#steps to write Psychology Research Paper

[emilywatson-01]

Know About Writing Psychology Research Paper Assignments

Crafting a psychology research paper means looking into how people think and behave. First, pick an interesting topic that fits your assignment rules. Do good research using reliable sources like academic journals and books. Organize your paper with an introduction, main part, and conclusion, making sure everything connects well. Use simple and clear language to explain your ideas and back them up with evidence. Finally, check your paper for mistakes and make sure it follows academic standards.

[freyaandersson]

Step to Step Guide to  Writing Psychology Research Paper

Assignments for psychology research papers require students to explore various psychological concepts and theories through detailed investigation and analysis. These assignments involve selecting a relevant topic, reviewing existing literature, designing and conducting experiments or studies, analyzing data, and presenting findings in a structured format. Completing these assignments helps students develop critical thinking, research skills, and a deeper understanding of human behavior and mental processes.

[teaboot]

do you think i'll ever get to a place in my life where i'm actually a good person and i don't keep getting bombarded with people telling me all the ways i'm doing things wrong. will i ever stop feeling like i'm faking being good and i'm actually a despicable person deep down inside like there's something rotten and irremovable in the very core of me. i feel sick

As a recovering self-hater I have a few things that have been helping

Truly shitty people are typically, in my experience, not chronically preoccupied with anxieties that they need to be better. It seems to be the 100% rock-solid certainty that everything you ever do is selfless that you need to watch out for.

Motive only matters in court. If you donate 30 hours a week to charity so you can tell yourself you're a good person or you donate that same time because you genuinely enjoy helping people, that's still 30 hours, imo. At that point the argument is more philosophical than anything. The help is still happening.

Nobody can read your mind. You can be the bitterest, cattiest, most judgemental and mean-spirited motherfucker alive, but as long as you don't let your feelings hurt others, you're golden. In fact, I personally think you should get extra credit for effort. Swimming upriver ain't easy

None of us are selfless by nature. That's okay. We all crave attention, and validation, and comfort, and reward. That self-interest is a survival skill. It's not going anywhere and I don't think it should. The key is moderation, self control, and consideration for others.

The loudest voice in your head probably isn't yours. Survivors of all kinds of abuse- and all abuse is psychological to varying extremes- often keep their critic's narrative in their head. That voice that says you're awful- is that something you'd say to someone else? No? Then try to figure out who said it to you. They were probably an asshole. The voice that answers it it probably your own. Listen to that one

No, you will not feel like this forever. It's a pain in the ass, but dedicating time and thought into ignoring that inner critic and elevating your positive impulses is effective.

Some things I've done myself that seem to help:

Do some research on cognitive behavioral therapy and cognitive reprogramming. These are easier to exercise with a therapist but once you figure out the steps to follow you can do them on your own, too.

When you do something good, write it down for yourself. Keep a dated journal, either on paper or in your phone. When you find yourself in a pit of self-loathing, you can go back and remind yourself of all the good you've done. If this is hard, try listing 3 good things you did at the end of each day. Anything from picking up a scrap of litter to running a food drive.

Long post, but really, the best thing I can say is this:

Aything that takes effort is worth celebrating, even if that effort is minimal or that task is considered small.

At the end of the day, "bare minimum" isn't working a full-time job and eating three meals a day, cleaning up after yourself and doing it with a smile- bare minimum is nothing. Bare minimum is laying on the floor motionless for 24 hours and filter-feeding like a sea sponge. And if even that's difficult for you, then it's not your bare minimum, is it?

There's a lot of cruel, inconsiderate, uncaring people in the world, only out for themselves at the expense of others, and even if you think you're one of them, giving a shit about doing better still puts you a mile ahead of most.

Try not to worry too terribly. If you're thinking about it, you're probably doing fine👍

[gyuswhore]

Statistically Speaking...

part of the svt TA collab

[full fic here]

kim mingyu x reader

est. word count: 10-15k [fat chance]

est. release date: 10th September

warnings: TA! mingyu, fluff, smut [MINORS DNI], angst, statistics, more to be added in final post

synopsis: In all your years of academic endurance, you’ve never failed. A 100% success rate, despite you cutting it close at times. However, the line graph that is your life starts tanking somewhere around the time you began taking this hellsent Statistics in Psychological Research class. With a professor that wouldn’t know his ass from his head, and an overworked, overenthusiastic, and overcaptivating TA, it couldn't possibly get any worse than this. However, statistically speaking,…it could.

‼️ JOIN THE TAGLIST by sending an ask or replying under this post. AGE INDICATORS ON YOUR BLOG ARE NECESSARY. ‼️

[a/n]: first look into the TA collab fic!!! @camandemstudios has been along time in the making and I cant wait for you all to read all of the fics in full. accept this piece offering from me and please let me know what you think of it so far!

masterlist

“Right. How can I help you?”

Pulling out your printed assignment, you bring the sheets of stapled paper to the centre of the table, writing facing him. 

One look at the sparse format of the cover page, Mingyu blows a full mouth of air at the sight of recognition. Without you having to say a thing, he flicks to the very last page, finding the rubric printed on a separate page. 

“It’s a 37,” you inform him like he couldn’t see the bold 37/100 in the bottom Total cell. 

“Do you think you deserved a better grade?” he asks. It would have sounded direct, an accusation even. But he asks with an intonation of genuinity, like he genuinely wanted to know. 

It stumps you regardless.

“Well…I know I can do better, at least,” you decide to answer. 

“You’re here, which means you’re at least willing to try. That’s a start,” he murmurs. His eyes are laser focused on the sheet beneath him, holding it open as his eyes move faster across the page than you can keep up with. Somehow talking to you while taking in the words on the paper.

“I remember marking this,” he says, looking up to address you. “Your concepts are nearly there, but your structure and wording were the problem.”

“You marked them?”

He raises his brow, “I hope that wasn’t an accusation. I need to stick to the rubric.”

“I thought the professor marked the lab reports.”

“He’s…supposed to.” There’s a forced reservedness in his voice. “I mark them and he puts in his comments if he has any. But I’m not sure you’d fare any better than this if it was him behind that pen either.”

Every question that floated in memorisation, from the form and structure, to the nitty gritties of the data presentation, all evaporate as you realise you’re at a loss for words. 

Even more embarrassingly, you feel tears prick the back of your eyes as the next words leave you in a low voice, “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“That’s alright,” he says as reassurance, though it sounds awfully rehearsed. Like he says it everyday. “We’ll work through it.”

He lets out a big sigh, adjusting in his chair and running a hand through his hair. The motion has you noticing the dishevelled nature of the mop on his head, un-uniformed and sticking out at certain places, yet still somehow cohesive with his look. His shoulders are straight and taut, fingers working as they fiddle and flick the pen in his hand. 

Despite it all, his shirt is ruffled and creased, unbuttoned at the first couple steps. The buttons are misaligned, one side of his collar higher on his neck than the other. It takes an effort to not reach over and fix it for him.

“Lab reports can be quite tricky if you aren’t sure what you’re doing. Did you refer to the tutorial?”

You mean the one that did nothing to help? “Yes.”

“You got those bits right, format and whatnot. But—”

“It was a lump of writing about subheadings and word counts,” you say plainly.

Mingyu lips are in a tight line. “Well, yes, but it helps—”

“I know the results are supposed to go in the results section. I don’t need a PDF to tell me that,” you cut him off. Your voice is reserved, and you hope it comes off as a point across and not a complaint. Although it was a complaint. “I want to know why the entire section was ruled off as incorrect when we were never properly taught how to write it in the first place.”

“Dr. Cho—”

“Is no help.”

“I understand—”

“He can’t even mark his own papers. I’m quite sure that’s not in your job description. It’s supposed to be him here. Not you.”

It’s silent. There was nothing in your voice that suggested you wished to pick a fight, on the contrary, quite calm and matter of fact. Mingyu’s fingernails are going white as his grip on his pen and paper grow stronger. 

“And yet, we continue to show up. Because we do what we must.” He raises his head in control, a small smile on his face, eyebrows unnaturally raised. “And, better that I’m here rather than no one at all. I can help you too.”

Help, he did. 

Mingyu had made it quite clear his time with you was limited, but by the end of the near 25 minute session, nearly every inch of your printed assignment was covered different colours of notes and corrections, additional papers and post-it notes pasted on the back as you remain careful to not lose them as you slip the stack in your bag. 

It’s only then that you spot the segregated stack of papers in your bag that you remember. 

“I almost forgot,” you say, grabbing the pile and placing it in front of him. 

“Where did you find this?” he asks sharply. 

“You left them at the desk of the lecture hall last week,” you say, before quickly adding, “There was a class right after you left. I took them off the professor’s hands before they got lost. Thought it might be important.”

“I’ve been looking all over for these,” he says as he goes through the pages and files. Random sticky tabs and highlighted regions across the pages. The leather strap watch with the broken clock face remains on top, and he picks it up. He looks up to you with wide, sparkling eyes and a smile that feels genuine. “Thank you.”

You flush for some reason, “O–of course, couldn’t just leave them there.”

It isn’t till you’re pushing yourself out of your chair that he says something. “You can come in at 3:30 tomorrow.”

“Pardon?”

He’s stood up as well. “I have a free thirty minutes before office hours formally start. I can help you out a little more without the crowd.” 

Feet planted on the ground, there’s not much you can do but stare. “Um, sure. I can come in a little early.”

He nods casually, “Thanks again for the papers. And the watch.”

You smile, “No problem.”

[reidsflwr]

it’s been a long time coming ; spencer reid.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: back in high school you used to have a crush on spencer and now you got to work together.

warnings: nothing really but english isn’t my first language so it might have some writing mistakes (sorry) and i didn’t really like how i finished this so if you guys like i might write a second part.

Your first day at the BAU was a whirlwind. As the newest profiler, you felt a mix of excitement and anxiety. You had spent weeks preparing for this moment, but nothing could have truly prepared you for the reality of stepping into the office for the first time. The team welcomed you warmly, though you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by the sheer brilliance of your new colleagues.

Spencer Reid, in particular, caught your attention. He was everything you remembered from high school: intelligent, slightly awkward, and undeniably endearing. Despite your attempt to stay composed, you felt the same fluttering nerves you had back then.

When Spencer introduced himself, you found it hard to maintain eye contact. “Hi, I’m Spencer,” he said with a friendly smile. “Welcome to the team.”

You managed a nervous smile. “Thank you, Spencer. It’s nice to meet you.”

Spencer’s smile widened, and he seemed eager to make a connection. “If you need any help with the databases or anything else, just let me know.”

You nodded quickly, avoiding his gaze. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As the day progressed, you tried to focus on your work, but every time you glanced at Spencer, your heart raced. You could tell he was making an effort to be friendly and supportive, but you were too nervous to engage with him properly. It was clear he noticed your reluctance but didn’t push it, giving you space.

⌢୨୧⌢

The days following your first encounter were a struggle. Spencer’s attempts to be friendly and helpful often ended in awkward silences. He would offer to explain things you might not understand or bring you coffee, but every time you tried to respond, you stumbled over your words or offered a rushed, one-word reply.

One morning, Spencer approached you at the coffee machine. “Hey, I’ve been reading this fascinating book on criminal psychology. Would you like to borrow it? I think you’d find it really interesting.”

You forced a smile, feeling the familiar flush creep up your cheeks. “Thanks, but I have a lot of research to catch up on.”

Spencer’s face fell slightly, but he quickly recovered. “No problem. If you change your mind, just let me know.”

Later that week, you found yourself alone in the break room when Spencer came in, carrying a stack of papers. “I noticed you were working on the same case. I thought you might need some additional resources,” he said, placing the papers on the table.

You took a deep breath, trying to muster the courage to speak. “Thanks, I appreciate it.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, and you quickly retreated to your desk, feeling a mix of embarrassment and frustration at your own behavior.

Despite Spencer’s best efforts to reach out, you continued to shy away, struggling to hide your feelings. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to interact with him; rather, every interaction left you more flustered than the last.

⌢୨୧⌢

The day came when Hotch assigned you and Spencer to interview the mother of a victim. You were grateful for the change of pace but also anxious about spending extended time with Spencer. As you drove together to the victim’s home, you focused on the task at hand, trying to push your nerves aside.

Spencer’s attempts to make conversation during the drive were met with brief, hesitant responses from you. “So, how are you finding the BAU so far?” he asked, his eyes occasionally flicking toward you.

You shrugged, feeling the weight of your own silence. “It’s… it’s good.”

Spencer’s brow furrowed. “You know, you seem a bit distant. I can’t help but wonder if I’ve done something to upset you.”

Your heart sank at his words. “What do you mean?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been avoiding me,” Spencer explained. “Whenever I try to be helpful or friendly, you… well, you seem uncomfortable. I assumed maybe I did something wrong.”

Feeling a pang of guilt, you decided it was time to explain. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. Actually, it’s the opposite.”

Spencer’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Oh? What do you mean?”

You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts. “Well, it’s a bit complicated. We knew each other in high school. We even had a few classes together.”

Spencer looked puzzled. “Really? I don’t remember you from high school. I think I would have remembered.”

You nodded, your cheeks flushing with a mix of nostalgia and embarrassment. “I actually had a crush on you back then and i guess now that we’re working together, those old feelings are resurfacing, and it makes me a bit awkward around you.”

Spencer’s eyes widened. “Wait, you mean you had a crush on me!?”

You nodded, a soft blush creeping onto your cheeks. “Yes, I did. I thought you were incredibly smart and cute. I was too shy to ever talk to you. I remember how you used to come into class with these fascinating books and how you were always so focused. I just thought you were amazing.”

Spencer’s face turned an even deeper shade of red. “I was so awkward back then. I mean, I’m still a bit weird, but not as much, I hope. I didn’t think anyone would ever see me that way, especially back then.”

You shook your head with a smile. “No, I thought you were adorable. You were this brilliant, quirky guy who seemed to be in his own world, and I found that really endearing.”

Spencer looked at you, clearly flustered. “I had no idea you felt that way. I always thought you were avoiding me because you didn’t like me.”

You smiled reassuringly. “No, I just didn’t know how to act around you. I didn’t want to make things awkward.”

Spencer’s mind raced as he processed your words. “Wow, I’m kind of speechless. I never imagined…”

Before he could continue, you gently cut him off. “Let’s just focus on the interview for now. It’s important that we get this right.”

Spencer nodded, still processing the revelation. “Right, of course.”

As you both approached the victim’s mother’s home, the air between you felt lighter, charged with a new understanding. Spencer, though still surprised, was clearly intrigued and more attentive than ever. The tension that had once been present seemed to dissolve, replaced by a newfound curiosity and connection between you.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: The Research Process

Research is an essential process to keep yourself informed on any topic with reliable sources of information.

Research - the process by which you gather reliable information on a specific topic, typically to answer a particular question, form an opinion, or make a decision.

Academics often separate research into 2 distinct types:

primary research (in which the researcher acquires firsthand experience with the topic) and

secondary research (in which the researcher looks at research others have done on the topic).

There are many different research methods, including:

internet research (using search engines, webpages, and other online resources),

scientific research (using the scientific method to test hypotheses),

local and university library research (using books, encyclopedias, newspaper articles, peer-reviewed journal articles, catalogs, and academic databases and directories), and

interviews (using questionnaires and discussions with subjects).

How to Research

The research process can apply to everything from a scientific research paper to a personal question; each type of research has different expectations and processes. In general, here’s a step-by-step tutorial:

Start with a question. The first step of the research process is to have a question. In the case of academic research, your research question might be on a broad conversation in your field. For example, in humanities, a research question might be: “How did feminism affect American literature in the 1970s?” In the case of personal research, your question might be smaller and more specific: “How do I wake up feeling more rested?” If your research is for a high school or college paper, you might need to brainstorm to come up with a question or move on to the research phase to see what kinds of questions and broad topics interest you.

Search broadly. Your preliminary research on a topic is likely to be general—this search strategy enables you to gather as much general information surrounding the topic as possible. This helps you develop a clearer sense of the scope of your question. In the case of academic research, you might read widely (in topics like feminism, the 1970s, and American literature). In the case of personal research, you might conduct general internet searches for secondary sources that discuss related topics (like alarm clocks, pillows, and meditation techniques).

Narrow your focus. As you conduct research, pay attention to the moments that pique your interest—use them to determine where to conduct more in-depth research. Perhaps a specific novelist seems especially interesting, or you find yourself more drawn to alarm clocks than memory-foam pillows. It is at this stage you should also take time to evaluate the information sources you’ve found to make sure they’re reliable and unbiased.

Conduct specific research. Once your question begins to narrow, you might need to do additional research to hone in on your particular topic. Look around to see if other researchers have had similar questions and published or posted their findings. Alternatively, you might do some primary research and begin testing particular hypotheses. For an academic research paper, it is at this stage you likely have enough information to begin crafting your thesis statement or central claim.

Complete the project. The final stage of the research process is to complete your research project—this might mean writing a final paper, forming a particular opinion, or purchasing a specific solution for your problem. For research that involves writing and publishing a paper, the researcher must also abide by rules of plagiarism, citation information and formats—such as the Modern Language Association (MLA), American Psychological Association (APA), Chicago, and so forth. Even though this is the final step of the research process, it doesn’t mean the project is closed forever—you might find later you need or want to do follow-up research as the topic or your interests change.

Research is a vital process that increases your knowledge and understanding around a topic, rather than forcing you to rely on simply your own background information. Good research allows you to become more informed before you answer a question, to consider all angles before you form an opinion, and to use the experience of others before you make a decision.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[leeknot]

Ꭺ Ꮒꫀᥲɾt Ꮒꫀᥣd Ꮯᥲρtเ᥎ꫀ

A/N: Yay, I finally finished this oneshot, and I'm so happy to share it with you all! I really hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. It’s always such a fun journey to bring these stories to life, and I’m grateful for your support! Thank you for taking the time to read, and I can’t wait to hear what you think! Don’t forget to leave a comment if you enjoyed it – it means so much to me! ♡

────୨ৎ────

Pairing : psychology professor Jay × student reader

Warnings : makeout sesh , jay is obsessed(like he literally kidnaps her and all that) , reader tries to kill herself

Summary : In this dark and intense psychology-themed story, you, the reader, are a student who becomes entangled with Professor Jay. After a passionate makeout session, you hesitate to take things further, causing Jay to spiral into an obsessive obsession with you. His fixation grows unhealthy, leading him to kidnap you, unable to accept your boundaries. Trapped and desperate, you eventually reach a breaking point and attempt to end your life as a way to escape his suffocating control.

────୨ৎ────

Professor Jay stood at the front of the classroom, his back to the students as he wrote on the whiteboard. He was a renowned psychology professor, known for his strict but fair teaching methods. The students respected him, and he had a way of making even the most difficult subjects seem interesting.

"I expect your papers on Freud's theories by next week," he announced, turning to face the class. His eyes scanned the room, landing briefly on each student. Suddenly, his gaze paused on you, sitting there in the fifth row, nervously chewing on your pencil.

Jay's gaze lingered on you for just a moment longer than necessary, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes before he continued. "Office hours are Tuesday and Thursday, for those who need extra guidance."

As the class dispersed, you found yourself lingering by your desk, fiddling with your textbook. You couldn't shake the feeling that Professor Jay had been looking at you strangely. Just as you were about to leave, you heard his voice behind you.

"Stay," he commanded, his voice low and authoritative. You turned to see him standing in the doorway, his suit jacket hanging open. He closed the door behind him, locking it with a loud click. He approached you, his steps measured and deliberate.

"I've noticed your work in class," he said, stopping just inches away. His cologne, a mix of sandalwood and something deeper, surrounded you. "You have a unique perspective. I think you could benefit from some... personal tutoring."

Your heart raced as you found yourself trapped between Professor Jay's imposing figure and the desk, his proximity making it difficult to breathe normally. "Personal tutoring?" you managed to squeak out, glancing between his intense eyes and the locked door.

Jay chuckled lowly, amusement glinting in his eyes as he observed your nervousness. "Don't worry, I'm not suggesting anything inappropriate," he lied smoothly, leaning in just a fraction closer. The tip of his nose nearly brushed your temple as he spoke in a conspiratorial whisper.

Unable to help yourself, you shivered slightly at Jay's closeness, the heat radiating off his body palpable in the intimate space between you. Your eyes flitted to his lips as he spoke, hanging onto his every word even as your mind raced with unbidden thoughts of exactly what kind of "personal tutoring".

He pulled back just enough to lock eyes with you, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "Though, if you're up for a little... extra credit," he murmured, his voice velvet and dark promise,

You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. "Extra credit?" you echoed, trying to sound nonchalant despite the pounding of your heart. Jay's gaze held yours, his eyes gleaming with a secret understanding.

"Mmm, yes. Like... helping me with some... late-night research." One hand brushed against your lower back, barely a touch, but enough to send a jolt through your entire body. "The university library gets quite... lonely after hours. Wouldn't you agree?"

Your breath caught as Jay's fingertips lingered on your back, his touch electric even through your clothing. The suggestive undertones of his words hung heavy in the air between you, dripping with unspoken possibilities. You licked your dry lips nervously, unable to tear your gaze away from his hypnotic eyes.

"You're right, we probably shouldn't," Jay whispered, his face inching closer to yours, his breath mingling with yours. "It would be crossing a line... As professor and student..." His hand slid lower, resting on your waist possessively.

Despite your better judgment screaming warnings, you found yourself leaning into Jay's touch, your resolve weakening with each passing second. "We really shouldn't, but..." you breathed, your voice trembling slightly as you gazed into his penetrating eyes, "maybe'shouldn't' is exactly what makes it so tempting."

Jay's smile grew, his lips curling up in a sinful grin as he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around your waist. "Damn right it is," he murmured, his lips brushing against yours in a feather-light kiss.

Your heart raced wildly as Jay's lips feathered against yours, the tantalizing promise of forbidden fruit. Closing your eyes, you surrendered to temptation, your own lips parting to deepen the kiss.

His hand slid up to tangle in your hair while the other pulled you closer, pressing your bodies together. The kiss grew more passionate, more demanding, as if he'd been waiting all semester to taste you like this. You could feel his desire pressing against you, making your head spin and your knees weak.

Pulling back slightly, Jay gazed at you with smoldering eyes, a wicked grin playing at the corners of his mouth. "Perhaps we should continue this discussion somewhere more... private," he suggested, his voice low and gravelly with barely restrained lust.

"Your place or mine?" he whispered, trailing kisses down your neck, "I have a bottle of wine chilling..." His hand traced the curve of your breast through your blouse, making you gasp softly. "Or we could skip the wine and move straight to dessert..."

"Jay," you panted, placing a hand on his chest to create some distance between you two. "As much as I want to, we can't. It's not just a line we're crossing, it's a mile of them. I'm your student, and you're my professor."

Jay's grin faltered slightly, but he didn't let go of you. "I know, I know," he sighed, rubbing his thumb over your lower lip. "But damn, you're so tempting. I swear, every time you open that mouth of yours, I want to kiss you silly."

"We can't," you repeated firmly, stepping back out of his grasp. "It's unethical and I could get in serious trouble. You could lose your job, Jay. We can't risk it." Your expression turned pained.

Jay's eyes darkened with frustration and desire as he watched you step back, his hands falling limp to his sides. He nodded slowly, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. "You're right, of course," he conceded, though his gaze still raked over your body hungrily.

Jay unlocked the door with a heavy sigh, the click echoing through the room. He watched as you turned and walked out, the door closing softly behind you. He leaned his forehead against the door, cursing under his breath. "Damn it."

The days after you left Jay’s office were suffocating. He tried to go about his lectures as usual, but his thoughts were consumed by your tear-streaked face as you stormed out. The chair you used to sit in during his lectures now felt glaringly empty, a black hole that sucked all his focus away. It wasn’t just guilt gnawing at him—it was something darker, more possessive.

He should have let you go. You made it clear you wanted space, but the way you avoided him in class, the cold silence you maintained, made his chest ache. He told himself it wasn’t fair; you didn’t get to walk into his life, ignite something within him, and then leave like he was disposable.

Jay started keeping tabs on you. He justified it as concern, but deep down, he knew it was more than that.

He began small. Scanning your social media profiles for hints of what you were doing, where you were going, and who you were spending time with. Every photo you posted, every comment you left—it all became clues in the puzzle of you. He memorized your schedule, ensuring he’d be "coincidentally" walking past your usual spots on campus.

One evening, as he sat alone in his dimly lit apartment, Jay found himself staring at a notebook. It wasn’t his. It was yours. You’d left it behind during one of your study sessions, and he’d kept it. At first, he reasoned it was accidental, but now it felt like a lifeline. He flipped through the pages, running his fingers over your handwriting.

Your words felt intimate, like they were written just for him.

"I don’t know what I feel for him... but it’s overwhelming," you’d scribbled in the margins of one of your psychology notes. Jay’s breath hitched. Did you mean him? His mind raced, trying to connect the dots. He wanted to believe you did.

His obsession grew insidious. He started tailoring his lectures to you, throwing in subtle references to things he knew would catch your attention. He wanted you to notice him again. But when that wasn’t enough, Jay began orchestrating ways to corner you.

One particular afternoon, as you left the library, you felt a shadow following you. Turning around, you saw Jay standing there, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat, looking almost vulnerable.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” he said softly, his voice carrying an edge of desperation.

“I told you we needed distance,” you replied, trying to keep your tone steady.

He stepped closer, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach churn. “You think I can just forget what happened between us? You think I can erase you from my mind that easily?”

His words made your heart race, but not in the way they used to. “Professor, this isn’t healthy. You’re crossing boundaries—”

Jay cut you off, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Boundaries? You broke those the moment you walked into my life. You don’t get to leave me like this.”

The look in his eyes sent a chill down your spine. It wasn’t love—it was obsession.

You took a cautious step back, but Jay matched it with a step forward. His presence felt suffocating, and the usual calm demeanor he wore was cracking at the edges.

“Professor Park,” you began, voice shaking, “I don’t want to escalate this. Please, let me go.”

His lips twisted into something between a smile and a grimace. “Let you go?” he echoed, almost mockingly. “You don’t understand, do you? I can’t let you go.”

Jay’s fingers twitched at his sides as if restraining himself from reaching out to you. “You think I don’t notice the way you avoid me? The way you flinch when you see me in the hallway? But it’s fine,” he murmured, almost to himself. “It’s all temporary. You’ll come back to me.”

Your blood ran cold at the conviction in his voice. “No, I won’t,” you said firmly, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “Whatever this is—it’s not right. I won’t be part of it anymore.”

The resolve in your tone seemed to snap something in him. His jaw clenched, and his hands balled into fists. “Not right?” he repeated, almost bitterly. “You’re the one who came to me, who looked at me like I was the only one who understood you. You don’t get to rewrite the story now just because you’re scared of what we have.”

“This isn’t a story, Jay. It’s a mistake.” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

The words hit him like a slap. For a moment, he froze, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he tilted his head, his eyes narrowing. “A mistake,” he repeated softly, like he was testing the word on his tongue.

You took that moment to turn and walk away, your heart pounding in your chest. But his voice stopped you in your tracks.

“You can try to run,” he called out, his tone eerily calm, “but I’ll always find you. You’re mine, and you’ll realize it sooner or later.”

The days that followed were nerve-wracking. Everywhere you went, it felt like Jay was there, watching you. At first, you thought it was paranoia, but the evidence was undeniable. A glance across the cafeteria revealed him sitting at a table, his eyes boring into yours. A walk to the library ended with him standing outside, pretending to be engrossed in his phone.

Then came the messages.

At first, they were innocuous:

"I hope you’re doing well."

"I miss our conversations."

But they quickly turned more unsettling:

"Do you ever think about me the way I think about you?"

"You can’t hide from me forever."

You blocked his number, but the emails started next. Every time you opened your inbox, there was a new message waiting, each one more desperate than the last.

One evening, as you sat in your room, your phone buzzed with an unknown number. Against your better judgment, you picked up, your voice trembling as you said, “Hello?”

Silence.

Then, his voice, low and filled with something unnameable: “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

“Jay, leave me alone!” you snapped, your voice breaking.

But he didn’t. “I can’t,” he whispered, and you could hear the faint tremor in his voice. “Don’t you see, I’m doing this for us? For you? No one will ever care about you the way I do.”

Your hands shook as you ended the call, your breaths coming in sharp gasps. You knew you couldn’t handle this alone anymore. It was time to take action before his obsession spiraled even further out of control.

Jay’s obsession grew like a wildfire, consuming every rational thought and leaving only his unrelenting fixation on you.

He started following you—not blatantly, but enough to know your routines. When you went to the library, he’d sit a few tables away, pretending to read. When you walked across campus, he stayed just far enough behind to avoid suspicion. He memorized your habits: the café you frequented, the times you went to class, even the route you took home.

It wasn’t enough. Watching wasn’t enough.

Jay’s apartment became a shrine.

Every little piece of you that he could collect found its place. The notebook you’d left behind sat on his desk, surrounded by printed screenshots of your social media posts. He had photos of you—some from your profile, others he’d secretly taken during lectures or when you weren’t looking.

He’d pinned your class notes to his wall, scribbling his own thoughts in the margins:

"She’s brilliant."

"She needs me."

"No one will ever love her the way I do."

Every night, he sat at his desk, poring over these relics of you. Sometimes, he’d whisper your name, imagining how you’d respond if you were there with him. Other times, he’d write long letters he never sent, pouring out his feelings in a chaotic jumble of devotion and desperation.

His lectures suffered.

Students began noticing his erratic behavior. He’d lose his train of thought mid-sentence, staring blankly at the room before mumbling something incoherent. Sometimes, he’d bring up topics that seemed strangely personal, talking about love, betrayal, and the pain of longing.

It was obvious his mind was elsewhere—on you.

Then he started pushing boundaries.

He found your dorm room number and left a small, carefully wrapped gift outside your door: a book on psychology, one he knew you’d once mentioned wanting to read. Inside was a handwritten note:

"For you. Always thinking of you."

The next day, when you didn’t acknowledge it, he sent an email.

"Did you like the book? I thought of you the moment I saw it."

When you didn’t respond, he grew more restless. He needed to see you, to talk to you, to make you understand how much he cared.

Late one night, Jay sat in his dark apartment, staring at your social media profile.

You’d posted a photo—just a simple picture of your coffee cup and an open book. But to Jay, it was a message. She’s thinking about me, he convinced himself. This is her way of reaching out.

He couldn’t stop himself. He grabbed his phone and called you.

The sound of your voice, even just saying “Hello?” in confusion, sent a shiver down his spine.

“It’s me,” he said, his voice trembling with emotion.

You hesitated. “Professor Park? Why are you calling me?”

“I just… I needed to hear your voice,” he admitted, his words spilling out like a confession. “You don’t understand how much you mean to me. I can’t stop thinking about you, Y/N. You’re everywhere, in everything I do.”

“Jay, this is inappropriate—”

“No!” he interrupted, his tone turning frantic. “This isn’t just about the classroom, or some silly rules. This is real. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. You… you’re my everything.”

His words made your skin crawl. “This needs to stop,” you said firmly, your voice shaking. “Don’t contact me again.”

You hung up before he could reply, leaving him in stunned silence.

But Jay didn’t stop.

He convinced himself you were scared, unsure of your feelings. He had to prove to you that you were meant to be together. The line between love and obsession blurred completely, and all he could think about was finding a way to keep you close—forever.

Jay’s obsession spiraled further, consuming every waking moment and seeping into his dreams. Every thought, every action, every breath revolved around you.

It started with more invasive actions.

He began lingering near your dorm, finding excuses to be close. He’d sit on a bench nearby, pretending to scroll through his phone, but his eyes never left your window. He started timing his arrival so he could see the faint glow of your lamp flickering on at night, convincing himself that it was a sign you were thinking of him.

When he noticed you’d started locking your social media profiles, he grew frustrated. It was a barrier, a wall between you two that he couldn’t stand. He created a new account, posing as a fellow student, and sent you a request. When you accepted, oblivious to who it really was, Jay felt triumphant.

Now, he could monitor your posts again. Every status update, every photo, every interaction with friends became something for him to analyze. If a male friend commented, Jay’s mind raced with jealousy. He imagined scenarios of them taking you away from him, and it made his blood boil.

His apartment transformed further into a delusional haven.

Jay started recreating your life in his space. He bought candles that smelled like the ones you’d mentioned liking. He found a secondhand copy of a book you were reading and left sticky notes in the margins, writing messages as though he was speaking directly to you. “This part reminds me of us,” he’d write, smiling to himself.

He even stole a scarf you’d left in class once and kept it on his pillow, breathing in its faint scent every night before he fell asleep.

But even these tokens weren’t enough. He needed something more tangible, something to make him feel closer to you.

One night, Jay followed you home.

He stayed far enough back that you didn’t notice, his hood pulled low over his face. When you entered your building, he waited outside, staring up at the windows until he saw your shadow move behind the curtains.

The next day, he returned to your building, slipping past the front door as another resident exited. He found your mailbox and slipped a handwritten note inside.

"Y/N,

You’re so beautiful, even when you don’t see me watching. I know you’re scared, but we’re meant to be together. Please, let me show you how much I care."

When you found it, your heart sank. You didn’t know how he’d managed to find your address, but the realization that he was watching you this closely sent shivers down your spine.

Jay’s paranoia grew alongside his obsession.

He became convinced that someone was standing in the way of your connection. A friend? A family member? He started researching everyone you interacted with, keeping notes on them like he was building a case. If they were too close to you, he considered them a threat.

One afternoon, he saw you laughing with a male classmate outside the library. His chest tightened painfully as jealousy and rage twisted in his gut. That night, he couldn’t sleep, replaying the moment over and over in his head.

“Doesn’t she see? I’m the only one who truly understands her.” he muttered to himself, pacing his apartment.

Then came the breaking point.

Jay began leaving more gifts outside your door—flowers, notes, small trinkets he thought you’d love. When you started throwing them away without acknowledging him, he grew desperate.

Late one night, he returned to your dorm building. This time, he wasn’t content to leave something outside. His hand shook as he pressed the buzzer for your apartment.

When your tired voice answered through the intercom, he felt a sick thrill run through him.

“Y/N, it’s me,” he said, his voice low and strained. “Please, I just want to talk.”

“What are you doing here?” you demanded, panic rising in your chest.

“I had to see you,” he said, his voice trembling. “You’ve been ignoring me, and I can’t take it anymore. I need to explain, to make you understand how much I love you.”

“You need to leave, Jay,” you said firmly, but he heard the fear in your voice. It only fueled his delusion.

“You don’t mean that,” he whispered. “You’re just scared. I’ll wait for you to calm down.”

He didn’t leave. Hours passed as he sat outside, waiting, his mind spiraling further into darkness.

Jay’s obsession reached its breaking point, leaving him unable to distinguish between right and wrong. In his mind, the only way to truly protect you, to make you see how much he loved you, was to take you away from everything he believed was corrupting you.

The night of the kidnapping was carefully planned.

Jay had spent days watching you, learning your routines. He knew exactly when you’d be alone, when the streets around your dorm were quiet. That night, he waited in the shadows near the library, his heart pounding as he clutched a bag containing duct tape, a scarf, and a small bottle of chloroform.

When you finally appeared, headphones on and a book tucked under your arm, you didn’t notice him until it was too late.

“Y/N,” he said softly, stepping out of the shadows.

Startled, you turned to see him standing there, his eyes wild and glinting in the dim light. “Jay? What are you—”

Before you could finish, he lunged, one hand pressing a cloth soaked in chloroform against your mouth. Your struggles were frantic but brief as the world blurred and faded into darkness.

When you woke, everything was different.

Your head throbbed as you blinked against the harsh light of a single lamp. The room was unfamiliar, small, and sterile, with bare walls and a faint scent of candles. You were tied to a chair, your wrists bound tightly behind your back. Panic surged through you as you struggled against the restraints.

“Don’t hurt yourself.” Jay’s voice came from behind you, soft yet unnervingly calm. He stepped into view, crouching in front of you with a look of tender concern.

“Jay, let me go.” you demanded, your voice trembling.

He shook his head, a sad smile on his lips. “I can’t do that, Y/N. Don’t you see? This is the only way. I had to get you away from all the people poisoning your mind, keeping us apart.”

“Keeping us apart?” you repeated, your voice rising. “This is insane! You’ve kidnapped me!”

Jay flinched but quickly composed himself, his expression softening as he reached out to brush a strand of hair from your face. You turned away, disgusted.

“You’ll understand in time,” he said gently. “I’ve created a space just for us. No distractions, no outside influences. Here, we can finally be together, just as we’re meant to be.”

The room was a horrifying reflection of his obsession.

The walls were covered with pictures of you—some from your social media, others clearly taken without your knowledge. Your favorite books and trinkets were arranged on shelves, and there was even a playlist of your favorite songs playing softly in the background.

Tears filled your eyes as the weight of the situation sank in. “This isn’t love, Jay. This is sick. You need help.”

He frowned, his brows knitting together in frustration. “I don’t need help. I need you. You’re the only thing that makes sense in my life, Y/N. Why can’t you see that?”

“I’ll never love you.” you said, your voice firm despite the fear in your chest.

His face twisted in pain, but the determination in his eyes only grew stronger. “You say that now, but I’ll show you. I’ll prove that no one will ever love you the way I do.”

Jay’s obsession escalated in captivity.

Days passed, and Jay became more unhinged. He brought you food, books, and clothes, acting as though you were a guest rather than a prisoner. He spoke to you constantly, weaving a delusional narrative of how you’d grow to love him.

When you refused to eat or speak, he became desperate, pacing the room and muttering to himself. “Why won’t she understand? Why is she still fighting this?”

But his moods were unpredictable. Sometimes, he’d snap, his voice rising as he accused you of trying to leave him. Other times, he’d collapse into tears, begging you to forgive him, promising he’d never hurt you.

Days turned into a nightmare as Jay’s grip on reality deteriorated further.

Jay’s attempts to normalize the situation only deepened the horror.

He would sit across from you during meals, talking as if you were a willing participant. “I know it’s not perfect yet,” he’d say, his voice soft, “but I’m working on it. Soon, you’ll see how much better life can be without all those distractions.”

You refused to eat, glaring at him in silence. It didn’t deter him; he only grew more determined. “I’ll wait as long as it takes,” he said one evening, his eyes dark with resolve. “I know you’re scared, but that’s okay. I’ll help you see the truth.”

One night, you tried to escape.

While Jay slept on the couch in the next room, you quietly worked at the ropes binding your wrists, using the sharp edge of a hidden nail on the chair. Your heart raced as the fibers began to fray. After what felt like hours, you finally freed one hand and untied the rest of your restraints.

You crept toward the door, careful not to make a sound. But just as you reached for the handle, the floor creaked under your weight.

“Y/N?” Jay’s voice called out, laced with panic.

You bolted, flinging the door open and sprinting down the dimly lit hallway. Your pulse thundered in your ears as you reached the staircase, but before you could descend, Jay caught up to you.

“Don’t!” he yelled, grabbing your arm and yanking you back. His grip was ironclad, his eyes wide with desperation. “You can’t leave me! You’ll be hurt out there without me!”

“Let me go!” you screamed, struggling against him, but his strength overpowered yours.

He pulled you back into the room, locking the door behind him. Tears streamed down his face as he paced in front of you, his hands trembling.

“Why would you do that?” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’ve done everything for you. I’ve kept you safe, given you everything you could want, and you still want to leave?”

The facade of control crumbled.

Jay’s behavior became more erratic after your escape attempt. He talked to himself more often, his words a mix of anger, fear, and self-reassurance. “She doesn’t understand now, but she will,” he muttered, pacing back and forth. “She has to.”

He started keeping you tied to the chair, even while he was in the room. “I can’t risk losing you,” he said, almost apologetically. “You’re too important to me.”

His delusions deepened. He began to believe that your resistance was part of a test, a way for you to prove your devotion to him. “This is how love works,” he told you one evening, his eyes alight with a manic fervor. “We have to fight for it, no matter how hard it gets.”

The breaking point loomed.

Jay’s obsession consumed him entirely, and you knew his behavior was becoming increasingly dangerous. He spoke of drastic measures, of leaving the city together and starting fresh somewhere no one could find you.

“I’ve been looking into cabins in the mountains,” he said one evening, a wistful smile on his face. “We could be so happy there, away from everyone and everything.”

Your heart sank. You realized this was your last chance to act. If you didn’t escape soon, there was no telling how far Jay would go to keep you by his side.

The cabin was eerily quiet, surrounded by dense trees that blocked out the world beyond.

Jay had driven for hours, the sound of tires crunching over gravel the only noise as you sat in stunned silence in the passenger seat. The ropes around your wrists had been replaced with zip ties, cutting into your skin every time you shifted.

When the car finally stopped, you glanced out the window to see a small, weathered cabin, nestled in the woods. Jay stepped out, opening your door with a soft smile that sent shivers down your spine.

“We’re here.” he said gently, as if this were some romantic getaway instead of an act of pure madness.

Inside the cabin, Jay was unsettlingly calm.

He had prepared everything in advance. The single room was furnished with a bed, a small table, and a stove, all surrounded by items that screamed his obsession. Photos of you decorated the walls, your favorite books were stacked neatly on the table, and a blanket you’d once left behind in class was draped over the couch.

“Do you like it?” he asked, his eyes wide with anticipation. “I made this for us. A place where we can finally be together without anyone interfering.”

You swallowed hard, forcing your voice to remain steady. “Jay, you can’t keep me here. This isn’t love. This is wrong.”

His expression faltered for a moment, but he quickly replaced it with a soft smile. “I know it feels strange now, but in time, you’ll understand. You’ve been surrounded by people who don’t value you the way I do. They don’t see how special you are. But I do.”

The conversation grew more intense as the hours passed.

Jay sat across from you at the table, his elbows resting on the surface as he leaned closer. His voice was calm, but the desperation in his eyes betrayed him.

“You don’t understand how much I’ve sacrificed for you,” he said, his tone almost pleading. “I’ve given up everything—my career, my reputation—because I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you.”

“You didn’t have to sacrifice anything,” you replied, your voice trembling with frustration. “I never asked for this, Jay. I never wanted this.”

His jaw clenched, and he looked down at the table, his hands gripping the edge tightly. “You say that now because you’ve been conditioned to think this is wrong. But deep down, I know you care about me. I’ve seen the way you look at me, the way you listen to me in class. There’s something between us, Y/N. I know there is.”

You shook your head, tears brimming in your eyes. “What you’re feeling isn’t love, Jay. It’s obsession. And it’s destroying both of us.”

Jay’s mask began to crack.

He stood abruptly, pacing the room with frantic energy. “Why can’t you see it? I’ve done everything for you! I’ve shown you how much I care, how much I’m willing to give. What more do you want from me?”

“I want my freedom,” you said firmly, your voice cutting through his rant. “I want to go home. I want my life back.”

He stopped in his tracks, turning to face you with a look of pure anguish. “You are my home, Y/N. You’re my life. Without you, I have nothing.”

The conversation turned into a battle of wills.

As the hours stretched on, you tried to reason with him, to make him see the damage he was causing. But every word you spoke seemed to push him further into his delusion.

“You’re just scared,” he said, his voice softening as he knelt in front of you. “You’ve been hurt before, haven’t you? That’s why you’re resisting. But I’ll never hurt you, Y/N. I’ll take care of you. I’ll protect you from everything.”

“This is hurting me,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Can’t you see that?”

For a moment, he hesitated. A flicker of doubt crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by that same unrelenting determination.

“You’ll thank me one day,” he said, his voice barely audible. “You’ll see that this was all for us.”

The cabin felt suffocating, each breath heavy with the tension of your captivity. Jay’s presence was constant, his eyes always lingering on you, waiting for you to acknowledge the twisted reality he had built for the two of you. The room, with its eerie calm and suffocating silence, made your heart race.

You sat at the small table, your hands folded tightly in your lap, eyes cast downward as Jay sat across from you, rambling on about how perfect everything would be once you adjusted to the life he’d planned. His words felt like nails on a chalkboard, a constant drone that filled the space but never reached your heart.

The weight of it all—his obsession, his twisted love—felt unbearable.

Your voice was quiet, but it broke through the haze of Jay's words.

“Jay… can I go to the bathroom?”

He blinked, momentarily taken aback by the simple request. For a second, there was a flicker of suspicion in his eyes, but it faded quickly. He’d been so sure of his control, so convinced that you would eventually accept him, that he didn’t hesitate.

“Of course,” he said softly. “It’s right down the hall. Don’t try to run.”

You nodded, keeping your expression neutral. Inside, you felt a surge of desperation. You hadn’t planned this moment, but you couldn’t bear another second in this suffocating cabin, this prison.

The bathroom door clicked shut behind you, and the moment of solitude was all you needed.

You turned to face the small, dimly lit room, your pulse pounding in your ears. The mirror above the sink reflected a face you barely recognized—your eyes were hollow, the weariness of captivity etched into your features. But it wasn’t the face that mattered now.

It was the sharp edge of the old razor blade that you spotted on the edge of the counter, something Jay had clearly overlooked.

Your hands trembled as you picked it up, the cold metal against your fingertips grounding you for a moment. You looked at the reflection of your own eyes, barely able to hold back the tears. This wasn’t the life you had wanted. This wasn’t freedom. Jay’s obsession had suffocated you, and the only escape seemed to be this.

As you held the blade to your skin, a cold calm washed over you.

You thought about the world beyond these walls—friends, family, the life you’d had. You thought about the pain Jay had caused, how his love had twisted into something dark and suffocating. You thought about the fear, the helplessness, and the deep, gnawing sorrow that had taken root inside you.

This was your way out.

With a deep breath, you pressed the razor to your wrist, the sharp sting of it a fleeting relief. But as the blood began to trickle down your arm, something inside you began to shift. The numbness you’d felt began to crack, replaced by a sharp, painful clarity.

The sound of footsteps outside the door sent your heart into a panic.

You couldn’t let him find you like this. You couldn’t let him ruin this last moment of control. Your hand shook as you pressed the cloth from the sink against your wrist, trying to stanch the bleeding.

But the door suddenly opened with a creak.

“Y/N?” Jay’s voice called, his tone too calm, too controlled. He had been watching you through the crack in the door, waiting. When he saw the blood, his eyes widened in shock, then narrowed in something darker, possessive.

“No!” He shouted, rushing to your side, his hands gripping your shoulders tightly. “You don’t get to do this, Y/N. You don’t get to do this, Y/N. You don't get to leave me!"

For a moment, it was a battle for control.

Jay's fingers dug into your skin as he pulled you away from the sink, his breath ragged and wild. "I told you, I won't let you go. I won't lose you!" His voice cracked, a mix of fury and desperation.

"You don't understand," you whispered through the tears, your breath coming in shallow gasps. "This isn't love, Jay. It never was.”

Jay's face contorted in anguish, as though your words cut deeper than anything else. "I can't lose you," he repeated, his voice trembling with the force of his need. "I need you. Please."

His hands shook as he reached for the wound on your wrist, trying to stop the blood with his own shirt. The sight of you in pain seemed to break him, but it wasn't a break for the better. It was a spiral deeper into his obsession.

Jay's grip tightened on your wrist as he lifted you off the floor.

"I won't let you die," he said, his voice low and broken. "You're mine. I'm the only one who can protect you. You'll see. You'll see how much I love you."

His words were incoherent as he lifted you back into the main room of the cabin, his gaze unfocused, consumed by his need. He didn't care about your pain-he cared about controlling you, about keeping you locked away where no one could take you from him.

The moment of escape had slipped through your fingers.

The thought that had given you some semblance of hope, of release, vanished in an instant as Jay's delusions wrapped tighter around you.

"You'll be safe with me, Y/N," he whispered, his voice eerily calm again, as he forced you back into the chair. "I won't let you go. I'll never let you go."

────୨ৎ────

[darkwicks]

EX MACHINA – DOTTORE X READER

Not once have you strayed from your true purpose—if this is what your creator made you for, then you will fulfil it until your body breaks down.

CONTENT.⠀18+ only, minors dni. HORROR / DARK CONTENT UNDER THE CUT; gender-neutral reader; unhealthy relationship, psychological and emotional manipulation, possessive and obsessive behaviour, non-consensual body modification, conditioning and mindfuck, drugging, kidnapping, sadism, descriptions of anxiety attacks. Dottore is simply referred to as “The Doctor.” DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT | ~2.5k words

A/N.⠀dedicated to my beloved @hiperacid2! this is my first horror/dark fic and it was challenging to write, but i hope you like it, my fellow kindred and kuro hater (/j) // @angelshub @bitchcraftinc @kentocidal

CROSS-POSTED ON AO3

You follow his orders.

If the Doctor tells you to kill, you do so in cold blood. If he tells you to steal something for him, you bring him everything he needs. If he is not pleased with you, you recalibrate and retry the next time he needs you. Like a dog obeys its master, you obey your creator and he rewards you with his praise. Not once have you strayed from your true purpose—if this is what your creator made you for, then you will fulfil it until your body breaks down.

The halls of Zapolyarny Palace’s science wing are silent save for the sound of your footfalls and the occasional murmur from lower-ranked Fatui agents pass by. They do not look into your eyes nor do they greet you. It is not important whether or not they greet you. An agent’s purpose is to do the duty given to him, much in a similar vein to yours, and it is his responsibility not to be hindered by trivial things. The coat you’re wearing covers the lower half of your face and is heavy enough to withstand the unforgiving winters of Snezhnaya, but even then, the air within the walls is cold.

For a reason you haven’t been able to find yet, your body seems to be having difficulties regulating its temperature recently. Perhaps you’d ask the Doctor if he could fix the issue when he’s less occupied with his latest project.

The doors to his laboratory slide open the moment it detects your facial features. It’s dark inside the laboratory; the sun has not yet risen, the only light at this time of day comes from the main city, and frost settles on the glass panes of the window. As you enter, you find that the Doctor is hunched over his desk and that the room is in complete disarray. Papers are scattered across the floor. Beakers and other glassware have shattered into pieces, some of their contents spilling out on documents the Doctor spent hours organising. Your gaze scans every corner and you reach for your sword, about to unsheathe but stop when he speaks up.

“Ah, you’re here, Seven.” He drums his fingers on the surface of the desk, the telltale sign of his impatience. A sigh leaves his lips as he turns around to face you, his lips pursed in dissatisfaction. “Seven, my dear Seven, my prized unit 70-Y…”

He steps closer and closer until your faces are mere inches apart and you are staring directly into his mask. There is a strange sensation that travels across your system and once more the temperature beneath your skin spikes in pinpricks of static. Your ears are ringing, your hands are beginning to shake but they’re out of your control. You can’t comprehend what type of error it is and it only gets worse with each passing second. It can’t be an error; the Doctor never makes any mistakes, so it must be a flaw on your end.

“D-Doctor?” you stammer—another error you don’t recognise. “What… What happened?”

“You’ve grown incompetent,” he replies. You can’t tell whether he sees you malfunctioning in front of him or if he’s simply ignoring it for the matter at hand. “My commands for you were quite simple, were they not?”

Your lips part as you try to respond, but no words come out.

“You don’t understand.” It’s more of a statement than it is a question. “My research has been stolen, Seven. You’ve failed your mission in keeping my laboratory exclusive to us.”

“I’m sorry, Doctor,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. You try to continue, but your body is unstable, swaying until you find yourself falling to the ground. Your legs don’t move the way you need them to; it’s as though they’ve become rubber and can no longer hold your weight. Weakly, you push yourself up into a sitting position and look up at him. Your vision blurs and instinctively you narrow your eyes to try to focus, to reach out to him. “I…”

“You don’t feel well, do you?”

You can’t see him clearly. Something is different about his tone—the irritation has transitioned into something akin to amusement like he’s aware of something that you aren’t. You don’t understand. You don’t feel. That’s something only humans and animals are capable of. He despises having a human assistant; he needs something beyond human, so he created you. It is the only information about your ‘birth’ that you know. 

He lets out another sigh, tone dripping with annoyance once again. “What a bore.”

You detect him staring down at you in the same way he does with his failed projects. You have witnessed firsthand what he does to some of them. They’d get abandoned, their lifeless bodies piled atop each other until it was time for them to get disposed of. Emotions are unknown to you—it’s an area you haven’t explored, but when he ordered you to disassemble all of them with your own hands, you wondered if it could be compared to what humans describe as fear.

Irked and impatient, he clicks his tongue. “Find the thief and kill them. Do not fail me again.” He strides past you and toward the doors, ready to leave but not before he spares you a displeased glance over his shoulder. “And clean this up. You know I hate clutter.”

The Doctor does not return to his laboratory after the incident. 

For the past couple of days, you’ve been trying to find the Doctor so you could report your findings but he’s nowhere to be seen. While it’s not unusual for him to go off somewhere without a word, it is out of routine that he doesn’t have you follow him. If he has been sent on a mission by the Tsaritsa, you would know either from himself or one of his segments. You consider asking his fellow Harbingers, but you have also been forbidden from interacting with any of them aside from the Director. All there is to do is your objective and the disposal of the culprit as soon as you can.

The investigation has been difficult. There are no fingerprints you can scan, no notably suspicious trails left behind, and not enough of anything to form a hypothesis. All you know is that the Doctor’s journals are no longer where they are supposed to be. You consider interrogating the guards but decide against it. They cannot provide useful information, not when the responsibility for surveillance is yours. 

The only thing clear so far is the motive. Whoever broke into the laboratory needed the Doctor’s notes for a reason, whether it was to expose the moral ambiguity of his experiment or to take an idea for themself. Yet there is no evidence of a break-in; the windows aren’t broken and the security system hasn’t been tampered with. If the culprit truly had intentions of stealing or exposing him, they would’ve taken his most valuable research of all: his studies of the Gnoses. The door to his private library remains locked as well, which simultaneously proves the point and does nothing at all. 

You walk through the halls of the palace in silence, attempting to note anyone with suspicious behaviour to no avail. Every face starts to look the same, every voice seems to be monotonous, and the static buzzing beneath your skin returns once again. The discomfort seems to increase with every passing minute of inactivity. Your body feels heavy as if you’re slowly shutting down, out of energy. Have you neglected your self-maintenance? Why have there been errors in your system today?

No matter. Those aren’t of concern now—you’ve been given a mission to complete and you can’t fail him again.

Setting your destination to the laboratory, you decide to do another investigation. There must have been something you missed. A bloodstain, a fingerprint, anything the culprit could’ve left behind in their wake. As you make your way inside, you spot something on the Doctor’s desk that wasn’t previously there: a newspaper. It doesn’t appear to be recent; the date on the corner of the page indicates it’s over a year old.

That’s unusual, you note. He doesn’t like to keep anything unrelated to his work and research. 

The article seems to be about an aristocratic family’s activities which makes it all stranger considering his disdain for them. ‘The patriarch, 47, has now become a priest at the Church of Celestia. His heir did not attend the ceremony, most likely due to their dispute with their father earlier this year,’ it says. The names written in the article are mostly unknown, but as you continue to read, you find that something is off.

One of the people in the images looks just like you. Could it be that the Doctor modelled you after them? And if their reputation precedes them just as much as the article describes it, why haven’t you heard of them?

The newspaper nearly rips in half from how hard you clench your fists. You don’t understand why you did it. You aren’t supposed to have a physical reaction. You aren’t supposed to malfunction, and yet your system is out of your control again, the odd sensations spreading across your skin like frost does to water. There is something wrong with you, with everything. But there isn’t supposed to be—he wouldn’t lie to you, would he?

“So, have you figured it out yet?”

The Doctor steps into the laboratory with his arms crossed behind his back, walking with confidence and satisfaction. His expression melts into a scowl when he approaches you. “Hm. Your optical cybernetics aren’t working well anymore. You should’ve been able to detect me coming in.”

“There wasn’t a thief,” you whisper shakily.

“That’s right!” He grins. “And the heir?”

You choke out, “I… I don’t know.”

It couldn’t be you. No. It’s not possible. You’re an android created by the Doctor, the second of the Harbingers. You’re his assistant, his servant. You have always been here with him.

“Has my precious assistant gained sentience?” he coos mockingly, “A flaw in your code, perhaps? An error or a malfunction?”

“That can’t be,” you breathe. You’re suddenly aware of how unfamiliar it is to inhale and exhale, and how it feels as though there’s something lodged in your throat that is suffocating you. “Y-You made me. You never make mistakes.”

He ignores your words as he smiles at you wickedly, his eyes widening. “Isn’t it fascinating to discover something new? To feel something new?”

“How…”

You feel weak. Exhausted. Everything hits you like a storm and you can’t even figure out what any of them are; all you know is that you are afraid. The same man who built you will be the same man to break you.

“I’ve replaced some of your organs with artificial ones. Not sure what you’re missing here.” He feigns annoyance and clicks his tongue, a sound you’ve found to make you feel overloaded. There’s too much happening, too many truths, too many lies. You don’t know what to believe.

“W-Why?”

“Why?” He laughs as if your devastation is humorous to him. His voice echoes throughout the room in a way that makes your skin crawl. “To sate my curiosity, of course! And, well, I have a… fascination with you, Seven. Or should I say—” his laughter dies down and he leans forward, the smile never leaving his face. Then he says a name—your true name, and everything comes crashing down once again. 

It’s too much. It hurts. Your breathing is out of order, your mind (you have a mind) is in tatters and all you can do is wail as he rejoices in your torment. There’s a stinging sensation in your palms; when you look down, you find that you are bleeding from how hard your nails have been digging into your skin. Out of fear, you scream and cry until your voice is hoarse, until your energy has been drained, until there is nothing left. When you’re finally quiet and sobbing sporadically, the Doctor kneels beside you and pulls your hair back, forcing you to crane your head to look up at him.

He grins. “I suppose I can consider this hypothesis to be true.”

A sharp, biting pain pierces your neck. The world around you spins and slowly disappears behind a haze. Your limbs feel weak, boneless. Your body succumbs to the poison in your veins, and as you fall farther and farther from the light, the void takes you in its embrace.

You are alone with a woman you don’t know. She is the very epitome of holiness, bringing you warmth and comfort, but there is a sorrowful air about her. You try to ask, try to talk to her, but you can’t speak. With a smile, she holds you in her arms like a mother cradles her child, and she cries. She mourns for her child as droplets of her tears land on your skin, a mark of her grief. She whispers apologies to you, tells you that home doesn’t feel the same, and you mourn together with her over the loss of her only child.

Your world shifts, and you find yourself with a serpent. 

It hisses at the air, bares its fangs to something you can’t see. It wraps itself around your frame and softly nudges your cheek with its head, an attempt to comfort you when there is nothing but its presence and yours. It speaks to you in a language you can’t understand with its forked tongue. It coils around your throat when you sleep, both a warning and a reassurance that it won’t leave you alone.

You feel fondness and fear for it at the same time.

Your eyelids slowly flutter as the lid of your sleep pod slides open, exposing you to the bright lights of the room. A masked man is sitting beside you, his lips curved into a joyous smile when he sees that you’re awake. Something is familiar about him, but you can’t quite put your finger on it.

You feel strange, like you’re forgetting something. It doesn’t make sense. How can you search for a memory you’re not even sure exists? You want to ask, but a glance downwards steals away your attention. Your hands — they’re mechanical, sleek and black metal that goes up to your elbows. Your fingers are long and sharp, undoubtedly made to be weapons. Curiously, you bring it to your eye level to take a closer look; they resemble claws with their pointed tips and sharp edges.

“My dear Artiglio,” he says, watching as you push yourself up into a sitting position. “Are you ready for your first mission?”

Of course. How could you have forgotten?

You serve the Doctor, your creator. With the gift of life and lethality he bestowed upon you, your purpose is clear.

If the Doctor tells you to kill, you do so in cold blood. If he tells you to steal something for him, you bring him everything he needs. If he is not pleased with you, you recalibrate and retry the next time he needs you.

You follow his orders.

[2024-grimoire-challenge]

October Week 1 - Laws of Magic

This week we’re going to be looking at generally held laws and ideas about how magic, manifestation and prayer work. These are broad ideas and not all of them are going to pertain to you and your practice. Let’s dive in, cause this week is a full one!

(Feel free to make a page or multiple pages for all of these topics. Even if you don’t make actual pages for them, it can be helpful just to take notes on some loose paper or in your lab notebook!)

Monday - for each of the laws listed every day this week, the prompt will be the same research prompt! For the laws listed below look up where they came from, who posited them, who tends to follow them, what the law itself states and means and how it does (if it does) pertain to your practice, craft and way of thinking!

Research - Law of Attraction

Research- Law of assumption

Practical - Write a spell! No matter what it is for, who it is for, do it! Lay out the time, place, ingredients, tools, words and steps and if you’re feeling extra groggy, perform it! Write it all out in your lab notebook for future use and tweaking, then journal about the experience and outcome!

Tuesday - For the laws listed below look up where they came from, who posited them, who tends to follow them, what the law itself states and means and how it does (if it does) pertain to your practice, craft and way of thinking!

Research - Law: Placebo effect

Research - Law of Vibration

Research/ New Page -Gemstone Study- like before, pick a gemstone from your list and learn all you can about it! Magical, mundane, scientific, spiritual, and practical!

Wednesday - For the laws listed below look up where they came from, who posited them, who tends to follow them, what the law itself states and means and how it does (if it does) pertain to your practice, craft and way of thinking!

Research - Shadow Work - this one isn’t necessarily a law of magic, and is actually a psychological term. Where did it come from? Who came up with it? What is it? How can it be used in conjunction with witchcraft? How can it help you understand yourself and your craft?

Research - Law of Polarity

Research - Law of Synchronicity

Research/ New Page - Herbal Study - pick another herb from your list and learn everything you can about it! Magical and mundane, medicinal and culinary, myth and legend, history and how to grow it!

Thursday -For the laws listed below look up where they came from, who posited them, who tends to follow them, what the law itself states and means and how it does (if it does) pertain to your practice, craft and way of thinking!

Research - Law of Rhythm

Research - Law of Similarity

Research - Law of Contagion

Friday - For the laws listed below look up where they came from, who posited them, who tends to follow them, what the law itself states and means and how it does (if it does) pertain to your practice, craft and way of thinking!

Research - Law of Correspondences

Research - Law of Personification

Bonus: many of these are from the 26 Laws of Magic which are generally held ideas about how magic, manifestation and prayer generally work from a pseudo-psychology point of view. Look up the rest of these laws and think about how those above and those not listed pertain to your craft if at all.

Apologies if formatting this week is a little wonky! I worked on this one on my phone at work the last couple nights as I haven’t been home long enough to be on my computer!

-Mod Hazel

[holewithinahole]

The Spirit's in It | Egon Spengler x nb!reader [1/3]

Summary: “I didn’t know psychology doctors also specialized in particle physics, is all.”

What you meant as a light joke to relax him did quite the opposite. He straightens, righting up his glasses one more pointless time. “I have a degree in nuclear engineering,” he states before walking out, leaving you confused and feeling like you’ve spent the entire time offending him unintentionally.

Warnings: dubious science, non-native writer, non-beta'd

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Ao3 Link

Woopsies, I'm back to plaster my insecurities on fictional characters. This work is part of a two-part series which follows the events of the Ghostbusters primary canon. The first part, set during the first movie, will be cut in 3 smaller bits for Tumblr. When all parts will be posted, I'll upload it on Ao3. The parts are all written, so it'll be released soon enough.

I just want to do a little disclaimer. Usually my 'reader' characters are very loosely characterized so anyone can project on them. However, this reader might not fit everyone? I'm sorry about that. Overall, if you're autistic, on the aro/ace spectrum or just a tiny bit ND, you might feel more connection to the reader lmao.

Ah! Also, the science sucks, pls ignore. It can be read as a prequel to It's always the quiet ones, btw.

Summer, 1984

This is a good song, you think, the beat intense enough to distract the back of your brain as you write down the last advancements of your research. You’ve spent the entire month of July reading books and other scientists’ papers, but not managing – until now – to sit down and order the large number of notes you piled up. Running on the pure energy of your hyper-focused state, a dozen cups of coffee and a single chocolate bar, you definitely didn’t notice the man stepping into your lab, not until you randomly glanced up and met the disconcerted gaze of an unknown guest.

“Excuse me?” he mouths out.

You straighten in your chair so quickly your back snap.

“Ah! Yes! Sorry, what is it?” you stammer, taking out your headphones with shaky hands and fumbling with your Walkman.

The man stands at the entrance of the lab, strangely stiff, seemingly assessing his next course of action before taking exactly four steps toward your desk.

“I would like to borrow a soldering iron.” He rights his glasses up his long nose.

The first thing you take note of is the low modulation of his voice; an unusual pitch that seems to vibrate directly out of his chest. The second is his wide, rigid build. From your chair, he towers over you, and your neck is starting to hurt from stretching uncomfortably (it might just be your overall terrible posture.)

You’ve been staring a little too long so you clear your throat and get up. “And you are? Not that I’m unwilling to lend you a soldering iron but I can’t just give my tools to strangers–”

“Dr. Spengler, I work at the psychology pole of this university,” he interrupts.

He looks at you like you’ve got a stain right in the middle of your forehead. You glance away.

“Psychology? What do you intend to solder? A loose neuron?” You stand up, cracking up a joke nervously.

“I assure you I don’t conduct any dangerous experiments on unwilling subjects.”

Despite the tension, it’s the ‘unwilling’ that does it for you and you let out a chuckle. Finally meeting his eyes, the light frown he adorns is either one of incomprehension or irritation, making you drop the smile immediately.

“Uh–” you croak out before you decide better not to say anything. You both end up looking awkwardly at each other, and time seems to be stretching to amplify your discomfort – and probably his as well. It feels like orbiting a black hole while he’s rushing through the universe at 18.5 miles a second.

Smart enough to be a researcher, stupid enough to ruin a simple conversation.

Fingers fidgety, you walk away to rummage through your closets, taking out the tool and handing it to him. “I do intend to have it back soon, Dr. Spengler.”

There’s a slight hesitation in his hand before he takes it, nodding curtly. In your defense, you do try to smile, even if it’s an uptight, embarrassing attempt. Oddly enough, he doesn’t leave, staring at the iron for a couple of seconds.

Abruptly, he clears his throat, looking intently at your face. “I’m improving a prototype that detects the presence of paranormal entities and directs me to them using a boron-trifluoride counter tube and a platinum electrode.” He doesn’t even take a breath. “A component of the rate meter I installed seems to be defective, and the cable of my soldering iron broke while I was working.”

He comes to a sudden stop, mouth half-opened but doesn’t resume his explanation. At a loss on how to react –and surely gaping at him considering you weren’t expecting to be slapped across the face by a presentation on neutron detectors, you whisper a small: “I see.”

A nervous twitch at the corner of his mouth makes your stomach drop.

“Uh, I mean; you can borrow mine!” You let out a tiny laugh. “I didn’t know psychology doctors also specialized in particle physics, is all.”

What you meant as a light joke to relax him did quite the opposite. He straightens, righting up his glasses one more pointless time. “I have a degree in nuclear engineering,” he states before walking out, leaving you confused and feeling like you’ve spent the entire time offending him unintentionally.

Ground control to Major Tom, your circuit’s dead, there’s something wrong, screams your forgotten Walkman.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dr. Spengler didn’t come back to your lab after your disastrous first meeting. He did return the iron, though. You simply found it on your desk one morning at seven o'clock, electric cable neatly wrapped around the handle.

You were secretly hoping for the doctor to come back to your lab to hand the iron back, so you could have apologized and asked more about his work, about his degrees… anything really. You had planned the interaction at least thirty times, going through a series of ice-breaking sentences that all relied on the fact that he would be back. He had preferred to avoid you, which couldn’t compel you to go see him yourself. Clearly, you had left a bad impression, and anxiety wouldn’t let you go look for him to apologize.

In the meantime, intrigued by his academic history, you started going through published papers by Dr. Egon – you quickly learned – Spengler. And if you thought you couldn’t get more curious about this mystery of a man, you browsing through numerous seemingly random articles – like ‘Quantum tunneling in anastomosis formations and nuclear exchanges’ – made you raise many eyebrows. Your fascination reached new heights with his brilliant article on ionizing radiation, written in M.I.T. no less. Egon Spengler had become the person you wished to chat with the most yet the most inaccessible.

You can think of a million questions to ask him, a million conversations to have. Why ionizing radiations? Did he have an interest in cosmic particles? Were his studies on gamma radiation related to his microbiology degree? How did he end up working in the psychology aisle of Columbia? Could ectoplasms really be quantified as a network of negatively charged particles?

Your life became filled with thoughts of the doctor, so you blamed it all on professional curiosity and you pushed yourself back into your work. Labs have been deserted by most researchers, preferring to treat themselves to a well-earned vacation. Nothing you can’t agree with in essence but previously attempted vacations had instilled a strong feeling of dread in you: you showed yourself incapable of not visualizing the amount of unfinished work. It’s not as bad as it sounds, really, to be work-obsessed; you love your work. Summer in Columbia is peaceful, solitary but also desperately unstimulating. Researching alone is undoubtedly slower, especially in your field, and knowing there’s an ideal candidate for some great brainstorming a few buildings away is nerve-wracking.

After an entire month going by with no new interaction with Dr. Spengler – not even sighting him at the corner of a corridor, the awkwardness that made him run away fuels your guilt. However, the opportunity of meeting again with Dr. Spengler comes unexpectedly. It comes with a mandatory meeting with the dean of the academy.

“You’ve been summoned as well, uh?”

You snap out of your social distancing trance. “Sorry?”

Next to you stands another professor with an easygoing smile and a relaxed stance. “Dean Yaeger. He likes to summon us like he’s royalty,” he jokes followed by a low staccato of a laugh.

“Oh,” you pointlessly say. “Yeah, he tends to do that.”

He offers his hand, showing another pearly-white-toothed smile. “I’m Dr. Ray Stantz, department of psychology.”

You offer your name back as you shake his hand. “Department of Physics.”

“Neat.” Dr. Stantz grins. “You should drop by our aisle sometimes. Spengs has a degree in physics; I’m sure you’ll get along well.”

“Who?”

“Dr. Egon Spengler, my colleague and friend.”

“Oh.” How you despise idle chatting. “I know him. He came to my lab to borrow a soldering iron about a month ago.”

“Venkman – our other colleague, forced him to go ask; he was so grumpy after being stopped in the middle of his experiment.” Dr. Stantz sure does enjoy making conversation. “He returned it, right?”

You have the impression he already knows the answer. “Yes, he did.”

“What field of physics do you specialize in by the way?” he asks excitedly. You have to say his jolly attitude is endearing, slowly getting you more at ease.

“High-energy physics.”

“That’s amazing, man. ‘actually wish I knew more about it. You should definitely swing by our lab soon. You can take a look at what we’ve–”

“Ah. Dr. Stantz.” Dean Yeager has the most distasteful expression on his face. “You may come in.”

Dr. Stantz gives you an apologetic look as Yaeger nods at you. You remain standing in front of the door, anxiety spiking up. Now you have no other choice than to go, or it’ll be rude, right?

Shit.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It took you more than a week of conditioning to get your ass moving, leading you, once more, in front of a closed door. You have to say, this part of the psychology department is far from what you’ve imagined. You wonder what Dr. Stantz, Dr. Venkman, and Dr. Spengler did to offend Dean Yaeger to the point of being located in the university equivalent of a demilitarized zone. No wonder they need to borrow equipment from the physics department. The bright red ‘Burn in hell Venkman’ tagged on the door isn’t the most welcoming sight either.

You reluctantly raise your hand and knock four times. The shuffling you hear inside almost makes you run away. But thankfully – or miserably you’re still unsure about that one, an unknown man opens the door. Dr. Venkman, you guess.

A lazy smile stretches on his face. “Can I help you?” There’s a low edge to his voice, something that’s intended and practiced.

You try not to come out as too appalled. “I’m looking for Dr. Spengler.”

Dr. Venkman raises an eyebrow, and you immediately chastise yourself. At that moment, you see Dr. Spengler popping his head behind him and you lose your train of thought… and your words. “Uh, Dr. Stantz told me to–”

Dr. Venkman opens his eyes almost comically wide, pivoting slowly between Dr. Spengler and yourself. “Aaal-right. You know what; I have to meet up with Veronica of the literature department so– I’ll leave you guys to it.” He claps obnoxiously on his friend’s shoulder before departing, sliding past you while whistling some tune.

You watch him go, slightly distracted when Dr. Spengler grabs your attention again. “Dr. Stantz isn’t here today.”

“Ah, I see…” No wait–

“He’ll be here tomorrow at 8 am.” He angles his body towards the inside of the room like he’s wanting to go back to what he was previously doing.

“Actually,” you force out, heart at the edge of your lips. “I wanted to apologize to you.”

Only the small widening of his eyes behind his frames indicates his surprise because his voice remains soft-spoken. “Apologize for?”

Better to be honest than invent a stupid excuse he’ll probably spot immediately. “Yes, I clearly made you uncomfortable last time. I was only trying to idle-chat, but I’m terrible at it.”

“What makes you think you made me uncomfortable?” Dr. Spengler asks.

A few seconds pass. “…because I went out of my way by questioning whether or not you had the knowledge to speak about particle physics?”

“Did you?” You realize he’s probably genuinely asking, not as a way to rile you up but as a way to understand. Somehow, it calms your nerves. Just a little.

“No,” you say. “I’m sorry… you just looked upset when you left.”

He faces you completely this time, taking his time to answer. “Then I’m the one apologizing. I was grateful for your help, but I failed to show it.”

Some part of you wonders if it’s entirely true. You brush it off. “It’s alright. I guess we’re not good at understanding social cues, uh?”

He seems to be pondering something. “I’ve been told that before.”

You chuckle. There’s a tension off his shoulders, and you thank Dr. Stantz internally.

“I’m actually working on a prototype of particle thrower. Your input would be appreciated.”

“A what?!”

[chaos-bringer-13]

Jazz's little. Her parents are super cool. They're ghost hunters! It sounds like something from a movie about future and scientists and supernatural beings and cool-looking tech. They have cool-looking tech at home. It's even cooler than tech in the movies.

Jazz also has a little brother. He's stupid but he's hers, and she will protect him from anything. Her brother is very small, he needs someone to protect him and teach him about the world.

She knows about the world. She understands their parents much better than him, and she can tell her brother when they shouldn't be distracted. She knows when they're upset and irritable, and she knows when they're too excited and being near them is dangerous because of all the inventions.

Jazz does a very good job keeping her little brother safe.

---

Jazz goes to school. Her teachers say that she's very smart, the best student in class, and very mature. Her parents are proud of her - when she manages to distract them from ghosts. Her brother is still kinda stupid and doesn't know how to properly fight food, but she's always there to protect him, because that's what older sisters do.

Her classmates seem to think that she's weird though. Some of them say mean things and call her a teacher's pet and a show-off. Jazz isn't sure why they think so because she's always trying to be friendly but maybe she's doing something wrong. She goes to the school library and finds a book about people and their communication.

It's a very interesting book.

---

Jazz is almost a teen. She's gotten better at communicating with people. The school library ran out of psychology books, and Jazz now has to go to the city library but that's fine. Human brain fascinates her.

She's been feeling like something is wrong about her though. She even thought that she was going crazy for a little bit. That probably wasn't true because she didn't match any symptoms but she was still worried.

Someone told her that being so good at lying and faking face expressions is not okay. That's probably not true, Jazz is pretty sure almost everyone can do that. Or maybe she's just being a prodigy again. It's a very good thing to be able to do after all. She can hide her emotions from her family when she's feeling sad. She wouldn't want to worry them, would she?

She'll have to research it.

---

Jazz is a teen. She now knows that her parents aren't actually that good. It's something that was really hard to accept but it did explain everything. Her parents are kinda bad at being parents, and they also don't really listen when she tries to explain it to them.

It's okay. She's almost an adult and Danny has her. She can take care of herself and her brother.

She learns everything she can about being a parent and a therapist and tries to use her knowledge. It's hard, but she's a Fenton, which means that she's very smart and determined. She pushes through, and trains on her classmates and herself.

In the evening she writes about her feelings in a journal. It's very important to be aware of her feelings because that's the first step to dealing with them.

She's experiencing sadness. And anger, actually, even though she doesn't like to admit that.

She writes "this family is a fucking mess" in her journal and then covers the paper with ink until the sentence is absolutely unreadable.

---

Jazz is sixteen, and her stupid parents opened the stupid portal, which means that they're even worse than usual. It's pretty much okay when they're just stuck in their stupid lab, making some stupid weapons. It's not that okay when they're out of the stupid lab, because they get their stupid inventions all over the stupid house, and stupid food comes to life, and she has to protect Danny from both their stupid weapons and stupid hotdogs, and oh god everything is so stupid.

She's experiencing anger.

She's also acting perfectly calm and almost cheerfully.

Jazz hates how perfect her fake smile is in the mirror.

---

Jazz is seventeen. She wants to put her headphones on and listen to some loud music. Jazz can't do that, because she gets anxious if she can't hear what's happening around her. She needs to be fully aware of her surroundings because she needs to be able to protect herself and her brother if weapons against ghosts become weapons against children again.

She thinks that it's not okay.

The house smells of ectoplasm, so she'll be extra careful when opening the fridge.

She thinks that she shouldn't know how ectoplasm smells.

Jazz should probably also warn Danny: her little brother's gotten better at fighting food but doesn't notice the smell of ectoplasm. Funny, considering his ghost sense.

Funny, considering that her brother is a half-ghost.

That her brother died.

That she failed at protecting him after all.

Jazz stops breathing to prevent herself from crying, and doesn't need oxygen for a few minutes too long.

Maybe she failed at protecting herself too.

---

Jazz is turning eighteen next month. Her parents are all of a sudden more attentive and caring, as if that can change their almost-absence during her whole life. She doesn't like their attention because she doesn't know how to deal with it. She doesn't even really think of them as parents anymore.

She thinks of them as a threat.

Once she's eighteen, she's gonna try to move out, and she's going to take Danny with her because it's not safe to leave him here. Maybe after she gets a good job and saves some money, she'll even get into therapy.

Jazz thinks that she needs therapy.

She's been having Bad Thoughts lately, and she doesn't write them down in her journal. Jazz stopped writing anything in there ever since she found out that Danny is a ghost. She just couldn't risk anyone finding that journal.

Jazz isn't sure if she should call those Bad Thoughts intrusive. They scare her, and they're Bad, but it could be just her normal thought process.

It's still definitely not normal.

---

Jazz is eighteen. Her parents are very excited, whispering to each other about how they found a perfect present for her, some surprise that she's gonna love.

She doesn't care.

Her little brother is late from school, and it's weird, because he was also super excited about giving her his present.

She's worried.

Her parents brush off her concern, say that Danny probably just got distracted talking with his friends. They don't listen when she says that Danny wouldn't get distracted like that on her birthday because he's not them, he actually cares about her, he doesn't forget her birthdays, and something has to be wrong for him to be that late.

They don't listen to her at all.

She's angry.

Her parents are excited and talk loudly about how they wanted to find a perfect gift for their favourite daughter, and how they managed to do it because they love her so much. She hates when they're excited. It only leads to problems.

They bring her to the lab because of course they do, why would they make a gift that is normal and isn't kept in the lab, right? They usher her in, so obviously proud of themselves.

She hates them.

And she hates them much, much more the next second, because the gift is her little brother in his ghost form, strapped to a table, unconscious and injured, and the smell of ectoplasm is strong in the lab because of his green blood dripping on the floor.

There's a cold part of her that analyses her feelings and tells her what emotions she's experiencing, and that part is very aware of thick black smoke of wrath twirling and twisting under her skin. It's suffocating, and she stops breathing as it invisibly fills her lungs, scared of letting it out.

There's a perfectly fake part of her that keeps the smile on her face as her parents gush about how hard it was to catch the ecto-scum, and what they can do to it - together with Jazz because they wanted to share this with their amazing daughter.

Jazz is black smoke of rage under perfect glass of calmness when she grabs Fenton anti-creep stick. The smile she learned to fake under any circumstances doesn't falter when Jazz brings the baseball bat down on her father's head. It grows a little bit wider when she hits her mother, because Jazz learned to smile brighter when she's hurt or sad or scared or angry - experiencing any "bad" emotion actually.

Jazz is angry when she grabs her weapon.

Jazz is furious when she kills her parents.

Jazz is worried when she checks her brother's wounds.

Jazz feels nothing when she rigs the portal to blow, walks out of the house and presses the button.

She is her parents' genius daughter after all, and she did listen when they were telling her about their inventions. Maybe it would have taken longer to do, but she had Bad Thoughts, and they probably weren't just intrusive after all, because she did what they told her and made it very easy to make a bomb out of a portal. Just in case. Her parents were a threat, and Jazz was smart enough to prepare to dealing with threats, and she was smart enough to make it look like the threats dealt with themselves.

She really hoped she wouldn't have to use that button though.

---

Jazz is nineteen. Her sort-of-friends at uni offer to go to a restaurant, and she tells them that she doesn't celebrate her birthdays. There's a noise of all of them saying that maybe she should try, noise that she really should have expected, because humans are always so excited about any holidays, it's hard for them to understand that someone might not like them. It's not hard to stop that noise though. They shut up very quickly when Jazz says that she had "a very traumatic event" on her birthday.

Good. She doesn't like loud people.

Jazz goes home to her little brother. He's sad because his parents died in an awful explosion a year ago. He's still trying to smile because it's also her birthday, and Jazz is very happy that he's bad at faking a smile.

It means that he won't end up like her.

Jazz hugs her little brother, and he gives her a little present that she adores, and then they sit in silence and eat some takeout. It's very nice.

She never tells Danny that their parents died before the explosion, and that the explosion wasn't an accident, and that their ghosts did form after that because of all the ecto-contamination they had, but she made sure this wouldn't become a problem. She never tells him what she's done, because that would hurt her little brother, and she would never let anything hurt him.

Jazz will protect her little brother from anything.

[realinspirations]

The Productivity Cure: Overcoming Procrastination One Task at a Time

 Procrastination is a not unusual human revel in—delaying tasks, doing away with duties, and selecting quick-term pride over lengthy-term dreams. At a few point, almost anyone has fallen into its entice, whether or not by means of suspending assignments, avoiding chores, or delaying hard conversations. While occasional procrastination might seem innocent, persistent procrastination can severely undermine one’s productivity, mental fitness, and overall success. Fortunately, procrastination is not an irreversible trait. With the right mind-set and strategies, it can be overcome.

How to overcome procrastination as a student

Understanding Procrastination

To conquer procrastination, it is essential first to recognize it. Procrastination is not merely negative time control or laziness. It is a complicated behavior frequently rooted in deeper psychological problems together with fear of failure, perfectionism, low self-esteem, or anxiety. Many human beings procrastinate due to the fact they may be overwhelmed with the aid of the undertaking to hand or due to the fact they doubt their capability to finish it effectively. Others keep away from duties that they understand as uninteresting, tedious, or unpleasant.

Neurologically, procrastination is prompted via the mind's limbic gadget, which seeks immediate gratification, and the prefrontal cortex, that is responsible for making plans and selection-making. When the limbic system overpowers the prefrontal cortex, the result is often procrastination—selecting a short-term satisfaction, like scrolling thru social media, rather than running on a protracted-time period intention, like writing a document.

The Costs of Procrastination

Though it would provide temporary remedy or amusement, procrastination often carries considerable long-time period expenses. Academic overall performance can go through, closing dates may be ignored, and possibilities can be lost. In the administrative center, procrastination can cause poor opinions, ignored promotions, and accelerated pressure. It can harm relationships whilst duties are neglected or guarantees are broken.

Emotionally, procrastinators often revel in guilt, shame, and a decline in self-worth. The cycle usually starts offevolved with avoidance, accompanied by guilt and self-complaint, which further will increase tension and reduces motivation. Over time, this can create a harmful feedback loop that will become hard to interrupt.

Strategies to Overcome Procrastination

Overcoming procrastination requires extra than just self-control. It involves converting notion styles, constructing new behavior, and making use of realistic strategies constantly. Below are numerous confirmed techniques to assist break the cycle of procrastination:

1. Break Tasks into Smaller Steps

Large duties often seem intimidating, main to avoidance. By breaking a venture into smaller, achievable steps, it turns into less overwhelming and easier to begin. For example, in place of writing "write time period paper" in your to-do list, spoil it down into "pick out a topic," "research assets," "write define," and so on. Completing every small mission builds momentum and decreases resistance.

2. Set Specific Goals and Deadlines

Vague dreams like "observe more" or "be productive" lack the clarity necessary for effective action. Instead, set unique, measurable dreams with clean time limits. For example, "take a look at biology for 45 mins at 6 PM" presents a concrete plan. Deadlines create urgency and structure, supporting to counteract the tendency to put off.

Three. Use the Pomodoro Technique

The Pomodoro Technique is a time control method that involves working in short, centered durations (normally 25 minutes), followed with the aid of a quick spoil. This method can make daunting duties appear greater manageable and might increase focus via creating a feel of urgency. After 4 paintings periods, take a longer ruin to rest and recharge.

4. Remove Distractions

Distractions are a first-rate contributor to procrastination. Identify your not unusual distractions—social media, tv, noisy environments—and take steps to eliminate or reduce them. This may involve turning off notifications, the use of internet site blockers, or locating a quiet workspace. Creating a targeted environment sets the level for productiveness.

5. Practice Self-Compassion

Many procrastinators are harshly self-crucial, which most effective will increase strain and decreases motivation. Instead of berating yourself for procrastinating, exercise self-compassion. Acknowledge your struggles with out judgment and inspire yourself to take small steps ahead. Self-compassion fosters resilience and makes it easier to break the procrastination cycle.

6. Visualize Success and Consequences

Visualization is a effective psychological device. Imagine the high-quality consequences of finishing a assignment—inclusive of the relaxation and delight you’ll feel.This intellectual practice session can strengthen motivation and align your behavior along with your lengthy-time period dreams.

7. Create Accountability

Accountability can be a sturdy motivator. Share your goals with a pal, mentor, or colleague who can take a look at in to your development. Knowing that someone else is aware of your commitments can increase your experience of duty and inspire comply with-thru.

8. Reward Yourself

Incentives can make responsibilities extra attractive. Set up a reward machine wherein you treat your self after finishing certain duties. The praise doesn’t need to be extravagant—a fave snack, a walk out of doors, or looking an episode of your favored display can offer the incentive needed to get commenced.

Nine. Understand and Challenge Your Thoughts

Cognitive distortions like "I’ll in no way get this accomplished" or "It needs to be best" frequently fuel procrastination. Replace them with extra balanced, practical ideals, along with "I can begin with just 10 minutes" or "Done is better than best."

10. Develop a Routine

Consistency is prime to forming new habits. Establish a each day habitual that consists of distinct time for work, breaks, and rest. Routines help to lessen choice fatigue and make productiveness a part of your lifestyle in place of a consistent battle.

The Role of Mindfulness

Mindfulness—the practice of being gift and aware—can be a effective device in overcoming procrastination. By cultivating mindfulness, you could learn to take a look at your urges to procrastinate without performing on them. Instead of reacting impulsively, mindfulness lets in you to pause, replicate, and pick out a greater productive reaction.

Regular mindfulness practice also can reduce pressure and boom focus, making it less difficult to live on undertaking. Techniques along with deep respiratory, meditation, or honestly checking in with your thoughts can help floor you and redirect your attention to what subjects maximum.

Seeking Professional Help

For a few people, procrastination is deeply ingrained and can be linked to mental fitness situations which include ADHD, tension, or depression. In such instances, self-assist strategies won't be sufficient. Seeking assist from a therapist, counselor, or teach can offer customized guidance and guide. Cognitive-behavioral remedy (CBT), mainly, has proven powerful in treating continual procrastination.

[alpaca-clouds]

The more I read into it, the more frustrated I am with the research area of psychology.

I do believe that psychotherapy can help people a great deal - it has helped me - but I do think that way too much psychological research is not being done under scientifically neutral conditions, and has a tendency to also be just hella weird.

Case and point: evolutionary psychology, the fake believe that humans are naturally monogamous animals and hence have certain universal mating patterns, something that has about as much scientific merrit as race science (and is closely related to it, where we are already on it), and yet is something you can study at university and can get a degree in.

I am taking a super, duper interesting course in psychology this year (spatial cognition). I love it. It is interesting. But reading through many of the studies I get headaches. Because guess who was polled/tested for it? Guess!

If you guessed: young, mostly white people between 18 and 25 who were currently student at whatever university the psychologist researching was working at, you guessed right. And them being at university obviously also means they are more likely to be from a certain socio-economic background. Meaning: the research set is heavily biased.

Do most psychologists doing those studies however recognize this fact? Do they write a conclusion going "in our data set it has been observed [xy], but we also have to consider that our data is heavily biased"? No. Obviously not.

Some of them do. Yeah, but most don't. Most will just go: "Well, I did a test with 30 university students, let me now extrapolate from this limited data set to ALL OF HUMANITY!!!"

And mind you, the stuff I am reading for this class - due to us getting to choose the papers - is already way less biased due to the area I focus on (how does language influence cognition?), which necessitates more mixed data sets.

But I also have read so many psychology studies that go into other areas, notably ones that can do more harm.

For the most part, spatial cognition will mostly influence stuff like how navigation stuff is phrased, and how we design virtual environments. So, it makes this less accessible to non-western people, and tendencially non-English-natives. But generally I would argue, it is limited in harm.

But when I am looking at other areas of psychological research...

I will once more note that the Stockholm Syndrome is bullshit that someone just made up, never proved scientifically, and that people just believed and then designed studies based on the assumption that it was real.

Or the other fun thing: you know how IQ tests are utter bullshit, that highly favor a very tiny fragment of what actually makes intelligence and are also designed in a way that they are more easily done by people from "western culture"? Yeah. You do not want to know how many studies are based around IQ. (Heck, by now it is so widely known that it is BS, that I found JOKES about it in study books. One study book had this joking page on "misconceptions about psychology", which included the bullet point: "Definition of intelligence: whatever is measured with IQ, I guess." And yet people use it to this day.)

HECK, I have seen SEVERAL STUDIES designed under the assumption that Meyers-Briggs was real. Something that has about as much scientific merrit as basing your study around what someone's horoscope said at that particular day!

Other areas of science are not perfect. No. But it boggles my mind, that how much BS is happening in psychology, and also how often neurology is nowhere to be seen at any step of the way. As if psychology was happening somewhere outside of the brain.

And I also have seen so many studies that also had a very biased selection of participants. (Heck, our professor called one of those out in lecture. Basically, some prior research had shown that a specific spatial cognition ability was more developed in people who played a lot of videogames. So the researcher just looked for gamers to proof that actually people were really good at this thing.)

I get research is expensive. I get that it is hard to get participants that are not students. But this is actually doing harm!

[neysastudies]

Hi! I was wondering if I should get a bachelor's in psychology and then specialize in neurosciences. I'm 24 now. Studying the brain seems like studying reality because we see and feel the things we do because of the brain, is it true? But I was actually afraid of the research world because I heard it isn't about doing a good research anymore, but it is about producing a lot of papers or being on a lot of papers, and it can be economically unstable. Is it true? Like I wouldn't want to change now and being in a situation I thought was something and the it wasn't you know?

Hey, I completely get why you're drawn to studying the brain. I remember having a similar thought—that understanding the brain is like understanding reality itself, because literally everything we perceive and feel comes from how our brain processes the world. That feeling is real and meaningful. It’s a deep reason to want to pursue neuroscience, and I think it’s beautiful that you’re thinking about it in that way.

But since you’re considering diving into this path now, I want to be honest with you based on my own experience.

I’m currently doing a PhD in neuroscience, working with animal models of autism, behavioral experiments, and brain imaging. It’s a fascinating field and I’m learning so much—but it’s also incredibly demanding. Some days I work 10–12 hours, including weekends. There’s a constant juggling act between experiments, data analysis, writing, coding, and even training others. The pressure can be intense—not just to do good research, but to do a lot of it, quickly, and get papers out. And yes, the reality is that academic research often feels like a system focused more on productivity and publication metrics than on depth, creativity, or mental well-being.

There’s also the financial side—it can be unstable, especially in the early years. Postdocs, grant applications, short-term contracts... it’s not always a clear or secure path.

So I won’t sugarcoat it—it’s not the pure pursuit of knowledge I imagined at first. But at the same time, the science itself still moves me. Asking questions that matter, thinking deeply about perception, consciousness, or emotion—those things still light something up in me. I think that spark is worth listening to, but it also needs to be balanced with realistic expectations.

If you're 24 and thinking of starting from a psychology bachelor’s and eventually going into neuroscience, it’s definitely not too late. But I would recommend exploring it in small steps first—try an online course or volunteer in a lab, talk to people working in the field. See if it excites you and if you can imagine yourself navigating the lifestyle that comes with it.

And remember, neuroscience isn’t limited to academia. There are many paths—clinical work, tech, mental health, education, science communication, even artistic and philosophical ones. If you love the brain and want to work with it, there are ways to do that without burning out in a system that doesn’t always prioritize well-being.

So yes—follow your curiosity, but protect your peace too. It's not a waste to want more from life than just survival in a competitive field. I wish someone had told me that earlier.

[zu-is-here]

Hi... Sorry for sad rant, beforehand

So, where do you guys get ideas, or help, or something? Like, internet has a lot of info... But I cannot find answers I'm looking for, or learn in general, so it's pretty annoying ...

And it's just...getting worse. I can't get help from family, they lost years raising me and I'm just stuck, not being able to "grow up" and be on my own. I can't find answers online, and I can't get medical/psychological help because it doesn't work (pills doesn't work on me, and therapy is just... You can't progress without talking and my mind just goes blank whenever I sit with the guy. Tried like 4 different ones, no results with any)

I have no idea how did I get through the school, and everyone pointing it out like me being in college is proof that it's not bad is pretty depressing (I'm here only because I barely passed a test, and in a subject that they would probably take in anyone, if they were just going to sign a paper. And even here I am barely making through just because teachers didn't really care and just let people pass).

It's stupid. I know it's just my problem for not getting it, or not trying hard enough, but... I just don't even know where to turn. In the end I just sleep day away or look blankly on the phone or wall. I try to research, or whatever, but nothing sticks in my mind for more than a hour if it gets there in the first place ...

Hii!╰(*´︶`*)╯

You know, the more I read, the more I realize that things are not as bad as it might seem. It depends on your perception and reflects on your attitudes.

I'm in no way minimizing your problem, but before you can get help, you might try helping yourself.

You're growing, you still do, and it's never a waste of time but your personal journey. You did graduate from high school, and you study in college now — that's a fact, and whether it's good or not really, depressing or promising, is only up to you to decide. As well as whether to accept this fact or to change it.

Sometimes you need to take a step, even if you're not ready. You can't start being on your own if you're not on your own now. You can't learn to cook if someone does it for you. Sometimes we learn not because we have a choice but because we have no other choice.

It's not stupid to feel helpless, you have the right to all the feelings, you are a living being. But this is not a dead end. You can get sympathy to feel better, but you know it won't help you to get better.

For your own sake, get out of bed and put away your phone. Start with self-care, move on to cleaning, and gradually expand your to-do's. Do it for yourself ♡

Same goes to getting help: don't expect someone to find a way out for you if you don't help them with it. If you can't talk to a therapist, write them a letter in advance. If you can't describe your problem, start with your feelings. I'm not a therapist and never been to one, but I believe it's a tandem, so take a step forward.

If you want to get an answer, ask the question instead of looking for a place with answers. If you don't like the outcome, start taking actions instead of complaining about the outcome.

Perhaps my words might seem harsh to you, but please, don't take them personally, for I truly believe in you (⊃｡•́‿•̀｡)⊃ You can make a change when you realize that your life, even with someone's help, is in your own hands. ☆

[peanut-tyrug]

Pink City AU: Hunt for the Boxman

Chapter 1 - Unboxing the Meat and Potatoes

Hoonis, Elain, and Dento discover that a particular actress of old has returned to the Pink City. The trio sets out to look for her, although, a peculiar threat appears to be dangling over them like hung up meat slabs…

—

NOTICE: This AU is partially based on my ideas/interpretation. If anything appears to be inaccurate, I apologize. I tried to work with what little I had to make smth. I also took a few artistic liberties.

Another thing: THE PINK CITY AND IT’S CHARACTERS DO NOT BELONG TO ME!! IT BELONGS TO GOOSEWORX!! Some canon lore for The Pink City has also been implemented in this story. This is just an AU/story I made based on it. If you’d like to check out The Pink City series itself, check it out here!

—

TRIGGER WARNING: This fic contains mentions of murder/cannibalism, drugs/mentions of drugs (laced food), mentions of psychological episodes, swearing, and trauma. If you aren’t comfortable with these things, don’t read this.



Hoonis drags Elain along as he runs, Dento quickly following behind. Elain can barely keep up with the drag as she almost trips. Dento lags behind a bit.

Many twists and turns are made. Elain has no idea where Hoonis is taking them. After a bit, Hoonis eventually stops by a small apartment complex. The show host rushes up the stairs to an upper level and screeches to a halt. He approaches his room door.

Elain puts her hands to her knees, catching her breath… she felt as if she could vomit. They went that fast, turned that quickly. Dento eventually catches up, out of breath, and storms over to Hoonis. He taps the man’s shoulder and looks at him angrily, as if to ask 'What was that!?'

Hoonis looks back to Dento, slightly confused, until he looks over to Elain, who is still trying catch her breath and not regurgitate.

“Oh! I’m sorry!” Says Hoonis. “I suppose I went too quick.”

Dento questions what the hell that even means. He supposes he went to quick? He and Elain could barely keep up! …Dento is beginning to regret agreeing with Elain to join this man…

Hoonis eventually opens the door to a small rickety apartment. Elain and Dento peek inside… it doesn’t look terrible. Just unkempt.

“Ignore the mess.” Says Hoonis as he steps in. He approaches another room in apartment as Elain and Dento follow. Hoonis opens the door to the room. Elain and Dento take a peek.

Their eyes widen.

The duo takes sight of a small, dimly lit room. Papers and small notes are scattered on the ground. Against one wall is a desk. On another wall is a bulletin board, full of sticky notes hanged up by thumbtacks. Red thread connects some of the notes together.

Hoonis enters the room. Elain and Dento, hesitantly, enter after him. Dento shuts the door.

Hoonis turns to face the pair. “This is where I’ve done all of my research on Darles Nemeni!” He says. “I’ve searched for years and years, yet I haven’t been able to get anywhere! I’m hoping you two have what it takes to help me?”

The pair nod. Elain even grabs a small blank note on the ground… she needs something to write with…

“Oh!” Says Hoonis. He goes to his desk and grabs a pencil. He hands it to Elain.

Elain begins writing something on the note. She shows Hoonis. 'We’re Bounty Hunters'

“Bounty Hunters?” Hoonis asks. “You work in law enforcement?”

Both nod.

“Wonderful! Just what I needed!” Says Hoonis. “Do you need a rundown?” He asks as he steps toward his bulletin board.

The pair nods and steps by Hoonis.

“Good!” Says Hoonis. He prepares to monologue. “I’ve already informed you of who Darles is. I’ve went around asking many to see if anyone had seen him, but, I had no luck. I’ve talked to as many former workers of his I could find, and got nowhere… I’ve looked at interviews, I’ve looked at various investigations, and yet, nothing! …I only wish I had more to interrogate…”

Suddenly, Hoonis’ phone pings. He takes out his phone and opens it up.

His suddenly go wide. He dramatically gasps.

Elain and Dento look on in confusion at the man.

“Oh, my God!” Hoonis shouts. “She’s coming! She’s coming back to the city!”

The Bounty Hunting pair looks on at the gushing man. Dento then approaches the man and taps his shoulder.

Hoonis stops gushing and looks to Dento, confused, before realizing what he wants.

“Oh! An actress who worked with Darles is returning to the Pink City!” Says Hoonis. “She had left the city to get back with family. But now, she’s returning for old time’s sake! If we can find her, then we can speak with her about Darles! Look!”

Hoonis turns his phone screen to show a recent social media post from a woman named Thlouretta Gudds, her big and blue head taking up her profile picture.

Elain’s eyes light up. Dento looks on in confusion. He taps Hoonis’ shoulder again and looks up at the man. A look that asks 'But how do we find her?'

“Oh! Uhh…” Hoonis pauses. “…I’m not sure… do you both have any Bounty Hunting equipment to track her down with?”

Elain nods. Dento looks to Hoonis and picks up a blank note. He goes over to Elain and she hands him the pencil. He writes and shows to Hoonis: 'I don’t want to use our equipment like that'

“Oh.” Says Hoonis. “…Sure. It won’t be as practical, but it’s better than getting arrested.”

Dento writes again and shows Hoonis: 'It wouldn’t hurt if we retrieved our gear, though. We could be prepared for threats'

“You have a point there!” Says Hoonis. “You two can head home if you like. You don’t mind me tagging along, do you? I want to make sure none of us gets lost. I’ll wait outside, if you don’t mind.”

Elain nods. So does Dento, although hesitantly.

The trio exit the small apartment and the Bounty Hunting duo heads to their apartment, a fair distance away from Hoonis’.

As they walk, Elain and Dento can’t help but feel they’re being watched…

The duo turn their heads to face some shrubs nearby. They stare into the darkness behind the small plants…

The leaves rustle.

The duo quickly jumps in front of Hoonis, ready to defend him in case something pops out from the shrubs.

“Huh?” Hoonis exclaims. “What’s wrong?”

Dento turns back and shushes him. Hoonis stays quiet.

They wait…

Nothing.

The duo begins to relax…

Until, as they turn and continue to walk, something… or someone, taps Elain’s shoulder.

Elain jumps and moves back, bumping into Dento a bit. Hoonis moves back from sheer shock.

Elain and Dento recognize whose stepped up. Hoonis however, is confused out of his mind.

The figure is a 'pointy-nosed' man dressed in a long black trench coat and small hat bearing a skull and crossbones.

“Whose that?” Hoonis asks. “Do you know him? Is he a Bounty Hunter?” Hoonis asks.

The man looks caught off guard by Hoonis’ question. He then looks to Elain and Dento, wondering how this stranger knows that about his coworkers…

Shivers travel up the duo’s backs.

The man pulls out a small phone from his trench coat. He’s texting someone…

Dento’s phone buzzes. A text from the man.

'Who is this? Why is he with you? Why does he know your occupation?' The text reads.

‘He’s looking for a lost man' Dento responds. ‘We’re helping him'

'And he has to know things he should not, why?' The man asks.

'He asked' Dento responds. 'He’s no harm to us'

'Affirmative?'

'Yes'

The man nods. He shows Hoonis his ID so he can get his name.

“…Vondu.” Hoonis reads. Vondu nods. He then pulls out a tablet, a Target Buddy. Elain and Dento look intently, while Hoonis remains curious.

Vondu scrolls down to a yet to be caught bounty, The Hot Dog Brothers. Twins wanted for murder and cannibalism, acquiring whatever meat they can, completely regardless of the process, and making food of it to serve… including meat from people. Vondu taps at the screen, asking if the duo had seen them anywhere.

Dento texts Vondu: 'We haven’t seen them. We’ve been on a break. Sorry'

Elain then takes her phone out to text the fellow Hunter. Dento takes a peek to see what she says. 'We heard rustling in the shrubs nearby' She says. 'Maybe look there?'

'That was me, miss' Responds Vondu.

'Oh' Elain responds. 'Sorry'

‘You’re fine' Texts Vondu. ‘Let me know if you find those brothers'

Dento and Elain nod. Vondu steps steps past them. The trio continues down their own path.

—

Elain and Dento remain in their apartment, looking for their gear. Hoonis remains outside, trying not to look suspicious to anyone who may pass by.

As the pair prepares to head out, Elain’s phone buzzes. She sees a text from Dento.

'You think we can find that lady?' The text reads.

'I hope so' Elain responds. 'I wanna find that man I saw'

'I think we should keep watch for those brothers too' Dento responds. 'We may be on a break but we can still help'

'Yea' Elain responds.

'You still doing okay?' Dento asks.

Elain had been doing fine… she hadn’t been focused on all that happened to her… best not to focus on it now.

You’ll be fine.

'I’m good'

'K' Dento responds. 'Let me know if you need to step down or anything'

'I will' Elain responds.

Elain and Dento eventually leave their apartment, all dressed in their Bounty Hunting gear. Hoonis turns, his eyes go wide.

“Wow!” Says Hoonis. “Very authoritative! Now, let’s get a move on! We’ve got an actress to look for!”

The trio sets off back into the city, ready to find Thlouretta.

Regardless of the fact that they don’t have a lead on where in the city she is.

—

The trio walks about on the street. The city is still covered in violet hue. The sky is still dark… not many citizens are out on the streets either. It’s quiet. It’s creepy.

Hoonis leads the trio, strutting forward. Elain and Dento walk behind him.

Hoonis then comes to halt in front a small grocery shop. The lights are stilll on, and the sign on the door shows it’s open, but no one is inside.

“…Why don’t we give here a shot?” Hoonis asks, looking back to the Bounty Hunters. “You never know, you know!”

Elain and Dento nod.

“Great!” Says Hoonis. “Follow me!”

The trio enters the shop. Around the premises are a few check out stations and isles filling the capacity of the building.

…Also among the area is the lingering scent of—

“Hello!” Says an unknown voice.

The trio turns. They see an oddly cheery store worker.

“Welcome!” Says the worker. “How can I be of service to you? We get it if you may not know the layout, we’ve recently opened.”

“Uh…” Hoonis stammers. “We aren’t really here to—!”

Elain and Dento drag Hoonis over to the side. The worker watches as they suddenly leave.

“Let me or my associate know if you need anything!” Says the worker.

“What’s wrong?” Hoonis asks. “He appears innocent.”

Dento pulls out his Target Buddy and shows Hoonis a picture of the bounty Vondu was after, the Hot Dog Brothers. He then points to the worker they had met. Indicating the possibility that it’s a disguise.

“…Are you sure?” Hoonis asks.

Dento appears to have been offended.

“…Oh.” Says Hoonis. “Sorry. You are the Bounty Hunters here.”

Dento nods.

“…I think I have a proposition.” Says Hoonis. “Why don’t I look for Thlouretta, and you two take care of the brothers?”

Elain and Dento nod.

“It’s settled!” Hoonis exclaims.

Elain and Dento quickly hush Hoonis.

“…Sorry.” He whispers.

The trio seperates. Hoonis sets off on his own while Elain and Dento head off together.

Dento then texts Elain. 'I think we should stick together' He says. 'Either one of them could suddenly strike us. It could quickly become two against one if we aren’t careful'

'Yea' Elain responds.

'Try not to get distracted or smth' Says Dento. 'Stay focused'

'I will' Elain responds.

Elain’s phone buzzes again. This time though, it’s not a text from Dento. Dento looks to the screen.

It’s from Vondu.

'I thought you were on a break' Reads the text.

'How do you know we’re here?' Elain asks.

'I peeked over an isle and saw you two and that other man' Texts Vondu.

'Even if we’re not working right now, we still want to help' Texts Elain.

'I see' Texts Vondu.

As Elain and Dento look at the new message, footsteps are heard. They look up.

Vondu stands at the end of the desolate isle. A floating hand hovers up. He gestures for the Bounty Hunters to approach. They head off to where they can’t be seen to devise a plan.

—

Hoonis walks down an isle, glancing around. He doesn’t see anyone that looks like who he’s looking for.

…He’s beginning to lose hope. What if Thlouretta isn’t here? What if they never find her?

He’ll just be back at a dead end again. Back where he was before he went around asking for help. Where he was after he had spoken with Bep… what was he going to do when all of his attempts to find Darles were unsuccessful…?

“Hello, sir!” Says a voice.

Hoonis snaps out of his depressing thinking. “AH!” He yelps. “I’m sorry! I didn’t see you there! Who are you?”

“I’m a worker here! My brother’s associate!” Says the associate. “Are you alright? You appear to be down.”

“Oh, uh…” Hoonis hesitates. “I’ve just been—“

As he recalls his thoughts, he remembers Dento’s suspensions.

They are the Bounty Hunters here, after all.

“A-actually, I’m alright!” Says Hoonis. “No need to worry!”

“Are you sure?” Asks the associate. “I feel otherwise! You looked down, so I thought I’d help!”

“I’m fine, really!” Says Hoonis.

“Brother!” Calls the approaching worker. “Is something the matter?”

“I think we got a liar on our hands!” Says the associate, pointing to Hoonis.

“What? No!” Says Hoonis. “Whoever said anything about a liar? I’m no liar!”

“You suuuure?” Asks the associate.

“Give him some space, brother!” Says the worker. He then suddenly pulls out a small sample tray from seemingly nowhere. “How about a sample to calm your nerves?”

“I don’t need one! Honest!” Says Hoonis.

“Oh, come on, sir!” Says the worker. “You’ll regret iiiit!”

'It couldn’t be that bad, could it?' Hoonis thinks to himself.

…If only he knew…

Hoonis takes a sample off the tray. It’s a small little meat cube. The worker and associate watch as the show host ingests the small cube.

Hoonis begins to bubble with glee. “Oh, I like this!” He says. “What’s in it?”

“Oh! That’s a secret, sir!” Says the associate.

“Family recipe!” Says the worker. “Would you like another?”

“Sorry, but no thank you!” Says Hoonis. “I’m a busy celebrity, and I’ve got things to do!”

“Ah, we get it.” Says the worker. “Let us know if you want another sample!”

“I will!” Says Hoonis. “I should let the others try those!” He says to himself as he passes down another nearby isle.

As Hoonis treads, he begins to feel… oddly weak… his vision blurs and his movements sag. As he limps, he quickly falls to the ground, completely out cold.

The brothers slowly approach the passed out host. The worker picks him up and carries him to another part of the shop, the associate following. A small cooler room next to a frozen section. The worker tucks Hoonis’ unconscious body next to a counter. The worker exits and shuts the door. The brothers quietly step away and their cheery demeanors return.

—

The Bounty Hunters are huddled in a small spot underneath a counter, barely visible to whoever may be around. The three discuss what they could do. They’ve made a small group chat to discuss their plot.

'Keep your eyes peeled. Check behind doors. They could be anywhere' Reads a text from Vondu.

'Likely' Texts Dento. 'This place reeks of meat'

'A calling card?' Elain questions. 'The meat smell, I mean'

'Kind of?' Dento texts.

'I would imagine so' Texts Vondu. 'Their whole thing is meat'

'Should we separate?' Dento asks.

'Yes' Vondu responds. 'You and Elain go together, I go alone'

'Got it' Dento and Elain respond.

The trio the begins to exit the counter. As they separate, a familiar face walks up to Elain and Dento.

“Hello!” Says the worker. “What were you doing behind the counter?”

Elain and Dento scour for an answer. Before they can respond however…

“Oh, it’s fine! Don’t mind it!” Says the worker. “We do have samples, by the way! If you want those!” He steps away.

As the worker heads off, Elain takes notice of something toward the man’s lower waist.

A zipper.

A zipper on his back.

Elain wants to unzip it, but Dento stops her. The two progress forward, looking for any clues.

—

Vondu wanders through the freezer section against the back wall, looking for any doors that could lead to some kind locked off room. As we walks, he spots a door to small freezer room. The window on the door has a layer of frost on it, making it difficult to see inside.

Vondu slowly steps over to the door, trying to look inconspicuous. As he scoots to the door, he slowly reaches a hand to the doors lock.

“Excuse me!” A voice calls.

Vondu jolts at the sound. He turns to see the associate.

“Customers aren’t allowed in there!” Says the associate. “I’d imagine you know that.”

Vondu nods and moves away from the door. He stands in place, completely still.

“Good!” Says the associate. “Keep away from that door, now! Or you’re banned!” He begins to turn away.

As he turns, Vondu notices something on the man’s lower waist gleaming in the store lights.

A zipper.

As the man walks off, Vondu tries to sneak a hand toward the zipper. The hand slowly approaches it, trying not to be noticed. The hand gently places itself onto the zipper and begins to slowly zip upward. As the man turns, the hand continues to rise. Vondu quietly follows the man as he walks, not paying attention.

As the zipper moves up, more of what’s underneath can be seen.

…Overalls. The kind a hillbilly would wear…

The zipper then reaches the top of the man’s head. Vondu removes his hand and watches at the costumes slowly sags and falls to the ground.

What is underneath shocks the Bounty Hunter.

Underneath that costume is a pinkish mass of flesh and muscle. The fat on the man flops, like the man had sucked it up to fit in the costume. The top of the head resembles that of a… hot dog…

It’s a Hot Dog Brother.

The brother stops walking and slowly turns his head to face the Bounty Hunter.

Vondu quickly pulls back his coat to reveal a stash of guns, which protrude from the coat’s darkness. They all point toward the bounty.

Before any of them can fire however…

The brother slams his fist into Vondu’s face, getting him down to the ground.

“…You’ve made a grave mistake there, partner.” The brother says in a thick country accent.

Vondu struggles to get up to his feet as the brother hovers over Vondu, pinning him to the ground. Popping out from a nearby isle is the worker, approaching the bounty and Hunter.

“You seem to be in a pickle!” Says the worker. “How about a sample?”

The worker pulls out the sample tray and shoves a sample down Vondu’s throat. As Vondu struggles to get back up and breathe, his vision begins to blur and he slowly stops moving. All before falling unconscious.

The brother carries Vondu over to the freezer room where he’s placed. He exits to face the worker.

“You’d best get your costume back on.” Says the worker. “I think we got Bounty Hunters among us. I’ll handle the other two, you get your costume back on.”

The brother nods and heads for his costume. The worker heads off the find the no good do-gooders.

—

Elain and Dento exit another room. No sight of anything out of the ordinary. As they exit, the worker approaches them again.

“Hello again!” Says the worker “If you don’t mind me asking, would you like a sample?” He pulls out a sample tray with little meat cubes on it.

Elain and Dento shake their heads. They aren’t in the mood, nor do they trust the workers.

“Come on! You’re missing out!” Says the worker. “Your friends really liked them! They wanted you to try them!”

The duo doubts the statement.

…Matter of fact…

…Where were Hoonis and Vondu…?

The duo had been around the entire store, and hadn’t seen either of them…

“I need an answer now, please!” Says the worker.

The duo glance at each other. They then try to walk past the worker.

“Hey!” Says the worker. He catches up to them. “Not even a nibble?” He shoves a meat cube in Elain’s face. She slaps it away. Her and Dento begin scurrying off.

New objective: Look for Hoonis and Vondu.

“Oh, dear.” Says the worker. He pulls out a walkie-talkie from his side. “Brother? You got your costume back on? They’re onto us.”

Elain and Dento scurry toward the wall, looking for any door they can find.

Suddenly, the associate approaches.

“Excuse me!” Says the associate. “I’ve heard you’ve been causing a ruckus! Please quit that behavior, or you’re out!”

Elain and Dento ignore the threat. They both draw their guns.

“Drawing a gun on me?” Says the associate. “That’s a criminal offense!”

As they’re about to shoot, quick footsteps are heard.

The worker.

Dento quickly turns. He shoots the worker in the leg. He falls.

“Ack!” The worker shouts in anguish. He grips his injured leg.

“Brother!” The associate shouts.

Elain then hands Dento her gun. She hurries to the associate while he’s off guard and tackles him. He’s brought to the ground. As Elain pushes the man to his back, Dento draws his guns at the injured man.

Elain gets to associate on his back and spots the zipper. She zips up the zipper, the body under it slowly being revealed. The Hot Dog Brother pushes Elain off of him. The suit slowly flops the ground.

Elain receives her gun from Dento. Both turn to face an individual brother.

“Oh, dear.” Says the worker. “It appears the jig’s up.”

The worker then begins to unzip his suit. It falls to the ground, revealing the brother underneath. The two now revealed Hot Dog Brothers stare the Bounty Hunters down, the Hunters still holding out their guns.

The Hunters waste no time. They immediately start shooting at both of them. Bullets go flying, hitting through the walls. The brothers quickly dodge. They separate, going after an individual brother, being careful with their shots.

“Can’t catch me, miss lady!” Says the brother Elain’s chasing.

Elain is offended by the name. She begins to shoot at him even more.

The two brothers cross paths pass an isle, Elain and Dento on each end. Elain on the right, Dento on the left. Their individual targets in the same respective directions.

The left brother hands the right brother the sample tray. They stand, waiting…

Dento glances over to Elain, she glances back. Indicating to be careful, since they have that platter. Those little meats are likely laced…

Elain nods.

Then it pops in her head.

…Laced.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it…

Focus.

Elain focuses hard on her target, eyes wide and face stern. Her gun trembling slightly in her grip.

“One of y’all better move.” Says a brother. “We ain’t movin' til you do!”

Elain then tries to shoot.

*Click*

Nothing.

Elain stares at her gun, confused.

She pulls the trigger again.

*Click*

Nothing again.

*Click Click Click*

…Out of bullets…

…Shit.

Before she can even think to reload, the right brother tackles Elain and wraps his free arm around her waist, still holding the platter. Elain is unable to move. He sets the platter on a small isle shelf and takes her gun. He chucks it away.

Dento tries to shoot the brother holding his friend, but fails, as he’s also quickly ambushed by the other brother before he can shoot.

The brother carrying Dento steps over to the other. Both Hunters squirm in their grasps, but are unable to find a weak spot in their grips. Despite their meek arms, they’ve got strength.

“Look at 'em.” Says one brother. “Squirming like babies!”

The Hunters continue to struggle. Each time they think they can get through, their pushed back into brothers’ stomachs, keeping them in place.

The two brothers then grab a meat cube from the platter. They struggle, but they eventually shove the cubes down the Hunter’s throats.

With time, the Hunters’ movements begin to slow. They fall unconscious.

The two brothers carry the Hunters to the freezer room. As they leave, one brother looks to the other. “I think it’s time we close up shop.” He says. The other nods.

They bring down metal doors to cover the windows. Flipping the small sign to say 'Closed'.

—

It’s quiet…

…And extremely cold…

Hoonis slowly comes to. “…Eugh…” He groans.

Then it hits him.

…That sample… it must’ve been laced with something…

Hoonis looks around.

…Others are with him. Also knocked out cold.

Elain, Dento, and Vondu. All of them sit on the ground, not moving, but still breathing.

“…Dear, G-God…” Says Hoonis, shivering.

“E-excuse me?” Asks a feminine voice, speaking through a text box. She sounds like she’s shivering.

Hoonis looks over to the source of the sound.

His eyes widen. He sharply gasps.

Right there. Right next to him. Right by his side, Thlouretta Gudds, the actress of Mimlimim from 'The Darly Boxman Show', standing right there.

“…S-sorry if I’m bothering you, but do you know how to get out of here?” She shivers. “Oh, j-j-jeepers… it’s cold in here…”

Hoonis slowly rises, staring at Thlouretta intently. “I-I’m not dreaming a-am I?” He asks.

“…H-huh?” Thlouretta questions.

“…You’re who’ve I-I-I’ve been looking f-for!” Says Hoonis. “T-T-T-Thlouretta G-Gudds!” His excitement not keeping his stuttering back from being cold.

“Y-yes.” Says Thlouretta. “W-what were you l-looking for m-me for?”

“D-do y-you remember someone by t-the name of—” Hoonis speaks.

Suddenly, before Hoonis can finish his question, footsteps are heard. The two duck and hide under a counter as one of the Hot Dog brothers enters the room and heads deeper within.

“O-oh my…” Whispers Thlouretta. “Who w-was that?”

As Hoonis prepares to answer as best as he can, Vondu suddenly peers underneath the counter the duo was hiding in.

“G-golly!” Thlouretta exclaims quietly. “You s-scared me, s-s-sir! Who’re y-you?”

“H-he’s a man o-of the l-law!” Whispers Hoonis. “He’s s-s-safe.”

“O-oh.” Says Thlouretta. “A-anyway, do e-either of you k-know a-a-a way o-out?”

Vondu glances around before going to the door leading out into the store. He tries to open it, but it doesn’t budge.

“…O-oh, dear…” Says Thlouretta.

“We’ll f-find a way out o-of h-here.” Says Hoonis. “I p-p-promise.”

“T-thank you, sir.” Says Thlouretta.

“Oh, c-call me H-Hoonis.” Says Hoonis.

“T-that’s a nice n-name.” Says Thlouretta.

As Vondu continues to struggle with the door, approaching footsteps are heard. He quickly huddles with Thlouretta and Hoonis. They watch as a Hot Dog Brother emerges from the darkness.

“…Shoot.” He says. “This’ll do, I guess.”

He bends down and picks the still unconscious Elain and Dento from the ground and carries them into the darkness. As he walks, Elain’s fedora falls from her head.

“…Oh, d-dear…” Says Thlouretta.

“What’re w-we g-gonna do?” Hoonis asks, turned to Vondu.

Vondu then sneaks out from the counter. He takes Elain’s fedora and stuffs it in his coat. He turns back to the actress and show host and gestures to them to approach. They group together as Vondu slowly leads them down the dark hallway.

The small hallway leads into another small yet warmer room. The trio huddles into a darker part of the hallway.

They watch as Elain and Dento are hung up by a rope above grinders.

Not just any grinders, however.

Meat grinders.

The trio stares in horror. Vondu moves ever so slightly closer when the twins aren’t around and gets a look at the room. He then goes back to the freezer. The others follow.

He’s got an idea.

—

The Hot Dog Brothers prepare their grinders to be used on the captured Bounty Hunters. As they prepare the contraption, they boast on about their new meat type.

“I think it’ll be quite good, Bounty Hunter meat.” Says one brother.

“Heh, exactly!” Says the other brother. “I think it’ll finally get our sales back up!”

As the brothers finish their preparations, a loud clang is heard from nearby.

“What was that?” One brother questions.

“…Probably rats.” Says the other. “C'mon, we got little pieces of shit to get rid off.”

As the brothers enter the room, they turn.

Leaving the trio unnoticed.

Hoonis and Vondu exit out of the freezer and into the grinding room, while Thlouretta silently follows the brothers deeper into the freezer. Vondu helps Hoonis up to reach the Bounty Hunters and get them untied. Vondu keeps a close eye on the entrance to the grinding room, making sure the brothers are kept at bay.

As he watches, he hears another few clangs.

“Damn it!” Exclaims one brother. “Where the hell is that rat!?”

Hoonis struggles a bit to get the Hunters untied. “…It’s a tight knot.” He says.

Hoonis continues to pry at the knot until it eventually comes loose. The Hunters quickly begin to plummet. Before they can hit the grinder, floating hands hover from Vondu’s coat, barely catching them, before plopping them onto the ground.

The thud is louder than expected.

…But no one seems to notice.

Vondu sets Hoonis down and the two pick up the unconscious Hunters. Vondu takes Elain, Hoonis takes Dento. They slowly return to the freezer and glance around as they reenter.

The coast is clear.

Vondu then sets Elain to the side. He moves back and unravels his coat, revealing multiple guns underneath. He quickly shoots at the metal door, causing it to fly off its hinges.

Vondu hastily grabs hold of Elain and he and Hoonis sprint forward. Hoonis lags behind a bit, as Dento is head to carry. He isn’t exactly strong.

As they approach the exit, Vondu’s floating hands open up his coat. His guns begin shooting at the door, completely breaking it.

As the duo finally reaches the exit, they realize something…

…Where’s Thlouretta…?

She was supposed to run out with them when she heard the gun shots…

“Stop right there, meat thieves.” Demands a voice.

Vondu and Hoonis turn.

They see the Hot Dog Brothers, along with Thlouretta, who is caught in a brother’s grip.

“I’m sorry.” Says Thlouretta. “I wasn’t very quick on my feet.”

“You give us back the Bounty Hunters, we let you all go, including your little rat friend.” Says one brother. “You don’t, we will do everything in our power to get you on our menu. You got that?”

“What’s it gonna be?” The other brother asks in a teasing tone.

Vondu scrambles to think of something… he can’t just shoot at them, he could get Thlouretta killed…

…Suddenly, gun shots are heard.

Two separate bullets go through each of the brothers’ heads. They fall to the ground, so does Thlourertta, although she’s left unharmed.

Hoonis and Vondu turn back.

They see another Bounty Hunter. A small and petit star shaped man. His face… is oddly realistic. In his small hand, he’s wielding a gun.

“…Who’re you?” Hoonis asks.

The small Hunter pulls out a tiny ID. His name is Kug.

“…Hello, Kug.” Says Hoonis.

Kug doesn’t respond with a single word.

Thlouretta approaches Vondu and Hoonis. “…What about the bodies, Vondu, sir?” She asks.

Vondu turns to the actress and shakes his hand, indicating the brothers will be taken care of. Two floating hands then pull out two glass jars. That’s how he catches bounties when they’re struck down.

Pairs of free hands hover to the bounties and shove them in the jars. The hands float back to Vondu.

Thlouretta doesn’t question it. She isn’t sure if she wants to know the purpose of the jars.

“…What about the wall?” Thlouretta asks, looking back through the shot down door.

Vondu turns. A building has been covered in bullet holes.

“I’d imagine you’ll be paying for that.” Says Hoonis.

Vondu turns to the show host and gives him a thumbs up with a free hand. He will be paying.

“And them?” Thlouretta asks, referring to the people he and Hoonis are holding. “Are they alright?”

“…I’d imagine they’re fine.” Says Hoonis. “They were likely drugged too. They’ll wake up, I bet.”

Just as he says that, Dento appears to slowly be coming to, moving slightly.

“Oh!” Says Hoonis. “See? I was right!”

Dento, aggravated, puts his hand up to Hoonis’ face, as of to shut him up. He’s groggy.

“…Sorry.” Says Hoonis. Dento doesn’t really respond, and instead leans his head against Hoonis’ chest tiredly.

Hoonis turns to face Vondu. “Is Elain okay?” He asks.

Vondu looks to the young Bounty Hunter. She doesn’t seem to be waking up yet.

…Until she lifts her head up a bit. She tilts her head to Vondu and looks at him. It’s hard for her to focus, as she’s just woken up. A free hand then flies out of Vondu’s coat and places Elain’s fedora on her head.

“…Good, she’s okay.” Says Hoonis.

“I apologize for suddenly butting in, but,” Thlouretta begins. “Hoonis, right? Why were you looking for me? You never got to finish your question.”

“Oh!” Says Hoonis. “Do you remember a man by the name of Darles Nemeni?”

As Thlouretta processes the question, and her eyes light up. “Oh, Darles?” She asks. “I haven’t heard that name in years! Has he been found yet!?�� She asks excitedly.

“…No, that’s why we were trying to look for you.” Says Hoonis. “My companions, Elain and Dento, and I, wanted to see if you knew anything about Darles to see if it would help us get anywhere.”

“Oh…” Says Thlouretta, disappointed. “I thought you had found him… But, I can hopefully help you find your way to him! I’d be glad to help! I could let you lot walk home with me, then we can talk.”

“Great!” Says Hoonis. He turns to Vondu. “I can carry Dento if he wishes, can Elain stand?”

Vondu tries to set Elain down. Although still groggy, she’s able to balance. Dento looks up to Hoonis, he wants to be put down. Hoonis sets the man down, allowing him to slowly balance himself.

“And what about you, Vondu?” Hoonis asks.

Vondu points to the jars. The bounties need to be taken care of. So does the shop. He and Kug will take care of the matter.

“Ah, I see.” Says Hoonis. “We’ll be heading off now. I wish you two well!”

Hoonis and the other Bounty Hunters take their leave. Thlouretta eventually begins to lead. Vondu waves a bit as the quartet heads off.

—

Thlouretta has lead the trio to her small home just outside the Pink City. Each of them sit at a small wooden table.

“Okay.” Says Hoonis sternly. “Tell us, what do you know about Darles?”

“…Oh, a lot.” Says Thlouretta. “Or, at least, what may be important.”

Thlouretta prepares to monologue. “Darles wasn’t anywhere near like he was when he went missing.” Says Thlouretta. “He was kind, caring. Charming even… it wasn’t until we started working on Darly Boxman that he started to lose it…”

“Really?” Hoonis asks.

“Yes.” Says Thlouretta. “…Oh, gee, it was so odd… the way he acted… he’d occasionally stare into space during presentations or filming. He’d just pause and… stare. He’d even have… episodes…”

“…Episodes?” Hoonis questions. The Bounty Hunters lean in, wanting to listen.

Thlouretta nods. “They didn’t happen often, but there were times where he’d just… snap.” She says. “It wasn’t like him at all. Nothing he did down the show’s run… it just wasn’t the Darles I knew…”

“…Anything else?” Hoonis asks.

“…He spoke of these Gods whenever he’d space out.” Says Thlouretta. “Oh, jeepers— something about eyes? Elders? I can only recall one time I actually saw them… they— they were just there when a wall fell—.”

“Those beings staring him down?” Hoonis asks. “I remember that episode clearly.”

“Yes! Those!” Says Thlouretta. “…No one remembered seeing them before we started filming that day. I tried to ask Darles about them, but he didn’t want to say. He avoided any question involving them… that wasn’t even our darkest moment in the show… As it went on, the episodes got progressively more disturbing. When he’d write, we’d hear him mutter things about Gods and other things that just… didn’t make sense to any of us. We were all worried for him. Especially on the night he went missing.”

As Thlouretta finishes, Elain remembers something…

…The Elders…

“How was he then?” Hoonis asks.

“He— he just didn’t look well. He looked exhausted.” Says Thlouretta. “We decided to check on him that night, but only his daughter opened the door. We her asked where he was, and she didn’t know… she didn’t even seem all that dismayed… we scoured his home, but never found him. Not a single trace of him. No one knew where he went. I tried giving him a call as a last ditch effort, but no answer… not only were we stressed about him being missing, though. We had an episode to shoot that next day and we were missing our lead. We eventually ended up canceling the show, since it seemed like Darles wasn’t going to show up.”

Before Hoonis can speak again, Elain gets up from her seat to get everyone’s attention.

“Do you have something to say?” Thlouretta asks.

Elain then spots a stack of papers on a desk beside the small kitchen. She takes a sheet and the pencil nearby the stack and begins to write something. She shows it to Thlouretta.

The sheet reads: I think I’ve seen those Gods you’re talking about.

“…Really?” Thlouretta asks.

Hoonis and Dento rise from their seats to take a peek at the writing. Hoonis looks to Elain, slightly shocked.

“…How?” Is all Hoonis can muster.

Elain then begins to draw on the sheet. Long, shadowy pillars covered in eyes. She shows off the drawing.

“…I’m sorry, but those don’t look anything like the ones I saw.” Says Thlouretta.

“I can draw what they looked like.” Says Hoonis. He takes the pencil from Elain and begins to draw what he and Thlouretta had seen. Long, shadowy creatures with one pair of eyes.

“Yes!” Says Thlouretta. “That’s it!”

“…Could he have been taken by these… beings?” Hoonis questions.

“…O-oh, dear…” Says Thlouretta. “If he was… oh, poor Darles…”

“If he was taken by these creatures…” Hoonis begins. “How do we get to them…?”

…Elain may have a way…

…No. No, no, no… don’t think about it…

Dento looks to Elain, slightly concerned.

Are you okay?

You’ll be fine. You’re going to be okay… all that Elain wants to think.

She nods.

I’ll be okay.

I’ll be fine.

“Do either of you have a way we could find these beings?” Hoonis asks.

The Hunters shake theirs heads. No.

“…They may exist outside of our own existence.” Says Thlouretta. “…Is travel like that even a thing?”

“…I’m not sure.” Says Hoonis. “We could try to find some way to escape this plane.”

“…Maybe. It’s worth a shot.” Says Thlouretta. “…I just want to see Darles again. It’s been ages… I miss him.”

Dento walks up to Thlouretta and pats her shoulder, promising that they’ll find Darles and get him back.

“…Thanks. I very much appreciate it.” Says Thlouretta.

“I suppose we best be on our way now.” Says Hoonis. “We’ve got unfathomable and all powerful nightmares to find!”

Thlouretta chuckles a bit… Hoonis’ nature reminds her of Darles. “I wish you three luck in finding him.” She says. “Safe travels!”

“You have a good night, Miss Gudds!” Says Hoonis as the trio steps to the exit.

“I don’t mind being called Thlouretta.” Says Thlouretta as she approaches the exit to let the trio go. “And you too!”

Thlouretta watches as the trio sets out. She looks up to the sky, hoping a certain someone may hear her…

“…Please be okay, Darles…” Says Thlouretta.

…She can’t help but think he’s somewhere up there, wanting to come back down, but being unable to. The powers that be holding him up above her like a cat toy.

He’s there.

…Somewhere...

- END -

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