#thank you for being patient with me and im sorry

[lostgirlmuseum]

Dancing Spies

Pairing: Bucky x gn!Reader 

Words: 900

Summary: You and Bucky are undercover at a ball and he’s not ready to let go of you.

Warnings: Reader is mentioned to have hair + height implied to be shorter than Bucky. Idc how tall you are, you're 6 feet? OK well in this universe Bucky is 7ft, etc lol. No use of y/n.

A/N: IM BACK BABY! Ok not really lmao this was 90% written since April 2022 (holy shit over a year before I even started posting here.) As always, sorry it’s short, sorry if it sucks, but also I’m not that sorry if it sucks because it’s short so it’s not like I’m wasting hours of your time. Idk if anyone is even going to read this.

Also: special thanks to @questionableratatouille00 for being so patient and kind to me. ❤️

divider cred: @saradika

“I didn’t realize you could dance,” you mumbled into his ear as you stepped in time to the soft music.

“Well, there wasn’t that much to do in the 30’s,” Bucky adjusted his grasp on your waist to be more comfortable, “with, y’know, the Great Depression and everything.”

“Ah, yes, a time of great prosperity, wasn’t it?”

“Definitely.” He gave a short chuckle, and continued to gaze around at the other couples dancing around him. He wasn’t avoiding your gaze—he was simply doing his job. At least, that’s what he tried to convince himself. 

A sweet chorus of piano and violin flew through the air, enchanting the large group of people into following in time. Despite his watchful eyes lingering upon the room for the past ten minutes, he couldn’t tell you any details.

How many couples were there? What was everyone wearing? How big was the dance hall? He could only guess, as his mind was solely focused on his steps, and the person in front of him: how close you stood next to him, how he could smell the faintest scent of lavender from your hair, how your hand sat so tenderly upon his shoulder, and how he wished he could take his gloves off so he could get a better feel of your gentle hand intertwined with his right. 

“How much longer, do you think?” you whispered.

“M’ not sure. Until Steve gives the signal, which could be anywhere from now to twenty minutes.” He only allowed himself a quick glance of you as he twirled you outward and back in.

“I doubt it’ll be twenty minutes. I think ten is more reasonable.” 

“It could be twenty,” he argued.

“That would be way too long, there’s too much risk in that.”

“Twenty minutes is fine. There’s nothing wrong with twenty minutes.”

Sensing you were looking at him, he met your gaze. 

Your eyebrow was slightly arched, and you gave him a small look of confusion at his strange… passion. Nevertheless, you dropped it, deciding not to question him.

He felt a slight tug of guilt at his heart for acting weird, but truthfully, he simply hoped this moment wouldn’t end. It felt right. He didn’t want to accept that it could be over so soon.

Naturally, as if the entire room was choreographed, everyone slowed as the song ended, and another started. This song was even slower than the last, and couples pulled each other close accordingly. 

You and Bucky did the same. 

Bucky’s breath hitched at the closer proximity, and he prayed you couldn’t feel his rapid heartbeat now that you were practically chest to chest, and both your arms were wrapped around his shoulders as his rested on your waist.

“Hey Bucky,” you said so quietly, it was barely a whisper.

“Yes?”

“I get that you’re trying to be alert, but you need to stop looking behind me. It’s not natural.” 

His cheeks flushed at your comment, though he wasn’t entirely sure why.

“Yeah, okay.” He hesitantly looked down and met your welcoming eyes.

“Better,” you softly smiled.

He curtly nodded.

They continued to slowly sway along with the music. But the tune only served as white noise for him as he couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. Luckily, you hadn’t caught him staring, since you had placed your cheek onto his chest, nuzzling into the warmth. 

He liked that you felt safe with him. Safe enough to rest your head on him. Safe enough to let him hold you with both hands, and not cower at what those hands had once done. 

His shoulders relaxed at the sound of a soft sigh from your lips.

“Comfortable?” He leaned his head down slightly to whisper into your ear.

“Mhm.” You confirmed.

“Tired?” He breathily laughed, seeing your eyes closed.

“Only a little,” you mumbled, keeping your eyes shut. 

He was content with where he was. It wasn’t the most familiar feeling for him, but he liked it. 

His thoughts were no longer focused on the mission(not that they ever really were—the second he found out that the two of you were meant to be a couple dancing on the main floor, he was distracted by you and the possibilities of what would happen,) and he remained focused on you. Your soft and slowing exhales, the affection you spawned in his chest, and how beautiful your hair looked. 

Seeing you at peace, put him at peace.

He could feel himself smiling as he watched you. His tongue flicked over his lips like it always does when he’s about to make a decision. He started to lean his head down to rest on top of your head when he paused.

Is this a good idea?

Screw it.

He rested his chin ever so carefully on your head, and couldn’t hold back his growing smile when you made no effort to move.

“I wish this was real life,” you sighed. “No more fighting. Just dancing.”

Motion from above caught his attention. Steve tipped his hat—the signal. 

Bucky just looked back. He continued to sway with you, shielding you from the outside world with his chest. 

Steve, slightly taken aback at his friend’s lack of action, tipped his hat twice more.

Bucky subtly shook his head and returned his gaze to you.

“Have we gotten the signal yet?” You murmured, eyes still closed.

“Not yet,” he whispered. “Let’s just dance.”

If you liked it pls let me know so I know I'm not just screaming into the void.

photo credit

[jellyvibes710]

Hi can you tell me when will baby blue chapter will be release

Preferably sooner than later, I'm still definitely working on it though, I just had to have a short mental break from this part 👍🫠

Though this ask has given me some motivation to actually make more progress on this so as a thank you have this sneak peek 🧡💜

[megatraven]

hi my friends!!!!!!!!!! i love you :]

[jaeyleo]

LOCKS OR KEYS: PART 9

YOU CHOSE: KEYS: TAKE THE CAR AND ESCAPE

Your choices leave your character lost. He has no choice but to succumb to the will of his captor.

CWS: non human whumper, whumper is also caretaker, captive whumpee, failed escape attempt, sick whumpee, brainwashing, torture, dehumanization, delirious whumpee, suicidal ideation, force feeding alcohol, hallucinations and delusions of bugs crawling on and into whumpee’s body, hypnosis. let me know if i should add more!

Masterlist.

Tag list (lmk if you’d like to be added or removed, my apologies for forgetting about it the last handful of parts): @skid-row-seymour @welcome-to-the-whumpfest @the9645archives

sorry this one is kinda long, but i felt like y’all deserved a bigger part for waiting so long to hear from this series :cryface:

. . .

The keys hang on the wall, the car sits outside. It’s time to go.

In one swift motion, Chase sheds the blanket off his shoulders and snatches up the keys. He strides outside the house, making easy and confident steps down the porch. Getting in the car is easy, starting it is easy, driving is easy. For once, he isn’t afraid.

The puppet opens his eyes. Now that he’s pictured his half assed plan, he can begin the attempt.

He sheds the blanket onto the couch, feeling a rush of cold air hit his skin. For a second he pulls it back, but ultimately elects to fold it and leave it on the couch. Maybe Pseudo won’t be as angry with him if he doesn’t leave a mess. Maybe he’s just stalling.

Once finished, he begins his steps towards the keys. They’re clumsy and painful, causing him to fall into the arm of the couch before he even leaves the living room. He manages to get to the keys, and with a trembling hand, he plucks them from the wall.

He feels nauseous.

Is he really doing this?

He could turn back at any moment, and Pseudo would never know. He wouldn’t question it, because Chase would still be in bed when he got home, and the keys would still be on the wall. He could turn back. He could be safe.

But instead he opens the door, against everything inside him. He can hear his inner “Pink voice” crying inside his head, “bad idea, bad idea, bad bad bad idea!”

But he is ignored, and Chase finds himself in the driver’s seat of the car.

It takes him a few minutes to muster the courage to start it, and then a few more just to remember how. His whole body shakes in cold and fear, and he feels like he could vomit at any given second. His nervousness cracks him down to his core, splitting through every cell and piece of tissue there is to have inside a human. Once the car rumbles to life, he adjusts the mirror, and sees Pseudo in the back seat.

“Fuck!!”

Chase whips around to look at him, but finds the car empty.

The relief, the fear, the sickness, the fighting Pink and Chase, God, he can’t take it. He can’t tell if what he saw was real or fake, if he’s just hallucinating or if Pseudo’s onto him and is just toying with him. But he’s come this far, and what he can’t take even more than the situation he’s in now, is staying another day here in Denmark. He wants to go home.

Chase puts the car in drive, and starts his terrifying journey.

. . .

If starting the car was difficult, driving should be its own category of horrendous.

He’s completely forgotten how. For the first ten or so minutes he either goes too fast or too slow. He almost drives off the side of the road into the wooded areas, (which he absolutely scratches the car), and at one point, he nearly crashes when trying to turn too fast on a curve. As time passes, the sun falls farther and farther beneath the trees, to which Chase panics when trying to find the switch for the headlights. He considers pulling over for a while just to cry about it all, but he gets the hang of most of it. He gets the hang of most of it, and he drives just fine for a while, despite having no idea where he’s going.

As Chase drives and drives, he starts seeing a house in the distance. Pseudo’s house.

Did he drive in a circle?

The roads don’t curve like that, do they?

Chase speeds up, terrified to be met with this fate so soon. He hopes he’s hallucinating again.

The same woods and lake and curves meet him again. He tries harder this time around to make sure he’s careful, taking different turns as not to end up in the same place. This cant be for nothing.

The same stretch of time seems to pass for Chase, though he can’t say for sure as Pseudo’s clock is stuck at 10:05. It all feels like the same terrifying drag to him either way.

Eventually, even with his precautions, he’s met with the house again.

He speeds up once more, gripping the steering wheel as tight as he can. He tries the same plan again, taking different roads or even going straight through the woods wherever the car can fit. At this point, he’d try anything to go home.

But once again, the house appears in his view.

Tears blur his vision as he tries again. He pleads to get free, more afraid of the punishment than anything at this point. If Pseudo isn’t on to his escape, then his lack of driving skills are going to be his downfall.

Again, the house appears, and again, he tries to drive.

He cries as he keeps the car going. It’s hard to see as it is, but he might need to pull over if his emotions keep getting the best of him like this.

The next time he gets back to he house, he sees Pseudo standing there, watching him. His hands are in his pockets and he doesn’t look upset, although Chase knows better than to assume. He knows he’s been caught, and that driving would be useless now. But he cant stop, this cant be for nothing.

He drives around again, and Pseudo stays put. Their dance continues, Chase driving, Pseudo waiting, until enough turns have happened that the puppet accepts his defeat. On the last drive, the car comes to a stop, but his tears don’t.

Pseudo approaches, opening the door and tilting his head at the doll. Chase has yet to stop crying.

“You’re supposed to be asleep,” says Pseudo.

The puppet covers his face, smashing tears into his fingertips. He feels like Pink. Or maybe wants to be Pink. Pseudo is nicer to Pink.

“You know what happens now, don’t you, dolly?”

Chase feels sicker and sicker. He covers his mouth just in case.

“I asked you a question, Chase.”

The name names his skin crawl. Pseudo doesn’t call him that anymore, not unless he’s in serious trouble.

“Yes,” Chase whimpers. He wipes the tears from his eyes and looks up at his captor, hoping to reason with him. “Yes, I’m sorry. I don’t- I don’t know what I was thinking, I was just scared and-“

Pseudo puts a finger to his lips. “Hush. You know where you’re supposed to go. I’ll be in there later.”

“But-“

Pseudo smacks Chase on the mouth, and the puppet shuts up. He leans in close to his doll, making sure their eyes meet and the attention is captured.

“Hush.”

He then unbuckles the seatbelt that ties Chase down, and takes the keys from the ignition.

“Put these back on your way in.”

The monster drops the keys in his puppet’s hand, and leaves him to follow his commands. But Chase is paralyzed.

He stares down at the keys in his hand, shaking like a leaf about to fall from a tree. He pictures the cellar, he pictures the garden, he pictures the car, the vague idea of children he forgets the names of. He pictures the stupidity of his decision, and how much easier his life would be had he just stayed in bed to sleep like he was told.

But there’s no point in picturing.

Chase stands up and shuts the door. With each step he takes he feels knives digging into his feet, roots trying to plant themselves in the ground to make him stay away from his punishment. He starts losing his breath from the panic, and while his hands go numb, he simultaneously crumbles to the ground. The keys find a home in the grass, and Chase’s mouth begins to salivate from the need to vomit.

He covers his mouth, trying to take deep breaths and prevent a mess. He can’t stop shaking, can’t stop crying, can’t stop thinking about what’s going to happen to him.

It takes him a few minutes to gather his strength again. Soon enough, he’s entering the house to place the keys back where he found them, and heading out the back door.

He wipes the tears from his eyes and looks at the cellar. Why, why, why did he have to be so stupid? Why can’t he just listen?

With trembling hands and closed eyes, he opens the doors for his consequences.

. . .

Pseudo takes a long time to come downstairs.

Chase isn’t sure if he’s just letting the tension build, or if his punishment is being locked in here for an unknown amount of time. God knows he’s spent long enough down here, weeks at a time, and every memory makes him more and more afraid of what’s to come. He tries not to focus on that part. Instead, he drags his hands against the wall for balance while he paces.

And paces, and paces, and paces

and paces and paces

and paces.

He paces until his feet ache from the weight of his bones. Until he has to cover his face and kneel on the ground, considering ending his life before Pseudo can come down to start the pain. But that thought leaves his mind as light drips heavy down the steps, and Chase becomes a lightening bolt to sit in the chair he’s supposed to.

His eyes lock on the drain below him. There are still stains on the concrete from his own blood, but more recently, from the man who was planted in the garden. Chase shivers as he pushes the thought from his mind.

Pseudo comes down the stairs with his eyes trained on the chair, pleased to see the seat taken. His stride is easy and comfortable, but there’s some kind of itch in his fingers that twitches as he gathers tools onto his little cart. He takes his time to think about his supplies, and what is or isn’t chosen. Chase steals a glance, but turns away when he sees a stun gun thud onto the surface.

“I don’t know why you do this to yourself,” says Pseudo, still focused on his task. “It’s like you enjoy being punished, I don’t know. Or maybe you’re just dumber than I thought.”

He places a few other tools on the cart, but Chase keeps himself blind to what’s there. Once finished, he rolls the cart closer to his prey, and stands in front of him to speak.

“Which one is it, Chase?”

The puppet frowns, shaking his head. “I-“

A hard smack to the face cuts him off. Chase goes reeling to the side of the chair, but is yanked back by his hair. The man cries out in pain, leaning as far into Pseudo’s grip as he can to avoid extra pain.

“If you speak again without permission, I’ll sew your mouth shut. Am I understood?”

Chase nods.

Satisfied, the monster lets go, and the puppet’s hands come up to soothe the pain in his cheek and scalp. The relief is short lived, however, as Pseudo grabs his wrists to strap them to the arms of the chair with thin metal wire. It digs trenches into his skin, so he tries not to squirm.

His ankles are met with the same restraints, and he clamps his jaw down as hard as he can to avoid pleading. His eyes unconsciously drift to the tool cart and he catches the sight of a Sjambok, which he can already feel the sting of. He closes his eyes and keeps his head down, but Pseudo doesn’t like that.

“Look up. Look at the cart.”

The puppet chews on his tongue and obeys. His eyes scan over what he sees, and the pit in his stomach doesn’t stop growing.

The Sjambok. The stun gun. Gardening scissors. Barded wire. Needle and thread. A small jar of table salt. Shards from the plate he broke. Whiskey. A nail-gun.

Chase’s breath picks up as he scans the cart. Tears sting his eyes, and he chews and chews into his tongue. His head swims with the anticipation and anxiety of it all, heart thumping like a bird’s inside his chest. Once he’s gathered the sight of what will be used, he turns back to his captor to see him staring like a stalking, hungry dog.

“What do you think, trouble- maker? Was it worth it?”

The man shakes his head. He feels pathetic and afraid. He only wishes he could go back in time to stop himself from being so stupid.

Pseudo nods in response.

“Good. I’ll tell you what though, doll. Once I use a tool, I’ll put it away. But everything will be used. Got it?”

Chase’s eyes glance to the stun gun. He nods his head, feeling sick all over again.

“Good. How about you pick first then? Since you like making stupid decisions so much.”

He rolls the cart closer to Chase so he can get a better view of it, and perhaps to point with his eyes what he wants. But Chase shakes his head, a hum of fear crawling up his throat against his will.

“Hey, come now. You want to make choices, so make one. Pick something.”

The man brings his head back up to meet Pseudo’s gaze. He pleads with his eyes, with his frown. He doesn’t want to. Don’t make me, please?

Pseudo tilts his head, waiting.

“Pick.”

Chase blinks tears from his eyes and turns back to his options. He points with his eyes, and says what he wants in his head, just in case Pseudo is listening.

Whiskey.

Pseudo points at the stun gun. “This?”

Chase shakes his head. No, no, whiskey. He moves forward slightly to stare harder at the bottle.

“This?”

The gardening scissors.

Chase shakes his head again, pleading, pleading, chewing on his tongue. Whiskey!

Pseudo lands on the whiskey, and Chase nods and relishes in his relief.

“Alright...”

Pseudo opens the bottle, and presents it to Chase’s mouth. “Drink.”

The puppet obeys, drinking swig after swig after swig, until its spilling over his mouth and down his chin. He starts coughing and spitting it up, but Pseudo keeps it trained on his lips. He begins to feel like he’s drowning in the alcohol before it’s pulled away, and Chase’s throat is left to burn like a hungry fire while he coughs out the poison.

“Catch your breath… it wasn’t that bad.”

It takes him a few minutes of back patting and condescending encouragements to finally settle down. He tries breathing through his mouth to calm the burning in his throat, but Pseudo takes it as an excuse to pour more poison into his body.

The same motions repeat, and the bottle is halfway gone by the time Pseudo pulls it away again. But the cap goes back on, and just as Pseudo promised, its put on the bottom shelf of the cart.

“That was an easy one… so I think I’ll pick next.”

He picks up the nail- gun, and places it to Chase’s shin.

The puppet sits up, and the wire that holds him down digs into his skin. With eyes wide and breath fast, he shakes his head, clamping down his jaw to keep himself from speaking up. His tongue endures more abuse from his teeth.

“Which leg pressed the gas?”

Chase shakes his head again, tears falling down his face as the fear takes over him. Please, please, no. He shrivels into himself like a raisin, and the wire once again digs deeper and deeper into his flesh.

“Which leg, dolly? Point with your eyes.”

The doll sobs a little harder, shaking his head.

“No? Maybe I’ll just hit both, then…”

His eyes shoot open to stare at his right leg, tears blurring his vision. At this Pseudo chuckles, tilting his head and keeping his eyes on the doll’s face.

“I’m just messing with you,” he smiles. “But it would’ve been very interesting had you pointed at your left.”

As soon as he finishes speaking, a nail goes shooting through Chase’s tibia. It digs down as deep as it can get, cracking the bone with the force.

He screams as loud as he can muster. His already burned throat doesn’t do well with the strain, but its even worse when another nail goes shooting through just below the first one. He can’t stop himself from crying about it.

The nail- gun drops into the bottom shelf, and Pseudo calls his puppet back to focus. He coos at him, tapping his face, until Chase gets the hint.

“It’s your turn, puppet.”

The doll looks at his leg. His pants are soaked with blood and alcohol, but he cant see the nails from this angle. Perhaps thats a good thing.

He turns back to the cart, and makes his choice.

Salt.

Pseudo points at the Sjambok. Chase shakes his head.

Pseudo points at the gardening scissors. Chase shakes his head, leaning closer to the salt.

He points at the stun gun. Chase loses his breath, and leans even closer.

Salt!

“Mh, I’m just not sure what you’re saying. I suppose I’ll pick..”

Pseudo picks up the glass shards, and starts shoving them one by one into Chase’s thigh. He uses the last one to give his doll’s cheek a little cut, and tosses it into the cart. The remaining shards stay planted in flesh like sprouting seeds. It hurts, but it feels like a break compared to what he just felt.

Next, Pseudo picks up the Sjambok, and stands up.

“Lean forward.”

Chase groans, shivering. He feels dizzier and dizzier, and the world feels harder to navigate. Is he getting drunk already?

“Don’t make me ask again, dolly. You don’t want this to hit your face, do you?”

The doll succumbs and does as he’s told. Once he’s in position, Pseudo waits to watch his puppet just breathe. His chest rises and falls fervently in his lap, just barely grazing the glass. After enough tension builds to make Chase whimper, he strikes his back hard.

A large slice of blood erupts from the source, and the doll screams into his knees. Another three strikes are given, and the Sjambok is tossed to the floor.

Chase sobs like a child. He can’t get enough air in his lungs, and the tears seem to be never ending. Everything already aches, and there’s still so much to do. He feels dizzy and faint, unsure if its the blood loss or the alcohol, or both. But before he can get his bearings again, the wounds on his back sting bad enough for him to wail all over again.

Salt, salt, salt, like trails of snow, poured into his open wounds. Pseudo holds the back of his neck to keep him in place.

“Stop!” Chase weeps, squirming and crying like it’ll do something useful. “Please, please, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry!! Please stop!”

Pseudo clicks his tongue three times, finishing the last row and putting the salt away.

“You just can’t get enough of this, can you, sweetheart?”

Chase sits up once free, writhing in pain. He sways as the alcohol takes over the remaining of his control, and the pain takes its place close behind. He can’t press his back to the chair, but cant lean forward, either. Everything hurts. He’s too dizzy, he feels drunk already. His wrists ache and look as red as his crying face does.

Pseudo plucks the needle and thread from the cart.

“Quiet, dolly, or this will hurt a lot more than you’d like it to.”

“Nonono, please, please!” he weeps. “I wont do it again, I won’t ever do it again, I’ll do everything you say, I’m s— ah!!”

Pseudo smacks Chase on the mouth hard enough to shove his back into the chair.

“Enough. You’re being awfully stupid..”

The needle comes up from his bottom lip first, snaking its way to the top lip. Row after row, sob after sob, every sound that comes out of Chase’s mouth becomes muffled. Blood drips down his chin to follow the paths that the alcohol took beforehand. The salty tears sting the cut on his cheek, and whatever wound from the stitches that they can get into.

The gardening scissors cut the remaining thread, and both tools are tossed to the bottom of the cart. At least his fingers wont have the same fate as Richie’s.

The next tool that’s chosen is barbed wire. Pseudo uses it to wrap around Chase’s torso and arms, making sure to roll up any clothing so the razors meet his skin instead of fabric. Then, the stun gun finds his hand.

Chase’s head swims. He shakes his head, his cries becoming weaker but more afraid by the second. He’d take anything over the stun gun. Even the nail- gun. The sensory hell that comes from electricity is simply too much for him to take right now.

“Readyyyy?” Pseudo sings. “You’re almost done.”

But Chase isn’t, nor will he ever be, ready for the stun gun. He shakes his head again, a pathetic sob bubbling up from his throat. He sinks deeper into the chair, regretting everything he’s done within the last two days. He wants to wake up in the attic with the sun on his face and be confused about what’s happening again. He wants to be hypnotized and treated like a doll, to be coddled and loved and doted upon for whatever fucked up reason Pseudo has for doing it. He wants to be Pink, he wants to be Pink, he wants to be Pink.

Pseudo aims at Chase’s shoulder, and shoots.

His entire body tenses up from the electricity. What little control he had before has now left him, and he is left to scream and endure for 10 seconds.

15.

20.

Chase opens his eyes to see Pseudo standing over him. He can’t breathe, he cant see, the world swims and twists in his eyes. The room spins and there are fire ants crawling across his entire body, with burrows dug deep into his flesh. He looks down at himself, seeing bugs crawling all across his skin.

“Mmm- mmmm!!!”

Chase writhes and hollers like his life depends on it. There are bugs on his skin!! He can feel them burrowing into his flesh, into his shin, his wrists, his torso, his mouth, his thigh!!!!! They’re everywhere!!!

He screams and screams and screams as they take over his whole body, making a home inside every space they can. Pseudo grabs hold of his doll’s face, forcing his eye contact and attention.

“Settle down,” he commands. “You’re alright. Deep breaths, Pink. Deep breaths.”

He keeps squirming and fighting, keeps sobbing and sinking deeper into the chair as the bugs eat him up like candy. But Pseudo comes soothing, and kind, and Chase feels heavier and heavier until the whole world feels too far away to focus. But Pseudo is there, and Pseudo is helpful. Pseudo gets the bugs away.

“You’re okay, Pink. Listen to me now, deep breaths. You’re all done.”

All done? All done?

Pink shivers. He remembers what he did, how stupid and dangerous that was. He can’t believe he’d do such a thing, especially when an angel like Pseudo is here to take care of him. What’s wrong with him?

Pink whines as he’s set free from his restraints. As all the barbed wire is peeled from his body and the glass shards are plucked out one by one. He sighs, especially thankful, when he’s able to take a breath through his mouth as the thread is cut away. He has no choice but to lean into Pseudo when scooped up into his arms, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He wants to be good now, and he’ll promise that once he’s allowed to speak again.

“You’re alright, Pink. I’ve got you back now, hm? You’re alright.”

Pink whines once more, feeling overwhelmed with the urge to fall asleep.

. . .

Oh, his head hurts.

Where is Pseudo?

Pink opens his eyes to find himself alone in his room. His body feels heavy and beaten, and everything hurts. Upon seeing the sun shine through the window, he is overcome with a wave of nausea so strong that he has to lean over his bed. When he tries to sit up, however, the pain in his back and ribs is enough to make him cry out. The nausea gets worse until he gags, covering his eyes and mouth and pretending Pseudo is there to coach him through it. Once it passes, he opens his eyes, half expecting to see Pseudo already there and waiting.

The puppet groans, observing his empty room. He wants to call out for Pseudo, but closes his mouth upon remembering he’s not supposed to speak. He wishes he could ask for some water, or a hug.

Instead he asks for attention by knocking on the wall. Everything in his body hurts, so standing up to make noise doesn’t feel like a safe option for him. He just hopes that Pseudo notices soon, whether that’s through annoyance or wanting to be by his puppet. He can’t take much longer without seeing his angel.

Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, says Pinks room.

Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock.

The knocks are eventually returned at the door, and Pink hears a key turn into the lock. The door opens, and Pink smiles dopey and adoring.

“Ps-“ he starts, before covering his mouth. He wants to say sorry, but then he’d have to say sorry for saying sorry, and then sorry for saying sorry for saying sorry. So he just clamps his jaw shut, and prays that Pseudo forgives him for his near mistake.

“My Pink,” Pseudo croons. The key is concealed inside his pocket, and he makes his way towards his doll. “Do you feel sick this morning?”

Pink nods, sighing and relaxing when Pseudo comes to sit beside him. As if that weren’t enough, Pseudo runs a hand through Pink’s hair, and the doll leans as far into his touch as possible. He wants moments like these to last forever.

“Poor thing… but you’ll be good now, won’t you? No more slip ups like yesterday.”

Pink’s face burns in embarrassment. He can’t believe what he did; the regret consumes him. He shakes his head, holding Pseudo’s hand and kissing his palm to show his devotion.

Pseudo smiles and runs his hand through Pink’s hair, and the puppet basks in the attention. He can’t get enough of it. He isn’t sure why he ever tried to leave in the first place. Stupid, stupid puppet.

“That’s precious.. but, I have to make sure you’re being honest, don’t I?”

Pink nods. That makes sense, and he’ll do anything to prove himself.

“Good. Because if you’re good..”

He runs a hand through Pink’s hair, and a thumb across his cheek bone. The puppet melts.

“Then I’ll bring you back home, and I’ll spoil you rotten.”

Pink smiles. This time, he blushes from contentment. From adoration.

“But if you’re bad, if you show me you want to escape again, I’ll make sure you end up alone. No one will take care of you.”

Pink frowns, afraid. He points at Pseudo, and shakes his head. Not even you?

“You’ll be alone, Pink. Out of your head,” he pets Pink’s hair again, “and all alone. Do you understand?”

Yes. Pink nods.

“Good. Then I should see you soon, dolly. Don’t fret about it when you get there, hm? Nothing to be afraid of if you’re a good puppet.”

Pink wants to ask where he’s going, but is left to wonder until it happens.

[mimpinightmare]

I hope, whoever is reading this, is having a great day, tomorrow, week, month, year and lifetime. Regardless if they're struggling or not, and whatever they are going through, things will get better at the end. Hope your days is filled with great health; psychically and mentally. ✨💜💛💜💛💜💛💜✨

[wasyago]

Yago I just read your tags. You're so incredibly kind <3 I adore your designs though, wouldn't change a thing. Both for Redstone & Skulk and everything else man you've got such an awesome way with your work. Anyway stay awesome te adoro and thank you for the kind words

WAAAAH thank you Silver QwQ!!!!!!!

[stormyoceans]

Did you see the cast's reaction to the trailer? Did you see how emotional they got? (cause same). Did you see backaof saying they're not gonna get together easily? (crying screaming throwing up) Did you see mark saying that backaof loves making us cry? (wbk mark-- we're already crying)

I am vibrating with EXCITEMENT. Also i keep thinking of the OST and i can't wait for it to be released! Aside from how beautiful it is-- i can already imagine myself putting it on repeat for months, i hope it gives us more scenes to dissect and analyze and obsess over lmao. I think it'll come out by next Wednesday? I hope sooner tho!

I DID SEE IT!!!!!!! AND TBH IM STILL TRYING TO COME TO TERMS WITH THE FACT THAT LIKE. WE'RE GETTING CONTENT??? WITH ALREADY AVAILABLE SUBTITLES??? AND THERE'S MORE TO COME WITH THE OST AND OTHER KIND OF PROMOTION??? IM SO NOT USED TO IT BUT WE'RE REALLY LIVING IN THE LAST TWILIGHT ERA NOW AND I COULD NOT BE HAPPIER

also i would love to comment the entire video but i feel like i still can't put any coherent thought together so here are some random considerations:

1) jimmysea are always so serious every time they have to watch the trailer for one of their series, we really never get much of a reaction out of them and for some reason i find that pretty endearing???? like they always put everything they have in what they do so of course they would concentrate on what they're watching so intently that they actually forget to comment or react;

2) WE LOVE MARK PARKIN NR. 1 JIMMYSEA SPOKESPERSON AND HYPE MAN;

3) i guess we could have imagined that morkday wouldn't get to be together so easily but actually hearing p'aof saying it....... MAIMING BITING GNAWING GNASHING KICKING SCREAMING. i love what mark said tho, that "despite all the drama, those two hold on tight to each other's hands and love". it makes me believe that, no matter the pain and the hardships, they will never let go, and that's what matters the most;

4) NAMTAN'S GOWN SUSPICIOUSLY LOOKS LIKE A WEDDING ONE SO I NEED TO REVISE MY ENTIRE THEORY ABOUT THE AIRPORT SCENE;

5) i have been waiting for doctor jimmy “unhinged method actor who is all about the process” jitaraphol potiwihok to make a come back and HE DID NOT DISAPPOINT

GUESS HE HAD SOME RESIDUAL ACTS OF SERVICE FROM MORK IN HIM. HE WAS SO PROUD OF SURPRISING SEA WITH THE ONE PALM DISTANCE AT THE END TOO

OKAY SORRY this is already so long and incredibly messy but GOD YES I CAN'T WAIT FOR THE OST TO BE RELEASED!!!!!!! i get chills every single time the song starts and it really contributed turning the trailer into the masterpiece that it is!!!!! idk if i should make any predictions at this point but one last clownery for old time's sake (i say as if i won't be clowning with theories every single week from now on): OST COMING OUT ON MONDAY LET'S GO!!!!!!!!

[savventeen]

you haunt my melody

pairing: junhui x gn!reader rating: T wc: 0.9k prompt: @caratober day 25 - circus; day 22 - ghosts summary: once upon a time, wen junhui played the pipe organ for a traveling circus. once upon a time, you were an acrobat. once upon a time, he lost the love of his life in a tragic accident and let his grief consume him. now, you think it's time for him to let you go. warnings: angst, past mcd, mentions of a past accident, reader is a ghost, grief/mourning, crying tags: circus au, magic au, junhui plays the pipe organ a/n: sorry for being awol, life has been... A Lot. but i wanted to at least get something posted for halloween, so i hope you like this even though it's sad. (also this was originally a yoonkook drabble i posted on twitter)

The carousel had been beautiful, once upon a time.

Exquisitely carved animals were decorated with the most saturated paints and gold filigree, bulbs big and bright and welcoming.

The music had been bouncing and jovial, drawing everyone, adults and children alike, to the heart of the carnival. But that was years ago — decades even.

All the color has since been stripped from the wood and metal, leaving behind a patchwork of grimy black, white, and grey. Most of the bulbs have burned out, some of them nothing more than a few shards of broken glass — but a few still flicker from time to time, their dim light still clinging to the runes etched into the core.

Junhui's hands tremble as he trails them over what's left of the lead horse, slowly making his way to the door that leads to the pipe organ hidden inside the center. Unlike the rest of the carousel, the organ is pristine, the polished brass practically glowing.

His fingers gently caress the keys as he sits down on the well-worn bench, and then — just as he's done every day since the accident — he plays.

He plays, and the magic flows from his fingers and into the runes that cover every surface of the organ, lighting up the space with a sickly yellow glow.

And then he's not alone.

"Hi, Junnie."

"Hi, y/n."

It was hard, at first — only being able to see you and never being able to touch — but it's so much better than having nothing at all.

"I missed you," Junhui says.

For once, you don't immediately reply.

Junhui watches you furrow your brow, watches you pick at your acrobat uniform with white-chalked fingers before taking a deep breath.

"Jun," you start, and it's soft, the kind of soft that aches. "You need to let me go."

Junhui almost stops playing in his shock. "What? No. Y/n, what are you talking about?" No.

"You've kept me here for too long."

And it's true, Junhui knows it's true. But he refuses to accept it. He can't.

You continue, "For both of our sake, you need to let me go."

"No," Junhui immediately argues, frustrated in the way that is only borne of futile desperation. "I can't, you know I can't. I love you."

You sigh, so weary and heavy that Junhui feels like he's tied everything in his chest to a rock and dropped it in the middle of the sea.

"But you don't."

Junhui does falter this time, your form flickering before he quickly starts playing again.

"Of course I—"

"You don't, Jun." Your gaze is pity-lined steel. "You might love the idea of me, but you don't love me."

Bile rises swift and thick in his throat, and Junhui has to swallow a couple of times before he can speak. Even then, his question comes out barely loud enough to be heard over the pipes.

"How could you say something like that?"

You shrug, like you aren't trying to end Junhui's world all over again. "You don't even know me. I don't know me."

Junhui almost wants to laugh at the absurdity. "Of course I know you."

"No." You shake your head, vehement. "You know them — the person that I was before I died and before you trapped what's left of me here."

And oh, it's been a while since his grief roared so loud inside of him, leaving him breathless. Your name tumbles past his lips in a plea — for what, exactly, he isn't sure.

"I'm not that person anymore." Your voice is soft again, like you're talking to a scared animal. "I don't know who I am, but it's certainly not y/n."

And Junhui is scared, so so scared, tears starting to drip down his cheeks.

Because something inside him knows that this is it. This is the end.

"I don't know how to let you go," he chokes out.

"You need to do it anyway," you say, and then you look so sad that Junhui wants to lay down and never get up again. "Keeping me here is killing you, and I've already lost so much of who I used to be."

You're right. Junhui knows it, but— "I won't survive without you."

"You will, Jun. It'll hurt, but you'll survive."

"What if I don't want to?" The question punches out of him, cracking and grief-heavy.

"There's not much that I can do about that," you reply with a shrug. Then you look at Junhui, really look at him. "But I do know that the person I used to be loved you with everything they had, and they'd hate to see you throw your life away."

The place where Junhui's heart used to beat burns.

"Will they—" A sob cuts through. "Will you wait for me? On the other side, will you wait? Both of you?"

Finally, finally, your lips curve up into a smile. "Of course, Junnie. take your time."

Junhui continues to play a few more moments before he's crying too hard to do anything except clutch at his chest and watch through his tears as the ghost of his love fades away for the final time.

And so, on an obsolete, rainy night in February — the music dies.

[sneasedtomeetyou]

I'm sorry things happen so much lately off blog but I managed to uhh.. Get things sorted out. For lack of a better way of wording things. I got Lissie back and I wish I could explain further because I know it's strange to have this all happen and there be so muchradio silence but when I say I can't I can't explain it... Eveyrhting is overwhelming and confusing and... I had some help, I'm thankful for it. I'm tired. I want to lay down. I"m going to be back to my old self tomorrow.

I'm glad Dave is home. I don't know how i feel about her. I hope she's okay. I hope Amy's okay.

Lissi'es home and It's going to be okay

[despairforme]

Complains, but silently.

[palebloodpresence]

what if i said my genuine opinion of "rom the vacuous spider" is that she's actually not like, peaceful because she's stupid, she's just extremely fucking chill bc she's so enlightened. like she WILL defend herself but really she just wants to hide in her cool lake world and hide dark rituals

[here-2suffer]

Guess who finally got the next out :^D. Uh, sorry it took so long. I felt bad that it was taking so long and I ended up taking a break from it because of that and then I realized you guys have been waiting forever so I rushed the ending- sorry you had to wait so long for something that isn't even long. Also I promised I'd tag @justaduckarts and @total-fandom-tr45h for this so yeah. These are the people who inspired me to write this, you guys should check them out, they're really cool. Okay, so finally, here it is.

Fish Tales chapter 2

It's been a while now, you've stayed on this ship the whole time. Your tail is fully healed now (sadly it still has some scars), and it didn't even take as long as it normally does. Though that's probably because of whatever Solaris and Lucien said they were using. Magol, was it? No, that doesn't feel right.

It's morning, you're out on the dock looking at the sky as the sun rises, coloring the sky in beautiful yellows and oranges and reds and blues that reflect on the sea. It's an amazing view. You never really saw sunrises or sunsets before you were on this ship.

Solaris comes up behind you and hugs you. "Goooood morning sunshine!" He's taken a liking to calling you 'sunshine' the same way Lucien calls you 'starfish'. You look at him and smile. "Morning Solar." Lucien comes with breakfast and sets it down on the table. "Good morning starfish." "Morning Lucien."

The morning goes by like all the others, you eat breakfast, talk about random things, and occasionally Solaris or Lucien 'accidentally' brush their hand against yours. It gives you a weird feeling in your stomach, you don't know what it is.

Solaris and Lucien check your tail before any work can get done on the ship, that's usually how they decide which places you can and can't go to depending on whether it can hurt your scars. "Well, would you look at that! Looks like your tail is fully healed!" Solaris' voice is as cheery as usual. He keeps his hand on your tail and Lucien sits next to you, putting his arm around your shoulder.

You look at your tail and at the sea, then back at the boys. "Does mean I can left now?" The boys' smile faded in an instant.

"You're not leaving." Lucien sighed. "Why no?" You raise an eyebrow at him. Lucien pulled you a little closer. "Because I don't want you to." "Lucien!" And then Solaris started scolding him again.

Solaris sighs and turns to you. "He's right though, you can't leave... rrright noww." He adds that last part looking to the side, like a child who's been caught doing something but still tries to deny it.

"Why no?" You ask again. He looks up, seemingly making excuses in his head. "W-Well… Oh! There's a storm coming! A very bad one too, so it would be safer for you to stay here on the ship. If you go now, it would be very dangerous for you all alone in the sea!" He nods with his hands on his hips, as if confirming his own words.

Luckily, you have a valid argument against that. "Wrong." Solaris furrows his brows, his confusion is written all over his face. Lucien still holds you close, as if you would run off as soon as he let's go. His arms are now wrapped around your waist.

"Sea is my home. I lived through many storms before, I'm okay. Storm can break this ship, that danger." You say in a matter-of-fact manner. Solaris' confidence visibly deflates, he turns away and crosses his arms. "You know what, I'm going back to steering before we all crash and die." And just like that, he leaves for the wheelhouse.

You look at Lucien, though you have to lean back so your faces don't touch. "Let me go?" He looks at you for a couple of seconds before deciding to do the exact opposite and hold you closer. "Nah."

That day went by just like the first day you were here, you were under supervision the whole time. There was no way you could escape during the day. Guess you'll just have to try at night.

In the middle of the day, Solaris took you up to the wheelhouse with him as Lucien was going to take a nap (again). He isn't mad or even annoyed with you, that definitely surprised you. You thought he ran off earlier because he was upset you wanted to leave.

"Sorry I left so suddenly earlier, I had to take a breather after that." Ah, so he was upset you wanted to leave. His voice is so soft and gentle though, it almost made you want to stay. Almost. "Please don't leave… Not right now. I-It's too dangerous out there right now, we're getting closer to the storm and-"

"I survive storm." You're not going to repeat the conversation, maybe argument, from earlier, are you? Solaris sighs. "I know… Lucien and I both know you'll most likely survive the storm. But even if you do, you might end up hurt again, and I hate the thought of you being hurt like you were when we found you..."

He wasn't even looking at you, he kept his eyes out to the sea. You knew he didn't need to look in order to keep the ship going in the right direction, he always looked at you while steering. But now he wasn't.

Why... Why does it hurt?

…

You sit there in silence as Solaris steers. He quietly sighs, you don't think you were supposed to hear it, but with how silent it is, it was clear as day.

It stayed that way until Solaris eventually started talking about where they're going. They're visiting someone. "Who?" You tilt your head slightly to the side. Solaris looks at you with that soft smile of his that you've been growing fond of. "Someone very special to us."

You cross your arms. "No answer to question." He looked amused by your reaction. "Don't worry, you'll get a proper introduction when we get there."

From then, you and Solaris talked about things. Nothing in particular, just things. Eventually, Solaris started asking you questions. "Sunshine, how's the chest? Is it too small? Is it giving you splinters?" You raised an eyebrow at that, but he didn't seem to notice. "Chest a little small, but can still fit in good." He smiled. "That's good. When we stop Lucien can get you a bigger chest."

You wanted to ask why Lucien would buy you a bigger chest, but before you could, he asked another question. "Do you like the food here? I know it's mostly fish but you're probably used to that, right?" You nod. "Yes, good food. I eat all the time."

"Is there anything that makes you uncomfortable here?" You could see a glint of worry in his eyes, though he tried to hide it with his smile. "...No water." He turned to you with confusion evident on his face. "Well, what do we do?"

That's when things clicked.

He was trying to fix things and make you more comfortable on the ship so you would stay.

…

"Don't know." You shrug and turn forward to the sea, feeling guilty for wanting to leave now. He sighed and looked forward as well.

You didn't want to hurt them, but you weren't sure whether you wanted to stay on this ship forever. You're a mer, you weren't built for life outside of water. But yet here you were, living out of the water for most of the days.

But you wanted to go back in the sea, you knew you did, so you made up your mind.

You're going to escape tonight.

Or at least that's what you thought. Yeah, turns out life had other plans.

You looked around, the boys was nowhere to be seen, they were probably resting inside their bedroom. You couldn't hear them though, which was weird because they were always talking before switching with each other. But you pushed that thought to the side as you only had one goal in mind.

Escape the ship.

You quickly made you way to the edge of the dock and pulled yourself up, looking down to the sea of freedom just below you. You wasted no time. You leaned forward with hopes that you wouldn't hit your head on the side of the ship as you fell down, but something grabbed your waist before you could feel yourself falling, gasping as it pulled you back.

"And just what do you think you're doing?" Lucien's deep voice sounded from behind you. He pulled you close, practically hugging you. You turn your head to face him. "Sea." He clicked his tongue and furrowed his brows, trying to seem angry, but you could see the hurt in his eyes.

"No." And with that, you were being carried back inside. You thought he would bring you to your room and put you to sleep, but he didn't. Instead, he brought you to the wheelhouse with him, using a spell to keep the ship moving without him having to steer.

"No sleep?" You asked worriedly, maybe he's decided to punish you by keeping you awake. He sighs and holds you closer. "You'll sleep eventually, but you're staying with me." He speaks low, you can't even turn to see his expression because of the distance (or lack thereof) between the both of you, but you could hear something in his voice. It sounded sad. You couldn't hear it well though, so you're not sure.

"Why?" You could just feel his breath on your shoulder. "So you don't leave." There it was, that extra something in his voice. It definitely sounded sad. He leans his head against yours, you've noticed he's been getting more physical with you every day. "But if I in chest to sleep, won't leave." He scoffed. "You could easily leave while I'm not looking. I'm not taking any chances."

You think that's really dumb. He's definitely right, you could easily leave when he isn't looking, and you probably would. But you still think it's dumb.

You say the first thing that comes to your mind. "Could bite you now and leave when you drop me." He pauses for a second then chuckles. You can feel it more than you hear it, and you're not really sure how you feel about that, or how you want to feel about that.

"You used to bite us when you didn't want us in the same room as you before, I'm pretty sure we're used to it by now." He sits you down on the chair next to the wheel and starts steering the ship.

"Thought boat moved by itself?" He put a spell, didn't he? "The boat doesn't move by itself, star. I used a magic spell to put it on autopilot, but only for a minute or two." Magic, right. That's what they used to heal your scars too! "Why not always? Then you never steer." He smiled and shook his head with a sigh. "It doesn't work like that." "Why no?"

"Because." He glanced at you. "If we use too much magic, it wears us out. We'll get very exhausted and faint, and probably die if it's that extreme." Your eyes widened, you did not like the sound of that. "Die?" You tried to make your voice sound less worried than you actually were, but you're not sure it worked. He shrugged. "Probably."

Okay, so, that's a no for spending more time with them. That's fine actually, it would've made it harder to leave the ship anyway. You still didn't like the thought of them dying though.

He smiled and patted your head. "Don't worry, we don't use a lot of magic, so we won't die from that." Well, that was somehow more comforting than you think it should've been. At least you don't have to worry about them dying from magic though.

The rest of the night, you and Lucien just talked, the subject didn't matter, you talked about everything. He would take every chance he had to ruffle your hair, boop your nose, hug you, and just be physical with you. You didn't really mind, if anything, you really enjoyed it.

You talked for what seemed like 7 hours, but was probably only 3, as sleep was taking over you. Lucien put the ship on autopilot again when he noticed you yawning.

"You tired now?" You tried to blink away the sleepiness, but that only made it worse. "No, brain just slow." You wanted to talk more with him, but you knew you would fall asleep any minute now.

He chuckled and picked you up. "Oh really?" You were too tired to fight back. "Mmyeah." Your eyes closed on their own (traitors) and you couldn't open them no matter how hard you tried. "You sure? Because you seem very tired to me." His voice was closer than before and you felt yourself being put in something. You instantly knew it was your chest, because where else would they put you?

"Goodnight starfish." That was the last thing you heard before you drifted off to sleep.

[canonically-a-genloser]

either my lungs are acting up for no reason or im catching the Fucking Plague so i might try to write if i dont have to spend 398286 hours in school tomorrow /silly

[oizys-naomi]

First Interrogation ; The Words That Hurt The Most

<< @wardenes-official >>

————————————————————————

I let my eyes follow and trace Es’s movements and steps, all the while glaring at them and acting as if my eyes could cut holes into their skin. I didn’t know how to feel, truly. I felt panicked by the mere mention of murder for whatever reason, even if I assumed myself as innocent. Of course I would be. There’s no reason for me to kill someone, so why would I ever bother doing so? Those who I want dead will feel the wrath of karma soon, I had assumed, and controlled my thoughts based off of that fantasy alone.

As they spoke, I sighed quietly and tapped my foot. My empty expression and even emptier eyes didn’t seem to do much in particular, and even when they proposed an idea so ludicrous as a “song extraction” my eyebrow didn’t even budge, nor did my eye twitch. This child really was playing games, I thought. Whoever employed this kid was…interesting, to say the least. What sort of organization would do this? I would doubt the government itself would fund this to seek out personal justice for whatever reason, so whatever company backing this had to have pockets full of money and connections far wider than Japan. It seemed unimaginable, fake, and ridiculous—like I was put onto some sort of television reality TV show made to psyche me out. So, with that thought in mind, I shut my eyes momentarily to regain composure.

When I opened them, I stopped glaring. Not as much as a standoffish expression as before, but it surely was a far cry from the cold one I had previously. My emotions were bouncing everywhere, I realized, and I had to seem somewhat consistent all things considered; emotions, thoughts and expressions all kept under wraps. I couldn’t freak out for a multitude of reasons.

—————

“Song extraction. You’re kidding.”

I sighed loudly, furrowing my eyebrows with a suspicious and somewhat scowling expression on my face. I didn’t come here to play games, I thought, and I huffed in annoyance before taking a deep breath. No more outbursts, I reminded myself.

Maybe I had to play along. For now, anyways. This TV show nonsense…I had to keep a good impression on, lest my family find out I acted borderline insane towards a person much shorter and younger than me.

—————

“Different murderers, you say? What’s the variation of the crimes…? Do you know?”

A fair question, I suppose. If I was with other people, then the least I could do was learn about their crimes and avoid the serious offenders. Get to know the other “cast”, if anything. I had already heard yelling in my sleep from a multitude of voices—a loud, brash voice screaming and throwing something, as well as a meek voice mimicking crocodile tears—so I was sure I’d have quite a colorful bunch of people I’d be working with.

If our crimes were over a single word, “murder”, then it would be sure to vary. I’d expect a serious offender, perhaps some sort of vigilante, or maybe a cyberbully of some sort. Those were quite common nowadays since the internet. Of course, I shouldn’t assume too much about the prison warden or the others. Stick to the goal of getting out, or something. If that idea failed, I’d just plan to learn more and more about those here.

—————

“Sure, maybe this is different from other prisons, but every positive thing has a twist, intentionally or not. I wouldn’t be so surprised that, if I wasn’t forgiven by some standard, my freedoms would be restricted. Do you agree, Es-kun?”

[jardinvrm]

think i asked this on ur main but oh well---is there any like complete explaination/story breakdown of ur twins au??? and if so could you pretty pls link it im so invested

AAAAA unfortunately anon there's none yet 😭

I'm waiting until I'm finished with everyone you need to know UNTIL I make a huge masterpost that has the entire lore and story in it

but due to time and less activity then... that might take a while unfortunately

however you can just ask me anything you'd like to know and I'll answer!

[carcarrot]

alright. slept a bit and feel a little better