#the last ones I remember seeing were some anti smoking ones when I was still in school

[spookyboywhump]

I miss PSA’s you don’t really see very many PSA’s these days

[crystalninjaphoenix]

To All New and Returning Subjects

Switch AU

A JSE Fanfic

I bet a lot of you guys hated me for the cliffhanger of the last story, right? XD But now we can see what comes of it! All five of the guys have been caught by IRIS, and now find themselves locked up in separate rooms. Each of them wonder what is going to happen to them as IRIS stops by them one by one. And yeah. There's not much more to say about it jdkhalsf This is just the start of the guys' adventures in IRIS! They have to get used to their new home! :D Enjoy, hehehe

More of This AU | | First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Read on AO3 under CrystalNinjaPhoenix

Anti opened his eyes and found himself in a familiar room. Simple, undecorated walls, the only things in the room being a bed, a table, some chairs, and a camera mounted in the ceiling corner. Fear immediately shot through his heart and he sat up straight. This couldn’t be real! This had to be a dream of some kind, or another one of Distorter’s illusions. He patted the walls and bed around him—but they felt real. They felt so real.

His breathing started to speed up. No! No, he couldn’t be back here—back in IRIS! But as he got up and explored the room, desperately trying to find some flaw in this illusion, the truth slowly sunk in. He was back.

Or had he even left at all in the first place? What if Disorter had merely been toying with him this whole time? Giving him glimpses of a hospital room that didn’t actually exist? While the whole time he’d been here, stuck in this room, maybe with those sick fucks watching him like this was some science experiment—

No. No, he couldn’t believe that. That moment with Jackie had to be real. It had to be.

Anti took a deep breath and immediately ran for the door, yanking on the doorknob. It was locked, of course. He tried pounding on it, kicking it, shoving his shoulder against it, but there was no give at all. Of course there wasn’t. He should know better by now.

Okay. Okay. He has to stay calm. Taking a deep breath, he looked up into the corner of the room. The camera was on, its red light blinking. “You fuckers,” he hissed. “You fucking freaks. Why? Why?!”

The camera didn’t answer, of course.

Another deep breath. Anti started pacing around the floor. Okay, think. What was the last thing he remembered? There was an IRIS scientist, and a bunch of smoke that knocked him out. It must have knocked out the others, too. Were they also in this place? Or had IRIS only taken him? He had no way of knowing.

He wanted to ask the camera questions, but knew better than to expect an answer. And he couldn’t waste his energy. That might have been his problem last time he was here. He wore himself out, and when an opportunity to fight came, he was too tired to. Patience would be the name of the game this time. He couldn’t spend all his time on bullshit that didn’t matter.

Sighing, he sat down on the bed again, noticing a lump under the covers when he did. He stood up again and moved the blankets aside. It was a green bouncy ball. The same green bouncy ball that they’d given him last time. It was still here. He laughed darkly and picked it up. “Hope you guys give me food before you give me a second ball,” he muttered, squeezing it. He looked up into the camera. “If you guys went to all the trouble to bring me back here, you have to want me alive. So you better keep me alive. Okay? I can’t die of hunger.”

Come to think of it, when was the last time he ate anything at all? It had to be before he sleepwalked to IRIS the first time. Maybe dinner that night with Will? God—Will. He had to hold onto hope that he was alright. He didn’t even get to see him after Jackie woke him up from Distorter’s dream world.

He shook his head. He couldn’t dwell on this. It would only make him spiral again. For now, he had to distract himself. But also conserve his strength. He’d only been up and active for a couple minutes and his muscles already felt weak. Guess that was what he got after being stuck in some sort of dream world for who knew how long. Maybe... he should do some exercise? He’d never been a fan of working out, but he had to get strong again. At the same time, if IRIS didn’t give him enough food, he might have to save his energy... It was going to be a tough balancing act from here on out.

Sighing, he bounced the ball against the wall.

———————

Jackie groaned and cracked open his eyes, finding himself in a strange room. Featureless off-white plaster walls, with a bed, a table, some chairs, and a camera mounted in the corner of the room. There was a second camera on a tripod next to the table.

“What the hell?” he muttered, sitting up. “Hello?” He looked up at the camera, confused. The last thing he remembered... was the hospital room filling with white smoke. All of them falling to it, unable to stay awake. The white smoke... and the man in the IRIS coat.

His stomach dropped. Was this somewhere in IRIS? He’d never seen any rooms like this. But then again, he’d only ever been in one of their complexes. There were at least two others near Mirygale. He could be in one of those places.

Slowly, he stood up and walked over to the door. Locked. Of course. He turned around and crossed the room again, examining the camera on the tripod. This was one of the WTCHR cameras that IRIS produced. He laughed dryly. God, he could remember them bragging about their advanced cameras, able to detect emotions with great accuracy. That seemed so long ago now.

“W-well? What are you going to do to me, then?” Jackie asked, his voice shaking slightly. “I—I’m not going back to you. S-so... you shouldn’t waste your time trying to convince me. I-I know better now.”

There was no response. Evidently, there wasn’t an intercom in this room. Which made sense, he couldn’t see any speakers anywhere. Unless... they were super small?

Jackie backed away from the camera, walking around the edge of the room a couple times, looking for any sign of IRIS’s technology besides the cameras. Nothing. He seemed to be alone with the WTCHRs.

They couldn’t be planning to leave him alone for long, though. There was no way they would leave him in this room for longer than a couple hours. Well... there was a bed. That implied they expected him to sleep. But there wasn’t a bathroom or anything, so that was a bit contradictory. Were they going to let him out for that?

Jackie swallowed a lump in his throat. A vague feeling of dread pooled in his stomach, clawing at his insides, eating away at them. He thought he knew IRIS. But it’s clear he didn’t know anything about them. He had no idea what their plans for him would be after he’d stolen some of their technology and fled with the help of Schneep and JJ. For all he knew, they would just... leave him here...

No. No, that couldn’t be it. They had to have some sort of plan. Maybe someone would show up eventually. He... he just had to wait. That’s it.

And hope that the others, wherever they were... hope that they were alright.

———————

Marvin woke up, aching all over his body. He lied there for a moment, figuring out where he was. This was a bed of some sort. Not a particularly comfortable one. The mattress was hard and the sheets had a strange crinkly texture that he didn’t enjoy. The light was bright behind his eyelids. He slowly opened them up, glancing around the room.

A plain space, more like a cell than anything else. Besides the bed he was lying on, there was a table with two chairs and a small alcove blocked off by a curtain. A camera was installed in the corner of the room, dangling from the ceiling. Exactly like the WTCHR cameras JJ had bought from IRIS.

IRIS. This must be in one of their compounds. After they all got knocked out, everyone must have been brought here. They all must be in rooms like this.

Marvin pushed the blankets away and pushed himself up. Then, slowly, carefully, he stood up—ah. Right. He stood up. He hadn’t really had time to process that back in the hospital, since the fight with Distorter had quickly taken priority. But—how the fuck was his leg suddenly healed?! Sure, his legs were shaking now, but that was from his usual fatigue and weak muscles. There was none of the pain he’d expect from a broken leg.

There had to be some sort of explanation, but he couldn’t think of what it could be right now. He slowly walked towards the alcove in the corner, using the wall for support, and pulled away the curtain. A toilet and a sink. Well... good to know. He turned around and walked back to the bed, sitting down, staring blankly forward.

After a moment, he patted himself down, making sure that he had everything. All his clothes were in place. Seemed like they just dumped him in bed fully dressed—

Hang on a moment. Where were his cards? He double checked all his pockets, but—no, his deck of cards was nowhere to be found. “They took my cards?!” Marvin blurted out in shock. “Why?!”

Did they know the powers the card had? Maybe they thought he could use them to escape? Honestly, he probably could, so he could see their reasoning—but it didn’t stop him from being shaken to find them no longer with him.

He pulled his legs back onto the bed, eyes darting around. The door would be locked, wouldn’t it? If they went to the trouble of drugging them and bringing them over, they would surely lock the door. He tried to get up again, but his legs gave out. “Shit!” he cursed. He should’ve used his strength to go check on the door. Sometimes he really hated his body.

He’ll have to wait for a good time to move again. Rest would help with that. Marvin laid down again, kicking off his shoes and trying to go to sleep. But the fear of being in this place made that difficult.

———————

JJ gasped awake, flying up immediately. Something’s wrong something’s wrong something’s wrong—

He staggered to his feet, eyes darting around. A door! He rushed for it—but found himself yanked backwards by something wrapped around his ankle. He fell heavily to the ground, then got up and looked back at what stopped him. There was a cuff around his ankle. Made of some sort of white material, connecting him to the floor by a tether made of some flexible half-transparent material. He grabbed onto the tether—felt like plastic—and tried making a knife from magic to slash through it—

Pain raced up his leg and he cried out, collapsing to the floor. What was that?! It must have come from the cuff. But—it looked normal—or as normal as a cuff with a tether could be. How did that happen?

JJ shook his head and tried to push back the panic. He looked around the room, really taking it in for the first time. This was a small room—tiny, really—with white plastic-looking walls and. To his left was a bed, and to his right was a small alcove blocked off by a curtain. Judging by the length of the tether, both of these would be in reach. But the door is too far, the wall in front of him much farther away. The room is rectangular and he’s stuck at one end. Two cameras dangle from the ceiling, in diagonal corners.

And then Jameson looked down at himself. What the hell?! He wasn’t wearing his clothes anymore. Instead, he was wearing a white shirt-and-pants combination that reminded him vaguely of hospital scrubs. When did that happen?! Why did that happen?!

He staggered to his feet. Just to check, he tried a small spell, something to just conjure a few dancing lights—and another shock of pain rushed up from the cuff, sending him slumping back against the wall, breathing heavily. Okay—so no magic. At all. Good to know.

Where was he? The last thing that happened was that man in the white coat throwing that device in the hospital room, filling it with sweet smoke. IRIS. He remembered the logo on the sleeve. So—this must be some sort of IRIS facility, then? The same people who’d done all that to Schneep. What were they planning to do to Jameson? What were they planning to do to the rest of his friends?

Jameson began to hyperventilate. He tried to stop, pressing a hand against his chest, but he couldn’t help it. Tears came to the corners of his eyes, filling his vision, blurring it. It would be fine. It would be fine. It would be fine. It would be fine. He had to believe it would be fine.

But he didn’t believe it at all.

———————

Schneep woke up staring at a blank white ceiling. And yet, despite how featureless the ceiling above was, he instantly knew where he is. He sat up, gasping, and looked around. This room—it wasn’t the same room where they kept him. That room would be burned into his mind forever, a tiny space no bigger than a jail cell with walls made of a strange white material. This room was slightly bigger than that. It had an actual bed instead of a cot attached to the wall. There was an alcove blocked off with a curtain. And there were two cameras attached to the ceiling in diagonal corners. The shape of the room was strange, a long rectangle with him at one end.

He got to his feet quickly, and noticed a pull around his ankle. There was a cuff attaching him to the floor. A white cuff, with a translucent tether. He crouched down again and tugged at it experimentally. It felt solid. And tight against his ankle, too. He couldn't even get a finger underneath—

Wait a second. What was he wearing? These weren’t his clothes! But he did recognize the white pants and shirt. They gave him the same sort of clothes the first time.

He pushed down his fear and stared up into the nearest camera. “W-well—what are you going to do now?!” he demanded. “I thought you were done with me! Weren’t you? I-I heard your white coats say that! D-did you change your mind?” It was a useless question, he knew. Just because IRIS considered him ‘completed’ didn’t mean they were done with him. They were doing this for a purpose.

After a moment of staring at the camera, watching the red light blink, he started walking around, testing the limit of the tether. He could get to the bed and the alcove—which turned out to be a crude bathroom—easily enough. But he couldn’t get to the door. Not even close. He even tried lying on his stomach and stretching out, but his fingers couldn’t even brush the metal.

...he was trapped again.

His heart was pounding in his chest, but he tried not to panic as he got up and walked back over to the bed. He stared up into the camera once more. “Y-you should actually take care of me this time, at least,” he said. “Whatever you want from me, I will be of no use to you if I am suffering.”

He wasn’t expecting an answer. And he didn’t get one.

He couldn’t freak out. He couldn’t break down. The cameras were always watching, and if IRIS saw him break down, they would win. Or—not literally. They probably didn’t care at all about his mental state. But it would mean that they really were affecting him. And he wouldn’t let them have that.

Though the fear inside him was enough to make his hands shake, Schneep laid down on the bed and closed his eyes. He tried not to move. He tried to breathe slowly.

———————

Jackie wasn’t sure how much time passed. There was no clock in the room. And nothing to do. He couldn’t even count the seconds. All he could do was pace in circles as the anxiety mounted.

And then the door opened, and a man walked inside. Jackie whirled around at the sound of the lock turning, and stood there, frozen, as the man closed the door behind him, sat down at the desk, and took out a clipboard. He fiddled with the camera on the tripod and then turned back around. “Hello, Dr. Parker.”

Jackie blinked. “Um... do I... know you?”

“No, but I have read your file, Dr. Parker,” the man said. “You were employed at IRIS recently.”

“‘Were’?”

“Well. Wouldn’t you say running from a compound and taking experimental MR technology with you is grounds for termination?” The man said it in a joking manner, but it just caused a pit of anxiety in Jackie’s stomach. “Please sit down.”

Slowly, Jackie walked over and sat down in the free chair.

“The date is February 29th, 2020, we are interviewing Dr. Jackie Parker,” the man said.

“Um... who are you, by the way?” Jackie asked, trying to hide his concern that a day had passed since IRIS found them in the hospital.

“You can call me Daniel, Dr. Parker. Dr. Parker is a 5 foot 9 inch white man in his early 30s. Dr. Parker was employed at IRIS until February 26th, at which point he fled the compound where he was living, taking with him a prototype MR Headset Pair. He was accompanied by an unknown anomaly and escaped EX subject 1-019—”

“Is that what you’re calling Schneep?!” Jackie gasped.

“Subject 1-019 has since been recaptured,” Daniel continued. He put the clipboard down and looked at Jackie. “Dr. Parker, we have some questions for you.”

“I—I-I—” Jackie stammered. “Am I... W-what are you going to do to me? What are you going to do to my friends?”

“That entirely depends on how you answer these questions, Dr. Parker,” Daniel said calmly.

Jackie stared at him, unsure what to say. He could feel his heart about to pound out of his ribcage.

“Dr. Parker, can you explain why you took the MR Headset Pair that you were entrusted with?” Daniel asked.

“I...” Jackie hesitated. It... would probably be good to tell the truth, right? “I... thought they could help... my friends. F-from ALTR 53815. Or I guess, from the creature attached to it.” To IRIS, the house on Aspen Street was the true anomaly, and Distorter was a side effect. 

“I see.” Daniel wrote something down. “Did you use the Headset Pair in the time since you fled the compound?”

“Y-yes.”

“For what?”

“I... managed to go into my friend Anti’s head,” Jackie said quietly. “He was... in some sort of trance. Caused by the ALTR creature. A-and he was being made to... try and hurt people. So... I went into his head and woke him up.”

“I see.” Daniel wrote another thing down. “You’re referring to the man called ‘Anti’ McLoughlin?”

“Yes.”

“Did you have any contact with ALTR 53815 or 53815-A in the time since you fled the compound?”

“N...no. I don’t think so.” His friends had been the ones to fight off Distorter. He had just stayed in the hospital room.

“I see.” Daniel nodded. “Dr. Parker, when did you come into contact with EX subject 1-019?”

“D-don’t call him that,” Jackie whispered, hands curling into fists by his sides.

“Apologies, Dr. Parker,” Daniel said, sounding not sincere at all. “Now, can you please answer the question?”

“I’m serious. Th-that’s fucked up! It’s really fucked up!” Jackie shook his head. “I know everything you did to him now! A-and I don’t know what you did to Anti, but I can guess!”

“Dr. Parker, when did you come into contact with EX subject 1-019?”

Jackie took a deep breath. Getting angry wouldn’t help anything. He knew that. If he made IRIS angry, they might... well, he’s not sure what they might do. But better safe than sorry, right? “I knew him... before,” he said quietly. “But that was... the first time I’d seen him in... god, it must’ve been weeks.”

Daniel nodded. “And when did you come into contact with that anomaly who was also there that day?”

“The... a-are you talking about Jameson?” Jackie whispered.

“The anomaly was in the form of a 5 foot 9 inch white male with brown hair and facial hair, often giving off blue light,” Daniel explained.

“You... are talking about him.” Jackie’s eyes widened. “He’s not some anomaly, h-he’s a person!”

“He is a person with an anomalous form of energy,” Daniel said.

“Where is he? Wh-where are all of them?!” Jackie leaned forward. “Where are my friends?!”

“They are safe, Dr. Parker, as are you,” Daniel said.

“I don’t believe you.” Jackie shook his head. “I don’t fucking believe you.”

“When did you first come in contact with the anomaly who was also there that day?” Daniel repeated.

“I—I-it was years ago! We’ve known each other for years! That’s how I know he’s a person, not an anomaly—though I guess you don’t need to know someone for years to know that they’re a fucking human being!”

Daniel stared at him quietly for a moment. Then he put the clipboard down and folded his arms. “Jackie. IRIS is very disappointed in you.”

“Disappointed?!” Jackie repeated in disbelief.

“We really could have helped you contain ALTR 53815 and its peripheral anomaly. If you had simply asked to use the MR Headsets, we would have granted permission. There was no need to steal them.”

For a split second, Jackie was taken aback. For a split second, he wondered if he made a mistake running off, if he could have worked with IRIS around all this. But then the image of Schneep begging him to leave, screaming about what IRIS had done to his body, flasheD through his mind. And that doubt evaporated. “You guys... y-you’re experimenting on people,” Jackie whispered. “And not just by testing your tech out on them. You’re going so far beyond that. I... I couldn’t stay here. I couldn’t.”

Daniel sighed, like a parent with a child who just hadn’t learned their lesson. “Alright, Dr. Parker. We’ll speak with you again later.” He stood up.

“H-hey!” Jackie shot to his feet as well. “What’s happened to my friends?! Are they also going through this?! Or did you ship them off to whatever place Schneep was trapped in?!”

“Get some rest, Dr. Parker,” Daniel said, hurrying over to the door.

“Tell me!” Jackie screamed, running after him—but he’s not fast enough. Daniel closed the door quickly, locking it just as Jackie slammed into it and grabbed the doorknob.

Jackie shuddered. He sank to the ground, gasping, trying to push back tears. 

———————

Marvin only realized he’d fallen asleep again when he was jolted awake by the sound of the door opening. He lifted his head and saw a woman in a white coat walk into the room, her curly blonde hair held back by a headband, carrying a tripod under her arm. She smiled at him. “Hello there.”

“...hello?” Marvin said, confused.

The woman set up the tripod next to the table and sat down at one of the chairs. “Can you please come sit with me?”

Marvin sat up slowly. He tested out his legs—but found that not enough time had passed. He winced. “Ah... d’you mind if I stay over here?”

“You’re out of view of the interview camera over there, unfortunately,” the woman said.

“...huh. I don’ t’ink you understan’, I-I can’ walk that far righ’ now.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the woman said. “But we do need you over here.”

Marvin stared at her. She said nothing else. A quiet sort of anger curled around his stomach. Fine, then. He took a deep breath and scooted over to the end of the bed closest to the wall, reaching out and grabbing it to pull himself up. His legs still wobbled, but with the help of the wall he managed to get over to the table, stumbling the last couple steps he took crossing the open floor and practically running into the chair. He adjusted his position, then leaned onto the table, staring at the woman with narrowed eyes.

“Thank you so much,” she said, smiling. Then she looked down at her clipboard. “The date is February 29th, 2020, we are interviewing an unknown man. Please introduce yourself for the camera, sir.”

“...Marvin. Marvin Moore,” he said slowly.

“Mr. Moore is a 5 foot 11 inch white male with brown hair and weakened muscles, especially in the legs, likely as a result of childhood illness,” the woman said.

Marvin tensed. “How d’you know about t’at?”

“He was caught with Dr. Jackie Parker, a former IRIS employee who took confidential IRIS technology from a compound, as well as ‘Anti’ McLoughlin, a subject exposed to ALTR 53815, an unknown anomaly, and escaped EX subject 1-019, all of whom have since been captured—”

“I’m sorry?!” Marvin gasped.

“Mr. Moore also had an anomaly in his person, in the form of a deck of cards with strange designs on the back,” the woman said.

“My cards!” Marvin leaned forward. “You took them from me! Why?”

“Because, Mr. Moore, anomalies such as that could be dangerous,” the woman said personally.

“N-no, those aren’—those are mine, I-I know how they work,” Marvin protested. “They’re not dangerous at all.”

“We cannot be sure about that, Mr. Moore,” the woman said, her tone condescendingly gentle. “It’s better safe than sorry.”

“But... they’re... they’re mine,” Marvin said numbly, unsure how to protest this.

“Are they, Mr. Moore?” the woman asked. “Because we did some cursory tests and research on these cards. They’re styled in the manner of cards printed several decades ago, but the material they’re made of only seems to be ten years old at most.”

“Ah...” Marvin hesitated. Every instinct told him that IRIS shouldn’t know the reality of his situation. Of where he came from. Or, rather, when he came from. “They’re... replicas. I-I bought them at a tiny shop some years ago.”

“Do you remember the name of the shop?”

Marvin shook his head. It wasn’t a lie. He really didn’t remember. He’d never been back to the shop after buying the cards, either.

“I see.” The woman nodded. “Mr. Moore, have you ever heard of ALTR 53815?”

“I... don’ t’ink so?” He said, confused.

“When did you first come into contact with ALTR 53815?”

“I—I don’ know, I can’ know anyt’ing unless I know what that ‘alter’ thing is, can I?”

The woman hummed, then started to get up. “Well. We’ll be seeing you, Mr. Moore.”

“Wait, wait.” He leaned forward, reaching out, asking her to stop. “Ye can’ expect me to jus’ stay in here! What abou’ my friends?! Where are they?”

“They are safe, Mr. Moore, don’t worry,” the woman said. “No doubt undergoing the same thing you are.”

“And what am I undergoing?!” Marvin demanded. “Why am I in here?! I’m not—not’ing has happened to me!”

“Get some rest, Mr. Moore, you’ll have a busy day tomorrow.” The woman smiled at him, then headed for the door.

“Wait! You can’ jus’ leave me here!” Marvin pushed himself up with the help of the table. “Not without some answers!”

“We’ll be back soon, Mr. Moore,” the woman said cheerfully and quickly walked over to the door. Marvin stood where he was and watched her leave, locking the door behind her. A vague sense of despair pooled in his stomach as he made his way back to the bed to lie down.

———————

When the door finally opened, Jameson’s face was streaked with panicked tears as he sat up against the bed with his knees drawn up to his chest. He quickly wiped his face as best he could before looking over towards it. A woman in a white coat walked into the room, her black hair cut in a pixie style. Two people came in with her, wearing black uniforms with helmets that covered their features. Guards. What did Jackie say they were called? Right, C&C. He couldn’t remember what that stood for right now. Had Jackie even explained that?

“Please stand up,” the woman said, her face blank and completely empty of emotion.

JJ stared at her, uncomprehending for a moment.

“Please stand up,” she said again. “Cooperation is necessary.”

Shivers crawled along his skin. He slowly got up, and the woman hurried towards him, taking something out of her pocket. Before he could react, she was right by him, measuring him—because that small object from her pocket turned out to be an extendable measuring tape. She grabbed his arms, measuring their length, wrapped it around his chest, then his waist, put the end on the ground and measured his legs, then wrapped it around his wrists, ankles, and neck. All before he could so much as process what she was doing. Then she stepped back again.

Excuse me? JJ signed, and then realized that these people might not know BSL. He’d have to use his voice, wouldn’t he? Well, then he should choose what to say carefully since his throat would hurt quickly.

The woman put the measuring tape away and pulled something else out. Some sort of handheld device; it reminded JJ of the geiger counters seen in movies and games. She pointed it at him, moving it up and down—scanning him.

“Ex...cuse me?” JJ asked in his hoarse voice. “What are you doing?”

She didn’t answer, but her eyes did flick down to his neck, where the faint scars of Distorter’s attack could still be seen.

“What are you doing?” JJ asked again.

Still not answering, the woman put the handheld device away and took something else out—a syringe of some kind, though it was a bit bulkier than any syringe Jameson had ever seen. She reached for his arm and Jameson immediately balked, yanking his arm away. “Please cooperate,” she said, walking closer.

He backed up into the wall, shaking his head. “Can—can you explain?!” His voice cracked with fear on the last word. He didn’t want them to inject him with anything!

“If you do not cooperate, we will use force,” the woman said calmly. Behind her, the C&C guards stepped forward.

Jameson’s eyes darted to them, then back to the woman. With his magic not working, he’d be no match for either of them. And though he really wants to try and shield himself somehow, he doesn’t want to be shocked—or whatever it was—either. So, reluctantly, he held out his arm.

The woman took it, plunging the syringe into the crook of his arm. JJ gasped in surprise as it hurt far more than expected. And soon the empty vial of the syringe filled up with red liquid. His blood. They’d taken his blood, and done it surprisingly quickly. Drawing blood usually took at least thirty seconds, but that was barely five, if even that at all. She quickly stepped back, tapping the side of the syringe and squinting at the blood within.

“What... are you doing?” Jameson asked again. “Please. Tell me.”

No answer. The woman turned around, heading back towards the door.

“Please!” Jameson shouted, then coughed as pain scraped through his throat.

The woman didn’t even look back at him as he coughed furiously. She simply opened the door and left, the two C&C guards going with her.

As JJ stared at the door as it closed, a bit of uncharacteristic anger curled around his stomach. He couldn’t believe that they were doing this to him. Were they doing something like this to his friends? Why?! What did they ever do to deserve this?!

But then the door locked, and the anger was quickly snuffed out by fear. He sank back down to the ground and tried not to fall back into panic. What did IRIS want with him? Were they... going to do the same thing to him that they did to Schneep? Why did they even do that to him in the first place? Did they want to make Schneep a weapon? Were they going to make Jameson into one as well?

He buried his head in his arms, thoughts spinning through his mind, drawing him into a whirlpool of anxiety that he couldn’t swim back out of.

———————

Schneep’s eyes snapped open the moment he heard the door open. He sat up straight and saw two guards in black uniform walk into the room, followed by a guard wearing a uniform with white highlights and a redheaded man in a white coat. Schneep recognized that man instantly. He’d come to think of him as a “handler,” of sorts, as he was the one Schneep had most seen during his first captivity here—the scientist who worked with him most often. And he did use the phrase “worked with him” in the most literal way. “You,” Schneep growled.

“Hello 1-019,” the handler said calmly. “Before you say anything, I will tell you that we have a disabling signal ready at the first sign of aggression. It has since been proven to work, as you no doubt remember.”

Schneep clenched his fists and glared, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to experience the signal again. He didn’t want to feel so helpless.

The handler paused, gauging his reaction. “Thank you,” he said, as soon as it became clear that Schneep wouldn’t be fighting back. “Now stand up.”

Slowly, Schneep did so, standing stiff and straight as a pole. The handler walked over and took out some sort of measuring tape, using it to measure out Schneep’s height, then the length of his limbs, then the circumference of his chest, waist, wrists, ankle, and neck. Schneep tried not to show his discomfort. Tried not to squirm or shudder or shout as this happened. Though as the measuring tape went around his neck he was barely able to restrain himself from shoving the handler away. He trembled, gritting his teeth and clenching his fists, forcing back the rage and sick panic that filled his whole body.

The handler stepped back, retracting the measuring tape and putting it back into his pocket. He then pulled out a syringe instead. “Arm.”

“Fuck you,” Schneep whispered, but held out his arm anyway.

“Stay calm, 1-019,” the handler said as he drew blood from the crook of Schneep’s arm. “You will be safe.”

“S-sure, of course,” Schneep muttered. He did believe him, in some way. IRIS wouldn’t want all their hard work to go to waste, would they?

The handler finished with the syringe, putting it back into his pocket. Then he held out his hand and looked back at the guards. One of the ones in black walked on over, and Schneep noticed for the first time that he was holding a small black briefcase. The guard opened it up, and the handler reached in and took out a small handheld device connected to the interior of the briefcase by a black coiled wire. The other briefcase lid flickered on, revealing itself to be a screen of some kind. “Stay still,” the handler said, and began scanning Schneep with the device.

Schneep did stay still, if only because his eyes were locked onto the screen on the inside of the briefcase lid. This was some sort of X-ray machine. He could see a live feed of his bones as the handler scanned him from the feet up. His bones... and all the other things inside him. Darker gray shapes running parallel to the white of his bones, tiny gray lines running through his muscles. As the scan reached his hands, he saw flat circles under his palms and fingertips, connected together with thin wires. Then it reached his torso, where his stomach and chest were crowded with gray shapes, and up to his head, where he could see small squares in a couple places around his skull.

Sick horror filled his stomach, climbing up his neck towards his mouth. It was all he could do to keep standing there and not collapse to his knees.

The handler finished and put the handheld scanner back into the briefcase. The screen flicked off and the guard closed it. “We will examine that later,” the handler said. “Get comfortable, 1-019. We will return later once we have finished your assessment.”

Schneep nodded slowly.

And with that, the handler and the three guards left him.

He stood there for a while, the X-ray’s images still flashing through his mind.

———————

Anti didn’t know how much time he spent waiting for something to happen. It must have been a long, long time, though, as he had worn out all forms of entertaining himself. The bouncy ball had lost its allure a while ago, and he tired himself out by trying to exercise. He fell asleep for a while. Then woke up, and found himself still alone.

He looked up at the camera. “So... you guys are uh... just gonna leave me this time, then? What’re you even doing?”

There was, of course, no response.

“Last time I was here, an alarm went off, didn’t it?” Anti recalled. “You were going to move me somewhere. But now I’m back in this room. So... whatever happened was taken care of, was it?” He paused, struggling to remember what happened. His memories were crowded by the long dream Distorter had kept him in.

Distorter.

Anti’s eyes widened and he stood up. “Oh fuck. He killed a lot of your guys, didn’t he? Or—maybe he controlled you to kill each other?” He laughed. “Seems like something he would do.”

He walked over to the chair and climbed on top of it so he could stare closer at the camera. “Are you waiting for him to show up again?” he asked. “Is that why I’m back in here? Am I the bait?”

Somehow, that felt right.

“Then... what happened to the others?” he asked. “Did you take them for bait, too? Are they somewhere in here, too?!” He shook his head. “You’re probably real fucking interested in Jackson, aren’t you?” he muttered.

He got off the chair. “Well fine! You win for now! But I swear, you’ve gotten in over your head! We’ll find a way out of here!”

He wasn’t sure how much he believed that. But he held onto it. He just needed to find a way to contact the others. If they could find each other, they could get out of here. They would get out of here. He refused to consider anything else.

[pockavas]

Halsin - trusting your fears

Part 4

On their way to Baldur's gate, the party came across a tower inhabited by a necromancer who was harassing the nearby village and surrounding territories. People disappeared, others said that they were seen wandering through the misty woods, aimlessly, with tattered clothes and sickly green glowing eyes. The animals were not spared either, the corpses of tame and wild beasts, mutilated and half-grown, were found.

When the heroes clashed with the necromancer, they realized he was more powerful than they thought. After a long and treacherous battle filled with twists and turns and unpleasant tricks, the witcher was pinned in a final grip at the base of his tower. All his minions down, with no chance of escape, the necromancer drew one last spell from his sleeve before he breathed his last.

A flask of dubious contents that he cast a spell on and immediately hurled at the target he had chosen.

It was Halsin. During the fight he had assumed his usual bear form, with one swing of his powerful paws and sharp claws tearing zombies to pieces who, if they had any sense left, would never have come near him at the sound of his mighty roar.

The necromancer's idea was to poison Halsin with his magic and turn him against his comrades, using his unbreakable power against them. The vial hit its target, hitting Halsyn in the face, a cloud of green smoke erupting, which the druid inhaled. The color of his eyes began to change, from the forest brown typical of bears to a hideous glowing green. Halsin realized what was happening to him, fought the effect of the substance, put all his will into it, but gradually began to lose control of his rage.

A berserk Halsin turned his attention to his friends, now exhausted from the battle, wounded, bruised, and drained of magic. Being the most familiar with necromantic magic, Gale immediately understood what was happening and warned the others to stay away, that Halsyn would be very difficult to stop.

"-Gale, there has to be some way to get Halsyn back to himself!" Ross shouted to him- "I trust your knowledge to think of a cure!" They were having a hard time discussing the solution to the problem, very hard ,because Halsin constantly attacked them.

"-Whatever happens, don't hurt him! This is still our Halsin!"-Ross kept calling out to the others. She couldn't imagine that they would have to hurt him to stop him, or worse, take his life. She wouldn't allow it.

"-Of course! I remembered! Do you remember the flask of the strongest anti-intoxication potion that the priest from the temple of Seluna gave us?! It's the best we have, the only one to be exact. There's also magic applied here , but maybe with the elixir and Halsyn's will, it will have an effect!" exclaimed Gale, who had teleported himself to a high terrace of the tower to stay out of Halsyn's claw range-"It's just... There's and bad news. Halsin must swallow the liquid, drink it. And I don't see how we're going to get him to do that. Anyone who comes near will be killed."

A grim thought, but did they have a choice to save their friend?. To save her most precious person. Ross managed to reach into her bag in between her efforts to parry and dodge the druid's swings. This was it, she held in her hand the hope of bringing him back, of bringing him back to her.

"-Cover me as much as you can, distract him. I only need a few moments..."- she instructed the others.

"-What are you up to? Do you want to kill yourself?" Shadowheart yelled at her.

Ross ignored her. Tossing the bow to one side, her hands free, she uncorked the flask and bit down on its narrow neck. She took a deep breath for courage and strength and sprinted towards Halsin with his back to her. She swooped onto his back with the agility of a seasoned ranger, leaping from branch to branch in pursuit of her prey. She clung to his fur, soaked in mud, sweat and blood. Halsin immediately began to thrash about, trying to get her out of there, growling and grunting furiously. Ross didn't let go, clutching the fur with all her might, trying not to spill a single drop of the precious liquid. He moved closer to his neck, she could already see the shiny black nose of the bear. She just had to somehow manage to pour the liquid down his throat without being teared it in the process.

Desperate plans need desperate actions. With one hand she removed her belt, threw it quickly around the druid's neck, tried to pull him so that she would bend his head back and give him the medicine. But desperate actions don't always work.

Their eyes met just before Ross could take the flask from her mouth and pour it into his. Even more anger came over Halsin, he thrashed wildly, so hard that Ross lost her grip on the belt, falling to the ground on her back. Halsin leaned over her without thinking, without recognizing her, and bit her right shoulder with his huge maw full of sharp, powerful teeth. Ross cried out in pain, but she couldn't give in, she couldn't give up now, not on the brink of death. With her left hand she held the bear's muzzle, and with her right, she took the flask and pushed it into Halsin’s mout, until the glass broke and the healing liquid spilled over the druid's tongue. A shard of glass managed to cut Halsin's bottom lip, this enraged him anew, he sunk his teeth even further into Ross's small shoulder, jerked his powerful head and threw it into the air in one motion.

Ross flew a few meters to the side and landed hard on her face in the muddy ground.

They all shouted in unison, fearing the worst. The elixir quickly began to work, the green in Halsin's eyes fighting the gold, the druid magic. Through the mist of the fading necromancer spell, Halsin began to regain his composure. The world began to take on its usual color, the blood red hue receding along the periphery of his vision until it disappeared.

Halsin locked his gaze on Ross, lying helplessly on the ground, covered in blood. He was fully aware of what had happened, he remembered everything. His heart sank, his soul ached, what he had done to his most precious being. He wanted to rush to her, to take her in his arms, but his being seemed to be frozen by the horror of what had happened. He forced himself to walk unsteadily towards Ross, changing his form back to human in motion. The golden glow of druidism ran through his body as the bear form transformed into a human.

The rest of the group had gathered around Ross, she was still conscious, hearing deafeningly as the others called out to her from under the water. With the last of her strength, Ross managed to raise her head towards Halsin, she saw that he was back to himself, saw his worried expression mixed with horror, no trace of the uncontrolled beast was left. So she had succeeded after all! But at what cost?

The world around her began to disappear, the sounds died away altogether, everything began to darken, first at the edges of vision, and finally darkness took over everything. She sank below the surface of unconsciousness.

Halsin was terrified that the worst could happen, and that he was responsible for it. He was willing to do anything to save her. He went towards her, to take her in his arms, to bring her back, but the others pushed him away.

"-No, Halsin, stay back!" Shadowheart stopped him.

"-I …, let me help! I'm on my own now! I'm responsible! I have to be with her!" Halsin answered desperately.

"-You’ve done enough already!"-spat Shadowheart angrily-"I'll take care of her!"

"-Come on, my friend! Let Shadowheart work her magic. It's hard, but it's better to step aside now."- Gale said and patted Halsin encouragingly on the shoulder.

...

Back at the camp Halsin couldn't find a place. The otherwise calm archdruid, a pillar of self-control and wisdom, of caring for others, now felt out of his skin. He marched back and forth, circling, no matter how exhausted he was from the battle, he was unable to calm down, to stop.

After several hours, Shadowheart and Karlach emerged from Ross's tent, their hands stained with blood, their faces haggard.

As soon as he saw them, Halsin moved towards them impatiently, waiting for news.

"-She lost a lot of blood. Really, a lot! And the wounds... the bite, it's really brutal!"- Shadowheart informed him-"But you know that well!"

"-Oh, come on Shadowheart! Don't be so cruel!"- Carlach interjected.

They discussed Ross' condition. The wounds were serious, and healing magic was unable to immediately and completely heal her. It would take time to recover and care would be needed.

Halsin tried to swallow the urge to burst into the tent and wrap Ross in his arms. His face was consumed with worry, his heart stuck in his throat, and his soul curled up in the corner of his mind. He tried to regain his composure, so he could think more clearly, find the best cures to help Ross, do his best.

He was determined not to leave the tent, to be always available, to avenge what he had done, to do everything he could for her.

[lilblueprint]

Anti-Hero

I’ll stare directly at the sun, but never in the mirror

It must be exhausting, always rooting for the anti-hero

At the end of the day, you are the one who saves him. Or, Jason gets the thirties blues and you take a hit, too.

Been a long time coming. I left a lot more to implication than I'd planned, but I hope you all enjoy this last Midnights piece nevertheless.

Tinnitus was screaming in his ears and his face was burning with heat from the previous explosion. He waited for the sound to fade out before springing at the remaining enemy. They went down in heaps of ash, and Jason sagged in relief. The smoke was clearing, but alarm bells were still going off in his head. Something wasn’t right.

Collapsing against the closest support beam, he tapped into his comms. 

“Hey, O. Can you hear me?”

The device crackled for a bit, then:

“I hear you, Red Hood. What do you need?”

“...who’s closest to my location?”

“--Red Robin is in the area.”

“Got it. Can you ask him to clean up here? I–”

His hand fell from his ear as his knees gave out. 

Jason hit the warehouse floor with a thud. He hoped the building didn’t burn down with him still in it.

“--Red Hood? Red Hood–”

.

.

.

“--Jason!”

It took a few tries for him to comfortably keep his eyes open. When his lashes finally settled, you came into clarity, leaning over him like an angel sent to collect him. 

“Am I still in one piece?” He groaned, forcing a smile onto his face. 

You glared at him with tears in your eyes. Ever so beautiful.

“Yes, you dumbass.”

He wrapped you into his bandaged arms, and you held onto him tightly as his wounds would allow.

-

Gotham’s sunsets were… strange. As far as Jason could remember, the light had always felt wrong when it washed over the city. Like it didn’t belong there.  

Maybe because I don’t belong here.

The manor was glowing on the hill to his right. To his left, shadows bounced far and wide as the light fluctuated between buildings. He kept his senses alert for fear of what he would see in the streets–Oracle had briefed them on a possible Arkham breakout tonight. 

Not him. He was on bedrest, or supposed to be. 

“Thought I’d find you out and about,” your voice called out. Groaning, he turned around with his hands up in mock surrender. 

“You caught me, sweetheart.”

“You won’t hear the end of it from Alfred,” you teased. “Not that I’m any happier about you sneaking out when you’re supposed to be resting.”

He averted his gaze as your eyes fixed on him. 

“I just wanted some air,” he mumbled, turning back to the rooftops. You padded over to him, grit crunching beneath your sneakers. Your hand slipped into his, and he squeezed it gratefully. He didn’t have to look at your eyes to know they’d softened, that they were testing his waters. 

He didn’t stop you from diving in. He never could. 

“What’s eating you, Jay?”

“...I don’t know.”

You waited for him, slowly drifting the two of you to a corner so you could perch on the roof ledge. When you swung yourself up, panic momentarily spiked in him as he saw you lean back. His hands twitched towards you instinctively, his entirety gravitating to you in order to make sure you didn’t fall. If you noticed, you didn’t mention it. 

“Talk to me,” you whispered, brushing your fingers lovingly along his cheekbone. He chased after your hands, leaning into your touch like it could heal him, him and all his mistakes. 

“I feel blue,” he admitted. 

“Blue?”

“Blue,” he agreed. “I don’t understand what it is.”

The two of you stayed silent for a while. You rocked gently on the ledge while Jason was slotted between your legs, head resting on your thigh. His hand gripped yours tightly, silently pleading with you to anchor him to your shores. 

“Do you think maybe it’s the holidays? Y’know, seasonal depression or something?”

“Or something,” he muttered. Another quiet minute passed before you made a move. You leaned down, snaking your arms about his torso. Your hands traveled further and further along his torso before quickly slipping into his jacket’s inner seam. “Y’know,” Jason smirked, reaching down to grab your wrists, “if you wanted to grope me you could’ve just–”

“Found them,” you announced, producing a pack of cigs from the leather folds. 

Jason’s jaw went slack. 

“...how long have you known about those?”

“About a year now,” you said, biting the broken edge of your nail clean off. Wait, did that turn him on? 

You gently loosened yourself from his grip, standing up and gesturing for him to do the same. When he towered a good foot above you, you reached into his outer pocket and pulled out a lighter. Laughing at his flabbergasted look, you turned to give the flint wheel a little jolt. 

The rosy golden hue of the sunset was suddenly cupped in your hands, hazy darkness had descended upon Gotham like a blanket of snow. Jason was drawn to the light as you blew experimentally on the flame to make it sway, flickering across your palm. 

“You catch on quick,” you commented, looking at the open pack of cigs. He was hesitant to put one between his fingers, you hadn’t liked smokers since your Bowery days. But here you were now, smiling wryly at him like it was no big deal. 

He chanced a crooked grin as he tucked the cig between his lips. Ignoring the open flame just inches from his face, he nudged his way into your space. Rough hands took up their place on your waist, your arm rested across his shoulders, and he was so close. 

“Help a guy out here, darling.”

“My pleasure,” you replied smoothly, holding the lighter up between the two of you. Angling your face to avoid the first wisps of burnt black smoke, you set fire to the end of the stick. 

Two pairs of eyes watched the cig smolder. Jason readjusted you so that you were tucked into his side. When your head fell onto his shoulder, he released the first lungful. It clouded your eyes as you watched its course. 

“Hey, Jay.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s good to have you here.”

He didn’t reply, but you knew he knew. 

It’s good to be back, doll. 

[akgaereporter]

nct: sunflowers attacking dream over recent haechan live ☠

tldr: during haechan’s recent welive he said he permed his hair & dream "thought something was wrong" with it so he got it straightened again. some sfs/hc solos started losing their damn minds over that🤕 he also talked a lot abt music he wants to release and highkey called sm out, and all of this got the sunflower girlies real mad i guess..

so earlier haechan went live on weverse and was talking about dream's reaction to him perming his hair:

some sfs went kinda insane over this☠

like woah..? how did we go from 1 to 100☠ i cant even tell whos a solo, a unitzen, or a dream anti thats how bad it is..

and when dreamzens started ratioing these folk, this person said its hypocritical for them to say psychoanalyzing is weird when drmzens did the same to 127 with their constant coworker allegations

idk what they were tryna say here like okay..?? then yall both freaks☠

☆ my opinion

icl and say i’ve been keeping up w this 284828483 year old unitzen drama but i do remember the coworker allegations the last person was talking about, it got really bad at one point, however that doesnt excuse the INSANITY that is going on here. inserting urself into this big ole grown man’s relationships and acting like hes some kind of poor bullied people pleaser who can’t make any choices for himself is so crazy PLEASE wake up. if any of yall lewsers read past the first line of those translations youd see he agreed and said he also didn’t like the way the perm came out (bc the back was all curly and his bangs weren’t)☠️ imagine getting ur hair done and looking crazy, so u listen to ur homeboys and get it fixed but ur deranged 70 hour sceentime having ass fans start acting like they punched u unconscious, strapped u to a chair and straightened it themselves.. id smoke a pack the size of both koreas too if my stans were so insufferable like dont embarass me.. all y’all doing is exposing u have absolutely zero friends bc ive never seen a more normal interaction between groupmates☠️

but all this lowkey feels like a reaction to some of the things hc said concerning music/solo scheds during the live. its obvious that sm is in fact sabotaging him bc ur telling me 8 years in, as one of nct's strongest vocalists and a popular member, he hasn't released any proper solo music despite wanting to..??? and is still getting micromanaged this far into his career? if 2+2 is 4 um...

like i thought after a certain amount of time idols start having more of their own creative/appearance direction like with bts, seventeen etc. i guess it might be bc those groups make a lot self written music but still..? doesnt hyuck write music too? to have a star on ur hands like this and fumble is so crazy to me, theres no other explanation than they want him to stay local and not get too big for the brand since hes one of the centers in nct.

but girl bye.. if they let his fame grow, all they'd have to do is treat him properly and he wouldn't want to leave they wack ass company. they just dont want him to have a choice☠ now they got him on lock bc they dont know how to act right. im not condoning anything but i really do understand why so many haechan/nct solos in general exist.. it all starts & ends with sm's fuckassery cause if my biases got steady treated like garbage id get hostile towards ANYONE in and out of the group too like..

anyways had to wake this tea up🤕 haechan deserves better everything i fear. better company, better fans, but NOT a better group. he loves those boys down and all of them are highkey in the same boat but saying that on unitzentwt will get you SHOT. stay strapped in these streets..

[c l o s e t a b ?] ◀ ⇨ akgaepop.com

[fountainpenguin]

So I'm trying to figure out how to explain Poof and Foop being caught up with their peers mental age-wise at the end of / right after the time freeze for writing reasons. Cause if they were being held back by the time freeze, and fairies aren't ready to attend school until they're 40-50, wouldn't they still be years behind in that regard? Was their mental age unaffected by the time freeze?

I personally had them aging while they were in Fairy World (i.e. the time freeze only affecting Earth). That's why it took 50 years for Fairies to catch on and even then, they didn't put the pieces together until Timmy confessed... Fairies kept aging normally, so only godparents would notice, but you have to be down on earth to interact with your godkid and if you're on earth, you're getting influenced by the magic overlay.

Poof's development was delayed because he was only aging while away from Earth (such as visiting extended family or attending school), but he did indeed age. Perfectly reasonable for him to know what 2+2 is by the time he's 40 to 50, I think.

FOP canon establishes pooferty, so we know the jump from babbling baby to speaking in full sentences is totally normal in their world, so I always assumed a jump in logic and awareness came along with it.

A good example of this would be my one-shot "Hidden" which shows Foop struggling with some development milestones (in this case, A-not-B search error) despite being able to talk:

"Something is seriously wrong with you! I'm not a baby anymore. I am an intelligent being! You make a mockery of me with your silly parlor games!" "Please retrieve the jack-in-the-box, Anti-Poof." "Oh my smoke! It's right here, you insufferable paperweight!" So saying, Foop ripped Caudwell's jacket from the floor. … to reveal that the stone floor was bare beneath it. "What?" Both hands clapped to the sides of his head. "What is this trickery? I don't understand. Where did it go? It was hidden right here last time."

Post-pooferty, he'd have no problem making the leap from "I watched this guy put my toy under a blanket so therefore my toy is under the blanket and not under his jacket the way it was last time."

Frozen timestream is also where we get "Shouldn't Have Survived," which is that one-shot about the Burger World employee getting in a fight with Happy Peppy Gary over... well...

Kenny's eyes roamed around the office. They settled on a calendar resting on the desk beside the pencil sharpener and a pink laptop - one of those 'tear off one page a day' types of calendars. "Gary… What year is it?" "2002," Gary answered without hesitation. "Or did you want it in the Fairy calendar? It's the Year of the Last… the Last… Well, I can't be expected to remember what it was exactly-wactly, but you get the idea. Oh, Last Berry- that was it. It's the Spring of the Last Berry. LS, 90, YoLB19. Yes: June 13th, 2002, exactly a week before the Fairy calendar turns to summer on June 20th. What?" When he saw Kenny's expression, he tipped his head, the soft blue tassel on his graduation cap bouncing against his dark cheek. "Am I wrong?" "I dunno. Where I'm from, it's 2008." "Well, well! I respect and support you. Haha, I don't even know you anymore, friend, but here on Earth it's 2002. I sing the counting song with the kids. Every day. For the last seven years. I think I know how my numbers go, Kenny..."

Them... Thank you FOP for giving us a canon frozen timeline for 50 years; no media will ever feed me so well again <3

Besides Timmy, who made the Secret Wish, Kenny's the only human who was ever aware of the frozen timestream, though he quickly succumbed to the time freeze magic and fell for the lies just like everybody else. I like to think he tracked Timmy down and confronted him and Timmy pulled him aside and did a little gaslighting... Shh, you didn't see anything...

He went a little nuts and that's hinted in the 130 Prompts even if it's not the main focus, but we love him for it.

That wasn't your question, but I'm still not over the fact that they brought him back for Season 10 and he is STILL serving burgers and looking bewildered about it...

POV: Your place of work (which is outer space) blows up in S7E1 and you spend the next 3 to 4 seasons wandering Dimmsdale because no one cared enough to send you back up there. Kenny, my son...

[harrison-abbott]

in a brittle way

I used to hear his guitar a lot from my house, because he had his bedroom window open all the time. Sometimes it was annoying, but, most of the time I thought it was really good. He’d play along with tunes that I knew, when I was young – when I was his age a few decades back (when popular music used to be good. Ha.) So I knew a lot of the stuff he was playing. But he got better as the months and years continued. Electric guitar. He could do the riffs and chords and all that, but he could solo as well, and he would improvise as well. He was a nice lad. Super shy, but he tried real hard. When I saw him on the street, I mean, we would stop and chat for a bit. And he would blush a lot. I told him I’d heard him play the guitar. He blushed at that. “But you’re really good at it!” I said. “Are you in any bands or anything?” He said that yeah he was. He’d cobbled together a rock band with his mates from school. I asked him if they wrote their own songs. He said no, not yet, but they’d like to. … That must’ve been when he was sixteen or so.

Then he got into marijuana. It wasn’t much of my business and I didn’t really care. I remember smoking a lot when I was a teen as well. His bedroom window would still be open and instead of the guitar noises coming out of it I got the funk of the smoke. His guitar playing grew softer and less frequent. My wife was actually pleased because she often complained about the sound of it. But I began to miss it. And, I hoped that he would pick it up again. I saw him less and less on the road. … I’m not trying to make this into an anti-drug story or anything. Just telling how it happened.

Because I saw less of him physically, I only got to know more about him through his mother, who he lived with. She was a nice woman as well. I’d ask her how he was doing. There was one autumn when I saw her and we stopped and spoke and she said that he had gone off to university. He’d moved to a different city, to study anthropology. I said congratulations and so on. I was surprised because I had no clue what he’d been up to, and in fact I hadn’t seen him in about a year. … And because he was studying in a different city, I did not see him again for another four years. It was longer than that actually because that was in the January. I saw this young man approaching me on the street and he waved and smiled and I didn’t recognise him. He looked totally different from how I remembered him. He was way thinner and he had short hair and he seemed nervous to dodge any conversation and headed on. I thought he was just being shy again.

But the next time I saw him he acted much the same way. I asked him if he was back living here with his mother for the time being. And he said yeah, as if he was embarrassed. Whilst we were speaking, I noticed there were scars on his arms. I didn’t say anything about them and tried not to let on that I’d seen them. He seemed a bit drowsy and he smelled of beer. So that was at the start of the year and I didn’t see him again until it was around Halloween. I remember it was Halloween because my wife had asked me to go and pick up some sweets and snacks in case any kids came around for trick or treating. And I met him when I was on the way to the shops. He looked tired. And even thinner and his hair was shaved completely. He smiled in a brittle way. And we spoke. I said to him, “Hey, lad: do you still play the electric guitar?” – He blinked. And something unrecognisable passed through his face, and he responded, “Oh, nah, I was never that good at it anyway. I didn’t see much point in it.” I told him that he was really good, and that he should get back into it. He only shrugged, and there was that same vacant space in his eyes. He then offered a handshake and moved on. And that was the last time I ever saw him.

[saiakv]

Unrequited. Satoru doesn't love u. Suffer.

[UNREQUITED]: a starter where my muse has unrequited feelings for your muse ( every starter I write for you is such a starter uwu ♥ ) — indulgent prompts.

The death warrant was plastered in every crevice of sorcerer society; yet Suguru Geto's dorm room has been left intact on the wake of his straying.

Pushing the door open would offer a glimpse into the occupant's psyche these last few months; deterioration evident in the muck caught on sticky coffee stains over his desk and the pile of laundry on the corner of his bed. It wasn't made. The sheets smelled of smoke and sweat. It added to the general musty reek in the room, like it had been left shut for some time. The water boiler was still half-full, a raw packet of ramen was dumped beside it as if it had been opened and then discarded over a change of heart.

There were a few empty over the counter dramamine pill cartons on his nightstand, alongside a crumpled up prescription for anti-depressants that hadn't been punched to validation. A brief sift through his things would unearth a lot of empty Mevius packs, ash and plastic cups used for makeshift ashtrays when his pocket one had been full.

The repurposed shoe box they pulled out from beneath his bed has been left unopened. Dust has thinly collected on the lid. A variety of items rattles inside; from bottle caps to movie tickets, a rabbit plushie won at some arcade and a folded poster for an all-you-can eat event at Haibara's favorite restaurant. Buried somewhere within the mementos; a friendship bracelet with a white fish pendant dangling amidst azurite beads. And under it, Suguru's personal diary bulges with a number of torn papers, pictures and magazine cut outs all cramped together under its pages. Merely picking it up would have the bulk of it crumble and open on a certain entry. It's fairly spaced out from the one before it, with nearly a month of silence in between.

14.04.2007 We went stargazing on the hilltops tonight. It was good to remember my hometown at a time like this, even if there was no nostalgia. The grass was wet and we forgot to bring a blanket, so our jackets got drenched after a bit.

Some kanji mixes into Suguru's hiragana then, written on the sides or over doodles of starry skies and a surprisingly detailed drawing of the mountain side evidently made with a black ball-point pen. He's shaded the grass blades in a scratchy fashion. There's a crispy spot somewhere on the paper like something had dripped over the writing.

Your face was beaming. You said the world was beautiful with a tone to your voice I have not heard in some time. That makes me think I miss having moments like this. I watched your hair fluff up like watagashi in the wind and I envied the breeze. You spoke with a pure, childlike excitement when you pointed to the Orion and the Ursa Major. I felt embarassed when I realized I was staring at you instead and I could not keep up with your thoughts. But you saw everything around us in vivid color, and again I slip past your sight unnoticed. I'm very tired, so I can't feel angry at you for looking everywhere else for small comforts anymore. Seeing you like this was a small comfort for me in exchange.

There's smaller notes crossing over that part of his writing; a repetition of the sentence 'write it down' like some mantra, scratched out kanji containing the meaning for 'hanahaki' and a piece of bamboo paper ( the special kind one would use to write their heartfelt wish on during festivals ) taped to the page that covers the final part of Suguru's deepest thoughts.

I'm sorry, Satoru. That night, you wanted to share with me the beauty of the stars. But I couldn't face the sky without feeling small. Selfishly, I wanted you to lie beside me, on the earth. I was overcome by a desire to be one with the soil, if only to be the thing that cradles you. I wanted my arms to be the place that holds all your wonder, because I know that I will never be a star.

[backup-baby-backup]

Mine and Cory Monteith

A common theory about Mine, one that's almost as old as the song itself, is that it's about Cory Monteith. There's an article from Yahoo! Music that came out a week before the album dropped that namechecks Cory as a possible inspiration for Mine. Of course, there isn't smoke without fire: by the time Mine came out she had broken up with John Mayer, and she had been papped bowling with Cory in March, making everybody think that they were dating.

Evidence for:

1. That Instagram story:

I've seen a number of people talking about this but never the actual picture, so here you go. This was posted on his mother's public account and is currently still in its highlights. (The picture was taken at a Nick Jonas afterparty, by the way, and is the first time Taylor and Cory met.)

Also, Taylor mentioned that the guy she wrote the song about emailed her after she released the song, so if Mine is about Cory then he would know-- and I'm thinking so would his mother.

2. Timing

Taylor and Cory first met on January 28th, and were last seen together bowling in March. She also said the song was about "a guy that I just barely knew". If Mine is about Cory Monteith, it would have been written around February.

On the other hand, this article from Billboard mentions that Taylor wrote Innocent "between February and June 2010" after she played Mine to Scott Borschetta, which dates the writing of Mine in February.

The dates match up...

3. Glee

Evidence against:

Mine is one of the only two Taylor Swift songs to have ever been covered on Glee, which might be surprising given that the Speak Now era is widely looked upon as a less commercially successful era, and that Glee ran until the 1989 era. (The other song is Mean, which could honestly have well been tailor-made for an anti-bullying PSA segment in Glee.) Interesting how Glee didn't cover any of Taylor's songs from her more impactful eras.*

1. The song lyrics

"You were in college working part-time, waiting tables". We don't know if Cory Monteith ever waited tables, but we do know he didn't go to college.*

But we have a potential defence here!

"It actually is a confession of some sort," [Taylor] responded, "because this is a situation where a guy that I just barely knew put his arm around me by the water, and I saw the entire relationship flash before my eyes, almost like some weird science-fiction movie. After I wrote the song, things sort of fell apart, as things so often do."

So although Taylor did say Mine was based on an actual person, there are some elements to it that are fictionalized! Maybe this was also the made-up lore that she wrote up, like the line about having bills to pay? Of course, it does make more sense that only everything after "flash forward" would be fictional, so this hedge isn't waterproof.

Conclusion

Ultimately, there isn't really strong evidence either way. End of post.

Time for my unwarranted RAMPANT SPECULATION: Taylor Swift and John Mayer were last seen together on 26 January 2010 when she went to his performance in Nashville (her mom was there as well, interestingly). I think things went downhill quickly after that and they had all but broken up by the time the Grammys rolled around. She had apparently broken up by February 13th according to her Lover Journal entry, so that checks out. So Taylor feels that she can start seeing other people (remember how much she hates cheating?), meets Cory, hangs out for a bit, but decides she isn't ready yet and it fizzles out. (I don't think they actually dated, though probably she had a bit of a crush on him.) On one of their hangouts, he wrapped his arm around her and she had a flash forward where they were taking on the world together, and we get Mine.

*It's rumoured that Glee was going to cover I Knew You Were Trouble on "Guilty Pleasures", but ended up cutting it. (This wasn't the same episode Taylor got a false lead on, by the way.)

**When I was researching for this I found this tidbit, which is... something.

Bonus fun fact! Taylor has never managed to sing Mine, the lead single of Speak Now, correctly live since 2013.

[twdmusicboxmystery]

Recent Social Media Odds and Ends

@galadrieljones

Also, Gimple has been nostalgia posting on twitter a lot lately, talking about how he got his start on the show and about the end. He posted this tweet which I don’t think is any sort of smoking gun but it just reminded me of one of the most mysterious quotes of the entire show, which is when Sasha says, “We don’t die.”

In those big moments for Rick, the quotes seem to be teaching him something. Shane gives Rick strength by talking about Judith and loyalty and inspiring in him the darker side of survival where things get done. Shane is interesting as the anti-Rick but the most compelling message comes from what he says about the Third Man. “There was a third man,” which he says “changed everything.” Then, Hershel assures Rick that he doesn’t need to worry about Maggie, that he knows it’s been hard, but doesn’t need to worry because “We’ll get there. All of us.” 

After that, it’s Sasha who delivers the final message: “We don’t die.” I don’t know why it’s Sasha. But it is. All the messages seem to be telling us not to worry, but to pay attention, because there’s something at work that we don’t see, and it will change everything (the CRM). But they’re also telling us that everybody is still alive? In some way. It is a message about the kingdom of Heaven, God’s house, just like Gabriel’s sermon in WHAWGO, which is also about that which goes unseen. Idk the messages just seem to be about a reunion. Or telling Rick that this is all some sort of illusion. That they’ll all be together again someday, or that they never were actually apart? It’s so mysterious.

@wdway:

Does Gimple substitute numbers in his Twitter post often? 442. S4 series episode 42 was Dead Weight, the second Governor episode. Might not mean anything but the numbers just stood out to me.

@galadrieljones:

He did it a lot in this thread. Here’s the whole thing:

@wdway:

First block 1:4. S1e4 Vatos. Second block 12 series number 12 was Secrets. 2/3, s2e3 wastage the Last One.

@galadrieljones:

I have no idea if he’s put code in his tweets. He could be referencing 1.1, 4.12, 4.4…

Also I am once again thinking about Blair/Gina and morphic resonance. Like that there are multiple “tries” at work here, multiple threads of reality under the surface. In one of those threads they’re all still alive and together. They get the happy ending because they make the right choices. It’s what WHAWGO is all about. Martin tells us that our choices matter. He doesn’t get enough credit for that.

Bob seems to represent fate (It happened because it had to, because it was always going to), Martin represents free will (maybe if you’d made better choices, Beth would still be alive), and the Governor represents karma (you have to pay the bill). It’s sort of like A Christmas Carol, in which Tyreese sees the ghosts of the past, present, and future. Beth and the girls just represent temptation, ie: “It’s okay, Tyreese. It’s better now.” Innocence achieved through death, a clean slate, an indication that if you die, it will all just go away.

Idk where I’m going with this. It’s just ideas.

A Christmas Carol is also about getting a do-over, and alternate realities and causal loops.

Re: It’s a Wonderful Life, Lexmas, etc.

Groundhog Day, Mystery Spot, all stories of causal loops that have to be broken

@twdmusicboxmystery:

Also, I’ve been following the AMC account that has been counting down the top episodes. I’ve wondered what their number 1 would be. I didn’t really expect it to be Coda or anything super Beth related, but they went with 9x05: What Comes After, when Rick leaves. 

That seems very strategic to me. Like, it’s less the “best” episode of the series (even though it was definitely a very good one) and was probably chosen more to kick us into the CRM storyline. 

Also, let’s remember that Emily’s voice is in that episode, but she’s not identified as Beth but as a weirdly mysterious “woman.” And of course we also see her lying not far from Daryl in Rick’s dream, with blood on her arm. So, it feels significant that they chose that episode.

https://www.instagram.com/p/ClMUGlBOg5T/?igshid=MWI4MTIyMDE=

@twdmusicboxmystery:

People are sending me this on IG. This video was posted by the official AMC account about 6 hours ago. I’m not sure if it’s the one I sent you above, but they’ve posted a whole bunch of montage videos today. For this one; it has lots of stuff in it. Not just Bethyl. But they used Daryl carrying Beth as the thumbnail that shows in the wall. 

Hint: IG will pick a default image to the be the thumbnail of the poster doesn’t pick one, but it always asks you specifically if you want to pick one. Which means either way they specifically picked or agreed to using this as the thumbnail. I’m just saying.

Next, @katkhaos posted an interview Norman gave to Vanity Fair in the group. You should both read it when you get a chance. Lotss of good stuff in it. But here are some things that jumped out at me. First, Norman uses the term "coda," which is always nice to see. He's talking about the Rick and Michonne bit of the finale, but still.

Next, I really loved this, even though it's not particularly TD. He talks about a small, angry group of people who are convinced he and the other actors and AMC are lying about why Melissa is not in the spinoff. He says they're simply wrong. But it also shows that they know these are just the outliers, not most of the fandom. That's nice to have confirmation on.

 Finally, what Kat points to in the group is that he zeros in on the line Judith says about Daryl deserving a happy ending. He says that, more than any other line in the show, will lead into the spinoff. Honestly, Gals, I've wondered a bit if the spinoff will truly be about Beth. Not that I'm doubting her return, but rather I'm just wondering if the spinoff will be about something small and then we'll get Beth at the very end, and have to wait until the next thing to get their story or something. But this definitely shows that the spinoff will be about Daryl's "happy ending," and we all know that will include Beth. ;D

@galadrieljones:

Not really news but some confirmation on Rick’s location in the coda.

https://twitter.com/twalkingdworld/status/1595205710530289664?s=46&t=Ra_ilvCGb2OAMY3oVgK1kA

@wdway:

Rick is on the opposite side of the Delaware River.

 The first time I actually sent the painting with Washington this one is actually Rick. And who is that behind him, Jesus or some would say Christ and who is the Christ figure=Beth..

@galadrieljones:

Hey everyone! Hope your night before Thanksgiving is going well Here’s a Gimple tweet I appreciated. Not Bethyl but he has been tweeting a lot lately so I’m hoping this trend continues!

@twdmusicboxmystery:

Lol. Love it! I wish Gimple was on social media more. Glad to hear he’s tweeting.

@wdway:

Hopefully what they are doing is making it obvious for us. Here's our bone. I hope they keep coming and get meater as time goes by.

Guys I hope this means just as Michonne stumbled across Rick's boots and cell phone Daryl will have a similar parallel in finding Beth things. My bet is one of them will be her necklace. Her boots are very distinctive but would that be overdoing it, way too obvious or are we at this point of be damned let's go for it.

@twdmusicboxmystery:

Let’s hope they continue to go for it! I’ve been thinking about Rick/Silas parallels and how the actor who plays Silas jokingly suggested we would see Rick in the TWB finale. I can’t help but wonder now if it was less a deceptive tease and more a hint. Like maybe the TWB actors already knew more about the Rick/Silas parallels than the GA does. No way to know either way, but it seems really convenient for him to have said that, with what we know now.

@boltthrutheheart:

I know that I have told you before that I sometimes play the Walking Dead Slots game. I believe I have even shared something similar before. In the game, they have a mini game featuring characters from the show that you can level up and send on missions to get free coins. They call the different collection of characters “seasons”, each of them have a cohesive theme, and each season lasts a couple of months. 

Beth was included in a season before that was themed for the farm. It has been a while since she has been included in the mini game because they focused on the Whisperers, Alexandria, and some other themes, but she is in the latest season (which has been going on a few month’s, I have just been a little absent minded in sharing it). 

So Beth is currently in a character collection called “Fallen Heroes”. The funny thing about it is, not all the characters in it are “fallen”. The characters included are mostly characters that there is no doubt about being dead. They were very very dead the last time we encountered them. There is Glenn, Abraham, Carl, Enid, Jesus, and Hershel. 

Then there is Beth. She of course is in a grey area since we didn’t see her in a very dead state or buried like we saw the other characters. The final “Fallen” character they included is Rick, and Rick is very much alive. I just thought that this might be of some interest to you. I have some screenshots to share, but I don’t play enough to have all their characters leveled up (although you can tell who they are in the silhouette that is there).”

@twdmusicboxmystery:

I just think it's a super cool clue that in the Fallen Heroes group, all of them are very obviously dead and could not possibly come back, except Rick and Beth. And Rick is very clearly alive. Yet another clue to Beth's survival. That's all. ;D

@wdway:

Loved this. All of these small hints/clues that keeps Beth's character front and center to a smaller to diverse TWD audience. I would never have seen this because I'm not a gamer. Gamers are an area that they're covering bringing in that fraction of the fans.

@galadrieljones:

I do enjoy how they seem to be keeping her alive here

@wdway:

I'm going to start off with something that has just been replaying in my mind since I read it the other day. I'll give you the whole little sections of question and answer from Gimple instead of just what I zeroed in on.

It's the last paragraph that stood out to me. They're talking about announcing early with the spin-offs and how Jeffrey was very upset about it. Gimple is saying that because so many people have seen Lauren and Jeffrey filming in New Jersey that people would have known about it anyway but then he goes on to say he would have been crazy enough to announce that it was going to be a sitcom between the two. 

What struck me is that he's actually admitting to lying about a certain story lines in order to keep what's going on on the down low. I realize we've known this for a long time or suspected greatly that he bends the truth to fit how he wants things to be presented or hidden but here we have him actually saying that's what he would have done if not for that fact it had already been announced.

https://www.facebook.com/1491451041161527/posts/pfbid04uLcRDhf46ugYX8rKexasJBqCJha32tQZCquoRFDDPYozaoP3xogc8BWSHsYzmYil/?mibextid=Nif5oz

This explains a lot about the people seeing older characters during filming. It also may explain why there was reportedly a script called Atlanta.

@galadrieljones:

Interesting. Personally I don’t like massive time jumps so I’m glad they didn’t do that. Just my opinion. Ofc I’m also glad the story isn’t over, and in a way, I feel they was perhaps why the shows ending felt strange. Because it isn’t over? It’s unclear which aspects will go away and which will continue to develop, especially outside the characters who we know will be in spin-offs.

I get they wanted to do the show justice with an appropriate emotional ending, but I feel as if it opened more doors and asked more questions than it answered.

Like Judith telling Daryl he deserves a happy ending, Daryl leaving, Negan just wandering off, etc.

@wdway:

I think the original plan ending for the series would have been to pacify the comic readers.

@twdmusicboxmystery:

This is all super interesting! Thanks for sharing it. I agree about Gimple bending the truth. We've known that for a long time, but it's nice to have some confirmation we can point to. 

It reminded me of the way they originally marketed the Carol/Daryl spinoff, calling it a "road trip" show. For me, I think that was a hint that Carol and Daryl would leave together to find Beth, like they did in S5. That's what they originally planned, but of course it has changed now since MMB backed out. But I think the "road trip" thing was exactly this. It was Gimple being satirical, as he would have been had he announced that the Maggie/Negan spinoff was a sitcom. 

I've said this before, but Gimple doesn't have the best comic timing. I think it makes him lovably nerdy, but it also means that sometimes, when he makes jokes--such as on TTD--they don't entirely land. And I think this is a similar thing. He'll say something tongue-in-cheek about some part of TWDU, but people have a hard time telling when he's being serious and when he's teasing them. 

I mean, they keep saying the spinoff will have a very different tone from the main show. And of course it will. How can it not, given that it's in France and deals with different characters than we've seen before (other than Daryl)? But that doesn't mean it will stop being TWD. Every episode of Tales had a different tone than the main show, but it's still very recognizable as TWD.

Anyway. As for the second article, I agree with you both. I'm glad they didn't go with that ending. For me, it would have been somewhat deceptive to viewers. We would have seen the grown kids, and most people would have assumed that Daryl, Rick, and Michonne never made it back to them. 

They shouldn't assume that. As 20-somethings, the kids could be out on their own looking for survivors, and Rick and Michonne and everyone could be back at Alexandria waiting for them. No reason to think all the adults didn't make it back only a few months after Daryl left. And that ending by no means suggests anything would have changed in the spinoffs and the way they're expanding the universe. It only would have suggested that the kids survive into adulthood, so anytime they're in danger in the show, we'd know they will be fine, lol. 

But if it didn't specifically show the adults returning, you know plenty of people would have assumed that and been up in arms about it. There would have been a lot of resulting drama in the fandom. So again, I too am glad they didn't go that route.

I’ll stop there for today. What do you think of these social media tidbits?

[slashertempo]

Handle Your High..?

Handle Your High

When I was a kid, acid was my drug of choice. Friends were smoking weed, or buying a lot of cocaine, and I just didn't get it. Their stuff was expensive, and I was doing a goofy drug that came on a tiny chip of paper for a couple of dollars. It lasted and kept me up for about 8-12 hours, it made the lights pretty, and the music hit my brain HARD. That and a Long Island Iced Tea, if I could afford it, was all I needed for fun at the clubs. I don't think I ever tried coke, and weed hurt my chest, probably the asthma...

The music would be really intense and I was just there to soak it in and dance for hours, usually by myself. I went just for that, my friends knew that and would be off doing their things, and find me when they were ready to take off. It was always a perfect and simple night for me to blow off steam from my restaurant job, I could tune people out, smoke a bunch of menthols, and hear new sounds every weekend...

Speed was cool, it would get me wired, so we could club all night, and then I could do an opening shift at Carl's Jr. I don't think anyone there ever knew I was tripping or super wired. It kept me pumped for the lunch rush, and then I'd go home and sleep through the daylight. I got away with doing that while living in Chicago.

I've told the story about meeting David Bowie in the early 90's, it was probably a night after a club night, being the reason I was so tired and unable to remember anything about him, but his nasty cigarette breath, heh...

Looking back at those days, and reflecting on it all, at 55, I don't think any of that is something I could get away with, not so much. These days, I enjoy a rum and coke, or a 7up with some red wine in it, or maybe a single Warsteiner or Sam Adams. And they make me feel... maybe a slight buzz, a warm fuzzy drunk, and always tired and ready for bed.

So back to our current timeline, a few days ago I finally got to see a doctor about my breathing, she was understanding of all of it, and saw that I needed to adjust what I was getting used to. She wrote up a few prescriptions, one of which was one of my least favorite drugs. One of the few I usually refuse to take, Prednisone. I don't like pain killers, and I stopped anti-depressants long ago, and Prednisone is right up there with those. If you've taken it, you may be familiar!

Prednisone is a steroid, and it makes you hyper, energetic, perhaps a little high, bordering on seeing shit and your brain seriously wanting to tune out. That's how it makes me feel. I had a ton of trouble the first few days and was awake three days straight, work was insane by the third day, but I made it through, had a day off yesterday, and it was still really weird! I went shopping and spent all my money, bought really stupid food, and a bunch of clothes. I would not have done that if someone was with me, but it is what it is...

So, here I am staying home from work, again, because it is making me feel a bit loopy and strange, and I have a little bit of the shakes. I sent a note to my doctor over the weekend, asking if I should stop, but she shot back that it's really going to help the other asthma meds get a start on helping my routine, and I'll be happier with the results after a few more days. She told me what to look out for, and she was the one who suggested staying home if I could. I'm trusting that and trying to keep relaxed for the day.

So here I am, writing and thinking about how when I was younger, there was always some kind of prep work involved when I was planning to be high. Who was driving, where I needed to be at what time, how long I would be awake, and when I worked. But it all went fine. I was always the type who would follow the "handle your high" rule.

Not to slight any of you friends, but I never wanted to be that "I love you guys, man!" or the one who was tripping all over and everyone had to help me get home. If I was going to become a burden or draw awkward attention to myself from my drinking or drugs, then they were removed from the plan and I'd go without, hah...

So now, I'm taking something that makes me feel out of control. I'm indeed, NOT handling my high, and I hate it, even though there's a lot of positive coming from it, this time. Some of the kids were having a laugh at me a few days ago. I was so wired and loopy, they commented that I was not the usual crabby character I am and that I was super jumpy and giddy about everything. They were still cracking up at my joking, but it was different, I was a clown, apparently. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" one of them joked...

So now I'm here at home, jittery, a bit lucid, and I can feel a sense of hyperactivity moving in. Hopefully, it will be around the time, the kid wants to go do some grocery shopping and laundry and can at least keep an eye on me. If I'm good, maybe I can get 'er to grab me some Chili Cheese Fritos and a coffee drink!

...like I really need one of those, right now! (maybe a choco milk).

[subpar-ghoulfriend]

School Nurse

@letstalkaboutfandomsbaby led me to yet another 2D man that I want to get wrecked by

How would a school nurse react to Hwajin’s presence? Dabauchery will ensue.

AN: this started out as a short little drabble, turned into a long smutty mess that I finally rangled in with romance because… after care. As a nurse I was getting to into the logistics of the pencil stab

TW: smut, degradation, praise kink, breeding kink, power exchange, mild wound description (pencil stab), sex in a nurses office, oral sex

NO MINORS

Hwajin knew you would look good on your knees. You had a bratty, stubborn nature that he wanted to overpower. He thought you were too gentle with trouble makers. When he told you this, you argued that it was your job as a school nurse to take care of all the students.

How was it that you were so hostile with him but when it came to even the worst students you were so gentle. It irritated him. You actively avoided him. Maybe he wouldn't care if he didn't find you so damn adorable. Thoughts of you kept him company late at night.

Even when he forced you to take a baton after he saw a student get in your face yelling. The only person you used it against was him. Apparently you wouldn't allow him to pull students out of your office regardless of their offense.

He was shocked to learn that few students ever bothered you. The worst offenders would constantly make advances at you and since you would have his head, he disciplined them only once you were out of range.

And you were equally irate. He treated you like a child when you tried to present him with research that aggression towards children under the age of 18 was just as detrimental as ignoring their bad behavior. You weren't against addressing the students inappropriate behavior, but the number of visits to your office had tripled upon his arrival.

It become rare that schools had a nurse on campus, barely coming back in to practice following the hands off policy. And at the most part you were mainly treating the faculty and the more unlucky students. If the Ministry of Education wanted to bring in people like Na, would you even have a job much longer?

/

"What are you doing here? I'm not harboring any students," You hissed as the warden entered your office.

"If I remember correctly, I'm here to oversee the whole school. That includes you. Besides I actually need medical help."

Hwajin turned the lock on the door before unbuttoning his shirt. He turned around to show you a shallow hole between his shoulder blades. You tried to keep the blush from creeping on to your face as you scanned his muscular body.

Apparently a student surprised him by sinking a pencil into his skin.

"Violence breeds violence," You chided when the realization hit. "Oh god, did you kill the student?"

You were truly alarmed. He took slight offense to that question. He wasn't a great guy but he wasn't going to kill someone on the job.

"Just give me something to bandage this up," he rolled his eyes.

You motioned for him to sit on the medical table but of course he had to make things difficult, choosing to straddle a chair instead. In spite of his protests that he could take care of things himself you pulled on a pair of gloves.

"Don't be such a pain, Mr. Na. There's no way you can properly clean what's on your back."

You probed around the wound that was already angry and red. The blood has begun to dry. Trying not to cause unnecessary pain you attempted to visually assess the bed of the wound for any debris that may lead to infection.

Instinctively he howled in pain as you began to clean.

"Will you just put a bandaid over it so I can get back to my job?"

You had to admit you were getting some sick satisfaction from this. The wound was clean and you applied an anti bacterial ointment but it was in a location where the skin tended to pull and stretch so you were sure it would bleed throughout the day-

"Are you smoking in my office?"

Hwajin gave you a cheeky grin before blowing smoke toward your face.

The nerve. In retaliation you flicked the inflamed skin while avoiding the actual wound.

"Ouch, you're cute when you get angry," Na laughed.

Your cheeks were scorching, "Okay Mr Na, you're all wrapped up. Stop by at the end of the day so I can change the bandage."

He winked while buttoning up shirt, "I knew you liked seeing me."

"Out." You hissed.

As he walked down the halls he chuckled to himself. He couldn't wait for you to submit to him.

/

Through out the day your mind wandered to Hwajin. Him sitting in front of you, shirtless and rippled with muscle. The parts of his skin left unscarred were so soft compared to his attitude. You wondered if his palms were as soft or were they were rough and calloused.

As if on cue the man walked into your office, catching you during one of your fantasies. Was it already the end of the day? Sure enough, the clock showed school let out half an hour ago.

Just like before he secured the door and stripped off his shirt. The bandage wasn't soaked, but it did need to be changed. The day warped your work and some of the tape was lifted away from his skin.

This time politely in the chair, he hummed as you removed and replaced the soiled bandage.

"Starting tomorrow you should just leave it open to air. This is really just to keep you getting your blood on your shirt. If you start thinking you have an infection go to the hospital." You turned around to discard your gloves.

As you turned back, you bumped into Hwajin Na. He smiled down at you and ruffled your hair, "Thanks, nurse, you took such good care of me. You'll have to let me thank you."

He lowered his mouth to your whisper in your ear, "what should I do for you?"

Your were in a losing position, you didn't want to make eye contact but you couldn't stare straight ahead, he still wasn't dressed and it was too overwhelming. You settled on looking down toward his feet.

You quickly snapped your eyes back up when you notice a bulge trying to push past his pants.

"Uh, no need to thank me. It's my job." You stepped back against the wall, at least giving you a bit more space.

Hwajin placed his arms against the wall so he could close the space between you.

"What's wrong? You're flushed. Let's see if you have a fever." He pressed forehead against your. "You feel a bit warm, but not worrisome."

You stammered, "Uh, Mr Na, it's late so we should probably wrap up."

"Mr Na," he mocked you. "Why do you do that? We're both adults, you can call me Hwajin."

Your eyes darted around the room. Maybe you were being punked. Was he testing you?

"It's respectful, it would be rude to call you by your first name."

He brushed a stand of hair behind your shoulder, pleased with your response.

"Well I can think of other titles you could call me that I would enjoy much more."

You were struggling between your desire and your fear of losing your job. Surely he knew what he was doing to you.

Of course he knew, the gleam in his eyes made that clear.

"Well, it's pretty late and I don't know about you but I'm tired after today so I'll see you tomorrow."

He dropped his hands and you took that as the end of his teasing. But instead he hoisted you against him, grasping the back of your thighs.

"My poor little nurse, I've kept you so busy. How about you lay down and let me help you relax."

"Hwajin, put me down," You smacked his shoulder. Listening, he sat you down the cot you constantly sanitized. In spite of what you were saying you allowed him to crawl on top of you.

"Hmm, now you use my first name, little nurse? And here I thought you were respectful," he nipped at your ears.

You shivered.

"Well pick one," You groaned. "First, no last name, then no first name. What's left."

His tongue darted across your neck while began tearing at your clothes, "how about you just be a good girl and call me 'Sir'."

At this point the primal part of your brain took over as you pathetically began to rub against his thigh. Your Irrational brain didn't need a job, it just needed this man to fuck her.

Nearly all your clothes were discarded to the floor as his mouth began to tease your breasts. Your hand tangled in his hair when sink his teeth into your tender flesh.

"Talk to me baby," he sighed. "Use your words, ask for what you want."

You lay out a whimper and tugged at belt loops, "fuck me."

He pinched your in thigh, "Now that's not using your manners. Am I going to need to teach you to behave?"

You mumbled a response that he could barely hear, eliciting another pinch to your thigh.

You huffed, "fine, please fuck me, Sir"

Pleased with your response he tugged your panties to the side, stroking your soaked pussy with his middle knuckle.

"Atta girl. You're so fucking wet for me. How long have you been waiting to be my little slut?"

He slid one finger inside of you with ease, arching you back as moved inside you. You were trying to fumble at his the button of his pants but he pushed your hands off him.

With a growl he removed his hands and your underwear from your body, "Not yet, although I'm flattered how desperate you are for me. Turn over, ass in the air, show me what's mine."

You were happy to obey, sliding into one of your favorite positions.

"You're not be very nice, sir," You teased. "You could at least remove your pants."

His hands came down hard on your ass causing you to cry out in pain and pleasure.

"Watch what you say, unless you like being disciplined. You already know I don't tolerate disobedience. And as much as enjoy your screams, don't forget that just because school is over doesn't mean everyone is gone."

You bite your tongue as he spanked you again. He certainly wasn't holding back. But he was right, there were after school clubs and some teachers stayed as late as 8. His fingers found their way inside your warmth again, fluid dripping from your aching cunt. You had adjust to his rhythm of spanking when his fingers were at their deepest. You felt so close to release. When he withdrew from you yet again.

You let out a frustrated groan until his hand made firm contact with your pussy. Once, twice, three times produce a wet spanking sound. You couldn't hold in your tears, thankful you were a glutton for pain.

"You still with me, princess?" He cooed, getting off the bed. You nodded. "Good girl, hold that position for me just a bit longer."

You nodded again, words evading your mind. You appreciated the coolness produced by the cot. Hwajin repositioned the pillow that had fallen on the floor and removed his belt.

Standing next to you on the bed he finally directed you into another position. He helped you stand, barefoot on the linoleum floor. You were held against his chest as you gathered your bearings.

He nuzzled against your hair, "I'm not a gentle man, if you need to stop at any time you say so okay. And that's an order. Can you do that for me princess?"

You told him you would as he helped you sink your knees to the pillow. He ruffled your hair again, telling you how good you looked. Finally he unzipped his pants, his erect dick right in front of you.

"Look at me."

You complied, tearing your ways away from his cock.

"If you want my dick then prove it. Open up that pretty mouth of yours."

He grabbed you by the hair, guiding your lips his shiny tip. Your tongue circled around him, admiring his taste. You weren't usually self conscious but you couldn't help but be nervous you'd disappoint him. As you began wrap your lips around him, Hwajin inhaled sharply. He gave your hair a gentle tug.

"Eyes on me. Good. You're doing so well. All the way to the base, baby."

You were almost there when there was a knock at your door. Hwajin kept his grip firm on you, instead of allowing you to pull back he shoved his throbbing dick down your throat and began fucking your mouth while putting a finger to his lips. He was smirking like the devil. Your throat constricting in protest.

"Excuse me, nurse," one of the school kids called. Knocking again.

"Fuck," Na muttered as he released into your mouth. Tears spilled over your eyes as you struggled to swallow.

The nock persisted, "hellooo? Come on I need to pick up a physical form."

"She's busy, fuck off."

As the footsteps faded down the hall Na released you from his grasp. He couldn't help but laugh at you when you pouted up at him, your were glistening and your cheeks were rosy and puffy. God, next time he swore he would take a photo of you on your knees after sucking his dick.

"Really, you had to open up your loud mouth," You whined. "You could've just pretended no one was here."

He shrugged in response, helping you off the floor.

This time on the cot you were both undressed. Hwajin sucked and bite on your neck. You nudged him off telling him he was gonna leave a mark.

"You're telling me I can't mark up my little whore?"

"Just not where students can see."

That was fair enough, there were other places he'd rather leave bruises. Between your thighs. Your stomach. Your breasts. Proof that he had made you his.

He wouldn't bite too rough, not want to scare you off. He planned on making more of these moments with you. You were better in person. Exceeding his late night fantasies.

Finally he began to slide his cock inside you, your pussy searing with pleasure at his size. It was a struggle to control the volume of your moans.

"Does my little slut like that? You want me to stuff you?"

"Please," You cried, needing more or his touch. "Please don't stop, Sir. Please let me cum on your dick."

Hwajin began to pound harder into your tight pussy, admiring how your body reacted to the sheer force of him. Each time he snapped his hips against you, your lush breasts, along with the rest of your body, followed with an intoxicating jiggle.

You were exactly what he needed and he wished to consume you. His mind flashed to images of you tied up and exposed for him, placing all of your trust in him. Or he could snap a pretty collar around your neck and tie you to the bed with a leash, you would be begging him to fuck you like a bitch.

"Tell me need me," he growled. "That no one else can fuck you into submission and make you dumb with pleasure. Your mine and I don't share."

Tears rushed down your face as a mixture of pain and desire burst the pressure in your core. You clenched around him, babbling what he instructed you to and meaning every word.

The tightness of your orgasm shocked both you and Hwajin. Paired along with your heat pushed the man past his limit, releasing his thick cum inside of you. Even through the near blinding pleasure of his own release Hwajin felt a moment of worry, he hadn't meant to pour himself inside of you, he was fully aware he wasn't wearing protect and had gotten your consent.

Between your gasps and moans you were were repeating a breathy thank you. Unless he had died and gone to Heaven You were actually begging him for more of his seed. Crying out that you needed him to stuff you full. The man nearly confessed his love for you on the spot.

However he maintained his composure. Pressing closer to you and guiding you through the high of your orgasm.

He combed his fingers through your hair, whispering praises and reassurance. Telling you to relax into him, he wasn't going anywhere. Finally your grip on him relaxed as a gluttonous smile graced your lips.

Na propped himself up next to you with his elbow. His other hand cupping your face.

You looked at Hwajin, "This doesn't mean I'm going to ignore your behavior towards the students."

"You know, seeing you protective over a bunch of snot nosed punks makes me want to fuck you until your nine months pregnant. It would keep you out of my hair while you were stuck waddling around home safe and sound. Win-win."

You gawked at him. Joking that you had yet to see any paternal instincts from him.

"I am actually great with children so long as their raised right. Like hell I'd let my kids turn out like these delinquents."

The two of you bantered back and forth while re-dressing. It was dark by the time you exited the school. Na was lighting a cigarette the minute he was past the schools threshold. You began to tell him goodnight where the two of you should naturally part ways but Hwajin caught you by the wrist, a confused expression thrown your way.

“Where do you think you're going? I'm not done with you yet," he said, cigarette hanging from his mouth. You were about to respond when he cut you off. "Round two will be so much better in my bed. You'll be lucky if You leave my place in time for work tomorrow. But we should probably feed you first. I gotta take care of my little nurse."

[saksukei]

joshua boxer au

masterlist

joshua hisses at the contact of the cold water with his skin,, a string of curses leave his mouth,, for the first time in his life he found himself without an explanation for the events that had unfolded previously,,

he had scratches on his face,, bruises forming on his skin,, how could he even tell you what had happened? he was ashamed,,

he had promised you he wouldn't ever in take a swing at someone,,, mainly because of how much it hurt you when he was hurt,, but joshua lost control today,, punching a guy in the face,, a crack elicited in response,,, while his knuckles were coated with blood,,

this was very wrong,, you were just his best friend yet at your request joshua had stopped boxing,, gave up smoking and what not,, even if he lied to your face saying he'd never quit,, he just wasn't ready to admit it to you, how badly he was in love with you,,

it wasn't even a boxing match,,, rather some guy from uni,, that had been bitching about you,,, and at first joshua thought ‘let it go,, words can't affect her.’

seungcheol, who was with joshua at the time could see his jaw tighten and his knuckles go white,, he did whatever he could to calm his best friend,,

but once joshua heard some things that were clearly way out of line,,, his fist lost control,, as he turned around,, landing a punch,,

it broke into a scuffle,, seungcheol even joined in,, lord knows joshua couldn't have handled it better,, if it was up to him,, he’d have buried the guy six foot deep into the ground,,

what else was he to do?

joshua remembered his last boxing match,, the one where he was beaten up into a corner,, he saw your face,, and he still can't forget that damn look you gave him,, you were so afraid,,

and joshua knew what he had to do,, one uppercut,, and before joshua knew it,, he had won,, it was all thanks to you and your unwavering faith in him,, but that look was the same reason why he stopped it altogether,,

he had known you ever since you two were kids,, and now all the way to university,, he had met so many people but none of them were like you,, god if he could,, he’d stare into your eyes forever,, you were the only reason he’d choose his shitty life a thousand times over

“oh my god–” a voice snapped him out of his thoughts,, a voice he’d recognize from miles away,,, from in his sleep,, before he could make much sense,, you were already on the ground,, kneeled right next to him,,

taking the rag from his hand as you starting washing them with cold water,, so that you could apply the anti septic later on,,

“who told–”

“jeonghan did,” you interrupted,,

an awkward silence fell between the both of you,,,

“aren’t you going to ask me why I did it?” joshua questions. he’s confused,, normally you'd have started giving him a lecture by now.

“no,” you reply. “i know you stopped fighting a while ago, so you probably had good reason,” you explain. “let’s hope it's good enough for the dean tomorrow.”

joshua chuckles. “i might get expelled,” he says,,

“there’s a lot of people involved so I doubt they’d expell you,” you remind him. “just answer all their questions truthfully and they might let you off the hook.”

joshua smiles to himself,, he’s so in love with you,,

“you think so, angel?” joshua asked, as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear,, joshua rarely called you angel,, and he usually did it when he was in a good mood,,

“a bit chirpy, are we?” you retort.

“especially for breaking someone's nose,” joshua adds, causing you to grin.

“you know I wonder why I put up with you sometimes,” you say,, as you grab the anti septic from the cabinet,,

“because you love me,” joshua jokes, leaning against the cold tile wall,,

“that I do, best friend” you gleam, but you can’t see the slight drop in joshua’s face.

“i hope you see me as more someday,” he doesn't even bother lowering his voice,,, and you hear it,, causing you to pause,,,

“what?” you blurt out,,

“what?” joshua repeats, nonchalantly.

“the part where you said you–”

“want you to be more than my best friend?” he repeats. “yeah, and I'm damn serious.”

“i’ve liked you for the longest and you're telling me this now?” you mutter,, it's true,, you've liked joshua ever since he’d pick you up in highschool,, and he’d have breakfast in the backseat because he knew you wouldn't eat,,

you only called him your best friend at such moments to remind yourself of the reality of the situation you were in,, that joshua will never see you as anything,, but now

and Joshua's like ???? “YOU LIKE ME SINCE WHEN–”

“I LIKED YOU SINCE HIGHSCHOOL DUMBASS”

and joshua’s shocked!!! “I LIKED YOU SINCE YOU STARTED WATCHING ANIME.”

both of you break into a fit of giggles,, “oh my god,, we’re such dumbasses,” you laugh. “we’re like made for each other.”

“see– maybe boxing isn't so bad after all,” joshua grins,,,

[you threw a bucket of water on him for that and he chased you around the entire dorms at 3am and you woke up everyone]

[one-sad-human]

•Worth It• Duff Mckagan

Pairing: Velvet Revolver era! Duff Mckagan x Younger! Reader

Requested? Nope!

Theme: Little bit of everything/???

Warnings: Language, panic attacks, anxiety references, drug references

Word Count: 3k

A/N: Fic 2 of 2! This is the longest fic yet! Took a different approach to writing this one, hopefully it payed off. Let me know if you guys liked it or if I wasted my time with this one lol.

     You had met Duff in a coffee shop in LA. It was crowded and you were lucky enough to snag a chair before the lunch rush. Duff wasn't, and asked you if he could sit at your table.

     You grew up with Guns n Roses, bought his solo album the day it came out when you were just 15, and now listened to Velvet Revolver faithfully. To see your idol, your celebrity crush stand right in front of you holding a cup of coffee and a scone sent you for a loop.

     "Of course," you had said, starry eyed. You were only hoping he was as kind as the interviews made him out to be. Maybe have a conversation with you and be polite for a while before leaving and never seeing each you again. That would be good enough.

     It didn't end with a coffee, it had just begun. He asked for your number, and you stared at him for a moment thinking you had imagined it. That was until he tilted his head a little and looked at you with a nervous expression. He backtracked and you immediately stopped him.

     "No! I mean— yes! Yes, you can absolutely have my number." You scrambled for a pen and paper and ended up scratching your number on a receipt from the record store. You shook so hard you could barely get the numbers down.

     Out of all the record store receipts you've stuffed into your bag, the one you gave Duff Mckagan had to be the one for when you bought Velvet Revolver's 'Contraband.' He didn't say anything, just smiled and promised to call.

     You honestly didn't think he would've. You played it off as just him trying to be nice. It didn't stop you from answering every call you got for the next three days, however, even if you recognized the number as the tax collector you'd normally never answer.

     But then he called.

     "I tried calling sooner, but I kept calling the wrong number. You don't have the most eligible handwriting," he had told you. You laughed but really, you were in shock.

     You set up a date at the fancy restaurant downtown that always intimidated you. You didn't say anything though, even though you knew you wouldn't want any of the overpriced food and you'd end up eating something you couldn't pronounce and was two portions too small. Maybe even hit up a fast food joint afterwards.

     When the day finally came, you couldn't even figure out what to wear. You couldn't tell if you looked underdressed or like you were trying too hard. Did the clothes even fit the right way? What would Duff think? Would he even care?

     All questions were answered when you left your house. Duff was leaning against his slick car parked in your driveway, a button up that was barely buttoned and dress pants with boots. He stared at you and you wanted a hole in the ground to shallow you up until he smiles.

     "You look gorgeous," he said. You blushed and grinned, thanking him before saying that he looked great too. He drove you to the restaurant and on the way, you talked about music.

     You shared some of your favorites, he adored how well rounded you were. You liked pretty much everything from punk rock to the mellowest of mellow. Duff mentioned some of his favorites, some you made sure to remember the names of so you can check them out.

     When the ride was over and you finally got to the restaurant, your previous fears came back. Duff reassured you looked better than 90% of the people there and you knew it wasn't true but it made you feel better anyway.

     Your eyes widened to the size of saucers when you saw the prices of the food. You knew it'd be pricey but you thought there'd be more options that stayed within two digit numbers.

     Duff saw your panicked expression and said not to worry, he'd pay. It didn't settle your nerves enough and when the waiter came, you ordered the cheapest and simplest thing you could find.

     "Chicken noodle soup?" He teased. You shyly looked down and shrugged. "This isn't your scene, is it?"

     "Not exactly, no."

     "Want me to be completely honest with you?" You nodded. "It's not mine either."

     That's all it took for you and Duff to scramble sheepishly out of the restaurant. You both shared a laugh in the car and went to Burger King. It was much more your speed and, as you'd find out that night, Duff's too. You suppose all the money he's had since such a young age didn't completely change his ways. He was like a kid trapped in a 40 year old man's body.

     You'd thought at first the age gap would feel strange, after all, you were 15 years younger than him. But after that night, it was barely noticeable. Funny looks from strangers every once in a while was nothing.

     By the second date, Duff was already aware fancy spots weren't your forte. He told you it was a surprise and to wear something cozy, as LA nights got chilly.

     He packed a picnic basket and drove you out to the most beautiful flower field you had ever seen at sunset. It was secluded and high up, giving a perfect view of the city skyline. After gawking and taking in the sights for a few moments, you regained your ability to speak.

     "It's gorgeous. Pretty far from the city, did you take me here to kill me?" You joked. He laughed and rolled his eyes. His lighthearted laugh sent sparks straight to your heart, and you decided that it was your favorite sound.

     You unfolded the blanket Duff brought and you both sat down. You ate the sandwiches and sliced fruit Duff packed and talked. You talked about everything, from your family to fears and insecurities.

You told him how you suffer from nightmares. Flashbacks from your broken childhood coming back to bite you in your sleep. Duff shared how he's suffered from panic attacks since he was a teenager. You felt you knew each other for years.

Neither of you felt weird for sharing and neither made the other insecure. You were completely open and honest with each other. It was strange, you've never connected to quickly and effortlessly with someone before. Sure, you've had men in your life, but never had you clicked with someone so fast, never had you fit with someone so perfectly.

Hours passed and it felt like minutes. Only did you realize how late and how exhausted you were when you saw most of the city buildings light have gone off for the night. The city that didn't sleep was dark.

"I should get you home," Duff said to you.

"Will you stay the night?" You felt a little silly for asking. Were things going too fast? Would he even want to stay over?

He agreed, and that's how your first night together went. You both stayed up even later and had more lighthearted conversations, unlike the ones that partook at the field. Like how one of Duff's first jobs was at a bakery and could bake a mean cake and how you can't cook to save your life.

You ended up waking up without remembering falling asleep. You're head was placed comfortably on Duff's lap while his head was lolled back against the couch cushion. He looked so serene and peaceful you couldn't help but smile at the sight.

You made toast and somewhat successfully cooked some eggs and bacon. It might have been the first breakfast in years that didn't end with the smoke alarm going off.

Duff eventually wandered into the kitchen and you both ate. By the time he left, another date was already set up. He was like a drug an you were already hooked.

Months later and the addiction still wasn't kicked. You didn't want to, and Duff didn't seem to want you to quit either. You both soaked each other up like the sun on a warm day.

You had almost weekly dates and you stayed over each other's houses almost every other day. Duff did have his kids some days, though, so some days dates were cut short or Grace and Mae slept over his house and you wouldn't see each other.

You were always understanding, his kids came first and you'd never blame or get upset about it. It's something Duff admires about you, your never ending understanding and empathy for him.

One of those days where Duff stayed over at your house started normal. He cooked dinner and you washed the dishes, and then you put on an old Ramones concert you had on DVD.

You were laying on his chest, his fingers running through your hair when all of a sudden, he tensed up. He quickly stood and excused himself to the bathroom. You frowned but before you could think much of it, you heard a loud bang and something clatter to the ground.

You jumped up and rushed to the bathroom. You swung open the door because you were perfectly aware the lock hasn't worked since you moved in.

Duff was sitting on the floor, a pill bottle laying on its side not far from him. You quickly spot the name of the medication and identified it as your anti-anxiety pills. You shoved them aside and sat next to Duff.

He was sweating bullets and his skin felt cold and clammy, his breaths were labored and heartbeat was loud and pounding erratically. You coax him gently to take deep breaths, holding onto his hand tightly and talking quietly.

"I'm sorry, they come on randomly sometimes," he apologized after he'd called down, but you quickly shushed him. You reminded him of just how many nightmares he'd comforted you for and he stops feeling so bad about it.

     It was always a true partnership with Duff. Never had you felt you gave or took too much, it was always equal. Always a two way street, with everything.

That wasn't the last panic attack you had to help him come down from. Later down the line you've gotten better at calming him down and learning his triggers, even though sometimes they really do come on suddenly without reason.

A year into the relationship was when you met Grace and Mae. They were young and didn't completely understand why their parents weren't together anymore, so it took them a while to warm up to you. Luckily, they eventually came around.

Duff and Susan met up regularly to discuss their kids and co-parent properly. And while you had all the reason to be jealous of your boyfriend with his ex wife, you never did. You had complete confidence in him, he was honest and loyal and you doubted he'd ever hurt you purposely.

That's why it destroyed you when he left you. Tears were shed from both parties as he gave his reasons for breaking up with you. His insecurities he tried his best to bury had come to light and nothing could change his mind.

You thought you were completely honest with each other, but you suppose his doubt in his relationship with you was the one thing he kept secret. He had somehow convinced himself you'd be better without him, between the constant touring and the baggage that came with him and his kids, he finally buckled under the weight and stress.

You had tried to convince him that he was worth it, but if Duff is one thing it's stubborn. The best relationship you'd ever have and the best year of your life went down the drain within the matter of one conversation.

You were down in the dumps for days. You barely left your bed and didn't ever leave your house. You were in a depression and couldn't get out. A few of your friends eventually found out what had happened and broke into your house and shoved you into the shower before taking you to your favorite Chinese restaurant.

You felt like a disaster. Your hair was ratted despite the shower and you refused to put real clothes on, instead wearing sweatpants and a shirt Duff had left behind. You were a mess.

The hole in the wall restaurant was never busy but always had the best food. You were almost happy your friends dragged you out of your home until you saw Duff sitting at a table, eating egg rolls and lo mein.

You've came here together all the time. The high sodium in the food always made him sick to his stomach and you'd always end up giving him nausea remedies and tea. He never changed his order though.

You locked eyes with him for a while. Dark bags were under his eyes and he looked more pale than usual. He looked as terrible as you felt. You weren't sure if you were spitefully glad he felt awful or if the despair on his face just made your heart break further.

When you couldn't take his intense jade stare anymore, you looked up at the menu. The next time you looked back he was gone, you weren't sure if he was really there at all or if you were finally losing your mind for good.

     Another week crawled by. You got better enough to continue working. You had to pick up extra time for calling out for a few days after the breakup. You wouldn't say things were going well, but you weren't crying in bed every day all day anymore.

     You had constant dreams about him. Some were nice, ones where he didn't leave and you were together, holding each other tightly. Most were nightmares, flashbacks of when he left. You didn't have him to comfort you anymore when you woke up soaked in sweat and tears, and that might've been the worst.

     Another week went by, and you were starting to get back into the swing of things. You still thought about him, even silly little things reminded you of him. Like when you would catch a sniff of freshly baked sweets like he'd bake you or certain songs playing on the radio. It also didn't help that you ran into people wearing Guns n Roses shirts on the daily.

     You also refused to get rid of anything he'd left behind. Tee shirts, guitar picks he left from when he'd play for you, or CDs from bands he introduced you to. Reminders of what you lost were scattered around your home but you couldn't bring yourself to do anything about it.

     Suddenly, it's been a month. You weren't over him, but you had a feeling you'd never be completely. He was something special, you can't forget things as special as your relationship with Duff.

     His items still weren't thrown out or returned, instead all packed in a box sitting in your closet. But you'd be lying if you said you would never reach into the box to grab a shirt to sleep in or a CD to listen to when you needed a reminder of the good times. You were making progress though.

     You decided to leave your house one evening. You were feeling especially terrible and wanted to take a walk to clear your head. You went to the coffee shop you had first met Duff in. Maybe it was a mistake to go and get a flood of memories but you couldn't stop yourself.

     You sat in a seat near the window and people watched, taking occasional sips of your drink. It was quiet except from the talk of the workers and the hum of the overhead speakers.

     There was a sudden squeak of a chair of hardwood floors and it broke you out of your daze. You snapped your gaze up to meet the very familiar green eyes you've been trying to forget.

     "Can we talk?" He asked, and you couldn't say 'no.' Duff sat across from you and started off by apologizing.

     He said he wanted to talk to you sooner, but was too afraid you wouldn't want anything to do with him. You rolled your eyes at that, if only he knew just how much you missed him.

     He then started from the beginning and explained why he made the decision to leave you. As it turns out, it was mostly because of stress. His bandmate Scott was having problems with drugs and the flashbacks from his GnR days frightened him. He was worried he would end up relapsing and he didn't want to drag you down with him.

     Combine that with all the troubles that came with dating a single father, and he couldn't take it anymore. He felt too guilty.

     It all seemed like ridiculous reasons to you. Even if he had made the mistake of falling off the wagon, you still would've stuck with him. And you didn't mind his kids at all, after nearly a year of knowing them and you were very close to them.

     "I love you, Duff. I wouldn't have left you over that, I'd help you through anything. And I love Grace and Mae, too," you told him.

     "I know, but I didn't want you to have to deal with all that baggage." You frowned at that. You reached your hand across the table and grasped his, squeezing it tenderly.

     "You're worth it."

     After that day, you and Duff started seeing each other again. It wasn't the same as before, but maybe even better.

     You were more transparent with each other. If one had a worry or problem, you'd go to the other. You talked everything through with him and he did the same. Even if it seemed insignificant, talking everything through never failed to make it better.

    You were happier and healthier than ever before. Sure, there were a roadblock or two, but they only made the relationship even stronger, and you wouldn't have changed a thing about it.

[endlich-allein]

Interview with Till about his life: he fought with his father, killed his beloved dog, swam on a wild river and worked on suffering. How Till Lindemann's mind works

"I will finish you off" and why you fought for the German army.

Werner Lindemann wanders around the room, interrupting the silence with strange questions, writing something down. His motive is to get to know his son and make him a friend. But it's complicated. Generational conflict.

"My island of tranquility is shaken every day. The day before yesterday, a guy pulled on my socks because his were torn. Yesterday he didn't put out a single lamp in the house. Now, with voluptuous delight, he spits cherry pits into the cat's fur. Is this grown boy really an adult?"

The apprenticeship in Rostock, where you have to do window production after graduation, is the limit of boredom. Till Lindemann moved to his father in the countryside so that he could forget about the hustle and bustle of the city and not fall under the article for anti-social attitudes. He thought of a new life, in which there was no pointless work, and arranged an attic in his father's house.

In the mornings over coffee, he scolded life that everything went according to schedule. And listened very loudly to music - electronics and metal. My father didn't understand and grumbled: “I matured late. Naturally, I wanted to listen to the music I liked, but I could not get my hands on these records. For example, my father did not understand when I bought the Alice Cooper record for a month's salary.

Werner Lindemann was a children's writer who went through the war.

At the height of his career he disappeared for weeks on literary tours - his fame spread to teachers and librarians across the country. His father pecked at Lindemann for refusing to work and promised to turn him in:

"My willful child. What doesn't fit his standards is rejected as nonsense or crap." So he took a job as a carpenter, where he made shovel cuttings and cart wheels. The head foreman constantly drank vodka during the day, didn't want to be annoyed with questions and addressed the long-haired Lindemann with the nickname: "Mozart!" This suited him.

Werner Lindemann talked about war, hard existence and limitations. For example, about a grenade splinter that remained in his body. Lindemann did not believe in all these stories - but categorically did not accept service, war and murder:

“After that I objected: “I would hide, I would not go to war. Why did you even let yourself be dragged into this? You could have hidden."

And he said: “It didn't work out. They searched for it and it took away."

Then I said: “I would rather go under arrest. Never in my life, I would go to the front line to shoot people. It's against my nature. It would be better if I went to jail."

Much of the time father and son were simply silent, even while watching television.

"He regularly made me feel guilty, to say the least, he placed himself on a pedestal towards me: I shouldn't complain. At your age, I ran barefoot through the stubble, and in my stomach - a potato in a uniform."

The only acceptance is Mike Oldfield's music: "One day my father came to grumble again. At that moment I was listening to Mike Oldfield, and he sat down and said: "That sounds interesting."

For me it was like a quantum leap: my father sits in my room, listens to my music and thinks it was good. Probably because of melancholy. He was sitting in a rocking chair that I made myself - at the time I was working as a carpenter on a farm. I, too, always sat in an armchair, immersed myself in music and smoked hand-rolled cigarettes."

The conflict was intensified by a fight. Lindemann bought a Trabant car, installed speakers in it and tested the sound - loud as usual. “Then my father came and I had to turn off this fucking music. It was kind of loud for him. He was then fiddling around his cases of flowers, and then suddenly the situation escalated. I think he slapped me while I was still in the car.

He leaned toward me and hit me with the back of his hand. I made some bullshit remarks like, "Leave me alone," something like that. That was a provocation to him, and he said: "If you do that again, I'll hit you for real." And I said, "Then you'll get it back. Because you're crazy. Don't you dare to hit me anymore."

And then he hit me with his palm again. He wasn't controlling himself.

He was exalting himself. Instantly he introduced himself as a boxer - he had boxed in the Hitler Youth - and I just... I thought I didn't hit him, I just pushed him away. And then he stood in front of me again, "Come on, I'll finish you, you haven't got a chance!" Somehow. After that, he went up to the attic and threw all my stuff out the window.

It happened over the weekend, my sister was there, a lot of screaming, serious drama. Then I packed my things, put them in the car, went to a friend's house and never went into his house again. At first I lived with this friend, and a week later I bought myself a house in the village."

His father's book is about his son, which the son will only open up after the death of the father.

Lindemann is a late child. He was born when his father was 36. The gap in their relationship was felt in everyday life and perception of the world. Werner Lindemann woke up early in the morning, worked with the circular saw under the windows and did not understand when his son slept until noon after a working week.

Lindemann's parents then lived separately, but kept in touch. Mom worked as a journalist and discussed her texts with his father. "She still lived in Rostock and always came to see him only on weekends. Mostly on Sundays she came back quite early, because she couldn't stand the stress of being with him, either."

In 1988, the book “Mike Oldfield im Schaukelstuhl Notizen eines Vaters" In this book, Lindemann Senior describes the relationship with his son (whom he calls Timm in the book), who settled with him at the age of 18. The book was written in the 80s and laid on the table until the German Democratic Republic and the Federal Republic of Germany were reunited.

Werner Lindemann wanted his son to take up writing too. But this only amused him, although as a child he wrote poetry. At the age of 13, little Till Lindemann and his father were returning home along the bumpy road to Mecklenburg. They talked about career self-determination:

"You should already have thoughts about what you want to become, boy." My answer: "I don't know yet, maybe a fisherman on the high seas."

But immediately, no matter what I said, objections arose: “But then you have to get a certificate of maturity. But then you will be away all the time. But then you won't be able to start a relationship."

There was always a “but”.

At some point it got on my nerves, as usual. And I said: "Worst case scenario, I'll just become a writer.

I still remember how alienated his face became. "And what do you think then, what do I do! It's a very hard job! In fact, it's not even a job, it's a passion. And it's a job that's supposed to be enjoyable."

I said, "I don't know anybody who works with pleasure."

"Yeah, that's the problem. You have to look for a job that gives you pleasure." Then I say again, "But some people never get to choose..." This gigantic discussion happened because I didn't take his profession seriously. At the same time, he was completely lost, funny!"

Lindemann thoughtfully read his father's book, in which he comprehends their relationship, after his death. Faked for hidden anger and indecision. For example, in a situation where their dog Kurt was bitten by a fox. The father was frightened because of rabies: “At the same time, we did not even know whether he was bitten by a fox or not. The father immediately called the huntsman. But I said: no one will enter this courtyard and shoot the dog. I'll do it myself if I really need it. At some point I really had to kill the dog."

Lindemann is not a monster. The animals he fiddled with are an important attribute of childhood. He had an aquarium and hamsters, brought mice and rats home, and was friends with dogs. “Like many children of new buildings, he felt the need for someone alive, in need of love,” said Werner Lindemann. Sometimes the appearance of an animal in the house was surprising:

“This guy will never say what he's up to. He appears on the doorstep at the same time as me. He gets out from his vehicle, throws his coat open and puts a young black shepherd in my hands. "Your Christmas present!"

Till's father is speechless. My son stands before me like the sun's little brother. Touchingly concerned, he directs me into the house, working out a plan for the animal husbandry, accommodation and diet of our new pet housemate.

With confusion, a question flies from my lips, "Wheredid you get the dog from?" "Timm" is gibbering, "Imagine, the mason in the barnyard wanted to hang him, simply wanted to strangle him with a rope, said he was a worthless eater..."

Werner Lindemann died of stomach cancer in 1993, when his son was 30. They didn't finally reconcile, but Till visited him in his last days and was there for him with his mother: "They couldn't be without each other, even though they lived apart. Unreal, but my mother never had another man afterwards. To this day she can't let go of him."

- Not going to the Olympics in Moscow and ending up in the German ghetto

Lindemann had the knowledge and the potential to be a swimmer. And a shyness that pounded harder three days before the competition than concerts in front of crowds of thousands. "I know how difficult it is to develop willpower and stamina and instill those attributes. In the GDR this was instilled in us by coaches and so-called functionaries."

Lindemann came to swimming at the age of eight and devoted his entire youth to the sport. He would get up for training at five in the morning and pass out in the evening. His grandmother watched him from the stands. At a competition in Leipzig she shouted at the coach, who told Lindemann off for a poor result. The grandmother took the coach by the ear and said: "How do you talk to my grandson?"

Sports tightened up his upbringing and developed self-discipline. “Drilling - probably the boy has already received this experience as a swimmer,” Lindemann's father wrote. - Once he had to take second place in a competition, but by no means first place. Of course, he got carried away, forgot about it, became the first, thanks to which he received a shouting for indiscipline. And whenever he lost in the future, his coach would torture him at practice for a long time and yelled at him: "Even if you win, you're not a winner yet!"

Lindemann swam the 1.5 km freestyle and could have gone to the 1980 Olympics in Moscow. Everything was ruined when he left the hotel without permission during a competition in Florence: "I didn't want to run, but just wanted to look at the city. Cars, bikes, girls. I was caught and kicked out of the team, but then I didn't give the required results either."

Lindemann competed at the European Junior Championships, but did not go any higher. After the story in Florence, his career in sport slipped away. Perhaps an abdominal injury influenced his departure. Lindemann is gone, but he doesn't yearn: "I was relatively young. There were no good [memories] left. I was glad it was over."

"The hardest part was getting back to normal. I fell into a real hole. My home was no longer a sports school, but a ghetto in Rostock. Now I stood out through drinking and fighting. I used to be surrounded only by beautiful ladies who were interested in swimming. Now I had fierce women standing in front of me asking, "How come you don't drink?" When I was shy about approaching a girl, it was interpreted as: "Are you gay?"

Lindemann now works with a coach and swims a few kilometers before his tours to get in shape: "When I exercise, I feel a certain lightness - not only physically, but also mentally. I just feel better. The main problem is staying in shape. That's where self-discipline comes into play. Teeth grinding is important."

- Three weeks in the wild and loneliness as a creative tool

Emotionally, concerts = sports:

"How do I go on tour? Hungry. And happy. It is good to compare concerts with sport. You don't want to do both at first. You don't want to go on stage. You don't want to go to the pool. You don't want to go to the boxing ring. It all happens with reluctance. It has to be accepted somehow, that's life: spring, summer, fall, winter.

When it's done, winter's gone, the blooming begins, greenery appears, it gets bright, and you start to get a taste for it. When it's over, you feel happy. Then the body produces a sea of chemistry, a lot of happiness hormones. I think the body rewards itself."

The stage, like sports, is an embarrassment, but a necessity. Lindemann wore dark glasses in order to collect fewer views from the audience. Therefore, a couple of steps before the water, he looked at the pool with a shiver. You need to cope with yourself in order to open up to new emotions.

Lindemann's gut requires solitude and moderate solitude. This is the point:

“Loneliness is always good for a creative push - you drink a glass of wine and you feel even shitier. Art is not complete without suffering; art exists to compensate for suffering."

With his friend Joey Kelly, Lindemann spent three weeks on the Yukon River. They paddled through the wilderness in a kayak for eight to 10 hours each and lived in a tent. Lindemann didn't take a tape recorder with him, so he transferred the lyrics wandering in his head on paper.

They were catching inspiration and atmosphere:

"There were times when we wouldn't say a word for hours, but then: look there, look there! It was breathtakingly beautiful. These relatively fast-changing panoramas and skies, layers of clouds, the colors.

Except for a few bears and wolves, it's hard to see anyone else out there, it's exhilarating. Along the way we saw two hunters setting traps. No one else.

I grew up in the countryside, and I have a very strong connection to nature. I love fishing, hunting. It's an archaic experience that I like to revisit over and over again. When I'm in the city for too long, I start to miss it."

To recreate situations in the Yukon, Lindemann and Kelly trained for nine months on the Rhine river in Germany because of its liveliness.

"We went down the Rhine to where the transport ships create huge bow waves. If we hadn't had a coach with us, we probably would have been sunk by the side wave impact already during our first attempt," Lindemann said.

Together with Kelly, he had four sessions with two coaches and swam from Cologne to Koblenz [more than 100 kilometers by car]. Lindemann trained separately each week on the lakes in Mecklenburg. It's both physically challenging and savage identical to being natural.

In 2015, Till started his solo project Lindemann. On the album Skills In Pills, the song Yukon was released, in which the lyrics appeared first, and then the music.

- "My lyrics come from pain rather than desire."

The country boy is big and not much of a talker. That's how the Rammstein members saw him at the start, when they were hanging out at home. "He looked cool, like a big peasant talking one sentence an hour," keyboard player Christian "Flake" Lorenz recalled. - He always had food and vodka. He'd just steal a couple of ducks somewhere and cook them on a tray. And then, frozen like in Sleeping Beauty, there were people lying in corners and on trunks in his house."

Lindemann loves and appreciates home gatherings. This came from my father, who always had guests. “In my opinion, this is the little bit that I inherited from him. Throwing parties and gathering people. Throwing parties and getting people together. He just enjoyed being a good host. The house was always full of guests from Leipzig, from Rostock, foreign guests, even from Kazakhstan.

It was always exciting for him. He stood at the stove, cooked, bought an abundance of wine, and there was always a fire in the garden. At some point he stopped drinking, then he left the party at 21:00 and the whole company continued to feast. And in the morning he got up at four, cleaned and tidied up."

Till Lindemann is about self-digging, overcoming and childish shyness, which is covered by a pumped-up figure of a swimmer. This is how Lindemann decrypts himself:

• “And I really am like a big child - ill-mannered, but harmless. People think that I am always strong, explosive. This is not true. I am sensitive and easily hurt, but in love I am romantic and passionate."

• “At the very beginning, you sit somewhere in a dark room, open a bottle of wine and figure out how to make the lyrics popular with the music. At first you only have a vague idea of ​​what it could be.

And when, three years after recording, mixing, and more mixing, developing the artwork, all this nonsense, then you stand on stage, and what you came up with then really works, when you manage to get 20 thousand people to raise their hands, then you experience incredible sensations."

• “Art is a kind of therapy.

When I feel that something is arising inside me, domineering and is most often dark, I need to give it a way out, otherwise it will simply crush me. So destruction and self-destruction are the two pillars on which my creativity is based.

But everyone chooses this for himself.

• “My lyrics arise from feelings and dreams, but still more from pain than by desire. I often have nightmares, and I wake up at night sweating, as I see terrible bloody scenes in my dreams. My lyrics are a kind of valve for the lava of feelings in my soul.

We are all struggling to hide behind good manners and outward decency, but in fact we are governed by instincts and feelings: hunger, thirst, horror, hatred, the desire for power and sex. Of course, there is also additional energy in us - this is love. Without it, all human feelings would fade away."

- "When you're constantly living someone else's life, it's very hard to get back into your own skin. I like that in principle, but sometimes you start to get confused - are you out of a role or not yet. You're already Till, or you're still a homicidal maniac."

- "I hate the noise. I hate the chatter. I expose myself to it, which is pure masochism. And then I have to protect myself from it. Noise makes you crazy. You die in it."

• “I think there is no God. And if he is and actually allows all the misfortunes on this earth, then he must punish me along with other sufferings. I will not pray to such a god."

This is how the members of Rammstein see Till - flexible and with a split personality:

Guitarist Paul Landers: "Till is so good that when you let him know that his lyrics should go in a different direction, the very next day he brings a new version of the song."

Guitarist Richard Kruspe: “He's a hell of an extreme man. He dives very deeply into situations where I cannot follow him. Everything he does is very extreme; I don't know anyone who does it. "

Drummer Christoph Schneider: "I would not want to be in Till's shoes: his soul is tormented by doubts and contradictions, he is equally a moralist and a monster."

June 1, 2021 - Translate by Lindemann Belgium

[riddlecrux]

Miserable together, happy apart: a dive into Elain and Lucien's relationship

This meta is based solely on textual pieces of evidence that can be found through the whole ACTOAR series written by SJM. My observations come from the text and what was given to us, the audience, by the author of the book. Due to the fact that this topic is connected with a raging shipping war, I would like to make an important note at the beginning of this (probably) long comparison post. This meta will be touching subjects such as trauma, forced and unhealthy relationships, being uncomfortable around the other person, and enforced feeling of duty. On that note, it's anti Elain and Lucien relationship.

The starting point of the whole relationship and mating bond begins in ACOMAF, when Lucien contributes to Archeron sisters being kidnapped - leading to them being Made. I'm very concerned with the way how this fandom seems to collectively forget about the trauma that Elain went through when she was pushed inside the Cauldron. After ACOSF we are left with the idea that being Made wasn't pleasant - on the contrary, it was horrible and scary, it left Nesta with psychological scars and mental barriers. So why are people forgetting that, in fact, it was Elain who undergone the same terrifying experience first? SJM had described this whole situation very vividly and painfully detailed. It was there to show us that both Elain and Nesta went through something disturbing and traumatizing. That's why I would like to start with a notion of TRAUMA:

"Elain’s foot hit the water, and she screamed—screamed in terror that hit me so deep I began sobbing."

Feyre is there to witness her sisters being shoved into Cauldron and one can only imagine how terrifying it was to observe such a thing. However, there is no amount of words to describe how utterly frightening it was for Elain to be pushed into the unknown. She was the first one, an experiment for everyone to see.

"More water than seemed possible dumped out in a cascade. Black, smoke-coated water. And Elain, as if she’d been thrown by a wave, washed onto the stones facedown. Her legs were so pale—so delicate. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen them bare."

Elain was a proper lady. She was the one who went along with the prevailing etiquette and rules. Feyre notices Elain's bare skin and how she doesn't even remember when was the last time she saw so much of it in the broad daylight. Elain was modest, she followed the social obligations and we as readers are presented with the fact that all her principles are being violated in front of these strangers and people she knew from before.

"Elain was still shivering on the wet stones, her nightgown shoved up to her thighs, her small breasts fully visible beneath the soaked fabric. Guards snickered."

She was let out in the open after such a traumatizing event. Just after being Made, the first thing she experiences is another form of trauma. She is involuntary stripped bare in front of males, her proper upbringing and modesty ruined as they openly laugh at her nakedness. It's another traumatic event, not even a moment after her whole human life was taken away from her.

"As Lucien took off his jacket, kneeling before Elain. She cringed away from the coat, from him—"

It's not surprising that she acted that way. He is yet another male who appears out of nowhere, comes at her when she is in a very vulnerable position. Not to mention, that he is connected to the fact that she and Nesta were kidnapped and used as hostages. He plays a role in her trauma, a trauma that is still happening around her. Elain is subjected to watch her older sister going through the same thing she went through.

"Lucien’s hands slackened at his sides. His voice broke as he whispered to Elain, “You’re my mate.”"

I would say that it wasn't a good thing to say at that moment. It's yet another brick in the wall of traumas that Elain just went through. She lost her human life, she was Made, she lost her human fiance, was kidnapped and used as an experiment, ridiculed due to her nakedness and vulnerability, watched her sister being shoved into the Cauldron. Now she is presented with the fact that she was stripped off of her free will, and she still doesn't have freedom of choice. The lack of choice is evident, she just doesn't let it fall upon her as the trauma she had just endured was too great to even imagine how that declaration could shake her already broken heart.

“From my sister’s stories. Her friend.” “Yes.” But Elain blinked slowly. “You were in Hybern.” “Yes.” It was all he could say. “You betrayed us.”

Elain is aware of the fact that he was a part of her trauma. He was there when she got kidnapped and watched her being Made. She acknowledges the fact that he is partially responsible for what has happened to her and her sister. Not only Elain but Lucien as well. Lucien is also very much aware of the fact that he had contributed to her pain and hardship. Those feelings are also very prominent in the way he approaches her and behaves around her. The knowledge that she is that way because of his mistake.

FORCED RELATIONSHIP:

Both Elain and Lucien find themselves forced to "be" together. It wasn't a natural thing that happened between them, not a healthy type of bond snapping in its place. They were put together because of the Cauldron's decision.

She was nothing like Jesminda. Jesminda had been all laughter and mischief, too wild and free to be contained by the country life that she’d been born into. She had teased him, taunted him—seduced him so thoroughly that he hadn’t wanted anything but her. She’d seen him not as a High Lord’s seventh son, but as a male. Had loved him without question, without hesitation. She had chosen him. Elain had been … thrown at him.

Even Lucien, who had loved and lost his previous lover acknowledges the fact that it is something that both of them didn't want. Their bond essentially stripped both of them of their free will. They hadn't chosen each other, they were just put together in a fickle decision of The Cauldron. His previous love story signalizes that Lucien also wants to be chosen, wants to be loved by someone who decided that he is the man that the other person wants to love and spend their life with him.

“I am Lucien. Seventh son of the High Lord of the Autumn Court.” And a whole lot of nothing.

Lucien has also his own issues - family feud, the fact that his friend betrayed him and in the end, it was him who did the same. He has troubles on his mind that are concerning. He's self-conscious in front of Elain because as Lucien is a reminder of her trauma - she is a reminder of his biggest mistake and another painful ending on his part. She's a living proof of his betrayal, how he went against his common sense and stabbed his friend, Feyre, in the back by bringing her sister into the scene.

The words were a rasp as he instead said, “I know. I’m sorry.” She did not love him, want him, need him. Another male’s bride. A mortal man’s wife. Or she would have been.

He is aware of the fact that Elain doesn't feel anything for him, that she was promised to another and she had planned her life with that person. Just like him in the past - it was his choice to love, want, and need Jesminda. As he's trying to keep his composure the feelings of the bond swirl around, yet Lucien still understands that both of them ended up with something they didn't want.

“When I sleep,” she murmured, “I can hear your heart beating through the stone.” She angled her head, as if the city view held some answer. “Can you hear mine?” He wasn’t sure if she truly meant to address him, but he said, “No, lady. I cannot.”

Even though they were "blessed" with this bond, the thread of it is weak and very unlike the other ones in SJM universe. As if it wasn't working properly - they both do not complete each other. Few pages before Elain says that she can hear Feyre's and Nesta's heartbeat and yet her mate can't hear hers? How is that possible? Also Lucien doesn't understand Elain - he sees her as someone who is devastated by her ruined human life, which is true, but right we as readers know by now that Elain was suffering because nobody seemed to realize what was wrong with her. Their first meeting doesn't spark hope for their future. It only showcases how wrong they both are for each other, two wounds plastered against each other.

BEING UNCOMFORTABLE AROUND EACH OTHER: Sadly both Elain and Lucien are pushed together by Feyre and her little meddling - which isn't something that they both want to undergo.

It was the most uncomfortable thirty minutes I could recall. (...) Pretending, while Lucien and Elain sat in stilted silence by the dim fireplace, an untouched tea service between them.

Even Feyre admits that a previously arranged get-together was a mistake. Because Lucien and Elain are wary of their presence around each other, they constantly remind each other's traumas and painful memories. Elain can barely stand his presence and Lucien is aware of that fact - the only thing that keeps him trying to break that barrier is their bond.

She rose to her feet, and Lucien shot to his. “I’m sorry,” he blurted. “What—what was that?” Mor put a hand on my knee to keep me from rising, too. “It—it was a tug. On the bond.”

Even their mating bond isn't a thing of comfort. They can't navigate through it, both of them uncomfortable because of their proximity. Lucien feels as if he has to repay his debt towards Elain, however, neither of them wants to close the distance. Their wounds are still fresh, both of them not entirely healed. They are constantly rubbing their hurt on each other, meeting after meeting.

“Nothing,” he said, and again faced his mate. “I’m sorry—if that unsettled you.” Elain sidled toward Nesta, who seemed to be at a near-simmer. “It felt … strange,” Elain breathed. “Like you pulled on a thread tied to a rib.” Lucien exposed his palms to her. “I’m sorry“.

He feels guilty all the time he's around her. He can't navigate through the mating bond as it doesn't work properly. It's uncomfortable, hurtful, and tense. Just like the relationship between them, it is not a good thing. They are basically strangers thrown at each other after seeing the other person at their lowest. It's not a coincidence that the bond between them is a mirror to their rough, strained relation.

Lucien murmured to me, eye still fixed on Elain, “Should we—does she need …?”

Lucien just stared and stared at my sister, as if he’d never seen her before.

Even with the bond, Lucien can't understand what Elain needs. They are basically strangers, yet the bond doesn't do anything to him in regards to helping her. They are constantly uncomfortable around each other, they try to avoid each other throughout the series because of the fact that they both don't want to be in this forced relationship. Lucien feels obliged to keep persuading her due to the bond, whereas Elain wants nothing to do with the said bond. They are in a maze of constant avoidance and unbearable proximity, which is very soundly described in the text and I would like to present some very important passages:

He hadn’t mentioned Elain, or his proximity to her. Elain had not asked him to stay or to go. And whether she cared about the bruises on his face, she certainly hadn’t let on.

Elain, at least, would be too polite to send Lucien away when he wanted to help. She was too polite to send him away on a normal day. She just ignored him or barely spoke to him until he got the hint and left. As far as I knew, he hadn’t come within touching distance since the aftermath of that final battle.

No, as Elain took a step back, hand falling away from the doorknob, she revealed Lucien smiling tightly at us both. “Happy Solstice,” was all he said.

A sidelong glance toward Elain, swift and fleeting. “Both of you.” Elain said nothing, but at least she bowed her head in thanks.

“You’re welcome to stay for the night,” I said, since Elain certainly wasn’t going to. Lucien lowered his hands into his lap and leaned back in the armchair. “Thank you, but I have other plans.” I prayed he didn’t catch the slightly relieved glimmer on Elain’s face.

My sister rose to her feet. “I should get refreshments.” Lucien rose as well. “No need to trouble yourself. I’m—” But she was already out of the room.

I would love to bring attention to the fact that Lucien understands and realizes that their relationships will never work. He acknowledges it in the text, with his own words!

"Give her time to accept it.” “To accept a life shackled to me?”

“Spend time with her.” “I don’t think she’ll tolerate two minutes alone with me, so forget about two weeks.” His jaw worked as he studied the fire.

He shook off my grip and headed for the door. “I can’t stand to be in the same room as her for more than two minutes."

ELAIN'S AGENCY: Throughout ACOWAR, ACOFAS and ACOSF Elain tries to get away from the bond and in conclusion also from Lucien himself. She doesn't acknowledge their bond and time after time she runs away from the fact that they are bound to each other. The thing is, Elain, probably doesn't know how to break their bond - we as readers are reminded in Azriel's POV how important their mating bond is for the Night Court, which makes her a sort of political pawn. It is yet another thing that is taken away from her, which to be honest is a kind of a hypocritical thing coming from Rhys and Feyre. We know that Elain is timid, however after slowly recovering from her trauma she started to voice out her discomfort connected to Lucien and their forced relationship.

I knew I wasn’t truly angry with her, not angry with anyone but myself, but I said, “You couldn’t say a single word to him? A pleasant greeting?” Elain only stared at the steaming kettle as she set it on the stone counter. “He brought you a present.” Those doe-brown eyes turned toward me. Sharper than I’d ever seen them. “And that entitles him to my time, my affections?”

Lucien still makes her uncomfortable, he is a constant reminder of her trauma and lost life. Another thing is that Lucien doesn't even know her, doesn't see her which is something that is very important to her. Everything he does is based on the fact that he is connected to her via mating bond, not by his own free choice. Which, again, is presented to us in her own words in the text:

“No.” I blinked. “But he is a good male.” Despite our harsh words. Despite this Band of Exiles bullshit. “He cares for you.” “He doesn’t know me.” “You don’t give him the chance to even try to do so.” Her mouth tightened, the only sign of anger in her graceful countenance. “I don’t want a mate. I don’t want a male.”

It doesn't help that the one who pushes her forward into this spiral of unbearable proximity with someone she hadn't chosen and don't want to be around, is her own sister. Yet, she stands her ground and sets boundaries. She is her own person and she wants to get to chose. ELAIN AROUND LUCIEN:

I handed Elain the small box with her name on it. Her smile faded as she opened it. “Enchanted gloves,” she read from the card. “That won’t tear or become too sweaty while gardening.” She set aside the box without looking at it for longer than a moment.

I found my sister in the kitchen, watching the kettle scream. “He’s not staying for tea,” I said.

I said to Lucien when we’d settled in the armchairs before the fire, Elain perched silently on the couch nearby.

I handed Elain the small box with her name on it. Her smile faded as she opened it. “Enchanted gloves,” she read from the card. “That won’t tear or become too sweaty while gardening.” She set aside the box without looking at it for longer than a moment.

I found my sister in the kitchen, watching the kettle scream. “He’s not staying for tea,” I said.

I said to Lucien when we’d settled in the armchairs before the fire, Elain perched silently on the couch nearby.

Elain had picked up the teacup, and now sipped from it without so much as looking toward him.

Elain only stared at him for a long moment. And any lucidity faded away as she shook her head, blinking twice (...).

He glanced at Elain, who was again studying her lap.

Elain now watched Lucien warily. Blinking every now and then.

He only glanced at Elain, whose face was again a calm void while she traced a finger over the embroidery on the couch cushions.

Their gazes locked and held. But Elain said nothing. Did not so much as take one step downward.

Elain, the wretch, had taken the seat between Feyre and Varian, about as far from Lucien as she could get.

Elain only shrank further into herself, no trace of that newfound boldness to be seen.

As you can see Elain feels: - uncomfortable - on edge - withdrawn - wary - closed off - silenced (she always loses the will to speak around Lucien, going deeper inside of her) - melancholic (she watches as kettle boil without flinching as if she wandered in the maze of her mind). Elain loses her comfort and courage around Lucien, which is problematic and utterly sad to witness. He is a constant reminder for her of violation against her own free will, but also a living proof of her own trauma. LUCIEN AROUND ELAIN:

Lucien surveyed it all with cool indifference. What he felt about Elain, what he planned to do … I didn’t want to ask.

“I would never hurt her.” A bleak sort of honesty in his words.

He tried to sound casual—comfortable. Even as his heart raced and raced, so swift he thought he might vomit on the very expensive, very old carpet.

He didn’t expect her to answer, and he gave himself all of one more minute before he’d rise from this chair and leave.

Betrayal, queasy and oily, slid through his veins. He’d said the same to Jesminda once.

He wished she’d shoved him out the window behind her.

He wasn’t sure how to respond, so he said nothing, and drained his tea, even as it burned his mouth.

“I think she went through something terrible,” Lucien countered carefully. “And it wouldn’t hurt to have your best healer do a thorough examination.”

Lucien looked to her, then over to me. A muscle feathered in his jaw. “Nothing,” he said, and again faced his mate. “I’m sorry—if that unsettled you.”

Lucien exposed his palms to her. “I’m sorry.”

Lucien murmured to me, eye still fixed on Elain, “Should we—does she need …?”

Lucien silently slid into one of the chairs, before the window, that metal eye whirring as it roved over my sister.

Lucien just stared and stared at my sister, as if he’d never seen her before.

Lucien inclined his head in a bow, the movement hiding the gleam in his eye —the longing and sadness.

“I am not always in this city to see my mate.” The last two words dripped with discomfort.

Lucien feels: - uncomfortable - guilty - uneasy - confused (especially in the moments where Elain is having visions and he doesn't understand what's happening with her) - apologetic (he is constantly saying sorry to her) - tense

The guilt eats him every time he is around Elain, he is constantly apologizing while battling his inner problems such as remembering his true love. He was stripped off of his choice and even if the mating bond is there, he isn't happy. He is in constant pain just like Elain because both of them are each other wounds, each other reminder of trauma. They can't heal together because they are only happy when they are apart - Elain blooms in the Night Court, as we have read in ACOSF she is coming up with terms of Fae life and her own powers, adjusting her life to the notion of immortality. She is content and courageous and yet everything vanishes when Lucien is around. The same thing goes for Lucien. Lucien was struggling with her around him - he didn't know her, he didn't know what was happening to her as well. They were both strangers thrown at each other without their own say in this whole situation. Not to mention that their meetings were always arranged and supervised by others. When he sets on the journey to find Vassa he finds freedom and belonging - which was something he was battling in ACOWAR, after betraying his friends and his court, after being at odds in Night Court, and after being uncomfortable around his mate. He didn't have that sense of belonging in any of those things.

Elain and Lucien aren't compatible nor perfect for each other. They are constant reminders of traumas they experienced. They will never work out because they make each other miserable while being together, and they feel free and content apart. Their happiness lies with free choice, free will both of them were looking for in their lives. They are bound together against their own, and the only key for them being happy in this farce is setting themselves free. A choice of freedom. I strongly believe that after their rejection of the bond both of them could, perhaps, form a friendship. It would have been some sort of catharsis - to dwell upon the fact that they overcame that obstacle. That they chose to be happy apart, and not be shackled by this miserable bond.