dry off and offer him a warm drink. This would most certainly end poorly if your expertise of the genre was anything to go by. Assist the helpless stranger, let his quirky personality charm you, then die. Not preferable.

You could, adversely, call the police or one of your friends to come save you and distract your company until they arrived. This would be the smarter move, though you have your doubts that the situation warrants such a reaction. Besides what your extrasensory abilities allowed you to perceive, your neighbor has done nothing to make you think he holds any ill-will against you. Having him forcibly removed from your home would only certainly sour his opinion of you.

Your last option, from what you could organize from your frayed thoughts, was to expedite option one, in which you dried him off, warmed him up, and sent him on his way before any amount of intimate time passed. You figured that this was the best option, even if it weren’t particularly the safest. You had no reason to suspect the boy of any violence or threat, but he made you inherently uncomfortable either way.

His emotions began to blip at a faster pace— nervousness, worry— were the rate of his emotional markers linked to his heart beat? That was something new. Well, everything dealing with this boy’s emotions was new to you. Taking a deep breath, you turn and leave the bathroom. You suppose your prolonged absence has made your guest begin to panic, and you really didn’t want to have his sporadic emotions to get more intense; you were already feeling the beginnings of a headache.

Scurrying down your wooden stairs, you felt his interest perk at the sound of your footsteps. Anticipation— but gentle anticipation. Warm, welcoming; you almost wanted to hurry to put yourself back in his line of vision, and as you stepped back into the kitchen, you felt the wave of relief that washed over him. His accelerated heartbeat kept the bursts of emotions abrupt, but they were soothed, a welcomed change from the abrasive concern.

His eyes were locked onto your form, taking in every miniscule movement you made. You made sure to avoid his gaze and cleared your throat as you stepped in front of him.

“Here,” You held out the towel for him to take. “You should probably dry yourself off…” He eyed the soft fabric for a moment, a shy gratefulness melding with slight apprehension. You sent him a warm smile when a few moments had passed and nudged the towel towards him a bit. With that, he tentatively reached forward and gently took the cloth from you. You retreated your hand swiftly and as he brought the towel to his chest you sidestepped towards the counter. “I’ll make something warm for you to drink, yeah?”

As you busied yourself, you didn’t see him lift the towel and softly burry his face in it, drying himself. You did, however feel the warm glow of comfort sprout in the air like quickly blooming flowers. With your back turned to him, you didn’t bother hiding the pleased look on your face. Finally— you thought— an emotion from him that didn’t barrage your senses.

With water heating up in your kettle and the packet of cocoa already retrieved from the pantry, you no longer had anything to distract yourself with. In an attempt to make this spontaneous visit less awkward and less unnerving, you turned to make light conversation. To begin, what on earth the sickly boy was doing wandering about in the rain.

“So…” you started, catching his attention immediately, his nerves returning. “Your name is Taehyung, right?” you received a delayed nod. “I’m Y/N. Ah, though you already knew that, right? From last time?” Another nod. Talkative, this one. You supposed you should get straight to your most burning question at the moment. “I gotta ask… I did extend the invitation, but… is there something I can do for you?” He visibly stiffened and the blips of his anxiety sped up with what, you were sure of now, was his increased heart rate. Oh, the headache. Perhaps you should rephrase. “W-what I mean is, since your health is poor, why’d you come over when it was raining of all days?” This seemed to calm him, as the frequency of his beats trickled off.

He didn’t answer you for a long while, opting to look down at the floor in contemplation. You did your best not to stare— you didn’t want to spike his unease once more— but you were finding it difficult to do so, seeing as the wet boy in your kitchen, now that he was up close and personal, was too beautiful to bear. Your previous appraisal of his other-worldly appearance was far too lenient; how could anyone like him possibly exist at all? And his dark hair— curled more from its damp state and hanging further over his obsidian eyes— only seemed to add more depth to the perfection of the features it framed. How utterly unfair it was for someone to be so beautiful.

“I—” you just about jumped at his voice, breaking the silence, but not cutting through it. The melodic depth of it filled the room. “…bad day…” he was pensive with his words— giving you all you needed to know and no more. There was no deception to him, but he was clearly safeguarding information, keeping it locked away.

You gave a thoughtful hum, but you couldn’t hide the shock and confusion you felt. He came to you because he was having a bad day? Someone he didn’t know and only met once before? You couldn’t help but feel this was… odd, for lack of a better term. And he seemed to realize this as well, as his eyes never once met yours. His apprehension was understandable now, and his fear of being turned away— he really had no reason to be here.

Still, your heart warmed at the thought that he had come to you for comfort, as unexpected as it was. And, slowly, the majority of your concerns over the situation began to melt away. Yes, he was a strange boy, yes, there were things about him that were odd and seemed unnatural, but… there was nothing aggressive, or dangerous about his intentions. He seemed more like a child than anything else with how small his large frame looked; like he was trying to curl in on himself.

A sharp whistle pierced the gentle atmosphere and both you and Taehyung jumped nearly out of your skin. You recognized the sound as your kettle quickly after having your nerves fried, but your guest was immediately on the defensive, his fear refusing to subside as he took a pathetic few steps back from the offending object.

“Sorry!” you called out to him and you turned on your heel to remove the kettle from the stove. His confusion was evident, and mixed with the other strong emotions bombarding you, you were almost inclined to say that he’s never heard the shriek of a kettle. The noise subsided as you lifted the item off the heat, turning the burner off in the process. “Phew— that scared me!” At your laughter, his confusion turned into curiosity, and his fear ebbed away.

You emptied the chocolate powder into one of your mugs and promptly drowned it in the hot water from your kettle, the smell of hot chocolate immediately permeating through the air. You se the kettle back down on the stove before stirring the drink, your neighbor’s curiosity only heightening. You turned back to him and beckoned him forward, placing the mug of hot chocolate on the island in front of him in hopes he would sit. When he did nothing, a breathy chuckle escaped you.

“You can sit down if you’d like,” you offered, hoping he would oblige. You realize that this directly opposes your original plan to make this visit as quick as possible, but his uncertainty had found it’s way into your heart. You weren’t sure if it was because he was often ill, but he seemed so unsure of how to interact with other people, like he hasn’t had much social interaction before. It was endearing in a way, and even though there were still some things that concerned you about the readings you got from him, you felt inclined to spend time trying to unravel him.

Or you could simply be suffering from your own solitude.

Either way, you smiled when he slowly made his way over to the counter and seated himself on the stool that the mug sat directly in front of. He still had the towel you had offered him clutched to his chest and seemingly hadn’t dried much more than his face with it. Cautiously, he eyed the mug of steaming liquid.

“Do you not like hot chocolate?” you asked, suddenly aware that it’s possible for people to have different tastes. Or worse, because of his illness he couldn’t drink it at all? “Oh, I’m sorry! Can you even drink hot chocolate? I should have asked before. If there’s something else—”

“No! I—” you blinked, surprised. It was the first time he had spoken so suddenly or with so much conviction. He seemed shocked by his own voice, and immediately receded into himself, almost as if berating himself for his outburst. He chewed on his lower lip, “…I’ve never had it… hot chocolate…” you blinked again.

“Really?” He nodded, and his hand slid forward, reaching for the mug. When you saw his fingers wrap around it, you realized how large his hands were— yet another ridiculously beautiful feature as you couldn’t help but think about how elegant the lines of hands were curved around the dwarfed mug. If he noticed you staring, nothing in his demeanor showed any discomfort at the attention, but you were quick to correct yourself when you became aware of it yourself. “Are you sure you can have it…?” you didn’t want to accidentally poison your neighbor if he was allergic to chocolate. A shake of his head did little to reassure you.

“I’ll drink it,” he said with confidence. He raised the mug, his other hand joining the action as the ceramic was completely eclipsed. It took you a moment to realize that he may not be are of the heat.

“Oh, wait, that’s hot—!” you were too late, and you watched him take a rather large sip from the cup. You blanched, expecting him to burn himself, but he only lowered the mug back to the counter, both hands still firmly encasing it, seemingly unaffected. Huh. Well then, wasn’t that odd?

After a moment of deliberation, excitement burst through the air and Taehyung’s eyes lit up. He quickly took another sip of the drink and from the rush of emotions you knew he was absolutely thrilledby the taste of hot chocolate. You stifled a good-natured laugh, not wanting him to think you were making fun of him, and settled for an endeared smile as you leaned forward to rest against the island counter. Why were you so scared of this boy again?

“I’m going to guess that you like it?” you couldn’t help but tease him a little, and, thankfully, he didn’t seem to take offense; he was far too enraptured by the sweet beverage before him. He nodded happily.

“Thank you,” he said, cheer popping in the air around him, making you want to squeal at his child-like wonder at something so simple. Still, you had to wonder— how is it that he never had hot chocolate before? And if he hadn’t had something so elementary, what else had he not been privy to and why? You suppose you could chalk it up to him being ill often, and if such is the case, he must have been sick for much of his life. You wondered who had been in charge of his health all these years and why they refused him such small pleasures such as hot chocolate, making you again second-guess giving him the cocoa treat. But the pure bliss he exhibited bade you believe that just one cup wouldn’t hurt and that it was surly worth it.

He had been so wrought with nerved when he appeared at your back door that any positive change in his emotions was a welcome one. Perhaps he would leave having a better day than when he came. You could only hope.

“I’m glad you like it,” you said simply before moving on, trying to keep whatever stilted conversation you had going. “I’m surprised you came here if you were having a bad day… did you and Seokjin fight?”

At the mention of his roommate’s name, he stiffened, some of his anxiety returning. You must have hit the nail on the head, because as his fingers fidgeted around the mug he looked off to the side towards the floor. You felt bad immediately, not wanting to sour his mood again.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t pry,” you straightened a bit at your mistake, readying to correct yourself if given the opportunity. “If you want to talk about it, um…” What could you offer him, honestly? Why would he divulge the details of his roommate quarrel with you? He barely knew you. Still, he did come to you— as a source of comfort, as a distraction, or as escape, you’ll never know. You did know that you may be his only choice out here in the remote wilderness and so, to an extent, you felt a certain obligation to offer him support. After all, should something happen to you, he and Seokjin were the only ones in miles that could aid you, and you could only hope that they would do so without hesitation.

However, he shook his head, signaling that he didn’t wish to divulge the issue. More mystery then, it seems. You nodded and gave no further attempts to interrogate despite the burning questions that nagged at you, knowing full well about the need to keeps certain things to yourself.

“I…” he began, suddenly standing. Startled, you too took a step back from the counter as well. “I should go…” he placed your towel on the island next to the half-empty mug after a long moment, seemingly disappointed to part with it. Taehyung hesitated, but eventually took a large step away from where he had been seated and began to make his way to the back door.

His sudden, hurried departure had you reeling. You had wanted a brief, eventless encounter, so letting him leave now would probably be for the best. Yet, despite all your concerns, you were still opening your mouth.

“W-wait!” you called after him, stepping out from behind your countertop. He immediately halted in his tracks, shifting slightly so he could see you out of his peripherals. His uncertainty thrummed in the air like drums, making your otherwise silent home ridiculously loud. “The… the rain…” For the first time in the last ten minutes, you peered outside your window, expecting to see the previous torrential downpour. However, to your surprise, it had calmed to a drizzle at some point during your neighbor’s momentary visit. When had that happened?

Sensing that you didn’t have anything else to say to him, Taehyung continued his journey to your glass doors slowly. You watched him with a rock settling into your stomach— this didn’t feel right to you, and as he opened the door, you called out to him again.

“Taehyung,” this time, at the sound of his name leaving your mouth, his head spun around completely, eyes wide and panic vibrating from him. No, not panic; something akin to panic, but not quite so negative. Something warmer… ugh, trying to decipher his emotions was like learning a new language. So, instead of feeding into your present headache, you continued, immediately embarrassed by what you say. “Come back again sometime… we can have lunch.” You felt the heat in your face from your blush and then, unexpectedly, it was as if the very space around you was placed under a heat lamp and Taehyung’s not-panic set your nerves on fire. What the hell was going on?

You didn’t have time to dwell, because as soon as the shocked, anxious boy recovered, he nodded quickly and slipped out the door, taking his blips of emotions and quickly disappearing into the tree line separating your properties.

With his departure, you could finally breathe, and you found that a tightness that you hadn’t been aware of begun to unravel in your chest. Your migraine, which you were hoping would leave with your neighbor, proceeded to hammer away in your skull. As much as you wanted to dissect your more than odd exchange with the onyx-eyed boy, you couldn’t imagine thinking about much of anything in your present condition.

“Bath…” you groaned, massaging your temples and groggily treaded your way upstairs to soak away the pain in scalding, fragrant water.

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[amphibious-entity]

TMBS Book 1 Brain Dump

~An Embarrassingly Long Post~

I don’t know why I’m writing this or why I’m so determined to do it. Maybe to finally assume my true form and become a mega dork on main, or maybe just for fun!

This is basically a compilation of all the main points running through my head after reading The Mysterious Benedict Society (2007) for the first time. Rather than posting a ton and spamming the tag, everything’s here in one neat package! (hopefully this gets it all out of my system rip)

Contents:

The Book Itself

The Book Itself, for real this time

The Characters

A Funny Parallel

The S.Q. Section

Lines & Scenes I Liked

Spoilers abound!

The Book Itself

Upon acquiring the first three books (don’t judge me pls), I was surprised at just how long they are. Like, they’re still pretty light being paperbacks and all, but these books are hefty lads.

The first book has this Disney+ Original Series circle thing printed on it, which is kind of unfortunate. Regardless, I love the cover illustration and yellow is actually my favorite color :D It made me weirdly quite happy whenever I saw the book lying around in my room

Also, it’s really cute how there’s a letter from Mr. Benedict at the end! (It only reveals that you can find out his first name if you “know the code”, meaning the bit of Morse printed below the summary on the back.) Shock and horror, though, as I realized I’m starting to recognize some of the letters

The Book Itself, for real this time

It’s wonderful how the tone of the book really shone through to the show adaptation. Something about the deliberateness of the aesthetic, from the set designs to the fashion to scene compositions, that really sells that particular style— like it’s very clear that this story is being told to us, rather than one we’re seeing unfold, if that makes sense.

Where that narration style stood out to me the most was the first chapter. We are told (rather than shown) how Reynie gets himself to the point of the second test, and there’s this whole twisty time maneuver for that whole sequence of events that’s really interesting

A super secret fun fact about me is that I wanted to be a writer when I was younger! So this particular balance of show vs. tell is really neat, since it runs counter to my own tendencies. The sheer amount of commas in every sentence is also kind of comforting, since Ahah, I Do That in those few serious-ish attempts at writing lol

Overall this book’s style reminds me a lot of Roald Dahl’s books, which are very nostalgic for me :D The whole “kids are more competent than adults” angle helps a lot too haha

The Characters

Oh boy here’s where I get a little bit critical! Overall I did really like this book!! it’s just that that expresses itself in all this weird “”analysis”” lol

Reynie - much better in the books than in the show

It’s sort of a lukewarm take but I feel like show!Reynie is kind of boring? He doesn’t have a lot going on flaw-wise, and obviously since he’s the protagonist he can’t have too many weird traits or else the kids watching can’t project themselves onto him as easily

(I call it the difference between an aspirational protagonist and a vessel protagonist. Going off of the Roald Dahl vibes, think Matilda vs Charlie. show!Reynie is more of a Charlie)

Thus when we get to see him really struggle with the Whisperer and doubt himself it gives him a lot more dimension, at least in my opinion

It is a federal crime that the white knight scenes were not adapted into the show

Sticky - my son

I’ve long held to no one besides myself and my long suffering sister that Sticky is The Best Member of the Society

He happened to hit a lot of the Bingo squares of Stuff I Like In Characters: glasses, anxious, nice :), kind of a coward but ultimately is there for his friends, etc

For some reason I don’t talk about him nearly as much as you-know-who, but I love him just as dearly

Kate & Constance - I don’t have much to say

Kate is really interesting in this book! I like how we get to see more of her depths, in particular that one passage about her belief that she is invincible being the only thing that keeps her from falling apart? :c

Also her constant fidgeting is relatable lol

Constance is somehow a lot more tolerable in the book. I think I’m just one of those people with no patience for small children, unfortunately lol

(Some of) The Adults

It’s interesting that they had such an offscreen presence for most of the book. Giving them more time was probably one of the stronger changes of the show

However if that decision was made at the expense of the white knight scenes I think the choice should have been clear

I like the way Rhonda and Number Two are written

Milligan always on sad boy hours 😔✊

The “mill again” passage is touching but kind of messes up the pacing of the getaway, at least for me. Maybe I should read it again to make sure I didn’t miss something

Miss Perumal is much better in the show. We see so little of her in the book she doesn’t function well as an emotional anchor for Reynie, imo

The Institute Gang

Jackson and Jillson serve their purpose well, and Martina was surprising to say the least. I like the direction they took her in the show! I can’t imagine how funny it must have been to watch the tetherball subplot come out of nowhere lolol

These sections were written out of sequence, so random tidbit I couldn’t fit in The S.Q. Section: I like how he stumbles over his words. relatable

Mr. Curtain

While I think I know why they decided to not give Curtain the wheelchair in the show, we were totally robbed of Actor Tony Hale’s performance for the reveal during the final confrontation

Speaking of the wheelchair, it’s such a powerful symbol of his need for control or rather, his fear of losing it

The Contrast between him and Mr. Benedict. This point is expanded on in A Funny Parallel

Mr. Benedict

Oh boy, Mr. Benedict… How do I say this

I find it hard to trust Mr. Benedict, unfortunately

I mean to say, I do in the sense that I know he would never hurt the kids, thanks to knowing that a) this is a children’s book series and b) the meta (tumblr) states that he is really nice and lovable and stuff, but seriously. Why do the kids trust him at first?? I probably missed something somewhere

I like to think I’m an optimistic person, but unfortunately I’m also super paranoid. The premise of “a bunch of vulnerable orphans team up with a strange old man” is just so odd to me I don’t know how to explain it

I don’t know!!! I really want to trust Mr. Benedict

One of the strengths of the show is that we get to see him more often, and thus he gets to acknowledge more often that the plan is weird and that he feels really badly for putting the kids in danger and that he’s trustworthy and genuine

But his lack of presence for most of the book just makes him into something of a specter, invisible and unknowable, speaking only in riddles from across the bay

Which is why the white knight scene is so important!! I loved that scene ;-;

Because here’s an actual emotional connection! We can actually see it happening, rather than only being told that it exists

Reynie asking for advice and receiving encouragement, in words that demonstrate that Mr. Benedict actually cares about him and worries about him and agghh

It is a federal crime that the white knight scenes were not adapted into the show

But overall this whole issue didn’t ruin my enjoyment of the book at all! It’s just ->

A Funny Parallel

Okay, ready for my biggest brain, hottest take ever??

Mr. Benedict and Mr. Curtain…. are… the same

I mean obviously not entirely, given that one is benevolent and kind and the other is… Mr. Curtain

But seriously. Genius old man seeks out children (mainly orphans) to enact a plan. Said children often end up incredibly devoted to his cause and deeply admire him this is a little flimsy

Undoubtedly that’s intentional and is supposed to show the difference between them, like some kind of cautionary tale? “Let yourself be vulnerable and let others help you, lest you turn eeeeviiillll”

I guess that’s where the aforementioned epic contrast comes in. You get Mr. Curtain, strapped into his wheelchair and hiding behind those mirrored sunglasses, terrified (but unwilling to admit it) of ever showing the tiniest hint of vulnerability, vs. Mr. Benedict, who can let himself fall knowing that someone will catch him :’)

Anyhow I have nothing against the parallels, I just think it’s funny

The S.Q. Section

The S.Q. Quarantine Thread so it doesn’t leak out everywhere else <3

I’d like to meet the emo angstlord genius who read this book and decided to make SQ into Dr. Curtain’s son. What in the world

Okay I should probably preface this by saying that I absolutely adore both book!S.Q. and show!SQ with all my heart. Somehow, despite being a completely different character in both mediums, he has managed to be one of the best characters in either and certainly one of my favorites (besides Sticky of course) in the entire franchise, despite the fact that I’ve only read the first book/watched the show so far. I am confident in this statement.

But seriously! How?? Why?? I could probably write a whole other essay about why show!SQ is such an interesting character, and the change works so incredibly well. I’m just. Baffled

Okay, focus. book!S.Q. is such a sweetheart, oh my goodness. Like, 100% one of the most endearing characters in the book. Poor guy. I don’t even know where to start!!

He just seems to be a genuinely good guy at heart, despite being technically one of the bad guys. He’s genuinely happy for Reynie and Sticky when they became Messengers and helped Kate when she “fell” and was concerned about Constance when she looked sick and how he was in that meeting with Mr. Curtain and Martina?!!? aaahhhhghgh ;-; he just wants people to be happy TT-TT

Comparing him against literally every character at the Institute is probably what makes him so endearing tbh. When everyone else is so awful to the kids, it really makes him stand out. Like a cheerful little nightlight in the worst, most humid and rank bathroom you’ve ever been in

It’s kind of pointless to theorize about a book series that’s already concluded (I think?) but. Is the implication of S.Q.’s forgetfulness supposed to be that Mr. Curtain used him in brainsweeping experiments somehow? The timeline probably definitely absolutely doesn’t line up but like. How did he get to being a Messenger being the way he is now, given how cutthroat the process is? And then of course Mr. Curtain keeps him around as an Executive because he’s fun to mess with and presumably his loyalty. I’m very curious as to how their relationship develops in the other books, if at all. Those are probably where the seeds of the “let’s make them family” logic were planted

But wouldn’t it be hilarious if the reason we don’t know what “S.Q.” stands for in the books is that he just. Forgot

Another thing that occurred to me. Given that he and the other Executives were Messengers at some point, what were their worst fears? What is S.Q.’s worst fear?? Inquiring minds need to know

One last horrible little anecdote: I was thinking about book!S.Q. while eating breakfast, as one does, and suddenly it hit me.

I want to believe The Author Trenton Lee Stewart had the name for a character, S.Q. Pedalian, and was like, “Hm! What sort of quirky trait should this young fellow have?” Because, of course, in this style of fiction every character has to have at least one cartoonish or otherwise distinguishing trait to stand out in the minds of children. (For instance, Kate has her bucket, Sticky has his glasses, Constance is angry, and Reynie is Emmett from the Lego Movie)

Anyhow, he looks around the room, searching for inspiration. Suddenly he comes across a jumbo box of plastic wrap. Completely innocuous in design, save for one line of text. 300 SQ FT.

“…large… S.Q. …feet? THAT’S IT!” i’m sorry

Lines & Scenes I Liked

In no particular order!

Sticky quotes Sun Tzu, The Art of War

Evil combination aerobics/square dancing in the gym with the Executives

Everyone being happy at the end :’)

Everyone partying after Sticky reunites with his parents, and later finding Mr. Benedict asleep at his desk from the moment they shook hands :’’)

Literally any scene with Sticky in it

Any time Kate says “you boys” or “gosh”

[“Um, sir?” S.Q. said timidly, raising his hand. “A thought just occurred to me.” / Mr. Curtain raised his eyebrows. “That’s remarkable, S.Q. What is it?”] clown prince of my heart </3

S.Q.’s determined monologue about searching for clues after he bungled up the first time

Literally any scene with S.Q. in it (please refer to The S.Q. Section)

Reynie trying to resist the Whisperer.

[Let us begin. / First let me polish my spectacles, Reynie thought. / Let us begin. / Not without my bucket, Reynie insisted. He heard Mr. Curtain muttering behind him. / Let us begin, let us begin, let us begin. / Rules and schools are tools for fools, Reynie thought.]

NO MORE HURTIN’ WITH CURTAIN

Milligan showing up on the island!!

Remember the white knight hhhhhh

“controle”

A Super Secret Bonus Section

I would be extremely surprised if anyone read through all the way down here lol. Regardless, here’s a little acknowledgements section :D not tagging anyone since I don’t want to bother all of these people

Special shoutout to tumblr blog stonetowns for unknowingly yet singlehandedly demolishing my reluctance to read the books by posting a ton of cute quotes. Thank you for your service o7

Thanks to the two OGs that liked the post I made right before this one, for being my unwitting enablers and for sticking around despite being a) technically an internet stranger (hello!) and b) someone I haven’t spoken to irl in literal years (hey!!)

Last but not least thankz 2 my sister for putting up with me ranting about the book when I first got it and for asking about “CQ” sometimes lol. (i desperately hope you’re not reading this orz)

[variousqueerthings]

Okay, something on the other side of this ramble

Another ramble and I will call it… 

The Horror In Sports Films

(it’s more about Johnny Lawrence with a side of Ash Williams this time)

1. Horror and Punch-Kick-Emotions films (whatever they’re called – hand-to-hand fights in front of an audience with Feeling after which man is allowed to cry, so not like… Shootfighter or Bloodsport, those are different Types of Movie) are very formulaic

2. The former allows for a rare-in-film depth of feeling from female protagonists at the cost of being the victims of extreme violence (The Final Girl) – the latter allows for a rare-in-film depth of feeling from male protagonists at the cost of semi-willingly engaging in violence (Rocky/Creed, Raging Bull, Warrior, The Fighter)

3. You’ve very seldom got some Final Boys (Nightmare on elmstr 2, Evil Dead, Chucky, Get Out) and Female Sports Stars (Million dollar baby… and… ? Beautiful Boxer? Somewhat different vibe in that it is actually a trans story, but still, it has that je ne sais quoi – queer feeling in obvious abundance. Girlfight… I haven’t seen that one sorry) and when you do, the questions about Gender Roles are mixed up like shaking a test tube and they’re not reaaally as popular, because cis straight fans are terrified of identifying with something that’s, you know, *whispers* more obviously gay (unless the Final Boy is a child or Does Action!)

4. A nightmare on elm street 2 and Karate Kid are both very different to their genres’ formula due to the lead – in Karate Kid they get away with this until the third movie, which we can and have talked about forever and ever

So: Ash Williams (Evil Dead) and Johnny Lawrence – Queer Final Girls also? (I mean, yes) and also The Monster (also yes)

Horror in sports: You’re trying to be A Man. You have to suffer before you’re allowed this title. You have to Prove Yourself and the ways to do this are counteractive to your physical health, your emotional well-being, and your relationships to others. And the true horror is this – you will never achieve Man. It is unachievable. You will simply suffer. And suffer. And suffer. And then you will die (maybe, after death, you will be remembered as A Man, maybe this twisted kind of saintliness is the only thing you can aspire to, because the alternative is to No Longer Be A Man).

Is Johnny (while Daniel is going through his coming-of-age journey in the first movie) going through a horror film/juvenile Raging Bull?

And once we meet him again – similar to Ash Williams – he is Upholding Masculinity by being an alcoholic with c-ptsd, who is also racist and sexist, but hey, they… drive classic (shit) cars? And are emotionally stunted? And uh ‘checks notes’ like Babes and punch/shoot things! M A N ! ! !

JC Leyendecker, Tom of Finland, both famous gay artists who created images of men that were considered highly masculine, the first of which were literally considered the ideal American Man, the second of whose men are very similar to the kind of guy you’d see in American Action Films (The Schwarzenegger/Stallone Ideal). The kind of intensely muscled oiled up idealized man that straight men Love. (don’t y’all want to put straight men in test tubes sometimes? Just me?)

And here’s the thing about us-and-Johnny. Other people have spoken about it. Was it @nomercyonlytears (apologies if I’m misremembering) EDIT: have been told it was @palamedessextus - sorry! - who had that glorious piece about Johnny Lawrence/Billy Zabka “if I felt less I could talk about it more”, and I know there’s an overlap in fans of Johnny and fans of Ash, and we’re very queer, and some of us, I believe, are transmasc and/or NB and/or have experience with transness as it affects ourselves and/or gender ???? experiences, and variations thereof – but I won’t put words or identities in anyone’s mouth, this is all about me and about projecting the horror of Imperfect Masculinity onto Johnny, like I do with many cisgender men in narratives like this, because they really are Horrific, and I’ve had thoughts for awhile about the potential for trans and particularly transmasculine narrative (also other kinds like lesbian and particularly butch narrative) to… I guess be a better? A more rounded and self-aware kind of depiction of masculinity – and is the real horror that these stories can Never Be That?

and the thing about Raging Bull is that he has that self-awareness that he’s been Made Into Something Monstrous, but it’s an unsustainable model of self outside of the boxing ring – he doesn’t however, know how to not be that, and if someone did provide a template, he’d probably call it gay……

These are stories of Frankenstein Monsters – stories of a Flawed Violent Masculine that is both projected inwards (addiction, self-harm, inability to connect) and outwards (racism, sexism, fighting-which-is-also-self-harm), and the second, the second someone were to take this to its natural conclusion and says… “uh, hey, that’s a mighty queer theme you’ve got there” the whole thing would become… idk… Something Else (something... queer....)

Final Girls are often saved or save themselves (also through a form of Transformation Into Monstrousness), but in this case the monster is masculinity, the way to be saved is also masculinity, but like… queer masculinity

we haven’t had a reckoning of that yet within these formulaic genres, as far as I am aware…

Ash Williams is especially in a strange place, because the narrative in the later series is presented through such a male-gazey, weirdly affirming camera (badass drug sequence – badass retraumatization sequence – badass self-hatred sequence), and the series was cancelled so I guess we’ll never know if there was any self-awareness there in the end (one of the final shots is objectifying a new female character and a Badass Car Upgrade so...)?

At least Johnny Lawrence looks close to tears every time something upsetting happens to him. Johnny really wants to cry and it’s a tragedy that he can’t

will he still be badass once he’s cried? (if he’s been beaten up enough it might even be allowed – the horror of Being A Man is that even if you fail or lapse, you are still required to Keep Going, because Toxic Masculinity Will Not Let You Go)

One day the Horror In Sports will come home to the same natural conclusion that Horror In… Horror is doing: It’s All Really Friggin Queer

(so are Ash Williams and Johnny Lawrence)

[emachinescat]

Mama Bear

A Tales of Arcadia Fan-Fiction

by @emachinescat @whumptober2021 day 3 - Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones But... ("who did this to you?")

Summary: After Jim’s fight with Draal, his mom sees his bruises, and Mama Bear is unleashed. Post-Win, Lose, or Draal.

Whumpee: Jim

Words: 2,603

Note: This fic was inspired by what Barbara said in 1x13 about Jim coming home from school covered in bruises. As is my way, I took the idea and ran with it.

TW: none

Barbara Lake had always considered herself incredibly lucky that her son turned out as well as he did. It wasn’t her own doing, she was sure of that – she always did the best she could, but being a single mom meant she’d had to work extra shifts to support her small family and never felt like she was there enough.

No, Jim was just a really good kid.

Not many moms could boast that their sixteen-year-old son could cook better than they could, let alone that they made gourmet lunches and dinners (and breakfasts, on most weekends), not just willingly, but happily. And not many moms could brag that their sixteen-year-old son did the dishes or kept the house clean or put aside his own wants and dreams to take care of his overworked mother. Who got up early to leave flowers on their bedside table after a long night at work, or who tucked them in after they fell asleep on top of the covers, still in their scrubs, because they’d been too exhausted to do anything else.

Barbara tried not to brag too much about Jim. She knew that he did have a social life of his own, and as far as she could tell, he was fairly well liked at school and she didn’t want to embarrass him if any of his friends found out just how much he doted on his mother. But sometimes she couldn’t help it, and she’d find herself rambling to her beautician or the nurses at the hospital or sometimes even a long-suffering patient about how her son was one-of-a-kind. He didn’t get into trouble at school, didn’t fight, didn’t skip school, and almost never missed curfew.

Until one day, he did.

It wasn’t even like it was a gradual change. There was no slow fade. She didn’t watch him slowly descend into bad grades or late nights or midnight calls about museum break-ins. There were no signs. He went to bed one day, the same as ever, and then suddenly he was getting into trouble at school, getting into fist fights, missing curfew, breaking into museums in the dead of night. Not only that but his grades – which had always been slightly higher than average – had plummeted, and he’d developed dark circles under his eyes like he never slept and sometimes he moved around like he was an eighty-year-old man and though his good nature and kind heart remained, it seemed strained at times. He still did sweet things for her, but not as often.

At first, she’d thought he was burning the proverbial candle at both ends and his lack of sleep was taking a toll on his mental and physical health. As a doctor, she’d seen firsthand what lack of sleep could do to a person. Their entire personality would change, or fizzle out, and their judgment would be severely impaired.

But then she’d seen the bruises and her sleep-loss theory flew out of the window.

***

Two weeks ago

Barbara thought boundaries and independence were a valuable part of a child’s development, so she always knocked before she entered Jim’s room. Of course, if he were gone, she wouldn’t bother.

On this particular day – one of her rare days off – she was sure he wasn’t home. She hadn’t heard him come in, hadn’t seen his bike propped up against the side of the house or in the garage. The container of store-bought chocolate chip cookies (she had neither the time nor skill to bake them herself) she’d left out for him hadn’t been touched. For all appearances, Jim hadn’t gotten home from school yet.

And so, she didn’t knock as she approached his bedroom door with a laundry basket propped on her hip. Jim always did his own laundry, but she’d seen how tired and overworked he’d been lately and wanted to ease his burden however she could.

The sight that greeted her when she nudged open the door and flipped on the light was one that would stick with her, tattooed onto her mind’s eye, for the rest of her life.

Jim was asleep on top of his unmade bed. It looked like he’d gotten halfway undressed and then decided to forgo comfort for sleep, and lay on his stomach in only his jeans. One shoe was on, the other halfway under the bed. But what arrested her attention so violently was the great rainbow of bruises arching across his back and stretched around his side, disappearing beneath his stomach where he lay on the bed.

She couldn’t help herself. A horrified shriek escaped her, and Jim sprung up so quickly it made her head spin. The panicked look in his eyes did not escape her notice, nor did the way he made a desperate reach for his pocket, like he was trying to grab something – trying to defend himself? When he saw who was in his room, and that they were alone, and that there was no danger, the raw fear faded, though a hint of panic remained.

“Mom!” he squawked, crossing his arms across his chest like that would be enough to hide the dizzying array of green, purple, yellow, and black that blanketed his chest. She noticed with surprise the lean muscles of his arms. Jim had always been fit, but never strong. He’d never said anything about a gym and he’d never been serious about sports, but she filed this information away for later and focused on the problem at hand.

Her stomach twisted as her doctor’s eyes traveled slowly, deliberately down her son’s bare torso. The bruises were worse on his stomach and chest, something she hadn’t thought possible, and she realized with horror that some of them were days, maybe weeks, older than others. This – whatever this was – was not an isolated incident.

Rage like she’d never felt before, like the protective energy of all mothers who had come before her collected into one finely-honed sword, pierced her soul as she came to the only conclusion that made any logical sense: Someone had done this to her son.

When she spoke, she barely recognized her own voice, cold as the furthest depth of the ocean, shaking with unmitigated fury.

“Who did this to you?”

Jim’s answer didn’t surprise her, but she also didn’t believe it for a second. “No one. It… was an accident.” She watched, lips crammed together in an impossibly thin line, teeth grinding against one another, her hands trembling with a righteous anger she had no outlet for, as Jim slowly reached out for the shirt he’d left in a heap at the end of the bed, the other arm still wrapped protectively around his torso. She didn’t stop him. She would absolutely be examining his injuries fully before the evening was done, but for now, she’d seen enough. The sight of her son’s bruised flesh would burn in her memory forever, more clearly than when she saw it right in front of her.

Skittishly, like a cat caught sniffing around back alley garbage cans, he snatched up the shirt and swiftly pulled it over his head. He couldn’t hide the flinch as he raised his arms to pull the fabric over his head. As he did so, she got the full view of his torso, and the wild, impossible thought flitted through her mind that it almost looked like some giant hand had wrapped around his body and squeezed. The image, however nonsensical, sent waves of nausea crashing through her. Her anger swelled again, and the crest of it burst forth, no longer containable, and the only person she could release it on was the one who was actively lying to her.

“James Lake, Jr. – do you think I’m an idiot?!”

Jim froze, his hands stilling completely as he adjusted the neck of his tee. He had never heard his mother direct such cold fury at anyone, let alone himself. “W-what? Of course not, Mom. I just–”

“You expect me to believe that you accidentally hurt yourself this badly? That you woke up one morning and you were covered in bruises? Jim, I’m a doctor. I see people come in for less than this. I wouldn’t be surprised if you have fractured ribs.” Now the anger was giving way to panic. “And don’t think that I haven’t noticed that some bruises are newer than others. This isn’t something that just ‘happened’ and it’s not an accident. So tell me. Who – the – hell – did this to my son?”

A small, ridiculous surge of satisfaction bubbled up inside of her as she watched Jim’s mouth fall open. He’d never heard his mother utter a word stronger than darn before. She’d always been very careful about the language she used in front of him. But his condition released something feral inside of her, and it was honestly a bit of a shock that nothing stronger came out.

She watched his face, saw the conflict in his eyes, knew with even more surety that he was hiding something big from her and trying to decide if he was going to answer truthfully. Well, tough luck. He wasn’t leaving his bedroom until he answered her question.

He must have seen this in her eyes, for after a moment, he dropped his gaze. Heavily, he sat down on the foot of his bed and stared down at his hands. “Mom, I… can’t. I just can’t. I’m sorry.”

At this, the fear took center stage again, and Barbara fell to her knees in front of her son, cupping his face in her hands. The tears she’d been holding back with such determination threatened to fall at the way he unconsciously leaned into her touch. His eyes closed briefly, and for a moment he was a child again, sniffling from a scraped knee and being comforted by his mother. That moment ended all too quickly, because his scraped knee was actually a bruised and battered torso, and he wasn’t a child anymore, and he was in trouble.

“Jim. Whatever is going on, I promise, I won’t be angry. But someone is hurting you. You can’t deny that. What is happening to my son?” She tried not to speculate – dared not speculate – but so many possibilities chased themselves through her head, each one worse than the last. Bullies? Abusive teacher? Drugs?

He sat for a moment, a slumped, defeated statue with too much weight on his young shoulders – Young Atlas, Walter’s voice echoed in her mind. She saw the exact moment when he made his decision. He squared his shoulders, set his jaw, and met her eyes once more. Something brewed within those beautiful blue depths, but what it was she couldn’t say. Was it regret? Guilt? Fear?

“It really was an accident,” he finally said, voice slow and measured.

“Jim, really–!”

“I’m telling the truth, Mom!” he insisted so fervently that she was tempted to believe him. Almost.

“Do you hear how ridiculous you sound?” she demanded. “What kind of ‘accident’–”

“A Vespa one,” Jim blurted, and his eyes flickered down to his hands in shame. “I… a friend gave me a ride on his Vespa. I was on the back and got thrown off and rolled halfway down the embankment before a tree caught me right in the ribs.”

Fresh panic wormed its way into Barbara’s mind at Jim’s confession. As horrible as it was, part of her desperately wanted to believe him. If he had been in a vehicle accident, then no one had been deliberately hurting her child. It was just his own irresponsibility and stupidity.

“When did this happen?”

A beat. Then, sheepishly, “... yesterday.”

But – “What about the older bruises, Jim? Did you get into two Vespa accidents?”

“Paintball,” Jim answered without missing a beat. “We had a whole thing a few months back. Guys versus girls. And I got hit. A lot.”

Barbara recalled clearly the size and location of the older bruises that had peeked out from underneath the fresh, reaching ones. They could have easily been from punches or kicks, but it was feasible that the bruises could have come from being shot at close-range by a paintball gun.

Deep down, something still nagged at her. But Jim’s explanation was a siren’s call and she was so tired of swimming.

“Do you promise me you’re telling the truth?” The gaze she fixed on him one would have withered a succulent.

Without hesitation, Jim answered, his voice clear, strong, and insistent. “Yes.”

Relief flooded through her, and she squashed the last remaining doubts, perhaps a bit too eagerly. “In that case, you are grounded.”

Jim’s eyes widened. “What, really? You promised you wouldn’t be angry!?”

“I’m not angry, I’m disappointed. Let’s see, you know how I feel about both paintball and those Vespas and yet you went behind my back and nearly got yourself killed. You’ve been lying to me, Jim, keeping secrets. Is this why you’ve not been sleeping? Why you’ve been so distant?” It didn’t explain why he’d been getting into more trouble than usual, but right now she would take what she could get.

The slightest of hesitations. “Yeah.”

She considered, eyes burning into him, for a long moment, then she sighed, the sound of every evil thing escaping Pandora’s box, and she clapped her hands together briskly. “Okay, come on.”

Jim cocked his head to the side. “Where are we going?”

“The hospital.”

Jim groaned. “Mom, I’m okay. I’m just bruised.”

“I’m not taking any chances, mister. You could have fractured ribs. You should have been rushed to the hospital as soon as the accident happened. Who is this friend, anyway? Why didn’t he take you to the E.R.?”

Jim scratched the side of his neck. “You wouldn’t know him,” he evaded, and Barbara made a promise to herself to revisit this point later. “And we were afraid we’d get into trouble…”

“Well, you did, kiddo. Now, get up. We’re going to the hospital, you’re getting x-rays, and then we’re getting ice cream.”

Jim blinked up at her. She wondered if he realized his arm was curled protectively around his ribs as he slowly eased himself off the bed. “Ice cream? I thought I was grounded.”

“You’re hurt, Jim, and I’m your mother. I’m not a monster.” A soft smile pulled at the corners of Jim’s mouth at her words, and not wanting him to get too comfortable, she added, “You are grounded, though. Absolutely. You’re not going anywhere after school for at least two weeks. And depending on the x-rays, you might not be leaving your bed for a while, either.”

“Mooom.”

“Don’t you ‘mom’ me. Now, put your other shoe on. Let’s hussle. I want you looked at as soon as possible.”

What she didn’t see as she turned to leave the room was the heavy curtain of guilt being drawn over Jim’s face.

Later, she’d drive him home with a diagnosis of two cracked ribs and deep bruising across 80 percent of his torso and a bottle of muscle relaxers for the pain. They’d get ice cream and he would mope about bedrest and she would try to cheer him up (but not too much; he was still grounded, after all). But behind the pain of his injuries lurked a deeper, fierer ache that no balm could soothe, no medication could ease.

With every lie, he could feel the chasm widen between him and his mother, and it hurt more than a few broken ribs and bruises ever could.

[bffsoobin]

Windflower

01|02|03|04|05|06

↳ after a heartbreak you find yourself in a small town looking for purpose. you find employment with Choi Soobin and his impressive ancestral home. when you start to fall in love again, there’s no way for you to predict what you find in the depths of the home and Soobin’s mind.

➤ hanahaki au, angst, slight fluff, dark themes

Word Count:6,881

Warnings: swearing, descriptions of sickness and feeling generally unwell, mentions of doctors/medical treatments, deception, descriptions of anxiety/panic, horror, pain, major character death, general dark themes! Please proceed with caution if you’re sensitive! (also I did not proof read)

A/N:excuse my language; but holy fuck. I cannot believe this is the end of Windflower. This is insane. Windflower is my passion project, and the desire to write it is half the reason I opened my account on here. While it hasn’t been the most popular writing on my blog, I have been really really proud of it. Thank you to everyone who has been reading and supporting this since the beginning! I love you all!

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•

Soobin sat with his head dipped toward the dark wooden dining table. He was scrolling through what appeared to be a website for a plant nursery; as if he needed more within the home. You were sitting opposite of him, peeking over the top of your laptop where you were pretending to read an article on the ten best shows coming to Netflix this fall. Following the night of your drunken rage, the two of you had patched up your relationship as well as you possibly could. You’d traded apologies, talked it out over a store-bought cheesecake and moved on. 

At least, you assumed he had. He acted as if you hadn’t accused him of being some type of fraud and proclaimed that you could no longer trust him. Everything was eerily the same, despite Soobin’s increased caution around you in certain settings. Gone were the days of him laying a hand on your back as you cooked or resting his head on your shoulder while you both dozed off on the couch. 

You should have been grateful for his physical distance. Happy that he was giving you the room you had hinted at needing on that night a few weeks ago. Instead you were annoyed. Frustrated at the way you craved to feel his comforting touch even though you knew it would only bring you more pain in the end. For a while, you worried that his avoidance meant he had seen the evidence of your stupidity floating within the toilet bowl, but you knew Soobin well enough to know that he would have talked to you about it. Right? He would have brought it up; although slowly and with extreme caution, and asked you what he could do to help. He had proven himself to be mature and thoughtful, even after you’d tried to push him away. 

He finally stirred in his seat across the table. You could actually hear a few of his bones crack with the movement and you stifled a laugh. 

“What’s so funny?” He tried to sound intimidating, but his voice was so inherently soft around the edges that you couldn’t hold back the laugh. 

“You’re just an old man,” you were poking at him, you knew, but it felt good. You felt normal. Almost like you were back to the time when the two of you were truly just friends. He planted both of his large, vascular hands flat on the table and leaned his weight forward. 

“I’m an old man? You do know we’re the same age, Y/N. So if I’m so old...” he paused for dramatic affect as you stared up at him in amused awe. “Then you must be ancient.”

An offended gasp, obviously feigned, slipped between your lips; which you now noticed you’d chewed raw as you were thinking earlier. 

“How dare you? I am the epitome of youth! My hair is flowing, my skin is flawless,” you pointed to a blemish on your chin you knew for a fact you’d had for days. “My youthful beauty is unmatched, can’t you tell?” You weren’t sure where your sudden good mood had come from but you basked in it. Even as Soobin used his hands as leverage to lean closer to your face, you didn’t budge. You couldn’t. This close up, you could spot every single little freckle on his face. The dynamic shades of his irises became more and more distinct until he finally stopped advancing toward you. It was easily the closest the two of you had been in weeks. 

“Hm, you’re right. I can tell. There’s something about you...” he squinted his eyes as if he were scrutinizing your every feature. “You are beautiful, Y/N.” 

The sentence brought an unwanted visceral reaction through your body. It was too much like a confession, too close to the exact words you needed to hear from him. A shooting pain rippled through your heart. You shuddered out an exhale, shutting your eyes tight as if that would stave away the pain. In a blind panic, you pushed away from the solid table and made to put as much distance between yourself and Soobin as possible. Then your migraine hit, the feeling like someone had stuck a red hot iron rod behind both of your eyes. Fuck. On top of that pain, a cough worked its way up your throat, producing a petal into your mouth that was slimy and bitter.

You only made it two and a half steps before your knees gave out, sending you hurtling toward the floor in a free fall. Sticking your hands out just before the impact, you accepted the fact that you were about to get a concussion out of your own inability to properly distance yourself from an unrequited love. But the sensitive skin of your face never bounced off of the original hardwood flooring you had once drooled over. 

“Y/N?” Soobin was panicked, stooped down  next to you as he had managed to barely break your fall and turn you around to lay on your back. Your vision was still swimming, but you cracked open your eyes very slowly. 

‘What’s wrong? Do you need to go to a doctor?” 

“No,” you croaked out, “was just a migraine.” Soobin scoffed. 

“I’ve never seen anyone nearly pass out from just a migraine, Y/N. And in all the months I’ve known you, you’ve never-”

“I’m fine.” You asserted, sitting up as well as you could with his arms wrapped protectively around your shoulders. “They used to happen the last time I- uh, when I was in college. It’s okay, they’ll pass.” You were lying right through your teeth. The last time you had a migraine this badly, your then roommate had rushed you to the emergency room and discovered that you had hanahaki. There was no doubt that history was repeating itself. 

 “Okay.” He was frowning, obviously unconvinced as he pushed a hand against your lower back. “At least let me help you upstairs.” 

----

The migraine either dissipates or you simply become accustomed to it. The petal you had coughed into a tissue when you first reached your room had dried, sitting on your bedside table in its perfect little form to mock you. You were so disgusted that you couldn’t even bring yourself to throw it away. No longer sensitive to light, you shrugged out from underneath your sheets and stretched your limbs until they cracked. A dull thumping was still present at the base of your skull; a reminder of what you’d just suffered. A sickly feeling of anxiety passed through you like a breeze, making the hair on the back of your neck stand to attention. Soobin was clearly not convinced by your insistence that your sudden ailment was nothing of concern. And he was right. In all the time you’d been around him, you never once experienced a spell quite like that, so how was he supposed to not be suspicious?

Although, you had to hold onto hope that he truly didn’t know any better. It seemed as though he was blissfully ignorant to the truth behind your sickness, and you’d like to keep it that way. For as long as you possibly could, anyway. 

You hadn’t even noticed that you were pacing across the floor until you landed your weight onto a particularly squeaky board that sounded ridiculous in the otherwise quiet room. Freezing on the spot, you held your breath for some reason you truly couldn’t explain. Of course, there was no logical reason to do so, and the action only resulted in your lungs contracting violently. Your upper body shuddered as you opened your mouth instantly. Holding your breath for just a few seconds should have been a simple task, but to your weakened heart and lungs it felt like running a whole marathon uphill. 

Buckling over, you heaved in mouthfuls of oxygen until your heart rate dropped back down to a normal rate. Add shortness of breath to your growing list of signs that should send you running for the nearest clinic. If you weren’t so foolishly attached to the man who was probably worrying about you downstairs, you would have already been booking yourself an appointment. 

It just seemed totally inconceivable, even in your predicament, to leave Soobin behind within his ancestral house that surely felt horridly empty being lived in alone. You would sooner walk over lava barefoot than put him through that. It was stupid. So incredibly stupid, but you were literally willing to put your life on the line just to look after Soobin. He had really weaseled himself deep into your psyche. But you knew you were to blame for holding the door wide open. He had done so much for you, surely you could do him to kindness of sticking around as long as you possibly could.

So you trudged down the steps like you did every day, expecting to come face to face with an overly worried and doting young man standing in the kitchen or living room awaiting your arrival. But the lower level of the house was oddly silent when you descended the steps. The low hum of the washer and dryer running were the only indications that someone beside yourself was even there. Curiosity spiking, you made your way to the vacant living room to peer out of the windows. It was a bit hard to see him from this angle, but you spotted Soobin lounging on the back deck, skin browning in the sun and eyes closed in content. His arms were tucked behind his head, effectively lengthening his torso and giving you a full view of the sliver of skin that was peeking out between the top of his waistband and the bottom of the white cotton t-shirt  You noticed that he was once again wearing the outfit he was donning when you first arrived at the front gate weeks ago. Although the outfit was simple and generally unremarkable, you would never forget the way your heart lurched at the sight of his lithe body the first time. The warm pull of nostalgia nagged at the back of your mind, so you selfishly let yourself sink into its embrace and recall the trepidation you had once approached the grounds with. 

Soobin had charmed you so easily with his windswept hair and boyish charm that it was a shock you didn’t begin to grow flowers for him the first time you met. To be fair, the version of you who had rolled into town almost two months prior was much more cautious than the version you were now familiar with. Part of you missed that version of you; who was simply drifting through life, unattached to anyone and looking for a new spot to plant her roots. But you knew you weren’t built to live like that, as your attachment to Soobin had proven wholeheartedly. 

Suddenly, you felt a lurching in your chest that didn’t necessarily hurt you; but urged you to go outside and talk to Soobin. A subconscious pull that reminded you that your body craved his attention just as much as your mind did. The weather was beautiful today, a pleasant temperature that made your skin feel like it was glowing as soon as you were under the sun. As soon as you stepped onto the porch, Soobin whipped his head around in your direction. Cutely, he scrambled to sit up, hair frizzy from the static of the Adirondack chair he had been lounging on. 

“Are you feeling better?” A warm hand encased the left side of your face, Soobin’s sloped nose just inches away from yours as his speckled eyes studied every single pore and line on your face. 

“Uh- I’m-” his proximity was making your jittery, heart rate spiking as you tried to collect your thoughts. “I feel better. The migraine is gone.” You ignored the way the same dull ache from earlier was beginning to seep into the edges of your brain. 

“Oh, good!” A rush of his breath blew over your sensitive skin, sending your eyelids into a flutter. When he removed his hand, you felt oddly cold and empty despite the heat of the atmosphere. “Look, I don’t want you to do any work around the house until you’re feeling better. And I can call my doctor to get you in for a-”

“No!” The word jumped off of your tongue before you could reign it in; rudely cutting Soobin off as his eyes widened in shock. He shifted his weight as his eyebrows knit together in worry. You licked your lips- suddenly dry- and tried to collect the thoughts that were running laps in your mind. How could you possibly explain that going to the doctor would be a grave mistake and mark the end of your companionship. 

“You don’t want to go to the doctor? I promise he’s really nice, Y/N, and he can get you medicine for your migraines.” His perfect lips were pulled into a worried pout, a thin sheen of sweat glazing his skin only exemplifying his perfect complexion. 

“No, it’s just that...when I had them before they ran a bunch of tests,” you were hedging the truth and you knew it, but hopefully Soobin couldn’t tell the difference, “and there was nothing they could give me to help them. So a doctor would just be, ya know, a waste of time.” The skin on the back of your neck was heated in worry as you shot Soobin what you hoped was a convincing grin. 

“Okay.” He was still frowning but he seemed to believe you. “Just please let me know if you want to go. I don’t want you to be miserable. And you’re still not doing any yard work,” he grasped your bicep and led you over to the chair he had just been lying in. His grip was strong as he gave you no choice but to sit down and relax. The plastic was heated from the sunshine and the heat of his body as you settled in and looked up at him, blinking slowly. 

“I’m not gonna break, Soobin. I can handle watering the plants and doing some cleaning inside. You are not going to wait on me hand and foot.” You put some fire in your tone, hoping to edge away the anxiety you were feeling creep up the back of your throat. Having the exact person who sent your body on a fight against itself watching over you like a mother cat watches its kittens would surely put you six feet under. 

Soobin’s eyes steeled as he crossed his arms over his broad, defined chest. “No, Y/N. I am going to wait on you, because you’ve spent so much time waiting on me, and you deserve to have someone take care of you. Please let me take care of you, bub.” You were speechless at the strength of his voice coupled with the nickname he had only used in a teasing manner prior to this moment. The longer you stared at the toned muscle of his arms crossed over the widest part of his torso, the more your throat began to tickle with the insistence of soft, red petals that were looking for an escape. Panicked, you looked away quickly, coughing as softly as you can to hopefully pass the action off as simply swallowing down the wrong pipe. Just when you think the moment has passed, an unwavering push at the back of your throat had you involuntarily gagging. Soobin sprung into action, patting a large hand between your shoulder blades as if he were burping an infant. He was calling your name, pulling some strands of your hair away from your face in a bid to get your attention; but you ignored him. Your stomach rolled, the pressure in your lungs and heart only increasing at his touch that you tried to shrug off. 

Eventually the muscles of your esophagus stopped constricting and fresh oxygen could flow back into your crowded lungs. Hot tears slipped down your cheeks and you wiped at them in embarrassment, hiding your face from Soobin’s intensified gaze. You could only imagine what he was thinking right now; as you’d just went from insisting you had no need for a doctor to dry heaving over the side of his deck furniture. The thought had you shrinking into yourself even more. He was going to catch on eventually, wasn’t he? Fuck. You couldn’t avoid this much longer. The evidence of your disease was only mounting and Soobin was more observant than ever before. 

“Y/N.” The call of your name brought you, slowly, out of your own mind. “Look at me.” The words could not have been any clearer, yet you shook your head like a petulant child. He sighed. “Please, I’m worried about you. Please let me take care of you. I can’t,” he stopped and you could hear him swallow clearly. Was that a sniffle? Your heart clenched in response. “I can’t sit here and watch you hurt.” 

Still ashamed, you raised your head from your hands and stared out over the yard instead of facing him. You didn’t think your stuttering heart would survive seeing his expression in this supercharged moment. You’d sooner drop dead than see Soobin crying over you.

“Okay,” you acquiesced, mind already running in the direction of a backup plan, “I’m sorry, Soobin. You’re right. I do need you to look after me. Just please.” you swallowed, tasting the oddly earthy tang of flower petals on your tongue. “No doctors. You have to promise me.” Finally turning your body to face his, your earlier suspicions were confirmed. 

Your heart constricted painfully at the sight of him, eyes rimmed red and watery with unshed tears and a line of worry creasing the soft skin of his forehead harshly. “Fine.” He huffed, clearly displeased with your stipulation but willing to make the sacrifice. 

“Thank you,” the words were whispered, caught in a sudden gust of wind, but he heard them nonetheless and sent you a small nod. 

“Of course.”

----

Soft sunlight filtered through the flowy white curtains hanging over the windows of the library. You weren’t sure why you hadn’t spent much time in this little haven since you moved in. Soobin’s cousin had filled it with plush armchairs laden with soft fleece blankets and the most comfortable throw pillows you’d ever felt. The books were certainly outdated, but you found some classics that satisfied the itch for escape you had begun to cultivate. Currently, you were flipping through a vintage illustrated coffee table book- the front page tells you it was made in 1962- that gave diagrams and names of all types of flowers. You shouldn’t have been surprised to find this type of literature here, as Soobin himself had admitted to learning the meanings of flowers in his free time. 

The pages were delicate, so you flipped them carefully, fingers tracing over the edges that felt like they might melt between the oil of your skin. As you turned onto a new page a brightly colored sticky note, not unlike the ones you used to mark up textbooks, drew your attention toward the flower it was attached to. You recognized the flower as jasmine immediately, familiar with the patch of it that weaved among its neighbors in the garden. Brushing the sticky note aside, you read the delicate cursive underneath it: eternal and unconditional love. Cute. The image of a younger Soobin thumbing through the book, tongue pushed out in concentration as he researched warmed your heart. 

A tremor of weakness passed through your arm, making your hand shake. A feeling of dread- which you desperately tried to push down- reminded you of just how much worse your condition had become. You had noticed it lately, the way you felt much more faint than normal, how much more often you had to take a moment to catch your breath, the way your whole body would shake when you cough up a mix of blood and petals into the sink. 

But for now, you chose to lose yourself in this book and the newfound hunt for Soobin’s sticky notes of interest. You had to skip a few pages before you found the next ones; two bundled together in the upper left corner of the page marked off forget-me-nots and begonias. Gently lifting the sticky notes revealed the meanings behind these flowers, also featured in the backyard, to be true love and deep compassion and communication or connection, respectively. Curiosity mounting, you continued to flip through the weighty book. At first, you began to think that maybe the three notes you’d already found were all that lived within the forgotten book. As you neared the end, your eyes caught on two more, this time on opposite ends of the page. One partially covered an illustration of a snapdragon, the other highlighting the small flowers of a buttercup. Your nails caught on the edge of the blue paper as you lifted it. Buttercups: neatness and innocence. The definition made sense, calling back to memory the way your former best friend had coughed up a handful of the pale yellow flowers when you were just children. She was easily the most pure and innocent person you’d ever met, and given the matching nature of the boy who’d also been secretly pining over her; you couldn’t think of a more perfect example of the type of flower representing the relationship. 

You wondered if Soobin had chosen and planted these flowers with the image of the relationships they’re indicative of in mind. The snapdragon’s description was totally covered by the sticky note; so you nearly had to pry the whole thing off before you could see the cursive. Deception. The word stared back at you. It seemed very out of place among the other markings that Soobin had made. You knew for a fact that a tall, thick patch of snapdragons were growing proudly in the garden, among all the other flowers with soft, beautiful meanings. Interesting. You would consider the fact that Soobin was only drawn to their aesthetics, but the way the drawing was marked with the same enthusiasm as the others was certainly curious. 

You decided that you were thinking way too far into this. For all you knew, the snapdragons were simply planted by someone in his family and he had gone looking for their meaning. Nearing the end of the book, you were simply skimming over the book. Your eyes were starting to get tired, fatigue dancing under your skin as you considered taking a nap right there. On the final, yellowed page of the flower identification book, you spotted something alarmingly familiar. A red flower whose petals fade into a pure white near the stem. The exact same petals that had been crawling up your throat and ruining the little bit of safety you’d found within Soobin’s home. 

Suddenly on high alert, you sat up straight, eyes watering as you finally focused enough to comprehend the definition. The red windflower. Death and forsaken love. Your throat went completely dry, heart dropping down to your stomach. The petals pushed against the soft flesh of the inside of your throat, scratching at the back of your tongue as a harsh reinforcement of what you were reading. Death? Surely you had joked with yourself that you felt as if you were dying, but was that not just because you hadn’t seen a doctor? 

A new gagging cough slipped past your lips, consuming your senses totally as you focused on not spewing a mix of blood, spit and flower petals onto the surely expensive leather chair. Finally, you collapsed back in the chair, chest heaving, book laid open on your lap. Fresh tears brimmed your eyes. You needed to leave. As much as you desired to stay around Soobin and bask in his company, you were becoming increasingly worried for your life. You had to find a way to get him out of the house long enough for you to pack up the essentials and flee the house. It would hurt. It would hurt so bad, but nothing could be worse than the message of doom that your body was giving you. Loving Soobin would literally put you in an early grave. 

“Hey, Y/N, you okay?” Soobin’s voice came cautiously from somewhere behind you and you jumped, clasping the book shut quickly. 

“I’m-” you tried, voice too wrecked from coughing to continue. You cleared your throat, ignoring the painful pinch that created and tried again. “I’m okay. But I was wondering if you’d do me a favor?” Thinking on your feet had your head spinning, and you hoped he couldn’t sense the waver in your voice as you spoke. 

He approached slowly, sitting himself on an armchair opposite of you. The knees of his jeans were stained brown with dirt, a sight not uncommon after his time in the garden. He pushed a hand through his mussed up hair. It was a nervous tick, you knew, and you felt awful for worrying him. Maybe it was better if you left after all. 

“Could you go out to Hank’s and get me a Smore’s sundae? I would drive myself but...” a vague gesture over your generally unwell body made the point clear. “I know it’s pretty far out of town but I’ve been craving one since the first time we went.” 

“Of course. I’m done outside, I can go. Are you sure you’ll be okay alone? I’ll be out for probably like 40 minutes to get all the way there and back.”

“Yes, Soobin. I can still handle myself alone. I’m not that sick.” The irony of the statement was not lost on you, but it seemed to have placated him enough for him to slip on his shoes and leave the house. As soon as he was gone, you threw yourself off of the chair. Your heart rate had been in a constant state of increase for weeks, but you just had to just push through it for now. 

In a flurry of packing that was all too familiar to the way you left your college apartment,  you began to gather your things. You felt a twinge of guilt for leaving behind some of your things for Soobin to contend with, but you had to push it aside in favor of working quickly. All of your personal items, chargers, enough clothing for two weeks, toiletries and any money you’d brought along with you were stuffed into your trusty tote bag. You took one last sweeping look around the room, anxiety licking at the back of your neck as you feared you were running out of time. Many of your dressers were still full and you had left the bed a mess but your most important items were tucked underneath your arm securely; and that was enough for you. 

As you descended the stairs, you tried to ignore the way you wobbled dangerously down them until you finally got to the bottom level of the house. A bittersweet feeling rose in your chest as you surveyed the kitchen where you’d cooked and baked so many times. The living room beckoned you with similar memories of taking naps in the sunshine and watching your favorite films. A stray tear you didn’t know was welling up made a hot streak down your face before dripping off of your skin. No matter how much it hurt, you had to keep moving. The floor creaked familiarly under your feet as you approached the front door. The handle was cold under your fingers as you twisted, but the satisfying creak and rush of fresh air that you were expecting never came. You tried again, but the door didn’t budge. Locked. Okay, that made sense. Neither of you really used the front door, so of course it was locked up. Leaning down to inspect the doorknob, you realized that the age of the home meant that you would need a skeleton key to slip into the door and crack it open. 

Slightly annoyed, you took a deep, steadying breath and headed for the backdoor. You would have to walk further to get to your car; but the back door should be unlocked, considering Soobin had just left out of it. With more fervor, you gripped the door knob and twisted, just to be met with the same resistance the front door gave. A flash of hot panic consumed you as you jiggled the handle again, just in case it would make any difference. Soobin must have locked it out of habit when he left, and you knew for a fact that he had the only key-as far as you knew- with him out at Hank’s. Blindly, you grabbed for your cellphone before realizing how useless that would truly be. No one knew you were here. You didn’t have any other friends in town, and it’s not like you could call the police to come help you without Soobin finding out. Sweaty palms made your phone nearly slip from your grip as your mind worked in overdrive. 

“Okay.” you whispered to yourself, “where would he keep spare keys?” Rifling through a mental list of all the nooks and crannies of the home, a sudden realization hit you. That room upstairs where you had hit your head! That would explain why the room seemed oddly clean, and it was feasible to believe that what you mistook for an AC unit was actually a safe of some kind. Back up the steps you went, heart thumping in a rhythm that was surely unhealthy for someone as young as yourself. 

When you finally got to the room, you found the mismatched furniture exactly where you left it. Soobin had clearly made no effort to move back the dresser or the table that you’d begun to slide out of the way; only making your mission so much easier. 

For the first time today, you had luck when you pulled at the handle of something. Up close, you seemed to be clearly looking at some kind of built in storage compartment, made of a light metal and easily accessed by a small pull lever. Your fingers slipped as you swung the door open, excitement rising at the prospect of being correct about the keeping place of the keys. 

As fast as the excitement and relief had risen, they were quelled and buried deep underneath a wash of confusion. Within the confines of the compartment, you were faced with... flowers. In the middle, acting as some sort of centerpiece, was a pressed snapdragon stem. An entire cluster of flowers, attached firmly to a greened stem was propped up on a small stand; shrink wrapped in protective plastic. Something about the sight was oddly familiar. The stem was cut so perfectly across, completely unlike the way a garden sheer or someone breaking off the plant would present. A memory surfaced to the top of your mind, recalling the first time you’d had your flowers removed. It was cut in the exact same manner; with the precision only a surgical tool could make. Although you’d tried to bury the whole process in a dusty corner of your mind, you did remember your doctor offering the option to take the removed flower home. It had appalled and confused you, but it was clear that that was the source of this exact flower. 

“What the fuck?” you whispered, catching sight of an almost unrecognizable sharpie scribbled on the corner. CS. Initials? Oh god. CS. Choi Soobin. Your hand recoiled as if you’d been burned, the feeling of bile raising toward your tongue. He had told you that he never grew flowers, so what the hell was this? Why would he keep this a secret? Hurt and panic joined hands and wreaked havoc on your nervous system. You could barely think straight. Was this his...trophy case? 

When you shifted on your feet, you spotted a small envelope resting behind the stand. A sick feeling of curiosity had you reaching for it. At this point, you had no idea what to expect as your fingers stick to the material thanks to the sweat permeating your body. It takes a few tries, but once you finally get the envelope slipped open, you can’t tell what you’re looking at. The lighting was too awkward, so you dumped the contents out onto the surface of the compartment. You weren’t sure what you were expecting to see; but it certainly wasn’t this. Dozens of flower petals, dried and shrink wrapped in the same fashion as the haunting centerpiece spilled out in front of you. The smooth metal surface sent them all skidding, so it took you a second to get the whole picture. The first one to catch your eye was a white, pointed petal that you could easily identify as jasmine with the same handwritten pair of letters on one corner. YJ. Another protected petal, this one the tell tale purple-blue of a forget me not bore the letters SA. In fact, you could match every single one of these petals to a flower you had been fawning over in the garden since your arrival. 

One that had scattered toward the back of the case seemed to compel you even though you couldn’t quite see it. You reached for it blindly, bringing a few, clearly much older flowers forward with it. Sifting through them only struck more and more fear into you. Every instinct you had was telling you to run, scream, pound on a window until you could bust out. Soobin was clearly not all he had claimed to be. But a dark, twisted side of yourself you didn’t know existed wanted to sift through all of the petals and match them up with the garden you’d cared for. Resting at the bottom of the pile in your hand, you finally came across the petal you’d initially reached for. 

It was about the size of a penny; red, fading into a simple white at the bottom. This was it. This was the exact petal that you’d spit out onto your bedside table after your first awful migraine. Now that you thought about it, you never did throw it out. You were too disgusted to even face the flora that haunted you. 

Your heart stopped. The sharpie on this flower was smudged, as if he had been in too much of a hurry to let it dry. Your initials were there, clear as day. He had collected your flower for his sick collection. He had collected...you. 

The little happy world you had built yourself came crashing down like a ton of bricks. If he had done this to you, then surely all of these other petals came from others who had come to work and live with him. You recalled an early discussion about family tradition as you thumbed over a group of much more withered looking flowers. 

This was the family tradition. 

Alarms blared in your mind. Get out, your mind urged faster than your feet could move. Tripping over yourself, you hoped that Soobin wasn’t home yet, as you had no idea how to get out of the home. Your feet pounded noisily on the hardwood but that was the very least of your worries. Skidding into the kitchen, your blood ran cold.

Soobin. 

“Hey,” his voice was smooth, unwavering as he leaned against the sink nursing a bottle of water. On the island there was a brown paper bag with Hank’s logo printed on the front. “There’s your ice cream.” 

You didn’t know what to do. Clearly, you had been caught red handed with a tote bag in hand and anxious sweat rolling down your face. 

“Oh, uh. Thanks.” The room sat creepily still as Soobin’s eyes, devoid of any clear emotion, roved over you. He quirked an eyebrow as he pushed himself off of the counter. You couldn’t move, even as he stalked closer. 

“What happened to you resting? You’re sick.” He had asked a question but it seemed clear we really wasn’t looking for an answer. 

“I just-” your words turned into a gasp as Soobin gripped your shoulder so hard that it hurt. Gone were the usually careful caresses of his fingers as he pushed you backwards. With your body already weak it only took one wrong step for you to be sent flying toward the floor. On instinct, you tried to grab onto Soobin’s solid body for support, but he stepped back and watched you fall, bouncing the back of your head off of the floor hard enough to go limp. Consciousness came and went as you struggled to do anything in the name of self defense. Your lungs and heart were too compromised to acquire and pump the nutrients your body needed. Soobin crouched over you, studying you with a passive look on his face. 

“Ya know,” he sighed, pulling the tote bag away from your body. “I really did like you. I hoped to have spent some more time with you, but you’re just,” he clicked his tongue, grabbing you firmly by the ankles and giving an experimental tug. You slid along the floor easily. “So. Nosy. Too nosy for your own good.” 

“Soobin, you’re not- this isn’t-” a dark chuckle passed between his lips. The ones you once dreamed of. 

“You don’t know me. This is exactly who I am, Y/N. This is who my whole family is.” He dropped your ankles harshly, secure in the fact that you were too weak to get up. A shroud of darkness filled your head as you grayed out from the panic. When you awoke again, it was to the sound of birds chirping. It hurt to open your eyes but you did it anyway, spotting Soobin just above you, wielding a shovel. 

He smiled down at you, deceivingly handsome, as he stuck the shovel into the pliant ground just to your side. Looking to your left, you spotted a freshly dug shallow grave and your blood ran cold at the recognition that he must have been digging this earlier in the day when you were reading. 

“Please, don’t do this.” you begged with the last of your energy. “Soobin, please. I- I love you.” Desperation had you spitting out your deepest secrets in a bid to catch his attention and change his behavior. 

“Awe,” he crooned, grabbing onto your wrists with a grip that would certainly bruise your delicate skin. “I know.” One sharp movement had you landing on your back in the dirt, several feet below ground level. The impact pushed all the air out of your compromised lungs and you didn’t even have the semblance to lift your head and scream to anyone listening. Soobin stood above you, blocking the sun from your view as he dropped something onto you. It took you a few moments, but you soon realized he had dropped a handful of red windflower petals and seeds onto your front. You shuddered. This is surely what had happened to all the other people who carried the flowers you’d found. This was how Soobin kept his beautiful garden. Sacrifice. 

Wordlessly, he piled shovel fulls of dirt on top of your body. With your eyes slipping shut, all you could do was feel the weight of being buried alive consume you. 

----

Soobin hated the winter. It was too long, too cold, too boring. He usually spent the whole time holed up in his home, dreaming of the day the weather warms. 

Finally, finally, after months of waiting the time had come. An early summer breeze pushed his hair out of his face. This season he had decided to go for a purple color that seemed to suit his complexion well. Sitting on his favorite deck chair, he gazed out at the beginnings of his blooming garden. All of the usuals had cropped up, but it was with great pride and delight that Soobin regarded the patch of red windflowers that had begun to grow. For their first season, they were going strong, covering almost the entire plot of land he had allowed them. For a while, he had been worried that the new plants wouldn’t perform well, since he’d never dealt with them before. But he was quite proud. 

As he sipped from a frosty glass of lemonade, he heard the distant crunch of his driveway gravel. It had been almost a year since the last time he heard it, but his heart jumped in excitement. Stretching his limbs, he began a lazy meander toward the front gate; already making out the slight static of the speaker as someone spoke into it, introducing themselves and asking if they were in the right place. Clearing his throat, he rounds to corner to the great iron gate surrounded by his guarding trees and glances back at his garden. Then he advanced, opening the gate as he came and beckoning his new guest inside the boundaries of his property.

“Hi! I’m Soobin. This house belonged to my great-great-uncle and his wife. Well, wives.”

tag list: @unlocktxt @magicisland9-34 @givethnofucketh @yeonjjuniverse​ 

[deejadabbles]

The House of Anubis (Atem X Reader Halloween Special)

Part One: The Manor

One //// Two //// Three (coming soon) ///

Summary: The house was large, a manor, really. Imposing, yet striking more aw with every turn of a corner. You had never thought you'd be dragged back into the family business, but your brother needed you, and so too did his latest project. It stood alone among the trees, yet, you never felt alone when inside. Hairs prickle on the back of the neck, shivers run down spines, and hands fidget with every unoccupied moment. And the thing- or rather, person, who simultaneously eases and worsens these feelings? Atem, a man who was just as mercurial as the house itself, all smirks and light comments one moment, then lingering stares and strange musings the next. So the real question remains, will you uncover the secrets both the man and the manor are harboring?(A Halloween mini-series inspired by the show 'The Haunting of Hill House' and the movie 'The Frighteners'. The Reader x Atem themes are, admittedly, light as this mostly focuses on a spooky haunted house story, but the romantic undertones are there. Gender-neutral reader.)

A. N. Just wanted to do a little something for a spooky season, I wanted to get this done before Halloween but that's probably not going to happen. So instead I'll post the first chapter now, hopefully have the next out on Halloween, and post the ending some time a week or two after. Hopefully you guys like this and if you want something scary that's already complete, please consider reading my yugioh themed CYOA 'House of Fears'

It felt like you were driving through a decrepit, long-forgotten tunnel, vines and weeds slipping through cracked concrete and lights that had died years ago neglecting to guide your path. At least, that’s what it felt like. You found yourself once again leaning forward to peer up through the windshield, trying to find any hint of sky between the heavy canopy of leaves. The forest on both sides was so thick, that you weren’t even sure what kind of woodland creatures could wander between the trunks. And how the branches had grown to make a choppy arch above the road, you had no clue. There was some sunlight at least, gracing the road with their bright rays here and there, but the enclosed effect of this road was still a bit unsettling.

You forced yourself to lean back in the driver's seat and let out a frustrated breath that was meant to calm itching nerves. Honestly, you didn’t even know why you felt a bit nervous. Maybe it was the isolation of not seeing another living thing on this tunnel-like road. Or, maybe the stresses of the past days were still settling.

It continued to haunt you a bit, the way your heart and breathing seemed to freeze the moment you heard a calm voice on the other end of the phone announce that they were a nurse at St. Florence Hospital...and that your brother had been brought in. The nerve-wracking way a thousand thoughts had raced through your head in that second-long pause in the nurse's words was haunting too: Was he in an accident? Did someone attack him? Did he cut off a finger working with that old sawzall you kept insisting he get rid of? ….was he alive?

You had even started tearing up with the frustrating thought that you were miles and miles away while your brother lay dying in some backwater hospital- when the nurse told you that he had suffered a heart attack, but had survived.

Apparently, as your brother had informed you a frantic phone call later, he was working on his latest project when, as unexpected as it sounded, he had experienced a horrible clenching around his heart. Just to pile on the horror of the situation, he had also been high atop a ladder when it happened, resulting in a broken leg and arm; one from getting caught between the ladder's steps as he fell, and the other from hitting the ground, respectively.

Thankfully, someone had been around to call an ambulance. Even still, he was lucky to be so young, because otherwise help still might not have gotten there in time.

Seriously though, a heart attack, at his age? Apparently it wasn’t unheard of, he was almost twelve years your senior, and you were already well into your 20s. Still, it was a worrying situation, especially with how severe the heart attack had been and the doctor had implored your brother to either go back to living in the house you and he sometimes shared, or have someone come out there and take care of him until he was better.

With those as his options and refusing to abandon his latest project, he had literally begged you to spend the next few months in the quiet town of Hartstown. You understood, even as you argued with him about his seemingly nonexistent self-preservation instincts. After all, he had told you all about this dream project of his, and how he had already sunk a lot of money into it, he couldn’t abandon it now. So here you were, in a town that had two restaurants but only one gas station, and driving through a forest so thick you were sure the sky could turn to nightfall without you even realizing it.

Your brother had sent you pictures about the hundred-year-old manor, gushing in texts about how he was going to make it beautiful again, then turn around and sell it to some rich yuppy who wanted a lavish country getaway. It really was a beautiful place, years of neglect not doing much to tarnish its splendor or the possibilities you could see in it. Then again, you had always appreciated old houses, you and your big brother had grown up in numerous ones.

Your parents had made their living flipping houses, especially restoring old ones to their original glory and big brother slipped into the business with ease, genuinely finding it to be his own passion. That made things easier after the accident, in a way, he had taken on their legacy with pride. You had tried too, for a while, years of helping your parents giving you most of the experience you needed, but you just didn’t take to it the way he did. He understood, and handled the family business on his own while you pursued your own wants and dreams.

Still, your history with the business made this decision much easier. The day you arrived in Hartstown, thoroughly scolded your brother for his poor health, and announced your plan, he had insisted that you didn’t have to do this, that the house could wait until he was better, and that he hadn’t dragged you out there to pull you back into the family business. You had waved off the insistence with ease; it wasn’t like you actually planned to spend all of the coming months just driving him to physical therapy and keeping his airbnb clean.

You had spent the first week here by your brother's side almost constantly. Apparently, the first week or two was the typical window of danger where other complications would make themselves known. But, now that that window was passing and you personally saw how well your brother was already doing, it was time to get to work.

You frowned down at the directions he had given you; surely you hadn't already passed the old street sign reading 'longhorn drive', right? No, you were far too attentive for that, desperate to get off this road and looking for your escape. The map app on your phone was useless, cell service being spotty at best on this road, as he had warned you.

At least when you made this turn it was only one mile until you got to this infamous manor.

Ah! There at last, you saw the oldest road sign you had ever seen, nailed to a wooden post at the corner of a turn that went into a road even more narrow than the one you were on. At least the trees seem to thin out a bit here, hopefully it would make you feel less trapped in the last leg of the drive.

It did, especially as the trees continued to get thinner and more spacious, the sun shining on the road like a guide. With that, the drive didn’t take long at all and before you knew it you were coming up on the iron gates you’d seen in your brother’s many pictures. They were open of course, the EMTs having other priorities as they rushed him out of the house, so you didn’t bother slowing down much as you made the turn. The gates were in good shape, one of the few things that wouldn’t need replacing and the wrought iron fence accompanying it wasn’t far behind in condition. The dirt driveway was narrow and weed-infested and you made a mental note to ask if some stylish cobble stone was in your brother's budget. There were more trees, tall ones that only let you catch glimpse of the house at first, but soon enough the dirt path ended, and the house crept into view on your left.

Pictures didn’t do it justice. It was a true mansion, made of stone, three stories high with turrets on the front corners, a wide oak front door, and spacious grounds on all sides. It’s style was rather unique, almost combining gothic elements such as many tall arching windows and at least two verandas and balconies, with craftsman style roofs and the first floor sitting high above the ground. It had been built in the 1920s, but apparently, the architect liked the styles of decades prior.

The faded wooden sign beside the grand front steps read: The House of Anubis.

Anubis, the Ancient Egyptian god of death and the afterlife if you remembered right. You felt silly for it, but the name made you a bit uneasy- who would basically say their house was a gate to the afterlife? The Egyptian references did make sense though, the manor was built by an archeologist and professor who made it big during that hayday of excavations and exhibitions.

Eager to get started, despite the odd name of the place, you parked the car, killed the engine, and climbed out onto the still tall and weedy grass. The steps were those old narrow kind that made one feel unsteady, and that feeling wasn’t helped by the fact that they had several splits and cracks in them, even pulling apart where the oldest fractures lay. At least the stairs themselves weren’t anything special, shouldn’t be that costly to replace.

You were tempted to walk along the veranda first, taking in the golden and white tiles and worn down furniture that had only recently been set back into place. You could picture it now: sitting on the wicker loveseat, tea or coffee in one hand and book in another, occasionally lifting your gaze from the pages to stare out at the garden or forest without a care, feeling the cool breeze cross over your face just enough to soothe but shielded enough not to be bothered.

You shook your head, chucking at your own day dream, you really should just head inside first, there’d be time to wander later.

The front door was at least closed, but again, the EMTs wouldn’t have exactly been concerned with locking it on their way out, so you didn’t even have to use the key big brother gave you. The door creaked in a loud croone when you pushed it open and before you was an entry hall unlike any you had seen before. You almost did a double-take, wondering if ‘The House of Anubis’ had transported you to a pharaoh’s tomb. The walls were a bright pale color, almost like sandstone but with a more golden tint, and portraits of Egyptian people and hieroglyphs wrapped around the room. The wallpaper wasn’t too busy or cluttered though, the depictions of people spreading out just enough so one’s eyes wouldn’t be overwhelmed when looking at them. There were two pillars beside the grand staircase and more ancient patterns were painted on them. Some chairs, tables, and even a sofa sat along the walls, again in that style befitting a king’s resting place.

How had none of this been stolen or vandalized over the years? Your brother had told you that the manor was fairly well known in town, even though no one had lived in it for over ten years. Surely bored teenagers would have come knocking, it was odd to find any furnishings at all in houses such as these, but especially not ones in such good condition.

You had to shake off that uneasy feeling again, deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth and moving on. Though, only after you shut and locked the front door behind you, finding yourself just a bit paranoid now.

After allowing yourself a moment to study the beautiful depictions of what you knew must be a goddess on the wall, you moved on to the tall pocket doors standing open on the left. This would be the drawing or receiving room and, as you had expected, you saw that big brother had set up his base of operations here. His workbench and draft table sat in the center or the large room, tools and even some lumber scattered about. As you approached the draft table you took note that this room followed a more Victorian look instead of the Egyptian tomb style: rosy wallpaper, a beautiful fireplace framed in dark wood, and a thick but faded rug spanning most of the hardwood floor.

The floorplans for the house were laid out on the table, pinned together with a clear sheet of plastic between each floor. As usual, the plastic was there so your brother could mark and note areas that needed repairs without damaging the actual floor plans. Currently the plans for the first floor were lifted, hanging off the table and opening the second floor plans for viewing. He had checkmarks beside a few of the notes, the repairs that had needed his attention first like plumbing issues and checking for mold. It was the same for the other two floors, as you saw when you flipped the pages; big brother had been busy in the six weeks he’d owned the place.

After scanning the blueprints thoroughly enough that you felt comfortable wandering through the house, you stepped back, deciding to check on some of those repairs he’d already made. Before you left the room, though, you almost tripped on a familiar device: his old boombox. Of course, he never worked on a house without it and you couldn’t deny the comfort of having music play while you worked. He even had his massive CD case propped up beside it, but you took a chance with whatever disk was already in there and pressed play before heading out of the room.

Some 80’s pop music echoed off the old walls as you wandered into the next area, the conservatory. Again you were left in shock with how well-intact the room was, only have two panes in its all-glass wall broken and your jaw actually dropped at the plants bursting to life around you. Most were likely weeds by now, but you still appreciated the timeless beauty, which was only accompanied by some more wicker chairs, delicate tables, and two statues sitting in the far corners. One was of a goddess, Isis, if you had to take a guess, and her companion was a god, maybe Ra, both made of onyx colored stone and painted with gold and turquoise that must have once been bright and shining. You would definitely have to map out how to return the status to their original glory once more urgent repairs were made.

Unfortunately the conservatory was only a bridge to your destination, as the double glass doors on the other side of the room led to the study. This was a room made of dark woods and moody red wallpaper. Mahogany desks and leather chairs would be right at home here, if it wasn’t for the fact that some animals had found their way in and made nests. You nodded in approval at big brother’s work, almost no sign of the nests remaining besides some scratch marks on the wood floor and walls that could be sanded down and covered at a later date. The door had also been replaced, it’s shattered panes the reason why animals had found their way inside in the first place. You were just making to cross the room to the next door- when a sound clattered not an inch away!

You choked back a gasp, then scolded yourself a second later. No, not a clatter, just your ring tone.

Shaking your head, you took your phone out of your pocket and answered it. “Please don’t tell me you’ve broken something else?” you said in place of a greeting.

“Oooh you’re so funny,” mocked the familiar voice on the other end, “Just taking my hour rest so my heart doesn’t give out, thought I’d check in on you. You got to the house okay right?”

“Yup, though that one road with the thick-ass trees went on for forever. You sure there’s not a faster route here?”

“Nope. As it is those roads are mostly just used by farmers going into town, we’re lucky it’s as direct to the house as it is.” Your brother paused for a moment before saying, “So, what do you think? Pictures don’t do it justice, right?”

“Definitely, this tomb robber really knew how to build a house, some rich history enthusiast is going to love it once we’re done.”

“I still wish you would have waited 'til I could come with you, I wanted to see the look of awe and wonder on your face,” he said with a sigh that was far too dramatic for the topic.

“Dude, they’re having you do an hour of physical therapy for each injury you managed to collect. I am not sitting around doing nothing for three hours three times a week.”

Honestly, it still shocked you how much they were putting on your brother’s recovery, when your uncle had had his heart attack, they only made him attend hour-long sessions of physical therapy. Maybe they expected more out of a younger specimen.

“Besides, with the chair they gave you it’d be really hard to get you into the house, at least until I can set up a temp ramp,” you pressed on, thinking of the large, clunky, motorized thing he was having to get by in, hopefully when his arm healed up he could switch to an easier wheelchair or maybe even crutches.

“Yeah yeah, call me an inconvenience, I see how you are,” he mocked, “So what are you doing now?”

“Oh, you know, just checking out the rooms.”

“….You’re looking over my work to see if I screwed up, aren’t you?” he accused, a disbelieving incredulity coloring his tone.

“No! I’m just seeing what’s been done, that’s all!” you answered, voice higher than you wanted it to be.

“Yeah right,” he mocked back and promptly blew a raspberry into the phone like a proper, mature adult. Someone in the distance on his end called out and he pulled away from the receiver to answer, then, “Alright, kiddo, I got to go, more breathing treatments and a test to run. Call you when I’m done.”

After a goodbye from your end, you hung up the phone, slipped it back into your pocket, and finally finished your short walk to the other side of the study. You turned the crystal-like knob of the old door opening into the library, the next room of the house most likely to impress you. Impress it did, with its two stories of built-in bookshelves, rail-guided ladder, cozy fireplace, and spiral staircase leading up to the second floor.

Unfortunately, what drew your attention more than the grandeur of the space, was the fact that there was blood on the hardwood floor.

Oh, this must have been where he had his heart attack. The tall metal ladder that had fallen near the dried smear of blood supported the theory. With a breath to calm yourself, you approached the spot, trying to assure yourself that the stain was smaller than it first looked. Besides, your brother was fine. Banged up and grumpy from lack of work, but fine, the blood meant nothing now.

With a sigh you started turning the work ladder back upright, noting the scuff marks on the floor where it must have been when he fell. After matching the legs with the marks, you looked up, trying to figure out what he had been working on. This was the only stretch of wall besides the fireplace where there weren’t any bookshelves. Instead a tall window stood there, allowing sunlight to peek in, shining directly on the fireplace, both to aid anyone cozied up in the room to read, but also to prevent sun damage from getting to the bookshelves. It took a minute to spot, but in one of the middle panes, there was a hole and spider-web cracks in the glass, he must have been trying to patch the hole with a temporary cover.

You made a note to get on that yourself after you cleaned up the blood, and began turning away, but something else caught your eye.

You squinted, peering up at the flowery wallpaper beside the window. There, just a hand-span from the broken window pane...were those tears in the wall-

“Hello.”

You let out a yell that bordered on a scream, clutching your heart as you spun around at the deep voice.

A man, a young man, stood leaning against the fireplace, taking in your startled terror with a raised brow. When had he..?!

“Where did you come from?” you demanded between still thundering heartbeats. “Who are you?”

Something flickered in the stranger’s violet eyes, “Apologies, I did not mean to scare you.” He shrugged off of the fireplace, tucking his hands into the pockets of his dark pants. “My name is Atem, and you are?”

Now that your heart was finally starting to settle, you straightened a bit before giving him your name. “How did you get in here?” was the next question on your lips, the words still a bit snippy.

He paused a moment, eyes narrowing just a bit, as if your verbal approach greatly intrigued him. “The front door was open. Again, I apologize, I suppose I got too used to coming in of my own accord while your brother has been here.”

“You know my brother?”

He closed his eyes with his short nod, “Yes. In Fact, I’ve been worried about him. When I saw your car I was hoping you would tell me...is he alright?” The stranger- Atem, flicked his gaze to the bloodstain, something darkening in his eyes. “I was the one who called for help, but I haven’t heard any news of his health. I was worried.”

You didn’t answer, not right away. You thought about just pressing on with your questions but, the look in Atem’s eyes, the way his brows pulled down low, really did say that he was being truthful about his worry. Besides, wasn’t it nearly impossible to get word from the hospital unless you were related to the patient? Made sense that he hadn’t heard any news.

“He’s a bit beaten up, but alive. He’s actually doing pretty well considering how bad his injuries were,” you answered eventually, and were satisfied when Atem’s expression visibly softened at the news, relieved. “He said he was lucky that a friend started making the habit of dropping by the house to keep him company, I guess you’re that friend,” you hesitated again, somehow finding it impossible to let go of that last thread of suspicion you felt around this man. Still, you managed an honest, “Thank you. You saved his life, doctors said that even being as young as he is, he still might not have made it if they got here any later.”

Something shifted in Atem’s eyes again, something dark casting over them and he only held your gaze a moment before his eyes drifted up to the top of the ladder where you had been staring. “I only wish I could have gotten here before it happened.”

An odd statement, you thought, your brother would have had the heart attack regardless of someone being there. Well, maybe Atem just meant he wished he’d been here to see the signs of the attack before it caused the dummy to fall off that damn ladder.

Atem blinked then, as if remembering himself. He straightened and looked back at you with a small, polite smile. “I’m glad he’s alright though. Are you here to take over the manor’s renovations? Or, are you taking him home to recuperate? He tells me that you and he share a home when he’s not working on his latest project.”

You gave a dramatic sigh, “We do, it was the house our parents left for us, but he hardly ever stays there. And unfortunately I couldn’t convince him to recover there so, your first assumption is correct. Between keeping an eye on him, I’ll be taking over all of this-” you waved your hands to encompass the room and the house beyond, “-until he gets better.”

You noted how the friendly smile slowly slipped from Atem’s lips as you answered, and now he was almost frowning even as he nodded. “He has an almost admirable dedication to this house. At least he isn’t insisting on working himself just yet.”

“He has a dedication to every house he works on,” you said, almost absentminded and when Atem’s brow lifted in yet another silent question, you shook your head to clear your thoughts. “He’s just like that with every place he buys. Our parents taught us to see the hidden beauty in all houses, and how restoring them was a kind of...I don’t know, a kindness?- That’s not the right word. They used to say houses could love a resident just as much as the resident can love a house, and how, if it’s fallen apart or been abandoned, it withers like a plant without sunlight. Renovating it- restoring it, is like breathing life back into it, so it can properly love its next resident.”

The moment the small lament was out you found yourself flushing, especially at the way the corner of Atem’s lips quirked up and his eyes softened a bit.

You cleared your throat, “Sorry, just...I haven’t worked on a house with him in a long time. Brings back memories.”

“I understand,” Atem said, the other corner of his mouth lifting to another light smile. “You both get the same look in your eyes when you talk about homes like this. It’s quite lovely.”

The heat in your face flared up even more, and you cleared your throat again before turning, looking at the library at large. “Anyway I uh- better continue my tour of the house,” you took a step towards the door opposite the one you’d entered, then, “you can walk with me, if you want.”

The offer surprised you a bit, despite having said it. Much like the oddness of Atem’s sudden appearance, the mix of feelings you felt around him was a bit baffling. You still felt a slight uneasiness, one you hadn’t been able to shake completely since he first startled you. Despite that, however, you didn’t feel particularly endangered by him. Quite the opposite, to create an odd, almost giddy cocktail of emotions, the unease mixed with a slight need to keep the man in your presence, get to know him, work out the curious nature he seemed to exude.

“I would like that,” Atem replied simply, and took a few steps to join your side.

Together you two walked to the second of the three doors in the library, and this opened into a hallway of sorts. If you remembered the floor plans right, the door on your left was a closet, and a bathroom was on the other side of the wall on your right.

“So, you said you saw my car outside Odd, what with all the trees surrounding the house, do you live nearby?” you asked, not bothering to hide your feelings airing on the side of suspicion. Hey, just because your wariness was overshadowed by your curiosity didn’t mean you were pushing everything aside altogether.

He didn’t seem to mind, in fact, he smirked at you as you two turned the corner on your right. “I often take walks in the woods and I saw your car through the trees. Several houses were built in the woods near the manor, so staff who worked here would have the option to live closer to the house and not have to travel from town.”

That made sense, despite the gothic appearance the manor was built in a time when having servants was falling out of style and becoming less commonplace, even among the wealthy. The professor who built the house might have had a cook and housekeeper, maybe even a butler, but not anything so fancy as to need live-in help. You could see the modest little houses in your mind now, but somehow, the idea of Atem cloistered up in one didn’t seem to fit quite right.

“So those houses aren’t part of the estate?” you asked as you two entered a longer, more narrow hallway; an open doorway on the left, and the hall stretching onward to your right.

“Not anymore. The second man to inherit the house, professor Arthur Hawkins, sold them. I think he did not want the hassle of upkeeping the rental properties.”

Choosing the doorway on your left, you entered the kitchen, a big, open room with white tile walls and gray floors. “You seem to know quite a bit about the house and its history,” you couldn’t help but look over at him, again making your suspicion and interest apparent.

“I guess you could say I’m a bit of a local historian. I’ve lived here a long time.”

Again, his choice in words struck you. I mean, the man looked no more than a year or two older than you, if that. Maybe he was just one of those old souls who liked to put on the air of being mature and more experienced than they were.

Deciding not to comment on it, you took some time to survey the kitchen. It was an impressive thing, plenty of countertops and an old oven fit for making extravagant christmas dinners. According to your brother's notes there was a bad leak in here that he had taken care of first and foremost, and the evidence of that was in the hole in the wall, exposing a new length of pipe and recently axed wood. That would probably be the first thing you patched up, something more simple to jump back into the family game.

“So, tell me more about the family history of the place. I know it was built by an archeologist in the 20’s, but that’s about it,” you asked as you turned around, heading for the swinging door that led into the dining room.

“Well, there isn’t much to tell. The house was built by Professor Alexander Hawkins, a man who made his wealth plundering the sands of Egypt.” The bitterness in his tone made you pause, but he continued on, “He built it with the intentions of keeping his family happy while he was away on digs, but, unfortunately, he and his wife died only twenty or so years later. Their son, Arthur, followed in his footsteps in some ways, taking an interest in Ancient Egypt.”

“Not surprising, considering he grew up in a house like this,” you added, noting the replica busts of a queen and pharaoh sitting on the mantel that looked better suited for a Cairo exhibit than a dining room.

Atem gave a nod, “Fortunately he was a bit more virtuous than his father, and made his living through more honest means. He too passed, and left the manor to his granddaughter, Rebbeca.”

Rebbeca, the woman who had sold the place to your brother. It was a story you had heard often; family home slowly losing its grandeur through the generations, until it finally passed to someone who just didn’t make enough money to afford a place so extravagant. Still, the fact that the house was still in such good condition continued to surprise you, especially given how much stuff was still here. Almost always the house was stripped of anything that was worth a dime before it was sold. Yet the granddaughter hadn’t even bothered to take the lovely dining table that sported carvings of eagles, hounds, cats, and other animals revered by the ancient Egyptians.

It was a small dining room, given the rest of the house, just big enough to fit the usual family of four and maybe a few guests. Beyond it, passed another set of pocket doors, was a lounge. Some more replicas of pharaonic treasures sat on tables and mantels, but the thing that caught your eye most were the once lavish settees and chairs, as well as the paintings hanging on the walls. They weren’t in the typical ancient Egyptian art style, rather the softer, more vibrant kind seen in the victorian era. All were depicting scenes of life that might have happened in those ancient cities forgotten in the sand; a diverse market bustling with eager shoppers looking at pottery and the work of weavers, a barge on the Nile river with women dancing on the deck and a couple kissing as they tipped their toes into the water, a pharaoh’s throne room filled with beautiful women and bowing courtiers all in awe by the king’s commanding presence atop his throne.

Not even these, the granddaughter had not even taken these? Odd, very odd.

“I thought these would catch your eye, they seem to catch everyone’s eyes.”

You jumped a bit at the sudden closeness of the voice, realizing Atem was leaning in almost near enough to brush your arm. How had you not sensed him coming closer?

He was looking over the painting of the Pharaoh’s court as he continued, “They are not particularly accurate, the colors and style of the clothes, the lightness of their skin, even the architecture is off. Still, I suppose they’re interesting to gaze at.”

“An Egyptologist yourself, are you?” you teased, even nudging him in the shoulder.

His smirk was back again, “I suppose you could say that.”

You couldn’t get too distracted, you didn’t have a lot of time left before you had to grab big brother from his therapy sessions. You would leave the inspection of the tower rooms for another day, and instead headed through the other set of pocket doors back into the entry hall.

“I should be going,” Atem began before you could make your way towards the grand staircase. “Thank you for easing my worry, I’m glad your brother is alright. It was a pleasure to meet you and... if you will allow me, I’d like to visit from time to time while you work, as I did with him.”

“That’s fine by me,” the agreement came easily to you, without a second thought. Despite his odd demeanor, you found Atem to be quite an easy person to get along with, his company should help keep this house from feeling too large and lonely.

At your reply, Atem’s expression shifted yet again, something close to interest or maybe even slight delight played in his eyes as they searched your face. “In that case, I will see you soon.”

His gaze lingered for another few heartbeats, long enough that you found yourself flushing again. You nodded your quick agreement before turning towards the stairs. A moment later you heard a soft click near the front door, but you actually paused when you didn’t hear a second. Looking over your shoulder, you found that the door was still slightly ajar. Little jerk, you’d have to remember to scold him for not closing the door properly the next time you saw him.

You only got halfway through your tour of the second floor before your phone when off, a reminder to start heading back to the clinic to pick up your brother. The clinic wasn’t in the little town closest to the house, rather a bigger town over half an hour away, but still close enough to justify you working while he was at his session. He was all eager to see you, despite how drained he looked from the exhaustion of physical therapy, and the moment he was packed into your car he was asking your options on the house.

You told him honestly how impressed you were with it, also voicing how odd it was that the place hadn’t been vandalized or stolen from given all the things left there.

“Yeah, took me awhile to get over that too,” he said from the passenger seat, fiddling with his phone in an effort to get directions to the pizza place he promised you dinner from. “I think the locals don’t give the house enough mystery to make teens interested in visiting it. Besides, there're several houses near the property, so maybe most assumed they couldn’t get away with breaking in- oh turn right at the next light.”

You did as instructed, then, “Speaking of that, who was the guy who called the ambulance for you that night?” You couldn’t help asking, you just needed to add a bit more credibility to your new friend before you relaxed around him more.

Your brother’s eyes went a bit wide, “Shit, I forgot all about Atem! I was going to ask you to find his place and tell him I’m alive. Dude’s probably been traumatized, finding me bleeding and heaving on the floor, I feel like such an ass now.”

“Well don’t worry,” you said, feeling satisfied now that you confirmed Atem’s claims, “he dropped by the house while I was there and I told him you were okay.” You found yourself biting your tongue on the words, considered for a moment, then spoke them anyway. “Something was a bit odd though, he just waltzed right into the house like he owned the place. I was looking over the library and he was just standing there, no knocking, no nothing.”

Out of the corner of your eye you saw your brother scratching the back of his head, “Yeah, he kind of does that. I get the feeling he’s sort of appointed himself as the unofficial caretaker of the house, he showed up the first day I started working on it, guess I just got used to the way he just walks in, figured if he intended to steal from the place he would have done it already.” His protective mode must have been activated after he thought for a moment, because he was suddenly dropping that easy demeanor and looking you over with his brows drawn together, “He didn’t make you uncomfortable or anything, did he? I can have a talk with him if he did.”

Again you found yourself biting your tongue, thinking for a beat before answering. “No, not really, just startled me a bit. Not used to strangers just walking in, you know?”

He nodded, easing back in his seat again, “Yeah, I get you. Atem’s a good guy though, never gets underfoot when you're working, but great to talk to. He’s a bit weird, but cool.”

“Right…”

The conversation trailed off into silence, and for some reason, even after you pulled into the pizza joint and sat staring at a parmesan shaker after you ordered, your mind kept drifting back to the strange man at the manor one way or another.

A.N. So, what do you guys think about our mysterious Atem? How about the odd house itself? Any ideas on what's going on that or how this haunted adventure might heat up? Let me know your thoughts in the comments <3

[gothic-safari-clown]

The Mind’s Power Over the Body

Part 21: The Mind’s Power Over the Body

Story summary: They only ever had each other. It had been that way since high school, ever since Elianna transferred to dreary Arlen and took Jonathan under her wing. They go separate ways for college, and when they're reunited at Arkham Asylum professionally, Elianna comes to find that they've both changed during their time separated. Can she look past the promise of danger and stay by Jonathan's side as they slide further and further into the darkness while she grapples to come to terms with the truth about herself? Can she accept what needs to be done in order to hold onto the only person who holds any meaning in her life? This is a very self-indulgent AU that draws from several different canons of the DCU and ignoring others, starting in the Batman Begins Nolanverse. This will follow the plot of the movie, although the timeline has been very slightly tweaked.

Word count: 1522

Ooh, the chapter title is the same as the fic title 

Elianna could not have been more proud of her mask. She had spent every second of her free time measuring and adjusting and sewing and sending Jonathan to the store to get what she needed: something he found tedious, she was sure.

Either way, she had gotten it finished with one day to spare, and she was positively giddy. Even Jonathan had seemed impressed, and from what she could tell by what he had said, Scarecrow was thrilled with her dedication to the fear project. When she had finished, Jonathan had surprised her with a fear gas sleeve rig like his, and she was aching for the chance to use both of her new toys.

It was getting dark out when Jonathan came into her office, looking annoyed.

"Rachel Dawes is on her way here," he monotoned, making her frown. She had yet to meet Dawes, but she had been causing trouble for them from the start.

"Why?"

"Apparently," he began with a sigh, removing the doorstopper to let it swing closed, "she disagrees with the fact that Falcone got moved here. She finds his mental break suspicious."

"She's really up on her white horse, huh?" Jonathan scoffed in response.

"Either way, she might back off if she thinks I have a second opinion on this case. Are you up for a little acting?"

"Absolutely. What's the plan for if she doesn't buy it?"

"You have your mask on you?" El nodded, fondly remembering Jonathan talking her through making the false bottom of her briefcase.

"We match now!"

"Yes, we do. Just make sure it closes all the way when you're done with it."

"Good, she'll be here in a little under an hour. And we're the only ones here besides the orderlies, so I just got Falcone's men downstairs to supervise. Hopefully, everything will be able to go smoothly tomorrow."

"I'm sure it will just focus on the task at hand."

El had been surprised when Jonathan told her that he had managed to pay off some of Falcone's thugs to be loyal to them, and more than a little suspicious. But after meeting them and working with them for a few days, she was actually very grateful that she and Jonathan had people to delegate to for the last few days of work.

.xXx.

Dawes ended up arriving much earlier than projected, which only served to irritate Jonathan further. The entire walk to Falcone's cell was spent with him practically fuming and El becoming more and more curious about just how annoying one person could actually be.

"Miss Dawes, this is most irregular," Jonathan spoke as they approached, not giving the woman a chance to get the first word in. El caught on to the energy and jumped in before the other woman could get a word out.

"I'm Doctor Montgomery, I've been consulting on this case, and I speak for both of us when I say that we have nothing further to add to the report we filed with the judge."

"I have some questions about your report."

"Such as?" Jonathan challenged while El arranged her face into what she hoped was something patient and expectant. God, she really is tiresome.

"Isn't it convenient for a fifty-two-year-old man who had no history of mental illness to suddenly have a complete psychotic breakdown just when he's about to be indicted?" She had a fair point, but El made sure to keep her face impassive.

"Well, as you can see for yourself, there's nothing convenient about his symptoms." Oh dear, he's getting pissed. The woman didn't have a response planned for that, so she turned her attention stubbornly back to the man behind the glass, who was muttering to himself.

"What's 'scarecrow?'" The brunette fired off. El took it upon herself to reply so that Jonathan wouldn't snap.

"Patients suffering from delusional episodes often focus their paranoia on an external tormentor," she explained, doing her best to keep her voice pleasant and collegial. "Usually one conforming to Jungian archetypes. In this case," she gestured to the glass, "a scarecrow."

"And he's drugged?" This question seemed to amuse Jonathan.

"Psychopharmacology is my primary field. I'm a strong advocate." The thought of Jonathan being an 'advocate' for anything nearly made El laugh. "Outside, he was a giant. In here, only the mind can grant you power." Dawes shifted her eyes between the pair through narrowed eyes.

"You two enjoy the reversal." Jonathan allowed himself a mildly amused smile if only for a second.

"Doctor Montgomery and I respect the mind's power over the body." El nodded in agreement.

"It's why we do what we do," she smiled, keeping up her friendly persona. She was hoping that if she did her part properly, maybe it would lessen the suspicion on Jonathan, but it didn't seem to work. In fact, Dawes sent a scowl in her direction.

"I do what I do to keep thugs like Falcone behind bars, not in therapy." With that, she breezed past them toward the elevator. Jonathan and El shared a look, knowing what had to happen next. She was still talking as they turned to catch up with her. "I want my own psychiatric consultant to have full access to Falcone, including bloodwork. Find out exactly what you two put him on." El rolled her eyes, thankful that the Dawes's back was still turned to her.

"First thing tomorrow then," Jonathan sighed as they flanked her at the elevator doors, knowing what had to come next.

"Tonight," she charged into the elevator ahead of them, and El suddenly understood very well why Jonathan and Scarecrow seemed to hate the brunette so much. She herself was struggling not to choke her out right there in the elevator. "I've already paged Doctor Lehmann at County General" as if they were supposed to know who that was. Maybe Jonathan did, but judging by his lack of reaction, probably not.

Jonathan inserting his key to take them to the basement didn't go unnoticed by the redhead, but Dawes didn't seem to catch it. "As you wish," he forced out through gritted teeth as the door closed behind them.

Dawes gave Elianna a questioning look when the doors opened to reveal the basement, to which El replied with a reassuring smile.

"This way, please," Jonathan directed, leading them into the hallway. "There's something I think you should see."

The one thing that El didn't understand was how they would get her through the secret panel in the closet. She was going over different scenarios in her head when Jonathan passed the door and instead approached a larger one at the end of the hallway where it turned and pushed the double doors open dramatically.

They all came forward to stand on a balcony overlooking the workroom that El had grown familiar with, one level above where the secret panel led out. She understood now why they took the other way: the stairs going from the level they were standing on to the next level down had been taken out.

The redhead watched the dawning horror on the attorney's face as she took in what was happening as Jonathan spoke again.

"This is where we make the medicine." No, not Jonathan. It was subtle, but once she heard it, it was unmistakable. That was Scarecrow mimicking Jonathan's voice. Dawes was too shocked to notice the slight change in cadence, and her gaze was affixed to an inmate pouring a drum of the toxin directly into a busted open water pipe.

Not just any inmate either. Zsasz. Feeling someone watching him, he looked up in curiosity; when he saw El standing there, he shuddered and quickly turned back to what he was doing, his breath coming in broken gasps as he remembered something he would rather not. Elianna grinned when she saw Rachel make the connection and snap her head to look at her. "You-!" she managed to gasp out.

"Me," El confirmed with a wink. A low chuckle drew their attention back to the bespectacled man beside them.

"Perhaps you should have some, Miss Dawes. Clear your head." The brunette woman bolted for the elevator, and the two leftover partners in crime shared a look. Scarecrow smiled at El, a full smile; something she had never seen from Jonathan. It was sort of nice to see, and she smiled back as Scarecrow produced his face fluidly from their briefcase.

Rachel had reached the elevator. Luckily for the scheming pair, it wouldn't budge without the basement key. All Rachel managed to see when the elevator doors opened again were two masks, one burlap and one that seemed to be lined on the outside with faux leather, fashioned into a long, sleek beak.

Then, a cloud of gas—fired at the same time that she gasped in fear—and she coughed as the gas entered her lungs. When she looked back up, the masks had been distorted and twisted, oozing from the holes and crawling with...god, something. It didn't matter because they each seized an arm and dragged her back out of the elevator before her thoughts dissolved completely.

[blankdblank]

Hobbit Soulmate Pt 24

Following the directions you had written out after researching maps from Maine, the airport to your next hotel, one oddly metal wrapped hotel in a city of older brick buildings painted lighter shades surrounded by trees. Inside your room the irritating wall of windows was covered and to get ready for the next day of shooting you showered and called your father and Richard after having been texting Lee on your bus ride and walk here. The first week here would be focused on Darkness Falls with a read for The Ring in the week after between scenes continuing your role as nurse in the first thriller. With no costume changes and little variation on locations to be at for you limited to a single building while others were left to more.

Walls of trailers sat waiting for everyone to file into. Among about twelve main speaking actors you had your own to share with the other nurses. It was a simple day today, merely some background scenes but it was laying the groundwork for the scenes to come. Quietly you entered the trailer with the other women chatting as their hair was being wound back into buns allowing you full room of the costume half of the space. A mousy woman just as talkative asked, “Miss Pear I take it?”

You nodded with a grin, “Yes.”

While shrugging out of your jacket she got to shuffling the hangers for your costume. Propping your foot on your leg untying your converse was easy and followed by the second as she unzipped the large garment bag with all you would require. An easy unbuckle of your jeans had them sag enough to grab and step out easily, on top of your folded jacket lying on the chair over your bag the jeans would go. As she eased the uniform out she said, “It really is a straight forward costume. Though I do think the material is nicer than the usual nurse costumes I’ve worked with, at least for comfort with their non snazzy selves.” Her eyes shifted to you in the smooth fold of the jeans you settled into the jacket while she brought out the white pantyhose you would have to wear, “Though these, no helping these.”

Smirking at her comment you had your arms out of the sleeves and in a shrug your baggy t shirt was off over your head pausing her and the hair stylist across the room seeing your toned self in the white colored underwear and bra that you were all asked to supply yourselves. “Can’t stand pantyhose,” You said lowering your shirt that in two easy flicks the sleeves were folded in and the bottom half flipped up to plop the shirt onto your jeans. Your socks were pulled off next, “But at least I’m getting paid to wear them.” Accepting the pantyhose to ease on as gracefully as possible to keep from tearing a seam in the unforgiving accessory they were pulled on and in looking up you asked in her step closer with the step in costume, “Do you just work with us?”

She nodded, “Emma Caulfield has her own wardrobe handler with works with Chaney Kley and Lee Cormie.”

Up over your back over your arms tucked back to ease the sleeves up she lifted the uniform asking, “Is your role really physical?”

In a glance at her when you turned for her to adjust the dress she then buttoned up for you at her silent insistence to do so making it perfect you answered, “Oh, not really, but I have a ballet role in a few months I have to stay in shape for.”

“Ah, that makes sense. Do you do ballet roles often?”

“For films, no, but I have worked with a couple ballet companies between projects. I was too short until last year for most companies to go lead in professional companies.”

A knock at the door had heads turning and a man popped his head in, “Steph we’re having trouble with getting a few of our extras dressed before set time.”

“Right,” glancing between you and him she grabbed your white tie on sneakers saying, “Just these left, Lin is almost done for your hair and makeup.”

“No problem, thank you.” She paused a moment at the odd thanks and flashed a quick grin on darting off to help get everyone else ready for the hospital scenes and Sheriff’s office scenes that would be filming at the same time on side by side buildings.

Against the wall you waited hunched again to tie on the shoes you might as well be barefoot in with the pantyhose if not for the white ankle socks that were tucked inside the thin shoes. With a grin you moved to the chair when called removing your hair clip letting your curls fall down your back for her to wind up into a pinned bun she then brought out the watch they had picked for you to wear helping you to secure it on your wrist. All the while chatting with the woman who just popped in to get you ready right away doing your next to unnoticeable makeup before being called off as well in your move to put your things in your assigned cubby along the wall. With your new copy of Frankenstein book in hand to follow the duo out to the lot that an aid guided you and the others on your ways to your proper sets, being one of the many extras with papers or distractions between takes. Out of the way while the lights were being adjusted after accepting your scene packet for the day against the wall a few eyes shifted to you once you’d read through the packet then lifted your worn second hand book raising curiosity for what the quiet ‘Nurse Lauren Pear’ as named by your name tag was reading.

“Frankenstein?” The Emma Caulfield asked lifting your gaze from the page you folded the corner over closing the book around your finger. “On a horror film set? You must have nerves of steel.”

In her chuckle a weak giggle left you trying to calm yourself to reply, “Two of my friends are in a Dracula film that has Frankenstein and Dr Hyde in it. I’m reading that book next. Tried reading this one when I was little but one of my cousins borrowed it and never gave it back. I got an extra role in it when they do some reshoots so I have to catch up on research and I know Dracula like the back of my hand.”

With a nod she replied shifting her arms around her middle to the chill blowing in from a prop being wheeled into the metal building housing the hospital sets. “Ya on Buffy we have a sort of unspoken rule to have to study up on the history of vampires so I am right there with you. Plus horror genre, not a bad niche. Those your only two horror films?”

“I have a read for another one in a week. Films after I’m done on this one. Little ghost girl who kills people ends up putting me in an asylum.”

“Ooh, nice. So this is a busy winter for you then?”

“Oh yes, was at the premiers for Lord of the Rings in New Zealand and London where I filmed a bit in a film after filming three extra roles back in New York.” Her brows inched up, “And after this next film I have two more roles I’ll be in Texas for a few months on those.”

“Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever been that busy even with the show.” You shrugged through a grin and she asked, “Are you always that busy?”

“No, not at all. Lord of the Rings was my first film role, and back in September when I got back to New  York there was scores of films needing recasts and more extras due to drop outs of projects out there. From the Directors I met there I got a pack of scripts to read for and it sort of snowballed from there. But I think it’ll even out again by fall. Big plans for you?”

Through another nod and her grin returning she replied, “Yes, I have a few guest spots on some shows and another small film we’re doing the table read for to film next year, but there’s a whole boot camp I’ll have to go through for the last part of the year to get ready.”

“I have to say I kind of like the roles requiring boot camps.” Adding a giggle at the end making her chuckle too.

“They are fun, you aren’t cold?” She asked smoothie her hands over her arms coated by the sleeves of her sweater eyeing your bump coated bared arms when the door had been propped open for several minutes now as a few spare beds were being brought in.

“Used to it. Went to school in New York and London, neither places I stayed in had reliable heaters or hot water.”

Chuckling again she replied, “We’ve all had those apartments starting out. In a better place now?”

“Moved up a floor in New York, so I have warm water if I wake up at two in the morning to bathe, and I stay with my Mate in England at his place, where he has an astonishing house somehow supplied with a working heater and hot water. Brags endlessly.” Making her giggle with you.

“Is it hard being so far from your Mate? Mines out in Canada, been best friends since kindergarten.”

“Aww, so sweet. I only met a few years ago. Started over email as Pen Pals. I was bouncing from school to school from New York to England and I ran into him by chance in a pub by campus after my flight landed.”

“Aww,”

You giggled again, “Yes, now that I’ve graduated, it’s different but easier. I’m traveling for work but we fly out when we can.”

“What does he do, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Oh not at all, he’s an actor too. He’s with a theater troupe out there most of the year but he’s studying up on a film role, just had a tv trilogy on BBC actually. This new one’s got something to do with being a security guard,” you said with a giggle, “Some murder mystery, not really sure how he’s prepping. Might be in a training course for experience if he’s feeling dedicated enough for it.” Gaining another chuckle from her at your next giggling smile shifting from her to the boy coming over to speak with the woman pretending to be his big sister and guardian.

Friendly and just enjoyable to be around from the former wallflower that had come into their view in their eyes was a vast shift from you now. No longer smiling, and cold with eye rolling galore between paths in and out of the shot. Mainly just talking today from background shots to Emma Caulfield’s lines with her fake brother and the Doctors and techs you passed building an unsettling aura that many a relative and patient in hospitals had witnessed, the nurse equaled to dragons or creatures just as callous to their suffering or feelings. Way more than on the page but to you at least the silence of your empty instructions to sit and do nothing or walk too and fro between what even read cruel you had to play the part and not the bubbly ray of sunshine who would turn harsh when alone.

Steadily harsh throughout was your plan and by the smirk on the Director’s face on instructing actors what notes to add to their next take or scene a wide yet bashfully proud smile split across your face as he said, “Miss Pear, keep doing what you’re doing.” Always however between takes the bubbly came out again. And jokes for the young boy kept him distracted at least while you were around to allow realigning the camera or props. Most commonly having the set echoing with his giggles to your jokes and stories you bonded with him to keeping him where they needed him and away from running off for his gameboy sure to delay things for to long.

..

It was a lovely first week on set and with your first two days off with map in hand you were off to figure out where your table read was. “Two blocks,” Shifting the map slightly to read the address on the call sheet notice you’d copied from your email this morning right into your side a body collided and in front of you another map fell.

“Oh shit, sorry,” the man said as you bent to grab his foldable map you passed back then stopped to point at him making his brows inch up.

“Hey you’re heading to the read too, right?”

“For, The Ring?” He asked lowly as if he’d be tackled for saying the just barely still pre production film out loud in the streets.

“Ya, I’m playing Becca, you’re the lead future dead guy.”

In relief he chuckled and accepted his map, “Yes, well, future dead guy is lost. Gave my cab the wrong address I guess and he dropped me at a corner by a gas station bout half a mile back.”

“Well I think it’s two blocks. Went to school in New York, so maps are kinda my forte.” Making him smile and join you on the path only to look down spotting on the side of your middle and ring finger a heart and the word ‘Morning’ written in two different styles he’d noticed following your gaze to your sudden giggle.

“New tattoo?”

Glancing up at him with a grin you shook your head, “No, my Mate’s up. He’s out in England. I always write morning when he’s sleeping and he writes back when he wakes up.”

His smile crept out saying, “That is adorable. All I get is some bad Ozzy Osbourne echoing in mine’s showers.” Making you giggle again as he remembered to pull a band-aid out for his Mate Marker to cover on the side of his finger so the singing wouldn’t disturb him while reading today.

“That is nice too. I get his singing at night while he cooks and showers. Love in an Elevator.”

“Classic,” Making you both chuckle again. “Ooh.” He said seeing a car with cameras drive by, “Must be getting close.” On the corner you saw a block away a taxi stop and out of it you saw Liev Schreiber step out to help Naomi Watts smiling in accepting his warm hug and kiss goodbye captured on film before his climb back in to head wherever taking the cameras with him when she hurried inside. “Aha, the finish line.” He looked down at you asking, “Were you going to walk everyday?”

“It’s not far. Just about ten minutes on foot. Used to hoofing it.”

“Well if I do pass you up I’ll stop to let you in, weather apparently is fickle out here.”

When the crossing light changed you crossed only to spot the other teens crammed in a single taxi piling out after realizing they were staying together at the same hotel and wished to save some cash by pooling funds. “Hey.” He said waving to the teen who recognized him.

Into the group you blended and the teen girl you would be doing the earliest of your scenes with at the apparent sleepover asked, “Which hotel are you at?”

“Bit-Moore? I think,” looking at your room key keychain you pulled from your pocket you said, “No, Jaybird, oh that’s right the Bit one was in Canada...”

She smiled saying, “You’ve been to Canada? Have you been skiing yet? I love their slopes.”

“Not yet, bit scared to ski honestly.”

In a chuckle she replied patting your arm, “Trust me, I was nearly in tears first time I went but now I love it. Just love it.” Flashing her a grin you tried to mask the fact that you would most likely never ski nor wish to try hoping that someone would change the subject only for Amber’s eyes to flinch wider as she said, “Oh my god, your eyes are purple!”

Seemingly shuffling to all get a better view of your bright eyes lit by the light pouring in through the large windows in the front lobby. Each person gawked while curiously after being buzzed through the door to the back Naomi eyed the group deciding to wait on her own peek at the purple eyed stranger hidden in the group of cast mates coming for the table read. “So pretty,” echoed around from a few of the female teens while the guys gave a sort of nod and at the gentle pat on your back from your self decided carpool buddy, Martin Henderson, the group shifted to the main desk to let the curious woman behind the desk know what your group was here for.

Amber again took your side as you all waved your way through the door confirming from the stack of headshots who had arrived that she checked off her official list counting how many more were to come. Patting your arm again she said, “That was rude. Wasn’t it?”

You shook your head, “Not at all.”

“Still, I’m sorry you must get that all the time.”

“Not really.”

“Seriously?” Said one teen while another replied, “You must be joking.”

“No, well, you see I grew up in Texas and my dad’s brothers all look exactly like him, so all us cousins look alike, dark hair and purple eyes with a few green eyed stragglers in between.” Making one of the male teens chortle to himself at the term, “So when we went to school it was just another one of us walking through the halls. Only the transfer students or foreign exchange students were shocked really. Then I went to England for college when I was sixteen after skipping a few grades and I don’t think I’d seen so many bloody noses from collisions and just wide eyed stares. My first day moving in to my dorm and this big rugby player just stops staring so I turn around thinking there’s a spider or a mad dog or something behind me and it took about ten people either bumping into things and just staring for me to ask the lady at orientation day if I had something on my face or clothes,”

Martin Henderson, “What’d she say?”

“Purple. Just looked me dead in the eyes the whole time and all she could say was purple. Sad to say I’d just gotten off my flight so it took a few minutes to click but I got used to it and it sort of rippled around campus and everyone got their turn to gawk and then it calmed down till family or friends would visit.”

Amber, “Just like that?”

“Just like that, because then the people who had heard me talk let everyone know that I was from the States and I became a different type of sideshow for their interest. So by the time I got hired as a waitress I picked up the accent because I was not going to be the purple eyed Southern Belle to every single person seated in my area.” Making the teens chuckle as you let out a giggle filing after Martin Henderson into the conference room where Naomi and a few of the actors playing her friends and coworkers mingled over coffee.

Another teen asked, “So it’s just been like that since leaving your hometown?”

“Little bit. I mean my southern accent didn’t help in Julliard but the eyes helped me to get more than a few photographers willing to snap pictures helping to get some headshots and a book for some printed ad work. Work what you got, even if I was under five feet I made it work for me. Might not know your name but everybody is curious when they hear or read about the eyes on my resume.”

One of the male teens nodded his head saying, “Certainly gets your foot in the door at least.”

The guy to his right said, “Ice breaker for sure. I hear a chick has purple eyes, man, I gotta check that out.”

Starting off groggily the Director entered and swiveling heads led to everyone finding their own wheeled chair. Smirks spread at the call to wheel around the table to the empty patch of the room for cast on each scene. By the break for lunch the scenes with the other teens were done and you would return for another hour at least to talk about your asylum scenes you had been aching to get to. Notes and details on extra things to add to the performance halfway read as for performance merely to get a tongue for the lines and tempo wished for each scene. A question of using Naomi’s hand added what would be a whole layer of sinister to the scene that the director asked you to try and keep from blinking through the day of. All the same once those were through with the guard and nurse for your lone scenes in the asylum you were free to head out back to your hotel.

“Hey Richy Rich, love you, just checking in to say that my read is done and I can’t wait to hear about that meeting of yours. Talk to you later,” a hard bump into your shoulder from a man taking up his and your side of the walkway nearly making you drop your book, “Jackass!” You shouted that in his turn to shout at you when he hit you, a reach for your bag ended in your swift kick between his legs spurring a pained squeal from him in a drop to his knees clutching his groin in a collapse forward. Shaking your head you passed a parked cop car that had expected to be chasing a purse snatcher only to be on the verge of wheezing from laughter at how the man’s scuffle had ended. “Shit,” you muttered seeing that the call had ended and no doubt Richard would have a surprising message.

You would have called back only a call from a friend from Karl Urban, “Hey Gimli, I sort of have a favor to ask.”

“Alright,” you replied with a smirk, “I may sort of have a way to help you out. What’s the favor?”

“Well, that film I told you about, Ghost Ship, it premiers this weekend in New York, and for the life of me I can’t seem to book a hotel room.”

“Well no doubt it’s pageant week.”

“Pageant week?”

Softly you giggled saying, “Well I don’t have much sway with hotels but you could crash at mine. I have a three day weekend so I could fly back-,”

“You aren’t there? If-,”

“I’m just in Maine, six hours by train but I could find a red eye for cheap, Lee called yesterday anyways he’s got a show at school he’s anxious about I could surprise him and sit in.”

“You wouldn’t mind? Plus my Lady couldn’t get off for the trip so you could be my plus one if you’re up for a thriller.”

Giggling softly you replied, “I seem to be in a thriller mood lately, just finished my read for my second.”

“Really, wow, when do they start?”

“One is started already, lasts another couple weeks, the second starts next week for a few. Not that big for roles, fleeing nurse and teen locked in an asylum.”

“Ooh, asylum thrillers are fun. Can’t wait to see it.”

“Well I can’t wait to see yours, Ghost Ship, sounds fun on the title alone.” Making him smirk, “How’s your Lady Love handling your trip?”

“Good, excited. I’ve been talking about breaking from simple background for so long it’ll be good for her to see I’m gaining some momentum. How’s your Mate, will he be alright with my staying over?”

“There won’t be any jealousy issues, he’s got a meeting today about a few possible parts and even a commercial, which he’s skeptical about. I don’t know if he was teasing about his snogging a watermelon part of his message,” Karl laughed through the line making you giggle again, “I kind of hope there’s a tape if there is any fruit snogging involved. But when my dad stayed there we got a couple mattresses to lay out in my half bed.”

“Half bed?”

“You’ll see, it’s nothing lavish, so please don’t expect that.”

“Oh no, trust me, I will be grateful for the floor and a hook for my suit.”

“Well I can do a bit better than the floor, even feed you too.”

“You are so kind,” a beep on his end had him saying, “Sorry, that’s my other line but I will see you Saturday I will text you the flight time and all that.”

“Have fun, talk to you later.” He repeated the sentiment and you hung up exhaling sharply taking the last turn for the final stretch to your hotel. Curiously you paused on your way to the open lift halfway filled and headed for the front desk where the grinning manager came over eager to help you. With a grin you said, “Hi, I have a question, I have to fly to New York this weekend for a few days,” he nodded, “That wouldn’t effect my reservation here, will it? I won’t find I’ve been booted out for not using the bed for a few nights?”

To himself he chuckled and said, “Not at all, Miss Pear. No, you have booked the room and used or not the bed is yours through the next month. Especially in our rainy seasons we have guests skiff out to clearer towns for nights out. Would you like us to call you a taxi for your flight?”

“Um, sure,”

He nodded and said, “When you have confirmed the flight time simply call us and we will note it in our books for you.”

“Thank you.”

“You are very welcome, Miss Pear. Have a lovely evening.” He said and you nodded, turned for the lift to head up to your room to eat something and book your flight.

Sure enough after messaging Lee and emailing your friends from Oxford Richard did call back laughing about his message he just had to hear the explanation for the outburst at the end then delved into his meeting again smiling as he deflated a bit being able to speak with you again after a rough night alone. Having shared a dinner on one of the fifty anniversaries Richard loved to point out and make special even over distances tonight would be much better for him while you laid there sighing at the empty hotel room without any power from a downpour that somehow hadn’t lulled you to sleep just yet.

.

The Ring came more complex with you befriending some of the teens you were to be pictured with up at a cabin and also in the house where your friend would be killed by the ghost girl. The Asylum scenes however led to your greatest stretch of the role landing you across Naomi who fed off your convincingly chilling portrayal of a broken haunted person. It took a few days for her to shake off the encounter with you so contradictory to your bubbly self helping to lighten the mood between your hard scenes, a much needed distraction however lacking once you had left the rainy state.

Two hours was all you managed to steal for a nap before the day of uniform wearing concerns for Lee Cormie for the scenes before his attack that would be filmed later this week.

Each day you were able to get a bit more sleep while realizing the change was from the sugar pill week of your birth control pills always roughing up your sleep patterns with the dull cramping and soreness to your breasts you always forgot about until you ended up brushing against or rolling onto your stomach or sides. You weren’t a back sleeper normally and this was what you were reduced to, at east with Richard you ad a body cuddled across you to nestle against. Now you just laid there on the useless bed might as well being on the floor for how uncomfortable you felt at the whims of your body in a petty revenge for not using another of your perfectly good eggs it had worked so hard on.

Friday came and before you had realized it Lee was yet to be informed of your return. Takeoff however had your eyes drooping and a tap of a hand on your shoulder had your lips pursed lifting your head from the wall by the window, “Lighthouse, right.” You blurted out making the flight attendant smirk as she had come to make sure that out of the thirty people on the flight you and the other two stragglers were aware of the landing. “Sorry, New York?” You asked unbuckling seeing that the guy across the aisle was gone from his seat with the overhead bin open and empty.

“Yes, do you need help with your bag?”

“Um, probably, had some help getting it up there.” She nodded and stood again to bring your satchel down as you stood bringing your purse from under the seat holding your books and travel papers. “Thank you,” you said taking the bag to walk in front of her blinking awake with subtle swipes of fingers around your eyes thankful for forgetting your make up today. Too tired to care about being seen this exhausted. With duffel picked up in baggage claim the familiar bus then train trip back again came to an end on the sidewalk leading to your stoop.

“Hey!” Out the front door Lee’s eyes snapped open and down he trotted making you grin and accept his tight hug, “You’re back!”

“Yes, thought I’d surprise you at your show. Plus a friend needed a bed for a premier he asked me to.”

That had his brows inching up once you were on your feet again, “Oh, which friend?”

Smirking at him you said, “He’s married with a son at home, Karl Urban from New Zealand. Didn’t know it was pageant week filling hotels. But his lady couldn’t make the trip so he’s lending me his plus one to Ghost Ship.”

“Ooh, that one looks good.”

“Yes it does, and you should be off. I have to nap and try and think up a dress, might just wear my purple one again with a vest, or something, don’t really trust my boobs right now to be out,” His brows shifted in his glance to your chest in the step you took around him, “Go head to class. See you at two.”

“I’m glad you’re back, even if it’s just for the weekend.” Stealing another hug and peck on your cheek.

Pt 25

[beyondthecosmicvoid]

"What you're talking about is manifest destiny."

"You can call it whatever you want, Tom. The fact remains that if the human race needs to do something to survive and lower orders don't have the power to stop us, we will prevail. It is not right ir wrong, it is just the way things are. You've got to stop projecting human motives and es onto other organisms. Everything is merely what it is. A mongoose that tries to steal a cobra's egg isn't evil -- it is just trying to survive. But the cobra is trying to survive too. And if it catches the mongoose in its nest, there's going be a fight. Fortunately for the mongoose, it has faster reflexes and a more efficient metabolism. Whether that's fair or not isn't event part of the equation -- it's simply the way things are."

"Yeah? Try telling that to the cobra. But for the sake of argument, we'll ignore the question of ethics. Still, all you're saying, Scott, is that it's all right to do whatever we want. To exploit any ecosystem, any species -- as long as we don't run into anything big enough to kick our butts."

"If you want to phrase it that way. Yeah. That's the way nature works."

"Sure, on tutoring disks, but not in the real world. Every part of an ecosystem is dependent on every other part. It's that interdependence that makes interfering with existing systems so chancy. Even the smallest components are vitally important."

“Who could have guessed that millions of ‘killer bee’s could spring from a handful of escaped African bees? Or that a few Brazilian fire ants could make the Southeastern portion of the U.S. virtually uninhabitable in just over seventy years? And what about the ‘oil-eating’ bacterium the gene-splicers at the petroleum companies developed to clean up their spills? Remember how they thought they had it completely in their control?”

“Come on, Tom, the oil would’ve dried up sooner or later anyway, and I hear the new repro-inhibitors they’re using are making a substantial dent in the fire ant populations. Sure, we suffer setbacks, but we’ll always find ways around the problems that nature throw at us.”

“Will we Scott? I’m not so sure, mankind never seems to learn. We get our hands slapped on a regular basis, but we still can’t seem to keep them to ourselves. The tighter the grip we try to get on nature, the more nature pushes through the cracks in our technology. And with some of the things we’re encountering in the settlements, we have no idea what kind of trouble we may be letting ourselves in for by messing around.”

“Well, so far we’ve done okay. On all of the life-supporting planets we’ve come across. The worst thing we’ve ever encountered has been the ‘blood willies’ of epsilon INDI TWO. And I hear they’ve got a vaccine for that now. If I were you, I’d put my faith in science and stop worrying about the bogeyman. And I’d watch what I said around the corporate types, Tom. All any of them care about is their jobs, and you’ll make them nervous with talk about problems that don’t exist yet.”

“I don’t care. This is my last long haul. I’m getting out while the getting’s good. All of the monkeying around the corporations are doing out in the settlements may not bother you, Scott, but it does me. We’ve had a long run of good fortune –longer than we’ve deserved there’s a major league turd coming down the pike, mark my words--- and I don’t want to be around when it hits the fan. I’m telling you, we shouldn’t be messing with mother nature. She’s a real bitch. We have to learn to work with nature. This reliance on technology is getting to be too much for me, Scott. It’s no longer a means to an end. It’s become an end unto itself. We use it like a wall between ourselves and our surroundings … between ourselves and who we really are. We’ve come a long way in the past three thousands years but I can’t help feeling that we’ve lost as much as we’ve gained.”

“So what’s your solution Tom? Give up modern convenience and go back to stone knives and squatting in caves?”

“You’re reaching for extreme again, Scott, but that just might be what it takes to put us back on the right track. And I’m not talking about austerity or deprivation. I’m talking about the challenge of putting away the crutches of our technology and going back to relying on our own strength and cunning. These days we’re so insulated that we make heroes out of anyone who dares to face up to a challenge. But it wasn’t always like that. Life of death challenges used to be an every day thing and real men didn’t wait for adventure to come to them. They rushed out to meet it not like the generals and corporate heads these days who send out the little guys to do their dirty work. It used to be that a man’s standing as a leader was determined by how he handled himself in the face of danger.”

“Yeah, yeah – very nostalgic, Thom. Very macho. But it’s not very practical in this day and age. Can you see a bunch of corporate VPs duking it out for the right be CEO? Or maybe you and me going at each other with knives to see who gets a better pilot’s rating?”

“Hey, every culture observes its own rituals for establishing status. Look at the infighting and back-stabbing that goes on at every level of our society. And we’re still fighting over the same things: property, leadership, territorial rights. The only difference is our methods have become more subtle, less direct. Somehow the old ways seem more honest.”

“You’re an idealist, Tom. What happens when the wrong guy wins? Then you’ve got the neighborhood bully calling the shots: You’re back to pack mentality.”

“There are checks and balances in every system, Scott.”

“Yeah, but your way leaves them all up to individual initiative! Without some kind of sanctioned avenue for dissent. A guy would have to be a real hero or a real fool to butt heads with the chief.”

“So? Are things really so different for us? You’re the one that’s always telling me to watch what I say around the desk jockeys. Where’s my ‘sanctioned avenue for dissent’? At least if I bust a gay in the chops, he clearly understands that I don’t like what he’s doing.”

“There you go with your idealism again. You’re trying to romanticize this into two tigers brawling to determine dominance or rights to a favorite hunting area. In the same situation humans would just kill each other. We’ve ‘out-grown’ the instinct for species preservation that prevents that in the lower orders but we haven’t truly grown into the morality that you’re so fond of citing, Tom. The society we’ve built isn’t perfect. Granted. But it works, probably more because of our level of technology than in spite of it. How many guys wouldn’t want to trade their boring, earthside job for yours: a job made possible by technology? But if you want to get back to nature, there are ways to do it. Go on one of those ‘wilderness’ safaris to Alpha C. I understand the gene-splicers now have something that almost looks like an elephant. Or, if you want real adventure, sign on for a hitch as a ranch hand at our next stop; plenty of fresh air, hard work, and not much else. Maybe that’s your idea of fulfillment. Though I can’t imagine anyone envying you the job. Me, I can get enough adventure from the vids. God bless modern technology!”

                                         (...)

“You’re awfully quiet, Tom. What’s the matter? YOu mad at me?”

“Huh? Uh, no Scott. I was just thinking.”

“Look, I know you said it as a joke. But maybe I should go on one of those safaris or sign on as a ranch hand. Maybe it’ll turn out that you’re right, and I wouldn’t like it. But I should at least give it a try. A change of scenery might be just what I need ... Get back to the land and living things ... Get some adventure and uncertainty back into my life. Did i ever tell you that I went hunting once? I had an uncle who was wealthy. He took me qual hunting when I turned fifteen -said it wuold make a man of me. But all I could think about was how big my shot gun was, and how small the birds were. I guess I oculd understand the potential for excitement in the hunt, but for me the thrill was missing. The contest seemed so lopsided. I wondered what it would be like to hunt something that was capable of hunting me. The challenge. The Danger. To put yourself on an equal footing with nature, that’s got to be the ultimate thrill! To risk everything on your own skill and strength ... I mean, look at what we do for a living - access the computer, punch a few buttons - all of the work is done for us. Anybody could do this job, with the right training. I guess that’s what I meant by m anti-technology tirade. It’s not that technology is evil in and of itself - but once in a while we have to put it aside and do something to remind ourselves that we’re alive - prove that we can accomplish something by relying solely on ourselves. I can’t help but think an experience like that would change a person. Maybe not in a way that other people would notice, but it would be something you’d carry with you for the rest of your life.”

“I know what you mean, Tom. Kinda like the first time you get laid, right? Did I ever tell you about that? I was at this party, see, and ...”

“Oh, brother ...”

   ~ Conversation between Tim & Scott from ALIEN VS PREDATOR #1

^It’s this type of existentialism that makes Dark Horse comics and other graphic novels set in the ALIENS/PREDATOR universe some of the best stuff in science fiction. It has a little bit of everything. Philosophy, cosmic horror, with occasional degrees of theological abstraction.If Disney wants to add more money to their pockets and wants to be true to their motto of inclusion and so on, keep this universe. Don’t erase it. Everything that it preaches, are in these comics. Not only that, but there is also a diversity of ideas where it subtly criticizes every school of thought via different characters and storylines. These are the types of stories that attract every fan, regardless of what their politics are. It’s entertainment, pure escapism (without preaching or self-serving, shaming BS) and world-building at its finest. And it remains respectful of ALL the ALIENS/PREDATORS films, while still offering something new.

Take Tom and Scott’s conversation here. These are two space truckers, blue collar workers like those from the first ALIEN movie, that are bringing up two very interesting points. They don’t fit into any neat box we assign a certain ideology. BOTH of these guys make good salient points. There is also a reason why the first issue of the AVP series starts with this conversation of technological dependence vs the old ways that Tom keeps going back to. While these two argue to disprove the other’s point and defend their own, we catch a brief glimpse into Yautja (Predator) society. It is a violent hierarchy where might becomes right. This is the type of meritocracy that Tom keeps defending. At the same time, it is also opportunistic and more technological advance to the point that they use their technology and survival instincts to hunt other species they deem worthy. This is done at the back of other species they consider inferior or worth risking for the ultimate hunt to prove their worth. Everything that Scott defends is part of the Yautja culture -with the obvious exception of divisions and over-dependence on technology and a corporate conglomerate controlling every aspect of daily life. Then there are the Xenomorphs (aliens). They are the other that is constantly being used as a coming-of-age rite for the predators, It’s an interest dynamic which hasn’t (yet) been explored in the films. This, among other things, makes this universe one of the most fascinating in the science fiction and horror genre.

[jimlingss]

mayhaps a friends to lovers jungkook fic where they’re total opposites and mayhaps some mutual pining? hakjdkf I hate how when requests are open I can never think of exactly what I wanna say lol 😩

Anonymous said: Request: “Don’t hate me ‘cause I’m beautiful.” “No. I hate you because you’re a bitch.”

smolchimchimhandz said: one of those “:0 sharing one bed!!!!!” fics but tae has a dream about a hamburger and bites the reader in his sleep

Anonymous said: I have a request! I always wanted to read a Nana( the anime/manga) inspired Au (If you haven’t seen it that’s okay) except I want the oc to be the punk rock badass girl who loves to sing and doesn’t take shit from anybody. Anyway I love your writing! I hope you continue to love what you do ❤️❤️

↳ Die for You

2k words || 96% Fluff, 3% Smut, 1% Angst || Jeon Jungkook || Band!AU

He was a decent lay.

As decent as he could get with that handsome face of his and blessed package — but those things he was lucky enough to be born with. As far as actual skill goes, you had to do all the work. At least you could look at his face while you got yourself off. You weren’t too mad.

But the last straw is when you’re suddenly awoken in the early morning with his teeth sunk into your shoulder. What the f— “What the fuck!”

You slap his head, kick him as hard as you can in his abdomen and he wheezes, shoved off to the ground and shocked awake. The blonde man drags the soiled sheets with him as he falls. And then he blinks away his sleepiness, utterly confused while he scratches his scalp.

“You bit me!”

“Wh—…Oh. Sorry,” Tae…Tae-something, smiles sheepishly. You don’t remember his name. “I was having a dream about eating a hamburger.”

Was this guy serious?

“Are you serious?” You eye him in horror, wondering if his last two brain cells evaporated in the middle of the night. Taekwon grins and he shrugs. You’re wholly unimpressed, hitching your thumb to the door. “Get out.”

//

“You look like you had a rough night,” Hoseok comments, grinning once you enter the dressing room. You drop your guitar case with a sigh, flopping down onto the armchair and propping your feet up on the vanity.

As fun as it is to chase after fame and perform on stages across the country as a band, there came hardships and exhaustion — sometimes even outweighing the benefits. But Hoseok helps to keep the morale going, even in his playing. He has a knack for bringing more colour into the songs with his drumming skills.

It’s not to say that Yoongi’s composing is bleak and dark, but it’s bleak and dark. He’s the primary composer of the group, a keyboardist, and you sing what he gives you. Most of the time, it’s about agony and heartbreak — but you enjoy vocalizing his anger to the audience. His passion and rage is always tangible and similar to that of your own.

When you don’t see him in the room, you assume he’s off somewhere smoking a cigarette. It seems to be Yoongi’s routine before a show. Jungkook, on the other hand, is scrolling through his phone quietly. It doesn’t look like he’s warmed up with his bass for once. That thing is usually glued by his side.

“It wasn’t pleasant, I’ll give you that.”

Hoseok smirks. “Was Mr. Handsome not good? What was his name again?”

“Taemin, Taeyin, something like that.” You motion lazily and Hoseok laughs. “He bit me.”

“Kinky.”

“In the middle of my sleep. Woke me the fuck up. Said something about how he was dreaming of eating something.”

Hoseok bursts out laughing with tears in his eyes. It only pours more salt in your wounds with how he bends over, clutching your stomach, relishing in your disgust. He laughs for a full minute, stopping before exploding into even more laughter. A small part of you hopes he gets a heart attack from it and dies. “What did you do?”

“Kicked him to the curb.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t sleep with fans,” Jungkook pipes up, eyes flickering up from his screen, self-inviting himself into the conversation.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have a stick stuck up your ass.” Your mouth curls. “But you probably get off on it, don’t you, Jeon?”

Hoseok grins at the banter, borderlining argument. But this isn’t a rarity. “Guys, guys, don’t fight. It’s bad for the team environment. Try not to kill each other while I go grab Yoongi, please.”

It’s no secret you and Jungkook don’t exactly get along. You’re neutral at best to one another, trying to be civil on most days. But you’re just not compatible together. How can you be when he’s a righteous bastard who thinks he’s better than the rest of the band. You also can’t understand why he’s so strict and disciplined just to self-suffer. He’s rigid too, not at all spontaneous like you are.

It’s surprising a boring man like him would want a job like this that includes glitz and glam, attention and the spotlight.

“Did you listen to that recording I sent?”

“Nope.” You pop the ‘p’ with your lips, grabbing your electric guitar out of your case to begin warming up as Hoseok leaves to find Yoongi before all of you are late on stage again. “I was busy fucking myself on that Taejoon guy, remember?”

“When are you planning to listen to it?”

“I don’t know. When I have time.” You shrug, plucking some simple strumming patterns. Jungkook pockets his phone, jaw clenched and an annoyed look etches on his face, one you know well. Sometimes it’s good to get him riled up. It sets the mood for the angrier songs.

“Yoongi and Hoseok already heard it.”

“If Yoongi thinks it’s good, then it’s good,” you mutter. It’s as simple as that. Yoongi is the one who writes the songs. Sometimes Hoseok might help with coming up with the lyrics, but you don’t know why Jungkook is trying to write music too these days. 

You’ve only written one song. But you don’t perform that one. 

The silence is suddenly broken by Jungkook’s cold laugh. Your eyes flicker up to him, brow cocked, wondering if he finally lost it. “What?”

He’s condescending. “You seriously don’t care, do you?” 

“I don’t need to prove anything to you,” you say shortly, looking away. “You’re not the only one who’s serious about music here, Jeon.”

“Really?” he questions. “Because it sure seems you’d rather get your pussy wet.”

“Can you not be so anal about what I do in my spare time?” You put down your guitar, unable to focus. “Last I checked, I got away from that bitch mother of mine.”

“I care if you’re neglecting your duties.”

Your mouth twists into a smile, and you loll your head to one side. “ Are you sure it’s not because you’re jealous?”

Jungkook scoffs. “Your ego is incomparable.”

“You hate me because I’m beautiful.”

“No, I hate you because you’re a bitch.”

“But you like it.” You lean towards him, elbow propped up on your knee, cheek rested in your hand. You stare and bat your lashes in an exaggerated manner. “You have a hard on for it, Jeon. You don’t need to keep it a secret. I see the way you look at me.”

“You shouldn’t project your own desires onto other people,” he says, challenging you. But Jungkook still diverts his vision elsewhere. And you see right through him.

“I mean I’ve thought about it.” You shrug, having no reason not to be honest. “I’ve thought about everyone in our group, including you.”

More than anything, you want Jungkook to admit it. So you coax him, getting to your feet, moving to hover above him, cornering him in. You lick your lips slowly. “I’m sure you have too, Jeon. You want me to suck your cock, right? Backstage, like I’ve done for our fans numerous times. You’ve seen me on my knees before.”

“You’re cocky because you’ve never been fucked well before. Everyone’s been so subpar that you think you’re the best. It’s a bit sad actually,” he says it like it’s a fact, unfazed by your attempts of seduction.

But you wonder if that’s a proposition. If he’s suggesting something else, and you try not to show your surprise too much. “Oh?”

Air rushes out of his nose. He smiles, the corners of his mouth curling. Somehow, arrogance is a good look on Jungkook — it makes you want to fuck him right now, right here, just to shut him up. “Too bad your personality is too ugly for me to waste my time on you.”

You’re taken aback by insult, standing straight with your arms crossed. He gets to his own feet, shuffling his belongings and opening his bass case. “You’re all talk and no action, Jeon.”

His voice drips of sarcasm. “Yeah, and that’s how I was able to hold onto a girlfriend for three years.” 

You roll your tongue in your cheek. “Are you slut-shaming me or are you saying I could never do long-term?”

Jungkook smirks. He leans down to match your height, connecting your eyes together. Your faces are an inch away from one another. “I’m saying that you’re all talk and no action. You might be able to get people into your bed, but that doesn’t mean you can get them to stay and actually like you beyond a superficial level.”

You scoff, tipping your head. Your eyes flicker down to his mouth and that cute mole dotting below it. You swallow hard. “Really? That’s hypocritical of you, Jeon. I know you’re soft for me. Hoseok told me you were writing a love song. That’s not like you. Where’s the teenage angst about anger and death?”

“You’re such an annoying brat, you know that?”

His hand comes up to hold your jaw in place, but he isn’t rough. It’s a tender touch that you could easily shake off — but you don’t. Your lashes flutter and you catch him staring at your own lips. You lick them just to tease and his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat.

“So you admit it?” You throw your arms around his shoulders, pushing him even closer to you until you can feel his hot breath against your skin. “You’re in love with me, aren’t you, Jeon?”

“You’ll have to figure that out for yourself when you sing my love song on stage.”

It’s intoxicating. You both lean closer to one another, no one giving in just yet, struggling to stay afloat. Jungkook whispers, his voice husky, “You’re missing out on what could be the best lay of your life.”

“Then show me.”

You lose. You give into the sexual tension that’s electrifying, practically tangible in the air. And the consequences are absolutely gratifying. You kiss him with a vigor and hastiness of being kept on edge, of long anticipation.

The pad of his fingers presses against your jaw in a silent command. Immediately, you open your mouth for him and his hot tongue intrudes, rendering you breathless. It’s overwhelming with his unforgiving force. Jungkook kisses you like he’s hungry for it, like he’s out to prove a point. You don’t know that his eyes are slightly open, taking in your pleasured expression.

You damn yourself when he draws a desperate, pathetic whimper out of you. When he smirks against your mouth. Someone with as much experience as you do shouldn’t be so flustered.

But the fucker knows what he’s doing. He’s making you hot and bothered, smearing your lipstick shamelessly. He’s more aggressive than you thought was possible. You make an attempt to try to regain control, pushing up against him, rolling your hips. But he grabs a hold of your waist.

Suddenly, Jungkook bites down on your lips. His teeth sink into the soft flesh.

You draw back with a hiss. “Ow! What was that for?”

You’re caught off guard, mouth swollen, eyes watery.

“I know you, Y/N.” Jungkook smirks, running a hand through his long black locks. He grabs his bass as normal. As if the kiss didn’t even begin to affect him. “It’s not fun for you anymore when you get what you want.”

You blink several times and when he notices your dazed expression, he barks, “Get yourself together! We have a performance!”

Jungkook leaves you with weakened knees.

It’s only then that you begin to realize just how severely you underestimate him. 

You were so fucked.

[iprefertheterminsane]

A concept: Upon his 12 th birthday, Adam grows wings and a crown of horns not unlike Satan in the tv series, and Aziraphale and Crowley guides and teaches him through the concept of being an immortal supernatural being, and how to accept himself.

####

"Adam," Aziraphale coaxes, as soothingly as possible. He sits on the edge of Adam's old wooden twin, strangely at home amongst the backdrop of hand made spacecrafts and messily glued science projects in Adam's cramped bookshelf. "Come now, my dear boy, I can't imagine something so terrible as to scare US away, will you please tell us what's wrong?"

"It's weird!" Adam cries, and Crowley only barely manages to cover a sigh of exasperation. It was leagues better than a while ago, which had been an adamant 'Go Away!'

(He was sure if Adam truly wanted them gone, however, the two of them would still be in Aziraphale's bookshop with no recollection of prior afternoon.)

 Pepper had called them-Crowley's mobile, earlier that afternoon, during lunchbreak. Adam is absent from school, which was not unusual on itself,**but it had been what she had said after that had rattled their nerves.

Pepper insisted that Adam had been sick, and has refused to leave his room for two whole days. Crowley had assured her that this was about as possible as a content, crippled farmer is to heavily injure the head of the italian mafia.

Pepper had not backed down, and had demanded their immediate presence anyway.

They had gotten worried.

It barely took a miracle to convince the Youngs that they had been visiting diatant relatives, and that they had come straight over upon receiving news of Adam's illness, the horrid virus businesses these days, Deidre, don't you know? Absolutely dreadful.

Upon opening the door, the cloaking wards had greeted them with as much force as a ton of blankets on the windpipe, and a miserable little lump on Adam's bed.

Aziraphale turns to him, helpless in the face of childish hard-headedness, and even despite his angelic demeanor, Crowley had been nonetheless impressed by his overall patience. He settles, finally, on Adam's other side.

"Look, mate." Crowley sighed. "Whatever pubescent horror you're suffering through that is you apparently think is bad enough to get away with skipping school is only as bad as you let yourself think. Believe me, both me and Aziraphale were around when adults were first invented, so we don't exactly need medical degrees to tell what's normal and what isn't, alright?"

"You've gotten all of us so dreadfully worried, my dear." Aziraphale says softly. "You needn't even show us; just tell us what's gotten you so upset, and we'll figure how to help you from there, how does that sound?"

There is a heavy, considerate pause from the miserable bed-blanket lump, and when he finally speaks more than three words at a time, they are muffled and reluctant.

"Just...don't make fun of me."

"Of course we won't," Crowley says gently, not when it might seriously injure the young man's pride. There was a very limited amount of bullying that he tolerates, of all ages, but more so that discrimates young problems. Just because it was a common problem doesn't make it any less distressful, after all.

There ia another pregnant pause, a visible intake of breath from beneath the sheets. The cloaking wards that have been masking the boy and hisHis emotions underneath the blanket relaxes almost visibly, helping the two supernatural relax almost without concious effort.

The blanket falls away.

Aziraphale inhales sharply. "Oh, dear."

Adam had....wings.

They were similar to their Aziraphale and Crowley's own-which are black and white mostly by professional default , unique in all the ways that matter. The colour, for instance, is a distinct russet and gold teal, wet with moisture not dissimilar to that of newly hatched birds. Adam sits hunched, expression twisted in that of pain, tear-racks down his boyish cheeks -likely from their respectable weight, primaries brushing his bedroom floor-and shoulder blades bruised and tender, crimson from the joint connecting the wings to his body, as if they had forcibly torn themselves from his beneath his very flesh.

But that wasn't the worst of it.

"Oh, Adam," Aziraphale breathes, his face contorted in thinly veiled grief. "Oh, my poor boy,"

Something in Aziraphale's voice must've snaped something inside him, because Adam breaks into barely controlled sobs, throwing himself into Crowley's outstretched arms, and Crowley himself only barely sparing himself from being poked in the eyes by the crown of horns that now adorn Adam's temple.

He wastes no time pulling the 13 year old child into a suffocating embrace, as tight as he needs it to be. Out of his periphery, the two occult and ethereal beings share only a strong, all-consuming thought.

'Shit.'

#####

The esteemed reader might be  wondering what, in loving tarnation, might be going on. Think of it this way; Upon the awakening of his long long dormant powers on his birthday, and the consequent adventure from that point on, an eleven year old child of such freshly discovered reserves of  power had only such forthought to realign reality in a way to to completely change the matter of  things in default, besides thoughts of those individually set aside. Frankly, the Powers that Be didn't do much to discourage his hold on them. Individuals with such permanent holds on Reality are so few and far in between, after all, and it has been so long since they've had a master so sweet and kind.

(Take it this way; in a fit not unlike the thought process of most human children, what Adam basically had wanted at the airbase was to relinquish his throne, and to deny his destiny. Both of these objectives had, technically, been accomplished. But altering the fabric of time, and rearranging solid hard facts- such as the past circumstances and occult bloodline- takes a whole lot more effort than a single passionate wish by an emotionally compromised child. So while there is a mindsweep of a global scale, and people suddenly seem to find themselves to have returned to lose an entire Monday, Adam was still no less an AntiChrist than Crowley was  any less a demon.)

####

It had happened last Friday.

(Adam was reluctant to share the experience, likely unexcited to relive the memory, but share it he did, probably in hope they could do something about it.)

He had been startled awake by a tingling, painful sensation in his back, and a dreadful migraine. Twisting onto his back, it seemed, only made it worse. Unable to return to sleep, he had decided, instead to wash his face on the bathroom down the hall.

It is only in the light that he notices the blood on his pajama shirt.

(It is only downhill from there)

######

(This is a very early draft and the idea wouldnt stop bugging me until it was out there. I call it That's A Double Negative and it's up for adoption if anybody wants it. I'll try to finish it. Maybe.)

[quietpoeticheart]

The Coffee Shop: Part Three

Summary: Bucky is a retired military veteran suffering from PTSD. He meets Avelyn, a headstrong entrepreneur, one day at her cafe with Steve and then everything changes.

Paring: Bucky Barnes x Black! OC

Word Count: 2350

Warnings: Angst, Slight violence, Anger, Language

A/N: Another day, another chapter, this one got finished a lot quicker than I expected. I wrote it in a day but idk when the next update will be. Bucky is back this chapter and we meet a new character. Happy reading

PREVIOUS PART

For the rest of the week, ever since her mother called, Avelyn had been existing in a state of dread.

She knew that being invited to family dinner was nothing but a ploy to convince her to give up her shop and go back to the life she'd left and because she was never going to do that, she understood that nothing good was going to come out of going but she didn't exactly have choice.

She couldn't disobey a direct order from Ava especially when it meant putting her coffee shop on the line.

As Avelyn sat in the small kitchen in the shop, waiting for the batch of brownies she was making to finish, she wondered if maybe her mother was right. The shop didn't get much business, this was her third day in a row without a single customer coming in.

Maybe, this life really wasn't for her. Sure, she may have been twenty six years old with her own business but does it count if she pretty much still lives off of her parents money because her business is a complete and utter failure. Maybe she was better off going back and working for her parents.

"No, don't think like that. You know what it's like working there and you're not going back, no matter what. Even if you have to sell the coffee shop and get a regular job, you're never going to give the satisfaction." She thought to herself.

Then the chimes on the door jangled noisily signaling someone's entrance. Avelyn sighed, and walked outside to the front, only to see Bucky standing there looking some combination of anxious and upset, with a scowl etched across his features.

"Hey Bucky." Avelyn greeted cheerfully. She took a moment to run her eyes appreciatively up and down his figure.

"Avelyn." He said in a cold, clipped tone, taking a seat on a stool by the cash register. Bucky wasn't in a good mood that day, not that he ever was in a good one, he was simply in more of a bad mood than usual and he wasn't particularly interested in leaving the safety of his apartment to come to this ridiculous coffee shop with the overly chipper owner to see what she had to tell him.

Avelyn was a beautiful girl, there was no doubt about that. She wasn't particularly thick but she had curves where it mattered. Tall with long shapely legs but still nowhere near his height and smooth russet colored skin that seemed to always have a glow despite the ever present coating of flour over it. Her eyes were a simple brown, the color of gingerbread with flecks of gold that sparkled when the sun hit them and a siren like allure that lured him to drown in their depths. Her hair however, was quite literally her crowning glory. Thick, springy, glossy charcoal curls that seemed to defy gravity to float around her head like a halo or the branches of a tree extending to the sky, that bounced as she walked.

He was extremely attracted to Avelyn since he first saw her that day with Steve, but he still found her incessant optimism and almost hyper like eagerness to be annoying and rather exhausting.

"What can I get for ya today Bucky?" Avelyn asked. Her voice was beautiful, her cadence soft, melodic and lilting, with an almost vaguely British accent. Her speech lacked the brusqueness that most New Yorkers possess and to Bucky it was a refreshing change.

"You can tell me what it is you wanted to see me for." Avelyn was taken aback by the coldness in his voice. The times he'd been to her shop before, he'd never spoken to her like that. He was usually aloof but mild-mannered but now, there was an edge to his voice that almost scared her.

"Also, you have chocolate on your face." He sneered snidely. Bucky really wasn't intending to be this rude but he was just so frustrated that he was projecting it onto Avelyn.

A look of horror washed over Avelyn's face. "Shit, the brownies." As she bolted to the kitchen, Bucky tried to reel in his anger, using the techniques his therapist taught him. As he was taking deep breaths in and out, Avelyn returned, holding two plates in her hands. She eyed him curiously but said nothing. She simply set down one of the plates in front of him "I brought you a couple brownies. They're a little crisp but they're still good."

Bucky nodded his thanks and bit into one the brownies, praising the heavens that she didn't ask him about what she saw.

"So." Avelyn began, "The reason why I told Steve to let you swing by, is because I want to offer you a job."

Bucky froze, a brownie halfway to his mouth.

"You want to what?" He asked, thinking he didn't hear her correctly.

"I want to give you a job."

Bucky stared at her like she'd gone mad "Doll, you barely look like you have enough money to keep this place open and you want to give me a job?"

Avelyn nodded slowly.

"Why?"

The answer to that question was quite obvious.

She liked him but because she couldn't say that, she went with the next best option, twisting the truth.

"I know you've been looking for a job -"

Before she could finish, Bucky interrupted her, "How do you know that?" He growled.

The way his voice dropped to a such a low, almost gruff timbre could almost be considered sexy, that's of course if he wasn't looking like he was five seconds away from murdering her where she stood

"Um...Steve told me." She said, her voice a hair above a whisper.

Bucky slammed his hands down on the counter, snarling "And you decide to give the poor cripple a job out of pity."

"N-n-no it's not like that." Avelyn stuttered. She could see that Bucky was getting upset and that's not what she wanted.

"N-n-no it's not like that." Bucky mimicked, his blue eyes, now dark enough to be black, swirling with anger  "Then what's it like Avelyn."

"He said you needed a job and I offered, that's all." Avelyn was getting frustrated now, all she was doing was trying to help him and he was acting like an asshole.

"I don't need your charity or your pity. I don't need it okay. I don't need your stupid job." Bucky roared, slamming his hands down so hard that, the marble of the counter split and the plates with the brownies clattered to the ground, shattering into pieces.

That was the last straw for Avelyn.

"Okay, you what I've had it. You know what your problem is, you're ungrateful. You take advantage of Steve's kindness, you deliberately make him worry about you and he gives of himself to you but you don't reciprocate. I know you have your problems but you rather hold onto them and use them as crutch to excuse your bullshit instead of working on them and trying to become a better fucking human."

Bucky stood in awe, no one had ever spoken to him like that before, even before the war. He was always the guy that people respected either genuinely or out of fear and Avelyn yelling at him like he was nothing but a five year old did not sit well with him."

"You think the way that you see yourself as nothing but a useless cripple is the way that everyone sees you and you push everyone away because of it even when people are trying to do things that are for your fucking benefit, like giving you this job. I was simply trying to help you."

Bucky grabbed Avelyn's chin in his and and lowered his face to hers "I didn't ask for your help."

Avelyn slapped away his hand "Fine James, you don't want my help, don't take it. It doesn't make a difference to me anyway. I'm sorry for caring about you."

"I didn't ask you too." Bucky said coolly. He was already beginning to regret his behavior but he'd rather die than to forsake his pride and admit that he was wrong to Avelyn.

"Get the fuck out." Avelyn yelled. She'd had enough, Bucky was clearly not the man that she thought he was and she wasn't going to waste her time trying to help someone who didn't want to be helped. He was all looks and no personality and she wanted no part of that.

"What did you say?" Bucky couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"I said, get the fuck out."

Bucky started intently at Avelyn, his eyes raking over her face. Her usually delicate features were set into a hardened glare and he could feel the anger radiating from her. She looked so gorgeous when she was mad, it made him feel so –

"I'm waiting." Her words interrupted his thoughts.

Bucky tore his eyes away from his figure and walked through the door, regret building in his chest as his heart sank, because he knew that he'd fucked up with one of the few people willing to give him a chance.

Avelyn stared at Bucky as he left the coffee shop and sighed. She understood how Bucky felt, there were times when she felt misunderstood and like an outcast but that didn't in any way excuse his behavior.

He wasn't allowed to treat her like shit because he was in a bad mood. Lord knows she'd let enough men get away with that because they were good looking but she wasn't going to let James Barnes be another one of them. The only thing left to deal with now was the bad mood he'd put her in.

As she wondered what to do, her phone began ringing. Sidestepping the mess on the floor that she'd eventually have to clean, Avelyn went into the kitchen and answered her phone without looking at it.

"What do you want?" She snapped.

"Well hello to you too bitch." Came the voice of her best friend Morgan.

Morgan Stark had been her best friend since kindergarten, a friendship that had only fueled her parents' business rivalry with the Starks even more. Morgan and her parents had never cared that Avelyn was the child of their biggest competitors. Tony and Pepper loved her like she was their own, considered her family, and that was something that she was always grateful for. The Starks were like her parents and Morgan, her sister.

"Oh hey Morgan. Sorry about that, I'm just salty." Avelyn apologized. She was doing the exact same thing that Bucky just did to her and she felt like crap.

"That's fine. What's wrong?" That was the one thing she loved most about Morgan, she was always so understanding. She could be a bit much at times because she was Tony's daughter but she also shared his big heart.

"So you know how I told you that Steve asked me to give Bucky a job, well, he came by today and I offered him the position and he lost it. He got angry, he was yelling, he cracked my counter and I yelled back at him, kicked him out and now I'm just mad. I actually thought he was a nice guy but clearly not."

Morgan sighed, she knew how Avelyn could be when her feelings got involved in situations and made the conscious decision to not mention to Avelyn that she didn't really know Bucky well enough to be the best judge of his character.

"Oh Lynnie, I'm so sorry that happened. What are you gonna do about it?"

"Probably just tell Steve that he didn't want the job, he probably won't be surprised." Avelyn was despondent, she'd really wanted to help Bucky and she felt like an utter failure but then again there's only so much she could do. You can't save someone if they don't want to be saved.

"Well, I have the perfect plan to make you feel better. Some of us are going clubbing tonight, you should come." Morgan may have been slightly taking advantage of the fact that Avelyn was moody to convince her to go out with them.

Ever since Avelyn opened the shop, a year ago, she'd been scarce and most times Morgan only saw her if she came by the coffee shop which she actively avoided because the entire place reeked of depression and broken dreams, not like she'd ever tell Avelyn that.

She knew how hard her best friend had worked to open that place and often tried to encourage her to let her give the shop a social media shout out but Avelyn refused because she was so determined to do it on her own, sometimes forgetting that she people who loved and supported her.

"You know what, why the hell not? I'm in. Where are y'all going?" Avelyn wasn't particularly a party person, but she was in need of a distraction from what had happened that day and going out with was the perfect pick me up especially since she hadn't seen Morgan and the rest of the girls in a while.

"We're going to Moonshine Cabaret." Avelyn winced when she heard the name, the place used to be one of her favorite clubs but now all it held was bad memories but maybe tonight she could replace them with better ones.

"Who's coming with us?"

"Shuri, Natasha, Peter and Thor."

"Okay." Avelyn was okay with the people who were coming, because after her breakup and decision to step away from the socialite life, she'd lost some friends and interacting with them never ended nicely.

"I'll pick you up at nine, make sure you wear something nice. Bye Lynnie, love you."

"Love you too Morgs." Avelyn hung up the phone.

Maybe this day would have some good to come out of it after all, she just hoped that she didn't run into her ex at the club or this day would get even more sour.

---------------------

Hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. Criticism is welcome. The taglist is also open.

NEXT PART

[mikrowrites]

all hail the magic man

•part seven•

Doctor Strange x Apprentice!OC(platonic)

Steve turned to the group behind him. Their suits retracted, leaving Tony, Steve, and Scott in suits, Bruce and Charlie in casual wear. “All right, we have our assignments. Two stones uptown, one stone, down. Stay low. Keep an eye on the clock.”

Charlie almost jumped out of her skin when 2012 Hulk jumped down into the street, roaring and smashing everything in his wake, brutally killing three Chitauri soldiers. Bruce put a hand across his face, embarrassed.

“Feel free to smash things along the way.” Steve offered.

“I think it’s gratuitous, but whatever.” Bruce sighed, ripping his tank away as he sarcastically and unenthusiastically threw a motorbike. He let out fake roars, punching a car ever so lightly, which left a small dent.

“Or, maybe don’t stress yourself out, buddy.” Charlie snorted.

Bruce threw his hands in the air as Scott, Tony, and Steve left to collect the Space and Mind stones. “Oh, I’m glad you find this amusing.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it buddy, Mama Charlie still loves you.” She teased, kicking a rock as she formed a portal, gesturing for Bruce to walk through. “Ladies first.”

“Ha ha.” Bruce sarcastically responded, walking through as Charlie followed.

They stood on the rooftop of the New York Sanctum. Chitauri soldiers flew by in hordes, but a woman in yellow used the Mystic Arts, fighting them back and defending the institute.

Charlie felt her breath catch in her throat as she saw the Ancient One for the first time in seven years. She had nearly forgotten the way the woman carried herself, handled the Mystic Arts with such grace and poise.

Bruce nudged Charlie, nodded to the door as they approached it to enter the building.

“I’d be careful going that way. We just had the floors waxed.”

Charlie turned, tears gathering in her eyes as she saw the Ancient One smile kindly.

“Ma’am I’m looking for Doctor Strange.” Bruce spoke up, causing Charlie to mentally kick herself. She should’ve mentioned that—

“You’re about... five years too early. Stephen Strange is currently performing surgery twenty blocks that way. What do you want from him?” The Ancient One questioned, almost finishing Charlie’s thought.

“We’re uh... here for the Eye of Agamotto.” Charlie spoke up, the woman smiling at her with a twinkle of recognition in her eyes, before casting her eyes down to the relic around her own neck.

“Ah. I’m afraid not.”

“Sorry, but I wasn’t asking.” Bruce stepped forwards.

Charlie shook her head. “Bruce!” She hissed.

“You don’t want to do this.” The Ancient One warned.

“Ah, you’re right I don’t, but I need that stone.” Bruce insisted, reaching for the Eye of Agamotto. “And I don’t have time to beat it—“

“BRUCE!” Charlie shouted, before the Ancient One pushed Bruce’s astral form out of his body. He looked up at the woman in horror, Charlie letting out a sigh.

The Ancient One smiled at them. “Let’s start over, shall we?”

- - - - - -

“Please, please!” Bruce begged, trying to reason with the Ancient One. Charlie sat by, watching Bruce futilely try to persuade the woman.

“I’m sorry, Bruce. I can’t help you.” The Ancient One finally turned to the astral man. “If I give up the Time Stone to help your reality, I’m dooming my own.”

“With all due respect, I’m not sure the science really supports that.”

The Ancient One raised her eyebrows, casting out an projection. Charlie stood, noting that the long orange ray represented the flow of time. She stood in front of the projection, furrowing her eyebrows.

“The Infinity Stones create what you experience as the flow of time. Remove one stone and that flow splits.” The Ancient One removed the illusion’s Time Stone, showing a black stream and indicating a point of divergence. “Now, this may benefit your reality, but my new one…not so much. In this new branched Reality, without our chief weapon against the forces of darkness, our world will be overrun. Millions will suffer. So, tell me, can your science prevent all that?”

Charlie turned to the Ancient One. “No, but we can erase it. Because once we are done with the stones, we can return each one to its own timeline at the moment it was taken.” Charlie took the illusionary Time Stone, placing it back into the projection. “So, chronologically, in that reality, it never left.”

“Strange trained you well, Charlotte.” The Ancient One smiled. “But you are leaving out the most important part; in order to return the stones, you must survive.”

“We will. I will. I promise.” Bruce answered.

“I can't risk this Reality on a promise. It is the duty of the Sorcerer Supreme to protect the Time Stone.”

Charlie’s eyes suddenly darkened as she approached the Ancient One. “I made that exact same promise. I swore an oath.” She turned away, before whipping around, shouting at the woman. “If it’s the “Sorcerer Supreme’s duty” then why the hell did Stephen just give it away!?”

The Ancient One let out a surprised gasp, holding the shaking girl’s shoulders. “What did you say?”

“Stephen! He gave it away, he just—just gave it to Thanos!” Charlie yelled, willing tears away from her eyes. She was done crying for him.

“Willingly?”

“Yes!”

“...why?”

Charlie scoffed, turning away from the woman.

“I have no idea. Maybe he made a mistake.” Bruce reasoned.

“Or I did.” The Ancient One mumbled. She quickly returned Bruce to his Hulk body, Charlie turning to her in confusion. She opened the Eye of Aggamotto. “Strange is meant to be the best of us.”

“So if he gave it away...” Bruce trailed off.

“... he must have done it for a reason.” Charlie gasped, racing over. “That’s it! He used the stone and looked into the future!” Charlie let out a laugh of relief and a little tingle of joy. “This is one big plan!”

“I fear you might be right.” The Ancient One responded, handing Charlie the Time Stone.

Charlie looked up at the Ancient One. “Thank you.”

“I’m counting on you both. We all are.” The woman smiled. “Stay strong, Charlotte.”

The girl nodded, turning back to Bruce, as their suit reappeared on them. They were about to sync back into the quantum void, when—

“Ancient One!”

Charlie heard Bruce let out a soft gasp, the girl turning around. Her eyes widened, a soft smile gracing her face.

A little girl, nine years old with her light brown hair up in pigtails and a little dress on her small body, stood in the door frame where Bruce had previously attempted to enter.

“Hello Charlotte.” The Ancient One replied, walking over to the little girl and lifting her into her arms.

“Daddy sent me to fetch you.” She muttered, leaning her head on the woman’s shoulder.

“Well, let’s go find your mother and father, then.” The Ancient One replied, walking through the door.

Little Charlotte looked up and made eye contact with Charlie. She smiled at her younger self, before the two were pulled back into the quantum void.

- - - - - -

Charlie stood in the room with the others, as Bruce held the gauntlet in his hands. After much debate it was decided that he’d be the one to use it.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., do me a favor and activate protocol 8.” Tony commanded, the compound going on lockdown.

Charlie formed a large shield, Scott standing behind her. She and Bruce shared a glance, before he smiled.

“Everybody comes home...”

Bruce slid the gauntlet onto his hand, the power surge immediately overwhelming him as he screamed and grunted in pain.

“Tony...!” Charlie yelled, panicking watching her friend suffer.

“Take it off, take it off!” Thor yelled with concern.

“No wait!” Steve interjected. “Bruce, are you alright?!”

Tony had a nervous edge to his voice. “Talk to me, Banner.”

“I’m okay! I’m okay!” Bruce grunted, Thor giving a thumbs up.

Bruce screamed through the pain, raising his arm as suddenly—

Snap!

With a burst of light, Bruce fainted, falling to the ground as the gauntlet slid off his arm. Clint kicked the weapon away.

Charlie and Tony ran to him, the man sterilizing the wound as she began to create a spell, attempting to heal his burnt and charred arm. Steve called the giant’s name.

“Did it work?” Bruce gasped, grasping onto Steve’s arm like a lifeline.

“Worth a shot. It’s over, it’s okay.”

Charlie kept working, pausing when she heard Scott shout; “guys... I think it worked!”

Bruce opened his eyes to see Thanos’ ship in the sky above them, with a missile heading towards them. Charlie whipped her head up, not having enough time to scream before the missile hit, a large explosion ripping through the room. A continuous array of missiles fired down on the compound until it was decimated.

Charlie heaved dust into her lungs, her ears ringing intensely and her vision blurred. She heard Steve’s muffled voice, a sudden heavy weight lifted off her body as a scream ripped through her throat.

Darkness.

- - - - - -

Taglist: @knightofreaders @imabookworm31 @lizlil @viarogers

[miguel-manbemel]

Aspects & Fanfics Ep. 28: A Side is Born Part 3: The Dark Truth about Patton

New entry of this fic inspired on Sanders Sides by Thomas Sanders, Joan S. and the Foster Dawg Team. The story goes on. After the angsty end of the previous part, it’s time to dive back into the past and learn all the secrets in Patton’s life. Like in previous parts, the beginning is a reminder of the most important segments of the previous episode. I hope you enjoy this new entry and see ya next week.

SYNOPSIS: After discovering the truth about his real father, Virgil is in shock and it’s hard for him to accept it. Patton, now that his memories haven been restored, gets ready to tell them everything about his past, from Thomas’ conception itself and the very creation of the Mind Palace, and how the Dark Master managed to become Virgil’s father.

WARNINGS: Angst featured in the episode. Romantic prinxiety and logicality, visual depictment of the aftermath of physical mistreatment to Virgil in the past.

EPISODE INDEX

[Roman is writing in his diary, his voice is heard and his narration is combined with flashback images from the previous episode]

NARRATOR-ROMAN: So many things have happened yesterday that I don’t know if I’ll be able to make a summary in these few pages. Virgil and I had our first son, Thomas’ Side of Angsty Creativity and we named him Chris. Then a few hours later…

PATTON: Who’s that boy?

VIRGIL: It’s Chris, dad. Your grandson.

PATTON: What?

ROMAN: He has just aged three years in a matter of a second and we don’t know how.

LOGAN: Oh, wow… I didn’t expect that…

NARRATOR-ROMAN: It didn’t stop there, though. It was in front of our very eyes that he grew again until he looked like a twelve year old. I was so excited about it, that I decided to take him to Sandersia, because I wanted him to meet my brother Roland and Ira before he turned into an adult. And so we went there. They reacted just as I expected.

CHRIS: Well, my name is Christian Gerard Sanders. And I’m the Side of Angsty Creativity. But you can call me Chris.

ROLAND: Angsty… Creativity?

IRA: Hold on, weren’t those two concepts assigned to Virgil and you earlier? [face of realization and shock, then he smiles widely] Oh! Oh, my goodness, I get it! Congratulations, Roman!

ROLAND: What? What’s the matter?

IRA: Don’t you see? This boy is the son of Virgil and Roman! Angsty Creativity!

ROLAND: Oh, my goodness! How…? When…? Congratulations, guys!

[Roland and Ira hug Roman and Virgil, then they also give a quick hug to Chris]

ROLAND: I should have paid more attention. Of course he’s your son. His shield his a mix of both your insignias. I’m so happy to meet you, young man.

CHRIS: I’m happy to meet you too, uncle Roland.

ROLAND: Oh, that’s right. This boy is my nephew. And as your son… he’s the new heir to the throne of Sandersia!

NARRATOR-ROMAN: And just in front of them, Chris completed his growth and became an adult. It was all fun and games… until things suddenly and unexpectedly turned really, really bad. A force-field appeared around Chris.

CHRIS: What gives!?

[the door opens and the Dark Master enters in, wearing a black cloak with silver ornaments on the shoulders and the hood. The dark bubble flies next to him with Chris inside]

THOMAS: You again? How many times do we have to defeat you, boy?

DARK MASTER: Long time no see, Light Master.

ROMAN: [pulling out his samurai sword] Release our son! Right now!

DARK MASTER: Release him? Oh, sure, I will release him, as soon as I’m done with him.

VIRGIL: If you touch just one hair of him, I swear…

DARK MASTER: Oh, don’t worry emo, I’m not going to harm him. I need him in one piece for my plans.

VIRGIL: [progressively angrier and more hysterical as he speaks] What plans? What are you going to do to him? Let him go, you bast**!

DARK MASTER: Let him go? After all the time I’ve been waiting for one of his kind to appear? Never.

PATTON: What’s so special about him? I don’t understand.

DARK MASTER: [giggles evilly] I certainly did a good job with you, Patton.

PATTON: What?

DARK MASTER: Erasing your memories was so easy. It wasn’t a perfect work, but nevertheless it worked. You wouldn’t even try to get your memories back. You just got contented and started behaving like the stupid father figure you are right now.

PATTON: I don’t understand…

VIRGIL: Neither do I, but I don’t care! Release him!

DARK MASTER: It’s your only fault that I’m taking your son right now, Virgil! You brought this onto him!

VIRGIL: What?

DARK MASTER: The original plan was to take you instead of him. You were born for that only reason. But you had to escape to the Light Realm and ruin everything.

VIRGIL: What would you know about my birth?

DARK MASTER: Oh, everything. I know everything about it. I even had you in my arms not long after you were born. You looked so tiny, so vulnerable. So suitable. You just needed to grow until you were mature enough. But Patton had to be a goody daddy and the Light Master had to ruin it all!

THOMAS: Me? What…?

VIRGIL: What is he talking about, dad?

PATTON: [confused] I promise I don’t know, kiddo. I don’t remember…

DARK MASTER: Perhaps I can help with that.

[The Dark Master points at Patton. A light blue sphere appears on his hand]

DARK MASTER: This, on my hand, are your stolen memories. You’re no longer a worthy enemy, so I won’t be needing them anymore, and I need to make room for… another procedure. Here, take them back.

[the light-blue ball is projected at light-speed and impacts into Patton’s head, making him walk two steps back. The light enters inside Patton’s head, who holds his head with both hands and groans as if he was suffering the worst headache ever, as if his head was about to explode right there.]

VIRGIL: [scared] Dad!

LOGAN: Patton!

[in a few moments, Patton adopts a serene face. He stops holding his head and looks fiercely at the Dark Master]

PATTON: [serious deep voice, never heard before from him] Now I remember… everything.

DARK MASTER: Good. Then now you know it all. How does it feel? Please, tell me that it hurts you, it would be so rewarding for me.

PATTON: Yes, I remember. Yes, it hurts. And no, you won’t get away with your plans.

DARK MASTER: [evil voice] I challenge you to stop me. If you want to find me, you know where to look for me… sweetie.

NARRATOR-ROMAN: And so, the Dark Master fled away, taking our son with him. Later, Patton confessed the truth he had forgotten long ago, a truth no one could have prepared us to hear.

VIRGIL: Dad, you are my father. Nothing you could have ever done could be so bad that I couldn’t forgive it.

PATTON: You don’t know the truth yet, son. Once you know, you won’t be able to say that again with conviction.

VIRGIL: Then tell me dad, to prove you that you’re wrong. What is that truth that is so unforgivable?

[Patton sighs]

PATTON: The truth about who your father is.

VIRGIL: You are my father, what do you mean?

PATTON: I mean your other father.

VIRGIL: My other father? You remember now his identity? Who is he?

PATTON: You already know him too well. You’ve lived with him for years in the Dark Realm. You lived under his yoke and his tyranny for many years, and I couldn’t save you, may God forgive me.

[Virgil looks at Patton. A grimace of horror slowly starts appearing]

VIRGIL: No… that’s not true… that’s impossible!

PATTON: Yes. As painful as it is for me to admit it, but it’s true. The Dark Master is your father.

VIRGIL: [progressively more hysterical as he speaks] I can’t believe you! He can’t be my father! He can’t! If he was my father, he would have never treated me the way he did in the Dark Realm! He would have never taken my son away from me! It’s impossible! No! I refuse to believe you! You’re a liar! You’re no better than Deceit!

ROMAN: [holding him by the shoulders and shaking him] Virgil, calm down! You know he would never lie to you, especially in a matter so serious!

[Virgil sits down. He can’t look Patton in the face]

PATTON: [sad] See? I told you you would hate me.

[Virgil doesn’t answer. He just stares at the infinity, with rivers of tears running down his cheeks, in complete silence]

NARRATOR-ROMAN: And this is how we ended in this situation. Thomas had to go to sleep because he couldn’t face the Dark Master if he wasn’t well rested, and we needed a good rest too. Now, it’s morning. Thomas is in the bathroom having a quick shower. He never was a morning shower person, but he thought that maybe that could help him open his mind and think on some plan. When he’s ready, we’ll start thinking about what to do. I’m worried about Virgil, though. When I woke up, I found him awake, looking at the ceiling, still crying. If I could have resisted Thomas’ slumber as he can, I would have probably done the same too. It’s funny how much you can get to love a son at first sight. Even when it’s been literally a few hours since we met him, I think we could never live again without him. I pray that it’s not too late to save him.

[intro sequence]

[Thomas and the Sides are in the dining room, finishing their breakfast. Deceit and Honesty have joined them and have already been informed about everything during the meal. Virgil just stared at his plate not able to take a bite.]

ROMAN: Virgil, my love, please. You haven’t eaten anything. Do you think you’ll be of any help for our son if you let yourself starve?

[Virgil looks at Roman]

VIRGIL: Why should I eat? Why should I be here clowning around with you in this stupid… social gathering, when my son probably is suffering the worst of horrors and I’m not there to help him? He probably hasn’t eaten anything either! Why should I!?

PATTON: Virgil, please. Roman is right. You’re not gonna help Chris with that attitude.

VIRGIL: Leave me alone, Patton! I’m not in the mood for one of your daddy lectures!

[Patton shows a face of hurt over being called Patton instead of dad for the first time in months. He overcomes this sensation to show a firm scolding voice]

PATTON: Well it looks like you need one and you’re gonna have it!

VIRGIL: [yelling, angry] How dare you!? You have no right to speak to me after what you told me yesterday! In fact, I shouldn’t be here altogether! You all are doing nothing but hindering me! I should go get my son back on my own! Maybe I will!

[Patton rises up, with a face full of ferocious anger but also with his eyes full of tears]

PATTON: [yelling] Hold up for a second! I may not be a perfect person by any means, and you have a right to be mad at me, but in spite of that, I’m still your father and demand some respect, both to me and to all of us! I know you’re having a horrible time. Probably the worst time you will ever experience in your life, but that doesn’t give you the right to mistreat us like that! We’re not the enemy! We’re your fam and we’re here to help you! So hold your tongue, mister!

[Virgil looks at Patton without saying a word]

PATTON: [with a softer voice] Virgil, please, react. You must get out of that state you’re into. If not for us, do it for Chris. He needs you strong, both of will and of body. Grab any strength you have left in yourself and fight against your grief, so that you can get into the battle that awaits all of us. We’re gonna need you, so, please, I beg you, listen to me.

[Virgil looks at his plate still full. He needs a few seconds to start speaking]

VIRGIL: I… I’m sorry, dad. I’m sorry, guys. It’s just that… this is all too much for me to overcome.

PATTON: Would you let me hug you, please? I think we both need it at this point.

[Virgil looks at Patton, then he stands up and hugs him. He starts crying on his shoulder for a whole minute, while the others look at them without saying a word. Then, when Patton releases Virgil, he kisses him on the forehead before they both sit down]

DECEIT: It hurts me so bad to see you like this, Virge. I wish I could have been there to help you.

HONESTY: Me too.

VIRGIL: Thank you, guys. You wouldn’t have been able to do anything, like we weren’t, but I deeply appreciate the sentiment. I apologize again for my rude behavior. I hope you know I didn’t mean what I said.

DECEIT: It’s okay, Virge. We understand.

THOMAS: Now, before we start a plan of action, we need to understand everything. So, Patton, yesterday you promised that you would explain everything to us. I think the moment has come, if you’re ready.

PATTON: I am ready, Thomas, and you’re right, the moment has come. I’m gonna tell you everything that happened. It’s been 30 years…

THOMAS: Oh, we don’t need all the details, just stick with whatever you can remember…

PATTON: Do you wanna hear this or not, Thomas? Or would you like to watch Titanic instead, since you like that meme so much?

THOMAS: Sorry.

DECEIT: Oof… I’m not accustomed to see Patton so salty.

PATTON: As I was saying, it’s been 30 years ago, but for me it was like yesterday.

THOMAS: But I was a baby back then. You mean that you were already there by that time?

PATTON: I was there even before you were born, Thomas.

THOMAS: What? But how? I don’t understand…

PATTON: Let me explain. When a human starts having a cognitive system mature enough, something that happens around the second trimester of their development during pregnancy, if their brainwaves are compatible, like yours are, a Mind Palace dimension appears linked to these brainwaves.

LOGAN: It is so weird hearing Patton use that technical language. I am the one who is supposed to speak like that…

PATTON: That Mind Palace initially consists of a Core, which is a huge source of light, bright as the sun but safe too look at, where every trait, every aspect, everything that the human has ever been or will ever be is stored in raw form… I can see in your faces that you don’t understand me. I’m sorry, there are no words to describe it in any human language. Not even if you saw it for yourselves you could begin to understand what it is. And around that Core, when human development is advanced enough, the first room ever in the Mind Palace is generated, the Mind Palace Center. It is a bright silvery room with three double doors, one made of gold, one made of two huge solid slabs of diamond that is transparent but shines like a rainbow, and a third one made of hard coal and ebony. In front of each door there’s a pedestal, and there, from the Core itself, two Masters are born. The Light Master is born in front of the diamond door, and the Dark Master in front of the coal door. Then, a third entity is born in the third pedestal in front of the golden door. It is a Side, but a Side stronger than any other Side that would ever come later on. The Side of Raw Feelings and Right and Wrong. You could call it… a Master Side.

ROMAN: Is that… you?

PATTON: That’s right, that’s me, although now I’m not stronger than anyone of you, by any means. I was the first Side to be born and my task in that tiny Mind Palace that existed back then was to act – and I’m sorry I keep using your kind of speech, Logan – as an input/output device of feelings for Thomas. I analyzed the stimuli that arrived from Thomas’ surroundings and classified them as good or bad, and then sent them to the Masters for further analysis and classification. Then they sent me their results and I sent a response to the outside world for each original stimulus. The more stimuli I sent to one or the other, the bigger the Light Realm or the Dark Realm became, which as you, Thomas, may have deducted, were hidden behind their respective doors. As a result, the Mind Palace started growing around the Center, paralleling your mind growing during the beginning of your existence. Equilibrium was the norm back then and I tried to keep it as much as I could. And it worked, for the first two years or so of your existence. Until I made the mistake that started all this mess we’re facing right now.

VIRGIL: What do you mean?

PATTON: My life was pretty simple back then, so simple it became monotonous, and pure routine. You may say that I had a lot of stimuli from the outside world and that should have been exciting, but it wasn’t, cause back then I couldn’t understand what I received or sent and therefore it meant nothing to me. And I never got out of the Mind Palace Center except to sleep at night in my room behind my door and then wake up for another day just like the one before, again and again. And even though I was in constant contact with the Masters, this contact was really superficial. We did not get to have conversations with each other that were not related to our work. Monotony lead to boredom and boredom lead to longing. I didn’t know what I was longing for, I only knew that I longed for it. And the Dark Master knew about my feelings. He had also started longing for something: power, even back then when there was not much to fight for in the Mind Palace, but he wanted to take control of it. And he decided to use me as a tool for his plot. And so, he started to speak to me. Not trivial boring conversations like before, but more deep conversations. He got interested on me, on my work, and how did I do everything. And I obliged, I talked about my job, the tasks I had to do, stuff like that. He didn’t miss an opportunity to compliment me, to tell me how much he admired me, how much talent I had. And I got flattered and happy. Suddenly my longing had found an answer. And slowly but surely, he seduced me, until I fell in love with him.

VIRGIL: You and the Dark Master…? Wait, I suddenly remembered that you already told me he’s my father, so this question is stupid, sorry.

PATTON: Yes, Virgil. He acted so sweet, so kind… and I was so vulnerable, so naive back then, even more than recently… that one day I could no longer resist and completely surrendered myself to him. It was only one time, but it was enough. What happened next was fast, just as fast as it was for you, Virge. Even so, I was conscious from the start that a new life was growing inside of me. And it was then when the Dark Master showed his true face. He believed that he had me in his arms, that out of love, I would do anything he asked from me. He told me that he wanted to take control of the Mind Palace, and that if I helped him, I could be in charge by his Side. I refused, cause I knew it was wrong and breaking the equilibrium in the Mind Palace could create disastrous consequences for Thomas’ well-being. He fled away, for the time being, and I told the Light Master everything that had happened.

THOMAS: You talked… to me?

PATTON: No, Thomas. Back then, the Light Master was a complete entity of his own, just like the Dark Master and me, and he had his own consciousness. You were, and always have been, the Mind Palace itself as a whole.

THOMAS: I don’t get it.

PATTON: Every human is a Mind Palace. Almost anyone can wander into their mind when they need it or when reality, for one reason or another, is harsh on them and they need an escape route. But a few chosen ones, the very few in this world who share a specific pattern of brainwaves, can do what you do. You can physically wander into your own Mind Palace. That’s why we, the Sanders Sides, exist and can interact with you. But your capacity is strong enough so that you can completely tear off the veil between the Mind Palace and reality. That’s why we have a physical presence in this world and you can get objects in and out of the Mind Palace. Someone of us strong enough could even detach himself from you if he gathered powerful enough, like the Dark Master tried to do a while ago, although it would have disastrous consequences for you as you already know. That’s something extremely rare, though. It’s a unique ability the one you hold Thomas. It can be terrifying sometimes, but it’s beautiful nonetheless.

THOMAS: Yes, I agree. I never asked for this to happen. It just came to me as I child and I accepted it naturally. It’s true that sometimes I’ve experienced fear, and there was that one time you mentioned when my own life was endangered, but still, I would never trade off this ability. Everything I may go through is worth it, if it allows me to keep sharing your company, guys… But we are diverting. Please, continue, Patton.

PATTON: As it happened to you, Virgil, my pregnancy ran fast and it was soon that I went into labor. The Light Master was there to help me deliver you. He identified you as the Light Side of Vigilance, and so I named you Virgil. I’m sure you’re going to understand the next I’m going to say, Virge, now that you’re a father yourself. I loved you so much from the very first moment I looked into your eyes and you returned a little giggle to me. I still love you just the same today, and even when my memories got stolen from me, that wasn’t enough to break that bond of love we’ve always shared. That always was, and will always be, unbreakable, at least on my part.

VIRGIL: On my part too, dad. I’m sorry if I made you think otherwise earlier. I didn’t mean to hurt you.

PATTON: [petting Virgil’s cheek] It’s okay, I know, son. Around half an hour after you were born, the Dark Master returned. He asked me once again to join him in his plans. But I don’t think I can make justice just by telling you aloud. Roman, can you conjure a flashback from my memories?

ROMAN: I think so. Hold my hand and we’ll do it.

PATTON: Thank you.

[Patton holds Roman’s hand, and a flashback appears]

DARK MASTER: Patton, I’ll give you a second chance to think. Join me.

PATTON: Never. You cheated on me, and I will never forgive you for that.

DARK MASTER: Fine then. Then, give me my son and we’ll do it on our own.

PATTON: Are you nuts? Do you think I’m gonna give my Virgil to someone like you? Never!

DARK MASTER: He’s my son too and I have the same right…!

PATTON: You don’t have a right for anything! I will never let you corrupt my son to be like you!

DARK MASTER: Corrupt? Don’t you think that corruption is already present in his heart from the moment he was born? I’m his father! He has my essence in him! It’s part of him and there’s nothing you can do about it!

PATTON: You’re his father, unfortunately, but the Light Master has already told me that Virgil is a Light Side, and he will stay with me. I will educate him in love and compassion and you would only give him pain and horror. You’re not good enough to be his father and I will never allow it!

DARK MASTER: I’m afraid you didn’t understand one thing. I’m not asking you for permission to take my son with me. I’m commanding you!

PATTON: Then that’s a command that I will never fulfill!

DARK MASTER: As if you had a choice…

[The Dark Master points at Patton, and he gets paralyzed]

PATTON: I… I can’t move! Let me go! Don’t you dare!

DARK MASTER: Do you want to see proof of how much my son looks like me? Just watch.

[The Dark Master points at Virgil and shoots a black ball to the baby. The baby floats from Patton’s arms and a dark aura forms around him, while Virgil starts desperately crying]

PATTON: [distressed] Stop! Give him back right now! What have you done to him!

DARK MASTER: [grabbing Virgil] I’m sure if the Light Master checked Virgil right now, he would get to a very different result. Now Virgil is a Dark Side, the Dark Side of Anxiety and Fear, and he’s mine now! He’s too little yet to be useful, but he will grow, and when he grows… you’ll see. For now, off to the Dark Realm with you, my child. Your education will start soon.

[the Dark Master summons Virgil away]

PATTON: [yelling in despair] You bast**! Give me my son back, right now!

DARK MASTER: You should have accepted my offer. You could have ruled by my side and educated the child as your own. Now you’re gonna pay the consequences of your mistake.

[the Dark Master points at Patton and shoots a black ray to his forehead. Patton groans in pain as blue light starts coming out of his head running through the black ray. It starts forming a light blue ball of light on the Dark Master’s hand]

PATTON: What are you doing!? Stop it!

DARK MASTER: I’m getting your entire memories out of you. When I’m done, you will only be an empty casket and you will obey my will as my puppet. With my son’s abilities, one day, I’ll overthrow the Light Master and this whole Mind Palace will be mine!

[Patton doesn’t answer anymore, as he has fainted. Suddenly a rainbow thunderbolt hits the Dark Master and makes him fall. The black ray disappears and Patton falls to the ground, but the Dark Master still holds the light-blue ball of light with what he’s been able to extract from Patton’s mind. He hides it under his cloak. The Light Master appears]

LIGHT MASTER: What have you done to Patton, and where is Virgil!?

DARK MASTER: Virgil is out of your reach, Light Master. And Patton is of no use for anyone right now. After what I’ve done to him, he’ll never be the same again.

LIGHT MASTER: Why do you have to do this? You’re disrupting Thomas’ personality towards evil! You’re breaking the equilibrium!

DARK MASTER: To the f*** with equilibrium! I don’t need you or that stupid Patton. I’m more than capable enough to be Thomas on my own, and I will be!

LIGHT MASTER: Not if I can do anything about it!

[The Light Master shoots from his hand a white ray of light to the Dark Master in an attack so quick that the Dark Master can’t even see it coming. The light soon disappears, but the Dark Master seems unaffected. However, he soon finds out he can’t move]

DARK MASTER: What’s this? What have you done to me?

LIGHT MASTER: Consider yourself lucky that you’re needed for Thomas to keep on living. From this day on, I banish you from the Mind Palace Center and the Light Realm. You will no longer be able to come here, and you will never be able to get out of the Dark Realm.

DARK MASTER: [already starting to sink down slowly] This is not the end, Light Master, it’s only the beginning. Virgil is already in my possession and when he’s strong enough, we together will be powerful enough to overthrow you, and then the Mind Palace will be mine!

LIGHT MASTER: That’s what you think. If and when the moment comes, the Light Sides that will surely come will defeat you, no matter how hard you try. Now, begone!

[The Dark Master sinks down with an evil laughter]

LIGHT MASTER: [leaning towards Patton] Patton, are you okay? Can you hear me?

[Patton wakes up. He looks at the Light Masters and smiles at him]

PATTON: Oh, hello kiddo! How may I help you?

LIGHT MASTER: Kiddo?

PATTON: Yes, because I’m Dad, and my mission as pop is to pop out whenever you need me to take care of you!

LIGHT MASTER: [speaking to himself in a theater whisper] This is the work of the Dark Master. He couldn’t take all of his memories from him but he took enough for him to forget everything about Virgil. However, there must be traces on his mind that remind him somehow that he’s a dad, although he doesn’t know who his son is, so the hole in his mind is filled by acting like a dad with whomever he befriends. Well, perhaps it’s better this way. It would be a worthless pain for him if I told him the truth about his stolen son. If only I could get to the Dark Realm and bring him back… But I guess there’s only one thing I can do.

PATTON: Did you say something there? Secrets, secrets are no fun!

LIGHT MASTER: [helping Patton stand up] It was nothing, Patton. Now, listen. I want you to go to your room in the Light Realm and wait there.

PATTON: My room? But we never use the Light Realm rooms, they’re too far away from here and our rooms here are more convenient. Don’t we have a lot of work to do? You, me, and… [stops to think] that’s odd… I think there was another one, but I can’t put my finger on who they are…? Well, maybe it’s just me imagining things.

LIGHT MASTER: Yeah, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now, listen to me, Patton. I will be gone soon and I want you to welcome the first Side that is about to come. Tell him the basics of the Mind Palace and Thomas.

PATTON: The first Side?

LIGHT MASTER: Yes, I can sense that the moment of his arrival is approaching. Thomas has already started learning how to speak, and with that, imagination and creativity will make an entrance in the Mind Palace. When he arrives, I want you to tell him everything about the Mind Palace and how it works. Tell him… [makes a pause, then takes a deep breath and continues] tell him also that Thomas is the Light Master.

PATTON: But you are the Light Master, kiddo. What are you talking about?

LIGHT MASTER: I’m going to fuse with the Mind Palace Core, so I’m not misspeaking. I’m gonna be a part of Thomas so, he’s gonna be the Light Master.

PATTON: [suddenly sad and scared] But why? Why are you leaving me alone? Did I do something wrong?

LIGHT MASTER: [waving his hands quickly] No, no, no, of course not! I’m doing this for you. I cannot tell you the reason behind it for now. But there will be a time when you will understand. And I promise that you won’t be alone in the Mind Palace for long. Until then… [the Light Master kisses Patton on the forehead and continues speaking with a slightly emotional tone] know that I appreciate you very much, and that I’ll always be there with you. Just look at Thomas and you’ll see me as part of him, always taking care of you. But don’t let him know until he’s ready to bare the burden of being the Light Master. Now, go to your room, Patton. Farewell.

PATTON: But…

LIGHT MASTER: Farewell, Patton.

PATTON: Farewell, Light Master. I love you.

LIGHT MASTER: I love you too.

[Patton sinks down in tears, then the flashback ends]

PATTON: That was the last time I saw the Light Master. I presume he fused with the Mind Palace Core as soon as I left, and as such he is part of you now, Thomas. I didn’t understand why he did that back then. Now I know that, to assure that the combined forces of the Dark Master and Virgil wouldn’t be powerful enough to overthrow him, he fused with the Core so that you could defeat him if battle arose. In the end, Virgil ran away before the Dark Master was ready to fulfill his plans, but still, his sacrifice was not in vain, as now you’re gonna have to face him for real, Thomas, and the Light Master power is gonna be vital to defeat him.

ROMAN: Wait… I suddenly remembered something. When I first came to life in the Mind Palace, someone approached me, welcomed me and talked to me about how the Light Master was Thomas… something I didn’t understand at all back then. But he didn’t look like you at all. He was this venerable man dressed in an all gray tunic with light blue sapphire ornaments on the shoulders, not even wearing glasses… And now that I think about it, I never saw him again, and it happened so early in my life that I ended up forgetting him until your story brought him back from the bottom of my memories. Are you telling me that this strange man was you all the time, Patton?

PATTON: It was me, Roman. Only that in my original form. I noticed that you pictured me in the flashback with my present outfit but in reality I looked like you saw me as a child. After I delivered my message, I retired to my room, feasting on the memories that Thomas was creating in his life, delighting on them, and learning about the outer world and preparing myself for my new task in Thomas’ life, which was going to be helping him to distinguish between right and wrong. However, I still had this idea stuck in my mind of being a dad, and so, when I finally thought myself ready, I took the shape of a father figure when I first came out, when you had that first moral dilemma about if it was right or wrong having a crush for some other boy at school, remember?

THOMAS: Yes, it was the first discussion I had with multiple Sides to work out an issue. It was Roman and you, and he didn’t recognize you. I remember that Roman back then still looked like a child like me but you already looked like an adult from your very first appearance. You said that you wanted to represent an adult with an inner child inside, but now I understand the truth. You never were an ordinary Side. You were something else entirely. You had been an adult all of your life, but you came to that explanation yourself because there were too many holes in your memory and that’s the best you could come up with, am I right?

PATTON: Yes… you’re right. Okay, Virgil. Now you know the whole story. What do you think?

VIRGIL: After all you have told me today… I see it crystal clear.

PATTON: What?

VIRGIL: I only have one father and that is you, dad. The Dark Master may have put his seed onto you so that you could have me but being a father is much more than leaving your DNA. What really makes a father is the amount of love he’s willing to share with his child, how he would put himself in all sorts of dangers to protect his son. How he would even sacrifice his life if needed be to save his boy. Now I’m a father myself and I know this very well. The Dark Master only conceived me and took me so that he could use me as a tool for his plans. He didn’t care at all about my well-being. Wanna see what he did to me instead? Take a look.

[Virgil unzips his hoodie. Underneath, he’s still not wearing his shirt as he forgot to put it back on after pregnancy forced him to take it away for being too tight. He turns back and lowers the hoodie down, showing his back. Patton and the others are horrified when they notice the numerous huge, deep scars of whipping that fill the whole of Virgil’s back. Deceit and Ira just sigh as they also suffered the Dark Master’s methods and know very well these scars because they have them too. Virgil puts the hoodie on and looks at Patton, whose eyes are red and full of tears.]

VIRGIL: He mistreated me, beat me and filled me with fear. He called it respect, I call it apprehension to his presence. And this was only in the few years I was there, before I ran away to the Light Realm. I can’t even imagine what Deceit and Ira had to go through, trapped with him till adulthood. No, he behaved in the totally opposite way a father should behave. [grabs Patton’s hands] You, on the contrary, cared about me from the very first moment I was born. You loved me and wanted to take care of me from the beginning. And if that monster hadn’t wiped out your memories about my existence, I’m certain you would have moved heaven and earth to rescue me from his claws back to the safety you wanted to provide me. Heck, even when you didn’t remember me, your first instincts when you saw me again were to fill me with the love you couldn’t give me in the past few years and being a father for me. As true as my eye-bags are covered with black makeup, [titters] even if little watery now perhaps, you, Patton Sanders, are my father and no one else. And I love you so much.

[Virgil hugs Patton who hugs Virgil back. Thomas can’t help crying out of emotion]

PATTON: I love you too, Virgil. And I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you. I’m so sorry…

VIRGIL: Dad… why don’t you call me kiddo anymore? You haven’t used the word “kiddo” since your memories were restored.

PATTON: Well, you’re a grown-up adult with a child of you own. How could I call you kiddo?

VIRGIL: I don’t care, dad. I told you before that I’ll always be your kiddo. I want you to call me kiddo until my teeth fall down and my hair goes white. And I don’t want you to stop delivering your dad jokes. They always made my day a thousand times brighter, even if I never told you so. And I need your light in my life in this moment of darkness.

THOMAS: He speaks for all of us, Patton. We don’t want to lose the happy, adorable father you were for all of us. When this is all over and we all have reasons to be happy again, we also want to be called kiddo and hear your dad jokes. Only if you want to, though. We’ll understand if you think otherwise.

[Patton makes a pause, then he sighs and speaks]

PATTON: To be honest, I don’t want to lose that either. Right now I’m currently pretending again, pretending I’m no longer the “child” I used to be, repressing any and all dad jokes that I come up with. It’s just that… [hesitates before going on] I feel that I behave like that because of the Dark Master. I would have never been such a manchild if it wasn’t for that. I think going on with that personality is gonna be delightful for the Dark Master, and I don’t wanna give him that satisfaction anymore.

VIRGIL: To the he… [bleep] with the Dark Master! You must do whatever makes you happy. And if it makes your family happy too, all the better!

LOGAN: You know I never liked the dad jokes and the puns… but I don’t want them gone at the expense of you repressing yourself to an unhealthy amount. You come first, and my own stupid comedy tastes don’t matter at all.

PATTON: I think you’re right… kiddos. [determined, returning to his traditional attitude] You’re completely right! I don’t wanna hold it back and I’m not gonna do it for just a stupid… ex! Kiddos, your happy papi Patton is back to stay!

ROMAN: That’s the spirit! I’m proud of you!

VIRGIL: Okay, now, back to the present. What are we gonna do to rescue Chris? Dad, the Dark Master said you knew where to find him.

PATTON: Yes, kiddo, I know.

VIRGIL: Well, where is it?

PATTON: It’s gonna be a dangerous trip, guys, because we’re going to a place I haven’t gone to since 30 years ago. We’re going back to where it all began, back to the Mind Palace Center.

[a sign reads “To be continued, guys, gals and non binary pals”]

[end card]

[Remus appears in the middle of the room, standing on top of the table]

REMUS: Oh, hello, everyone!

ROMAN: Remus, you’re late.

REMUS: Oh, I know. It’s just that I’m not used to be so much sought-after. You know, usually you want to get rid of me and such.

ROMAN: Well, you could have come earlier. We’re on a crisis.

REMUS: Welcome to my world. What crisis?

ROMAN: Our son has been stolen away.

REMUS: [suddenly serious and concerned, jumping off the table and approaching Roman] What!? What happened!? Who’s taken him!? I’ll beat the sh** out of whomever dares to harm him!

ROMAN: This was… unexpected. I didn’t realize Chris meant so much to you.

REMUS: Of course he does! He’s my nephew, and if anyone touches him, the next thing he’s gonna touch is this mace, with his head and several times! Now tell me what happened.

PATTON: Guys, there’s no time. We need to get moving right now.

ROMAN: We’ll better get going. I’ll tell you on the way, brother.

REMUS: I love when you call me brother.

[The gang gets out of the room on their way back to the Mind Palace]