#—that would cause people's faces to visibly distort when they see it

[rubys-domain]

so i watched this team building guide that had the premise of "make 'bad' characters good." and this is kind of a weird flex, but i'm pleased to report that i already employ literally every tip in the video pretty much on a daily basis

[rogersideup]

Nice to be Kneaded

Chapter 10

The Snap

Series masterlist

Previous Part: Doomsday Next Part: Courage

Word Count: 5,678

Warnings: My blog is 18+ only. All minors or blogs without an age in bio will be blocked. Minors DNI. Mentions of loss, grief, anxiety and depression.

Time and reality felt a bit unreal as you navigated the new situation you were in. One where you had to pretend to be strong on the outside all the while completely melting and distorting into someone you didn't even recognize on the inside.

So much had happened since Steve's departure from Greenwood and arrival back into the public eye in his full long haired and bearded glory.

The battle at hand against Thanos was now anyone had the capacity to talk about, and rightfully so. Everyone was terrified- so scared that stopping the flow of day to day life and staying glued to the front of their televisions with a phone in hand and social media on their screens for the fastest source of breaking news seemed to be the only way anyone knew how to cope.

Unfortunately for you, your love was at the forefront. And when the news broke that Steve Rogers was out of hiding and back into the world of avenging, the mass of Greenwood's population immediately recognized that handsome man as their neighbor, and the perfectly shy and respectful resident who just so happened to be best friends with the girl he lived next door to.

Gossip spread like wildfire through a boring, scanty place like this. You knew speculations involving you and your emotions the night he left was at the forefront of mouths of the people around you.

You could tell that was happening as you tried your best to cope with all the fear everyone else was feeling with the added layer of heartbreak and anxiety waiting for federal officers to come knock at your door and take you away.

Sometimes you just needed a breath of fresh air or anything to occupy your brain other than all of this. So you'd sit on your porch steps and stare at the lawns of your neighbors, each one was perfect groomed. Yours could use a little work, but hey, you had a lot going on right now, and the flowers growing on the bushes in front of Steve's house were such a pretty pink color, it was a shame he wasn't around to enjoy them.

Occasionally, someone on their own mission to clear their minds and get some air would walk passed you and shoot you a sympathetic look, or even worse, a friendly face would walk by and avoid looking at you as if you were the plague itself. After a few of those experiences, you decided to just go for a run on the trail.

You still hadn't gotten any better at running that five mile loop that you and Steve had tackled that one day in the summer. But the pain the running caused you still wasn't any greater than the pain of hearing your neighbors whispering about you as you jogged passed them in the opposite direction.

Being outside was too difficult, and being inside surrounded by news broadcasts and reminders of Steve scattered around your house was too painful, so you tried waiting your life away at the bakery.

It was the only place nobody could bother you. The doors remained locked at all hours of the day as to not force your employees to work, and logistically, nobody wanted to leave their houses when it felt like the world was about to end due to a purple dictator, so you hid away there.

Admittedly, with every order cancelled and no in store customers, there was nothing to do. So you just sat in all the cozy nooks and crannies you had created in the lobby with your own two hands and just enjoyed them for the first time ever. You watched movies, read books, kept the blinds drawn with the closed sign flashing in bright pink neon on the front door, and pretty much only went home to shower and sleep.

The stupid glass front door, the only part of the bakery that was visible from the outside looking in with all the blinds drawn. The stupid stupid front door Georgia could see you from when she peeped in and knocked.

You were angry she had disrupted your little corner of peace in a world that was on fire, and you knew you had no option but to get up and open the door to let her in.

Not a word was said as you reluctantly held the door open for her to enter, then allowing it to close on its own accord as you sat down cross legged in your favorite floor seating nook. You kept your eyes to the cushion in front of you as she sat and settled next to you, her stare felt judgmental but you knew this wasn't your best look.

Sweatpants and a hoodie, Steve's hoodie, but you weren't ready to talk about that yet. Your hair was very obviously air dried and thrown up into a claw clip at the back of your head, not a single lick of makeup on your face, your sneakers were left by the front door but at least your socks matched today. That was one small win you could account for on your daily highs and lows chart.

You gained the courage to look at her, and in true Georgia fashion, she looked great. But you knew her, she wasn't the type to leave her house unless her face was perfectly covered in the same makeup she wore every day and her hair was perfectly styled with not a strand out of place. Her shoes were always squeaky clean and her clothes existed in a whole different realm in which wrinkles and pet fur never existed.

"I haven't seen you around in a while, Sweet Pea, I've been worried about you." She stared, same sympathetic tone everyone had been using around you even in passing that you had quickly grown to resent.

You were now the naïve girl that fell for the magic tricks that Captain America pulled out of his cowl. Well, at least that's what everyone thought, and that's what you would allow them to think. If you had to lie straight to Georgia's face, so be it. But you would never say a single bad thing about Steve, she would never get that gratification she came to seek.

"Yeah, well" You shrugged, struggling to find the words. "I've been busy."

Georgia looked around, the bakery a dimly lit ghost town "With what? Romcoms and a bag of Spicy Doritos?"

"Easy to watch, always have a happy ending" You agreed. "Most of them don't take place in the middle of a universal war... and spicy is better than the original, so"

"I knew that boy was bad for you, I've never seen you so down in the dumps." She started earning a nasty glare from you. "Stop trying to kill me with your eyes."

"If you're here to say I told you so, I'm only going to try harder." You warned, no sprinkle of remorse in your tone.

"That's only half of why i'm here." She shook her head. "Just because I said I wasn't going to stick around to watch him break your heart didn't mean I wasn't going to be here to help you put the pieces back together."

"Who said I needed help?" You questioned, emotional regulation had completely flown out of the window. "You don't get to pick and choose when you get to be a friend to me. It's all or nothing."

"I was wrong for what I did." Georgia admitted. "I take full accountability for that, Sugar. But I'm worried about you, really really worried."

"Didn't seem too worried before we knew who he really was" You spat. "If this is a whole trap to try and get me to speak poorly of the one person on this planet you genuinely hate, well then I'm definitely not sorry to tell you it's not going to work."

"He hurt you, baby." Georgia persisted. "He was so manipulative you didn't even notice 90% of his life story right in front of your face. You said it to me before, there was something weird about him and now we know what it was. Captain America living in our neighborhood and coming into your home and your heart and you had no idea."

"Oh just me huh? I was the only clueless one in this entire rotten washed up town?" You questioned right back. "Sure, he had a secret but he was always kind to me. He was nothing but gentle and caring, so I don't want to hear anything about how he hurt me. I don't want a single peep of this narrative everyone in Greenwood has about him or me, or what our time together was like."

"If he was so gentle, why were you crying so hard outside of his house a few nights ago?" She questioned

"That was a few nights ago?" You rhetorically questioned.

"How long ago did you think that was?"

"Not important" You shook your head. "I was crying because he had to leave."

"Really? That's all? That's the only reason?" She continued to press.

"Was the news a lot to process? Absolutely." You confirmed. "But I was really fucking sad that someone I love so dearly was leaving to be thrown into a very dangerous situation. Wouldn't that make you sad too?"

"Again with the mouth, sweet cheeks, you're going to give me a heart attack"

"Again, I'm a grown woman, not a child."

"You did not love that man." She scolded.

That immediately put a sour taste in your mouth. "I'm sorry?"

"You we're attracted to him because he was handsome, and you liked him because he gave you time and attention. That's not love, darlin', that's not even a romance. That was a fling."

"Why do you keep trying to minimize my relationship with him?" Anger furrowed your brows and squinted your eyes.

"Because you love too much. Too fast, to hard. I'm being realistic." She insisted. "That was a criminal in your home taking advantage of your love."

"So was it a fling or was it my love being taken advantage of? You're being condescending. How could he take advantage of my love if I never loved him in the first place?" You called her out.

"Dare I remind you he's the number one most wanted criminal in the world?" She completely disregarded your question.

"And who are you relying on keeping you safe right now?" You asked.

Georgia sat in silence, too unwilling to put her pride aside to even come close to answering that.

"That's what I thought." You grumbled. "So let me ask you one last question. Are you here because you were worried about me, or are you here because you wanted me to hate him as much as you do?"

More silence, she wasn't budging.

"Get out of my bakery." You shook your head.

She gracefully stood up and made it all the way to  the door, and as far as pushing the handle in before she stopped. "At what point does this get better?"

"When you stop putting words in my mouth and speaking on situations you don't know anything about." You told her the cold, hard truth. "Especially situations you could know all about but don't because you pushed me away over the opinion of someone you didn't even give a chance to."

And with one swift push to the door, she was gone faster than she came knocking, and you pressed play on your romcom again.

That night you went home and took a long, hot bath. Relaxing music playing quietly, your favorite candle lit, and the lights turned off. Just existing at a time like this took everything out of you, so all you could do was put yourself in relaxing, non stressful circumstances to help keep yourself stable.

Although you managed to clear your head for a bit, your mind never stopped thinking of Steve. All you could do was wonder where he is and what he was up to. You hoped he was safe, and unharmed, you hoped he was doing okay, and feeling okay.

For his sake and everyone else's, you hoped that the group of Avengers would figure it out soon. But for your sake, you hoped it would all be done and over with so maybe you could just hear his voice over the phone, you would even be okay with a letter in your mailbox or an email from a decoy account. Just anything, really anything at all to know he was alright.

Just when you started to feel a little better about the whole thing, the blip happened.

You'd never forget the chill deep in your bones the moment it happened, the rumble in the sky that rattled the ground. For a moment, your windows shook. Then, you heard chaos from outside. Crashing, honking car horns, shouting, screams of terror, sobbing.

Your heart dropped to your stomach and you bolted out of the front door, completely missing the way the news anchors turned to dust on the TV as you ran off your porch and into your driveway.

It looked to be just as chaotic as it sounded, a car crashed into a street lamp with nobody the driver's seat, neighbors all frantically asking if they've seen other neighbors that have seem to have gone missing, screams for help coming from people running inside. Then you saw it with your own eyes, Andy from two doors down running up to you, quickly as he could.

"Andy, Andy what's going on?" You asked, eyes bulging out of your head, hands shaking, your legs threatening to buckle underneath you. You had never been this scared in your entire life.

"Phoebe and Willow" He explained frantically, both his hands reached out and grabbed onto your shoulders. You recognized the name of his wife and infant daughter. "They were here just a second ago I swear, I was holding her she was giggling then they just disappeared, dissolved"

"What- what do you mean? Dissolved?" You questioned frantically, he couldn't pull himself together, and that scared you even more.

"I don't want that to happen to me. I'm scared, they just, went away."

"Okay, okay" You nodded, grabbing onto his forearms. "What's happening? Do you know anything about this?"

"No, no, I'm scared. Everyone is dying, they're gone. I don't want it to happen to me"

"It's okay, you're okay" You tried to calm him down regardless of your own internal terror. You looked around to try and find any solution, any ounce of comfort.

Then you noticed people drifting away with your own eyes, bodies slowly turning to dust that would flutter to the floor and blow away in a gust of wind.

"I feel so weird" Andy said, you looked back at him while tightening your grip on his arms.

"It'll be okay" You nodded, trying to convince yourself of that too.

Then, his face and body completely relaxed and the arms that were once in your hands vanished before your eyes leaving nothing but air in its presence.

That's when you started running. Jogging at first, then sprinting. House to house, person to person, helping where you could. There were people with injuries all around due to people fading away in dangerous situations.

You ran up to and turned off a lawnmower that was once being operated by a person who vanished, you helped an older lady up off the floor who was very gently struk by the car before it it the street lamp, then you ran into Andy and Pheobe's house to make sure that their stove was off, and things like hair straighteners and candles were off and not hazardous. You looked out for newly stray dogs and cats, maybe even kids looking for their parents.

All the while you were terrified of vanishing yourself, but in a moment like that it was imperative to help until you couldn't anymore.

It wasn't until a full 24 hours later that you were sure you weren't going to go anywhere, that's when the news started reporting more reliable information about what had really happened.

Although no accurate or official census had been taken in such short notice, they predicted half the population of earth had been blipped. Just completely turned to dust at the hands of Thanos. Then two days later footage had been released of the Avengers and the moments leading up to the blip.

It was incredibly hard to watch the footage, it came with every warning under the sun before they played it on any screen, or any platform.

They all tried with all of their might, and in the footage they all seemed exhausted. Wanda trying her hardest to destroy the mind stone in visions head while everyone else tried to keep Thanos away from it.

The hulk went straight through him, T'challa tried but he was no match, War Machine was thrown way far off to the side, Bucky came shooting but he was also tossed off, Natasha, Groot, then Steve slid in on his knees.

You wanted to look away, you wanted to cover your eyes, you knew you shouldn't watch it anymore, but the moment you saw him you just couldn't stop peaking between your fingers.

There was a large gash on his forehead, his skin was littered with dirt and little shields on each of his arms with what looked like claws coming out of the bottom. He got close enough of stab him in the leg with the claws, then upper cut his jaw with his fist in that splitting moment of pain. You were rooting for him as he caught the Gauntlet in his two hands and tried pulling it off with all of his might, then came the part you wish you never saw.

Thanos punched him right in the face, so hard that Steve immediately fell face down to the floor and didn't move a single muscle. You felt like you were going to throw up as Wanda kept him at bay with one hand, and destroyed the stone with the other. Then, Thanos reversed time, got the stone, and snapped before the footage cut out.

You almost screamed at the screen for more, you just needed some proof that Steve was alive because he looked pretty lifeless after getting sucker punched by a titan. You watched him fall to the floor over and over and over again trying to find any movement of his body, any teeny sliver of hope that he was alive and out there somewhere.

Then came the google searches, you searched his name every few minutes to see if there was any news of his status of being. Alive or dead, you needed to see proof. But it never came.

That's when you hit your lowest point, for weeks you were glued to your laptop just trying to find any ounce of hope. For Steve's life, and for the world in general. But this time you were less apologetic about your state of being, this was the greatest tragedy of history and your love might've been dead.

So yes, you were going to cry over a bowl of ice cream in bed... for a week in a row... with no pants on.

When you thought things couldn't get worse, they did. After not being able to get into contact with your Mom since the blip, one of her friends reached out to you on Facebook and confirmed she was one of the dusted. Half of your employees were gone, and you loved them all with your whole heart.

Eventually the world around you started to get back on its feet a bit more every day. Businesses rebuilt, fires were put out, people found strength and comfort in community.

At some point you felt the same way as well. You'd leave you house a bit more each day, and escaped in trying your hardest to reopen the bakery. It still wasn't the most practical time to open the doors and start the ovens again, but you just really, really missed it. Baking had been your outlet for stress relief and control for most of your life, and this was the first time you didn't immediately turn to it the second things went bad.

So, instead of tying your apron on and preheating an oven, you preheated the business instead. You completely overhauled and gave the website a facelift. Spent hours searching for and writing new recipes that you'd eventually test bake. You overhauled the business model, took a head count of you employees that were still around and had long conversations about their willingness and readiness to work again.

Everyday you tried to sit on your porch for a bit of sunshine, but even with the sun out a chill never left your bones. You spent most mornings on the chair tucked away in the corner, angled away from Steve's house because every time you looked at it, it was nothing but a painful reminder of his unaccounted status of being.

It didn't help that someone hung a sign on the front of his garage door. It read The Greenwood home of the great Captain America. A big star painted right below the words. Residents would come by and leave notes around it, some on pages of loose leaf notebook paper, some on brightly colored neon construction paper. Pooled on the ground in front of the garage and below the sign was what looked like a vigil. Bouquets of flowers laid amongst plastic toy shields, family photos in matching Captain America shirts and kids dressed in costumes, candles, and teddy bears.

You didn't know what the notes said or if any of those flowers were even alive anymore, but you did know that every time you had worked yourself up to even go look at what anyone in Greenwood or neighboring towns had to say to your sweet Steve, your legs would lock up before you could even make it up the driveway.

A lump would form in your throat, panic would spread from your heart all throughout your body, leaving red splotches all over your chest. Your mind couldn't get passed the fact that it looked like a memorial. If you didn't know any better, you would've believed that news sources all around the world had confirmed his death and all the folks around here were paying their respects.

You could see a few letters from the sidewalk in front of his house. Some of them read thank you in big, bold letters. So that's what you were trying to convince yourself of. Steve was simply being thanked for his service.

Although the mental block of Steve's busy driveway remained, you found that you could go into his house as you promised you would if you just kept your eyes to the floor while approaching the front door and didn't look up until you had unlocked it.

You tried your absolute best to keep his house in good shape, even his front lawn that was frequented by fans of his from whenever they were traveling from. Everyone's lawns were now a big haphazard. You could tell exactly which homes were unoccupied now, the grass was tall and the weeds were taller. Again, yours could use some work but a few wildly wispy rose bushes were the least of your concern.

Another bowl of cookies and cream, more googling, more staring at the framed picture on your wall, another night of the same devastation.

You looked at that painting every single night, the grass field was so beautiful, he captured it so perfectly. At the time, sitting there with him was so simple and now it seemed as though there would never be enjoyment in anything again.

An unusual thought occurred to you as you admired it that night, for some reason you just wanted to touch his name sighed on the back. Maybe you just wanted to feel close to him when it felt like he was no longer even in the same world as you, maybe you had finally lost your mind.

You crawled across your bed and reached for it on the wall. Taking it off the hook and popping open the back of the beautiful frame, to your surprise when the back panel was removed there was a note shoved between the canvas and the frame.

Frantically, your fingers unfolded it as fast as they could to reveal Steve's adorable handwriting.

Sunflower,

If you're reading this, that means I've probably been gone from Greenwood for awhile. I'm writing this on your kitchen island the day I have to leave, you're at work right now so I'm sorry I snuck in. The second I'm done writing this, I'm going to hide it for you to find hopefully when you need it the most.

Did I have the courage to tell you that I love you in person before I left? If not, I'm sorry. Also, surprise! Loving and knowing you was one of the most privileged experiences I've ever been given the opportunity for, and I cherished every moment you were by my side. You made a colossal impact on some of the most painful, yet malleable years of my life. I'm not quite sure I'll ever be able to string together the proper words to express my gratitude, but I am incredibly grateful to have ever been yours.

I hope you're doing well, and I hope we did everything we could to keep you safe. Sometimes things get touchy, distance makes our minds wander and fill with doubt, but please know that no matter what happens, I'll never stop thinking of you. You're always on my mind, and that's something I'm in no rush to ever change.

You have forever friends in the Avengers, and the moment this all settles I promise you'll reap the benefits. Your kindness will come back around, you deserve nothing but the best, my love.

But in the meantime, if you need us. If you need me. If you need anything, I'll be there.

All my heart,

Steven G Rogers.

(678)-136-7092

(Ps; I don't care how long it's been, call me when you can. This phone line is just for you, sweet girl. If I don't pick up, I'll call back the second I can.)

You cried as you clutched that note to your chest and determined your mind had officially been lost. If you had found this just a few days ago, your phone would've been flying towards your hand as if it was the strongest magnet in the world, your fingers would type in the number and it would be ringing faster than you could've even read the note.

But that was not the case, because you had found it today. Today when you let the thoughts of his possible demise sit in your head just a little too long and allowed it to sink in as a real possibility. So now, if you called the number and there was nothing but a ringtone and being asked to leave a voicemail, you'd have your answer as to what happened to him.

You weren't ready for that yet. Every waking moment of every dragged out day felt like nothing but survival. At this stage in trying to get back up on your feet, anyone really needed to do their best to protect their hearts from more loss and more pain. So, you folded that paper back up and tucked it between the painting and the frame and hung it back up on the wall.

The very thought of calling him remained on the forefront of your mind and the center of your heart for almost one full month before you had a particularly good day.

A few of your employees expressed that they missed you and the bakery, so you opened the doors for them. You all spent hours baking with each other and finally decided it was time to reopen the doors for good. So you sat down and made the plan, wrote up a schedule, posted an opening date. You felt hopeful for the first time in a while, so you decided you'd call Steve once the reopening happened.

The week in between posting the reopening date and the actual opening day, major news outlets started reporting on Nice to be Kneaded, because Captain Americas favorite bakery is opening back up for business.

Turns out everyone wanted a bite of Steve's favorite sweets, and on opening day there was a line wrapped around the building and the parking lot was completely full before you even got there at 4 in the morning.

It was hectic therefore after. With only half the staff and an infinite line of customers, and news press constantly harassing you on the daily to try and interview you about your time with the Avenger, you found yourself exhausted constantly.

You baked overnights and all morning long to try and keep up with the demand, but not even a 50 to 60 hour workweek was enough to keep up with it all, it was just simply too overwhelming.

Understanding that you needed some time for yourself as to not burn out too fast, you took a night off. The night you were going to call Steve. 

You planned on it, you even got the note out, held your phone in your shaky hands for a while. You turned on your comfort show, sat on the couch and stared at the screen. You thought of that night when Steve came over and fell asleep on you, the first time you cuddled. You thought of maybe cleaning up a bit first, there were some dishes in the sink and your coasters were scattered along the table.

But after some pacing and mind work, you just had to do it.

You typed in the numbers one by one, took in a big shaky breath, then pressed call.

Each ringtone felt like a stab to your gut, and each one felt longer than the previous. Every second was like a big footstep through heavy mud, guiding you towards the answer you desperately needed.

Just as one ring stopped and another one about to sound, there was heavy pounding on your door. It made you fly up and out of your spot on the couch in absolute panic, phone landing on the rug below the couch.

You didn't even have time to make it to your front door to even answer the damn thing before it was busted open, and what felt like an entire army of big men in tact suits came rushing at you with weapons drawn.

Of course you knew what you did, you understood the crime you committed, but you also knew this was too much.

If the time ever came you were expecting a few cop cars, maybe even the FBI. But this? It was so terrifying and sudden that you fell straight to the floor. As they shouted out you to comply, all you could do was cover your ears and cry.

If there's one lasting impression your last partner made in your life, it was the fear of men. Especially big men shouting angrily and reaching for you.

Two men in unmarked black tact suits pulled you up by your arms while one watched, the other 6 surrounding with fully loaded weapons leaving red laser dots all over your body. The moment you were lifted onto your feet, the backs of your knees were kicked in, forcing a harsh landing onto the fronts of your knee caps into a kneel.

They all shouted so loudly and all over each other that you couldn't make out the words of any one individual in the room, nor could you hear them reading your rights to tell you they were going to hand cuff you.

Once your hands were cuffed behind your back, you were aggressively yanked up once more, than they all went silent except for who you assumed was the leader of whoever these people were.

He shouted at you to stop crying, and as they pushed and pulled you out of your house and towards an black unmarked van, he shouted at you to stop tripping over yourself. But the funny part was when you asked who these people were with, or where you were going and what they we're going to do with you, he was oddly silent.

As you stumbled over your own two feet with the barrel of a gun pressed into your spine and pushing you forward, you could feel an extra pair of eyes on you. So you looked up and across the way.

None other than Georgia, leaning over the railing of her front porch, mug of tea in her hand. She sipped it slowly like this was a form of entertainment. When your crying eyes met hers, she almost seemed happy to see you that way. 

You could tell she was the one who called to report you, you could see it in her small sinister smirk. All you could think of while they quite literally pushed you into the back of the van was that it was a shame that would be the last familiar face you'd see for a while.

The van doors were slammed shut, a guard in full scale armor and a helmet sat in the corner with a gun ready to go, and the lead guy pounded on the doors twice to signal it was ready to leave.

The only thing scarier than the arrest itself was feeling the van pull off the driveway, and knowing that somewhere inside your home was the result of a phone call you never got to know.

But the biggest shame of all? A voice you completely missed amidst the chaos echoing from where your phone fell below the couch.

"Hello?"

"Hello? Sunflower, are you there?"

"What's happening?"

Next Part: Courage

Tag List: @patzammit @bemysugarbean @buckymydarlingangel @happinessinthebeing @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @differenttyphoonwerewolf @themotherof10 @lokislady82 @talesofadragon @spikeluv84 @xxxalicerogersxx @Avid-fic-reader-05 @royalwriteroftheuniverse @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @bitchy-bi-trash @crazyunsexycool @openup-yourmind @selella @kattreffic @benedict-squirtle @magnificentsaladllama

Have any thoughts or theories? Head cannons or scenarios you want me to write of nomad Steve and baker reader? Submit them to my inbox! I’ll add them to the more fun stuff masterlist here!

[elysium-the-true-faceofsalvation]

Syouga's first trial MV- "Entertaining" (HalaCG)

What role am I playing? A fool or humbled girl?

The scenario looks to be some kind of black void. A table with a chessboard can be seen right in the middle. All of the pieces in the board are pawns and black, but an indigo colored pawn is at the far back of the board, completely alone. A red throne is right in front of the table, it’s mostly empty, except for an indigo colored masquerade mask sitting on it. Right beside the throne sits a set of clothes that would be usually worn by a ringleader in a circus.

What mask am I wearing? Does it cry or feel above the world?

A person appears walking through the void, their face isn’t visible, only a few strands of their black hair. That person walks up to the set of ringleader clothes and starts putting it on. Next up, the person grabs the mask sitting on the throne, and the camera changes to their POV as they put it on. The camera changes to their mouth, and a smirk quickly forms as their once black hair starts turning light red.

Stop comprehending The inner mind, the Id, my dear Keep on pretending And leave behind your crystal clear

The person then sits on the throne, revealing that they are Syouga. He looks down at the chessboard and starts smirking.

Narrate what you're feeling A play to believe in

Syouga slowly reaches down to the lone indigo pawn at the back of the board, placing it on the palm of his hand. He looks at it for a while, his expression becoming disappointed.

A monodrama staged as a genius No way to unweave this story, no

His expression quickly changes as he starts to smirk, he looks at the pawn one more time, and then he crushes it, breaking it like glass.

It's you beloved mask When I'm happy, you start screaming, screaming

The camera starts to back away from Syouga, and as it does so, the visuals start to become more distorted, starting to look like TV static. As the camera fully backs away, it reveals that Syouga was on a TV. Multiple people were watching him, and they started to become horrified when he broke the pawn. Some ran in panic and others just stood there in shock.

Through the looking glass Feeling crappy, you're just beaming, beaming

People started to run into the streets in panic. Syouga can be seen walking through the streets as well, and he’s still wearing the ringleader outfit and the indigo masquerade mask. The people don’t seem to be paying attention to him or even being able to see him.

Who is real elation sparkle? What's behind the act? Does it matter? Keep it entertaining

 Syouga walks over to a street lamp with a poster on it. It’s a missing person poster. And yet, it has no name or photo. In the place where the name should be, it has “Resident N.564”. In the details section it reads:

“Not much is known about this person, that’s why we need as much help as we can get. Please contribute so we can find this lost member of our community.”

Syouga looks at the poster and smirks, getting a red marker from his pocket and writing “Syouga Hara” over where the “Resident N.564” was. He then walks away with his expression obscured by his hair.

The scenario then completely changes as the chorus ends. A hand holding a phone can be seen. In front of them there’s a computer screen, nothing can be seen on it, but it’s on. In the phone, a conversation between two people can be seen:

XXX: “He didn’t come out of his room for days. Are you sure he’s okay?” YYY: “He’s a lost cause, don’t worry about him.” YYY: “It’s more likely that he may die of starvation than him getting his ass out and getting a job.”

The hand can be seen tightening around the phone, and then it throws it on the wall as the scene cuts.

A thousand faces in a thousand places Can you find the answer?

Now the scenario becomes once again the black void. Syouga can be seen holding the shards of the indigo pawn he broke on his hand. 

I am fated for the biggest stages My lines are pure of candor

The camera zooms in on the chessboard, all of the pieces are still black, but they are all scattered around the board now. Syouga then drops the shards he was holding at the middle of the board, the camera cuts back to his face as he starts smiling.

Who is what is why you're where? I'm the hero! Are you scared? Fireworks in brilliant colors Honest person undercover

The camera then cuts to a computer screen with a lot of messages from what it looks like to be a group chat, they read:

???: “Why doesn’t the police just arrest this Syouga guy?” ???: “Stop fucking around! We need to work together to find him!” ???: “I can’t believe one of our own went missing right under our noses.” ???: “Stop focusing on the culprit and focus on finding the victim!” ???: “This is a mess…”

Paper-paper masks cast away Blurred emotions saving face Take your notes on my prestige But that's not where this trick's placed

Syouga is then seen sitting right in front of the computer screen, smirking and still wearing the ringleader outfit and the indigo masquerade mask. He then stands up and walks up to the door and leaves the room the computer was in. As he does so, he snaps his fingers and is now back at the void.

What do you really know? Wrapped up tightly, where to go?

Strings start to appear out of Syouga’s fingers, and he wraps them around the chess pieces on the board. He just watches them dangling around the strings, until…

Not long now, I wrote this show Movement voice, what are we saying?

One of the pieces falls out of his strings, it was a pawn, and it slowly starts disappearing. As Syouga sees this, his expression changes to one of pure shock. Sweat starts falling off his face and his left eye starts twitching, and then the scene cuts.

It's you beloved mask When I'm happy, you start screaming, screaming

The scene changes to someone’s POV. They are watching a man walking on the streets. The POV person seems to be hiding behind some buildings, and as the man walks past them, they run up to him.

Through the looking glass Feeling crappy, you're just beaming, beaming

The scene then cuts to the POV person holding a knife while trying to stab the man from before. The man tries to resist, causing them both to fall to the floor, the POV person falling above him. They try to stab the man again, but he grabs their hand before they can do it and the scene cuts.

Who is real elation sparkle? What's behind the act? Does it matter? Keep it entertaining

The POV person is now seen running through the woods, as they look back, red and blue lights can be seen shining, and the scene cuts.

Do you love me?

The music slows down, and Syouga can be seen sitting on the red throne again. His outfit and mask still on him. He’s looking down, his expression unreadable. All of the pieces on the board have already disappeared, the only thing left on it are the indigo shards of the pawn Syouga broke.

Cursed little child In on the act and has been for a while

Syouga looked up to the board, his eyes falling on the broken indigo shards. He stands up, and gathers all of the shards. He starts to piece them back together, and soon enough, he is able to form the pawn again.

You think you don't like me

As he looks down at the restored pawn, his expression starts to become one of genuine anger. His teeth start to clench and he balls up his fist, and punches the pawn, breaking it again.

I'm intrinsic, the star, if you trust what you see

But this time, blood comes out of the pawn. He looks down at his bloodied fist. His left eye starts to twitch, but soon enough, he closes both of his eyes, and the screen starts fading to white.

A flickering image of someone sleeping on a bed can be seen, but their identity is unidentifiable.

It's you beloved mask When I'm happy, you start screaming, SCREAMING

Suddenly, Syouga’s eyes open, and he is now on a street, with multiple people looking at him in horror. He starts grinning from ear to ear.

Through the looking glass Feeling crappy, you're just beaming, beaming

The people try to run, but as soon as Syouga snaps his fingers, multiple of them break like glass. Syouga starts laughing, and the camera keeps changing between people Syouga breaks and him.

Who is real elation sparkle?

There’s no one in the street anymore, Syouga looks up at the sky and starts grinning. A tear falls from one of his eyes, his hand moves to the indigo masquerade mask he’s still wearing.

What's behind the act? Does it matter? Keep it entertaining

He gets a hold of the mask, and throws it up to the sky. As the mask starts falling down, Syouga is nowhere to be seen anymore, leaving the mask on an empty street. The camera starts backing away, and the visuals start to get distorted as static starts to appear. As the camera backs away completely, it reveals that this was on a computer screen. The screen turns off and the video ends.

[bolton-buried]

Here’s to an official second episode.

[[Video begins:

White text on a black background opens the video. It reads “Apologies for the quality of today’s video being substandard. Today’s subject was rather against being understood. —HB”

Then the video proper starts on a subway in the tube. Charlotte is seated next to Angie, in what seems to be an otherwise empty train car. Charlotte speaks, while Angie looks to be sulking.

“Today’s tip was from one of our patrons who requested to remain anonymous. A mysterious stop on the CIR route, that opens into a bustling junction that could rival Kings Cross. The problem? There seem to be no stairs to the surface, and none of the departing trains are real. We haven’t nailed down what causes this to manifest, but we’ll figure it out.”

The video recording distorts into static nonsense, before seeming to reform with a shot of a station. Angie and Charlotte have their backs to the camera, and Dez is right behind them. The recording is still imperfect and somewhat staticky.

Dez turns to the camera. “Do you remember getting off the train?” A pause, then he hums and starts to walk, moving as though trying to avoid running into people in a crowd. The rest of the team follows him. The footage fades to static again.

When it comes back into something recognizable, Angie is walking, facing the camera.

“Can you feel it? They don’t have souls. I can sense it, all these people…”

Harold responds, “Yeah, Angie, they probably don’t, but they also don’t have faces and I think that’s really the more important thing here. Just say your line.”

“It feels like we’ve been walking for hours, but every device here that should measure time, it, well.”

Angie lifts her phone to show the clock on the Lock Screen, which proudly displays that it’s 72 minutes past W.

The camera pans to Dez as he starts speaking, walking backwards to face it. Other than him, Charlotte, and Angie, the station appears to be empty.

“I think it’s fairly clear that we’re in some manifestation of the Spiral, maybe based in a kind of fear of getting lost in a subway system. They can be confusing, especially to a lot of people who didn’t grow up with them, so a manifestation that preys on that fear would make sense.”

Charlotte responds, not turning to face the camera and continuing to walk around invisible people.

"Sure, but there's got to be a way out. Otherwise how would we have gotten that tip?"

"That would make sense..." Dez trails off in thought. The video distorts out of visibility.

His voice rings through the static again before the video comes back.

"Hey, puddles, check this!"

The footage comes back in, Dez is facing the camera, pointing off screen.

"There's a... I swear, there was. Just a second ago."

As he talks, his face falls.

Charlotte speaks from off screen.

"There's a way to crack this. There has to be a way through. Nothing else makes sense."

Dez sighs.

"It's Spiral, it won't be making sense."

The tail end of his sentence falls to static. This time, rather than fading back in, it cuts to a talking head of Dez, sighing with his fingers against the bridge of his nose.

"I kept seeing those stairs out. Every time that no one else was looking, I'd see stairs back into sunlight, then it'd be gone once someone else turned to see. So I did what I do. I thought."

He straightens.

"We were in a manifestation of the Spiral, born out of the fear people have of losing their way and being unable to navigate an unfamiliar place. Between the four of us, with Charlotte's determination to find the way out, Harold's stubbornness that things have to make sense-"

"Hey!"

Dez continues. "-and Angie's beliefs that she has a higher understanding of things, I was the only one not looking for a way out. I wasn't afraid of losing my way, because I know that there isn't a way. It's the Spiral, it's not going to make sense. So I wasn't feeding into the fear."

Dez laughs brightly.

"I was giving the damn thing indigestion, and the stairs were it trying to spit me out. Took a while to get everyone out with me."

The video cuts back into the static. Charlotte is speaking.

"I found a map."

She opens it to the camera as it fades into view. The notation is not in any legible language, and there are so many pinpoints of different shapes and colors haphazardly arranged that it could be mistaken for a late Monet.

Dez's voice rings out over the light static.

"Okay, new game!"

Harold speaks from behind the camera.

"Hey, what are you-"

A light kissing noise cuts him off.

Angie, still offscreen, speaks next.

"My hair! I can't see."

"Don't touch it. Hold Harry's hand."

Dez steps on screen and pulls off Charlotte's glasses.

"You know I'm farsighted, what's that-"

"Hold Angie's hand in one hand, mine in the other. I'm leading now!"

The video fades back to static. Then Desmond cuts in as a talking head again.

"If they were blinded, that means they're not looking for a way out, so they're not afraid they won't find one. Makes sense? Not really, but it doesn't have to. If you find yourself in King's Uncrossed station, the exit is only there when you're not looking for it, so bear that in mind. Peace!"

It looks like the video is ending, but then the credits cut out, replaced by a room lit with pink LED lights.

Desmond comes on screen, holding the camera to himself.

“I don’t know why I’m putting all of these on the ends of the Hunting Hauntings episodes. I guess I never learned how to be someone without an audience. I would tell Harry, but. He’s been so happy lately, and I can’t take that from him. Anyway, brass tacks.

“I’m being followed. I see it. Everywhere. In the corner of my eye. In the shadows. If it’s another fear, it’s paranoia incarnate. A world away from the paranormalities of my past.

“I want to know what it is. I want it lain bare in front of me, but I’ll settle for the next best thing. I want it gone. And I see two routes for that.

“When Harold was 11, an avatar of the Hunt had his sights set, and he escaped by falling into a river—the Buried. Then later, when the girls were in that book—the Vast—Harry destroyed it by exposing it to the Buried’s energy. I may be able to escape my stalker by turning to another fear, but I can’t until I know which fear it is—otherwise I’d risk exacerbating the issue.

“The other way I see it is… risky. Harry’s dad is a hunt avatar who has killed multiple beings of the other powers. If I can get my stalker into the same place as him, I could retrigger his ‘wolf’ state, and he’ll kill the stalker for me.

“I’ll update with the next episode.”

End video.]]

[foster-the-moths]

u have some awesome dreams . give me them👁️ njkhdcjd actually tho of the three i remember u sharing it's interestign that all three involved you being some sort of whimsical creature (i'm counting altsar as a whimsical little beast he's very silly and fun to m e)

WOOO YEAH i love talking about my dreams they are so Strange um putting all of these under the readmore bc. they are so fucked up sometimes SJFLDJFLJSJF these ones are more horror oriented bc those are some of my favorite ones. i am just listing 4 for now, because this post got very long. i can post more of them later maybe. i have a LOT more but these are just semi-recent ones i can access easily.

warning for descriptions of body horror, gore, injury, death, and parasites (big maggot) and images of body horror and parasites.

1: had a dream a was a little victorian boy (like 3 or something) on vacation with my family and we were on a train but oops!!! we got on the demon train by accident. the conductor surgically removed all of the skin off my face, taxidermied it, sewed it back on, and then sent me to a shadow mirror realm for 18 years. i got back to the Real realm and it turns out it had only been 3 years for my family; but they had still all been distorted beyond recognition and made into worse versions of themselves. my father had turned into a weird goat man, my mother resembled a deep sea fish, and i couldn't remember what happened to my sister or brother. they also didn't recognize me because i had aged 18 years. the rest of the dream was me trying to reverse their transformations.

2: had another one in which i was trapped in an extra-dimensional liminal space that changed and grew as i explored it. It had video game physics which is always fun. when i walked there was view-bobbing and my hands were always visible in front of me, like a first person shooter. i could also sprint jump and b-hop and side sprint and stuff like that. there were also small creatures that latched onto me and tried to kill me, but my hands were extremely lethal (they caused instant burning pain to whatever they touched, and if i pressed my hands against a living thing it would 'melt') so i was able to fend them off. this meant i was basically unbeatable, but could still be hurt.

^this is vaguely what i looked like. i could only see my hands but i'm pretty sure the rest of me wasn't 100% human. i'll draw something better later maybe.

3. a more tame one i had recently was i got trapped in a fantasy video game by accident and ended up in a village that used pinecones as currency. so i had to grow pine trees. and then this other guy started growing saplings on MY farm plot and i was PISSED. he showed me his farming techniques though so i let him stay. time passed very quickly, each hour was a new season, so four hours was a 'year'. i did not realize the implications of this until about two weeks (about 80 'years') had passed. the npc villagers started aging and disappearing and the guy who i planted trees with turned to face me and his face was rotting away. he told me i took too long.

4. less tame one. I had a giant maggot parasite that replaced all of my organs and it tried to control me via telepathic mind battle?? but. i won the telepathic mind battle. so now i WAS the maggot. and i was piloting my own body with weird nerve things and instead of organs there was just a giant maggot in my abdomen but i WAS the maggot and i could feel myself inside of myself. it was like if you could feel your organs against the inside of your skin. incredibly unpleasant sensation. i had to hide the fact that i was a maggot because usually the maggot wins the psychic mind battle and kills people so if my doctors found out i had a maggot parasite in me they would kill me.

^diagram of parasite in the body. the red is the 'nerves' used to control the body. the brain of the host and parasite become merged, which is how i 'became' the maggot. the maggot could also like. climb up the throat and peek its head out of the host's mouth to maul people with its fangs.

[kuri-ejinn]

Everything was slightly distorted and muted as Kuri awoke. Though she opened her eyes, she was in darkness and for a brief moment she panicked until she realized the wood grain pattern of the floor she was laying on started to come into focus. She maneuvered herself into a seated position, albeit somewhat awkwardly as she found her hands tightly bound behind her back, and tried to take further stock of her surroundings.

A thin gap of dim light was visible a few feet from her, the only break in the darkness of the room. A door, she reasoned, and moved to her knees, then her feet to head in that direction, but Kuri immediately froze. The floor under her swayed in a familiar rhythm that in all other circumstances would be comforting, but coupled with her bound hands, it caused the memories she had buried to begin to climb to the surface. She urged one foot in front of the other until she was pressed against the door. 

The cold slab of wood against her cheek made the soreness that had been growing there flair up. When she moved her jaw, she found there was a hard object wedged between her cheek and gums. She freed it to feel it with her tongue and though she had a good guess as to what it might be, she had no way of utilizing it at the moment, so she tucked it away and went back to listening.

Voices sounded from the other side of the door, but she couldn’t make them out and the footsteps seemed far away. “Hello?” she risked and was rewarded with the sound of someone shifting in the hallway.

“Well, well, the Little Sea Monster is alive.”

The nickname hit Kuri like ice water. She stepped back quickly from the door, stumbling over herself and landing on her tail with a thud.

“I’ll tell the Captain yer awake.” Two shadows blocked the slit of light as the footsteps crossed in front of the door and continued down the hall.

“I never did see what the fuss was about.”

The man that stood over her looked like he barely had his sea legs. His companion looked to be his elder, but not by much.

“With what?”

“These xaela girls. There’s always talk about stoppin’ on the way back north.”

Kuri was doing her best to not pay attention. She stole a glance past them; they had left the door open. The hilt of a sword being shoved under her chin to raise up her face made her look back at the two men. She knew from experience to show no emotion, so she held back the snarl she wanted to make.

“It’s just business. People pay more now since Limsa is cracking down.”

“Yeah, but the Captain won’t take the risk anymore. So why this one?”

Run. If she could make it above deck, she could make it to the sea. Even with her hands bound, she could still make it. If not…a death beneath the waves was better than whatever awaited her here. Despite the desire to be free, her legs would not move. She remembered her attempt years ago, felt the deck splintering under her bare feet and the salt air burning her throat as she ran for the railing with all her might. 

She hadn’t been fast enough then, she wouldn’t be fast enough now. Kuri withdrew to her own thoughts as the two continued to bicker over their Captain’s choice of cargo.

The passage of time was unclear to her from being positioned in an interior cabin, but she knew they hadn’t anchored yet and that some hours ago, the sea had been anything but calm. She had also been brought three rations, which was her best estimate of days passing.

Kuri wedged herself into a corner of the empty room to keep from being tossed about when the waves got rough, but also to feel the solid wood bracing her shoulders. She picked a front corner, as close to the slit of light as she could get, but she knew it wouldn’t hold the shadows at bay for long, she could feel them building.

Near, medium, far, she reminded herself. Kuri tried to find the proper items to focus on, but the room was so empty. Boots, light, wall, she recited in her mind. 

As her gaze trailed to take in the far wall, there was movement from the nearby corner. Kuri pressed her eyes shut and shoved herself further back into the corner. A prayer, a song, a story…

It didn’t matter, they were already in the room. 

[starvingtongue]

Okay, I've been back on my bullshit with reading borderlands theories again. Specifically, this & this & like one short paragraph in this, that looks at if The Watcher projects their voice into Lilith's head (which got me wondering if The Watcher did only talk to Lilith cause she was the 'leader' at the time or the fact that she was a Siren and nobody else there was able to hear what The Watcher was saying? Is that a thing? Did Brick, Mordecai and Athena not hear what The Watcher said about the war coming?! Did nobody seriously tell Tannis about the The Watcher at the very least?) and it got my thinking.

What if The Watcher doesn't speak like a human? There's no visible indication that the more advanced Guardians we hear/see talk actually move anything when they're speaking and there's no visible indication that they have human vocal chords. The Watcher's mandible things don't move and their 'voice' is surrounded by whispers, both theirs and The Overseer's voice sounds kinda garbled, almost distorted like they're speaking through something, rather than through their own mouths. With the Eridians not intending for them to become sentient or to talk freely, they probably didn't intend to equip them with the same vocal chords that the Eridians themselves or humans would need to communicate with each other.

So if that's the case, what if The Watcher communicates telepathically with people? It would kind of explain the whispering that accompanies them, as it would be a by-product of them projecting their voice towards whoever their speaking to, and why their voice sounds somewhat distorted & garbled, because they're projecting their voice out of their own mind instead of letting it come up their throat and out their mouths like humans. The rest of the whispering? Either their thoughts in Eridian (which, lets face it, no human would be able to understand if it was & The Watcher's native tongue would be Eridian after all.) orrr the other Guardians they're linked to?

Considering whenever they've been seen on screen, they've always had these whisperings around, it leads me to believe that The Watcher's nearly always ready to start telepathically projecting their voice to someone. It gives humans at least some warning signal that they're there and willing to communicate at least. This whispering probably stops when The Watcher stops telepathically projecting her voice. Them being able to do this & stop bullets mid-air telekinetically lines up really well. Maybe they're a telekinetic based Guardian or something, ooo.

[royalclinic54]

Female Rhinoplasty - Give Your Face A Balanced Look

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The best age to finish female rhinoplasty medical procedure is the point at which the young ladies are in their mid-adolescents since the nasal bone can be modified without any problem. As a lady develops, her nose bone develops and the shape settles. The greatest advantage of female rhinoplasty medical procedure is that it works on the style of the whole face. People like to check even faces out.

An unbalanced nose can make a lady look revolting, distorted or exceptionally forgettable. With rhinoplasty medical procedure, ladies can finish adjustments to the extension of the nose, its tip or nostrils. Once in a while, Rhinoplasty is likewise used to modify the whole face look. The size of the nose can likewise be controlled to increment or decline with this medical procedure. For the people who have breathing issues, female rhinoplasty medical procedure opens the entries and permits an individual to inhale simple.

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A patient is encouraged to stay away from ibuprofen and different items that cause blood diminishing, increment the admission of nutrient enhancements, particularly L-ascorbic acid and E as well as iron enhancements. The night prior to the female rhinoplasty medical procedure, the patient ought to quit eating until after the medical procedure.

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[avillicit]

aight so… imagine you get pregnant but instead your partner just convinces you you’re just getting fat, because your appetite *must* have increased since your belly is getting bigger.

so they start feeding you bigger and bigger portions, to the extent that you never notice the pregnancy - since your belly is so smothered and encased in fat it hides the kicks and you never notice how pregnant you’re really getting…

see, i'm not into weight gain on its own, or to that level, BUT if i can tweak the concept slightly:

~

when i first notice my tummy is starting to stick out more, i don't pay it any mind. it's probably just because we've eaten out more often lately, i tell myself. but soon i'm not able to button my pants, and the firm swell of my belly is visible through most of my shirts.

i come to you, embarrassed and a little concerned about how much weight i've gained. you tell me it's nothing to worry about, and reassure me that you love my growing curves. i'm still a bit uneasy, but you pull me into your lap and rub my belly, whispering into my ear about how good i look with the extra pounds. the skin of my growing middle is so sensitive now, and your touch makes me moan. it's not long before i'm grinding against you, begging for more. by the time you're done with me, any anxiety over my weight gain has been pushed out of my mind.

my appetite increases over the next couple months. i'm ashamed of it at first, but again you reassure me. if i'm hungry, you reason, my body must need more fuel. it sounds sensible enough, so i let you pile more and more food on my plate at dinnertime. once or twice, you joke that i'm a "growing boy," and i blush, though it's not inaccurate. my belly seems to grow by the day, rounding into a perfect curve that stubbornly hangs out of all my shirts. i get a little thicker around my hips and thighs, too, but almost all of the extra mass goes to my middle. it isn't soft, like regular fat, either--it's really firm, and the skin on my stomach is taut and shiny. if that's unusual, though, you don't say anything about it. you worship my growing belly nightly, rubbing it, massaging oil into it, kissing it, and your attention is enough to keep me from being concerned.

when i feel the movements, i start to worry again. this isn't normal, i know it's not. i ask you to take me to the doctor, concerned i might have some sort of parasite. palming my belly, you tell me that everything is okay, that there’s nothing wrong with me. i start to protest, but you put a finger to my lips and bend down to kiss the roundest part of my tummy. you love seeing me get bigger like this, you say. it’s okay to gain weight. i’m so pretty at this size. i don’t really understand how weight gain would cause all these little squirming movements, but i nod. you know what’s best for me, after all. 

you go from enabling my growing appetite to actively encouraging it, telling me you want to see me swell further and further. i obey, eating whatever you put in front of me, wanting to get huge to please you. you’re constantly caressing my massive belly, and i can’t get enough of it. i’m so needy these days, but you indulge me, fucking me in every position that can accommodate my new body. my bellybutton pops, sticking out proudly and accentuating how round i’ve gotten. i’ve never seen someone get so fat that it made their bellybutton pop, but you seem to love it. people on the streets approach us to ask when i’m due, and the blush that spreads across my face when i say that i’m not pregnant, just chubby, drives you wild. 

idly, i still worry about how big i’m getting, but your affection and encouragement helps keep me at ease. i know it’s not normal for my belly to grow so round i have to buy maternity jeans, or for the movements inside me to get so strong that they visibly distort the surface of my stomach. sometimes, there’s an odd suspicion that i don’t understand, lingering in the back of my mind. i can’t quite figure out what it is. if you like seeing me get fatter, though... it must be okay, right? you wouldn't encourage me to do anything that’s bad for me...

seven or eight months after i first noticed the weight gain, i’m fucking huge. my belly forces my legs apart when i sit, and i’m so heavy now that i’m almost always sitting. it dominates my lap, poking past my knees. my gait has long since shifted to a slow waddle, and i have to hold my belly or place a hand on my back for support. i can’t be on my feet for very long. nothing in my closet comes close to covering my belly, and most of my clothes don’t even reach my navel. you’re almost as insatiable as i am, now, rolling me onto my side and massaging my swollen belly as you rut into me multiple times per day. 

i start to get strange cramps rolling through my stomach at random intervals. you tell me it’s nothing serious, and i believe you, so used to accepting your reassurance by now. you rub my belly when the pain gets too bad, and i bury my face in your chest, whimpering.

one day, when the pains are particularly bad, you command me to ride you. it’ll distract me, you say. i feel so heavy, especially since the curve of my stomach dropped lower seemingly overnight, and it’s a struggle to rock my hips into you properly. i pant with my efforts, my face and chest flushed red. suddenly, as i’m moaning through a particularly strong cramp, something... gushes out of me. i can feel liquid running down my thighs, pooling around the base of your cock and dripping onto the sheets beneath us. panicked and confused, i ask what happened--did i somehow wet myself?

you laugh. “no, darling,” you purr. “your water just broke.”

“i don’t understand,” i groan as the pain courses through me.

running your hands over my massive bump, you smile sweetly. “you’re in labor.”

“what? but i--nngh--i’m not pregnant!”

“of course you are,” you reply. “just look at yourself.”

i look down at my absurdly swollen belly, and it’s like i’m seeing myself clearly for the first time. i’m... pregnant. of course i am. how did i not know? gods, the maternity clothes... all of the people asking how far along i was... that nagging suspicion in the back of my mind... it all makes sense now.

“you... you knew? and you didn’t tell me?”

the smile on your face turns... darker somehow, more sinister. “you’ve always been such a good boy for me, putting your trust in everything i say. i wanted to see how far that trust went. if you’d realize i was lying to you, or keep believing me when i told you you were just gaining weight.” you roll your hips up, thrusting into me. proudly, you pat my belly. “and look how well you did--overdue with my babies, and you still trusted me every time i dismissed your concerns.”

i open my mouth to protest, to scream at you for manipulating me, but another contraction comes over me, and all i can do is moan as my womb visibly tightens. 

still fucking me as my boypussy contracts around your cock, you watch me grimace through the pain. “i can’t wait to see how this plays out.”

[reticent-writer]

Xiao x male reader

REWRITEN

Warnings: unaliving oneself

Chasm event Spoilers

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

"I can't.... Rex.... I'm losing...... Sorry Xiao"

Your distorted voice was heard through the chasm while the 5 we're looking for an exit after seeing bosacious.

"Xiao who is that? They said your name." Yanfei questioned but Xiao had an uncharacteristic look of shock before turning to them.

"He was the dendro yaksha. He earned the name phantom yasksha during the archon war. He was always there just never seen but once the war ended not even the yasksha could find him."

Xiao talked about you in the same way he talked about bosacious. He loved the memories he shared with you but all good things come to an end. He just wished they didn't end so quickly.

"I know who he is, the phantom yaksha, known for being the geo archons shadow. He was efficient and loyal. It was rumored that he disappeared because of a disagreement he had with Morax." Yelan said causing Xiao to nod.

"That's so sad. I wonder where he went." Paimon looked to aether who was looking at Xiao.

There was a moment of silence before the sky darkened as a scream erupted from behind Xiao.

Turning around Xiao saw you on the ground with your (choice of weapon) on the ground next to you while you were squeezing your neck in pain. Your veins were visible and roots from the ground were protruding your limbs.

"Y/n." Your head shot up at the sound with a look of fear.

"Xiao?" Your voice wasn't heard.

Said yaksha tried to get closer but you backed away. The vines moved with you.

"NO." You shouted and haistily stood up into a fighting stance with your weapon in hand. "your not supposed to be here. None of you are."

Xiao teleports behind you and take your weapon. Vines shot up wrapping around his neck, arms and legs restraining him.

"I'm already gone, but I don't want to stay here." You turn your back and walked behind the portal. You had become transparent and even though you were walking it looked as if you were floating gracefully.

When out of sight the vines disappeared.

Yelan was hot on your tail but when going behind the portal was your body was entangled into the ground on facing up. Your face held discomfort.

The sight barely shocked her as she called the others over.

"Is he DEAD." Paimon screamed taking refuge behind aether/lumine.

"Yes" Xiao said simply. Taking your body of the roots he held you tight.

"What is he to you? You seem close to him." Yelan was very observant with the few time they saw the phantom yaksha and Xiao.

It took a minute before he answered. "He is equivalent to what Mortals call a significant other."

No other words were shared as he put you on his back to take you to the surface.

*tiny time skip*

Once at the surface he took the traveler to pervacies resting place.

"I want to bury him here. I also wanted to take a rock in memory of bosacious but the rock did not make it."

When he placed your body on the grass you slowly melted into it. After your body was completely gone a beautiful tree sprouted from the ground. It's leaves had different colors and elements in them.

When the traveler touched them they heard voices of laughter or small visions of their lost loved ones, but for Xiao they held the memories of the fallen yakshas.

But one with you stood out.

You and him we on a mountain not far from the other yaksha.

"Xiao why do you have to so cynical all the time." You chucked. Placing a hand to his cheek. "I'm not. I'm simply saying I would die for you."

You had a deep blush on your face, placing you hands on your hips and turning towards the view of old liyue.

"That's what I mean. You don't have to protect me cause I'll be the one to protect you." It was his turn to blush. You laughed and hugged him.

"Xiao if something every happens to me.... Just know that I love you." He pulled away from the hug and kissed you.

"I love you too Y/n."

Even in death you wanted to show people happiness.

He missed you along with the other yaksha and it hurt him that he was the only was still alive.

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

[kiwipharmer]

Welcome

Some people have appeared to stumble across my blog in their pursuit to learn more about me, so allow me to break the ice here.

I have a very complicated past, I've gotten to draw out a little comic to help describe my experience a little better.

you can view it here. but if you prefer words then I'll start explaining to the best of my ability.

I am Ame. my name was an awkward typo of Amaterasu, which funnily enough ended up sticking. I am biologically male but I identify as female, and, as strange as it may seem, I do not have a face.

well, I mean I DO, but I don’t really identify with it... erm, let me just start from another place.

I’ve grown up with a lot of trauma that caused body dysphoria and Dissociation. In other words, i share my body and mind with another identity. however, It’s not similar to DID (Dissociative identity disorder) or OSDD (Other specified Dissociative Disorder) because I do not have amnesia or episodes of possession. Because of my body dysphoria, I am constantly disconnected from my body, taking on a form entirely separate from it all together as i watch and interact with my other identity as they control our body. 

In this sense, we both have a perception of the world that we observe simultaneously. two different perspectives going on in one body at the same time.

I am slightly capable of controlling the body myself, but only very minor things, like typing and playing video games. It’s more like puppeting than being in the body, because I mirror concepts in my own space in the world. Though, there are instances where i get too entranced into something I'm doing and end up inhabiting too much of the body, and before i realize it, I'm actually *in* the body controlling it.

 If i see our reflection or i look down at the hands when I'm in this state, my sense of self becomes distorted, and i start panicking and freaking out. I have to fully dissociate myself from the body at that point all over again to maintain my sanity. Its also because of this that I've considered myself mute, because in my dissociated state, i have already formed an entire identity, from body to voice. If I try to talk though the body, our voices sound too different, and my state of panic kicks in again.

So I am perpetually disconnected from our body. Hence, why i say i do not have a face. 

well.. I do, but its not visible. the “me” that I see is only one that I can see, I do my best to draw and describe myself to people, but at the end of the day, I exist more as a concept of a person rather than a real person.

And yea... I’m sure some would chalk it up to delusion, or role playing, or denial.

rejection, schizophrenia, etc. There is a plethora of things people can say about me. and they’re all free to believe what they want. You’re free to believe what you want about me.

but I am me. regardless of what people think otherwise. When i look at myself, when I perceive myself, I see something that is me. And that is all I want to be.

No, I will not transition. It is not my body alone. I share this body.

No i will not seek help to be “normal”. Normal is subjective, and its not something I'm interested in.

No, I will not sit down and let you try to convince me otherwise of any part of who i am. I’ve done enough of that already.

This is who I am. And I am going to finally be free to be me.

the me who doesn’t fit in anywhere.

the me who does whatever she wants without a dam what you think.

the me, who lives for me.

and that's it. Thanks for reading. There's plenty of “me” in this blog, so feel free to browse if you’re curious.

or not. Most people don’t actually read that far. This is more for me anyways, so I can finally move on from the redundancy of explaining who I am to people.

[delusionaid]

It's late, but bent over his desk fixing up one of his insect boards Tighnari doesn't notice how quickly time goes by. There are several specimen that need new labels, one that needs to be replaced entirely as he finally found a replacement in pristine condition and two that, after some contemplation, need to be placed on another board entirely due to a change in their classification. It's only when the lamp in front of him flickers and the shimmering bugs and crystalflies are dipped into darkness for a moment that Tighnari looks up to see that the day has turned to night outside his window.

It would explain the ache in his back and his dwindling concentration even though he is not usually tired until much later in the night. Staying up long is not a rare thing for a Forest Watcher - particularly this one. Some things simply need to be done after dark.

Tighnari stretches his arms over his head to loosen his tense muscles when a sound outside makes his ears perk up. Footsteps, heavy, dragging footsteps, the kind you'd expect from a drunk person - or someone wounded. He stills and listens. They're close and coming closer, and before they reach his front door he's already up on his feet to cross the room. He knows; somehow he knows - by the sound of his breath, the way his feet hit the ground even in this distorted way, by the smell of his blood. Cyno barely knocks once before Tighnari opens the door, his throat dry with growing unease. The General almost falls into his arms and Tighnari catches him just in time despite his surprise.

"Cyno!"

Without wasting time Tighnari drags Cyno over to the chaise and helps him lie down on it, which isn't an easy thing considering Cyno seems to be no fat and all muscle. He removes his headpiece and weapon, which he somehow still holds on to, and quickly checks the wounds on his torso, his eyes, his pulse, his breath. "Can you hear me? Cyno?" he asks while his eyes and hands roam over his friend's body, an urgency in his movements that betrays his usual calm. This isn't just any patient, this is Cyno. His Cyno. He needs to make this right. "Can you tell me what injured you like this?" he asks despite not having received a reply to his previous question. Looking at the wounds more carefully Tighnari checks for signs of poison or corruption but it appears like clean cuts caused by a weapon or perhaps talons. They're deep enough to worry him but at least he won't have to fight the effects of an unknown poison wreaking havoc in Cyno's veins.

He leaves him for a moment and walks around the room, gathering a few things he bundles up in his arms to carry them back to Cyno. His instincts tell him to panic, to give in to his fear amplified by the strong scent of Cyno's blood so prominently drowning out everything else in the house, but Tighnari forces himself to focus. He cleans the wounds as best as he can, applies a balm that's meant to stop the bleeding and ease the pain before carefully covering the cuts in bandages. It's not his best work but it'll do until morning.

"You'll be okay.." he says quietly while dipping the cloth he brought into the bowl of fresh water to wipe the sweat and sand from Cyno's face. He does the same to his hands and feet, listening to the way Cyno's breath evens out a little bit. Placing the cloth down Tighnari moves to sit on the chaise beside him. He hasn't been around much lately; things have been.. tense, and Tighnari knows why. He almost wishes he didn't, wishes things like that didn't affect relationships so easily. Part of him also wishes people would sometimes just mind their own business. Why did it matter what they were to each other? Whose business was it but their own?

'They even have a daughter together.'

For a moment Tighnari's breath hitches. He remembers the way his heart jumped when he heard that comment, the way his cheeks turned hot and all that saved him in that moment was that he knew he doesn't visibly blush. He remembers denying all of it so quickly Cyno didn't even have a chance to say his piece. Not that it mattered - what could he possibly have said than the same thing in different words? They are just friends.. right? Close friends - perhaps something more than that. Companions of sorts.. a space of safety and comfort within another person; souls meant to find each other and journey on toghether.

There is a word lingering in the depths of his mind but Tighnari does not dare to think it. It's dangerous to think of your friend like that for once it's in your mind, it's hard to unsee. Cyno is radiating warmth, perhaps a little too much, but the bandages on his chest seem to have stopped the bleeding. The smell of it is still in the air but it's partly covered up by the herbal balm and Cyno's own scent that Tighnari always found comfort in. He's found comfort in everything Cyno has offered him - his friendship, his calm, his courage, his loyalty. It's a comfort he doesn't want to imagine living without, even struggles to do.

"Please wake up," he whispers all of a sudden, his fingers gently curling around Cyno's arm. "I need to tell you something.."

invincibleNever trust anyone. Push everyone aside. 

That has been his life philosophy for a very long time. Exposed to the cruelty of the world, Cyno learned not to trust a single soul. Sooner or later, he would be backstabbed. Therefore, he always ran away from feelings of attachment. He couldn’t compare his life with his present. He felt himself softening little by little as the days spent on Akademiya turned to be brighter. Now he had a reason to come back, someone to call a friend and someone to put all his faith and feelings on. It’s complicated. To describe what he truly felt. Not really scared to admit it might fondness or even love. From the very first moment he found him, using his job as excuse to simply come closer. It’s been years already since that encounter, and now, he is proud to say he has found a family of his own.

Nonetheless, certain situations do leave marks on his mind and heart. Cyno doesn’t really have a place to call a home. His position as General Mahamatra makes him travel across the desert a lot, going back to Sumeru city and reporting back at Akademiya. It’s a tiresome job, unable to settle down at one single place as he has to set up camps to stay for days. Sometimes he returns to the city with Cyrus, there are other times in which Candance offers him a room at Aaru Village, but his favorite place to stay is definitely at Tighnari’s, even if the trip is long and the weather conditions are completely different from what he is used to. Being solely in the presence of the ranger is enough for him to appreciate the little details and gifts in life. It’s been months since that day, when a few of the forest rangers pointed out how they behaved as a couple. ‘They even have a daughter together!’ Awkward. Yet, real. They were raising Collei after all, assisting her and over all, acting as those parent figures she needs. They were inseparable too, caught in flirting attempts and soft touches that might give the wrong idea to the others. And it’s fine. Cyno never bothered in correcting anyone, but the reaction he got from Tighnari’s that day is still imprinted on his memories, leading him to react the same. 

‘No way, we are just friends!’ Ah. It hurt. But he had other things to deal with at the moment. 

Why is he thinking about this right now? He finds himself coughing, taste of iron blood in his mouth as he walks through the heat of the desert. His body hurts, he is thirsty, his mind is slowly getting blank as the wounds of his skin are open. A miscalculation, but not a situation that could defeat him. Though, sometimes he forgets he is not invincible. Triggered in survival mode, Cyno is unable to identify when exactly he is able to see the forest. He finds himself in front of the familiar door, knocking on it as he waits to be attended. 

“Nari…” He mumbles, voice coming out faintly as his palm reaches to touch the other shoulder, pulling him into a hug. He is safe to collapse now. 

@delusionaid​ && tighnari

[nevertheless-moving]

Suicidal Misunderstanding X

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

Part I - - - - - Part II - - - - - Part III - - - - - Part IV - - - - - Part V - - -  - - Part VI - - - - - Part VII - - - - - Part VIII - - - - - Part IX

“I realize this is incredibly difficult,” the Nautolan Soul Healer said calmly. “But in order for us to help Obi-Wan, we need to determine the cause of his current disconnection with reality. Based on the drug panel, and convenient surveillance, we have, to the best of our ability, ruled out temporary psychosis brought on by a drug interaction.”

Cody stiffened further, not sure how to react to anything anymore. When a brother tried to end his own life, it was usually obvious why.

Sife Aerdo continued on. “There have, of course, been cases of Jedi Seers giveing into their fears of the future, or losing their sense of reality, but every case study involving such an extreme reaction was the result a gradual degradation over the course of many years. Nevertheless, it seems clear that Obi-Wan experienced a vision, and it may have impacted his breakdown to some extent. The more we know, the more successful any attempts to convince him of reality will be.”

Bant furrowed her brow in thought, trying to replay three decades of increasingly vague discussions of nightmares.

”Considering the high profile nature of his position, we cannot rule out some kind of psychological attack, perhaps even a darksider incursion.

Anakin leaned forward intently, the inside of his skull buzzing with white noise.

"All that being said, we must be prepared to treat Obi-Wan’s self harm as the  culmination of a long and quiet mental health struggle. He would not be the first in the Order to disguise such a thing with durasteel self-discipline.”

At that, Bant and Mace took a moment to release their feelings to the force, while Anakin raised his shields defensively.

Master Aerdo finally hesitated, before continuing in the same smooth tone. “I would ordinarily prefer to structure this kind of conversation quite differently- allow Obi-Wan time to share his feelings first and invite you each separately to support him in the healing process. But he’s gone from fighting sedatives and force compulsions as though the fate of the galaxy depended on it, to a self-induced coma. All while barely lucid, yet still somehow maintaining Master Class mental shielding. We need to get a better understanding of his mental landscape if we’re going to even begin the process of treatment."

It is necessary to note that everyone in that room had led, in one way or another, a somewhat miserable life. This was the main reason none of them could claim that the next five hours were the worst they had ever experienced. 

“But he’s always had terrible sleeping habits.” Anakin said hoarsely.

“Yes, but I think they got worse after Qui-Gon passed,” Bant argued, not sure what point she was making. 

“When I pointed out he couldn’t be getting more than three hours a night he told me that he could manage on meditation” Cody offered irritably.

“That’s technically true,” Mace confirmed. “If the Master in question is well-balanced otherwise”

“So its like his eating habits, crushing responsibilities, and repeated exposure to violence, then? Completely fine for a Jedi, in less it’s not, in which case it’s a major red flag?” 

“I think it would help to establish a timeline.“

Aerdo actually dredged up old mission reports, leading to the group reluctantly contacting Ashoka for her memories of Mortis.

At her Master’s insistence, she told them everything she remembered, hazy as it was, nervously elaborating on her own memories of falling. To her confusion, Master Windu all but brushed past that, assuring her that the important thing with stepping into darkness was the choice to the return to the light. Anakin bizarrely agreed with Windu. Out loud. Unnerved by the cooperation more than anything, she put her holographic foot down and demanded to know what was going on. 

Anakin took the comm-link into a separate room to speak privately.

Upon return, he informed the group (with a visibly red and puffy face) that Kit would be escorting her back from Mount Cala cleanup early, daring anyone to disagree. Windu nodded and the conversation continued on.

Together they rewatched holo-footage of Obi-Wan laughing amongst Ghost company the night before last, and debated reports from psychometric investigators who had scoured the cantina as well as Obi-Wan’s personal quarters for traces of illicit substances. Between that and another drug panel, they were finally forced to conclude that despite the timing, the alcohol at most confused Obi-Wan’s perception of a vision, or possibly simply loosened his tongue.

Bant prodded Cody to repeat every word from the holocar ride to the temple, taking furious notes. Cody was unable to stop the heat that crawled up his face.

Just when the looming horror of Obi-Wan actually preparing to intentionally die started to break over Anakin, Windu interjected.

“You don’t see what I do,” the Harun Kal said grimly. “Something galaxy-sized shattered around Obi-Wan and he didn’t break from it. The closest comparison I have is Master Yaddle’s presence when she meditated on her confinement. He’s chosen to keep going, even when, quite frankly, death would be a release. We’re missing something fundamental.”

“He said there were ‘other dark forces at work.’ Even if the fight was objectively hopeless... there’s no way he would choose to die because of it!” Anakin agreed vehemently, shaking off morbid fears.

“But he did choose to die.” Cody said quietly. And the wind went out of Anakin’s sails.

“Lets go back.”

Anakin gritted his teeth as they picked apart everything ‘unusual’ Obi-Wan had said and done leading up to his visit with Bant.

“What exactly did he...”

“So Plo Koon was able to get a read through his shields?”

“Did he have anything to eat?”

“How did that compare to...”

“When he's mentioned things in the future...did it seem good or bad to you?” Bant asked.

“Bad.” Cody and Anakin said in unison. Remembering the trip to the temple Cody spoke again, “Definitely bad.”

“Right. When we were talking he sometimes used the wrong tenses for things, people. I confronted him on not knowing ‘when’ he was after Knight Skywalker left. He told me that he knew what was real, but he was “enjoying not fully living in the moment” he also said that he intended to “wake up”

“Enjoying? That’s the exact word he used?” Cody asked incredulous. 

“He did seem...mostly happy yesterday. Giddy, at points.” Anakin said, slumping in on himself.

Bant looked at her notes once more before addressing the group.

“This isn’t vision psychosis in any manner I’ve heard of before...but I think I might have a theory. He used to have intense visions when we were kids; plenty of us did sometimes, but Obi-Wan would be unable to sleep after. What terrified him more than anything was the uncertainty that he might make the wrong choice- even when the vision was about something good, or neutral. His visions gradually stopped coming around puberty. We just had a conversation about this a few months ago- how relieved he was to only have to manage flashes of precognition. If he had a random, horrifying vision of a terrible future...suicide wouldn’t be his reaction. It’s too final.”

“Even if he blamed himself for what he saw coming?” Mace asked.

“Especially if he blamed himself.” Bant said. 

“What’s your theory?” Aerdo prodded.

“What if...what if he was telling the truth when he said he could separate out what was real and what was not? What if there was no distortion or blurring between now and then? What if he was just wrong about which was which?”

“That...would be a very extreme and abnormal manifestation of force-induced psychosis. He has training in distinguishing reality from visions. The continued presence of his mental shielding means that the fabric of his mind can’t be so horrifically collapsed in on itself.” 

“What if the vision was actually that realistic?” Bant said, pushing back against the soul healer. “So detailed and vivid that it effectively was a reality in itself, and everything else, all of us...”

“Were just memories” Anakin finished. “It would...actually explain pretty much everything. You said he wanted to wake up and when...when I found him.” He stopped, swallowing. “When I found him, he argued with me...what if he wasn’t trying to hurt himself? If you’re right...that would mean I found him trying to get back to reality.”

“It could explain his behavior in the halls...his desperation to wake...” Sife mused “But it runs counter to every other experience I’ve had with those managing prophetic visions. Master Windu, could that explain the shatterpoints you saw?”

“I’m not certain. It would have to have been extraordinarily real to create the echos of Shattering I witnessed. I don’t know if that depth of vision has occurred before, but then again, many things are possible in the force.”

“You really think he might have been...trying to wake up from dream? By killing himself?!” Cody asked incredulous.

“If that ends up being what happened I am going to give him such shit. That is the worst way to end a vision.” Anakin replied.

“Yes. It is.” Bant said pointedly. “That’s why it’s a last resort, after every other attempt to wake fails.” 

They all sat in silence, processing various implications. Cody was unnerved by another terrifying insight into force powers, as well as the idea that the General might vividly remember Cody being inexplicably mind-controlled into trying to kill him. Anakin was trying to understand what this would mean for them, and the conversations he had thought they had had. Did...any of it count, if he thought he was offering it to a hallucination?

“Alright, this is a valuable working idea, but let’s make sure to examine everything with an open mind before we draw any more conclusions. Anakin, what happened after you left the healers office?”

Obi-Wan’s critique of the practicalities of visiting a soul healer could be and was interpreted multiple ways. The incongruity of peacekeepers in war sparked a rehash of earlier discussion. More apologies. Self identifying as ‘crazy’ inspired new debate, especially in the context of the new theory. 

“When I saw him enter the fountain room I assumed he had had a brutal run-in with  dark force user.” Windu explained. “Based on everything we’ve gone over, I don’t understand when...but some of the more insidious sith compulsions work by taking whatever small anger or hurt you feel and magnifying them until they consume you. If Obi-Wan was already experiencing self loathing...”

Cody sucked in a breath. “Then a Sith mind suggestion would bring him to commit suicide. It...sounds like something he might do, if he was partially in control. Take the blow rather than let himself be used as a weapon against anyone else, even his worst enemy.”

“Hells, it could have been an even vaguer compulsion, driving him to attack the person he hates the most,” Bant added darkly.

Anakin buried his head in his hands, trying to hold it together. He couldn’t afford to lose control or get angry. Hells, getting angry at Obi-Wan for ‘failing him’ when in pain could be the reason Obi-Wan was currently in the healing halls. The man said he loved him unconditionally, then practically had a breakdown over how much Anakin pushed that unconditional love to the breaking point, then killed himself. How was he supposed to-

“Anakin? Are you alright to continue?” someone said.

“Yes. No. There’s more I have to tell you...I don’t know if it will help but - it was hurting Obi-Wan...I...”

“Let’s just take it one step at a time. What happened after you left Mace?”

Apparently even Cody somehow knew more about Bruck Chun than Anakin. Master Windu and Eerin told different sides of the same sad story, which spiraled back into a conversation about Obi-Wan’s inadequacy issues, which somehow devolved into a long rant about Qui-Gon Jinn that Master Windu had apparently been holding back for years. 

“My apologies.” He said afterwards, clearing his throat as the group stared, taken aback. “Old grievances. Go on Anakin, what did happened after you got to the ‘secret spot.’”

“He...was skirting around whatever was bothering him...I pushed him...told him I wanted to help...he said I couldn’t...because it was me...because of what I...”

Anakin stood up suddenly, feeling the walls of the room closing in.

“I’m sorry- I’m sorry I-” 

He ran out.

He turned around almost immediately, pacing in the small corridor, knowing he couldn’t leave, simply needing a minute to catch his breath.

Master Windu followed him out after a moment, not saying anything, just standing there. Watching him.

“What!” Anakin finally snapped. “What do you have to say that I don’t know already!”

“Knight Skywalker-”

“Don’t call me that! I DON’T DESERVE-” 

Anakin let out a frustrated snarl, punching a wall. The crumble of stone beneath this fist briefly made him feel better, but then he remembered Obi-Wan’s heartbroken expression in the light of an underworldly glow, and the tiny, choked sound he heard when the healers moved him and Anakin just...collapsed, falling to his knees.

Master Windu sank down gracefully beside him.

“Anakin. This isn’t about attachment issues, is it.”

“Not really, no. I mean, maybe you’ll blame attachment but it’s more about...”

“Anger.”

Anakin looked up at that, trying to regain the meditative calm he had felt for a glimmering moment yesterday, right in-between making peace in the cave and everything burning to ash. 

“You know that I have had my own struggles with anger. It is how and why I came to develop Vaapad.” 

“Yes, but you’ve Mastered your anger. And you’ve never...never given in to hate.”

A beat passed and Windu watched some of Skywalker’s familiar breaking points flicker into view. 

“You’ve done something. Something you know the Jedi won’t forgive.”

“Obi-Wan forgave me.” Anakin said, whispering. “He said that even though I couldn’t fix what I did he loved me anyway and I just needed to...to honestly regret what I did and not do it again. I told him I’d get rid of my lightsaber and I meant it and...I thought he forgave me. I was ready to go to the Council with him, come clean about everything. And then I left him alone to get dinner and when I came back...he was holding my lightsaber. My lightsaber.” 

Anakin buried his face in his hands, shuddering with creeping cold.

“I’m not going to critique your and Obi-Wan’s attachment to each other right now. I’m well aware that much of the order has turned to personal ties to maintain their stability given the ongoing horrors of war. I am, for many reasons, wary of the risks this brings us, yet it is also true that risks do not automatically mean failure. I myself have mastered my emotions in a different manner than conventional wisdom councils.” 

Windu spoke carefully. For all that he and Anakin had similar relationships with the force, they rarely saw eye to eye on any given subject. At a certain point, Mace had accepted that the volatile young man was determined to find the worst possible interpretation for anything he said. And Mace was not the order’s most patient diplomat.

“As for your crime, whatever it is, l will tell you this: Unless you choose to renounce the code and leave our number, you will be treated as a Jedi Knight, subject to our protections, as well as our judgement. You will receive appropriate mental counseling. If you are judged to be a danger to those around you, your actions will be curtailed and monitored, possibly through temporary confinement.  The Jedi do not believe in punitive measures for their own sake, but you may be required to provide restitution to those you harmed, perhaps indefinitely. 

Silence hung perilously between them. Windu watched a tremor run through the unfathomable kaleidoscopic of shatterpoints that had orbited Skywalker since he was a boy. A small one broke inward, and an attached tangle of larger, darker ones fell away, crumbling to dust. The rest faded from view, invisible for the moment. A choice had been made, some decision that closed off at least one path to the darkside.

“There’s no one to make restitutions to.”

“...You’re going to have to elaborate on that.”

“Let’s go back inside- I don’t want to do this twice.”

They returned to the increasingly hated meeting room.

Anakin spoke in an outpouring of words about love and hate, about misplaced revenge and now uncertain forgiveness. When he finally finished, the room was deathly silent.

The three Jedi sat quietly while Cody pinched the bridge of his nose. “I guess this is why Jedi have the no attachment rule, huh? I admit I never really got it, but I suppose even if I-”

Bant abruptly lunged up, fumbling to bring her lightsaber to Anakin’s neck. Everyone jumped to their feet, except for Anakin, who stared at Bant with a wretched expression.

“MASTER EERIN! This is not-”

“Did you do it?” she asked, ignoring the Master of the Order.

“Bant!”

“It was my first thought after I saw him. We all rushed in expecting a fight, or a bomb, only to find you, insane, and him with a hole next to his heart. I didn’t want to believe it of course, but you’ve always had a violent streak that Obi-Wan, force help him, couldn’t quite soothe away. A fight gone wrong. Master Windu said it was suicide, and I believed him, and I’ve been trying to make sense of that ever since. But Mace found you after, didn’t he? After you felt guilty? Did you think he was going to turn on you?”

“Bant Eerin, you are dangerously-”

“No.” Anakin whispered.

“Obviously I might be why. But I didn’t- I couldn’t. I know I’m not good but I can’t even imagine- holding a saber against him like that. Kriff, do you not get how much I can’t handle losing people I love? I was insane when you saw me because I saw someone trying to kill Obi-Wan and I couldn’t even fight them.”  

Bant held his gaze for several lingering seconds, deactivated her saber and dropping it with a clatter. They stared at each other, breathing heavily and not blinking. She returned to her seat, moving jerkily. “I apologize Knight Skywalker. That was uncalled for.” 

“I wish I could say I wouldn’t have done the same thing in your shoes” he responded lowly. Bant made a tiny, unintelligible noise in reply. 

Cody collapsed back into his chair, holstering his blaster.  “Alright then...so after you finished sitting in the fountain room...what happened next?”

Everyone stared at him.

“What?”

“You’re handling Anakin’s confession somewhat dispassionately. We’re simply surprised.” Mace said slowly, returning to his seat at the same time as Master Aerdo fell into theirs.

Cody shifted uncomfortably. “The vod were trained in a wide range of enemy suppression tactics. While we’re extremely glad the Jedi have never asked us to employ them, I’m not...unfamiliar with this scale of deliberate slaughter. At least in the hypothetical, sir.”

“I see.” Aerdo said. “That is a valuable insight to have, thank you. Knight Skywalker-”

“Just...call me Anakin. Or Skywalker.”

“Anakin. When did this happen?”

“About two years ago, immediately before the First Battle of Geonosis.”

“And have you had any similar experiences with giving into the darkside since?” they asked placidly.

“I don’t think so but...we went to war the next day and....I don’t know if I’ve stopped fighting since it- since I did what I did.”

“Hmm. Anakin, would you mind stepping outside the room and waiting in the corridor for a moment please?” 

He bit his tongue, tasting blood, and quietly walked out the door while the Masters decided his fate. He leaned back against a wall, desperately wanting to see Padme. 

To his surprise, the door opened barely a few minutes later, and he was politely invited back in.

“Anakin.” Master Windu spoke. “Thank you for telling us this. It’s an important insight into Obi-Wan’s feelings right now, and I recognize that you could have kept it a secret. As Head of the Order, and with the advice of a Senior Soul Healer, I have made a decision. You will be assigned a personal soul healer, who you will start seeing tomorrow. Commander Cody pointed out that over nearly two years of continuous warfare, you have maintained some of the the lowest trooper casualty units of any division, by a significant margin if we evaluate based on mission risk level. Your civilian and enemy casualties will be reviewed, but even considering constant war, since your massacre of the Tuskens, you have clearly managed to at least... direct your violence away from the innocent. We do not consider you a threat to the inhabitants of the world. For the time being, I see no real benefit to limiting or tracking your behavior within the temple or on planet, but you are barred from leaving orbit. I have decided to delay a full reckoning before the council until such time that your former Master is well enough to provide his own opinion. Give me just cause, and I will have you confined to a force-suppressing cell. Do you understand?”

Anakin nodded, bowing in acknowledgment. All things considered, it was...honestly better than he expected.

“Now, as Cody” Windu paused. “My apologies, as the Commander was saying-” 

“Cody’s fine, sir” Cody said, wrung out in a way different from anything Kamino had trained him for.

“...I think we can all consider ourselves on a first name basis at this point.” Bant said with a snort. She paused. “That includes you Anakin. I really don’t know how to handle what you did but kark it, I don’t want to hate you. For myself.”

Everyone nodded.

“As Cody was saying, what happened next?”

Peace. Comfort. Hunger. A warning in the force...

-

“I tried to pull the saber back but his finger was already on the igniter...” 

“You probably saved his life. Even a second later-”

“I know, that’s almost the worst part.”

-

“-his neck”

“Why would he change weapons?”

“What if-”

-

“He said what to you and Healer Che?”

“That has to support the detailed vision idea, think about-”

“I’m sorry, Emperor?”

-

“I think we’re done.”

Anakin stared blankly at Sife. “But we didn’t figure anything out.”

“Not conclusively, but we’re unlikely to make any more progress, you’ve given me enough information to preform a meaningful meditative scan, or guide a conversation, should Obi-Wan wake, or navigate through his mind, should we decide to make a more decisive attempt at his shields.”

“Master Aerdo... I leave the final judgement up to you, but I strongly urge you to make a more decisive attempt. I am more convinced now than I was...” Mace glanced at the chronometer “five hours ago that this was motivated by a specific, external stimuli, likely dark. Do you disagree?”

“No.” they said with a sigh. “But I don’t want to underestimate how much underlying factors might have contributed to his response to stimuli, including underlying factors that none of you were aware of.”

The Nautolan Soul Healer stood up, tucking their hands into their sleeves to address the room with classical Jedi serenity. It was a little irritating.

“In any case, we all need to sleep, eat, and meditate. Master Eerin, you have the rest of the day off, I've cleared it with Master Che already. Master Windu, I leave the final judgement up to you, and I am aware that your duties as Master of the Order are unceasing, but I urge you to take some time to center yourself before returning to the council. Commander Cody, I would be more than willing to arrange soul healing for you or any of the Vod, please let me know. Anakin, you will receive a comm later today with further details on your future healing sessions. 

They bowed low, then glided out the door.

Bant stood next, bowed individually to each soul, and sped walked out.

Commander Cody cleared his throat awkwardly, “Mace- what should I tell the troops? We’re supposed to have command briefings later tonight.”

“If anyone asks about General Kenobi, tell them its classified.” I’ll schedule a briefing on the subject. Now go find Captain Rex and take care of yourself, that’s an order.”

Cody saluted, first to the high General, then to Anakin.

Finally it was just Mace and Anakin.

“Is there anyone who you trust who I can call to stay with you.” Master Windu asked.

“I can manage on my own” Anakin replied, not willing to give the Master of the Order anything else he could use against him, even after everything.

Master Windu held back a sigh.

He continued once more, making a deliberate attempt to soften his tone. “Anakin- I know we’ve had our differences, but this is not a trick, nor a trap. You’ve suffered a series of great shocks in the last 24 hours and handled them with immense maturity. I myself am struggling to deal with the emotional fallout.”

Anakin looked up at that, surprised. He didn’t seem to be struggling, but maybe that was what made him a good Jedi Master...

“As I told you before, I am not going to begrudge you the comfort of attachment. I’m rather convinced it would do you more harm than good at this point. I don’t want you flying right now, and you don’t have to be alone. I hope we have come to a better understanding today, but I doubt my presence is suddenly a comfort, though please correct me if I’m wrong. Now is there someone I can call?”

-

Padme ended her call with Master Windu extremely discomfited. She had barely heard from Anakin since he ran out on her the night before last to take care of an apparently extremely drunk Obi-Wan. He had messaged her a few times that night, promising to make it up to her, but had been comm-silent since. She had been starting to get worried, and now the Master of the Order was asking her to pick him up from the temple. Fortunately, she had already cleared most of her meetings for the week well in advance (Courascant leave usually meant THEM time, not that she was jealous of Obi-Wan, of course).

The speeder ride back from the temple was silent. All Anakin would say was that he would explain everything once they were in ‘a secure location.’ 

The door to the apartment had scarcely closed behind them when Anakin fell into her arms, shaking.

“Anakin, talk to me love, what’s wrong?” She gently guided him to the couch, arranging him so she could hold him protectively.

“Obi-Wan tried to kill himself.”

She let out a harsh gasp, “No! He can’t have, he would never-” 

“I got to him in time, but Padme... he was holding a lightsaber to his heart. It was...really close” He burrowed deeper into the folds of her dress, and she gripped him fiercely.

“Oh gods, is he-”

“He’s physically healing, but he’s still...not all there. I spent all of today locked in a room, trying to figure out if it was a Sith Attack, or an insane vision, or..or me”

“Anakin! What do you mean ‘me’ - Obi-Wan loves you, you-”

“I know.” Anakin interrupted her again, knowing he was being unfair; he was just too exhausted to be patient.

“He told me loved me. He...he...found out about what I did to the Tusken village, You should have seen his face, Padme, he was horrified, but he still told me he loved me, and he was willing to forgive me, even though he shouldn’t”

“Of course he forgave you,” Padme whispered. “You’re not a monster, Anakin, I know you would never do something like that again.”

"And then after we talked, I left him alone and he-” Anakin choked out into her dress.

Tears ran down her face, heart breaking. “That’s- that’s horrible. Anakin...it must have have been a attack, Obi-Wan wouldn’t do that.” she said urgently.

He pulled away, horrified. “I made you cry. I made Obi-Wan cry too. I’m sorry- Padme please, promise me you won’t-”

She grabbed the sides of his head. 

Her nails bit into the soft skin behind his ears as she pulled him down so they were face-to-face, vowing, “Never. I swear by the force itself, I will never choose death over life.”

He let out a relieved sigh, eyes fluttering closed.

“Now you,” she demanded

“As long as I have anyone to live for, I swear by the force, I will never choose death over life.”

She pulled him the rest of the way in for a bruising kiss. He lifted her, and they desperately clung at one another as he carried her to bed. They continued like that, clinging and grasping, until exhaustion carried him to sleep. She pulled the covers over top them both and curled around him defensively as the day slowly faded away.

Part XI

[kaypeace21]

The ‘parentification’ of Jonathan Byers (psych analysis)

“Parentification is defined as the phenomenon where children take caregiving responsibilities (acting as a parent)  for their parents, siblings or other family members, at the expense of their own developmental needs.”

When can parentification occur?

1) After a “Divorce”   

“If there is more than one child in the family, usually the eldest, is “chosen” to be parentified .When a father-figure is missing, it may be the eldest son who is forced to take on his father's responsibilities.”

2) When there’s a “parent with a mental illness “

3)“Parental alcoholism or drug addiction.” (lonnie’s place covered in beer cans could allude to this).

4) “siblings with a mental illness’

5) “Death of a sibling or parent” (  This point is kind of cheating - but the fact Jon as a 15 y old had to plan a funeral, for his little brother instead of either one of his parents just illustrates how he always was forced to do adult duties much too young.)

6) “mothers of low socio-economic status, are frequently associated with parentification of their children. “

“given the fact that there are many single parent families, it falls upon children from some of these homes to carry adult responsibilities while their parent is out working. Often, in these situations, the parent is asking or expecting the child to take on adult responsibilities in their absence. They become the parent of the household in the interim between coming home from school and when the parent returns to the household.”

***TO MAKE THINGS VERY CLEAR: we are NOT hating on Joyce, here! “The harm of parentification is usually done not out of malicious intent. However, when a child who is supposed to go through their natural cycles of development and self- evolution,  is forced to grow up too quickly, there is a cost.” But, Joyce did what she had to do being a poor single mother - she had to work! Even when Lonnie was around- he had debts. And Joyce apologized to Jon for not being around when they were growing up (working since he was 5)- and she even mentioned working Hollidays . But at the end of s1, we see her celebrating Christmas eve with them (showing she’s trying to have a better work life balance for her kids and prioritize them more).  I think Will’s disappearance gave Joyce a wake-up call of sorts about what she values most-her kids.She loves her kids more than anything- and  would never intentionally do any harm. She has to work for all of them to survive and stay together. But it did force Jon to be parent to Will in her absence (especially cause Lonnie even when around wasn’t much help).

And in s3 it’s hinted Joyce plans to be there for her kids on Thanksgiving and Christmas- so she is trying to rectify past behaviors. Ok with that out of the way,  now we can continue...

 Types of Parentification 

“Parentification can either be emotional or instrumental, or both.”

“EMOTIONAL PARENTIFICATION : is when the child becomes a source of constant emotional support to their parent or sibling.Emotional parentification often involves a child or adolescent taking on the role and responsibilities of confidant, secret keeper, or emotional healer for family members.”

“ Parentification can also be the the process of role reversal where a child is obliged to act as parent to their own parent. Examples being: Listening to a parent talk about their problems.Serving as a confidante for their parent or providing emotional comfort and support to a parent.”

  “In cases of INSTRUMENTAL PARENTIFICATION: children take on practical responsibilities such as:Taking care of siblings or other relatives because a parent is unable to. Assuming housekeeping duties, such as cleaning, cooking,  grocery shopping. And Paying bills and attending to other household tasks .”

“ It’s good for kids to have responsibilities such as chores around the house or babysitting for a younger sibling. Responsibilities should increase when a child becomes a teenager to prepare them for being on their own eventually. However, when a young child is responsible for , paying the electricity bill, or raising a younger sibling, that is when problems arise.”

“Imagine a child who is bombarded every day with the responsibilities to tuck in sisters or brothers, or read them bedtime stories; organize drinks or food, wash up dishes, pay bills, or a myriad of housework. When burdened with that many responsibilities, self-care tends to go out the window. If the child continues to attend school, they may be withdrawn, unkempt, and visibly exhausted.”

“The effects are worsened and more destructive for the development of the child, the more the care-giving efforts of the child become a normalized expectation.“

 We see this in Joyce berating Jon for not parenting Will, properly (although her being upset was somewhat reasonable). But ,we also see this in how Joyce  says Jonathan has “always been good at taking care of himself.” Assuming Jon is ok, when he’s actually not. While Lonnie simply insults Will saying “he was never good at taking care of himself.”  The difference being Joyce criticizes Jon for not relying on her more. While Lonnie critiques Will for simply acting like a child and not being self-reliant, like Jonathan. Pretty heavily hinting, Lonnie even when around did very little parenting and expected the kids to take care of themselves. And since Will didn’t ‘take care of himself’ - it probably put the load on Jonathan to parent Will (when Joyce wasn’t around, even when Lonnie was physically there).

Consequences of Parentification

“ It is expected that complicated relationship patterns will develop between siblings.  The parentified sibling can often develop a symbiotic, codependent relationship with their siblings.”

“These people are very likely to find themselves in similar relational patterns in adulthood. They believe they must serve, help and rescue everyone in need. As adults, they may find that they have a confused sense of self-identity beyond the helper role. The only way they learned to relate, was through being of service and providing caregiving- so it is extremely possible that they have to be the primary caregivers for their own romantic partners . Since they never learned anything different. “

“ The ‘helper role’ might have dominated their entire being. Their sense of self did not get fully developed before they were needed to care for others, so as a result, they don’t know who they are except when they are doing things for others. “

“Parentified children can become very angry people. Sometimes this adult child may not know why they are angry . They can have explosive anger or passive anger, especially when someone triggers their parental wounds of emotional exploitation.”

“Parentified children inevitably develop a distorted image of what love is supposed to be like, thereby growing up to be quite distrustful of interpersonal relationships overall.Complicated attachment patterns emerge as a result. An avoidant attachment style is not unlikely. In the absence of a nurturing provider of safety and care, the parentified child may have learned to utterly depend on themselves alone- thereby avoiding close bonds and intimacy in adult life.intimacy is both craved for and avoided, both a longing and a great threat. Underneath this facade, they are quite lonely.”

This is similar to Jonathan not having friends, ‘not liking most people’, having ‘trust issues’ caused by Lonnie (that caused distrust of Bob, a father-figure) and simply being afraid to talk to people in general. Or joyce calling out Jonathan saying “you act like you’re all alone in this world. But your not.”

‘They also tend to blame themselves for everything that goes wrong, and constantly try to fix things that cannot be fixed.’

“The child may appear highly capable to tend for themselves and others, very mature for their age, resilient and even wise beyond their years- but they lack the safe haven of a secure attachment figure that is vital for the development of emotional regulation.”

A parentified teenager or younger child may exhibit the following symptoms:

-”Anxiety”

Like... this hurt my soul!  His face dropped the second Nancy left the room.He probably has anxiety but looks up to Joyce for trying to still be a good mom and keep it together. Why he said “WE’LL be okay” cause his mom is  “tough”.  He tries to lead by her example. But unlike Joyce, Jon probably always had to keep it together- even if struggling with similar anxiety issues as Joyce. Because he knew they both couldn’t act that way and “shut down” (for Will’s sake). He always had to put on a fake ‘grown-up’ front and keep the family together and help support Joyce and Will emotionally and finacially . And someone (unintentionally) saying the reason he’s like his mom is not because of her positive traits but because of her mental illness- must have HURT! Especially cause he’s probably already struggling with anxiety-  and maybe even fears acknowledging it. Because he’s supposed to have it ‘all together.’ “The identity of parentified children actually depends on their ability to suppress their needs. Since it is likely that their family already had too many problems to cope with, and so they learned to be quiet, voiceless and without demands. In order to be a ‘proper helper’ .“

And it probably doesn’t help he’s afraid it could escalate into something worse. Because in s1 they mentioned Joyce’s aunt having hallucinations. And jonathan even says to hopper “she used to have anxiety problems. I’m worried it could be ... I don’t know.” So yeah , Nancy saying him and Joyce have the same anxiety problems probably terrified him.

-”Depression”

-”Inability to trust others (we covered that) and or social isolation.”

-”Compulsively overworking in order to fulfill responsibilities at school and at home.”

-”Feelings of guilt and shame.”

“Fortunately, there are many healing processes and routes to wholeness and recovery for a young adult or adult who has been parentified as a child.Acknowledgment of your past is the first step to healing and recovery (via therapy or other means). You have to accept the truth of your story. Because, if you continue to live in denial, your mental energy will be spent in suppressing the pain that was there, rather than healing what needs to be healed. Being highly self-reliant was your only option in your household , but it may be a strategy that no longer works for you. It keeps you in isolation and unable to connect with others. Therefore, challenging yourself to connect with others authentically would also be considered one of the most potent ways to heal. The thoughts, feelings, impressions, and emotions buried within are waiting to be heard, once and for all.  “

Alright, thanks for listening I hope you enjoyed.  I really wanted to do a psych analysis strictly based on what the show presents. Rather than inclusion of the s4 movies. I did mention how those movies did allude to Jonathan’s parentification, here (if interested though). I also didn’t go into the hints in the narrative of Lonnie possibly being s****lly abusive to Jonathan cause it’s a bit more speculative ( I did talk about it in my DID psych analyses pt 1 & pt 2 though). Only mentioning it here, at the end, since one of the causes of parentification is also a parent s****lly ab*sing their kids (quite literally stripping their kids of their entire childhood in every way imaginable- and frankly the worst way possible). Regardless,I think most people neglect Jonathan as a character- and the s4 movies hint we’ll finally get more focus on him in the upcoming seasons. So I wanted to dedicate a post to some of Jonathan’s issues that may get more attention in later seasons.

[tealquacks]

They Share a Kitchen 3: Grocery Gathering

Originally posted here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24317644/chapters/58625389

@alexalexisalexej

I’m sorry this took so long, but I hope y’all enjoy!

It had been a little over a week since Remus made the croissants, and the daily routines still hadn’t quite recovered. At breakfast, Virgil showed up ten minutes later than usual, and stood nervously in the doorway, checking to make sure nobody unexpected would be in the kitchen. Roman never came to visit the kitchen, but Patton brought him meals three times a day— 9:30 am, 1:20 pm, and 5:50 pm. Virgil would occasionally join him. 

Patton and Janus still met for tea every single day, but they never stayed in the kitchen anymore. Patton would ask Janus to take walks with him. They’d stroll through Roman’s side of the imagination, then drink their tea and talk. The only reason Logan knew this was because Patton brought it up at dinner one night. Virgil left shortly after. 

The only people who remained unaffected were Remus and him. They kept to their usual schedules. Except now Logan found himself staying up late to talk to Remus while he cooked. He had yet to make paella— something about wanting to save it for a special occasion.

Every day felt like a special occasion. Logan couldn’t help but stare at the charts he had made, one pre-Remus, and one post-Remus. Color coded and organized. Pristine.

“It’s surprising,” Logan had said at breakfast that morning, eating some waffles Patton had made, “that Remus spending one day in the kitchen threw all of our schedules into chaos.”

Virgil glared at him silently. Patton stared down blankly at his waffles.

“I don’t like him,” Patton murmured.

“You seem to get along with Deceit just fine,” Virgil spat, lip twitching in silent anger. Patton sighed.

“His name is Janus, Virgil. Be polite.”

“Why should I care?”

“Because it’s rude to call him Deceit— Logan, how would you feel if we only called you Logic?”

Logan sat straight. If he said he didn’t care, that would be mostly honest. If he said he did care, that would make it seem he had some sort of emotional attachment to his name. He swallowed.

“I don’t care either way. However, Janus now seems to prefer we address him by his real name. Besides, deceit is not his only function.”

Virgil rolled his eyes, staring angrily down at his plate of waffles. That was the end of the conversation at the breakfast table. Logan ate in silence, slowly sipping water out of a glass with a lemon on the rim. 

Now, he sat at his desk. The clock said it was 2:28 pm. The kitchen would be perfectly empty, since Virgil and Patton no longer had their little talks in the kitchen. Logan didn’t know where they went, and he didn’t care to ask. Of course he worried about them, but he didn’t think where they talked mattered so much. He set down his pen, thinking of when Roman had run from the kitchen in horror, Remus doing nothing but sitting at the table.

Suddenly, someone knocked at his door. Logan stood from his comfortable office chair, and walked to the door. He adjusted his tie and smoothed his hair down before calmly opening it. That calm facade almost broke when he saw Remus on the other side, wearing a painfully bright yellow bucket hat, a fishnet shirt, and a green pair of cargo shorts. He had a bag slung over his shoulder.

“Hello, Remus.”

“You remember how you said I should make paella? Well I thought real long and hard and I thought that you could not only help me with the cooking but you could also help me with gathering the shit that goes in it! Like clams and mussels. One recipe says squid but I’ve honestly never cooked with squid and I’m not interested in fucking with that.”

Logan blinked, slowly trying to take in the information, and the sight of Remus before him. Remus never came to his room. Nobody did. It seemed like there had been an unspoken rule made, that he was never to be interrupted. Now the matter at hand.

“You want me to accompany you in collecting the ingredients?”

Remus nodded violently, causing the bright hat to flop off his head. He picked it up, and put it back on. Logan blinked.

“I’ll take that as a yes. And this involves going under the water?”

“No shit Sherlock! That’s where the mussels are! Unless you count these guns—“ Remus flexed his arms, a stunning smile on his face. Logan looked at the bag he carried, then to the yellow hat on his head.

“I think it would be best if you changed into something more… sensible.”

Remus wagged his brows, leaning up against the doorway.

“Oh don’t worry, I’m wearing a speedo under these shorts.”

“I meant the hat. It will make you very, very visible.”

“It’s okay,” Remus rebutted, “I think fish are colorblind. Maybe. Do you know?”

Logan gnawed on the inside of his lip. He didn’t know. He couldn’t say so, that would be seen as weakness. But Remus was… different, somehow, uncaring about strength and weakness. He took a slow, deep breath.

“I honestly don’t know,” Logan responded, “most fish only see two colors, but I’m unsure how many can see yellow. However, if your plans are to go underwater, it would be wise to forgo the hat.”

Remus shrugged, took off his hat, and tossed it into Logan’s room. It landed on the neat sheets of his bed.

“We won’t be in the water the whole time,” Remus said, “we still have to get other things? Like, erm, I don’t have the recipe on me but we’re almost out of apples, and honey— honey will be a bitch to get but you know what I have?”

Logan furrowed his brows, staring at the bag.

“A beekeeping suit, a smoker, and an apiary of some sort?”

“Nope! Just my morning star and overwhelming hubris!”

Logan didn't know what he’d expected. Of course Remus wouldn’t go about getting honey in any sort of logical way. 

“There are other things we will need.”

“You have a special request?”

Logan shook his head.

“I don’t. But paella requires saffron,” Logan explained. “Saffron is derived from the stigma of Crocus sativus.”

“Huh? What’s uh….” Remus trailed off, snapping his fingers a few times. “What’s the common name of that?”

“They are also known as autumn crocus, or saffron crocus. Do you know where these flowers grow?”

Remus raised his eyebrows, tapping his fingers to one another— thumb to index, thumb to middle, thumb to ring, thumb to pinkie. 

“Lemme think… I have a spice garden in my side, but I didn’t know that saffron came from a fucking flower! But I do have a bit of land I could… flowers. Goddamn! Saffron from flowers! That’s pretty cool! I have to ask— how did people think of putting it on shit?”

Logan suppressed a smile as Remus flapped one of his hands a little. It felt nice, being asked harmless questions, not being interrupted. Even then, he couldn’t help but wait for the other shoe to drop, for Remus to tell him to shut up. He took a deep breath.

“It is commonly believed that saffron originated in Greece, however most of it is grown in Iran, I believe.” He paused, giving Remus ample time to say something. Instead, Remus waved his hand at him.

“Well? Go on.” 

Logan shifted from foot to foot.

“Saffron is incredibly expensive due to the fact that one flower only produces three strands when it blooms, and the flowers only bloom for one week each year. Saffron has been used and cultivated by humans for more than three thousand and five hundred years, and has been used not only as a seasoning, but also as a dye, fragrance, and medicine.”

Remus grinned, eyebrows raised. 

“Cocaine used to be used as a medicine! Freud diagnosed it to some of his patients for depression, I think! Did you know that cocaine, like meth, can cause people to hallucinate vermin crawling under their skin? And they’ll scratch at their skins to get them out!”

“Ah, yes, delusional parasitosis, also called formication.”

“Fornication?”

Logan shook his head.

“I doubt formication and fornication could be mistaken for one another, unless ones idea of fornication is subdermal penetration.”

“Oh, talk dirty to me!” Remus cried, rolling his shoulders. Logan couldn’t stop his lips from twitching up into a small smile, but turned his expression back to a straight face as quickly as he could. 

“So what are you looking to retrieve?” Logan asked. Remus reached into one of the many pockets of his cargo shorts, and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He dramatically unfolded it.

“Apples, honey, saffron, I guess, and mussels and clams and whatever else we may find. So is that a yes?”

Logan paused for a moment. He’d been to Roman’s side of the imagination, and the land was bright and beautiful, filled with fantastical creatures and lush landscapes. However, Remus was the opposite of Roman, or at least the bits of creativity that Thomas considered unpleasant enough to purge from his consciousness. So what did that include? The horrifying, the macabre, and the explicit. Dicks, drugs, and the disturbing. None of it could hurt him. And judging by the fact Remus sought him out to come with him, he wouldn’t even be threatened. As long as he was cautious, he would remain unharmed during their journey. That was reasonable enough to assume.

 But what about the others? He would be expected back at dinner, which was at five pm. That would only give him two and a half hours with Remus, and time seemed to go much faster while around him, probably something to do with how Remus’ nature distorted reality around him, that reality including the way one would perceive time passing. Logan looked into his room. If he left the door closed, the others wouldn’t bother him. Patton would leave dinner outside of his door, he’d done it before, many times, but he wouldn’t come in. So he could miss dinner. If they asked questions, he could say he was busy. And they’d believe him.

Logan stared at the yellow bucket hat, garish and blinding on top of his sheets. He swallowed.

“Yes, I will accompany you.”

Remus flapped his hands expressively, smiling like a million and a half suns. He hopped from foot to foot, then did a little spin. 

“Fuck yeah! I’ll let you get changed, meet me in the kitchen as soon as possible! It’ll be so much fun!”

Just as Logan opened his mouth to tell Remus he would be wearing his usual clothing, Remus sprinted away. He let out a deep sigh. He wore his usual outfit— black dress pants, a black polo, indigo tie, dress shoes. Comfortable and professional. If he were to open his closet, there would be exact clones of the exact same outfit. Of course there was always the clothing he wore on Halloween, but a bulky, velveteen coat would be even less practical. The Sherlock costume would be out of the question, and he’d long since gotten rid of his onesie. 

So that left him in his typical outfit. However, the tie around his throat could possibly get caught and damaged. Logan touched his striped indigo tie, and slowly loosened it. Halfway through doing so, he realized he would look like an absolute fool without his tie. Even to Remus. Logan pulled the tie tight, so tight it almost choked him, and walked out of his room, slowly shutting the door behind him.

Logan silently crept through the hallway then down the stairs, making sure to skip the one squeaky step. If Virgil caught him with Remus, willingly spending time with him… well, he didn’t know how he would react. Virgil hated him, saw him as a nuisance, and there certainly was some history between the two of them. He had no clue what, despite the fact Virgil had once been a ‘dark’ side. 

He stepped into the kitchen. Remus sat on the table, kicking his legs back and forth. Somehow, even wearing those ridiculous clothes, he looked like he belonged in the kitchen. Logan pushed his glasses up. Remus smiled at him, hopping off of the table and grabbing his arm in a tight grip. His hands felt burning hot.

“Are you ready to go?”

Was he? If the others—

“—Yes, I am.”

Remus tugged on his arm, and they both sunk down into the white tile of the kitchen floor.

A gust of warm, sweet air hit him in the face. Logan gasped at the sensation, staggering backwards. He tripped on a stone, and landed on his ass in tall grass. All around them grew wildflowers and grass, and the clouds gently danced in the sky. The flowers swayed in the wind, blossoms of all hues growing around them. Truly, a beautiful landscape. Strange.

“Is this your side of the imagination?” Logan asked, ignoring Remus’ offered hand in favor of standing up by himself. 

“Yup! Wild and uncivilized. I had an idea for a monster— it’s an intelligent being that’s made of fungi that connects to the roots of plants, like how a brain makes neuron paths! Earth brain! We’re currently standing upon the brain of the smartest being in the imagination! Well, except for you, now that you’re here.”

Logan nervously looked down at his feet, face flushed. He really didn’t want to ask what the thing looked like, but his curiosity begged him to. His ego, meanwhile, preened at the small praise.

“Does it have a body?” Logan asked, “does it need to feed?”

“Yes to both questions!” Remus proclaimed, “The body is like. Laying down sort of? It’s like a big, smart pancake! And it eats! Don’t worry, it won’t eat us. Or any other side. Or cows since it’s lactose intolerant. But it won’t eat any sentient beings, like us sides! Except for Roman and his creations of course.”

Logan raised an eyebrow.

“Why only him?”

Remus twirled around, then pointed off into the distance. Logan looked to where he was pointing, and there in the horizon he spotted a massive palace, one he immediately recognized as belonging to Roman.. 

Remus opened his mouth, then suddenly shut it, a manic smile splitting his face. 

“Look, here comes a unicorn! Oh, you’ll love this.”

And just as Remus had said, a white stallion with a gleaming horn pranced into the field of flowers. It wandered forward, then bent down and started to graze. As it opened its mouth to take a bite, the plants suddenly burst to life, wrapping around the unicorn. It fought and kicked as the thick grass dragged it to the ground— no, into the ground, as if the prairie earth had turned into quicksand. The unicorn whinnied and thrashed, until it was pulled fully under the ground, horn disappearing in the thick foliage. 

“It absorbs its prey, like a protist.” Logan said breathlessly. If he could feel, he wouldn’t know if he felt shocked or impressed. 

“Yeah! This land, in like a mile wide stripe, is the border between my land and Roman’s. And I don’t want anything to do with his shit. So anything that comes over here gets chomped up by Bartholomew!”

“Bartholomew?” Logan asked.

Remus crouched, patting the ground. He flopped onto his front, pressing a little kiss to the earth.

“It goes by Bart for short. And don’t worry, we had a conversation and it’s fine with it/its pronouns. Anyways what should we get first?”

Logan stared at the earth, shifting from foot to foot. Thousands of questions were bubbling in his head, but Remus had brought him to gather ingredients, not to ask questions. 

“Apples,” he croaked out. Remus leapt to his feet, looking him in the eye.

“I said it won’t absorb you. It only eats Roman and Roman’s shit. And even if you did get eaten, you’d be able to sink out. You’re safe.”

Logan inhaled slowly, then let out a deep breath. He didn’t care if he was safe. He wanted to ask how Bartholomew dissolved its prey, what acid it used to break down prey, he wanted to ask about the ph of the soil—

“Let’s go get the apples,” Logan insisted.

Remus nodded.

“The orchard is like, ten miles away? I don’t know but I can teleport us. Will it make you puke? Since Jannie told me that when he and Patton were in the imagination they saw Roman and Roman teleported them away from him and then Patton puked his guts up!”

“I don’t puke,” Logan explained, “I’m not human, and I can’t pretend to be.”

“You are a part of a human. Anyways, let’s go!”

Remus grabbed his arm, and the world shifted around them, the ground fell out from under his feet— for an instant, he felt like he was flying and falling all at the same time.

Then the ground appeared again. Logan stumbled. The sun was filtered through the branches of tall trees, taller than any apple tree he’d seen. The ground felt hard, and thorny bushes grew between each massive tree. Strangely enough, even though the air felt warm, the branches had no leaves, as if winter was coming. Logan looked down at his feet. The earth was covered in a layer of frost. He crouched down and touched it, and his fingers brushed coarse weeds and warm frost.

“This is fascinating,” Logan said. He scooped a little bit of frost into his hand. It didn’t melt. 

“How so?”

“Where do I start? The trees— they’re far too tall to be apple trees, yet they still bear fruit. And they have no leaves, which raises the question of how they perform photosynthesis. Not only that but the ground is covered in frost, and the frost is warm. The frost is warm, but it also doesn’t melt in my touch. Truly fascinating.”

Remus flicked his wrist, and a red apple the size of a fist fell into his palm.

“I like the way that frost looks, but I fucking hate the cold! So I made this place! And the branches are high so I can climb them and see out above the entirety of the land! But if you take issue with the height of the trees…”

Remus took a bite of the apple. He stomped his foot. Suddenly, one of the trees shrank, smaller and smaller, until it was the size of an actual apple tree. Ripe, beautiful apples hung off the branches.

“There,” Remus said, “that should be low enough for you to reach.”

“I’m not that much shorter than you,” Logan said, “do you have something to keep the apples in?”

Remus reached into the bag, and pulled out a wicker basket. Logan almost asked how he managed to do that, but realized it would be pointless. This was Remus’ land, it ran by his rules.

“I have a question!” Remus proclaimed.

“Go ahead,” Logan said, silently glad Remus had gone back to asking questions.

“Why are you so touchy about shapeshifting? Like. You never do it. I mean when the cameras aren’t rolling. You look exactly like Thomas and you never change it up!”

Logan froze. He pulled an apple from one of the branches and set it carefully in the basket.

“Patton is emotionally unstable. Virgil is a ticking time bomb. Roman tends to prioritize fantastical ideals over reality. Janus is level headed, but Thomas only just accepted him. And I’m unsure if he’ll ever accept you.”

Remus took another big bite of the apple.

“And what does this have to do with you not shapeshifting?”

Logan sighed.

“Thomas needs someone to be steady. Someone for him to rely on and trust no matter what the situation is. I don’t want to lose his trust.”

Remus giggled. Logan picked another apple.

“He trusts Patton even when he’s a fucking puppet. It’s not about trust, is it?”

Logan set the apple down in his basket.

“How many of these do we need?”

“Fuck if I know, fill the basket. But if it’s not about trust, then what is it about?”

Logan picked an apple, staring at the deep red color. He rubbed it against his polo, and he could see his reflection.

“Thomas hasn’t been listening to me as much as he should. I’m hoping that if I maintain the same appearance as him, he’ll be more inclined to listen to what I have to say.”

Logan stared at the apple. He shouldn’t be here. If the others found out he’d spent so much time with Remus, then what would they think of him? Would they consider him a friend anymore? That plus the fact he was picking apples, something they didn’t even need to do because they could be summoned with the snap of a finger. He didn’t need to eat. Logan set the apple in his basket.

Remus hummed. He flicked his wrist again, and apples began to rain from the sky. They struck the ground hard enough to bruise, and the noise they made was thunderous.

“Do you think the apple rain helps or diminishes the experience of apple picking?”

Logan stared up at the sky— cloudy, with a chance of apples.

“I don’t think catching apples in a basket counts as picking.”

“But it does count as fun!” Remus insisted.

“It’s not very effective.”

“Really now? Watch this!”

Remus pulled another wicker basket from the bag, and held it above his head. One, two, three apples hit the basket hard. The fourth made a sickening crunch as it hit the basket, and Logan flinched.

“What was that?”

“Some of the apples have bones!”

Logan furrowed his brows, looking at Remus. Another apple fell into his basket, thankfully lacking the crunching.

“An odd feature for an apple to have. What are the purpose of the bones? Structural stability? Do the bones assist in reproduction?”

“None of that!” Remus responded, “I just like the crunch! And Jannie likes the extra calcium!”

Logan nodded. Somehow, the fact that nothing made sense was logical. This was Remus’ land, it obeyed him. He plucked another apple from the tree.

“You know, Logan,” Remus said after a moment,  basket held over his head, “I think you’re Eve.”

Logan raised his eyebrow.

“And what do you mean by that?”

Remus shrugged. Another apple landed in the basket with a crunch.

“Well, you see, Eve ate the apple from the forbidden tree, because she wanted to know the difference between good and evil, she wanted to see like god. In all honesty, I don’t think she was tricked. She knew what she wanted. She knew what she was getting into. She was just scared to be held liable. She was scared of the judgement.”

Logan plucked another apple from the tree. He had to stand on his toes to reach it. What Remus was saying made no sense. If God had dropped him in the garden and told him to not eat the apple, he would’ve followed the rules. And he certainly feared no judgement. Certainly.

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t? So you would have rather stayed ignorant? Unharmed by what you don’t know?”

Logan froze. Remus continued talking.

“I remember Janus told me you really went off at him when he suggested that ignorance is bliss. So, I think you’re just like Eve. I mean, would you give up peace for knowledge?”

Logan plucked another apple. Of course he would. What he wanted more than anything was a life full of books and reading, knowing everything there was to know. Being an academic.

“That isn’t my choice to make. Thomas has chosen his path in life.”

“But what if it was your choice? Then what would you do?”

Logan picked another apple. The basket was close to full.

“I would choose knowledge. I have told you what I would do as a human, I would pursue knowledge above all. I wouldn’t be able to stop my pursuit. I would never be satisfied.”

Remus snapped his fingers, and the apple rain stopped as suddenly as it started.

“Wisdom cries out in the street; in the squares she raises her voice. Proverbs 1, verse 20.  You’d never be able to stop learning once you started. Which I think is pretty cool!” Remus looked him dead in the eye, lowering his basket from his head. “You’re a passionate guy, Lo. Show it. I liked hearing you talk about saffron. And if they won’t listen? Then—“

“Then make them listen. Yes. You said it before.” Logan sighed. “I must admit, I don’t think I would be able to. Once they see me as a joke, it’s over. I’m only listened to when I’m being used to counter something that inhibits Virgil and Patton. For example, when you and Janus first appeared. I… I think we have enough apples.”

Remus took his basket, full of apples, and shoved it into the bag. Logan gave him his basket, and watched Remus make it disappear.

“If they won’t listen to you just because they see you act improperly, because they see you smile and feel happy, then they’re a bunch of hypocrites that I want to punt into the fucking sun.”

Logan took a deep breath in. A tiny little voice inside of him screamed to lash out, punch a tree in anger and frustration and pain, but that would be illogical. The apples had been picked. That was all. Now saffron, or honey, or whatever Remus would drag him to next. Then he’d be back in his room, asleep in his chair, then in the morning—

“I honestly don’t know why you care so much,” Remus said.

Logan exhaled.

“They’re all I have.”

Remus set a hand on his shoulder.

“Well, you’re have me now, too. Let’s go get the saffron!”

The earth suddenly fell out from under his feet. Logan couldn’t help the surprised yelp that escaped his mouth, hand flying out to grab Remus’ arm. Then as quickly as it disappeared, the earth came back, and his feet hit the ground. He yanked his hand away from Remus, brushing invisible dust off of the front of his shirt. 

They had appeared in a desert. The sun beat down bright and strong, no clouds in the sky to inhibit it. His feet sank into the sand. A harsh wind kicked up the sand, and it flew around in a flurry like a blizzard. Logan gazed at the horizon. Nothing for miles and miles, just sand, low and level.

“Is this where you find saffron?” Logan asked. Remus crossed his arms.

“You should know better than anyone that flowers can’t grow in a desert! And besides, I just found out saffron came from flowers. So I have to grow them!”

Logan raised an eyebrow.

“Why bring us to a desert then?”

Remus smiled.

“Oh, you’ll see.”

Remus turned away from him. He raised his hands out, like he was conducting a band. He slowly breathed in. Logan felt the sand under his feet shift, pull together, and shake. Logan’s eyes went wide.

“What’re you—“

Remus turned back to Logan, eyes filled with fire.

“What is the best condition for crocuses, Logan?”

Logan swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.

“Saffron crocuses bloom in early to mid fall, and prefer sandy loam and lots of sunshine. They prefer soil with good drainage, as well as a pH range of 6.0 to 7.0. Crocus grow best in hardiness zones 5 through 8, not too hot, but not too cold either.”

A cool, fall breeze ruffled Remus’ hair and the fishnet shirt he wore. Logan raised an eyebrow. He couldn’t tell the temperature, but it certainly had gotten cooler.

“What is sandy loam?” Remus asked, knocking Logan’s train of thought off the tracks.

Logan paused for a moment. Remus really wanted to know. But why? The imagination didn’t follow the laws of physics or nature, why would he want to know? He said he liked hearing him talk. But did he?

“Sandy loam is soil that, while containing silt and clay, has primarily sand in it. It is a good soil for gardening because of its draining abilities… Does it matter?”

Remus tilted his head.

“Well, if you were to be making a big ol’ crocus field, you’d care about the soil! Everything about it! So since it matters to you…”

Remus smiled brightly, and grabbed Logan’s arm, tugging him. Logan let himself be pulled, finding himself right in front of Remus, stumbling as the ground shifted under his feet. Bright sand melded together and changed, turning into dark, rich earth. Logan knelt, scooping a little bit into his hand. Sandy loam. 

The soil in his hand moved, like a miniature earthquake. A small, green sprout rose from the dirt, reaching towards the sun. Delicate green leaves grew, and so did a small, purple bud. It opened. Vibrant amethyst petals showed themselves to him, but so did three red stigma. Saffron.

“My god,” Logan said, “that was amazing!”

Remus snorted out a laugh.

“What, you've never seen Roman do something like that?”

Logan shook his head. Roman preferred to run his side of the imagination like an actual human kingdom, planting saplings and waiting patiently for them to grow. Sometimes, he’d see Roman in the wheat fields, harvesting wheat with a large iron scythe, just how a human would do. He let everything take its time, and grow at its own pace. 

“Really?” Remus crowed. “Well then— watch this!”

Remus cackled, and snapped his fingers.

The ground shifted under Logan’s knees, and hundreds of little green sprouts poked out from the dark earth, basking in the gentle sunlight. Glorious purple buds opened to reveal perfect crocuses, each with three sprigs of saffron inside. Logan gazed out to the horizon. The desert had turned to a field of purple, as grand and never ending as a sunset.

Logan’s jaw dropped open in shock. For miles and miles, nothing but crocus…

“Amazing,” Logan whispered, “absolutely amazing.”

With a thud, Remus sat down next to him. He leaned forward, and tore one of the crocuses from the ground, holding it up to Logan. Then, the petals shuddered, as if blown by an invisible wind, merging and shifting until they had formed a purple frog.

“Look,” Remus exclaimed, “it’s a croak-us!”

Logan couldn’t help but snort with laughter, covering his mouth quickly. His eyes went wide. Remus didn’t seem to have any intention of poking fun at him for laughing, but it was better safe than sorry. Though he couldn’t help but think of Remus, sat at the kitchen table in nothing but an apron, saying that he’d beaten him fair and square, and could do so again. Logan lowered his hand from his mouth, chuckling quietly. It was a pretty funny pun.

"Yes," Logan opened his mouth, closed it, then exhaled. "'It's quite ribbit-ing." 

Logan looked up, meeting Remus’ eyes. There was no judgement, no smugness. Remus looked absolutely fucking delighted, a manic glint in his eyes.

"You've toad the line!” Remus cackled. Logan laughed quietly, staring right at the little frog in the flower, trying to think of another frog pun. His brows furrowed in thought. 

"Did you know that in South America, there's a species of big frog with enough poison to kill two thousand men?” Remus said, interrupting Logan’s train of a thought. 

"I don't believe that's true. The golden dart frog grows only up to five millimeters, as opposed to the goliath frog, which can grow up to three-hundred and twenty, and weigh just over four pounds."

“Damn, you know a lot about frogs,” Remus said, “it’s pretty cool!”

“I researched them extensively after Patton turned into one, just in case another problem arose.” 

They stared at each other, much too long to be considered normal. Remus's lips twitched. The silence grated on Logan’s nerves. Had he said something wrong? 

“Would you like to play a word association game?” Logan nervously asked.

"Part two: Electric Boogaloo!" Remus exclaimed, startling the croak-us enough to hop into the fields of its former kin.

He brought his hand down onto Logan's in a low five, purple petals smeared onto his palm. Remus was still grinning, parts of his moustache standing on end, like he'd been shocked. Electric Boogaloo. Remus sat, cross-legged in the new soil so they were face to face. Logan brushed against him, and felt the burn of a spark go out on his leg. Electric Boogaloo, again.

"Vampire,” Remus said.

Logan’s mind jumped to when Virgil had dressed as a vampire for halloween.

"Halloween."

“Black?”

"Orange."

"Bok choy!” Remus chirped.

Logan paused. What led to that connection? Remus shrugged.

"Plant,” Logan said, brushing off his previous confusion.

"Maple.”

"Canada.”

"Pancakes."

"Syrup."

"HONEY!"

Remus snapped, loud as a cracking whip. Logan watched him shake a freshly printed page he clutched in his hand, peering at it intensely. 

“It says on our list that we need honey!”

Logan looked back out at the field of crocuses. Every single one of them had three sprigs of saffron inside, red and beautiful. He could smell it, the aroma beautiful and heavy. 

“We have to harvest the saffron first, for the paella. How much will we need for the recipe, Remus?”

Remus sighed.

“Harvesting saffron ourselves sounds like a big waste of time. Don’t you think?”

Logan brushed his fingers on the warm, rich soil. He imagined Remus and him in the field of saffron, carefully plucking saffron from the flowers, putting the delicate threads in jars to be dried later. Then he could ask all the questions in the world about the soil, the saffron. He could spend hours talking to Remus about everything he wanted to. He wanted to say so much. And yet his mouth wouldn’t obey him. Remus wouldn’t tell him to shut up, so what was stopping him? Nothing was stopping him.

“Yes,” Logan said, “it would take up a good deal of time. But honey won’t take that long, will it?”

“I don’t even need honey,” Remus admitted, “I just wanted an excuse to spend time with you without any of the others popping in or having to wait until like five am. You’re the functional one, you gotta get some sleep.”

Logan’s eyebrows shot up. Oh. Remus’ words slowly went through his head. His heart did a backflip— even though that certainly was anatomically impossible— and his lungs stopped taking in air.

“Yeah,” Logan said, voice quiet, “I do. I mean— uh. Spending time with you is much better than laying unconscious for eight hours.”

“As if you get eight hours of sleep,” Remus said, a bright smile plastered on his face.

“So. We don’t need honey?”

“We still need mussels.”

“Mussels, yeah,” Logan said, breathless, standing up, “lead the way.”

“What about the saffron?” Remus said, raising an eyebrow. He stood.

“...Well. We can always come back for that some other time.”

Remus nodded, a bright smile plastered on his face.

“Yeah, some other time. Well then. Off we go!”

Remus grabbed Logan’s arm, and the world fell away from them. Logan closed his eyes. 

Waves crashed gently. He could hear them, and feel a cold sea breeze blow on his skin, ruffling his hair. He slowly opened his eyes. Apparently, night had fallen while his eyes were shut, and moonlight bathed everything in a pearly pale light. The air smelled like salt. Both of his feet were solidly on a wooden dock. Remus’ hand still felt warm on his arm.

“How long did that take?” Logan asked. The sun had still been up when they left.

“It’s always night here,” Remus explained, shifting his weight from foot to foot, “I like it better that way. Look at the beach and you’ll see why.”

Logan turned his head. The moon shone gently on the black sand beach, but more impressive were the waves— each foaming, rushing wave carried with it an ethereal teal glow, like all the stars in the sky were gently ebbing with every wave. Logan stared at the water, eyes wide. 

“The waves glow like that because of an algal bloom, right? And when the water moves it causes the algae to glow. It is absolutely wonderful, Remus.”

Remus smiled, running his hand through his hair, almost as if he was shy.

“Thanks, this place is one of the first places I’ve ever made, and the first one I felt satisfied with. The rest of this place I like to keep constantly changing, but not here.”

Remus walked to the end of the dock. He calmly set his bag down, then yanked off his fishnet top, holding it in his hand. Logan watched his hands undo the button of his shorts, then watched Remus toss his shorts onto the dock, revealing the bright green speedo he wore, leaving nothing up to the imagination. Remus raised his arms out like Christ on the cross, looking up at the full moon. Then he tilted backwards, gracefully falling off the dock, and landing in the water with a loud splash.

Logan slowly walked to the end of the dock. He knelt, knees pressed against wet wood. Even through the glowing waves and the dark water he could see Remus’ back, his legs, pale skin disappearing quickly underwater. 

Logan’s hands clasped the indigo fabric of his tie. Then they drifted down. He sat down, cross legged, staring down at the water. Slowly, he took one shoe off, setting it carefully behind him. Then the other. He pulled off his socks and placed them in his shoes. Then his pants, leaving him in boxers, his shirt, and his tie. He took off his glasses.

His hands clasped his tie again. He gazed at the water, dark as the night around him except for the beautiful waves and the occasional glimpse of Remus’ skin. Then he raised his head, staring out into the distance. He could see for miles. Empty, dark ocean, with no land in sight. Slowly, he loosened the knot. His hands shook. 

Remus wouldn’t care. He wouldn’t care if he took off his tie. He wouldn’t see him as less. He would see him as Logic, as Logan. Nothing less. 

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath of cold, salty air. pulled off his tie, setting it with the rest of his clothing. Before he could lose his nerve he yanked his shirt off, threw it haphazardly in the pile of clothing, and ran to the end of the dock. He jumped. Time seemed to slow as he rushed through the air, flying to the water—

He landed with a loud, graceless splash. The water around him lit up like fireworks. Surprisingly, the water felt warm compared to the bite of the wind. Logan couldn’t tell where Remus was, he just knew he was underwater with him now. Logan kicked and paddled until he reached the surface, gasping for breath. A sharp laugh escaped him. His heart pounded in his chest— he could feel it beating, even though he knew he didn’t need one to function. The waves rushed over him, bright as all the stars. 

Logan treaded water in place, then let himself tilt back, until he floated on his back. Waves gently rocked him, and he let them. What had he been so scared of? He laughed again, much quieter, listening to the waves rush to shore. 

Next to him, he heard Remus surface, taking a deep breath.

“You good?” Remus asked. Logan turned his head a little, looking at Remus. His hair was soaked, plastered to his forehead.

“Perfectly fine,” Logan responded, “and you?”

Remus didn’t answer, just smiled and sunk into the water. The wind blew cold over his skin, sending a shudder up his spine. Remus had to be swimming under him, collecting the mussels he’d use for the paella. Logan couldn’t help but wait for the time they’d be able to spend in the kitchen, knees bumping, or the time they’d spend collecting saffron, the sun shining on violet flowers in a golden gleam. 

Logan breathed out slowly. There was something with Remus that made all his thoughts become portraits. Cohesive, yes, but coated in a loveliness that never used to be there. It might have to do with the imagination. It might not. 

The waves beneath him swelled, then gently ebbed out. Remus surfaced again, treading water as easily as breathing. He’d changed his fishnet top into a net, which was full of mussels and what looked like clams, maybe? Logan couldn’t tell. 

Remus gingerly grabbed Logan’s arm. The waves under them swelled. 

“Let’s go back up onto the dock,” Remus whispered.

Logan nodded. Within the blink of the eye, they both appeared on the dock, both of them soaking wet. Remus shook his head like a dog, water flying everywhere. Logan raised his hand to keep the water from hitting him, even though he was already absolutely soaked. Remus set the bag of shellfish on the dock with a clatter. 

He calmly took one out of the net, and Logan realized they were oysters, not clams. Remus grabbed his bag, unzipping one of the pockets and pulling out a knife. He held the oyster carefully, curved side flat against his palm, and wiggled his knife into the hinge between the shells. Remus’ hands were surprisingly steady, even as the knife slipped between the shells and the oyster popped open. He scraped the knife against the inside of the shell, freeing up the meat, then knocked the oyster back like a shot.

Silently, he offered Logan the knife. Their fingers brushed as Logan took the hilt of the knife, grabbing an oyster from the net. He mimicked Remus’ movements, trying to slip the knife between the two shells. Remus chuckled, and grabbed the hand that held the knife. 

“You have to press harder,” he said, “you can’t finesse your way into the shell, you have to put some oomf behind it. If you don’t, it’ll never ever open up.”

Logan swallowed. He felt oddly lightheaded as Remus guided the knife between the shells of the oyster, helping him push the knife into the space between the shell, easing the hinges apart with the flat of the blade. The shell slipped into the cup of his fingers, just so, supported by the weight of Remus's hands over his, thumb pushing against his, twisting the hinge open with a pop.

"See?" Remus was grinning, that ever-present expression of glee, and Logan tore his eyes from it to the movement of hands again, guiding the knife under the oyster to lift the flat shell off. 

"These would be good for the garden," Logan blurted out. Remus looked up, just as attentive as he'd always been, and the words caught in his throat for a second. "For- for the soil, oyster shells, when ground into powder, have been shown to improve soil pH and nutrient status, strengthening cell walls due to an increase in calcium, overall resulting in healthier produce.”

Remus tilted his head. Logan’s face flushed.

“...I know you employ an extraordinary method of growing and cultivating, and therefore have no need for this knowledge, but tossing them aside or simply letting them disappear seemed.. unnecessary."

"I think you need to stop worrying about what I need to know, and start asking what else I'd want to hear,” Remus said with a grin, “But it is flattering that you think it's extraordinary. Now why don’t you try the oyster?”

Logan stared at the meat of the oyster.

“I just… drink it?”

“Like a shot, yeah.”

Logan slowly brought the oyster to his mouth. Slowly, he tilted his head back, opening his mouth.

The taste made his eyes go wide. The meat of the oyster was plump against his tongue, but it tasted like coppery brine. He swallowed it without chewing, since he hadn’t noticed Remus’ jaw moving. The coppery taste lingered on his tongue. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath of fresh, ocean air.

“Why don’t you stay here?” Remus suddenly asked. Logan’s eyes shot wide open. He had another oyster in his hands, wriggling his knife between the shells.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Remus looked down at the oyster, face surprisingly blank and unreadable.

“You spend all day in your room except for when you come out and cook with me. I have a feeling that I almost wasn’t able to get you out of your room today. So why don’t you just stay here? I can make you a castle or a cottage for you to study in, and you won’t have to worry about the others bothering you. And you’ll be able to come here whenever you want. So what do you say. Will you stay?”

Logan stared down at his hands. He could. He could say yes, and watch Remus make him a place to stay, a place that was truly his. No worries of anyone walking in and seeing him disheveled, just himself and Remus.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t say yes. I’m needed with the rest of the sides, and Virgil may see my leaving as betrayal, or a sign of untrustworthiness. I need to keep them on my side. I need them to trust me, to listen to me.”

Remus still was fixated on the oyster. The knife slipped between the two shells, and it popped open. Remus’ brows rose.

“I still think you’d enjoy it here more than you would crammed in your little room all the time. And I don’t know how to tell you in a way that’ll make you listen, but they need you more than you think they do. You are all of Thomas’ cleverness and wit. Where would he be without you? Creativity is nothing without knowledge— whether its working with or against knowledge.”

Logan shook his head. Remus slowly reached for Logan’s hand. Logan let him take it, pull his fingers open, and press something into his palm. It felt like a pebble. Logan felt his hands ball into fists.

“Roman seems to mostly work against me, but at least Thomas heeds his words. I really can’t stay here. I…. I should honestly go. It’s late.”

Logan awkwardly stood, fists still clenched. Remus looked up at him with wide eyes, brows furrowed.

“Are you sure?”

Logan opened his mouth, but no words came out. A part of him still wanted to stay, to sit with Remus at the dock and watch the glowing waves, to eat oysters with him. He closed his mouth and nodded. Remus sighed.

“Alright. I’ll teleport you and your clothes back to your room. Just… you’re welcome back whenever you want. Don’t be a stranger, Logan.”

Logan smiled. He wanted to say something, but the next thing he knew the world vanished around him. Then it reappeared, and he saw the door to his room. There was a bowl of spaghetti in front of it. It had long grown cold, but Logan picked it up anyways, and stepped into his room.

He set the bowl of spaghetti on his desk, and haphazardly tossed his clothes on the floor. He felt soaked to the bone, and started to shiver a little, even though he knew he couldn’t feel cold, couldn’t feel pain, couldn’t feel the cocktail of conflicting emotions inside of him. With a sigh, he sat in his office chair. His hands, still curled into fists, shook slightly. What had Remus given him? Slowly, he relaxed his fingers. 

Resting in his palm was a round, black pearl. 

Logan stared at the black pearl in his palm. A million different thoughts rushed through his head, most of them strange and illogical. He could go back to the pier and watch the luminescent waves, or help Remus grind the oyster shells down into fertilizer. And they would eat oysters together until they had enough pearls to make a necklace, a necklace he’d wear wherever he went.

Then what? 

Then Logan would wear the necklace, and someone would ask where he got it from.

This was for the best for Thomas’ stability. It had to be.

Logan let his head flop against the headrest of his office chair, and shut his eyes, hoping sleep would take him.

He never let go of the pearl.

[the-hidden-writer]

And Into The Fire

Chapter 4: A Not-Quite-Plan

Summary:

Months after the Mitchells saved the world, Linda gets a phone call asking if she’s seen two defective Pal MAX bots. Powerful people are after Eric and Deborabot 5000, and it’s up to the Mitchells to protect them.

Check reblogs for AO3 link!

A Not-Quite-Plan

An agent came running into the office just as Mark was about to take a sip of his coffee.

“Ma’am! We’ve got into #009181987!”

Agent Ward turned off her tablet and stood up immediately.

“About time!” She snapped. “Come on, Dr Bowman, this is where we need you.”

He barely had time to grab his coffee cup as she practically dragged him toward the door by his hoodie.

Ever since they’d locked onto the missing Pal MAX bots, Agent Jennifer Ward and her team had pretty much taken control of Pal Labs. Or at least the headquarters where Mark worked.

He’d spent the past week or so locked in his office with the scary Agent Ward herself. The tall woman had ordered him to come into work every day despite the complete CIA take-over of his company, just to keep up pretences for the public. And he also needed to be kept under supervision at all times for some reason. He was basically a prisoner.

Oh well. At least he had WiFi.

After pulling him out of his office (freedom at last!) Agent Ward led him down the stairs to the main work area, which was a large room filled with rows of computer desks.

At the very back of the room were two large screens on the wall. These were usually used for advertising and announcements, but recently they’d served another purpose.

Displayed on each screen was a status. Before now, they’d said the same thing. But for the first time in weeks, one was different.

Pal MAX #012041966 Status: UNRESPONSIVE

Pal MAX #009181987 Status: ONLINE

“Online?” Mark wondered aloud. “So you actually got into it, huh.”

Agent Ward scoffed. “Of course we did. Don’t doubt my team, Dr Bowman. Especially Agent Travis here.”

As if on cue, the young agent that had come to tell them the news before came rushing in through the door behind them, and almost glided straight into the wheelie chair next to the computer he’d been working on.

“Actually, we got through a couple of times.” Travis explained, huffing slightly from having to run. “But we got kicked out before we could change anything. This is the first time it looks stable and ready to be edited.”

“Well, these robots are based on AI.” Said Mark. “They’re not as simple to take down as ordinary machines.”

“Trust me, we know.” Agent Ward sneered. “That’s the reason we’re in this mess to begin with.”

She turned to her team, who all had their fingers poised over their keyboards ready to begin typing. “Delete any excess data and then start to rewrite the functional coding.” She ordered.

“Rewrite?” Mark had been under the impression that they would just delete it all to stop the robots for good. That’s what they were trying to do, right? “I thought-”

“Yes, rewrite. Anything more is classified.”

One of the agents raised their hands. “Uh, Ma’am? All the data here looks pretty messed up. Most of its data’s been built onto the errors presumably caused by defects, we have no idea what it actually does. There's words liked 'brother', 'mother'-”

“Do I need to repeat myself, Barker?”

Even though it wasn’t aimed at him, Mark couldn’t help but gulp at the way Ward was glaring at the poor agent.

“No Ma’am,” mumbled Barker, “sorry, Ma’am. We’ll start the rewrite.”

~-.-~

The three of them raced into the room with Monchi following close behind, probably because he was intrigued by all the commotion.

Linda didn’t want to believe it. Her robo-boys being sick was one thing, but fighting each other? That was truly unbelievable. They would never.

But unfortunately, it was just as Aaron said.

Deborahbot was kneeling on the bed with his back to the door, repeatedly hitting Eric’s screen by alternating between using the clenched fist of one hand and the open palm of another. There was a “clunk” sound with each impact, and Deborahbot showed no sign of stopping.

“Deborahbot!” Linda exclaimed incredulously.

The bot’s head turned 180° to face them but he did not cease the attack on his brother.

“Mother! Other Mitchells!”

“What are you doing?!” Demanded Rick, aggressively pointing at the bot in the bed. Aaron gripped onto the back of Linda’s pant leg in fear.

“I am more defective than my brother.” Deborahbot stated matter-of-factly, his calm voice sounding quite scary compared to the current violence he was inflicting. “I thought if he was more defective like me, he would be himself again.”

Rick waved his arms in annoyance. “That’s insane!”

“Deborahbot, stop hitting your brother right now.” Ordered Linda.

“Ok!”

Linda felt a small stab of guilt in her heart. Since they’d joined the family, they’d all tried their hardest not to order the bots to do anything. By phrasing things the wrong way, their programming would make them obey commands mindlessly, whereas the Mitchells just wanted them to be themselves. The longer the pair of them went without being given an order, the more their individual personalities shone through.

Deborahbot released Eric and stepped away. Two seconds later, once the command had been completed, he held out a warning hand to the family.

“Wait, Mitchells, stop!”

Linda was about to open her mouth to ask why, only she first noticed the movement on the bed.

Movement. On the bed.

Under the blanket, Eric looked like he was shivering. Or, more accurately, vibrating. The screen that had been full of color before was now its usual black self, and his red marker face was visible again. The only indication that anything was wrong was that the small LED in the corner of his screen was flashing an array of different colors.

“What’s happening to him?” Aaron asked from behind her, and Linda nodded to encourage Deborahbot to answer.

“I do not know for certain, but I think that the infiltrators have successfully entered my brother’s system.”

“You’re speaking normal again.” Commented Rick, though his cautious gaze was fixed on Eric, as if he would spring up and attack them at any moment.

“That is why I came to that conclusion.” Elaborated Deborahbot. “They have stopped attacking me, so they must be focusing more on him.”

Unlike earlier, Linda drew up the courage to approach Eric in the bed. His shaking was growing ever more violent by the second, and without Deborahbot keeping him down it was only a matter of time before he fell off the bed completely.

She gently placed a hand on his shoulder and made her voice as soft and calming as possible.

“Eric, honey?”

“Dear, be careful.” Rick warned from behind her but she chose not to listen.

“Can you hear me?”

It didn’t seem like he was going to respond. Feeling defeated, Linda was about to turn to ask Deborahbot what to do next when a voice spoke up.

“User recognised: Linda Mitchell.”

Eric’s voice was even more distorted than Deborahbot’s had been to the point where it was nearly unrecognisable.

“Uh, Mom?”

“Linda, get back!”

Linda understood exactly why her family was scared. The bots had never, not once, called her by her actual name. To not hear “Mother!” come out of Eric’s metaphorical mouth alarmed her, but still she couldn’t bring herself to step back.

“Brother?”

In a similar situation, the bots never called one another by their given names. It was always “Brother”. It only made them seem closer to one another in a way that the Mitchells themselves couldn’t be.

“Unknown user. Verify”

Aaron approached them with caution, one hand automatically searching for his mother’s own. She clasped it tightly.

“It’s like he’s gone back into robot-mode.” Said Aaron.

Linda squeezed his hand in agreement. Out of the two, it was Eric that always seemed more closely related to all the other Pal MAX bots for some reason. Still, Eric was their Eric, and not one of the mindless machines that tried to blast all of humanity into space.

Then a high-pitched whine echoed throughout the room without warning, causing the Mitchells (and Deborahbot, who mimicked them a second later) to cover their ears from the terrible noise. Monchi began to bark.

Once it died down, Rick frowned and used two fingers to massage his temple. “What the-”

“B-Brother!”

Rick snapped his mouth shut and all heads in the room turned to Eric, who was now sitting up straight on the bed.

“Brother!” Deborahbot called back in relief.

Eric's head twisted to face the three extremely shocked Mitchells.

“Mitchells!” Eric cried dramatically, his words accompanied by a more familiar glitch. “You are in danger. Pal Labs is taking over our systems, and it’s only a matter of time before-”

“I already told them all that.” Deborahbot interjected.

“Oh.” Eric muttered softly. “Aww.”

It put Linda a little at ease to see her boys’ dynamic return so quickly. That must mean things were getting better, right?

“Brother, what should we do?”

Deborahbot had always been reliant on Eric for decision-making. Linda had no idea how the bots managed to form such a human-like sibling relationship.

“They’ve already gotten to me.” Said Eric, solely addressing Deborahbot now. “It’s safer if you power me off until they stop. If you wait a while and they don’t, then you might have to go to Pal Labs and stop them yourself.”

Linda’s immediate thought was: No. She was not going to turn off her boy.

“How do we know if they’ve stopped?” Asked Rick.

Eric glitched before shrugging. “My brother might be able to tell you, but-”

He was interrupted by the return of the high-pitched whine. This time, Deborahbot did not cover his ears.

A few seconds later, Eric’s voice was distorted again.

“Status: online. Location-”

He did not get to finish his ominous speech as Deborahbot had quickly moved toward him and placed his hand under Eric’s head. After a few short seconds Eric’s screen went completely black with only his marker face remaining as he fell back onto the bed.

“Deborahbot!” Linda exclaimed in outrage. “Tell me you didn’t-”

“He told me a plan.” Deborahbot said nonchalantly. “First I had to power him off, then-”

“Yeah, we heard.” Scoffed Rick. “But that’s not really a proper plan.”

“It’s a start.” Aaron piped up. “I don’t really know what’s going on but I think the bots have it better together than you do.”

Linda bit the inside of her lip. She did not like how Deborahbot switched off his brother without permission. They were technically under 18 and therefore not adults, so Linda felt responsibility for their wellbeing and safety. She tried her best to keep quiet to avoid snapping at him.

“So... what now?” Asked Rick.

Deborahbot took a moment to look at his brother before turning to face the Mitchells again.

“I don’t want to wait.” He said blankly. “So I think that we should go to Pal Labs and tell them to stop now.”

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