#Fibonacci Smile

[rwrbmovie]

He's got a Fibonacci jawline and a troublemaker smile and thick forearms built for posing in doorways…

[leolithe]

Tagfer and Bird 3 huddled up behind a chunk of concrete, peering past the rectangular slab to the endless abyss of the Murmur's desert.

Tagfer bit his tongue. He squinted. The thing on the ledge was still there… Still standing... Still alone... But…

Bird 3's long beak entered his peripheral vision, and he whispered, "I thought you said it had big crabby claws and a big weird body and a tiny weird head?"

"I- It does!" Tagfer hissed back. He blinked furiously, craning his neck towards the silhouette on the edge of the cliff.

Bird blinked too. He tried to copy Tagfer's example. His avian neck stretched over the rock as he squinted his beady eyes.

There were no claws. Or a big body. Or a tiny head with weird little spikes on it. The thing on the ledge… looked just like a regular human woman.

Bird blinked again. He peered questioningly at Tagfer. "Ummm-"

"I swear it, Bird. I know what I saw!"

The pair of Cavia watched the lonely figure. A regular human woman… Or was she? Tagfer glared intensely, his stream of conscience running a mile a minute. Am I hallucinating? Has the Murmur's influence gone that far already? Is she one of them? Are we in danger?

Suddenly, Bird 3 rose to his feet, breaking their cover. Tagfer's triple pair of ears flared in panic as he began waddling past the rock - right towards the woman.

"What are you DOING?" he hissed through his teeth.

Bird threw a careless look past his shoulder. "I'm finding out what she looks like up close!"

Tagfer stiffened like someone rang two bells right by the sides of his head. He's CRAZY! He doesn't know what she even IS! What she's even CAPABLE of!

"Bird. BIRD," Tagfer hissed urgently, but to no avail. Bird 3 was already romping up to the lone woman on the cliff.

Tagfer groaned and flattened his ears. He shivered and shut his eyes in a grimace… This was a bad idea. Bird's gonna end up dead in the bottom of that cliff. Fibonacci's never gonna let him hear the end of it. Bird's gonna keep falling and falling because there's actually no floor at the bottom of the Void and he's gonna stay wide awake through the crackling thunder and sandy gusts and it's gonna be all his fault because it always is for some Void forsaken reason.

Do something about him, damn it!

"HeLLoOOO!" Bird squawked at the visitor. Tagfer cringed. It's over.

He kept his eyes shut, waiting for the sounds of a big laser beam or the ear piercing shrieking squawk of a big terrified bird or the wet and chewy noises of chicken giblets splattering across the sand…

But they never came.

Bird 3 kept talking.

"Hey there… Hiya, Miss Lady!" he chirped.

Tagfer pried a hesitant eye open, peering indiscreetly at the pair in the distance.

Bird was standing right next to the woman. And the woman… turned to face him. She tipped her head ever so slightly to the side, looking almost… curious.

Tagfer's jaws parted open. So she COULD see them! The way she waltzed into the Sanctum like a total zombie wouldn't have made him think she could!

Against Tagfer's better judgement, he inched closer to the pair, his little hooves were careful not to clink against the concrete. He unfurled an ear and angled it towards them.

"Say, Miss Lady. Who are you? We've never seen you around before, rark." He clawed his talons across the sand, twisting his head curiously at her. "Umm… Do you have a name?"

The woman paused for a suspicious amount of time. Her entire body seemed to stop moving as they waited for her answer. Weird. Is she making up a name on the spot or what?

"Margulis," she finally answered.

Tagfer snorted. Fancy schmancy name.

"Mar-goo-lis. Miss… Margulis," Bird 3 intoned. With a satisfied 'rark', his voice returned to its usual peppy register. "What're you doing here all alone, Miss Margulis?"

To Tagfer's surprise, "Margulis" smiled. It was a tired smile, made even clearer by the messy black hair that framed her face. But Tagfer could see it - her eyes held a dull shine.

"I'm not alone," she said.

The Cervulite frowned. Is this some kind of spiritual nonsense? Is she gonna start preachin'? Or did the Indifference already take her?

"Oh. You're not?" Bird tilted his head, looking around Margulis as if she was hiding some invisible people behind her. She watched him attentively, letting him poke around her without really... Wait. Are her eyes glowing?! Why are they glowing? Human eyes aren't supposed to do that!

"Well… Rark." Bird settled down and fluffed up his feathers, seemingly satisfied with his investigation. The white glow in Margulis' eyes have disappeared and Tagfer felt like eating his front hooves right from his ankles.

"Still! If you feel lonely, Miss Margulis, you can come and talk to us!"

What?! No WAY!

"There's still a buncha space in the Sanctum, rark! We'd be happy to help you find a cozy spot to rest your legs."

No, we're NOT!

"After all, we want to show you our greatest hos-pi-ta-ler-ty!"

NO, WE DO NOT!!!

Margulis gave Bird 3 a small smile.

"We shall consider it," she said gently. "Thank you, feathered one."

Tagfer's head was spinning. What in the nine hells did Bird just do?

Tagfer barely registered it as he stared slackjawed ahead. Bird was already walking back towards him, his feathers rippling excitedly. He didn't seem to care about the death glare Tagfer was giving him.

"She looked like Mister Loid!"

Tagfer balked. "What."

"She has long hair, like Mister Loid does. Their clothes are kinda the same because they both have the funny hole in the chest. But she's got a bigger chest than Mister Loid, though. Maybe that's why the funny hole's bigger."

Tagfer blinked.

Y'know what. Maybe all he wanted to do was take a little nap.

He turned around to return to his spot in the Sanctum. Bird 3's footsteps followed closely behind.

"Sure, Bird. Whatever you say."

[adddddiiii]

okay hear me out…

xander hawthorne x reader where they’re working on some crazy project together (like a puzzle or a mystery or something) and reader is super focused but xander just keeps flirting??

like he’s making all these ridiculous jokes and being his chaotic self, but he’s also lowkey super smart and figures something out before reader does?

i just feel like their dynamic would be so fun and cute! pls write this if u can, your stuff is amazing!! <3

and can i be 🐞 anon?

Chaos and Clues

Author's Note: Yes you can be 🐞 anon and that's such a fun idea! Very Xander

Contents: Xander Hawthorne x gn!reader

“You’re not even trying,” you groaned, shoving a stack of papers aside and glaring at Xander, who was sprawled across the couch in the study.

“I am absolutely trying,” he countered. His tone dripped with mock offense. “Trying to keep you from combusting.”

You rolled your eyes and returned to the documents spread across the coffee table. The two of you had been working on this puzzle for hours — or rather, you had been working, while Xander alternated between snacking, cracking jokes, and occasionally throwing a stress ball at the wall.

“It’s not that hard to focus, Xander,” you muttered, highlighting another line in the file.

“Easy for you to say,” he shot back. “You’re all business. No fun. It’s a little scary, actually.”

You looked up and narrowed your eyes at him. “I wouldn’t have to be ‘all business’ if someone would stop distracting me.”

Xander grinned, the picture of unbothered charm. “What can I say? I bring balance to your overachiever energy. Besides, you love it.”

“I tolerate it,” you corrected and turned back to the notes.

But your resolve faltered when Xander slid off the couch and flopped down beside you on the floor, his chin resting on his hand as he studied you with an exaggeratedly serious expression.

“What?” you asked, annoyed but unable to stop the smile tugging at your lips.

“Nothing,” he said innocently. “Just appreciating the way your forehead wrinkles when you’re stressed. It’s cute.”

You groaned and shoved his shoulder. “Focus, Xander!”

He laughed, leaning back on his hands. “Fine, fine. But for the record, I’ve already solved it.”

You froze. “What are you talking about?”

“The puzzle,” he said nonchalantly, gesturing toward the mess of papers and diagrams. “I figured it out like, forty minutes ago.”

Your jaw dropped. “You’re lying.”

“Nope.” He popped the “p” with infuriating confidence. “The dates? They’re part of a Fibonacci sequence. Look—” He reached over, grabbing a notebook and scribbling down a series of numbers. “See? Each number is the sum of the two before it.”

You stared at the sequence, then at him, then back at the paper.

“Why didn’t you say something earlier?” you demanded, half in awe, half furious.

“Because,” he flashed a grin, “you were so cute being all serious and bossy. I didn’t want to ruin the moment.”

You swatted his arm, but you couldn’t hide the smile creeping onto your face. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re brilliant,” he shot back, his voice softer now. “Team effort, right?”

Despite yourself, you felt the tension melt away. He might have been insufferable, but he was your favorite kind of insufferable.

“Fine,” you shook your head. “Team effort. But next time, say something before I lose my mind, okay?”

Xander's grin turned soft, fond. "Can't promise that," he leaned back with a smirk, "but I can promise I'll never bore you."

[aprocessionofthoughts]

To Sleep

whumptober24 day 8- sleep deprivation fandom- batman tw- Dick mentions the rain which is a reference to the Tarantula incident, nothing about the incident is mentioned but stay safe my darlings summary- Dick can't sleep

masterlist ao3

It’s raining, and Dick can’t sleep. He’s in the manor. He should be fine. It’s been years.

He should be fine.

He turns again in bed, throws the sheets off, then pulls them back on a few seconds later. He lays on his back and stares at his dark ceiling, then twists to lay on his side, then his stomach, then his side again. He fluffs his pillow, then tries laying down without it, then with two pillows.

He can’t sleep.

He presses a pillow against his face. He wants to scream into it, but in a family of vigilantes even a muffled scream won’t go unnoticed.

He tries doing the fibonacci sequence in his head but only makes it to 10946 before his mind wanders off. Counting sheep has never worked because his mind has always taken it as a challenge to see how far he can go.

He rolls over and grabs his phone, hoping soothing music will help.

He’s still restless. He gets up, goes to the bathroom and takes a drink of water from the cup on his bedside table. He sits on the edge of the bed and tries some mindful breathing and thought clearing exercises.

He can’t stop thinking about everything bad that’s happened, about all his mistakes.

He shakes his head hoping to dispel the negative thoughts, he whispers ‘shut up, shut up, shut up’ to himself in the darkness. Why won’t his mind shut up? 

He’s tired. He wants to sleep. Why can’t he sleep?

He flops back into bed, pulls the sheets up, tosses them off. He groans as he immediately feels chilled and has to pull the sheets back on.

Why can’t he–

His door creaks open and he freezes, holding his breath.

“–go of me, Todd! I will gouge out your eyes and shove them down your throat!’ 

Dick starts to sit up, because what is happening–

Then a body falls on top of him, and Dick can’t stop himself from wrapping his arms around the person on top of him. Damian. It’s Damian that Jason seems to have dropped on top of him.

“Wha–” he starts to say, but Jason interrupts.

“Could hear you tossing and turning from my room.”

Dick feels embarrassment heat his cheeks. “Sorry, I–”

“Shut it.” Jason says.

Damian is surprisingly quiet. Dick shifts, he tries to let go of Damian, but his arms won’t listen. “Sorry, Dami, you don’t have to stay.”

“Tt.” Damian squirms on top of him, and Dick’s heart rate spikes thinking he’ll leave him. But Damian settles again so he’s only half laying on Dick. “I do not mind.” he says. “Afterall, you have to sleep so that you can have the energy to keep up with me on tomorrow’s patrol.”

Dick’s eyes water slightly, and he squeezes Damian tighter.

“Well, now that my good deed of the week is done…” Jason says, and Dick’s eyes dart to him.

He manages to extract an arm from where it’s curled around Damian. He extends his hand to his little brother. Jason hesitates, and Dick pulls up his best puppy dog eyes until Jason relents.

“Fine.” Jason lays down on the very edge of the bed, but Dick extends an arm, wraps it around Jason and pulls him closer.

This is nice. Dick’s got two of his brothers here with him. He closes his eyes.

He still hasn’t fallen asleep yet when he hears his door creak open again. He cracks his eyes open to see two faces peak in. Dick smiles gently and extends a hand toward Tim and Steph. They slink in quietly crawling onto the bed, and Dick’s only regret is that he doesn't have enough arms to hug them all at the same time.

He feels himself sinking deeper into rest when the door creaks open again. This time Cass comes in dragging Duke behind her. She smiles gently at him before they’re both climbing onto the bed as well.

Dick’s heart could burst from joy. All his siblings, here together with him.

Like this, he can rest.

He feels sleep pulling at him. His door creaks open again, but he’s too tired to open his eyes. He feels a hand run fingers through his hair, scratching soothingly at his scalp. Bruce presses a kiss to his forehead.

“Love you, chum.” 

Dick feels him pull away and darts out a hand to grab his wrist.

He hears a soft chuckle, but then the bed dips, and the hand returns to his hair.

“Go to sleep.” his dad whispers.

And here, surrounded by his family, Dick finally does.

[twohearts-hs]

Defying The Odds: 14 - Michael Scofield x Reader Series

Words in Total: 6.8k

Pairings: Michael Scofield x Reader: afab x reader

Synopsis: Y/N was a victim of the mob since the age of fifteen, however, falling in love with the wrong guy and having an argument got her 25 years in prison for murder. She had a plan to get out in faith of her husband until she met Michael Scofield, who, despite his plan, fell in love with her. Now she has the mob and Michael Scofield's escape to worry about.

Warnings: Swearing, Prison, Intimacy, Murder, etc. you know the deal...

A/N: this is a complete series of ~105k words. Based on Season 1 & 2.

Hope you enjoy :)

Masterlist

Arguments broke out about how the plan had failed. Michael had gone to get food as the group began to bicker. Y/N walked away, leaning against the wall. Once Michael broke up the fight, they all sat down and began to eat. Y/N grabbed a few things but was not completely in the mood to eaten stolen food.

            “Eat, you need energy,” Michael said, nudging her before walking away. She nodded, grabbing an apple and smiling at him.

            “Our photos are in the paper. They’re probably all over the news,” Sucre said holding a newspaper out.

            “Yeah, and you didn’t see that coming?” C-Note remarked.

            Michael eventually came over with a backpack in hand. “Last supper, boys,” Michael announced. “This is the part where we say goodbye.”

            “It’s not much, but it’s enough to get you started.” Michael handed everyone cash and denying the whereabouts of Fibonacci before walking off. Y/N followed.

            Conversations about getting LJ was talked about. Michael was clear there was no plan, but Lincoln kept pushing. Y/N leaned against the wall of the warehouse, eyes watching in front of her.

            She was free, but at what cost? All it has ever been since then was running. Would they run forever? She trusted Michael, but slowly that faith was fading.

They bid their farewells with everyone and as Sucre came up to Y/N, he smiled. “Mami, marry that boy,” he said, hugging her. “I already told him the same thing. I wish you nothing but happiness in the future,” he told her the same words she once told him.

            “Likewise. Go to your girl. Get married. Have lots of babies. Be happy,” Y/N responded back.

            Once they were gone, it was just the three of them. Michael took a deep breath and sighed. “Tell me everything you know about the courthouse,” he stated, ready to create a plan.

-

They were on the elevator, waiting for LJ to get into the right elevator. Just then the vent opened and Lincoln appeared through the top of the elevator. LJ and that detective were below. Lincoln had a pretend gun, pointing it to the detective.

            “Keep it in the holster, no one gets hurt,” Lincoln said, pointing the gun. “Keep it in the holster.” Michael and Y/N then appeared to Mahone and LJ. “All right, LJ, hit stop.” LJ did that. “He’s coming with us, so just stay cool, stay cool.”

            Y/N glanced over to Michael who recognised the detective. Her eyes then went back on Mahone. Michael put his hand out. “Hey buddy, give me his gun.” Michael got the gun and pointed it.

            “LJ, give me your hand.” LJ lifted his hand up. “Thattaboy, come on.” However, it failed as Mahone grabbed onto LJ.

            The plan didn’t work. Mahone got a hold of LJ and instantly, they had to fled. It was back to running. They got into a truck, but gun shots were fired as they drove away.

            Once parked, they made a run for it again, but Lincoln was hit.

            “We gotta move,” Michael said.

            “I can’t,” Lincoln exclaimed, sitting down and clutching his leg.

            “Oh my God,” Michael mumbled, coming up. Y/N sat next to Lincoln, examining his leg as he expressed his disappointment and belief he had failed LJ. Michael got a handkerchief and gave it to Y/N to wrap around the wound.

            “I failed him,” Lincoln explained.

-

Nikka’s house was nearby and Michael explained it was his green card wife’s. Y/N as much disappointment it was to hear that agreed as she knew there was no other option. They got to the apartment building, Lincoln leaning on Michael with his hand wrapped around his neck while Y/N followed behind.

            “Michael, what are you doing?” Nikka asked as soon as she opened the door, but there was no time for pleasantries, Michael was straight to business.

            “Cayenne pepper,” Michael exclaimed.

            “What?” Nikka said, closing the door as Michael brought Lincoln to the couch.

            “Cayenne pepper,” Y/N said turning to Nikka. “Do you have it?”

            “Uh, maybe,” she muttered.

            “We need rubbing alcohol, some towels and painkillers,” Y/N said. “Gauze would be great too.”

            “Whatever you got,” Michael stated.

            “And some booze,” Lincoln added, rubbing his head.

            “Please,” Michael rushed, begging.

            Y/N leaned down with Michael, rolling up the pants to take a look at the leg. Michael calmed him down. However, Lincoln continued to groan.

            “It’s fine. Now, let’s keep moving,” Lincoln stated, wincing.

            “We keep moving, that leg keeps bleeding. The leg keeps bleeding and we’re not getting out of Illinois,” Michael stated, jumping in. Nikka handed the supplies to Y/N, who took them willingly before passing them to Michael.

            Winces and groans happened as Lincoln took a drink.

            “This will seal the capillaries,” Michael stated, shaking the cayenne pepper on the wound.

            “Michael, you should not have come here. The police have been here asking questions,” Nikka said to him.

            “We didn’t have a choice,” Michael replied, focused on his work.

            “I’m thankful for the help with the green card, but I don’t wanna get involved,” Nikka exclaimed, worried and stressed.

            “I know. I know. It wasn’t part of our deal,” Michael snapped. “I know. I know. I’m sorry. But there’s nowhere else to go,” Michael stressed.

            “When I saw you on the news, I was worried,” Nikka continued. “I just hoped you’d crossed the border by now.”

            “So did I.”

            Nikka looked over to Y/N who was rubbing Lincoln’s arm. Her eyes darted her over before looking over to Michael. “Who is she?”

            “Y/N,” he said as he continued to work on the leg, “my partner. Girlfriend. We’re together,” he said trying labels. “See if you can find him some clean clothes,” Michael diverted back to the problem. “I got to go back and get our car,” Michael said, standing up.

            “Forget the car. We can get another,” Lincoln said, in pain.

            “I don’t need a car. I need that car.”

            “Why?”

            “Because in that car is everything we need to disappear,” he said before leaving.

            Y/N was left with Lincoln. “Mind if I?” she said, looking at the vodka.

            “No, go ahead.”

            Nikka was making Y/N a cup of tea when Y/N sat at the small, worn kitchen table, her eyes constantly flicking toward the front door as if willing Michael to return quicker than he’d left. Lincoln was stretched out on the couch, nursing his wounds from the chaos of their escape while taking sips of the vodka. The quiet of Nikka’s modest home pressed down on her like a blanket of unease.

            She could feel Nikka watching her.

            The woman moved around the kitchen, busying herself with the kettle and cups, but her glanced were pointed, lingering. It didn’t take a genius to know there were questions bubbling just beneath the surface, and Y/N had a sinking feeling she was about to be pulled into a conversation she didn’t want.

            “So,” Nikka stated, her voice light but probing as she leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. “You’re Michael’s…girlfriend?”

            Y/N tensed, her gaze snapping away from the door to meet Nikka’s gaze. She forced a small, neutral smile. “Something like that,” she mumbled.

            “Something like that?” she repeated. “So, you just follow him around then?”

            Y/N felt the irritation rise in her chest but did her best to keep her tone calm. “We’ve been through a lot together. It’s complicated. We are just together. Romantically, platonically, familiarly. We’re together. Partners.”

            Nikka’s lips pressed into a thin line as she set down her cup she’d been holding and walked closer, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Complicated how? I know Michael…well…and this–“ she gestured between them, “–doesn’t seem like nothing. How’d you meet?”

            “Prison. I was the cell next to him,” she stated. “I’m not going to explain my relationship with Michael to you,” Y/N stated, voice a bit sharper than intended. “The less you know the better.”

            “You’re the mobster wife, murderer,” she said it so casually.

            Y/N took a deep breath and clutched the mug in front of her of hot water and looked down. “I’m divorced.”             “Michael’s been through enough, he doesn’t need someone else dragging him into more trouble,” Nikka said.

            Y/N shot her a look, standing from the table and walking to the window, needing space. “I’m not dragging him into anything. I’ve been there for him when no one else was. That’s all you need to know.”

            There was a beat of silence before Nikka’s voice softened, though her jealousy was there and laced in her words. “I just…didn’t know. I thought maybe when this was over, Michael and I–“

            Y/N turned to her, finally facing her head-on. “You’re his green card wife. That’s all it ever was, Nikka. You know that. You had a deal, and he kept his word.”

            Nikka winced, clearly not expecting the bluntness, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she took a slow breath, brushing off her hurt. “He didn’t tell me about you.”

            “That’s good. We kept it a secret,” Y/N said. “As I was the only female in that prison.”

            Nikka looked like she wanted to push more, but at that moment, Lincoln groaned from the other room, shifting in pain. The distraction gave Y/N the perfect out, and she quickly moved toward him, muttering, “I need to check on Lincoln.”

            As she knelt beside Lincoln, she could still feel Nikka’s eyes on her, but she blocked it out, focusing on the man in front of her instead. The conversation with Nikka had rattled her more than she cared to admit, but now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. There were bigger things at stake.

But she couldn’t shake the unease that settled in her chest.

Michael came back eventually, and Y/N climbed into the car with Lincoln. Michael walked up to Nikka. “I’m sorry I had to involve you in this. I mean, any more than I already have,” Michael as he began to walk away.

“Good luck,” Nikka said. “Why her?” she then asked. “A real criminal.”

Michael stopped, turning to face her. “I’m not going to explain her story, but she isn’t a criminal to me. She’s a survivor.”

Michael got in the car.

“Are you two alright?” Michael asked.

“Yeah,” Lincoln said.

“Fine,” Y/N muttered from the back.

“We’re heading west. Toward the money, toward LJ,” Michael explained. “Just got one more stop to make.”

“What for?” Y/N asked.

“You trust me?” Michael asked.

“Of course,” they both said.

“How do you throw the hunter off the scent?��� Michael asked.

“Get rid of the prey,” Lincoln stated.

-

After driving for a while, Michael parked on a bridge. They got out, walking to the railing. Michael and Lincoln began to undo the bolts while Y/N kept watch. Once the bolts were undone, they walked the car back. Michael got out two bags of blood, placing them in front seat. Then he turned the radio on.

            “Remember, once I hit ‘scan’, we’ll have about thirty seconds before it reaches 103.7,” Michael told them.

            “Then she blows,” Y/N says.

            “That’s right. Ready?”

            They nodded. “Yeah.”

            Michael pressed scan and put the car in drive for it to fall off the bridge. They went running; however the music was not changing.

            “What happened?”

            “I don’t know. We’re gonna need that explosion,” Michael stated, hands on his hips.

            Sirens were heard and Y/N looked at Michael.

            “The radio must’ve jammed,” Michael announced. “We’re gonna have to set it off manually.”

            The group of them began to walk down the hill slightly.

            “The car could blow any second, man,” Lincoln stated.

            “The Fed are gonna be here in about two minutes. If it doesn’t look like we’re dead, we will be.” Then Michael looked up to Lincoln but not Y/N. “Rock, paper, scissors.”

            However, Y/N pushed past them and began to walk.

            “No, Y/N, come back,” Michael snapped. “Y/N!” he hissed.

            “I owe you,” she stated.

            Y/N walked down the hill to the car, leaning down into and then seeing the scan button. “How many stations are between 102.1 and 103.7?” Y/N asked.

            Michael pressed his lips together, worry filling his body. “Way out here? Just one, probably.”

            Y/N took a deep breath, closing her eyes and then pressed the button before getting the hell out of there. The moment she got to Michael he looked at her. “Never do that again,” he barked before running.

            “I owed you,” she whispered with a smirk.

            After a short walk, Nikka pulled up in a car. Y/N rolled her eyes but kept her demeanour calm and steady.

            “Looks like I owe you another one,” Michael said.

            “It’s ok,” she said, handing him the keys.

            “Ok. Well, once we get to Mexico, I’ll send you $10,000, like I promised,” Michael told her. Y/N’s eyes widened. Ten thousand dollars…to her? For a car? “Plus, another three for the car.”

            Y/N walked over to the car and got in. Nikka looked up at Michael and asked, “You love her? The criminal?”

            Michael looked at Y/N in car, who looked absolutely exhausted. “Y/N?” he asked. She nodded. “With everything in me.”

            Then Nika got in the car, right next to Y/N and all she could do was roll her eyes. Lincoln then pulled the car out and headed to the next town.

            A little into the drive, Nikka spoke. “What happens when you get to Mexico? Where will you go?”

            “It’s best if you don’t know,” Michael told her. “It’s best for everyone. We’ll drop you off in the next town. And I’ll wire you that $10,000 like I said. It shouldn’t take more than a week or two.”

            “Michael, we got company,” Lincoln interrupted.

            Y/N glanced back, seeing another car speeding up to them, tailing them. Michael glanced back, seeing Y/N looking behind her.

            “What the hell is going on?” Lincoln said with frustration. Since they got out, they never had a moment to themselves, it was always on the go. Michael looked as the car approached them closer, yelling for everyone to hold on. Just then the car rear ended them.

            “Who is it?” Michael shouted they pulled up beside them. Nika gasped as Y/N groaned since Bellick and Geary.

            “Just what we need,” she muttered. “It’s Bellick.”

            The car kept slamming into them, pushing them off the road slightly. The car kept pushing them on and on to get them off the road.

            “Can this thing go any faster?” Michael asked.

            They continued to chase them, speeding across the road, pushing, chasing and crashing into them. Y/N held onto the seat for dear life, getting flashbacks from a few police chases from back in her day.

            “Keep the momentum,” Y/N yelled.

            However, they eventually crashed into a tree. Her head hit the back of the chair as she tried to get out. Michael came running back to check on her, but Y/N was out of the car. Gunshots were heard as Bellick ran over to them.

            “Nobody move!” he yelled, running down the hill, shooting the gun in the air a few times. “Oh, good to see you again boy.”

            “No need for anyone to get hurt, boss,” Lincoln mumbled, turning around to face them.

            “Boss? Oh, there’s no need for formalities anymore there, Sink. I’m no longer an employee of the State, thanks for you,” Bellick stated, getting closer to Lincoln.

            “I think somebody wants that reward,” Michael spoke up, hands on his hips. Y/N stood next to him, arms crossed over her chest as she looked at the gun Geary had and Bellick.

            “It’s not about reward money, friend. Your pal Manche told me all about your little treasure hunt for Westmoreland’s stash,” Bellick said with a smirk. Y/N let out a loud sigh and Bellick turned to her. “The pretty lady is here too. Maybe I’ll inform your husband your whereabouts as there has been phone calls looking for you. Do you two,” he gestured with the gun between Y/N and Michael, “plan on getting that money and riding into the sunset? I thought you got paid millions to murder men.”

            “That’s dirty money,” she stated, kicking the floor. “Plus, my husband has it,” she lied. “Marriage. You share everything.”

            Bellick shook his head and yelled, “Get in the car. We’re going to Utah!” His gun was cocked and pointed at them.

            Everyone began to walk to the car.

            “Move that moneymaker, ladies,” Bellick said, pointing the gun to Y/N’s back. Michael had a scowl across his face. “Especially you, pretty convict.”

            “Move it, convict!” Geary said, pushing Lincoln, who fell onto his hands and knees beside Geary’s car.

            Y/N watched as Lincoln grabbed a piece of glass and placed it by the wheel. Smart thinking…th e tire will pop so they would have to stop for a spare.

            “IF you know about the money in Utah, why do you need us?” Michael asking, facing Bellick.

            “In the excitement of the escape, Manche didn’t hear everything Westmoreland said before the old bird kicked the bucket, but he heard enough. Utah and five million. You fill in the blanks.”

            Bellick suddenly, grabbed Y/N by the ponytail and then the head, grasping and pulling as she winced. Michael went straight for him telling, but Bellick pointed the gun at him. “Don’t even think about getting cute, smart ass! Now you three are gonna take me right to where that money is or both these whores get dead real fast.” Bellick still had a hold on Y/N’s hair and she was trying to pry him off. Michael had complete worry across his face. “Ask me if I’m bluffing.”

            Michael put his hands up, surrendering. He got in the car, but as he went to pull Y/N to sit on his lap, Bellick interfere. “Nope. The whore sits with me so she doesn’t pull any shit,” he stated, grabbing onto Y/N’s arm and pulling her to him.

            Everyone got in the car and Y/N watched as Bellick pat his lap. “Can I please sit with Michael?” she asked. “I won’t pull anything. I promise.”

            Bellick shook his head. “Nope. You’re with me, sweetheart.”

            Her body went numb as he grabbed her by her arm and made her sit in his lap. His hands wrapped around her waist, right under her breasts. She could feel Michael’s scowling glare that was burning holes in the back of Bellick.

            She felt completely disgusted with herself and his hands began to go hire. She grasped them, putting down. “Hands to yourself,” she barked.

            “Or else what?” Bellick taunted.

            “Bellick, you better not touch her,” Michael warned.

            They pulled over as Geary complained about needing to use the washroom. He walked into the trees as Bellick lined them up, once Y/N was close to Michael he grabbed her pulling her next to him.

            “I never thought I’d say this, Scofield, but I thank God for the day you walked into Fox River–“ Bellick began.

            “–And out of it,” Geary added, peeing in the bushes. Both chuckled.

            Y/N felt Michael’s hand on her back before going back to his side. He looked at her but Y/N was focused on the floor. “It’s gonna be ok,” he spoke to her. “We’ll be ok.”

            Y/N nodded, but she was losing faith. Slowly but surely.

            “Go into the car, act like you’re mad at me,” he spoke through gritted teeth. Y/N glanced up to him and seeing his pleading eyes.

            Y/N looked at him and then spat lowly. “I can’t believe I fucking trusted you to get me stuck in this mess. You promised me nothing would happen and now look. Obviously, I’m a fucking idiot for falling in love with you and believing all your empty promises,” Y/N barked walking away from him and to the backseat this time.

            “Well, that‘s pissed off girlfriend you got on your hands there, Scofield? Trouble in paradise?” Bellick said as Y/N crossed her arms and focused what was head of her. Lincoln was standing by the door of the car, Nika beside Michael. Bellick smirked. “Didn’t your mama tell you how to treat a lady? Or was she a whore like these two?” Bellick mocked, a disgusting smirk across his face, however he presed where he shouldn’t.

            The backdoor slammed and Lincoln went straight for Bellick.

            “Linc!” Michael yelled, trying to get his brother’s attention.

            However, Bellick held the gun up. “Got a problem there, Burrows?”

            “We only need one of you to take us to the money. Remember that,” Geary said, gun cocked.

            Michael walked over, patting his chest. “Let’s go buddy,” he said to Lincoln. “Let’s go.”

            Everyone got into the car, Michael pulled Y/N onto of his lap as his hands wrapped around her. She rolled her head back onto his shoulder. Michael looked at her through his long lashes. “Ok?” he mumbled.

            “Fine,” she responded. Michael took her hand and held it, his thumb brushing over the back. However, Y/N felt like someone was looking at her. When she opened her eyes, she saw Nika looking at her with an unimpressed look. Y/N tried to ignore it by closing her eyes and letting Michael massage her hand. Then they were on the road again.

            Moments later, they had to pull over.

            “What kind of son of a bitch doesn’t have a spare tire in his car?” Bellick spat.

            Geary was kneeling down on the ground, looking at the wheel. “The kind that already used it.”

            “OH, and you’re just the sad sack that has to go back into town and get a new one,” Bellick said to Geary.

            “What? That’s like three miles.”

            “That’s right.” Geary then walked away. “Everyone out.”

            Y/N got out and Michael followed behind her. Then the rest. Michael stayed close to her, grabbing onto her sweater and pulling her back lightly to be closer to him. He held his suit jacket close to him as he leaned against the car.

            “That way. Go on,” Bellick ordered.

            Michael was behind Y/N as they walked to the shed. She could feel Bellick stare on her. Nika nearly tripped. “Careful,” Michael said.

            “Don’t touch me,” she hissed.

            “Just relax,” Michael responded.

            This was not going the way they planned and Y/N was getting exhausted with it all.

            “You know what? I really believed you. I risked everything for you. I did everything you asked. I risked my life for you. For what? For $10,000 I risked my life? And this entire time, you’ve had $5 million just waiting there?” Nika ranted and Y/N watched this unfold. “You’re a bastard, Michael,” she spat, walking past them.

            “Just shut the fuck up,” Y/N barked. “Trust for God sake.”

            Nika turned around and looked at Y/N. “Don’t get me started on you,” she spat.

            “For all that aggravation, I hope you get to hit that a few times, Scofield,” Bellick taunted with a smirk, chuckling. “Both of them, but I bet the pretty convict was the best.”

            Y/N turned around and was about to say something when Michael stated, “Don’t. Not worth it.”

            “We’re gonna wait it out in that shack,” Bellick announced. “Just keep moving. Come on.”

            Lincoln opened the door to the abandoned shack, and everyone followed. Nika went to talk to Bellick, but soon enough everyone was tied up. Y/N began to wiggle slightly, but Michael glanced over. “Stop stressing, it doesn’t do any good.”

            Lincoln began to follow too, trying to figure out the ties. “Maybe you ought to start stressing if they’re gonna put a bullet in our heads,” Lincoln hissed.

            “They need us. They need us to get that money,” Michael mumbled.

            “I admire your optimism. She’s rolling, man. I can feel it.”

            There’s a plan and Nika was the plan. Y/N stayed quiet, next to Lincoln who was next to Michael. Both of them didn’t like being apart, but what could they do.

            Y/N stayed still, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. Nika was the plan.

            Nika eventually came back, looking at Michael and then following her eyes over the group.

            “If you guys need to use the can, hold it. If you need to tinkle, sweet peas, I’ll watch you anytime,” Bellick hummed with a smirk.

            “It’ll cost you,” Y/N stated with a smirk. Michael glanced over and rose a brow.

            Bellick wasn’t impressed. “Sit down. Hands behind your back.” Nika sat next to Y/N.

            Once Bellick was gone, Lincoln spoke up. “You took your time,” he said. The door was closed now.

            “It takes time to gain a man’s confidence,” she responded. “You’re right, he’ll bite on anything I say. You just tell me where we trap him and I’ll tell him that’s wehre the money is.”

-

“Hey!” Nika yelled.

            “What do you want?” Bellick groaned as he opened the door.

            “I need to use the bathroom,” she stated.

            “Again?” Bellick sighed.

            “I have a small bladder,” she stated, raising a brow.

            “That ain’t all you got,” he smirked.

            Y/N rolled her eyes. He would not stop with the misogynistic side comments. Nikka was cut loose and they left into the private room again.

            Michael glanced over to Y/N, seeing her closing her eyes and head rolled back. “Y/N, are you ok?” he asked.

            “I just need this to be all over,” she mumbled. “I need a good night’s sleep as well.”

            “Soon,” Michael told her.

            “Is she going to come through?” Lincoln asked.

            “She’ll get it done. Nika and I have come too far together,” Michael stated. Y/N heard that and her heart hurt slightly. Nika was married to Michael, but Y/N was his partner.

            “When money’s on the line you trust no one,” Lincoln stated.

            “Do you trust me?” Y/N whispered looking over.

            “You’re a mobster, I don’t know. But if Michael trusts you, I guess I will too eventually,” he muttered.

            “Sometimes you have to,” Y/N mumbled.

            “Not if you want to survive, you don’t,” Lincoln responded.

            “You really don’t trust anyone, do you?” Michael said with honesty.

            “Can you blame me? After all that’s happened.”

            “No, I mean before that. Before prison,” Michael mumbled.

            Y/N closed her eyes again, tuning the brothers out. Nika came back, being pushed with hands behind her back into the room. She was thrown on the floor, next to Y/N. she moved to sit.

            “My daddy always said, ‘fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice and I’ll put you in the ground’,” Bellick warned. “Any more games and I stomp the hooker’s and the girlfriend’s air, understand?” Bellick barked, eyes focused on Y/N.

            Bellick went back to tying Nika up. However, a knife was passed to Y/N and she passed it to Lincoln.

            “Thanks for the dance, sweet pea,” Bellick hummed. He felt for his knife in his pocket once he turned around from the group, but it was not there. “You bitch.”

            Lincoln got up, taking the knife to Bellick’s throat. “Fooled you,” Lincoln smirked, and Y/N smiled wickedly.

            Lincoln tied up Bellick to the same pipe before cutting everyone loose. Michael came over and helped Y/N up, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her into a hug. “It’s ok,” he mumbled in her ear and she nodded.

            Lincoln grabbed Bellick’s gun, hiding it in his pants. Then they heard Geary.

“I carried it. The cons can change it,” Geary said, rolling the tire into the shed. He looked to his right, seeing Lincoln with the gun. “Oh, you really suck, Bellick, you know that?”

            Michael went to go tie up Geary, but Bellick looked at Y/N then Michael. “You know, she is a complete manipulator, Scofield. She doesn’t love you. It’s just a game. Should look at her file, the witness states, the words she would use. She’s a little con. A little player,” Bellick told Michael.

            “Ignore him,” Y/N whispered, grabbing his shoulder and squeezing.

            “You manipulated that prison doc and got him thirty years for aiding and abetting,” Bellick stated. Y/N turned and looked at him. “Another victim to your game, Miss. Black Beauty,” he hummed, using the name they would call her. “Will I be your next victim? Got the lipstick.”

            “Shut up,” she muttered. “I don’t do that anymore.”

            “So you did do it?” Bellick hummed. “What do you care? As long as he left the door open for you.”

            Y/N looked at him and instantly went for his throat, hands clasping it as she yelled, “Shut the fuck up!” Her hands held it, clasping it as she slowly choked him on his own are. “Shut up,” she barked.

            Michael grabbed her by the arm, pulling her but she wouldn’t budge.

            “I am not who you think I am. I am not a cold hearted killer. I am a person,” she whispered. “I just want a normal life.”

            Lincoln grabbed her this time, pulling her off as she stumbled back.

            “Let’s go,” Michael said, arm wrapping around her back and pulling her in. “Let’s go.”

            Michael and Y/N walked out with the rest of the group. Guilt was eating her alive as she put together the puzzle pieces. Matt Remington was going to jail for a mistake she asked him to do. She had been to jail, she knows what it would be like and he was a good man.

            “Michael, we can’t let him go to jail,” she whispered as they walked to the car.

            “We can’t go back, Y/N,” he responded.

            They stopped at the car and Y/N took a deep breath, guilt was seriously eating her alive. She simply nodded. “I need to call him.”

            Michael shook his head. “No. You can’t. We’re fugitives now.” His hand came out, tucking behind her neck as he guided her forehead to his lips. “I love you, though.” She nodded, pulling away.

Michael turned to Nikka. “Can we at least take you into town?” he asked.

“No,” she shook her head. “If I’m seen with you, it’s a lot of trouble for me. I can walk. Its only a mile, she said with a smile.

“We never would have made it this far without you,” Michael said, gratitude in his voice.

“Now you’re crossing the border without me,” Nika replied, hoping for a invitation.

“You can’t go where we’re going. It’s not a life for you,” Michael stated.

Nika looked to the floor, scoffing lightly. “Then that’s it then,” she mumbled, sadly. “It’s over for good.”

“Thank you,” Michael said giving her a hug. ‘Be safe. Good luck.”

Y/N watched as Nika walked over to Lincoln, bringing him into a hug. Her arm shot out, rubbing Michael’s back as she stood behind him. However, Nika’s hand lowered in the hug and grasped for the gun before stepping back.

Y/N dropped her hand and groaned. “Nika,” she said, taking a step forward, hands up. “Give me the gun.”

Michael watched her, calm and collective.

“I loved you, Michael,” Nika began. “And I thought I was gonna get that back, but you just used me.” The gun was pointed to Michael.

“That’s not true,” he mumbled.

“I deserve more than this. I deserve more than just being the girl that you call when you need something. I deserve to be picked over some murderer you call your girlfriend.”

“You really think you’re going to find the money in Utah?” Lincoln asked.

“I don’t care about the money in Utah!” she screamed, pointing the gun on the three of them. “I don’t want any more crime. I turn you in, I get $300,000. Legal money.” She walked over to get the phone. “You’re the policeman’s problem now.”

“Nika,” Michael warned.

“Don’t come any closer or I’ll shoot you!” she yelled, voice filled with passion.

“No, you won’t,” Lincoln piped up, taking out the round that was needed.

It was useless without it and Y/N started the chuckle and Nika wasn’t impressed. “Shut up, bitch!” she yelled.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Michael tried to calm down.

Nika looked defeated as Michael took the gun and phone from her and walked away. Michael stared at her, disappointed. “Good luck to you,” he mumbled.

Y/N walked away, going into the car and sitting in the back, watching as Michael came and sat in the front. Then they drove off, leaving Nika behind.

-

The car hummed softly as it cruised down the desolate highway, the stars stretching endlessly above them. The roads were quiet, just the occasional flicker of headlights passing by, and the air inside the vehicle was thick with exhaustion. Y/N was curled up in the backseat, fast asleep, her face turned toward the window, illuminated by the faint glow of the passing streetlights.

            Lincoln sat behind the while, his eyes focused on the road head. While Michael sat in the passenger seat, glancing back at Y/N so often. She had been asleep for hours, exhaustion finally catching up with her after everything they’d been through. Lincoln studied her a moment through the rear view mirror before shifting his gaze to Michael who was looking back at her.

            “She’d been out for a while,” Lincoln commented, keeping his voice low.

            Michael glanced briefly behind him, his eyes softening as they land on Y/N. “She needs it. She hasn’t had much rest lately.”

            Lincoln nodded but did not drop the subject. He had been thinking about Y/N for a while now, especially since Michael had insisted she come with them. His brother was a private man – always had been – but Lincoln could sense there was more to this.

            “So, I need to ask…what’s going on with you two? You said partner…girlfriend. I just want to know how serious this is,” Lincoln mumble his tone casual but probing.

            Michael’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, but his face remained impassive. “What do you mean?”

            Lincoln let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Come on, man. You bring her along with us, you’re keeping her out of the mess she was…that’s nothing. Where do you see this going?”

            Michael kept his focus on the road, his jaw tightening slightly. He was not the kind of person who opened up easily, but this was his brother. Despite their challenges over the years, he owed Lincoln a lot. But there was no denying that Y/N meant something to him. She had always meant something.

            “She’s complicated,” he finally muttered, his voice measured. “We’ve been through a lot together and there is definitely feelings.”

            Lincoln was not satisfied with that. He knew Michael too well. “I’ve seen you with her. You don’t do things halftway. Especially not with people you care about. You’re saving her from the mob life, from all the danger she’s in. You wouldn’t do that if she didn’t mean something.”

            Michael grasped the door handle and for a moment he didn’t say anything. He glanced behind him again, watching as Y/N slept. There was something about her that had pulled him in from the beginning, something he hadn’t been able to shake no matter how much he tried to keep his distance. He wanted to reach out and touch her. God, he wished he could hold her as she slept.

            “She deserves more than what she’s been through,” Michael said quietly. His voice was barelt audible over the sound of the engine. “She’s been fighting to survive for so long, and I don’t want her to feel like she’s alone in that.”

            Lincoln turned his head to look at his brother, his brow furrowing as he tried to read between the lines. “You lover her.”

            Michael did not respond right away, but his silence was enough of an answer.

            “With everything in me,” he admitted, his voice low but stead. “But it’s not that simple. She’s got a past that I’m slowly learning. I don’t know what to believe, what’s been manipulated or twisted.”

            Lincoln considered that, nodding slowly. “Yeah, but you’re bringing her with us. You don’t let just anyone in. Not in your life, not into your plans. That’s how I know this isn’t just some fling. It’s more.”

            Michael glanced at him, he expression unreadable, but there was a quiet intensity in his eyes that told Lincoln everything he needed to know.

            After a beat, Lincoln leaned back in the seat, getting a little more comfortable. His tone was more serious now. “What about the rumours? What Bellick said. The ones about her killing those men? Are they true?”

            Michael’s jaw clenched, and Lincoln cold tell he didn’t want to talk about it. But Lincoln was his brother, and if they were all in this together, he needed to know the truth.

            “She did do it,” Michael said after a long pause, his voice heavy. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. The way the file, witnesses, rumours and the mob talk about, she’s a cold hearted killer who mocked these men, humiliated them. However, she told me she had no choice. It was life or death. Survival. Did she have joy doing it? I don’t know.”

            Lincoln raised a eyebrow, waiting for more.

            “Her husband set the whole thing up,” Michael continued, looking to see if she was still asleep. “A mobster that groomed her from a young age. He’s a lot older. However, she told me she witnesses things, heard things, found out about things she wasn’t suppose to know, so he pinned it on her. But she did do it. I’m trying to fill in the blanks.”

            Lincoln whistled low under his breath, shaking his head. “Damn. That’s some heavy stuff.”

            Michael didn’t respond, but the weight of the confession hung between them. Lincoln looked over at him, seeing the tension in his brother’s face, the conflict that came with loving someone so deeply but knowing they were haunted by their past.

            “You trust her, though?” Lincoln asked, his voice softer now.

            Michael’s eyes flickered to her, watching Y/N for a long moment before answering. “With my life. I love her with everything in me.” Then he took a deep breath. “I didn’t expect her. I didn’t plan her and that still terrifies me as I am improvising her, the plan with her…our future. I’m terrified of her husband and what he may do to retaliate. He hurt her in prison, but he did divorce her.” Michael then whispered, “I have her engagement and wedding ring still to pawn. Some Cartier bracelets too.”

            Lincoln rose a brow. “Does she know?”

            “She asked me. I looked at her stuff in receiving. Designer. Everything. She is covered in dirty money.”

            “How much did she get paid to kill those men?” Lincoln asked.

            “I’m still trying to figure that out. She told me she has a lot of money stored away from Sebastian, her husband. I will ask when we’re ready,” Michael whispered.

            “Will the truth change your view on her?” Lincoln asked.   

            “I don’t know,” Michael said honesty. “I think the truth will hurt me though.”

            Silence came between them and Y/N fluttered her eyes. She heard the whole thing and her heart dropped. Michael trusted her but for how long till he learnt the truth of her…

-

“This morning, authorities in Illinois issued an update on the escaped convicts known until now as the Fox River Eight,” the radio rang through. Y/N was looking out of the window when she heard it.

            “Morning,” Michael said.

            She had just woken up and she glanced to him in the front. His hand came back, and she took it, squeezing it. “Morning,” she mumbled, wiping her eyes and running her hand through her very messy pony tail now. She fixed it.

            “Chicago mob boss, John Abruzzi, was gunned down outside of a Washington D.C. motel last night, after investigators received a tip from an informant. The other escapees are still at large and considered dangerous…” The radio was changed by one of the men in the front.

            “How did you sleep?” Michael asked.

            “Fine. Rough. In and out, but slept for a bit. Did you sleep?” she asked.

            “A little,” Michael responded honestly.

            “I didn’t think Abruzzi would be the first to eat it,” Lincoln spoke up, ending the couple’s conversation. He was still driving after several hours.

            “I have a feeling we’re in for lots of suprises,” Michael mumbled, looking out of the window.

            “They said eight are still out there…so much for faking our deaths,” Lincoln stated in disbelief.

            “I bought us some time, that’s what counts,” Michael countered. “How much further?”

            “70…80 miles,” Lincoln responded.

            “Good, we should be hitting the double K ranch by this afternoon,” Michael stated.

            “Or we can keep driving, pick up LJ and hit Panama,” Lincoln interrupted, voice filled with concern and passion.

            “We can’t hit Panama! We can’t hit anything! We can’t do anything without the money. We need to find Charles’ stash,” Michael raised his voice, voice serious.

            “I know some other guys who are thinking the same thing,” Lincoln exclaimed.

            When Charles told Michael about the stash, T-Bag, Tweener and C-Note were in the same room which means they could be going there as well. Y/N sighed, focusing out of the window.

            “Y/N?” Michael hummed. She hummed back. “We’re almost there.” Y/N nodded, not saying a word back.

-

Here you go!

Hope you enjoy :)

I had so much fun writing this.

Much love,

Ava <3

-

Taglist:

(let me know if you want to be tagged)

@enha-stars @wonuskie @believeinthefireflies95 @esposadomd @peachmartini @rougegenshin @lindsayjoy444

[aquamarignis]

On the way back from Deimos, the Operator was uncharacteristically quiet.

The Drifter tried for lightheartedness: “It’ll be okay, Junior”.

He didn’t even look up. “Don’t. Call me that.”

“Sorry, kid. She’ll be okay. You know she will.” 

“And what am I supposed to do? Just- just exist here while you do everything that really matters?”

“Dunno,” the Drifter shrugged. “You got plenty that matters to figure out here. Like how to hug Fibonacci for real.”

“Oh for Void’s sake,” the Operator sighed, but the Drifter caught a hint of a smile in the corner of their lips.

All will be well, indeed. They just need to figure out when.

[the-ate-show]

00:02

Jealousy’s a Green Eyed Monster

Wc: 4.3k

Her room was massive, at least twice yours.

Oh my god, 8 was on top. You could have picked it. Everyone marvelled at the space, the lavish decor, the money that increased by unfathomable amounts every minute. They chatted vaguely about how much they each made, but you were more fixated on the bathtub. The bathtub she no doubt showered in with your drinking water. As a kid, you'd always considered a fancy bathtub the height of luxury, and now you see it for what it is.

You were right.

Besides, how'd she even get it in there? You wouldn't have been able to move it on your own, and yet here she was. You reentered the physical realm as 6 told everyone he made 130,000 won a minute. He turned to you, and you replied,

“50,000 Won,” you nodded and 2 scoffed. Not at you, just at the prospect. You gave a sorry look, and people continued to say their amounts. 

7 said something about a fibonacci sequence, you remembered learning about that in school. Either way, you felt too sick to respond while he explained it to the group. After glancing at the meal kits, counting them and the empty water bottles, the group decided to continue downwards, inspecting each room. 

You walked by the side of 2 on the way down, tension filled the air. Between the mixture of jealousy at 8 and anger at the situation, neither of you could talk. The group reached 7’s room, and part of you didn’t want to enter, but that would be suspicious. You leaned against the wall.

A table. He bought a table. 

You tried not to laugh, what a dork. A table. Hope he bought a textbook as well, maybe a bedtime story to read before laying on his mattress- which mind you was on the floor. So, a table, and no bed frame. More noteworthy though, is the table had two chairs, one on either side. How curious, perhaps he'd made a friend. Now you feel stupid. You didn't make a friend.

As you all filed out of the room, you lingered at the stairwell for a moment, eyeing the huge timer that ticked away. It has increased again. You pushed off of the wall with a quiet whistle, only to be jerked back into 7’s room, cinematically hearing the door slam shut. Before you could scream, his hand pressed against your mouth, his other hand on his lips shushing you as he pushed you to the wall.

Hi, truly the only thought you could think of.

You kept your eyes trained on him, clearly, he had the upper hand here, but a little pretending never hurt anybody. He leaned in close to your ear, and you shivered.

“Can I trust you to be quiet?” meow. You rolled your eyes, and his hand pressed further on your mouth. You furrowed your eyebrows, mentally preparing to lick him.

“Let’s keep this quick, you and I, we can’t let anyone know about us.” he paused, as if waiting for you to reply. “Whatever we had is long gone okay? Let’s just try to be civil,” 

He swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Weird, this was stressing him out. “Are we clear?” he dropped his hand hesitantly and you licked your lips, nodding while glancing at the door. He caught your jaw, gentle but demanding, pulling you back to meet his gaze, “Say it,”

“What?”

“Say you understand,”

…Dear lord. I can say a lot more than that beautiful. “Would saying it out loud change anything?”

“Please,”

Oh this is serious serious. “Yeah man, I understand, crystal clear,” he breathed a sigh of relief, mumbling ‘good, good.’ He dropped his hand, offering you a glance before standing up straight.

7 opened the door, gesturing for you to pass out first. You forced a smile, missing the warmth of his body against yours. Crap, about now was the time you’d go through old text conversations between you and him, reminding you of why you broke up in the first place. You smoothed your hair out, pausing at the top of the stairs, causing him to bump into you. He grabbed your arm and shot you a ‘why’d you stop?’ look before looking down the stairs. You looked between the eyes of the other people, raising a brow.

8 and 6 looked amused, the young lady in particular taking interest in you both. 5 and 1 avoided your gaze entirely. A small huff of air escaped 3, which earned him an elbow from 2. You glanced at 7, who ignored you to walk down the stairs. For a moment, the cogs in your head turned, and by the time you put two and two together, they'd moved onto the next room.

You descended the stairs with a guilty face, despite being innocent. It’s like when you walk out of a store without even buying anything. You entered 6’s room, too mortified to even speak, or observe anything beyond what meets the immediate eye. More stairs, then 5’s room. Because of these room tours, you now realise you really should've bought something. 

Finally at your room, you pull out the keycard and swipe it, pushing it open. At Least you had the foresight to fold up your bed sheet before you left your room that morning. You gave a very tragic jazz hands, which brought a smile to 3’s face. There wasn’t much to say. As they withdrew, you caught 7’s gaze. You’ve seen that look before.

. . .  

“Don’t laugh,” you warned, fishing your key out of your purse.

He half scoffed and half laughed, “I won’t!”

“Good, or else you’d hurt my feelings,” you turned around, pushing the key into the keyhole and struggling a bit with it. He stared at your keychain. It was one he got you, and he couldn't help but feel pride that you’d actually used it. 

The door groaned in annoyance when you opened it, and it was a bit of a struggle to do so. Yu walked in, his eyes tracing over the lousy space you called home.

“It’s cosy.”

“I hate you,”

“I didnt even-”

“Yeah but you thought about it!” you pouted, motioning for him to take off his shoes. He does, and you turn to greet your cat.

He was still working on removing his shoes, “For the record I wasn’t thinking about it.”

A hairless cat that frequented your building. When you first moved in, you found him a little strange, but now, snug as a bug in his hand knit sweater, the little worm grew on you. When you rescued him, you told your boyfriend all about the adorable cat you now have, and when you said ‘expensive breed’ he thought you'd refer to a persian, or a ragdoll, not a sphinx. You held the little boy in your hands, giving him a million kisses before turning to Yu.

“Meet-”

“What is that?” his face contorted into discomfort.

“My son. My pride and joy.”

“Babe, that is not a cat. A rat maybe,” you swatted his chest, and he snickered.

“Don’t listen to the mean man, he just hates beautiful things,” you cooed at the cat, nuzzling your nose into his head.

. . .  

Back then, it wasn’t apparent what he felt when he saw your apartment. Now it was. Pity. To him you were the helpless, hairless stray cat. You felt sick at the thought, and hurried past him. 

The next few rooms were nothing but a blur, but it was comforting knowing 3 had also bought the bare minimum of just literal newspapers. 

1’s room made you feel guilty for ever even being jealous of 8. This man could hardly stand, and could probably reach across either end of the room without moving from the middle. The sick people who made this game made it a hierarchy. But why? What’s the purpose?

Either way, 8 sent the meals down the chute, and everyone sat in a circle in 1’s room. It was almost familiar to be in this kind of setting. 

The food was mostly good, maybe adequate was a better word for it. You hesitate as another bite of food comes up to your lips, when you notice 3 down his meal without a singular breath. The man was hungry. Wordlessly, you slipped the rest of your portion into his bowl. You shook your head when he tried to decline. He ended up ducking his head in thanks, and succumbing to his hunger. 

You heard a quiet scoff, one you’d grown accustomed to, and your eyes snapped up, a wrinkle between your brows. You locked eyes with Yu-  7, and gave him a skeptical look.

What did I do wrong now?

He got up before you could say anything, or even shoot him a ‘what happened to not knowing each other' look, and sauntered off to smoke. Typical. TYPICAL.

3 got up shortly after to join him, and you leaned back on your palms, passing your tongue over your teeth. This was harder than you’d thought, to pretend you didn’t know him. To pretend you hadn’t spent the better part of two years learning about everything he is and everything he stood for. But there’s no warmth anymore, no familiarity. 7. 

Definitely not 8, that’s bottom of the barrel, last pick type of number. Whoever picked 7 must’ve been an equal idiot.

 You bit the inside of your cheek, maybe had you not torn to pieces this decision, you would’ve been at the top of the pyramid.

2 dusted her hand on her knees, getting up to help digestion, if you had to guess. She took a moment to stretch on the doorway before walking out. The peace was short lived, because her voice immediately echoed out.

“Hey! What are you doing?!” you sat up a little straighter, watching her with hawk eyes. “We only have fifteen minutes left!” 2 yelled. You and 1 sprung up, moving to see her.

The woman stood in a black bodycon dress that stopped mid thigh, with a weird poofy bit at the top. Her face wore designer sunglasses, and her feet a pair of high heels- no doubt costing a fortune. You all raced down the stairs, meeting her in front of the comm device, where she had a rack of clothing next to her, and that deceptively pure smile.

“Which one looks better?” 8 said with a shrug of a shoulder, holding a hanger up.

“Did you buy that… with time?” you asked, fingers twitching at your sides.

2, with more passion, “if you wanted to play dress up, you could've done it in your own room. Why buy it out here!”

8 gave a ‘isn’t it obvious?’ face and then spoke it a buttery soft voice, “If i did, I wouldn't have been able to wear it out here. I wanted to wear it out here.” 

The blonde woman’s eye twitched, “Do you have a death wish?” but before she could do what most probably would’ve been a crime, a male voice sounded.

“Don’t intimidate her. Talk it out,” 6 said, stalking over with his hands on his hips. 2 craned her neck over to look at him ever so slowly.

8, walking like you’d imagine a princess would, went over to just underneath the LED timer. “Is it because of this? We could always extend that thing, time.” she balanced on the edge of the fake pool.

7 followed her with his eyes, “And how would we do that?”

She looked at him for a moment, stay away, no wait, do whatever you want, she then giggled, bringing her shoulders up, “You guys seriously don’t know? You don’t know how to extend it?” she continued to giggle as she walked off, “It’s the stairs,”

3 swallowed, following her along with the rest of the group. “The stairs?”

“Yes! Time extends when we step on them,”

…what sort of alternate reality does this woman live in? And more importantly, can I get what she’s on?

“Do you have any proof?” 7 spoke, seemingly skeptical.

8 parroted his last word, pretending she forgot. 2 stormed forward, “Stop messing around and tell us.”

“Only if you apologize to me first,”

“What?”

“You were really mean earlier,”

“Over my dead-” 2 stormed forward but was very harshly pulled back by 6. You flinched, a quiet gasp coming out without your consent.

“Use your words,” 6 said, in a gravelly voice.

“What's your problem?” 2 growled and 6 yelled back again. 

“Whatever, I can’t lose like this,” you grumbled, dashing forward and towards the stairs, triggering a chain reaction of the others. 

For the remaining 11 minutes, you went up and down and up and down and up and down until up became down and down became up and you were sure you’d throw up. Finally, the timer hit 10 seconds, with seemingly no want to increase again. You leaned your head down, biting your tongue. 3 stood right next to you, and he stared with pure fear at the clock. You struggled to grapple with the reality of the situation. The red LEDs vanished, and between the groans and sighs, you felt tears well up in your eyes.

For once, once, you had the opportunity to be rich presented to you on a silver- no- gold platter, and some whiney princess had to come and pray it away from your shaking hands. It’s not fair. It’s not fair, it's not fair.

It's not FAIR.

A beacon of hope, the numbers two and four appeared, twenty four when put together. The collective cheers of relief rang, along with that little turd’s voice as she celebrated solving a problem she’d created. 3 collapsed onto the ground next to you, and you placed a hand on his shoulder, giving him a breathless laugh.

“You okay?” you asked him with a smile, he nodded.

“I thought it was over,”

“You and me both,” you giggled.

So, stairs extend time. Of course it would be manual labour out of all things. You groaned loudly to yourself, kicking the folded bed sheets in your room. You collided with the ground, covering your eyes with your palms.

The next morning everyone got up bright and early, with each person assigned 7 touches of 8th floor sign, you were prepared to suffer. You stretched your legs lightly, glancing back at the time. Then, with the cue from 7, everyone bolted to the stairs. You decided to jog, as running would burn you out pretty quickly. Sure enough, people started to slow down by the 3rd flight of stairs, while you were still going strong.At the end of the day, you all piled into 1’s room, eating together in silence.

The days blurred into each other, with minimal conversation, and the same boring routine. Until.

“I feel like I haven’t eaten anything,” 3 sighed, leaning back. 

“Here,” you slid your plate to him, he almost took it but 2 gave him a look and he hesitated. “Seriously, I’m good,”

That was a lie, but c'mon, you felt bad. 

3 hesitated again, looking at 2, who continued to glare at him. 6 used the opportunity and took the plate for himself. 

“Hey-“ 3 started, but 6 had practically inhaled the rest of it. Fatty.

“What? You weren’t gonna take it and she didn’t want it,” 6 shrugged, licking his lips. 2 looked at you with annoyance, then back to 6, “She would’ve eaten it had 3 told her no firmly,”

“It’s okay,” you diffused the argument before it spiraled further, “Wouldn’t have offered if I still wanted it, don’t worry about me 2,” you said to her softly, and she gave you a scoff.

“This isn’t sustainable,” 6 said, looking at the food, “we should split into teams, so on the day people are working they’d get more food,”

That actually… was not a bad idea.

So, the next day, you stood in two equal rows of people, ready to be divided.

Team A: 8, 6, 4, 2- the evens.

Team B: 7, 5, 3, 1- the odds.

“I want to switch teams,” 2 said before anything could take place. “We don’t get along,” she casted you the look, but it was clear it wasn’t intended to be for you.

3 avoided the gaze of the team, 5 would’ve gained nothing from moving…leaving-

“I’ll switch,” 1 smiled, moving to your side.

Team A: 8, 6, 4, 1. 

And thus commenced day one, where you and your team members gave it your all. Towards the middle, you stumbled upon 1 sat down, and 6 talking to him. He was taking a break on the stairs, and 6 offered to help him up. How noble. Just as they locked hands, 6 seemed to crush 1’s, evident by his groans and gasps for it to stop. You covered your mouth, team B appearing seemingly out of nowhere behind you. As 6 finally let go, he turned to see you all stood. 2 walked up, bumping into him on purpose after offering to take 1’s shift. He tried to decline but she’d already vanished. You jogged up the stairs, crouching in front of 1 and taking his hand in yours,

“Does it still hurt? Did he break it?” 1 timidly shook his head, and you helped him back up to his feet. 6 chuckled, staring you down. He had that surly look on his face, with that nauseating smirk. He was almost daring you to go against him, to challenge him.  You couldn’t take him up on that offer, this was way too deep in shark infested waters.

And then the cycle continues. Monotonous days of running with little to no rewards. Well, that was mostly your fault, buying anything felt almost trivial.

Until one day the chute pinged, and you stretched uncomfortably as you opened it, the stench making you stumble backwards.

“What the-?” you coughed, covering your nose with your shirt. crap. literally. A knock resonated at your door. You got up and opened the door, 2

She leaned on your doorway, a bored look on her face. You did not drop your shirt from your nose, “They just sent me… their feces,” 2 laughed at your choice of words.

“Feces… miss proper,” 2 walked past you into your room, leaving the door ajar, sliding the chute shut and sending it down, then turning to you, “1 was feeling guilty for not really running, so he offered to take everyone’s waste bags.”

“But his room is tiny,” you said, crossing your arms. “Where would he even sleep?” 2 shrugged.

“I can’t consciously send mine down there,” she replied.

“Me neither, not that you even gave me the option to,” you giggled as you gestured to the closed chute, she looked sheepish.

You cracked your knuckles awkwardly, and she sighed. “I didn’t mean it earlier,”

“Hm?”

“About not getting along. You’re okay 4,”

A shy smile tugged on your lips, and you nodded, “You’re not too bad yourself,”

Her eyes wandered down, and then a grin spread on her face. She grabbed your arm, bringing it up to inspect, pushing your sleeve upwards.

“Cute,” 2 referred to the dainty heart tattoo on your forearm. “Didn’t see you as the type to get ink,”

You rolled your eyes playfully, “Trust me I'm not. My friend was very persuasive, we both got one,”

She snorted, dropping your arm, “Bad idea to get matching ones,”

“Yeah lesson learned,”

“You guys had a falling out?”

. . .  

“When i meant spontaneous i didn’t mean stick and pokes,” you winced as it pinched your skin again, sat uncomfortably on Yu’s bed.

He remained focused on the design, “This is peak spontaneity,”

“Spontaneous people don't use words like th-OW,”

. . .  

… “You could say that,”

You paused for a moment, “Are you inked?”

She smiled, nodding and rolling up her sleeve to show the ones on her forearm. She then turned around, pulling off her top to show a yin yang koi fish on her shoulder blade. You marveled at it, tracing your hands on the ink.

“Yours is so well done,”

“No offence, yours isn't,” she laughed, and you flicked her lightly.

“What’s this one mean?” you asked for the millionth time it seemed like, listening to the cool stories she shared that gave you more and more puzzle pieces.

You stepped back, and she turned to face you again, showing you more tattoos, on her bicep, on her collarbone, and side, giving you the winded tale of each. In the distance, you could hear 6 talking to 8.

“What a creep,” you mumbled, stepping back to lean against the wall, she rolled her shoulders.

“Tell me about it, him and 8 will appear in my nightmares,” she rolled her eyes and you snickered.

“Reminds me of the type of men to mansplain everything,”

She raised a playful eyebrow, “Have you ever had pool mansplained to you?”

You tilted your head back against the wall, “I don’t think so,”

She smirked, “Allow me then,” she pulled you off of the wall, and put you into position for imaginary pool, talking in a false husky voice that reminded you all too well of late nights and sleazy men.

You snorted, “Like this?” you fake hit it, and she made a show of whispering loud enough, “Atta girl.” which caused you to quietly scream in mortification, which caused her to also laugh, dropping her head against your bent body.

Just then, a fast knock and the swinging of the door brought your attention up.

You were all frozen in time for a moment, 3 and 7 stood at the door looking like they’ve just seen a ghost, and 2 bending you over with her shirt off.

This looked so bad. 

The sound of money being added lit the fuse of chaos, and 3 immediately flustered, tripping over his words and turning around to cover his eyes. You squeaked, shoving 2’s shirt into her hands to cover her, and standing in front of her. 7 stared at his shoes and closed the door.

You turned to 2 with a horrified expression, but her’s seemed less shocked. Almost… amused.

“Are you okay?”

“They’re such idiots,” she slipped the white shirt back on, and you embarrassedly passed her the jacket. You opened the door to find them both still there, 7 leaned against the railing, and 3 sat on one of the steps with his head in his hands.

The latter jumped to his feet, apologising profusely to 2, who gave him a pat on the back and walked away, but not before turning to you and winking with a ‘call me’ gesture, causing both 3 and 7 to whip their heads around to look at you.

Traitor.

You met 7’s gaze, then the ground seemed more enticing. Although in hindsight, you just seemed more guilty.

“We’re about to start laps.” 7 said with an emotionless voice. You nodded.

“Kay, thanks,” you walked down a few paces faster, not missing the quiet whisper of 3 going ‘What just happened?’.

The shift went as it always did, ascend descend, up and down, rise and fall, breathe in and out. 

By nightfall, you all stared blankly at the not increasing timer. This was odd, all that running for nothing? But after a few complaints, the seemingly sentient machine pulled itself together, and more time was added.

You decided to dine inside your room this time, too humiliated to face the music. You took a few bites of the rice, then a sip of water. Then you decided to leave the rest of the meal kit for tomorrow morning, with no 3 nearby to share it with, you could just have it for breakfast. Neatly tucked in a corner, you laid down on the bed sheets again. You really ought to buy a nicer stay.

You woke up with renewed passion for living, downing the meal and rushing to join them in the circle. By the time you stood to stretch, you felt your eyes grow bleary, and the air struggled to rush into your system. You groaned quietly, the world fading into background noise as you put your hands on your knees, trying to calm your rapid fire heart.

Your skin felt like it was on fire, your airways constricted and your head feeling far too light for good. Your legs wobbled, giving out underneath you and you continued to struggle for air.

“She’s having an all-” 7 started but was cut off by 5.

“She’s going into anaphylactic shock! She needs an epipen!”

2 was the one to sprint towards the intercom, and you could vaguely make out 6’s resistance to her before the world faded to black.

–

With a soft groan, you found yourself stirring again. Your head was pounding, your body felt frigid and it was far too hot in here. The memories of what transpired hit you like a train, and you sat up so fast. A mistake, truly, as your eyes struggled to grapple with the sudden change, you had to push the bile down.

“Lay back down 4,” 5’s soothing voice said, cupping the back of your head. But you didn’t listen “You were in shock,”

“I know,” you replied, voice quiet and meek. You tilted your head back, swallowing thickly. “My bad, wasn’t paying attention to what I was eating,”

“You scared me half to death,” 5 pouted, swatting your thigh in a motherly fashion, which elicited a few giggles from all around.

“Aw I’m sorry, I’m sure it was quite the show,” you said, feeling embarrassment well up. "It was,” 6 said, and he pointed at the timer, which read ‘forty hours'. "Brainy came to an epiphany. They want entertainment,”

AN: there's more interesting stuff going on in the next chapter TRUSTT

Taglist: @entr4p3

[f1poetry-by-arcanum]

The test-drive Icarus that everyone wanted.

It was you.

The starting point of my Fibonacci sequence downfall.

The weight that shoved me into a vacuum.

It was you.

The anchoring hope of an open wound.

Something killing me slow right where death could not reach me.

It was both of you.

Your welded on smiles.

Your ornamental signs

Spelling out "home sweet home"

Then replacing all my sugar with salt.

One April first after the other it carved me from within.

I am falling now,

Cliffs tilting,

Canyon closing,

And from my bloody hand,

I throw up the rocks my desperate grip held onto until their breaking.

I am falling now,

Ocean wind,

Feathers soaked,

And from my purple lips,

I throw up the wish that had been lodged in my heart until its breaking.

If this is to be my execution,

I rest knowing that while looking down on me,

Your eyes are suddenly full of sand.

If this is to be my final letting go,

I rest knowing that I gave my last nothings

To a family where no one was ever truly mine to hold.

-arcanum.

[edupunkn00b]

I Love You Heart and Mind, Ch. 6: Plushies Are Rather Pleasant

Prev - Plushies Are Rather Pleasant - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

A lot happened after the Sides went to sleep, plushies held close.

Rated: G - WC: 1895 - CW: none We're so close to the end of this tale. Editing has returned this story to the originally planned seven chapters, even as it's switched things around quite a bit. @always-anais, I hope you're still enjoying the story you requested even if it's taking much longer than planned.

Logan took his time returning to his room, the image of the others’ tiny stuffed replicas figuratively burning into his synapses. Not much smaller than Thomas’ Benjamin, the plushies were overstuffed and rotund—chibi, his mind less-than helpfully supplied—and so very soft-looking. His hands twitched at his sides, the increasingly distant memory of the last time he’d touched any of them pushing out all other thoughts, driving him to reach, to stroke, to hold…

The familiar syncopation of Patton skipping up the stairs just behind him, Logan slipped into his room and closed the door firmly. Shaking, he let out a slow breath and dragged his mind away from the soft warmth of Patton’s skin under his palms, away from tense joints and muscles melting with his ministrations, away from Patton's sweet little sigh as he'd drifted off to sleep.

Sleep. Yes, sleep. That was what Logan needed. And perhaps… perhaps the others made a valid point. While he had not intended to speak aloud his supposition that plushies could indeed function as atypical tools fending off loneliness, his words had been true. Concentrating on Thomas’ sensory recall of the plushies, Logan focused his thoughts and conjured facsimiles of each of them. Thomas, Roman, Virgil, even himself. And Patton.

One by one, he placed them on his nightstand, crowded together, justifying their closeness with the size of the available surface. Once he’d finished, he stepped back and surveyed his work. Logan frowned when he realized he’d placed Patton next to his, practically in his plushie’s lap. If any of the others had seen—no. He shifted his over, closer to his puzzles, then nodded to himself. That would do.

He quickly changed into sleepwear and, after he climbed into bed, readjusted the Thomas plushie to ensure he was at the center and arranged the others around him. Finally, eye mask on and lights off, he counted his breaths until sleep began to take him.

~

Virgil’s nightmare roused the Mindscape. Chased by a twenty-foot tall Benjamin through teetering stacks of moving boxes, Thomas narrowly escaped the giant bear’s dripping maw, his hair and sleep pants snagging on jagged, rusted teeth. Patton woke with a scream, jarring the others loose from the vision.

Their nightmare recovery routine was, unfortunately, well-practiced. Janus brought Remus to a distant corner of the Imagination, near the border of the sub-conscious, where he could battle the lingering shadows haunting Thomas’ mind. Roman and Virgil were with Thomas, calming and being calmed in turn. Tucked safely in the ersatz glow of his room, Patton avoided the brunt of the processing, allowing Thomas and the others to eventually slip back into more peaceful dreams.

Once Logan was confident everyone else was secure, he, too, retreated to his room to step through his evening routine and try to return to sleep.

He was on the one-hundred and seventy-third term in the fibonacci series when a quiet knock at the door broke his concentration. Rising quickly, he opened it, expecting Virgil or perhaps even Remus. It wouldn’t’ve been the first time either Side had sought solace from the more fantastical parts of their roles in his room and, after the evening’s nightmare, he would be foolish to deny them.

He could never have anticipated who was actually at his door.

“Hiya, Logan,” Patton whispered, smile shaky and fingers twisting in the sleeves of his cat hoodie.

“Patton?” Logan frowned at the tears welling at the corners of Patton's eyes. And at the darkened spots in his hair and at his collar, evidence those tears were far from his first. “Patton, what’s wrong?”

“I…” He looked away, mouth twitching but never fully turning up into his typical grin. “Um… I can’t sleep. I… Can…” He shrugged, both arms curled over his belly. “You can say no, but… Can I stay here tonight? Just…” Shrugging again, Patton met his eyes. “Everyone else is…”

“You have been impacted by Virgil’s nightmare,” Logan stated. “And you do not wish to be alone.”

Patton nodded, eyes cast down on the floor. “Yeah.”

“And you are here because everyone else is occupied with another Side,” Logan finished.

“Well, I…” Patton looked up at him, mouth opening and closing as though he wanted to deny the facts of his predicament.

But he could not.

Why can’t it simply be me he needs?

Fighting to ignore the cold sliver in his his chest, Logan shook away the errant thought.

Patton’s expression crumpled. He nodded and began to turn away. “Oh, of course, Logan. I’m sorry to—”

Hand snapping out to grab his sleeve, Logan stopped him. “Patton?”

Glossy, hopeful eyes looked back at him.

“Patton, I did not deny your request,” he said. “Of course you may come in.”

“Really?” Patton grinned, cheeks pink and lips parted.

Clouds severed, the storm hath passed and a summer’s sun breaks through the gloom…

Logan nodded once and opened the door completely, gesturing toward his bed. “Please make yourself comfortable. I shall take the floor.”

“Oh…” And just as quickly, the clouds returned. Patton looked down at the floor, fingers twisting in his sleeves. “I was kinda hoping… I mean… Would…” He swallowed, audibly, and reached for him. Even here in his room, under the influence of the Logical center of Thomas’ mind, Patton’s fingers trembled, face pinched as though he feared Logan’s reaction to his words. “Maybe you could lay down in the bed, too? Just… Just so I know you’re there?”

Logan could not imagine how his presence might actually help Patton sleep, but the request appeared sincere. Before he could think better of it, he nodded and pulled back the covers. “I shall join you, then,” he said and laid down on one half of the bed.

Patton scurried to the other side and curled under the blankets, facing him. “Thanks, Logan!” With his hoodie pulled down and the blanket tucked up to his chin, his soft, bright face appeared to float in a sea of grey and blue. “‘Night, Logan” he added in a whisper.

The bed was warmer with Patton there and the little buzz from his exhalations and micro adjustments as he settled were far more soothing than reciting Fibonacci numbers. “Good night, Patton,” Logan replied, his own eyelids suddenly heavy. “Sleep well.”

~

Patton couldn’t stop thinking about the night Logan had come to his room. As the weeks and months went by, every time he struggled to sleep, every time that cold ache crept into his chest, he drew the memory of that evening close. Logan’s steady, gentle hands, his insistence it was alright to rest, that it was alright to feel better.

He’d fallen asleep so easily that night, gently pulled into dreams by the loosey goosey floppiness of his soothed muscles. The softness in his chest. His pain had gone away completely… with Logan’s help. And Patton knew it wasn’t just the massage that had done it. Patton knew it had been Logan himself. Knowing he cared, knowing that, despite it all, he was still worth Logan caring about him.

That feeling had carried Patton through more sad nights than he could count.

Earlier that day in Thomas' bedroom, when Logan had talked about plushies being tools to cope with loneliness, his gaze had felt targeted. Did he know? Logan seemed to know a lot of what went on around the Mindscape. Did he know how much Patton thought about that night? Did he know how much he had helped? How much the memory kept helping him?

Virgil’s nightmare had shaken them all. When Remus and Janus sought solace in the Imagination, and Virgil and Roman soothed each other—and Thomas—Patton had tried to stay in his room. Shielded from the worst of the visions, he’d wrapped himself in his memory of Logan.

And for a while it had worked. Holed up in Nostalgia Central, Patton could perfectly recall the warmth of Logan’s hands, his precision. His gentleness. The fresh scent of the balm and the way it tingled on his skin. The sound of Logan’s breathing as he worked, and his low, pleased hum when he thought Patton had fallen asleep.

Patton wasn’t sure when he finally admitted that what he really wanted wasn’t a massage or a special balm or any of that. What he really wanted was Logan.

Leaving his room hurt. Stepping out into the hallway was like stepping through a sheet of ice and falling into a cold, dark lake. The remnants of Virgil's—and Thomas'—fear poked at him from the shadows, Virgil's ragged breathing in his ears and the final cry that had woken them all echoing up and down the dark hall.

Logan's door had never seemed so far away. Patton took another step, pulled by the promise of what might be on the other side. That tiny half-smile and the surprise in his eyes he had every time Patton knocked. Well, almost every time.

Sharp, watchful eyes behind glasses that otherwise looked so much like his. Maybe even the promise of a borrowed book or a cup of tea. Or maybe…

Step after step, he made it across, not daring to look back at empty lure of his own room. He knocked, only then noticing the tears streaming down his face and neck. He scrubbed at his cheeks and pushed what he hoped looked like a smile onto his lips just in time for Logan to open his door.

He must have looked pathetic. And though a not-so-tiny part of him felt terrible he'd left Logan feeling so guilty he'd had to say yes, a larger than he wanted to admit part of him was thrilled.

As Logan turned, welcoming him inside, Patton noticed the plushies displayed on his nightstand. It wasn't all of the famILY—Roman was dragging his feet on helping create replicas of Janus and his brother—but it was most of them. But Patton had all of them and he was pretty sure Remus would happily make them for Logan, too.

Afraid it might make Logan change his mind, Patton didn't ask about them. Not yet. That could wait for the morning.

With the collection of plushies on the nightstand just behind him, Patton could pretend the little glances Logan cast at him were really at him. One of the plushies was him, after all. That meant he was at least part of those Logan chose to keep close. That definitely had to count for something.

After just a few minutes, Logan blinked slower and slower, the blue glow from his alarm clock sparkling against those long eyelashes he hid behind his glasses.

Finally, Logan sighed, low and soft, and his body sank into the bed as he let go of keeping his shoulders squared and his face serious. In the dark, Patton grinned and scooted just slightly closer. He wasn't trying to invade Logan's personal space—any more than he already was, at least. He just wanted to get close enough to hear him breathe.

Listening to the slow, gentle in-and-out of Logan's breaths, Patton's own racing heart began to slow. His whole body got heavy and the tight knot in the middle of his belly loosened. His eyes had just drifted shut when Logan rolled, one arm draped over his side, chin tucked over the top of Patton's head.

Patton fell asleep smiling.

[gghostwriter]

Entangled Strings of Fate

Chapter 2. Seventh heaven (how temporary it is)

Spencer Reid x FOC

Summary: Caltech, Pasadena - Cleo considers herself a woman of logic. With an IQ of 158 and an eidetic memory, how could she not. But meeting Spencer, the boy genius to hers, had her believing in intangible theories like the invisible string and the fates. Now, if only he would notice the depth of her feelings. Set in Caltech, pre-season 1 and will progress from there.

previous chapter || series masterlist || next chapter

"There is no peace like the peace of an inner courtyard on a sunny day" - Yann Martel

At the edges of the grass filled courtyard, near the fountain, was a couple basking in the warm spring sun. The woman had her halo of locks spread on the man’s thighs. His free hand, the other busy flipping pages, was absentmindedly combing through her chestnut mane. The motion was familiar and well mapped out. Her book propped up creating a shade to cover her face as her mind whirled to thoughts off tangent to the words in front of her.

Cleo was thinking about routines and patterns. Specifically, human nature’s need for predictability. How early scholars recognized the need to identify sequences even in nature itself. The Fibonacci Sequence was a great example which then gave birth to The Golden Ratio, 1.618. A calculation that when drawn into 4 cornered shapes create a spiral. The same spiral that can be seen all around nature. She thought of the quote by an American historian, ‘chaos was the law of nature; order was the dream of man’ and how deeply flawed it was with all things considered. She closed her book and stared up at him. They were another set of example for the need for predictability. A constant companion for the other. When one moves, the other would too. Like a pair of magnets, Raina once stated when she observed their relationship. Two summers had passed since their fateful library encounter and Cleo found herself weaving Spencer into her daily routine. Breakfast or lunch in each other’s company, should the class schedule permit it. Study sessions in their own table at the library. Takeout dinners in the solace of his own dorm room. Friday nights spent watching reruns of Doctor Who or some obscure French film. Saturdays quietly reading their own choice of literature in each other’s orbit. And Sundays spent discussing their latest reading on and off tangents. 

The longer she looked at him, the more alluring he got and she was trying to understand why. His features combined scientifically did not fit the 1.618 ratio but there was something perfect about all the imperfections. He had those high cheek bones. A distinct sharp jawline further emphasized by his long neck. Lips that looked rather soft and pillowy causing a slight shiver down her spine. Faint purple bruising underneath his inquisitive hazel eyes that make him look exhausted, no doubt from the lack of sleep. 

The same hazel eyes staring right back as a smile graced his face under her intense gaze. “What are you thinking about?” He asked, always curious about the inner workings of her brain.

“Patterns,” she stated matter of factly. “The Fibonacci Sequence and how our cognitives are programmed to find patterns in everything.” 

“How did you get to this line of thought while reading—” he looked down at the closed book. “—Northanger Abbey?” 

She shrugged, not sure herself. The mind, after all, is like the unexplored deep sea. No paths to connect one area to another and filled with mysteries unknown. 

His thumb now busy caressing her sun kissed cheeks. At first it seemed aimless to her, meandering on her skin but she concentrated, he was drawing spirals. Just like The Golden Ratio. “What do you think about perfection?” She asked, wanting to hear his baritone voice ramble. 

“Well, it originated from the Latin word perificere—to complete—and then was transformed to Old French perfectio which then became perfect or perfection in Middle English,” he explained, still caressing her cheek. “In mathematics, perfection in the form of finite formulas and circles exist but in reality and in nature, it doesn’t exist.”

“I think perfection is subjective. We all have our own standards on what it is and what it would look like,” she added. This memory for her, as an example, is perfection. 

She took his hand and intertwined hers with it, marveling at the size difference. His hands were slightly calloused, possibly from scribbling down his never ending thoughts on paper. There was a time when he would stiffen under her casual touches, a certified germaphobe. They were similar in that aspect but she knew just how touch starved he was and he saw how readily she was to fill in the void so he gave his consent and never looked back since. 

“Hey Spence,” she started, trying to get his attention back from his readings. “What’s your plan after getting all your Ph.Ds? I realized you’ll be submitting your dissertations soon and we never really talked about what comes after. Will you still be pursuing being a profiler?”

He looked down, closing his book to give all his attention to her. “Actually yes, I’ll be applying for the Academy soon. There is a minimum two year probation period in the FBI before I can be eligible to join the BAU but that has always been the plan. As you know collecting more educational degrees is just a way to get back at my father.”

“I think you’ll be just fine in joining the FBI. You did profile me, after all, during our first meeting,” she laughed at the memory. That time seemed eons ago.

He joined in the laughter. “And what about you, Cleo? Still sure about becoming a prosecutor despite your father’s insistence in joining his company as a corporate lawyer?”

The idea of joining her father’s legacy in exchange of darkening her already stained soul was a choice she wanted to avoid. With a family that came from generations of wealth, her dream of working for the state was seen as a disappointment. Her mother always said that out of all her children, she was the disappointed. Doesn’t matter if she was smarter than Thalia and Marcus, her elder brother. She was still the disappointment. All because she wouldn’t become a puppet and say yes to all the things they tell her to do. “Yes, I’d like to think of it as my own little way of getting back at my family.”

“A rebel, huh?” He teased back.

She giggled. “Guess we’re both aiming to work for the government, Spencer.” 

Untangling his hand from hers, he resumed his familiar caress on her locks. “I guess so.” 

———

“Hey Cleo, your boyfriend is looking for you,” Raina teased as she entered their shared dorm room. 

She gave Raina a exasperated look and shot up from her tucked in bed, rapidly combing through her locks in hopes of looking more presentable than what she felt. Her state of relationship had been a running joke with Raina and her boyfriend, Adam ever since she had delivered those two croissants to go two and a half summers ago. Their confounding proximity without the label of a romantic relationship was enigmatic especially for the modern society that felt the need to label all kinds of relationships—pure friendship, friends with benefits, romantic relationship, open relationship to name a few. And yet, none of those deep enough to explain the sense of connection they had with each other. She wasn’t in love—she was after just 16 years old, it was more of intrigue mixed with curiosity and everything else in between. It was the type of chemical mixture that seemed far more euphoric than sexual or romantic attraction. 

“Hey Spencer,” Cleo greeted as she was closing her door. “Raina mentioned you were here. How’d your dissertation defense go?”

He shrugged mutely, knuckles white from gripping a pair of white envelopes in his hand. He wetted his chapped lips and swallowed nervously. “It’s—It’s my letter from the Academy. I haven’t opened it yet, felt wrong to open it without you by my side.”

She remembered how just three weeks ago he had submitted his requirements with the use of her school laptop. How his hands were visibly shaking with worry about the physical fitness self-evaluation and how she squeezed both in hers to calm his nerves. Pulling him to the alcove area of the dormitory for a semblance of small privacy, she drew calming patterns on his hands again.

“Would you like me to open it for you, Spencer?”

He shook his head. “I just need you here, please.”

Taking a deep breath, he then proceeded to methodically and carefully open the bigger white envelope of the two. He closed his eyes, possibly readying himself for the worse before beginning to read. “I got in,” he whispered unbelievably. “Cleo, I got in!” 

She choked back a sob and went in for a tight hug, extremely proud of him. There was no doubt in her mind that he would get in. None at all. Spencer would be a great asset in any field he’d wish to pursue. “I’m so proud of you, Spence. I knew you’d get in!”

With his face buried on her neck, she felt the telltale signs of tears escaping from his eyes. His windows to the soul leaking relief and happiness from the occasion. She let him go and wiped it away from his reddening cheeks. 

The other white envelope bringing a question to her lips. “Spence, if that is your acceptance letter. What this one?”

He bit his lip, also not knowing what the other envelope may contain. Slowly, he opened the letter and his eyes widened in disbelief. “It’s a letter from Jason Gideon, the Jason Gideon from the Behavioral Analysis Unit—”

The name rang a bell. He was a guest speaker during a criminology lecture that she and Spencer attended together from months before. Spencer asked the most questions during that lecture and was even approached by Gideon afterwards.

“—he’s scouting me to join the BAU after my graduation in the Academy,” his eyes going wide as he himself couldn’t believe what he was utter out to the universe. 

Cupping both his cheeks in her hands, she gave his forehead a quick kiss unable to contain her joy for her other half. That was what he was, she realized then, her other half. The half that completes her own set of imperfections to make a subjective perfection.

“You should give your mother a call, I’m sure she’ll be so proud of you.”

He smiled bashfully. “I’ll mention it in my next letter.” It was a flimsy excuse, she knew, but didn’t point out. 

“We should celebrate,” she suggested as she tucked her arm with his and pulled him along the stairs. “Let’s go to Cecile’s for some sweet treats!”

He laughed. A beautiful sound that echoed through the desolate hallways, all the same echoing in her chest making her feel warm. She would have done anything just keep him smiling and free. The idea that she had this effect on him made her feel intoxicated in her veins.

“When did it say your time at the Academy will start?” She asked with an assortment of sweets at the center of their usual spot in the shop.

“Within three weeks.” He sadly mumbled out, realizing the implications that it meant.

“Oh,” she sucked in a breath. “So soon.” 

Their days of mundane and comfort has come to an end. The sun was setting down and the curtains were coming down. Marking the end.

“It’s not a goodbye,” she tried to say optimistically. “It’s more of a see you later, Spencer.”

Saying it out to the universe almost felt like a taunt. Like she was egging the fates to try and prove her wrong. But she knew, she’d rather lose the light in her eyes rather than dim the lights reflecting back at her from his own windows of soul. 

[cosmereplay]

12 and 28 for fanfic game?

Thanks for the ask! 12. favorite character to write about this year I'm gonna say Veil. I've spent a lot of time thinking about her this year. When I was writing Plausible Deniability (Explicit, 24K words, RoW) I started thinking about her motivations, and how she may have been carrying a forbidden feeling on behalf of Shallan, and how that might play out, given Veil existing both as a magically-based persona and her own person. So I gave her some sapphic flings and some more of her own space to explore herself, and I like where it went. You can find more of my 2024 Veil in Doomed By the Narrative (Teen, Veil & Tyn, 900 words, WoR and RoW spoilers), Made You Smile (Teen, Veil/Ishnah, 1300 words, RoW), and Plagued By the Horrors (Teen, Radiant/Venli, 1200 words, RoW)

28. longest fic you read this year Longest fic I haven't finished yet is ibeeHu's Heaven and Hell: The Journal of Navani Kholin (Mature, 200K words, RoW). It follows Navani through her life and perspective from her early days into an alternative timeline in RoW era. It is EXPANSIVE and I feel like I've barely scratched the surface. I keep coming back to it though!

The longest fic I finished reading this year is probably one of the Cosmere Mini Bang fics. Shout out to Wimble_Rose's Fibonacci Sequence (Teen, one-sided Moash/Kaladin, 120K words, RoW) which I also haven't finished, but I did manage to finish bridge4wannabe's three all in the fifth (Explicit, Kaladin/Moash/Adolin shenanigans, 30K so far, tennis AU with few to no spoilers). I got a bit obsessed with the tennis AU actually 😁

From the fanfic end of the year ask game

[lunasgayshit]

🦉Positivity owl reporting for duty! This was sent by a friend who wants you to smile as much as your posts make them smile. Please list five things that make you unique, four things you are super passionate about and why, OR three of your favorite memories. Feel free to send the owl to those who you feel deserve to smile🦉

Oh wow um, first, thank you anon 💜😭😳

Five things that make me unique? Uh, not exactly unique, there are so many humans that any one thing is highly unlikely to be unique, but in combination they are :)

My egg was exceptionally hard to crack due to circumstances

I work in tech but my heart is in the arts and humanities, and having seen what capitalism did to my tech hobby, I will never make the same mistake with my art

I approach every person in my life with love in my heart, and treat them as such. Kindness, empathy, and patience are more important to me than I can say. We're all connected, we humans, and bringing love to every interaction is the best way I can think of to interact with others.

Due to the particulars of my autism (it's hard to focus on anything other than a conversation if I'm listening to that conversation, among other auditory processing issues), almost all of the music I like is nonlyrical. I have music for every mood, some of it the most beautiful things you've never heard, but none of it has a single word. I also always have something playing, whether it's music or a game I'm playing or something I'm watching.

I'm really good with mental arithmetic for numbers below a certain (ill-defined) size, especially things like Fibonacci numbers, square numbers, and addition/subtraction/multiplication (just like with a computer, everything but division is easy and fast). The numbers just come to me, a lot like Ramanujan said they come to him (except in my case they're not delivered by Hindu deities while I'm sleeping). I'll have the answer for a calculation before I even realize it and I won't know how I got the answer, but it'll be the right answer. It's weird, but it works!

As for things I'm super passionate about and why, this'll be interesting as I'm rather autistic so this is basically asking me to ramble about my special interests :) If anon knows anything about me they must know I'm autistic and they probably know at least a couple of these, so the list shouldn't be entirely surprising :) For all of these I could go on for longer than the post altogether so I'm going to try to be brief; know that there's so much more to say for each of these.

For as long as I can remember, language has been a special interest of mine. This manifests most specifically in words, meanings, etymologies, dialects, identifying languages from words / scripts / sounds. There's so much complexity and beauty in language, and it affects and influences every element of being human. I don't feel comfortable saying it's something that makes us human, particularly with recent research into cetaceans and other animals, but it is nevertheless an important part of being human.

I've been a Star Trek nerd similarly long. A lot of folks are Trek fans because they like the stories, the utopian vision of the future where most diseases have been cured and you can trans your gender in an afternoon with enough time left over for a fancy dinner, the egalitarian society, but for me it's deeper. Those things all matter, to be clear! They are important! But other things matter even more. For me it's about the radical love and acceptance people in the Federation show for one another. There's an implicit social contract of acceptance of differences and diversity, there's representation on screen and in universe of so much of the diversity of humanity. This is absolutely a result of the optimism, of living in a post-scarcity society, but it's also how I personally try to treat others.

Perhaps unsurprising is that I'm absolutely in love with science / mathematics, have been since I was a kid. Sure, there are certain fields I'm more interested in (physics, calculus, psychology, anthropology, linguistics as said above), but the broader subjects have always held my interest for as long as I can remember. If real life is a game, then science is the rules for how that game works. It's about the knowledge per se, for me (which is specifically why I say science / mathematics instead of an applied field like engineering)--all knowledge is worth having. But it's also about the learning, both students learning things and researchers discovering things. Learning things is cool! I genuinely hope we never learn everything about the universe, about ourselves. An existence where science / mathematics is genuinely, truly "done" would not be nearly as fulfilling.

Just as important is my appreciation and love of arts and the humanities more broadly. Like with language above, I'm not going to say that our pursuit of these subjects makes us human. However, like the sciences, these subjects do certainly make being human more rewarding and worthwhile. Again, like with the sciences, there is so much beauty in this world, so much nuance and subtlety that the arts and humanities help us understand. I genuinely see the sciences and the humanities as closely related in this way, in what draws me to them: much of what I said above about the sciences applies to here as well. It's all about learning and beauty, learning about the universe and ourselves and seeing the beauty and love that existence shows us every moment of every day. It's not coincidental that I get a bit poetic about this! Again, like with the sciences, there are certain kinds of art and subjects in the humanities that draw my attention more, but I do have a general appreciation for all of it.

I hope you can forgive me, anon, for taking so long to respond to this ask. I have taken your questions seriously and, in tandem with good old ADHD (and distraction from the many cuties on here), it's taken some time to arrange my thoughts.

[captain-mj]

Angels Of Digitalism

Part 1 Part 2

Soap sat on the couch for a bit, continuing to draw. Simon looked over his shoulder as he worked. 

He watched Johnny continue to draw. The little lines and different shades of grey. It didn’t really make sense to him until Johnny zoomed out to show everything. Simon followed each intricate detail, finding it all hypnotizing. 

Johnny was so focused, he had his tongue between his teeth as he worked. It was cute. Simon glanced at Alejandro who was still deep in his phone.

Ghost decided to ask a question. “Have you ever heard of Sacred Geometry? Your work reminds me of it.”                                    

“No.” Johnny answered as he continued to draw.

There was a moment of silence. Ghost was more than content to just let it be. 

Johnny stopped what he was doing to look up, all of his attention suddenly on Ghost. “Are you going to tell me about it?”

Ghost paused, not expecting the artist they were paying to care about that. “Do you want me to?”

“Yeah. Sounds cool.” Johnny smiled at him and clearly waited for him to go on. 

Simon nodded. “Sacred geometry is the study of the spiritual meaning in shapes. You know the fibonacci sequence right?”

“Yeah, in one of my art classes, we talked about it. If you use it while making trees and spirals, it makes them look more natural. One of the golden rations I believe.”

Simon grinned and Johnny smiled back. For a moment, Ghost wondered if he forgot to put his mask on, before realizing Johnny was just looking at his eyes. “Yeah. Exactly. Most of the time it’s just dozens of interlocking circles and spheres to make patterns but the other shapes are included sometimes. Cells make those patterns, atoms make those patterns, the solar system, the galaxy potentially our universe. All just boiling down into patterns that we can decipher and find the meaning of it all somehow. Circles mean the never ending loop, I believe something to do with reincarnation. The numbers that go into making them.”

“You think we can find the meaning?” Johnny asked him, looking at him with a strange amount of surety. Like Simon might actually know something. 

Simon laughed a little and immediately wanted to take it back when Johnny looked embarrassed. ‘I don’t know. Don’t think there is much of a meaning to anything. I think we’re just here and then we’ll die.”

“How nihilistic.” Alejandro gave him a glare over Johnny’s head. A very clear ‘we’ve talked about this and have you talked to your therapist recently and are you taking your happy meds’ glare that made Simon roll his eyes at him. 

“But if you find meaning in it, that’s up to you. Your work just reminds me of it.”

Johnny thought about it before laughing. “I think I know why! I used religious art as a reference fur some things. Especially angels, ye ken, cause o` yer name.” 

Alejandro and Ghost made eye contact over his name again. Yeah, Soap was not subtle about being scottish, but his accent thickened so suddenly Ghost couldn’t really understand it. He did find he kinda liked it though. 

“English, Soap.” Ghost decided to try. 

Johnny slowly looked at him before hissing. “Awa' 'n' bile yer heid, ye british bas.” 

Ghost blinked. “Yeah, that didn’t help. I understood that even less somehow.” 

Johnny grumbled and went back to drawing. Ghost sipped his drink and decided maybe it was time to bow out. The harnesses were done. The rigging all done. Roach would hopefully be finishing up soon. 

Johnny leaned into him, just a little. It was so he could get a better angle with what he was working on, but they were pressed close together.

Simon swallowed and waited for the usual panic that came from being unexpectedly touched so much, but nothing came. 

Maybe therapy was working. 

Alex and Roach stepped out of the room, both looking tired. “Alejandro, thank you so much for coming and helping.”

Soap glanced at Alejandro, really confused as all he saw him do was sit on the couch and type, but alright. 

“No problem guys. I’ll come every day this week.” Alejandro stood up and he and Alex fistbumped and Alejandro squeezed Roach’s shoulder as he passed. “Oh, Simon?”

Ghost looked up.

“Continue being cute for me yeah?” He winked and Ghost blew him a kiss. 

“Disgusting.” Rodolfo deadpanned. “Get a room.”

Alejandro spoke in Spanish to him and Rodolfo just shook his head. 

“I forgot to get you yesterday Soap so I thought I should make sure you come with us this time.”

The lights went out through out the building.

“Why did they put them on timers? Doesn’t even make fucking sense.” Alex turned his phone on as he spoke, illuminating them all. Slowly, everyone else got their phones out and turned them on. “Didn’t realize how late it got.” 

Soap hummed. “I thought you guys just turned them off yesterday…”

“We wouldn’t leave you in here. On purpose.” Rodolfo promised. “It’s why we sent Roach in.”

“Wait, where did Roach go?” Ghost stood up and looked around. He didn’t have his light on, but it wasn’t really necessary with so many lights already. 

Roach gently brushed his hand and Ghost tensed for a moment, before calming when he saw it was just Roach. “There you are. Don’t wander off in the dark.” He grabbed his hand. 

Rodolfo rubbed his temples. “Alright, let’s try to find the exit.” 

They all fumbled around in the dark for a while. Soap awkwardly bumped into more people than he ever wanted to. He found the door though and everyone escaped the dark venue. 

Ghost put on his helmet but perched on his motorcycle for a few minutes. Soap didn’t know why, but he waited with him.

Rodolfo did a quick head count of everyone before nodding. “Alright, everyone’s good to go home. Alex, remember, thirty minutes between edibles.”

“No.”

“Kill yourself then. Roach, please be careful in that car. It looks evil.”

Roach saluted him. 

“Ghost, remember to take your meds.” 

Ghost visibly shrank and crossed his arms. “Yeah, I fucking will.”

“Soap. Keep up the good work.”

“Wait, does Alejandro not get berated for something?? And why does Soap just get a keep up the good work?” Alex immediately complained. 

Rodolfo shrugged. “Soap is my favorite coworker and Alejandro is a guest.”

Alejandro gasped. “Mi sol, a guest?? I am a guest??”

“Yes. You’re a guest star. But still a guest. You’re not on a contract right now.”

“Wow, are we not friends?” Ghost scoffed.

“We are friends. It’s how I knew you weren’t going to take your meds, Roach was going to speed, and Alex was going to get high. I don’t know what Soap does when he’s not here!”

Soap hummed. “Mostly just take online college classes and commissions.”

“Boring. I can’t say anything about that. Oh, make sure you get grades??” Rodolfo scoffed and motioned towards Soap. “Get a better haircut??”

“I like his mohawk.” Roach used an app on his phone so it sounded like the vocaloid he used. Soap thought that was pretty neat. “Plus, more importantly, I was not going to speed.”

“We have the Life360 app. Your top speed coming in was 95 miles. Ghost is a safer driver than you. And he doesn’t even have a license.”

“You don’t have a license?” Soap turned to him. 

Ghost threw his leg over his motorcycle so he could get on properly. “Goodnight. I totally have a license.”

“Let’s see it then.”

“It has my face.”

“You can cover it up!” 

Ghost revved his engine. “No.” He two finger saluted everyone and left quickly. 

Roach watched him go with this… almost soft look in his eyes. He looked at Soap and held out a piece of gum. 

Soap took it and popped it in his mouth, making Roach grin. “So, have any plans tonight?”

Roach texted him instead of using the voice app. “Not really. You?”

“Go home and relax I suppose.”

“Want to come back to my place?”

[1141520851813892291920]

This is very tricky to type this without it just giving me errors each time it tries to send.

So we'll start somewhere.. mundane?

Do you remember the first time you had a headache? The first time you met a beloved pet? The first time you had your favorite food?

Some of these moments impact people differently, but it's not all that unusual to forget. Let's go deeper.

Do remember the first time you felt loved? The first time you felt grief? Do you remember the eyes of the one you lost? The shape of their smile?

Upsetting, but the only constant in life is change. It is natural to lose these ephemeral details, time will erode everything one day. My memory falls like sand through my fingers some days.

Let's go a bit lighter.

Do you remember the first time you studied a subject you liked in school?

This memory does not elude me, as many others do. In a small class for "gifted" kids, I learned the many ways patterns show themselves in nature. The Fibonacci sequence, golden ratios, fractals that trace paths into dizzying infinite shapes.

Snail shells, pinecones, flower petals, tree branches, intricate shapes and patterns, entire living organisms built upon eachother, which we pick apart to base numbers in hope of finding meaning.

I find myself losing track of my thoughts lately, and yet the first time I traced the many spirals of a pinecone sears itself into my mind with a giddy joy and wonder. The memory is a positive one, but why do I get to keep it and not the memory of the one who taught me?

I never know when I am going to lose the memory of a moment I cherish to a combination of colors- the shape of a tree trunk- chaos and order- always, always spirals

In my dreams I hear nonsense music and fly through fractals of fear and elation. My art doesn't look the same as it used to, the colors still bring me joy but the shapes never come out how I wish they could. Does it look strange to you?

There is nothing chasing me, no monster under the bed, it's just me. I've always known my mind may fall apart on me, my family doesn't have a great track record for sanity, but I never thought it would feel like this. Funnily enough, I can't remember what I thought it would feel like at all. It doesn't feel very funny.

If I find a way to send my story outside of jumbled thoughts, I will do my best to do so, but trying to get more specific seems to glitch everything, and getting it out in a coherent way at all is.. difficult.

Fingers crossed it works this time.

The dizzying colors of T̶h̴e̴ ̵P̵l̸a̶c̸e̴ ̷B̶e̸y̷o̴n̸d̴ ̴T̷h̵e̸ ̸D̶o̴o̸r̸ cut at your brain like a million stinging barbs, plucking the strings of your synapses until light becomes sound becomes the̷ ̷u̴n̴d̷u̵l̷a̶t̷i̴n̵g̶,̵ ̷a̴r̷r̸h̸y̴t̷h̵m̴i̸c̸ ̵u̴n̴h̷a̵r̸m̵o̸n̸i̴e̶s̷ ̵t̵hat strangle your eye stem in a migraine.

Reality is melting, sliding through your fingers like so many grains of sand that grates against you until you are smooth and without boundaries, b̴l̸e̵e̵d̶i̶n̴g̴ ̴i̷n̷t̶o̴ ̸t̵h̶e̸ ̶s̸p̶a̴c̵e̸ ̷o̵u̸t̵s̷i̷d̶e̴ ̷o̸f̶ ̴y̴o̵u̵r̴ ̴o̴u̴t̷l̸i̷n̷e̸,̷ ̷o̷n̵t̸o̷ ̷t̸h̸e̸ ̸c̶a̸n̷v̴a̵s̵ ̷o̸f̵ ̵t̶h̷e̴ ̷u̶n̸i̸v̷e̶r̶s̸e̸ ̴a̴n̶d̴ ̷y̵o̴u̴,̷ ̵y̵o̴u̸ ̷c̷a̷n̵n̶o̵t̸ ̵s̶t̶o̴p̸ ̴t̸h̴e̴ ̸s̵p̴i̶r̶a̷l̶i̷n̶g̵ ̶p̵a̷t̷t̸e̷r̷n̵s̴ ̸y̸o̷u̵ ̷b̷e̵g̶i̵n̶ ̵t̵o̵ ̷p̸a̵i̴n̴t you paint the sound of the hideous laughter that tastes of over saturated primary colors.

You are the ink of the words in the books lost behind shelves, the rustle of pages in an empty library, the heat of the eclipsed moon. You have unbecome and are becoming this almost being of empty space occupied but unaccompanied.

T̶h̸e̶ ̶o̶n̶l̶y̶ ̵w̸a̸y̴ ̸o̴u̶t̴ ̷i̶s̵ ̵i̵n̶ ̸t̵h̷e̸ ̵w̸r̴o̸n̴g̴ ̴d̷i̶r̶e̷c̴t̷i̷o̸n̶.̸ ̵

[existentialismee]

    –  ( ❀; @yajmae​​​​ ​​​​​​)

Fibonacci was a ward that Watanuki normally tried to avoid entirely when he was on his own-- yet the Stars, this time, had decided that was exactly where he would be taking residence. Of course, the higher levels were completely safe; it was the lower ones that the shopkeeper knew he should be wary of, and yet.. he found himself wandering down there all the same.

It wasn't the first time he had ended up in this world completely alone, yet this particular sting of loneliness felt so much deeper; cutting through his frame, shattering any smile he attempted to bring to life no matter who he spoke to. He knew it was dangerous to go alone, purposefully leaving Mugetsu behind in the safety of the shop while he followed that voice blaring loudly between his ears. Hitsuzen, fate, was insisting he traverse there that day-- even despite the dangers that were waiting for him.

Like a moth to a flame.

Perhaps it was his desperation that had clouded any instinct in that moment, when something suddenly struck him from behind in the never-ending darkness. The slicing of clothes, the warm springing of blood quickly pulling Watanuki from his trance-- albeit too late to avoid any injury, it seemed.

Yet as he whipped around, grasping at the wound in his side, he found that it was not a human enemy waiting for him. It was something more sinister, born from the terrible thoughts and feelings which flooded the floor of this ward. A dark, rising mass of what was once perhaps a spirit; and if he did not act quickly enough, it wouldn't be long before the shopkeeper lost this fight.

[bitemedotmp3]

40. — wired

Maria sticks her hands in her pockets and gives an impressed whistle, something low and long. "Never seen a gun like that before," she says.

"You probably never saw indoor plumbing before you came here," snorts Uzi.

"Now where'd that kind girl from the record store go to? You kill her and replace her?"

"Okay, okay, sorry, I'm- The snark is literally programmed into me," says Uzi. Then, by way of explanation: "I can't help it. But I kinda figured someone like you would appreciate this."

It's not her railgun, not yet, but she's getting closer. Even with the lower level of tech available in this city, it feels like it'll only be... a month or two, maybe? Then it'll be done and they'll all be sorry.

They identity of "they" isn't important. It could be anyone! It could even be you, the one reading this!

Anyways. Uzi's been chasing bits and pieces of this thing since she got to Spirale; a stock from a rusted-out rifle, some engine pieces from an old car, batteries from a store in Fibonacci, wires from a broken TV, magnets from... Well, a girl's gotta have some secrets. Uzi just hopes that the more rudimentary technology here means this one will be less prone to exploding.

"It's mostly magnets," she says, tracing her finger along the barrel. "The battery here emits energy into a casing, and then magnets here have a current that carries- launches it forward. Then when it hits the end of the barrel, bam! Magnetically-amplified photon converger."

Maria leans in to touch it, but Uzi pulls away. "Uh, I wouldn't, if I were you. It's kinda radioactive."

The woman takes a step back, putting her hands in her pockets. "Ah, well, it's an impressive piece of hardware Uzi. And you built it all by yourself, even. But if I can't use it, why am I here?"

"First off, I just thought you'd think it was cool. Second, I need a witness." Uzi turns and walks a few feet away, facing towards the targets she'd set up. No one really comes out to Yesteryear, which makes it a perfect place for a potentially-volatile weapons demonstration.

Maria takes a few more steps back, cocking a brow. "Witness? Hopefully not an accessory to anything."

"Nah, it's fine! Prob'ly." Uzi shoulders the rifle, pointing towards the assorted junk. "But if this kills me, I just want someone to be able to tell people what happened."

"You got a track record of catastrophic failure?"

"Yeah, but I lived last time, so I'm not too worried."

The woman sighs. "Didn't really intend to be present for some teenage robit's accidental suicide today. Fingers crossed, I guess."

Uzi looks over her shoulder. "You could stop me."

"Could I?"

"See, you get it! Alright, enough chatting, here we go!"

Uzi doesn't count down, because it feels too cliche for her. She just brings the stock to her shoulder, aims down the barrel at an paint can, and pulls the trigger. It takes a few moments for the gun to respond, but a whirring sound can be heard from somewhere within, and a blue-ish glow issues from its power source. Bit by bit, it gets louder and more glowy, until finally-

The recoil knocks Uzi on her back and elicits a holler from Maria. The girl quickly picks her head up, but the projectile has already vanished from sight, leaving splattered paint all over the surroundings. There's nothing left of the can itself, just splotches of blue that mark where it once existed.

"Damn, you sure as hell converged those photons! Converged the shit outta that paint can too!" laughs Maria. "Shoot, wish you wouldn't've told me that thing was radioactive, itchin' to try it for myself now!"

What a tasty ego boost. Uzi picks herself up, dusting off her clothes and hefting the gun over her shoulder. "Well, it's still a work in progress, but once it's safe to handle, promise you'll be the second person to try it out."

"I'll hold ya to that." Maria's eyes flick to Uzi's gun as she smiles, and she nods towards it. "Changes colors, too? Red's nice."

Uzi recoils, and her gaze snaps to the weapon. "Wh-again? It shouldn't even have- shit!" Even as she tosses the gun as hard as she can, she thinks that she talked for too long. The explosion sounds throughout the ruined city streets, blowing both human and robot on their backsides.

Maria coughs a few times, pulling off her hat to wave the dust away as she rises to her feet. "G-goddamn, somethin' tells me that wasn't intended. Uzi? You alright?"

"Been better," she groans. She reaches up to fix her own hat, and-

"Oh, damn." Maria's face pales a bit as she rushes to Uzi's side. "Your hand, that- Shit, you know a mechanic or somethin'? Anythin' I can do to help?"

"Wh- Oh, this. No, it's fine. It'll heal." As Uzi watches, bits of metallic bio-material begin to collect at the stump of her arm, filling in the injury grain by grain. Slower than she'd like, but at least it still works.

"Damn. You're just fulla surprises, kid," says Maria. She holds an arm out to Uzi, and the girl takes it to haul herself to her feet. "Maybe don't offer to let me try the next one 'till you iron out that kink."

"Yeah, I guess it'd scar my psyche if you got reduced to a bloody smear because of me. Something fun to take to therapy." Uzi stares at her stump for a moment, wondering why she was programmed to feel pain.

"I'd be upset about it too, y'know."

"Huh? Oh, yeah, sure. Prob'ly not many people who are into that." Sighing, she looks over at the destruction she'd accidentally wrought. "Well, that's that, I guess. You heading home?"

"Not much else to do 'round here. Why? Need a hand?"

Uzi frowns. Maria smiles.

"Heck, c'mon. I'll walk you home. 'Least I can do after somethin' like that," says Maria, reaching down to pat the girl on the head.

"Hey- quit it! I can still walk by myself." Uzi glowers, but relents. "Fine. You know where we're going, right?"

"Why, you got a compass in that head of yours?"

She does have some GPS functions, but they're largely useless when she's an unknown amount of miles away from home. "Does this place even have the same cardinals?"

"Who knows? Let's just get outta here. Place gives me the creeps."

Uzi frowns, but then realizes- she might finally get to see that horse. She'd heard clip-clop of a horse's hooves when Maria arrived, but she'd never actually seen the animal. "Sure, sure. You got room for two on that saddle?"

Maria clicks her tongue. "Usually, yeah. But Blue's... He ain't been himself since we got here."

Uzi stares as they round the corner and Blue is finally revealed to her. He's blue, yeah, but also...

"Aren't they supposed to be bigger?"

"Ain't guns supposed to not explode?"

"Yeah, yeah. Let's just go."