#*stares at the conspiracy board* this means SOMETHING

[decarabiandivorce]

Yeah theyve been helpful

Bestie im doing the nameless island quest thingy and whoever wrote this notebook got amelia earhart-ed. 😔. Rip Henry Morton's akademiya friend

Legit forgot there was an actual name to that quest I thought it was a hidden quest

But have fun, the achievement name is interesting!

[medusas-graveyard]

Youngest adoptee!Danny (Alt ver)

Same concept of finding out ur adopted family isn't normal but different approach:

"Uh... Jason, can you get my screwdriver...?" Danny hesitantly asked the older male as he tinkered about on his new invention. "I— uh... Sorry, I'm a bit preoccupied right now."

Jason looked up from the couch (which was conveniently placed in a second workshop Bruce had specifically for his new ward, since, you know, the kid's by all means just a normal teenager. He doesn't even know their double life.) And shrugged, "sure, kid. Where's it?"

"My room, just on the desk, I think. I used it last night."

"You tinkered with your stuff in your room? At night?"

"...please don't snitch on Mr.Wayne"

"Stop doing that, then."

"*sigh* dully noted.."

Jason languidly made his way to Danny's room, clicking the door lock open. He flicked the lights on to see his brother's room; filled and decorated with stars and all things space. The younger male was definitely better at keeping things clean and tidy, that's for sure. Despite the various small inventions, books, and papers on the desk, his room was definitely tidy in a way.

He peered his eyes to the desk beside Danny's bed to see the very object he was looking for....and knocking it off the moment he wanted to grab it, great.

The thing rolled down the bed, causing Jason to inwardly groan on the fact that now he had to crouch down to reach for the screw driver.

He huffed and looked down to the bed, fully expecting to see the screw driver down there... Only to have his sight blocked by a news article.

He blinked, before squinting his eyes at the piece of paper, trying to read what's inside of it.

'Jason Todd pronounced dead by billionaire play boy Bruce Wayne.'

His eyes snap open as he immediately sat up. "What the hell..." He muttered as he eyed the bed suspiciously.

Jason hauled himself up, before prying the bed out of the frame and flipping it so that it leaned into the wall beside it and—

—"What the fuck?"

Danny thanked Alfred happily as the butler handed him his share of Dinner; it's a full table today, something quite rare within their hectic schedule.

He eats the dinner comfortably as his siblings chatter away... except for Jason who has been staring at him for the past 15 minutes.

"Todd, it's rude to stare." Damian chastised, to his rescue as always.

Jason seems to snap out of whatever trance he was in, before leaning back to his chair.

"You know, don't you?"

As if a pin dropped, the room became suffocatingly silent; everyone's tense from that one sentence alone, while Danny merely blinked in surprise.

"Damn, you saw my conspiracy board, huh?"

[sevs-corner]

What if you were unraveling the conspiracy behind your neighbors' (Tf 141) relationship with each other and their wives?

A/N: this is takin inspo from The Two Hot Takes Podcast on reading the story of "AITAH for hating my wife's creepy 'hobby project'?" and @beloveds-embrace work on Lavender Marriage AU (<33 nomming it sm recently)

So, hear me out before the brain worms consume my brain and leave with me nothing to work with in the future--

You just moved in to this suburban neighborhood, and its quite typical with its similar lookin' houses and white picket fences. Nothing out of the ordinary, except for your neighbors who were ex-military and were quite friendly the first day you came.

So much so that it made your 'tsismis' senses work overdrive as you found yourself gazing out your window one night, coffee in hand, as you sat by your window sill-- staring at your left neighbors living room window where Kyle's hand was creeping too lowly around Johnny's waist to be considered a "bro hug."

From then on, the longer you stayed, the stronger your antennas became to those tiny little moments you happened to catch glimpses of.

As their new and quiet neighbor, you often accepted their invitations, wanting to learn more about them (and the underlying secrets behind their relationship.)

All of four of them and their partners looked a little too painted perfectly, with the men retired whereas the women were still working part time-- often out on some long business trips you often heard about them converse about at barbecues. These trips were such a common occurrence that it was normal for the other guys to host meals at one of each other's houses, sometimes rotating for each other's turn or eating out together.

When those days happen, the lights in one of their rooms often stayed on all night.

'Maybe they're just doing men stuff in their designated man caves in their houses,' you thought to yourself, sipping a margarita John made in expertise with some bar flair.

It was another brunch without the other ladies in sight and from the amount of times you've hung out without, you start to see them getting loose-- getting careless.

More brave with the sneaky touches you see them share quickly as you pass the kitchen or the patio.

You note that Kyle likes wrapping his arm around the others often, and you swear you could see his forearm flex as he reached to grip something from that person's behind. Johnny is more physical, playfully fighting and creating this palpable tension that permeates the room before John dissipates it every time. Speaking of him, you think he's more of an 'acts of service' type of guy from the way the others would give these hooded looks whenever he does something small but caring for them. Simon-- oh he was a tough nut to crack from the way his lower face was covered by this mask that you only got moments of seeing during meals or sharing a drink, but you swear if you could see his mouth, you would know why Johnny's ears turned red when Simon whispered something in his ear or when he surprised Kyle from behind with his hands deep into his pockets, mask moving (indicating he was saying something but you couldn't make it out from your own living room window) as he talks to a semi-trembling Kyle on the grassy lawn.

All of these pieces you've picked up on and strewn it all about on a board you bought from a crafts store. With points leading to your written logs, photos, drawings, and papers tied to their background.

The photos- albeit hastily taken and quite blurry- and other evidences you've managed to scrounge together weren't incriminating enough (yet), you try various means to get closer to them. Even though they may or may not have misinterpreted this intention.

Despite all the effort you're putting into your "passion project"-- all you wanted to do was to answer the singular point with a hastily scribbled question mark.

'Were they all fucking each other behind their wives back?'

Oh, you couldn't wait to play detective and piece together the mystery.

[hermitcraftheadcanons]

Grian was (and still is) incredibly scared of Zedaph. When Grian heard about the zedvancements he wanted to stay away from Zed even more.

Because as you probably know, in order to reach a senior position as a watcher you have complete a series of convoluted, esoteric and confusing tasks, which end with you on half a heart, most made by yourself but some from others in your order.

So now Grian has a conspiracy board with the title ZEDAPH=WATCHER(???).

Zed of course knows none of this because he is a regular person, completely regular in fact. So regular in fact that even accusing him of this is changing his form slightly, as he feels bone shifting to make way for ebony wings.

He barely takes notice of how seems to be able to talk to endermites now, which is not something watchers can but Zedaph thinks they should so he can.

Points on the conspiracy board include:

Purple eyes (stares into your soul)

Weird confusing science and tasks that make NO sense

Experimented on people

Mean to Grian

Completely ignored demise 2 somehow?

End??????

Had a void hole in his base once

-Mod Mleem

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One

Summary : After you treat him in the ER, Officer Tom Ludlow asks you out. You turn him down, thinking you know his type, but he’s not willing to take no for an answer. In fact, you find out he’s more than willing to abuse his authority in his pursuit of you. Maybe Ludlow seems like an asshole, but when you are drawn into a dangerous conspiracy that could go all the way to the top of the LAPD, he might be the only thing that stands between you and a shallow grave.

TW : Abuse of authority, alpha male, sexual harassment, the word “no” is not in this man’s vocabulary

The ER is overflowing tonight. There was a huge drug bust down on South Hampton Avenue that ended in a fire and gunfight: turned out to be a big enough debacle that they had to call a code black throughout the hospital, which basically means, at least for you, no breaks or time between patients. In times like this, charting even takes a back burner thanks to a hospital policy where everything you learned in nursing school flies out the window and you don’t have to document what you’re doing. 

It’s a good thing, because you don’t have time to log onto a computer let alone write something down with pen and paper. Burn victims, gunshots, every bed full, people boarding in the waiting room and hallways with broken limbs and makeshift pressure dressings on bullet holes and stab wounds.

The once chemical, pristine floor and walls now look like something from a SAW movie, and you’re not much better off. Bloody, dirt caked scrubs, exhausted, sweat stains. You’ve probably done more chest compressing tonight than you have in your entire career leading up. And you’ve seen more people die tonight… well, more than you’d like.

You wipe some tears off your cheeks, pretending it’s sweat, before walking into the lobby to catch the stragglers. “Thomas?”

“Call me Tom.” He’s a cop, still in uniform, sitting on the floor with a big puff of gauze pressed into his shoulder. You kneel down beside him. 

“I’m y/n, can I take a look?”

“Sure.” He winces, pulls the bloody dressing away to reveal a big, messy gash slicing into his left shoulder. It will need stitches, that’s for sure, but other than that it looks like a fairly clean cut. 

“Knife?” You ask him, pulling back on his shirt. 

“Some fucking idiot crackhead with a sword, actually,” he grits. 

You laugh a little bit. “I’m having a hard time believing that.”

“So am I.” He tries to grin at you, but it comes out more like a snarl because of the way you’re poking and prodding at him. 

Maybe it's just because you're exhausted, you've had a terrible night, and you hurt all over, but you can't help but notice how handsome this man is, even after his own ordeals on the mean streets of the City of Angels. He watches you with sharp dark eyes that miss nothing. You almost feel sorry for the criminals who find themselves on the receiving end of that stare. As it is, you almost feel a little unnerved yourself, until you notice a sparkle of humor for you in those dark orbs. However, you still get the feeling like he's studying you while you are tending his wound.

“I gotta stitch this,” you tell him, a little shy under his gaze, now. 

“Are you good at that?” 

You’re kind of in your own little world when he asks that, looking at his arms. Solid and big. Nice veins. It takes you a minute to register that he even said something. Yeah, you chastise yourself, why don’t you just start fucking drooling while you’re at it? 

“Good at what?” 

His grin tips higher. “Stitches…” 

“No, but I'm going to stab you repeatedly with a needle anyway…”

He chuffs with laughter. “You just seem a little distracted.” The way he smirks at you, you just know you're caught out. Get it together, you scold yourself. Maybe act like a professional instead of oogling the nice police officer.

“Sorry. It's just been a really long night. I promise, you're in good hands.”

“Looking forward to it,” he answers, with a beam of direct eye contact that nearly brings you to your knees. 

This is where you catch your lucky break, because this is where you start to get annoyed. Mostly, at yourself, but partly at him too. He clearly knows how attractive he is. He's just that kind of asshole. And it's been fucking forever since you've gotten laid, because the world is just so full of assholes… It's not fair, the way he uses this advantage to tease you, when you feel like an extra in a Rob Zombie film. You do your best to appear unaffected as you walk away to retrieve supplies. You also pretend not to notice him staring at your ass, which, okay, you have to admit, it’s a little bit of a confidence boost. 

It’s almost stupid to put towels under his arm as you spray him off with sterile water - this floor could actually use it. You get the edges pink and shiny, uncake the blood and the viscera. Grateful for the distraction - distraction from the big, brown eyed cop who won’t stop looking at you. 

He has that type of stare that has weight to it. You feel it, on your skin– and you hate to admit it– in the aching throb between your legs, which is the last thing you need to be distracted by right now. Ah, the stupid lady parts, always making their vote known at the worst possible time. 

Even though you let the anesthetic sit for a while, modern medicine can’t account for all the pain. He’s wincing and grunting while you tug his open flesh back together, and those gruff sounds are not helping this whole being attracted to him situation. You feel like your skin is on fire from his overwhelming stare, from the noises coming out of that long throat. Christ, he’s not even touching you…

“You alright there sweetheart? I'm the one under the needle.”

You look at him, some of that anger escaping in your tone. “Please don’t call me sweetheart.” 

“Sorry. Been a long night for me too.” He lifts one of those sculpted dark brows at you, and you feel it as your heart tries most earnestly to tap dance right out of your fucking chest. 

You sigh, narrowing your eyes so that he knows he's not in the clear. Unfortunately, he just seems to find that adorable, those dark eyes sparkling like black diamonds. 

“Just…let me finish you off so you can get out of here.”

“Didn't know you performed that service here,” he quips with a smirk, and you're almost relieved he drives this final nail into his coffin, even if the suggestion makes a spear of desire shoot through you. 

“I'm starting to side with the crackhead now.”

“Ooo, ouch,” he snarks, unaffected. “Take your time, this is the most fun I've had in a while.”

You decide not to answer, concentrating on your work. This man has a quick comeback for everything, you have a feeling. Worse, you kind of doubt a girl like you has a chance in hell of outmaneuvering him.

As you're bandaging him up, he senses your time together is coming to a close. His demeanor changes a little– if you didn't know any better,  you'd think he was sad about it. “Thanks for stitching me up,” he says, surprisingly humble. He rolls those big dark eyes up to yours, and you feel your resolve to be a stone cold professional crumble–a little.

“You're welcome.” It's possible your touch on his shoulder lingers just slightly longer than it should. 

“Hey…” He clearly feels bold enough to catch your hand in his. And holy shit, that hand. Your little mitt disappears in his, wrapped up in long, blunt fingers. The things you bet that hand could do to you…

It's definitely not a helpful thought.

“Any chance I could give you a call sometime?”

Your initial, knee-jerk reaction to this question, from this fine-ass man, is Yes, please and thank you. You're sure he sees it in your eyes, the way you're practically ready to sit up and bark for him.

But then, past experiences raise their hands to the situation, and how grateful you are. 

You know this guy's type, you convince yourself. Handsome, and macho, and they think they're so cute they can say anything and you'll just keep eating out of the palm of their hand, grateful to be their girl. You've starred in this show before– and it always ends in tragedy, with your heart in shreds, and them shrugging you off before moving on. 

Not tonight. 

“Sorry, but…I think it's best we keep this professional.”

Why does it hurt to say it?

You expect him to sulk, maybe even get mean, the way so many manly men do when a woman bruises their fragile egos. However, it seems this man is different. He just smirks, and you realize with a skip of your heartbeat, that he is not deterred at all.

“If you say so, sweetheart.”

With your heart in your throat, you have a feeling this is not the last you see of detective Tom Ludlow.

[nobodysdaydreams]

I know it's late for this, but here's how I think characters in the Mysterious Benedict Society would have reacted to the solar eclipse.

Nicholas- obviously he'd be so excited for this. The world goes dark, he passes out with joy.

Rhonda- buys everyone eclipse glasses and makes sure they understand the dangers of looking at the sun

Number Two- complains about the traffic because tons of tourists are coming for the eclipse and her mom has a ton of weird conspiracies about what the eclipse means, but once the eclipse is happening, she very much enjoys it.

Milligan- happy that he's able to experience such a unique and special moment with his daughter that he will treasure forever

Miss. Perumal- educates the children on how solar eclipses happen and bakes cookies for the watch party

Kate- climbs a tree so she can be closer to the sun and get a better view

Martina- was planning on forcing the tetherball team to practice through the eclipse, but begrudgingly cancels practice to join Kate in the tree

Reynie- is excited about the eclipse in a very average, but endearing way.

Sticky- is fascinated by and excited for the eclipse, but then he saw a video about what happened to that one person that stared at the sun and even though he knows that won't happen to him because he has the right glasses, he still can't get the thought out of his head. His friends help him calm down, and he ends up enjoying the eclipse.

Constance- pretends she doesn't care about it that much, but she actually does and writes an incredibly beautiful poem about it afterwards which she shows to no one.

Nathaniel/Curtain- cancels classes at the Institute to view the eclipse and somehow turns it into a metaphor about himself. I don't know exactly how he would do this, something about the moon being the darkness of Nicholas that blocks out the brilliance of the sun (himself), but the sun is all powerful and shall surely rise again, I don't know, something like that. However, if this happened during season 2, he would 100% incorporate it into his cult's doctrine just because he can. He'd make that the day and hour of his evil plans just for the symbolism.

Jackson and Jillson- they also saw the video about the people who stared at the sun and they have made it their personal mission to warn everyone about proper eye protection

SQ- he's happy to be able to spend the day with his dad watching the sky. He later draws a really beautiful picture of the eclipse.

Jeffers- stares directly at the sun and suffers permanent eye damage despite being warned multiple times

Dr. Garrison- fascinated by the eclipse for scientific reasons, but takes advantage of the distraction to escape and begin hatching an evil plot

Marlon- does not care at all that the eclipse is happening but goes along with whatever Curtain wants

Captain Noland- views the eclipse as a sign of coming doom

Cannonball- is 100% on board with whatever conspiracy Noland believes

Number Two's mom- views the eclipse as a sign of coming doom

Number Two's brother- is 100% on board with whatever conspiracy his mom believes

Number Two's sister- doesn't care at all that the eclipse is happening, but goes along with whatever her mom wants

And I know I've been doing mostly show characters, but...

Crawlings- stares directly at the sun and suffers permanent eye damage. But he only stared at it with one eye because he kept the other one closed thinking that would somehow save him from being burned, so now he wears an eyepatch over his bad eye, but that's not the same one as the one where he lost his eyebrow, so it doesn't cover that damage either, he just looks like a mess.

The Rest of the Ten Men- think Crawlings is an idiot for looking at the sun and claim they don't care at all that the eclipse is happening (Sharpe lowkey does, would never admit it).

Seymour, the orphanage cat- continues being a cat. Is very confused when it is suddenly nighttime. Then when its daytime again, he shrugs it off and goes about his business.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Not a Bad Holiday Season

Hey! I hope you had a great holiday season! I was wondering if you could write something sweet about Virgil and Logan after the secret Santa episode. No pressure ofc, Thank you you’re the best <3 – lapassemirrior

Read on Ao3

Pairings: none

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1225

“No, but that doesn’t work within the context of the other clues…”

Virgil smiles as he ambles down the hallway, listening to the soft mutterings on the other side of Logan’s door. From the sounds of it, Logan’s hardly stopped to breathe since he figured out that the newspaper wasn’t just a newspaper. He hesitates for a moment, just a moment, before knocking on the door.

“Come in?”

“Hey,” he says as he steps through, “wanted to check if you—whoa.”

He thinks he can be forgiven for truly coming to a dead stop when he sees the fucking conspiracy board Logan’s got where his whiteboard usually is. The original newspaper is still on his desk, the eye in the hurricane of notebooks, pens, and paper strewn about, but he’s made copies of certain parts and pinned them to a corkboard. Fucking hell, he’s even got bits of red string connecting picture to picture—if he didn’t know any better, he’d ask if Logan were working with Roman or Remus on some film noir idea.

“Virgil?”

He snaps himself out of it. “Sorry, I, uh, I guess I’m glad you’re having fun?”

Logan’s face splits into an almost manic grin—shit, maybe he really has been spending too much time with Remus. “This is incredible, Virgil, I can’t properly express my gratitude until I’ve completed your puzzle. I have to ask: did you do all of this truly by yourself?”

Virgil scratches the back of his head. “Eh. I may have gotten Princey to help with some of it.”

Logan frowns. “Roman?”

“Well, yeah, he is Creativity too. And he’s—okay, I’m not gonna spoil it ‘cause it’s his idea, but he has this thing he’s doing right now that’s gonna be really, really cool when he gets around to showing it off, so—“

He trails off when he sees Logan still frowning at his desk. He takes a step closer, nudging him with an elbow.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing, nothing.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It really is nothing,” he says, “I suppose I’m surprised that Roman would be willing to…help you with such a thing.”

Virgil frowns. The irritation that Logan had expressed when he’d first looked at the newspaper, the almost resignation he’d had when he’d immediately moved on, it’s starting to show in his face right now.

“L,” he says, trying to get his attention, “why is it surprising?”

“Well,” Logan huffs, adjusting his tie, “you know.”

”I don’t. Can you tell me?”

“It’s Roman.”

“Yeah. Creativity. Making things. Doing stuff for us.”

“For you,” Logan corrects, still not meeting his gaze, “not necessarily for me.”

That’s funny. As Virgil remembers it, Roman had been hesitant to help him at all until he’d told him it was for Logan. Then he was practically climbing all over him to help out.

“But perhaps in the spirit of the holiday, then—“

“Logan.”

Logan stops. He takes off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath. Virgil lets him, waiting until he’s put his glasses back on and sat down. He leans against the edge of the desk and waits.

”That was unfair of me to say,” he mumbles, “wasn’t it?”

“Maybe a bit.”

“I…didn’t mean it to be spiteful.”

“You sure?”

“…maybe slightly.”

Virgil chuckles, rubbing his shoulder. “It’s okay. I know you and Princey have your moments.”

“But I have those with everyone,” Logan continues, staring off into space, “even—even with you. When I didn’t realize what your gift was at first, I…”

“Hey,” Virgil murmurs when Logan’s breath hitches just a bit too much for his liking, “you’re okay. It’s—look, the holidays are a stressful time for everyone, it’s not fair of me to hold it against you.”

“Thank you.”

“And, uh, I think any ARG that loudly screams hey, look at me, I’m a big fucking puzzle kinda fails at being an entertaining ARG—“ Logan snorts— “so I don’t blame you for taking a second to get it either.”

Logan hums, leaning against Virgil’s side. His glasses squish slightly into his ribs and he turns to fix it. “You’re right.”

“And hey, you really look like you’re enjoying it.” He gestures to the board. “You got your red string out and everything.”

“Well, I realized that I could take notes on my computer or in the notebook, but…” He can hear the moment the smile curls up his face. “I decided I might as well have fun with it.”

“That’s the whole point.”

“Thank you,” he says, softer now, turning to look up at him, “I really do like the present.”

Virgil chuckles. “I got that. Glad you’re having fun. What part are you at?”

“Part?”

“How much of it have you solved already?”

“I’ve just gotten to the QR code you managed to hide inside the picture—how did you do that, by the way? No, no—“ Logan holds up a hand as Virgil starts to explain— “don’t tell me just yet, I’ll make a list to ask you once I’ve finished everything.”

Virgil just grins and holds up his hands, stepping back as he watches Logan get up and start working on something again. He wanders over to the board after a moment, looking at all the pieces. Shit, he knew Logan would be good at this, but Janus would pop up if he said he’s a little disappointed that some of the puzzles didn’t take him longer.

Though, he notices with a grin, it doesn’t look like Logan’s cracked the big one yet. That’ll be something to look forward too.

“But enough about that,” Logan says, “did you come here for anything specific?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Pat and Princey are making a fucking feast for dinner and they’ve asked the rest of us to put together a movie marathon. If you, uh, if you’re willing to step away for a sec?”

“Certainly. Give me one moment…” Logan scribbles something else down on the piece of paper and pins it to the board—damnit, he got that one too, he really is good at this, maybe he should’ve made it harder— “there. Alright, what is everyone thinking? There are a few generic thrillers that have come out recently, Remus was talking about a disaster movie—“

“Wait, they made another one?”

Logan rolls his eyes as they head out to the hall. “It’s quite a profitable genre, despite the rampant suspension of disbelief that’s necessary for full immersion, so yes, I’m sure they did.”

“I don’t know about you, but I think not having to think too much sounds like a good thing.”

Logan chuckles. “Yes, well, you’ve been kind enough to give me quite the puzzle to keep me entertained for a while.”

“I really am glad you like it, L.”

“May I be honest?” Virgil nods and Logan glances around, leaning a bit closer. “Even if it had just been a newspaper, I still would have appreciated it as it came from you.”

Well. Shit. Now he’s blushing. And Logan’s looking at him like that and yep, they’re going to find the others right now.

All in all, not such a bad holiday season.

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv  @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance@whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti@ultrageekygirl

[eightmandibles]

Mawaru Penguindrum Phrases Breakdown

I've written a big long post breaking down some of the repeated phrases of the show Mawaru Penguindrum because rewatching it a year ago gave me brainrot. Hope those who r interested enjoy.

Alright this has been occupying my brain for so long it should've started paying rent so I've decided to finally write it all up. Some of these are my own thoughts, but a lot of these are pieces of interpretations that are floating out there on the web. I just didn’t find any one place that compiles them all and puts them together.

Mawaru Penguindrum is the first Ikuhara show I ever watched and something about it really changed my brain forever even though I didn’t really understand what I was watching the first time through (because I was in middle school). I love its surreality and the density of its visual metaphors that all feed into each other has me like an insane person complete with a red string conspiracy board (that will be a section later). It’s show that challenges the viewers to piece together concepts and leaves questions for them to answer on their own, some intended and some probably not as much. I admire the ambition and the commitment to exist in a space that's between trite judgements of black and white, good and evil, and to trust the viewer to really engage with the work.

In this blog post I’m going to break down some of the major catchphrases of the show because they exemplify how the visual/thematic density rewards viewers who spend the time to really engage with the material. It also personally fascinates me as someone who enjoys these puzzle box-type themes and narratives that have the answers staring you right in the face from the beginning, but you just didn’t have the tools to understand what you were being cryptically told.

MAWARU PENGUINDRUM

We gotta start from the beginning and break down the title first of course.

MAWARU: spinning, turning, rotating - which brings themes like revolution and cycles to mind

It’s probably also nod to Revolutionary Girl Utena (though both shows share a lot of themes in examining and trying to challenge or examine societal norms, structures, and cycles).

PENGUINDRUM:

First layer of understanding: the physical diary that the Kanba and Shoma must find (actually it’d be more accurate the say the first layer is just being like “this is a nonsense word” but I digress)

Let’s do another layer of breakdowns -

PENGUIN: Flightless birds that belong neither to the land or the sea - chosen to represent the idea of the “unchosen.” Those in Antarctica need to rely on their community to survive in their harsh environment, huddling and rotating (mawaru…) to keep everyone warm.

There’s a common rumor out there that Ikuhara said penguins were also chosen because it sounds like “pingguo” which is apple in Chinese. Honestly I believe it because he seems to be the kind of person to say stuff like that, but also I’ve never found a source on this.

DRUM: An instrument that keeps a steady beat…like a heartbeat…badum tss. The apple in the show always being red reinforces this association.

Second layer of understanding: When the diary is lost, what the “penguindrum” is exactly becomes more nebulous and we start operating in a metaphor-as-reality world. In terms of visual representation in the show, the “penguindrum” is the “apple” the siblings have been sharing among themselves.

The Penguindrum being represented by an apple means there’s a lot of associations tied into its image. In the show, apples are a visual metaphor for being "chosen". Classically, apples are also the fruit of original sin (like fate…not to jump ahead but remember this for later) - which ties into the concept of “punishment” that Himari's fate is framed as.

Because of the breakdown from earlier (and also all the chest puncturing imagery in the show lol), we can also understand the Penguindrum to be associated with the heart - often in turn associated with love, which is a very loaded concept to dig through, especially as presented in the show (romantic, platonic, and/or familial connections; sacrifice, community, etc.)

Taking these all together, a third layer of interpretation is that Mawaru Penguindrum refers to the cycle (Mawaru) of sharing bonds/fate/connection/love (Penguindrum) between the show’s characters.

SURVIVAL STRATEGY

This phrase is what signals the Princess of the Crystal's presence and initiates the transformation sequence that takes the brothers into a surreal world.

The common reading of this is again the reference of penguins needing to huddle together to survive the cold of Antarctica. They rotate who bears the cold wind of the outside circle in order for the whole flock to survive. Basically, we need the help and support of each other to survive the cold winds of an uncaring society.

While thinking on this phrase, I was struck by how every character’s drive in the show can be explained as “survival strategies” they learned as children. Perhaps it’s a bit of a stretch to apply it in the way this phrase is used in psychology, but I do think it at least refers to the ideology characters take on as children due to their traumatic childhood events or from flawed role models.

Ringo’s “survival strategy” is the most explicitly stated in the show: in episode 6, she believes her parents are on the verge of divorce because she is not Momoka - therefore to keep her family together she resolves to become Momoka. 

The origin of Kanba and Himari’s core approaches to life appear in the flashbacks of episodes 5 and 9 respectively. The Takakura parents each protect the two adopted children from injury by glass, a nod to their original unchosen fate. In doing so, they’re set up as the direct masculine and feminine role models that the two children learn from and model themselves on. I’m not sure it’s accurate to say that the lessons they internalize are strictly “wrong,” because I don’t think Penguindrum is interested in discussing characters like that, but they definitely are flawed.

Shoma deals with guilt from his family’s “sin” and grapples with the idea of taking responsibility for his parents’ actions.

Tabuki and Yuri still believe themselves to be “unloved children” and that’s why they keep pursuing Momoka or seeking revenge for her. They struggle to believe there’s a place in the world for them without their savior there.

Masako is a pretty clear one as well - she internalizes her grandfather’s habits and beliefs in order to try and fit in, even if it never earned her any respect in his eyes.

The childhood of the characters in the show informed how they viewed the society they grew up in, and what they needed to do or become in order to survive.

YOU WHO WILL NEVER AMOUNT TO ANYTHING, FIND THE PENGUINDRUM

Honestly I’m obsessed with the phrases that first sound like absolute nonsense, but cool absolute nonsense. This is the phrase that made me want to write this blog post in the first place.

The phrase is the call-to-action by the mysterious Princess of the Crystal. On first viewing, we can interpret so little of this sentence it’s really just a tool to sound cool and give us a snapshot of the Princess of the Crystal’s personality - haughty, cryptic, and generally unhelpful. It gives Kanba and Shoma a goal, even though neither us nor them understand what the hell it is.

YOU WHO WILL NEVER AMOUNT TO ANYTHING

As the show goes on, the themes and concepts around being a chosen or unchosen child arise. Those who are unchosen and unloved go to the Child Broiler to be turned into glass. This is semi-metaphorical and semi-literal (diegetic might be an appropriate word in a weird way) - metaphorically it can be interpreted as becoming a forgettable, blandly molded member of society, though being processed is acknowledged more like death in the show. In some ways that’s still accurate.

Each of the siblings started without an apple, literally-metaphorically starving of love and unchosen - originally they were fated to never amount to anything.

FIND THE PENGUINDRUM

Obviously this initially refers to the diary in the show, but as we broke down earlier PENGUINDRUM eventually takes on a more loaded meaning akin to love, bond, and connection.

So over the course of watching the show, the phrase transforms from a one-sided order and condemnation to a call to action. Put all together with a little more elaboration: You who were unchosen and unloved from the beginning, in order to survive in this harsh world you must find love and connection with people to share your life with, through good and bad.

I COME FROM THE DESTINATION OF YOUR FATE

Time to bust out the conspiracy red string board, literally-metaphorically.

The Red Line is the literal, metaphorical, and thematic spine of the show. There are two big starting categories for viewing The Red Line in the show, which then mix together to create new meanings as the show references it through imagery and dialogue.

First up, the Red Line refers to an actual train line that the entire show takes place upon, the Tokyo Metro Marunouchi line. The entire show is structured around the train line which starts with the Ogikubo Station and ends at Ikebukuro, with important locations being linked with the actual train stops. It was one of the train lines attacked in real life as part of the Tokyo subway sarin attack in 1995 which the Pingu group’s terrorist attack in the show is a very transparent reference to. This single point in time in 1995 is the origin of almost everything in Mawaru Penguindrum, and in fact almost half the cast is born on the exact day the Pingu group attacks, just to emphasize how closely their fates are tied to the attack.

Second, the Red Line can be seen as a representation of fate, as in the red string of fate. Fate and destiny are concepts brought up over and over again, with Shoma and Ringo having their own monologues about it in the first two episodes (and Kanba having his much later). The visualization of the red string of fate can also be seen in the ending animations.

Somewhere in between is the Red Line as the metaphor of a train to visualize fate. Fate is something that can’t be changed - just like how trains run on fixed tracks with fixed destinations. Of course this is challenged in the show - Momoka even uses the metaphor of changing train tracks to explain her ability.

Now, fate has its own set of associations, such as: destiny, love, connection, bond (hmm familiar), as well as superstitions like fated meetings, fated demises, divine determination.

These can start branching off into concepts like blessings, sins, retribution, and karma (cue the Fate monologues again). And now we start getting back into the idea of cycles: downward spirals of getting what one deserves for their actions, passing on one’s sins to those after you - or virtuous cycles of doing good deeds and passing love and care forward.

Often in discussions of fate, familiar questions arise. Does the beginning determine the end? Is the end fated from the beginning? And so the Red Line becomes the Red Circle, another visual device seen throughout the show. It’s all over the motion graphics of the show and appears around the train stations as well as around ‘95’, referencing the originating incident of it all - the beginning of the Takakura family that determined their end.

What I love about this use of the Red Line is that however you progress your understanding of the its importance to the show, it all helps you further understand any concept Mawaru Penguindrum is discussing. This coherence and repetition of visual metaphors is what allows the show to feel more texturally and thematically cohesive even when it starts getting loose in a plot sense.

(Going back to the initial phrase, I COME FROM THE DESTINATION OF YOUR FATE is said by the Princess of the Crystal in her introduction monologue. It likely lampshades the predetermined ending that the Takakura brothers are so desperately trying to avoid. But also, there is a much funnier, much more literal interpretation I enjoy - Ikebukuro, the last stop on the train line, is where the aquarium the siblings visit is. It’s also where the brothers bought the novelty penguin hat for Himari. So the Princess of the Crystal literally came from the destination (last stop) of your fate (the red line)!)

LET’S SHARE THE FRUIT OF FATE

This turns out to be the secret key phrase needed to activate the diary in order to change the tracks of fate, which Ringo uses at the end of the show in order to prevent another train attack from succeeding.

It’s probably not too hard to piece together what the fruit of fate is after all of this. In a sense, this phrase is just a repeat of Mawaru Penguindrum, just as an actual sentence with a bit more coherence.

I’ll bear your burdens and you’ll bear mine, and in doing so, let us forever be connected.

Wow, finally expunged these thoughts from my brain. Maybe somewhere in me there's still something left for a discussion on how the show uses repeated imagery and visual metaphor to communicate information and associations to the viewer that are vital to actually understanding what's going on because it's a narrative that half exists a non-literal thematic space but for now:

Thanks for reading!

[spooky-circuits]

How do you think Branch's meeting with JD went?

Meeting John Dory was a complete lucky accident they didn’t have any clues to where he would be so the chances of finding him were low. The kids stumble onto Rhonda while John is out gathering supplies. She’s friendly so everyone is excited to treat her like a big pet she especially seems to like Branch for some reason after smelling him. Creek makes a joke about how he’s surprised anyone could like Branch more after smelling him (they’ve been in the woods for weeks it’s a bit of a given)

This is when they noticed a door on her side. Oh she must be a transport critter that means someone might live here. There’s some debate on if they should try going inside before they decide to actually see if it’s even locked or not.

It isn’t why would JD even think he would need to out in the middle of nowhere. Being able to go inside quickly is important to his survival out here.

The inside is very homey with the exception of a couple conspiracy boards hanging around covered in Brozone memorabilia. Some of this stuff is original prints where did this person even get these! At this point the Branch is standing there like

And there’s a voice behind them going “Whoever’s in there better get out here right now!”

John Dory comes back from gathering sticks for tonights fire to see Rhonda’s door wide open with Rhonda looking at him glad that he’s returned. He doesn’t know what to expect so he pulls out his machete and hopes he sounds threatening enough to be taken seriously. You can imagine his shock when group of teenagers are the ones to pour out of Rhonda looking nervous. He feels a bit bad for scaring them when one of the funk trolls says. “Oh no! The old Mountain hobo is gonna kill us!” Which okay fair. This looks bad but he’s only 32 the old comment is uncalled for! “Okay first of all not old! Second I’m not going to hurt a bunch of kids so calm down.”

Branch is staring at this scruffy old guy with a knife when he recognizes the goggles he’s wearing. “John Dory?” John looks at him almost startled to hear his own name in so long. “Uh yeah? Do I know you from somewhere? You look familiar I just can’t place it.” For some reason the rest of the group keeps looking back and forth between them like they’re expecting something to happen. Is that popcorn? The kid is looking at him incredulously and says. “Seriously man? Why don’t you take a guess?”

John is taking in this kid who look so similar to pictures he has hanging all over in Rhonda. He almost can’t believe the conclusion he’s coming too. “Bitty B?” He can’t believe it his baby brother is actually alive!

Branch looks like he’s about to make sarcastic comment and maybe tell JD he’s just Branch now but he’s cut off by being squeezed into one of the tightest bear hugs of his life. He’s patting John frantically on the arm to let him know he needs to breath.

[corporatefrog]

╰┈➤ Welcome Back to the Channel part 15; red string of CONSPIRACY

✧.* featuring yn opening up to Kyle about their recent theories : ̗̀➛ notes - I always get nervous when I post written out parts (esp when it's a smau) but I felt like this needed to be in person for the effect. The next part will be mainly written too so get ready! tags - college au, superhero au, smau

series masterlist previous | next

It’s got to make sense. It HAS to make sense. If it doesn’t make sense I’ve spent the past week thinking about it and that’s a week wasted that I could’ve used to do something else or literally anything. 

My vision blurred as I stared at the cork board, eyes tracing the same track of red yarn from picture to news article to picture to news article to picture-

It was a vicious cycle that had trapped me for what felt like hours but could’ve been minutes. Or days. Time came and went in no consistent interval. I woke up, went to class, came home and stared at this board until I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. 

I hadn’t made a video in a few weeks and I’d postponed the interview I had scheduled with Fast Pass with no new date set. Another lost opportunity because I couldn’t get my shit together. This is all I had right now. So I had to be right. Even if the theory made me sound like I’d never had a critical thought in my life. 

Which it does. Kyle didn’t even respond after you told him. That means no one believes you. It means your theory doesn’t make sense. This is BUTTERS we’re talking about.

Yeah but if it’s wrong, that means those people are right. Even if they’re just spreading hate on the internet to make themselves feel better, they have lives nonetheless. If I assisted someone who’s actively ruining people’s lives, does that make me just as bad as him? 

I shake the thoughts away. I’m not a bad person. I may make questionable choices but what college student doesn’t? It’s a part of growing up. So I have to be right about this. But what does that mean moving forward? What do I do knowing one of my best friends is a super villain? 

A stinging feeling begins behind my eyes as I feel the familiar pressure across the bridge of my nose that always happens before I start crying. 

Why can’t I figure this out? Why can’t I let this go? Why am I stuck-

A knock at the door startles me from my concentration. My head whips to the door as though it would open on its own to reveal who interrupted my time of focus. 

“Yn? Hello?” Kyle’s voice sounds from the other side of the door. 

Oh fuck. 

I looked back to the cork board which took up the majority of my living room. 

Why did I buy this again? I wondered, realizing how much space the board actually took up. The once tidy living room had become cluttered with empty coffee cups and takeout containers littered over the coffee table, end tables, and ground. Bits of red yarn sat on the ground from cut up scraps. Other lengths that had connected discarded evidence sat in a pile on a stool, waiting for the chance to be connected to the ever expanding web once again. 

“Are you in there?” Kyle’s voice rang through the apartment again.

I can’t let him in here! He’s going to think I’m some hermit conspiracy theorist!

…Well I kind of am a conspiracy theorist.

Deciding to ignore that realization, I lunged for the nearest piece of trash (a 3 day old Chipotle bowl that I just kept forgetting to walk the 3 feet to the kitchen trash) and tossed it into the garbage can. Speed cleaning the apartment lifted a weight from my shoulders, making the small living room feel less claustrophobic. 

Wow, I feel better already. Maybe I should open the blind and run a vacuum through real quick- KYLE!

I spun and walked toward the door, fixing my appearance in the 10 second walk to the door to the best of my ability. Even if I’ve been stuck in my apartment for a week and a half, I didn’t want to look like it. 

Unlocking the door, I put on my best “I’m totally fine and mentally stable!” face.

“Hey, kyle!” 

If I looked bad, Kyle somehow looked worse. The usually maintained curls frizzed into a blur atop his head and his shirt was clearly on backwards with a Fruit of the Loom logo showing proudly at the base of his neck. His eyes darted around the hallway and into my apartment through the sliver he could see through the cracked door. 

The fuck is up with him?

I think while also wearing a shirt backwards after throwing away a week’s worth of take out food and diluted iced coffee as though I was any better off. 

That’s not what we’re focusing on right now. I’m perfectly stable, duh. 

“You good?” I asked, leaning against the door frame to keep him from seeing my conspiracy board. 

Kyle raised an eyebrow, “You’re the one that texted me an essay about your theories then called yourself an asshole.”

“Oh those?” I forced out a laugh, waving a hand to brush off the concerns, “Those were just joke, duh! You took those seriously?” 

“They sounded pretty serious to me.” Kyle sighed, running a hand through his ragged hair in a way that somehow didn’t catch his fingers in the mess of curls, “Can I come in? There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

My eyes darted back into the apartment. The giant cork board stuck out like a neon sign saying “A MENTALLY ILL PERSON LIVES HERE!” I couldn’t let someone see me like this. Texting Kyle in the first place was a mistake. He’ll think I’m not thinking clearly, that I’m not someone to be trusted. The work I put into being reliable yn who’s always there to be a person you can lean on will be ruined. No one will ever trust me again. 

But don’t you want someone else to know? Just knowing that someone else sees your stress instead of shoving it down until it spills over?

The thought alone of telling someone about these thoughts, of sharing the burden I’d created for myself, cleared the clouds fogging my mind. He can be someone who will listen. He can be a witness so I’m not the only one who knows that I’m struggling. 

I stepped back, pulling the door open so Kyle could step through. 

“Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess.” I started, hoping to mediate the embarrassment of letting someone into my stress lair. 

Kyle shook his head as a small smile tugged at his lips, “It’s no problem, if you’ve ever seen stan’s room-” His sentence died out as he noticed the cork board. You know, the giant one covering my living room wall filled with pictures and newspaper clipping connected by red yarn. 

“Oh.” Was all he said. 

I shut the door behind him. Kyle jumped slightly at the sound, turning his gaze to follow me as I walked. He doesn’t say a word. Only staring at the cork board, the remains of trash I’d missed on my quick clean, and my own disheveled appearance. 

Might as well address the elephant in the room.

“Do you want to talk about the cork board?” I asked, continuing before he had a chance to reply, “Let's talk about the cork board because I’ve been dying to talk about this cork board all day.” Walking up to the board, I pointed to the center where two photos sat: one of the supervillain Professor Chaos and the other of elementary education major Butters Stotch. 

“Professor Chaos. His name keeps coming up over and over again. Everyday Call Girl is sending out alerts about this guy,” I move my hand to point at different tweets I’d printed out and pinned to the board, “Professor Chaos takes hostages in a McDonalds Play Place for a birthday party. Professor Chaos attempts to sign himself as the mayor of South Park using a fake charity petition. Professor Chaos hijacks the news station to declare the weather today ‘a 100% chance of Chaos’. This entire corner is just tweets about Professor Chaos!” 

Kyle sits down on the couch without a word, eyes still following my every move. I start pacing across the living room. 

Why isn’t he saying anything? Is it because he doesn’t believe me? 

“So I start to look closer at his actions, his way of speaking, everything that makes Professor Chaos who he is. But it’s around this same time that I start to text a certain person more because we have a philosophy class together.” I return to the board and point to screenshots of text messages. 

“Here Butters talks about getting grounded for eating two cookies and here Professor Chaos talks about being grounded for wearing his villain outfit then got grounded for trying to get ungrounded.” I look between the cork board and Kyle, trying to justify my hypothesis with the urgency in my voice, “No one gets grounded as much as Butters. You know that. I know that. Everyone knows that!”

“But that’s not even the smoking gun!” I exclaimed, pointing to another corner of the board, “Last week, Butters missed our philosophy class- which he has never done- and when I texted him, he said he was at a showing of Frozen on Ice with his mom in Denver. But when you look at the schedule for Frozen on Ice,” I pause for effect, “they don’t start shows for this season in Denver until next month. Right day, wrong month.” 

“But guess what was going on last week? Professor Chaos attacks main street and is tackled by Super Craig. Landing him with another defeat and some pretty gnarly bruises to boot. The kind of bruises you’d need to miss class to cover up.” I finished with a sigh, glad to finally tell someone the monologue that had been racing through my head for the past week. 

I brace myself for Kyle’s response. His eyes are locked onto the cork board and my scribbled sticky notes shouting various exclamations of discovery and panic. With a deep breath, he levels his gaze on me. 

What is he thinking? Is he trying to find a nice way to say I’ve lost it? Have I lost it?

“Yn-”  He begins but I cut him off. 

“I know it sounds crazy, okay? I know it sounds like I’m reaching by claiming the only truly nice person I know is the town’s resident fucking super villain-” 

“You’re right.” 

Kyle’s response blasts through my clouded mind. I physically take a step back as my face morphs from frantic stress to confusion. 

“What did you just say?” I ask, shoulders remaining tense as a hand twists into the fabric of my shirt. Kyle sighs, looking away and muttering something to himself. He raises a hand to his face, rubbing at his eyes before looking back at me. 

“You’re right about Professor Chaos.”

The words I hoped to hear, the words I thought would finally take the weight off my shoulders and release the stress that had gripped my nerves, only intensified the panic in my mind. 

“You mean you believe me, right?” I started slowly, trying to clarify the simple language mistake Kyle made. 

“No, I mean you’re right.”

Before my mind could begin to wrap around the first revelation, Kyle continued speaking. 

“I can’t tell you. I’m not allowed to. I shouldn’t even be telling you this. But I know someone who can, or at least someone who has permission.”

I began shifting my weight from foot to foot, holding back the urge to begin pacing again as I ran a hand through my hair. 

“You know how cryptic you’re being right now, right?” I said. 

“Yeah I know.” Kyle's leg began to bounce as his own nerves began to peak through, “I’m walking a very thin line and I’m trying not to get us both into major trouble.” He looked up to me, trying to communicate a message I couldn’t understand. 

“With who?” 

“Someone with a lot more authority than me. Someone who can explain things more if you come with me.” Kyle urged. 

What does that even mean? Let’s not forget that he said we were right. How does he know that? Why does he know that?

My thoughts fought against each other to be the one addressed first but with so many questions, it felt impossible to single out one from the mass. Everything was happening so fast. Everything changed so fast. When did the mood of the room become so urgent? Did it always feel like this? 

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to pause the thoughts. Nothing is going to get done at this rate. So I need to take the first step forward. 

“Okay… yeah.”I started slowly. Kyle nodded and began to stand but I held up a hand for him to wait, “But only if you promise we can get ice cream afterwards.”

Kyle looked at me with an exasperated expression, “Are you seriously using this to get free ice cream?”

This is what he’s surprised by? 

I raised my eyebrow at him and pointed to the chaotic corkboard, “You just told me my batshit conspiracy theory was right and now you want me to follow you to an unknown location to talk to an unknown person. Fuck yes I want free ice cream.” 

Kyle considered the cork board for a moment before sighing. 

“Fine. We’ll get ice cream.”

I muttered a quick “Fuck yeah.” to myself in celebration before looking back at Kyle, 

“Okay I’ll get my coat.” 

I grabbed my jacket and followed Kyle out the door, not nervous about where I’d be going, but scared that I wouldn’t like what I found.

taglist [reply to be added]: @sula0kin @lacuna-at-dawn @anglettecolours @cocolena@sukisprettyface @feverish-dove @sweetadonisbutbetter @hand-writxen@mishstuff@sophtophie @triphovia  @lacunaanonymoused @inkedintothepaper @toodeepintofandoms@mmmaackerel @sillybilly-123@n0tangeliccc

[rozonrozark]

1- soooooo about Bread growing feathers... Was it a one time thing or something permenent? Since Adrien alergic to feathers will he get sneezy around her? That might be one last fuck you from wish lmao.

2- We know wish forces cat miraculous wearers to always be against Order, since Order is gone does that mean they can finally take some steps to fix their relationship?

3- I feel like every hero's secret identity (other than Bread and Adrien) is known by their family. Nora seemed like she was about to punch and drag her sister in safety but held back because of... reasons...

4- (Early Discovery au) Can we say marriage counseling can save the Paris? That au spesificly is very funny to me because its just a rich family failing to communicate properly while looking for an underage girl with most inconvient ways possible so they can recieve magic macarons. Meanwhile Adrien stares at his parents who is one argument away from divorce, nods then leaves. Magical chibi sized gods are here too i guess.

5- Watching inside out then reading the series made me realise if we could see Mari's head anxiety would hold the reins in her head. Poor girl.

6- (joke) How much more time needs to pass for Plag to be able to ask for child support? Can he claim he raised his kitten? Will he and Tom fight against each other? Will he get much much emotional during important events in Bread's life compared to canon Adrien's? (okay last one wasnt really a joke)

7- (Early Discovery au) I noticed Mari was quite nervous while talking to Adrien... Was it because she is afraid of possible backlash or she is really uncomfortable about trying to decieve him? I feel like it's more likely social awkwardness but there is more...

8- (Early discovery au) Emilie seems very insecure as a mother. Is there any spesific event that caused that?

9- Let's assume Wishmaker gave Mari her childhood dream. How much different it would be compared to canon? And how much knowing it would screw Luka?

1: The feathers are magic so, maybe they are non-allergenic. Yes it is a partial F U from the wish but it is more just the punishment of using the combined Catalyst.

2: Misterbug is no longer under the Wish's influence that does not mean that the Wish is gone. Remember Feast was defeated...

3: Nora held back at that time due to not being a hundred percent certain and needing to confirm it. It would have been very awkward/rude if she was wrong after all.

4: For the most part yes, marriage counseling could save Paris. At least for a bit, I won't say much but Emilie does still need her medicine. Adrien is in the background with the kwami getting there help.

5: Anxiety is working overtime in Marinette's head. Meanwhile Fear has a conspiracy board set up and Sadness's has a room full of memories.

6: Plagg will have a full legal battle so he can get custody! His lawyer, a clever fox named Trixx is more than ready to help! The rest of the kwami are getting tissues and will have a party for her at each major millstone.

7: A bit of both. She was walking into a situation that could have easily backfire, Marinette hates lying/deceiving people but there was also a third thing. This Marinette hasn't had any good social situations with anybody in a long time.

8: Well, she is slightly insecure because she started to release that she wasn't the best mother before the events of the series. Remember she was fully onboard with essentially isolating her son and now whenever Adrien has trouble with social situations or connecting with people Emilie blames herself.

9: Hmm, now that is a question. On one hand younger Marinette would still have the wish of being the knitting fairy due to how young she was back then. However, that wish would be overshadowed by her other childhood wish of being the best cat hero and making Plagg proud of her! So she would become Super Cheshire! As for Luka if the first situation happened he would investigate who Cheshire's civilian identity is then proceed to be horrified by what is going on followed by being beyond pissed at Juleka for her part in this girl's broken heartsong.

[weidli]

liveblog to von affen und menschen under the cut cause it got long

off to a good start i like the atmosphere

auch wieder mal musikalisch fun which is good cause that's what makes me like züri brännt so much i think

fucking love sunglasses isabelle impeccable

obsessed

theyre doing menschenrechte for menschenaffe als thema and they can't even bring up the basel initiative come onnnnn liegt doch auf der hand

when will they let ME take a nap in peace in the zoo zürich smh

oh isabelle reacts FAST

wo isch d'tessa??? Im Nebel. Mit Gorillas. häääää????

oh i've seen this woman before i just know it

WAS FREYA IN DER LETZTE SCHREY I FUCKING WIN

now i need to go back to that one i love weimar episodes and i love watching actors speak high german when i know they're swiss

we're doing IMPERSONATION i love that for her

tessa das ist jetzt aber nicht sehr vorsichtig

wohnung suspiciously broken into and fucked up and she doesn't even check every room PLEASE. A BIT OF CAUTION

ehrlich gesagt aber auch very funny wie sie einfach gerade aussen telefoniert und nix mitkriegt und der typ da Ach nei jetzt chann i sie nid umbringe blöde jugend und ihri handys immer. awwwwkward

JUST GENERALLY A LOT OF THIS IS REALLY FUNNY ACTUALLY

staring at the mirror having killed her twin sister (notwehr ?) and pretended it was suicide unaware that she is now impersonating the person who committed a whole NOTHER tötungsdelikt possibly a mord: es isch VORBEI . dU dumme sau. yeah pal not sure this one's gonna end well

BAHNHOF ZÜRI TIMES YEEAAAAHHHH

goodness let them sleep

jsjsjsj love all the mirror talking going on this episode . you know this DOES kind of feel like it could've been a weimar plotwise. this is great i mean that as a compliment

auch maximal chaos gerade die hälfte schlaft ein die andere hälfte hat kein plan um was es gerade geht

love tessa throwing tissue ball at noah and him looking very proud when he manages to duck. no one takes that man seriously in here

ach ja die schon oft angedeutete bundesgerichtsstelle für d wegenast

isabelle is so goddamn cute sometimes

immer noch kein plan was der eine kerl eigentlich vor hat aber ok guess we're infiltrating the krankenhaus

the simultaneous wordless sunglassed sighing. i'm in love with this episode

HELP

oh right i forgot about the very first dead guy

somebody please let them sleep

AND THEYRE STILL SHORT ONE they haven't found nicole yet

kdhsj poor isabelle

okay i want to hear about the background child dressed as a cowboy with an arrow in his arm. tell me more

noah just sitting there while isabelle and tessa Construct Theories. i suspect no one's told him anything

this is PROPER iasip conspiracy board shenanigans

tessaaaaaa stop calling it mord if you don't know that it's mord and in fact have no clue what the motive was that's my personal pet peeve >.<

NOW we've got the full set of leichen

at least so far

isabelle taking out her gun to stand there dramatically and aesthetically and tessa's just like Cmon really ???

i love isabelle's euphemisms for kicked the bucket. still adore the time in schoggiläbe at the hotel where they were like oh should we leave a message and she was like No need. Er ist ... schon abgereist. "hat sich Ihrer Haft entzogen" ist nearly as neat

huge fan of charlie and the affen

DU SCHLÄFST? OHNE MICH??

tessa has a sister? noted

so much is happening and there's half an hour left

aaaaand they're lost in the woods

oh right that fuckin other guy we still know nothing about

and NOW isabelles in a garbage can. and tessas shaving a dead chimp

god bless milan truly

isabelle you're slowly losing marbles go get some SLEEP woman

oh but there is some FASCINATING characterization going on at the intersection of isabelle digging the diamond out of garbage bags and climbing into the garbage to do it so she can give something to milan and have something for herself (No one's ever given me anything). and then have tessa list out the lauf der dinge all lead by greed and isabelle says not all of us have a chance at inheriting millions and tessa says what does that have to do with this. the rich kill for greed too just more elegantly and isabelle says you mean they don't get their own hands dirty. nibbling on her gently

MORE hbf

tessas subtle hoodie and sunglasses look very funny to me personally

oh tessa charlie needs you :(

wegenast with the schüfeli funniest fucking thing

i am so much fonder of her after this than i was actually. also the triumvirate momence was real good

Yeah that was a good one :)

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

A Special Day - a TMA fic

It's the big day. Jon and Martin will join to create one family, to become Blackwood-Sims for the rest of their lives, however that looks.

But this world is a mess, and Jon's red-string conspiracy board doesn't come close to solving it. Also, Jonah Magnus has the worst timing no matter what world he's in.

Part of the Magnus Monsterverse.

AO3

------

I drove my uni roommates absolutely mad with my notes. Post-It notes, half-used notebooks, scraps of paper torn from things. Sometimes I wrote on old receipts, or on the backs of syllabi, or (one memorable day) on the A4 sheet with a professor’s name, which had been taped to her door. I had nothing else to write on! It wasn’t as though she’d miss it, anyway.

My coworkers at the Magnus Institute had no idea how good they had it, really.

At any rate, it wasn’t really shocking that no one could understand my filing system. The confusion on Martin’s face as he witnessed my newest masterpiece spoke to that.

“Uh,” he said, staring at my handiwork.

“Wait,” I said. “I can explain.”

His mouth twitched. Martin Blackwood, the love of my life, was trying very hard not to laugh at me. “Right,” he said, and put his bag on the counter, carefully avoiding the strings.

“So,” I said. “Here’s what we have so far.” And starting on the left, I walked him through my system.

Red strings connected events and people. Post-It notes indicated category by color, and colored paperclips to indicate subcategories. The unknown was scribbled on white lined notebook paper, generally pinned according to how confident I felt about solving them—i.e., red push-pins meant I don’t have a damned clue, green push-pins meant possibly someday, yellow push-pins meant, I am about to give up on this—

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” said Martin, no longer hiding his grin. “But maybe we could cut to the chase a little? What’s all this for?”

“Oh,” I said. “Sorry. I thought it was obvious.”

“No?” he said, outright grinning now.

I took a deep breath. “So here we have all the players that I know of. Two Agnes Montagues, status unknown; at least one Jared, status known; two Jude Perrys, at least one Melanie, three Georgies, two Nolans, Crew and Banks, Campbell and Jane Prentiss, at least one each of Michael and Helen—”

“Oh, there were more,” said Martin. “They get absorbed.”

I stared at him.

“By choice,” he added. “Trust me, they aren’t upset about it.”

I lost a few seconds as the Eye showed me a merging I couldn’t understand, because they became one and yet they absolutely did not. Michael was legion, which meant Gerry was literally fucking a horde.

I shook my head. Back to reality. “Right. Well. Three Gerrys, sort of. At least one Manuela, something like eight Jonahs, at least one Tim, Peter Lukas, Callum, and Simon Fairchild.”

“I mean, there are more,” he said.

“Oh, I know!” I said brightly, and continued to explain my system.

Satellite feeds “monitoring everything,” Manuela had said. Leitner’s mysteries. Gertrude the unknown. The nonsense of us all being chosen ones. The precise mechanics by which we all ended the world—which included the fact that apparently, I had done it in a totally unique way. “What is the Veil, anyway?” I said.

“A… dimensional skin?” Martin suggested. “I don’t know. I mean, the Fears aren’t exactly like Smirke envisioned them, either.”

“True enough.” Smirke had definitely not imagined anything like what the Eye had become.

It greeted me happily and dumped a few episodes of of 1980s Ducktales in my head.

I needed a moment.

“Jon?” said Martin, concerned.

“It… it’s nothing. Sorry.” It had a catchy theme-tune, though. "Anyway. Here’s the thing. Whatever is happening here… for some reason, it needs us. I… am the only one here who ended the world the way I did. What are the chances? How can it be? It can’t! Why me? Why like this?”

He slides up to me, and as his arms wrap around, I melt into his warmth and his scent, the sandalwood aftershave, the slight crispness of his starched tuxedo jacket, the softness of his fresh-shaven cheek. “Because you’re unique,” he said, and his lips grazed my ear. “I won’t hear otherwise. I am marrying the most amazing man I’ve ever known in any universe.”

I close my eyes, resting my face on his shoulder. Although the tux, I will admit, is not my favorite texture. “Suppose I’d better get ready.”

“Don’t sound so enthusiastic,” he teased.

I laugh. Then I go to finish arranging my own fancy clothes.

#

It wasn't not a large ceremony, but I’m quite certain it would still give a stranger a bit of vertigo. After all, half the audience was doubled.

At least doubled.

It was important to invite them. To say I was intentionally letting go of any potential lingering unpleasantness, bitterness, fear. To say I was joining this bizarre, piecemeal family—and by their invitation to our wedding, they were joining mine. Speaking of wedding…

A lot of Roman traditions made it through to modern times, and oh, boy.

I was damned lucky I didn’t need to wear a toga. We did have to don wreaths of flowers and herbs (both of us, instead of the “bride”), and would be wearing veils when we made vows. But before that… well, it was damned embarrassing.

So first, the “groom” (we'd decided I would be, based purely on the fact that I am older) must kidnap the “bride,” who pretends to be against it to fool the household gods. I must drag him away (while he loudly protests) with witnesses, who would, in all likelihood, be hurling bawdy jokes and dirty lyrics our way in an encouraging manner.

Then, having obtained my ill-gotten bride, I cart them away to a room with a special couch where we are supposed to consummate. With all our guests in hearing range, just on the other side of the wall. Dear lord.

So we wouldn’t be doing that, but we would do the rest, and spend some time on the stupid little couch while they all enjoyed a reception outside. After, we would sign the contract, and we'd be done. We’d be married. I’d be a husband. Why in hell was I nervous?

Martin kissed my cheek. “See you on the other side.”

“Come on, damsel,” said Tim, and pulled Martin away from me to the other room, where he would pretend to defend his honor.

Michael stood with me. It had insisted on being my friendly household spirit (a ridiculous fulfillment of a ridiculous tradition), and now handed me a small bowl of salts. “To throw and distract Tim,” it said unnecessarily.

“Thank you. And thank you for, uh. Volunteering.”

It grinned at me with too many teeth. “I had to see it happen. Also, Gerry asked it of me.”

Well, that was news (but it didn't have to be, and the Eye offered to show me their conversation in the middle of absolutely bizarre multi-person in single-body sex anyone could imagine, and I shut that right down). “Why?”

Michael shrugged. “Oh, Archivist… is it so hard to  believe others would like to see you happy?”

It was, and I didn’t know what to say.

The embodiment of doubt shivered. “Delicious, but now, it is time to move on. Are you ready for your role, Archivist?”

“Absolutely.” Not at all.

It cackled. The laugh was… less of a headache these days and more an expansion of human sound. “Delicious,” it said again, and steered me toward the door.

#

Ridiculous.

“Oh no! My virtue?” Martin cried as if in doubt it existed at all.

There was laughter as scents and lights and so many voices hit me all at once (and the Eye tried to show me everyone’s everything and I begged It to scale back), and Tim stepped between us and smirked, faux-glaring. “Thou shall not have his virtue, foul fiend.”

Martin was all-in. “Who shall rescue me from my virtue! Oh, wait, I got that backwards…”

The laughter was good-natured. Cheering (a surprising amount for me, by name) to get on with it and give a show, and the vague but ubiquitous command to get em. And I was laughing (and hadn’t expected to, but the joy on Martin’s face—) and people threw flowers and Tim waggled his eyebrows and said, “Put em up, put em uuuuup,” (The Cowardly Lion! the Eye informed me), and I emptied the salt bowl at Tim’s feet.

“I am defeated. My one weakness… salinity!” he said, swanning away.

The hoots and howls rose, and someone banged a tambourine. I was cheered on. By name.

Martin gave me the naughtiest look I have ever seen, and that was saying something. “Oh, no,” he said, absolutely flat. “To be freed from my binding chastity!”

And I don’t know what took over me. Maybe my millennia-past youth in student theater, or maybe the shock of everyone’s praise, or maybe… maybe just him, his eyes sparkling, his grin huge and playful, his blush (he was blushing!) amazing and lovely. Whatever the cause, I lost my mind, and dove all-in. “Oh, I’ll free you, all right,” I said (and managed a growl, to his delight), grabbed his hand, and yanked him into me.

He was larger. Heavier. But I stood still like a wall as he fell into me, and my arms around him were strong. “Jon,” he whispered, and licked his lips.

“Let’s blow this Popsicle stand!” I announced, spending all my “cool” credits for the foreseeable future, and ran for the door, pulling him behind me as everybody in the room erupted in cheers.

#

They started music out there, and loud conversation, patient while we did whatever with this steamy tradition.

Martin sat with me on the special couch (loosely inspired by the ancient Roman lectus) and held hands, side by side, both smiling shyly, both red in the face.

“I can’t believe you’re going through with this with me,” I said. “I red-stringed your kitchen.”

He laughed. “I’ll take your red strings over anyone’s anything.”

“Madman,” I pronounced, and pulled him in for a kiss.

We took our time, just lying there; we would not be consummating in (relative) public, but it was all symbolic, anyway. Also deeply romantic. To lie there under him, our tux buttons catching on each other, our breath mingled, our lips red and swollen, while out there, people we knew or had known cheered us on.

“This is weirdly inebriating,” I murmured, worrying his lower lip.

“You are,” he murmured back, and made an indecent sound. “You’re making it very difficult to be public-safe.”

“Your jacket is long enough,” I said practically, and he laughed.

“Come on, you goon. We’ve made them wait long enough. Got to sign the paperwork.”

The final formality. The Blackwood-Sims family begins.

We exited the room to ribald cheering, to loud toasts, to Tim and Michael hurrying forward to put veils on us and replace our wreaths. Carefully, both of us holding the same pen, we signed the final paperwork, and it was done. To massive cheering, we grinned at one another, his veil making his eye color pop, and finally joined everyone else in a feast well-started.

Can a man made of eyes get pleasantly sloshed? I was about to find out.

#

I have never “partied.” I can’t even qualify that with like this, because I simply never have. After today, I sort of see the appeal.

In true traditional fashion, everyone stayed and ate and drank until they were completely blotto. Some took advantage of the couches places strategically around the room to sleep it off. Others hired drivers to take them home; still others disappeared into mist, or vanished into webbing, or accepted a trip (so bold) through someone’s conjured doors.

Martin was out, leaning on the table with his head on his hands, dreaming… well, um. Things not meant for others.

I was considerably less drunk than I’d hoped I’d be, but at least I’d had a short while of feeling blissfully buzzed, delightedly dozy, and we all had a very good time. And I was married. There was that.

Married.

I could absolutely not be happier than this.

I hummed as I clean up a little, not that it was my job, but it was the least I can do to thank the people who came together to make this happen. I gathered and stacked cups, hummed some more as I put trash into a bag, and ensured everyone’s airways were unhindered.

I was married.

I couldn’t help smiling like a fool as I moved between tables. After this, we were going home. I’ve requested time off from my new job (and Spider Martin is hardly going to argue) so we could have something of a honeymoon, though I wasn’t entirely sure where.

Martin wanted to go to Canada. It was a magnificent place, apparently—neither France nor England ever had control over it, and the lack of colonialism left the land pristine and the people varied and creative. The Canadian nation was evidently a loosely affiliated network of tribal associations, and it was a wonderful place to visit.

I wanted to visit. I wanted to see, all on my own, without the Eye showing me… and It wanted that, too. It wanted to see through me. It wanted my heart, my mind, my brain; I didn’t fully understand why I was so to Its taste, but the crucial point was that we—

I felt it happen before I saw it.

Felt the parting of air, the ripping of this dimension’s flesh. The opening of a portal: the one that happened before in Martin’s tiny kitchen.

No. Not now. Why was this happening now? I turned to find that hole in the air, and that older Jonah Magnus staring at me through it.

He took in the tables, the sleeping guests, and just slightly, wrinkled his nose. Oh, older Magnus looked worse for wear. His shirt was sweat-stained, and his hair all stood on end as though he’d been running his hands through it. I saw the ghost of young Jonah in his face, in his features, but this man was entirely different. A scowling man, a harried man. He did not look at me with adoration, for one thing, which was deeply appreciated.

I’d had a plan for this. Exactly what I would say and how. Instead, I blurted, “You came back.”

“Come through,” he snapped. “At once.”

What the blazes? “Why would I do that?” I snap back. “You’re interrupting my wedding, I’ll have you know.” (My entire planned conversation had at this point gone up in flame.)

He startled. “You wed?”

“Yes! Who are you? What do you want? What are you doing?” I said.

Magnus kept looking around the room, frowning more by the moment. “Most unexpected,” he muttered. “No matter. Bring your bride. Come through. Before it’s too late.”

“I don’t have a reason, do I?” Gods, I was messing this up.

He drew himself up straight, and I finally noticed how broad his shoulders were, and how defined his forearms. “Very well,” he said. “I wanted to do this the easy way.”

Those were never good words to hear. I took a step back. “Do what the easy way?”

His look was withering. “Save the world, you bloody monster.” And he held up a—

I—

Don’t know what—

Sirens?

Darkness.

#

I woke to Martin’s scent, familiar and lovely. My head was in his lap; this was a good place to be, a safe place, and I turned my face to press it into his wonderful, soft belly and hide from the world.

“Jon,” he said softly.

“Mmm,” I said.

“Jon,” said Jonah Magnus, and I went stiff.

I turned my face slowly to find young Jonah there. He had a violently black eye, and what might be some dried blood on the side of his neck. But his expression… it was not defeated. It was not upset. It was triumphant. “I knew he’d wake.”

Martin’s arms were around me, and he lifted me slightly, holding me to his chest. “You scared me a lot, Jon,” he said, almost lightly, almost casually, into my hair.

I felt absolutely… awful. It was almost familiar; in secondary, I’d driven myself half-mad trying to get the best possible grades in my final year, and ended up passing out from… well, a combination of poor decisions. Waking from that faint felt like this; difficult to open my eyes, difficult to remain conscious, impossible to really focus on anything.

Martin made the tiniest sound. A miserable sound. As if he’d been crying.

I would not be unable to comfort him now, and with my push of will, my body seemed to settle. I gripped Martin’s arm. “What happened?”

“You were attacked,” he said, and suddenly I was aware of flashing lights, of many voices. There was an ambulance outside.

Oh, gods. “What happened? Is everyone…”

“It was close,” said Martin. “But everyone is okay.”

“What happened?” I cried.

“Hold on, Jon,” said Martin, and turned to talk to the police officer who came over to see me now that I was awake.

I lay silent, held by my husband, fighting dizziness. Jonah said nothing, but did not leave, and I realized the dark spots on his shirt were… burned. Cloth singed black.

How? I… why couldn’t I see it?

The Eye was silent.

The Eye was…

“Easy, Jon,” said Martin, because I’d begun to hyperventilate. “You’re all right.

The Eye was silent! “I…”

“It’s fine,” Jonah whispered, leaning in, hand on my arm. “It had a shock, too, through you. It’s recovering. It’s fine.”

I stared at him. “Tell me what happened,” I whispered.

“When we’re out of here.”

I shuddered.

The policewoman leaned over. She looked incredibly uncomfortable, as if struggling to meet my eyes. “Hello, Mister Blackwood-Sims. I know this is the worst time, but we need a statement.”

“I don’t know what happened,” I say, because it was the truth. “We were… everything was done, and I was helping to clean up, and then… suddenly, I’m waking now.” Which was a lie.

“Hm,” said this policewoman. “We’ll be contacting you. Something happened, and hopefully, you’ll be able to remember more. Congratulations, by the way. Sorry this happened, whatever it was.” She did not say that as if she meant it.

“Thank you,” I said, because I had to, and hid my face in Martin’s belly again. I let the world spin around us, clung to my husband, and just held on until we were finally allowed to leave.

#

There was a lot of burning. Jonah wasn’t the only one; Martin fielded text after text as our guests checked in, verifying they were all right, offering aid.

I was amazed. I thought we’d be blamed for… whatever this was.

And what had it been?

Jonah walked with us to Jared’s car, and rode with us to Martin’s apartment, and sat with us in our living room while Martin took my jacket and gave me something cold to drink.

“I don’t know what triage looks like for eyeballs,” I said, trying to be funny.

And the Eye… responded. Washing stations, refractory medical therapy, surgical intervention by an oculoplastic surgeon or neuro-ophthalmologist or neurosurgeon providing a ventriculoperitoneal or lumboperitoneal shunt.

Oh… oh.

I know It felt me react, nearly weeping with relief, unable not to, glad and grateful even though I would have done anything to be free of it in my former life. Are you all right? I thought at It.

In response, It gave me an absolutely bizarre animated movie called, Care Bears Movie II: A New Generation.

I laughed weakly.

Jonah watched me, eyes lidded. “There It is,” he said.

Finally, I was able to turn my attention his way. “Explain. Explain now. If I have to order you by whatever absurd deity you have assign to me, so help me, I will.”

“Easy,” said Martin, pulling me against his chest, arms around me. “Not my favorite thing to say right now, but… we owe him.”

“Owe him!”

“I saw…” Jonah took a slow breath. “I wasn’t invited to your wedding.”

“No, you were not,” I said.

Martin kissed my forehead, and that was enough. I fell silent.

“I understand,” said Jonah, long lashes brushing his cheeks. “I hadn’t been supportive of your relationship. It’s only fair. But I was… nearby. I wanted to congratulate you after, and hopefully put all the unpleasantness away. I waited while those who were going to leave left, and I waited while you were doing whatever in there.” He said that with the dismissive tone of one who clearly would rather not think about us doing whatever in there. “But then I saw a shift.”

“A shift.”

“I’d seen them—we had, my friends and I—a few times when we began truly exploring what we could do in service of the Eye,” he said, “and I recognized it. Someone was wrinkling reality. Damaging the walls between worlds.”

I stared at him. “Multiverse is absolutely not a thing you thought in the 1800s.”

His look was… real. “It was, though not by that term. We’d uncovered that much. The point is, I ran inside, and found you facing something that really took me a moment to understand. I froze, Jon. I apologize.”

I stared at him.

Jonah sighed. “I thought, for a moment, it was my father, back from the dead to haunt me through a hole in the air. But that only lasted a moment; I knew him. Knew him.”

“He was you,” I said softly.

“Me with… many, many different choices made. And he was hurting you.”

“How?” I sat up. “What was happening?”

Jonah studied me. Then he looked at Martin. “Does he know?”

“You know he doesn’t,” Martin whispered.

“You’re both being very worrisome,” I said.

Martin produced his phone—screen now cracked—and opened the camera.

I startled… badly. My eyes were… I… “What the fuck?” I whispered.

“He had something I can only think of as… a prism,” said Jonah.

I shook, was shaking, could not calm my breath. It had been difficult enough to handle my brown eyes turning green, but this—

True polycoria, the Eye said, in which there is an extra pupil, reactive to light and medication, independently dilating and contracting with triggers, and with an intact sphincter muscle. Normally, this leads to handicapped vision, but in your case, it has improved it. Also—

I closed my eyes and my mind tightly.

Jonah was still talking. “It looked like a mirror, sort of, except that you were broken up in the reflection, as though the mirror's surface had shattered. And you were… you were breaking apart, Jon.” His voice cracked. “You were making these horrible cracking sounds, and… there was so much heat.” He shuddered. “Like sunlight through a magnifying glass, though I couldn’t see its source. I tried to help you, but, ah.” He indicated his burns with a small smile, as if to say all was forgiven. “So when that didn’t work, I picked up a chair and threw it at myself. It hit the thing he was holding, and it shattered.”

“That’s when I could move again,” said Martin, his voice so strained. “I was hearing it all, but I couldn’t… no one could move.”

“By then, there was fire all over, in random spots,” said Jonah, “but you’d stopped cracking apart and had fallen to the floor, insensate. We put out the fires. Evacuated people. The other me was… rather furious, actually.”

“He had an argument in some other language,” Martin said, and gave Jonah a sharp look.

Jonah looked far too thoughtful. “He did. He tried to tell me you were the end of the world, and if I didn’t help get you through the portal and to him, it might be too late. I said we’d already all ended it a few times, and didn’t need his help, thanks. He, ah. Didn’t appreciate that.”

“He pulled out a damned handgun,” said Martin.

A Tranter revolver from 1858, I was informed, which was a double-action cap & ball revolver invented by English firearms designer William Tranter in 1858. This model operated with a  dual-trigger mechanism, one to rotate the cylinder and cock the gun, the other to fire it. The first model of his own design used the frame of an Adams-type revolver, with a modification—

That told me something about other-Magnus’s time.

“He did,” said Jonah. “Fortunately, whatever hole he’d opened couldn’t handle bullets. He fired once; it ricocheted. Someone unseen behind him shouted, I told you that wouldn’t work! and then his hole collapsed.”

Slowly, I looked at the camera again. My eyes were normal. I’d willed them normal—or willed them to better hide. “You… you saved us.”

“I saved you,” said Jonah. “I won’t lie about my priorities here—you’d know, anyway, and to you, I will never lie. But… they are your people, so yes, I did make some effort.”

“How bad was the fire?” I can’t fully process all of this.

“It was lots of little fires,” said Martin. “Jonah helped, Jon. I’m not thrilled by this either, but it’s true. He helped.”

“I knew you wouldn’t forgive me if I didn’t,” said Jonah.

There was a strange comfort in knowing that his self-satisfying bullshit would work to my benefit for now. More than that: to the benefit of my loved ones. “Thank you. I… I don’t know what would have happened.”

“Something I wasn’t willing to allow,” said Jonah, low, his young voice cracking.

Martin sighed. “It’s been… a day.”

I looked at him. “You can’t be all right with this. With… I just…”

“Jonathan Blackwood-Sims,” said Martin. “If you say you ruined our wedding, I swear I’m going to snog you until your face could melt marshmallows.”

I choked.

Jonah stood. “I really need to go get this looked at. I’m glad you’re both all right. Congratulations.”

I looked up at him (and we both pretended my face wasn’t already on fire). “I don’t… know what I owe you. I don’t know how to respond to this yet.”

He was so godsdamned eager. “I know. In time, you will. I’m sincere, Jon. I would die for you.”

“Please don’t,” I muttered.

Jonah smiled, still patient. “Many happy returns.” And he left.

Martin left me long enough to like the door, then sat with me again, and we clung.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “Don’t even fucking… I did this. Maybe not on purpose, but my presence is the reason—”

“And you are worth it, so you will stop,” Martin said, almost sharp, holding me so tightly it was like he wanted our ribs to catch on one another, like he wanted us to share a heart. “I feel so… useless.”

“Useless!”

“Here you are, you’re… you’re a god, apparently,” he said, and laughed weakly, “and you’re making things happen by just speaking, and there’s some insane plot going on with an alternate universe, and I’m just… I can’t even say boo! I couldn’t even move when it was happening!”

“Oh, Martin.” I breathed against his neck, kissing the curve, still scented with his cologne, though also now his sweat. I loved all of him, in any condition. “Without you… I know what I said to Gertrude, but I… I need you. So much. Please don’t think… please. Don’t think you’re useless. You’re anything but.”

“The only thing I can do is love you,” he whispered.

“That’s what I need,” I managed. “While you love me, I still feel human.”

He inhaled. Then he started kissing me.

We were both tear-wet, both smelling of smoke and sweat. Both smelling of chemical fire extinguisher, and alcohol. Both trembling from adrenal shock and whatever powers were expended against us tonight. But we lay on that couch together, and pulled off our sodden dress clothes, and held each other, and kept each other in one piece, and it may not have been a traditional wedding night, but it was perfect for us.

We were grounded.

We dozed, the couch's afghan draped over us, murmuring at each other about getting a steam cleaner in here and laughing at our indulgence.

I was so glad I could sleep. I still felt… dizzy, out of it, weak. Perhaps, like I almost blew apart.

What was that? What happened? It didn’t just hit me, either. Somehow, that hurt the Eye? How? How could that happen?

Maybe it didn’t hurt the Eye. Maybe it hurt the parts of It that… were affected by me. This personality. These preferences. This playfulness.

How horrible—yet my gut said that was true. What would have been damaged was not the eternal embodiment of the fear of being seen (of course not), but the… dare I say it? The good parts, or at least, harmless parts, or at least, more controllable parts…

The parts that liked me. That loved me

I was suddenly furious that whoever this other Magnus was, he’d tried to murder my friend. Oh, but since when had the Eye been—

I was suddenly flooded with a lovely recipe for warm vanilla pudding, because Martin liked that, and It liked Martin, and…

Fresh tears dampened the throw pillow beneath me, but I didn’t care. I held my husband. I still had my friend. I didn’t understand what happened... but I would. And when I did, whatever godly powers I had would be brought to bear.

This Magnus would regret the day he came after my loved ones. This Magnus would regret the day he didn’t finish the job. A god of guilt runs this world? For Magnus, I would make this world’s shame feel like a cool breeze on a hot godsdamned day.

“I love you,” I whispered.

“Muh-muh,” Martin agreed, already asleep, and I held my husband, and seethed, and took a truly long time to follow him into rest.

[fossiljockmatt]

Fourth Chimera, Part One

The deadlines were fast approaching for the next edition of the Jersey Press. With the pressure of the approaching date, there was the usual bustle of people moving, researching, and typing in the newsroom. Despite the frantic pace everyone was working, it was nothing out of the ordinary. Just another day at work, for most of the news staff anyway. In the editor’s office, things were a bit more adversarial. Everyone in the newsroom stopped their work and exchanged knowing glances when they heard a very familiar voice yelling from the office.

“I’m telling you! It’s real,” Amina yelled, annoyed, and not even trying to veil her frustration. Her wild black hair falling in her face as she quickly turned to the board behind her. She had been up all night arranging, at least in her opinion, the irrefutable proof she needed for her story but unfortunately her editor just wasn’t biting.

“This is the story of the Goddamn century and you’re not gonna publish it?!,” she continued. “Why?! What the Hell is wrong with you, Peter?!”

Peter, an older man in his mid-forties just sat behind his desk rubbing his eyes. He’s was used to Amina’s attitude at this point. “Amina… you gotta understand how it comes off…” he said with fatigue in his voice. “I mean look at you. You look like you should be wearing a tinfoil hat…”

He’s wasn’t wrong, even Amina herself knew that. The dark circles under her eyes made her look like a raccoon. She had tried to use makeup to conceal them, but no one makes concealer that good. Her unwashed wavy black hair looked like greasy snakes flopped across her face and she let out an exasperated sigh as she brushed the Medusa-like ribbons out of her face. “Sorry I thought my job was more important than my looks,” she bitterly retorted as Peter just shook his head dismissively. He knew full well how Amina gets when she thinks she’s on to something.

Amina continued to stare daggers at her editor in silence then turned back to her precious board. “This is important! Just look at this thing!” she said as she ran her finger along each of the threads connecting all of her leads and clues. To her, it was a work of art, an ornate spider web of lies, clues, and murder. To Peter, it was a sign of a mental breakdown.

Peter chimed in again, as he holds up a copy of Amina’s draft article. “This isn’t news, Ami! It reads like a conspiracy theory straight from Reddit and your Pepe Silvia board there isn’t making you look less unhinged!”

“I’m not crazy!” Amina, retorted. “You’re just not taking me seriously. HR is going to have their hands full when I bring this up. An old white man treating his female Pakistani-American employee like garbage...”

“That’s not gonna work on me this time,” Peter said as he shifted in his chair. “I don't wanna get canceled but every time you write what you wanna write it just comes back to bite me in the ass. I can't tell what's worse. Besides, would you really get one of your few friends canceled? C’mon.”

Amina sighed and slumped into one of his uncomfortable office chairs. Her plot had failed, but she couldn’t bring herself to let this go. “Fine, you got me. This is different though, Pete,” she said with desperation. “I can feel it. This could be my big break into some real journalism and you’re cutting me off at the knees.”

Peter just crossed his arms and smirked, “Real journalism, huh? You mean like your swamp monster?”

A wave of embarrassment washed over Amina as she had forgotten about that story. She raised her hands as even she had to admit that was a mistake. “Ok, ok, fair. That was a bad lead, I’ll give you that,” she said begrudgingly. “At least the story was entertaining.” Amina then got up and walked back to her board. She carefully removed some pictures and then tossed them onto Peter’s desk. “But this isn’t a swamp monster situation, seriously,” she said as she tapped Peter’s desk with her finger, “this is the real deal.”

“Check it out,” she said as she spread out the photos so Peter could see each face up close. “For almost two decades young researchers, future leaders in their respective fields, just either go missing or die mysteriously. It’s a pattern.” She then held up some pictures and started rattling off the facts she’d written on the back, “This guy’s a zoologist who worked with predators all his life but then he’s found after being mauled to death by some unknown animal. Super sus since not getting eaten is a big part of his job.”

“Then there’s this chick,” Amina said after moving to the next photo. “She studies some quantum stuff I don’t get, but she was on the cutting edge. Next thing you know, boom, her lab explodes taking out almost a full city block.” She then holds up a final photo she was sure would be the cinch pin, “Then there's this dude, Todd Greene. A super promising archeologist, not the kind of thing that people usually die from right? Yea, well he was found dead in South America at his field site. Cops say it was a robbery, but who robs a nerd in the jungle? It just keeps going.”

Peter picked up a couple photos and studied them before replying, “People die, Amina. You’re grasping at straws that aren’t there. You see a pattern because you want to see a pattern.” He then held up a photo of a young woman in a wheelchair, “Like this Antonia Solovyova person. You wrote down that she died of some genetic disease. How’s that murder?” An indignant frown spread across Amina’s face as Peter references the one photo that shot a hole in her entire theory. “I dunno!” she replied with returning frustration. “Maybe the Collective gave it to her!”

Peter dropped the photos on his desk and the rested his head in his hands, “Oh God, this is the Collective thing again?!” He looked back up at his reporter with visible fatigue. “It’s closet lizard people talk from the dark web, Amina. It’s not real. You know I think you write good stuff when it isn’t this conspiracy garbage, but I’m done sticking my neck out for you with these fringe stories.” He arranged the photos back into a neat stack as he continued, “This isn’t some supermarket tabloid chasing Bigfoot through Ohio. You need to work on the real stories I assign you or you’re gonna end up writing clickbait on the top 10 movies that feature cats.”

“Real stories my ass,” Amina said angrily as she snatched the photos back from him. “All we print is clickbait garbage. When someone else breaks this story I’m not gonna let you live it down.”

“Take the afternoon and get some sleep, Amina, seriously,” Paul wearily said as Amina made her way to the door. She shot him a final angry glare and then left, raising her middle finger to the chuckling staff at their desks as she passed them by.

She stomped all the way down the stairs and out to the street parking. Furiously, she muttered to herself as she stuffed her conspiracy board into the car. “I cannot believe the stubbornness of that man sometimes,” she angrily said to herself. “He has a Pulitzer prize winning story drop on his lap and he’d rather I write about some dog who saved a cat from drowning. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like animals, but that’s not news! It’s a literal fluff piece!”

Amina sighed as she cranked up her car and accidentally knocked the lever for her wipers. As they slid across the windshield, she noticed an envelope pinned underneath.

“Son of a bitch… another ticket!? I have an employee pass!” she loudly complained as she tore it open. “This is the second time this has happened! I can’t believe…” but her words were cut short after she unfolded the note inside.

“Meet me. 8pm. -E.”

Amina put the paper back in the envelope and quickly ripped it up. Her source preferred to reach out like this. She had met him in a forum and he had led her down this giant rabbit hole so he probably had something else juicy for her. She shoved the ripped shreds of paper in her car glove box to throw away later.

“Maybe I need that nap after all,” she thinks as she pulled away from the news building and headed home.

When the time came to meet she headed to their regular meet up spot: a bench in a park near her house. She had chosen the location not only because it’s near her home, though. The bench was nestled in the middle of the park right beneath a lamp post for visibility while also being decently away from the footpath and unwanted eavesdroppers. The perfect balance between safe and secluded.

As she sat, she looked at her watch and grumbled, “Late again… why does he even set a time…?”

“It's to make sure you’re on time, not me,” a gruff voice replied behind her. Amina turns back and sees her informant. He was wearing his usual incognito attire, a baseball cap low so she can’t even see his eyes as well as a large hoodie and baggy pants. The ensemble intentionally made it hard for any onlookers to peg down his body shape. He sat down beside Amina and retrieved his vape pen from his pocket.

“You know those things aren’t much better than smoking,” Amina said unenthused, but he just takes a drag.

“Not much better is still better,” he replied. “Quitting smoking is a process.”

“Whatever. What have you got for me, Erving?” Amina asked as she looked around making sure no one else was nearby who could hear.

“Something good,” he responded as he passed her an envelope.

“I hope so. I tried pushing the story today and got jack,” Amina sighed as she opened it. Erving took another drag of his vape as Amina looked over the documents. The strawberry scent of his vape was kind of obnoxious, but Amina had no choice but to deal with it just like every other time they had met.

“It’s a bio lab down near Leeds that went up in smoke,” he said, as he took his pen away from his lips. “I’d been watching it to figure out what was going down since I had my suspicions even before that. They were supposedly doing work on animal behavior, but they never put out any data or anything. Then suddenly last week, poof, burned to the ground.”

Amina continued to thumb through Erving’s notes. “And you think it was a Collective lab?” she asked and Erving nodded.

“Yea, the schematics of the building show there was a lot of it below ground,” he said. “Supposedly it was a repurposed building and those basement levels were used for storage, but how much storage does a place like that need?”

“I guess it depends on what animals they were testing on,” Amina said as she returned the papers to the envelope. “It sounds like they might have been up to something illegal, but I don’t get how this relates to the murders or missing people cases.”

She watched as Erving put his vape away in his pocket. “Well, a bunch of people there died in the fire, so… maybe something went down and they were clearing house? I still think it’s worth checking out. If the basement levels are still intact maybe you can get something concrete outta there.”

“They probably already took everything that could be salvaged, but it couldn’t hurt to check it out anyway. Thanks,” Amina said as Erving got up to leave.

“Be careful,” Erving replied as he walked away. “If it is the Collective, I don’t wanna see you up on the news unless you’re the one reporting.”

After the meeting, Amina decided to go ahead with Erving’s lead and took the short drive out to the address. From the photos, the building hadn’t even looked like a laboratory facility, more like a warehouse. As she pulled up to location her interest peaked further. She had expected a burnt ruin, but instead was met with a relatively clean vacant lot. Whoever owned the property wasn’t wasting time.

Amina walked up to the chain link fence that surrounded the perimeter and tried to see anything to give her a reason to break in, but all she saw was the concrete foundation of the building and the twisted metal from the frame discarded in a pile near the edge of the property. She readied her bolt cutters anyway. Something just felt off, besides, it's not like she’d walked away from wild goose chases before.

She clipped the fence and bent the light metal so she could make her way in. As she tossed the bolt cutters beside the fence to grab on the way out, she then pulled a small flashlight from her pocket and shined the beam along the ground. There was still small debris everywhere and a charred shred of paper in particular caught her eye.

“Har… Pharm…” she said aloud as she held the scrap. “Pharm is probably for pharmaceuticals… I thought this place worked on animal behavior. They were testing drugs too?”

Her curiosity grew and she pocketed the scrap as continued to look around. Erving had said there was a basement level, so she looked for an entrance but her search only yielded a tightly sealed metal hatch on the ground near the edge of the concrete foundation.

“They really don’t want people finding out what this place was doing…” she thought as she looked for some other way in. As she checked the site for a crowbar or something she could use to pry the door open her eye caught the sight of a front end loader parked near the metal frame debris. “That’ll work,” she thought with a smile as she made a beeline to the heavy machine. If anything could take the door off, it would definitely be that. After a quick hotwire and the loader roared to life.

Amina drove over to the door and lowered the bucket as she tried to get the teeth of the machine in a thin space between the door and its frame. As she adjusted the angle of the bucket, she could hear the straining metal creak and start to bend. The door finally gave way as she bent the door up enough that she could squeeze through. She studied the bent metal door for a moment. The metal was thick so security at this place must have been really tight. Regardless, whoever installed it hadn’t planned on it withstanding a bulldozer.

Amina carefully ducked under the door and down the flight of stairs that lead to the first basement level. She was so engrossed in her search that she didn’t notice a shadowy form making its way out of the woods nearby.

She walked through the hallway of the basement as the light from her flashlight danced along the walls of the once sterile lab. On this floor there was no evidence there had been a fire, but there was evidence of something far worse. Amina walked closer to the walls and gravely followed a dried red stain that ran along the floor with her light.

“Blood,” Amina whispered to herself as her body became tense. “Whatever killed the people here, it wasn’t the fire.”

She followed what appears to be more splatter and drag marks leading away from her. Scenarios began to play in Amina’s mind. The one that made the most sense was that some accident had happened. Maybe some predatory animal had gotten free and attacked staff. If that was the case, whoever owned the lab definitely didn’t want the news to get out. They must have dragged the bodies upstairs and then burned the place down. Amina shivered as she saw bloody handprints on the floor that provided her with evidence of a violent struggle. She pulled out her phone and snapped some photos. Even if this didn’t have a thing to do with the story she had already written, it was clearly a story all to itself: A blatant cover up by some pharma company probably doing illegal animal testing.

“Let’s see Pete shoot this one down,” Amina thought to herself.

She then ventured further into the basement and entered a room at the end of the hall with what appeared to be glass holding cells. She walked by each empty cell before finally stopping at one with a shattered wall.

“So something did get out,” she thought out loud.

Amina moved away, concerned, but figured whatever caused the accident was either long gone or died in the fire. She walked away from the cells and over to a nearby desk with a computer. As she sat down at the computer she thought, “I’m not nearly lucky enough but I gotta at least try.” She hesitantly pressed the power button of the workstation’s computer and despite her disbelief the computer hummed to life.

“This place still has power?” she thought as she became bathed in the blue light of the screen and then was prompted to log in. “Maybe there’s a generator just for the basement,” she rationalized, but even that just raised more questions in her mind.

Her luck continued as she moved the cursor to the password box and it autofilled. It was obvious whoever used this terminal was unconcerned about security. Then again, the animal attack alone is evidence of that. Had security in the basement been as high as the security at the basement door, perhaps an accident would have never happened.

Amina pressed enter on the keyboard and code flashed across the screen but then disappeared as a standard desktop took its place. The sight of the icons on the screen made Amina wince, the whole thing was a messy onslaught of icons and files haphazardly spaced everywhere. Amina looked at the screen in disgust. Not only was the owner of this desk terrible with security, they had also been a slob.

She sighed and leaned forward in her chair, “Thanks for making my job harder…”

The mouse cursor moved from file to file as Amina read the names, using the pointer as a bookmark as she went. Most of the files seemed to be worksheet files, probably databases of measurements and data, but she finally landed on a file folder named “Video Log”. She clicked the folder which contained well over a thousand video files. As she tried to decide where to start, she moved her flashlight away and the light moved slowly across the lab wall. Had she not been so engrossed in the computer she might have noticed a pair of eyes down the hall that reflected her light as it passed by them.

Amina finally decided to start near the beginning with a file dated from 2001. A man came on the screen who was sitting at the same desk Amina sits at now. “April 15th, 2001,” the man says solemnly. “Subject one has perished. The surgeries must have taken too great of a toll. Regardless, we did learn something. The grafted limbs were too disproportionate for the host body. Additionally, the subject's immune system began to reject them. I think if we harvest limbs and then alter them using modified bone lengthening techniques before attachment, we can reduce the strain of the host. I have already had techs harvest some limbs from a donor and we will begin the lengthening procedures. I think, despite the loss of subject one, we are headed in the right direction. This new technique has promise and I will report our findings once we are done with subject two’s grafts.” The video then ends abruptly.

“Definitely sounds like illegal animal testing to me,” Amina said as she pulled out a flash drive from her pocket and plugged it into the computer. “No way this thing can hold all this info. I need to find the most damning stuff.” After moving the video file to her drive she scrolled a little down the list, finally deciding to start a video from 2006.

The scientist appeared on the screen again, but this time visibly distraught. “Subject three has perished. Despite our best efforts to revive the subject, it’s clear the immune response is still too much of an issue. It has been suggested we attempt the procedure on a younger individual, perhaps one with a weaker immune system. The very idea… What we are doing has always been barbaric, but this… I won’t be a part of it. I don’t care what they do to me. I forfeited my soul to them when I agreed to be a part of this. If they kill me, then so be it. At least I can take a little of my soul back. You hear that Lucien. I hope you see this, you prick. I’m not your pawn anymore. I'm going to the…” but before he finished the video ended abruptly as if something had interrupted the recording.

“Lucien…” Amina repeated the name aloud.

She had a thought, remembering the scrap of paper from before. She typed the words “Lucien” and “Pharmaceuticals” on her phone and ran a quick search. The first result was Lucien Harris, CEO of Harris Pharmaceuticals. She removed the scrap of paper from her pocket and scowled at it. Thanks to the video the blanks had been filled in. This man’s company was butchering animals and he knew about it. The scientist was even afraid Lucien would kill him. Amina couldn’t help but smirk at the thought of how big of a story it could be.

“I need to figure out what animals they were testing on,” she thought to herself and she dove back into the video files. “That’s the final piece and then I can nail this guy’s ass to the wall.” Her finger deftly scrolled the mouse wheel and she clicked on another video. This one, for some reason, had a filename that appeared to be just random letters and numbers.

A different scientist came on the screen this time, her face scratched and bloodied, “Subject four has escaped! We have sealed the door to the upstairs facility and to this…” but the scientist was cut off as someone else yelled to her, “What are you doing Martha! Forget the Goddamn log and get over here and help before she takes the door off the hinges!”

Amina stared in horror at the screen as Martha left the camera's view. There was the sound of screeching and yelling… but then the even more bone chilling sound of utter silence. The video continued for a few minutes, then just ended.

“Jesus,” Amina whispered, as she lifted her flashlight to look at the door to the room. She hadn’t noticed it before, but the door was covered with slashes and blood. It even had a large dent in the middle like it had been kicked in. Shining her flashlight over to the opposite side she also saw the bent metal of the door latch. Whatever they made… it had burst its way into this room.

A crash rang through the basement and the reporter was almost shocked out of her seat. She whipped her flashlight to the side just in time to see a rat dash away and a small metal pipe roll into the light. Breathing heavy and adrenaline pumping, Amina quickly focused back on the computer. A sense of urgency washed over her as a shiver ran down her spine. She had to find the most important files and copy them. As she checked each one on the desktop her breathing became more rapid. File after file just contained numbers and anatomical terms she didn't understand.

“Fuck it! I’ll figure it out later!” she said as she just started dumping document files into the flash drive until it couldn’t hold anymore. She ejected the drive and frantically got out of the seat but stopped dead in her tracks as she heard a low growl coming from the hallway.

Whatever the scientists made… whatever killed them… it was still here.

The dim backlight of the moon flooded in through the damaged security door and illuminated the outline of the creature. As much as Amina wanted to raise her flashlight to see what she was dealing with, the message to move wasn’t making it from her brain to her arm. She couldn’t move. She could barely even think. The figure then let out a menacing hiss and began to amble forward toward her.

“Puh-Please… s-stay back!” Amina managed to stutter, as if some animal would understand her command.

Strangely enough, the figure stopped, and waited.

Silent and confused, Amina finally got the nerve to raise her flashlight. Slowly, the light made its way across the ground to the creature. Amina audibly gasped at the sight in front of her. In the hallway, on all fours, was a woman staring back at her, unblinking. A single small horn jutted out of the woman’s mousey hair above her left eye. Her skin was pale with a faint red hue in areas. Her mouth was retracted into a snarl that showcased her sharp mismatched teeth. Her arms to her elbows were scaly and green, like an alligator, but stretched to human proportions ending in inhumanly long fingers. The woman’s legs were bird-like from the knee down, bent and crooked.

The woman let out another hiss and squinted at the light in her eyes causing Amina to instinctively lower it.

“Oh… sorry… um… please… don’t hurt me. I’m not going to hurt you, alright…? I.. just… I’m leaving,” Amina said, her voice quivering slightly.

Without responding the woman started advancing again, this time rising to a bipedal stance, her clawed fingers fidgeting. The woman’s height was intimidating, standing well over six feet tall. Her thin gaunt frame was haunting as was the medical gown she wore, the fabric stained red and fluttering with each step.

As the woman advanced, Amina tried to speak calmly, “It’s ok… just… I’m not a scientist, alright? I’m… I’m a reporter. Do… do you know what that is?’

The woman tilted her head and her face remained shadowed. “Reporter… news… TV,” the woman said slowly, taking spaces between words to breathe a raspy breath.

Amina, smiled, nervously, “Yea… yea, news. I’m just trying to find out what they were doing here…”

The woman craned her neck down at Amina, venom in her voice, “Here… They hurt people. They are… bad people. You will… hurt me too.”

The woman then raised her clawed hand and prepared to strike.

“Don’t!” Amina screamed as she shut her eyes tight, “I… I want to help!”

Amina’s words hung in the air as she waited for the sting of the woman’s claws to come, but the pain never did. She slowly opened her eyes to see the woman’s face a mere inch from her own.

“Help… me?” the woman said with disdain, “Reporter. You’re… you are a liar.”

Tears formed as the woman’s eyes fluttered trying to hold them back, “No one… no one ever helps. Everyone hurts.” She then turned away and walked to her cell. In the shadows she looked over her shoulder back at Amina and simply said, “Just go. Go away. Reporter.”

Amina watched silently as the woman climbed into a cot in the broken cell that was far too small for her body. The woman’s intimidating presence left her as she was reduced to a shuttering mass in the shadows. Amina began to head for the exit, but stopped short. She couldn’t just leave this woman, this victim, to be found in the morning by the construction crew or whoever wanders onto the property. This wasn’t just about the story anymore. This was someone’s life, ruined by people that felt they had the right simply because they had the ability.

“Hey, um… what’s your name?” Amina asked as she walked closer to the woman, her silent sobbing tugging at Amina’s heartstrings. A sniffle could be heard as the woman’s head rose from the cot, covered completely in darkness, her eyes reflecting the faint light that shone into the room from the hall.

In a hollow haunting voice she responded, “I… don’t remember. They called me… subject… subject four.”

Amina, took a moment to process but then said with compassion, “You can’t stay here, uh… Four. The people who took the bodies, I don’t know how you hid from them before, but they’ll be back and if they know you survived the fire they will lock you up again or kill you.” She then extended her hand as Four stared at her, frightened. “You need to come with me, ok? I’ll keep you safe.”

Four cautiously raised her hand to Amina’s, somehow finding comfort in the words. As her hand carefully closed around the reporter’s, the feeling of her reptilian scales were cold and rough, a stark contrast to the soft warmth of Amina’s own hand. Four then shifted her weight and stood, the previous fierceness she had exuded completely replaced by fear and trepidation.

As the two left the basement and stepped out into the moonlight, Amina could see the chimera more clearly. Healed scars lined the places where her inhuman features began. Her black eyes were larger and more animalistic than a human's and barely able to move in their sockets. Instead as Four observed her surroundings, her head jerked on her graceful neck like a bird. Silently, Amina took Four’s hand again and led her away from the bent door of her prison.

A new resolve fueled the reporter now.

These people who did this... the ones that hurt Four… she was going to make sure they all paid for it.

[pttucker]

「 Yoo Joonghyuk thought, 'That guy got a hidden scenario here'. 」

「 "…I lived because of that guy. Well, I still would've somehow survived'. 」

"I received a bit of help." "From who? Was it your sponsor?" "That guy has never helped me once."

I stared at Asmodeus with bright eyes. Then I said, [Don't touch my incarnation, Asmodeus.]

I nodded with Yoo Joonghyuk's head. I felt Yoo Joonghyuk's soul struggling in one corner of the ego but I forced him to fall asleep. Yoo Joonghyuk couldn't pop out at this time.

[The sponsor of incarnation 'Yoo Joonghyuk' is looking at you.] A huge presence was looking at me. It was somewhat familiar but also unfamiliar.

Okay, I'm feeling a little like the Always Sunny theory board meme and I am probably looking too deeply into these random bits and pieces but, uh, I'm really starting to think that Joonghyuk's sponsor is Dokja. Somehow. Someway.

Like, they're all a bit of a stretch but:

First, we have Joonghyuk consistently calling Dokja "that guy" over and over in the novel. Then calling his sponsor "that guy." From memory alone, I don't think he's ever referred to anyone else that way. Admittedly, this is very likely to just be the way he talks and/or a translation thing where "that guy" is the best option.

Then we literally have Dokja saying he's his incarnation. Obviously your typical Dokja bluff that doesn't mean much but it would certainly be cool foreshadowing.

Then we have the fact that Dokja can apparently just...take Joonghyuk over and force him to fall asleep? (I always thought he needed Joonghyuk to give up his body??) Which is probably terrifying to Joonghyuk, especially since his own sponsor never actually seems to get involved in his life and so he would have NO experience with something like this. Because that's very much what it feels like - a constellation taking over their incarnation.

Then the bit about his sponsor being both familiar and unfamiliar. Hmmm.

Also, the fact that if Joonghyuk regresses he won't ever see Dokja again in any future regression...obviously Dokja is special due to his connection with the novel but if a constellation had power over the regression in the first place, he could theoretically put himself into one or take himself out of future ones? If he wanted???

...All very shallow conspiracy-theory type "evidence" but I'm throwing this out here now because I'm gonna be upset if it turns out I'm right and I never said anything. 😂

[jujulebee]

[Video attachment: Twitch recording of an unfortunately attractive, greasy haired asian woman in large, thick glasses staring intensely at the screen of her phone, the chat onscreen going too fast to read. A TTS donation comes in, speaking in an AI-generated approximation of the Counter-Strike radio voice, "Quit stalling! Muzzle, what did she say? Is she alive, no cap? The DOX UNIT is ready to go."

After a moment of total silence, the woman shifts and pushes her phone screen up to the web cam, the view totally blurry as she starts speaking, only clearing up towards the end of her spiel, "Okay, my dirty little Muzzled, you gotta help me out—that's seven y's and a one word reply after like nothing for fourteen days, fourteen hours and fourteen minutes, double-triple-checked. Obvi, she's SUPER busy being hot and cool and perfect, but what does this mean chat? What's the vibe check? What kind of rizz is she sending me? It feels off, the balance ain't right. Should I get out the board? I'm gonna get out the board." She scrambles out of her distressingly moist-looking gamer chair, crumbs falling off her sweat-stained tank—at least some of the stains are sweat. The woman drags in from the side a large, wheeled whiteboard that has a conspiracy board-esque amount of writing on it, displaying multiple images of "BunnyBee's" model, various messages over the years, the last few messages she sent two weeks ago, and a "BunnyBee-related" merch plush taped onto the board.

The video follows with Muzzle and her chat analyzing how many 'y's are in the "hey" to gauge "BunnyBee's" disposition. People are sending in bits and donations to use the TTS to voice their opinions, miraculously not fighting over the dilemma due to its apparent SRS BSNS nature.

After ten minutes of deep, serious discussion and 39 dollars spent in bits total, and two prime subs, Muzzle concludes, "Okay. Bee's willing to chat lightly, but her energy levels are so down that even casual sex or cybering isn't a reprieve from her current ennui, THEREFORE, she is going through turbulent times right now. I know JUST what to say."

The TTS voice shouts within seconds, "DON'T SEND SOMETHING WEIRD."

Muzzle scoffs, glaring at the camera. "I WASN'T. Ban that guy," she responds, incidentally deleting something from the message. "I have some tact. Anyway, I'm sending her cash."]