#by some dogs I mean mine. i have no idea if anybody else's dog does this

[sliverspeaks]

that thing some dogs do when they want attention

[2n2n]

well here's ch. 97 chat, unhinged and unorganized

Amusingly I've said so crudely to Bird before "I'm sure Teru's like, blasted someone's little casper the friendly ghost friend while children sob and beg him to stop" gfdlg;dfkg I can't believe it would get drawn so directly, I love it though....! isn't this what so many kaii are... just some children's funny little guy..... I love it.... this miserable world....!

Ah the funniest part of the new chapter is Teru trying to be the noble cuck asserting "ah, you want to do this cuz of yashiro and no. 7 (:" *trying to keep my... expectations and understanding of your motivations realistic, grounded... I am of course in the corner of your mind only, graciously, my sweet Kou*..... he tries to be humble boy, he knows there is a discrepancy between his obsession with Kou/Tiara and Kou's life being filled with other things (Kou is not deprived class, it is Teru who is isolated and lazer-focused!) but Kou parlaying back that he does like Teru, too…. giving this brocon a crumb, hehe. Teru really feels like he can't begin to ask for more than the barest of scraps…. this chapter has the most endearing Teru, really feeling for this poor animal, lol. I feel for how he can't impose himself upon Kou at all, how *dog with tail between legs* it is to ask for more....

I like Teru 'giving in' to involving Kou, I can really feel him having lost some battle of will, the desire to do his noble sacrificial duty endlessly without asking anything of anyone else… I like his attachment to Kou and Tiara and his desperation to receive their attention. Very pathetic little creature. I enjoy how little of the weight of it Kou perceives, and even Teru admitting to it doesn't have nearly the impact for Kou as it does for Teru. This is really Teru admitting to being a cold lizard person without concern for anybody but his loved ones, devoid of motivation or purpose or interest…. the AIDAIRO STAPLE!!! It's just like Hanako and Akane. It's simple a fashion of romance.

Kou seems to put everything he ever hears through a kind of 'normify it' filter, I don't know how else to put it… one can try to be so emotionally nuanced and vulnerable, admit to deeper emotional crimes below the surface, and he just won't engage with it. Its like he distills it. I think he 'expects' Teru to be a 'normal' person still, he has this… base idea of 'normal' and, I don't think Kou can yet grasp how far from that Teru is…. the facade is just so grossly effective on Kou. I think if Hanako heard this speech, he'd understand a dozen more layers to it, and understand what a grave and severe concession it is for Teru, and how lowly it is to finally seek crumbs, ask for company, share the burden he's BEEN shouldering alone. Whats the matter, being dutiful eternally not working for you? Thats funny, I'm 50 years in to my eternal toil but, whatever lol, it's cute you can't really do anything with resolution …… WEAKER BROCON. (and your little brother is much less precious than mine). Hanako really is the 'biggest dog' in terms of commitment and fortitude, I understand why he looks down on Kou and Mitsuba respectively in Picture Perfect. I think he'd roll his eyes at this Teru, too…… pussyyyyyy lol.

Teru being so weak to even Kou just calling him like, names or something is like, sooo funny compared against Amane who was likely being tied up and flung around the room by Tsukasa, bruised and battered daily and forgiving it again and again with a smile…. there is a reason our title character is Hanako, he is such the ultimate version of every virtue Iro writes. WHATS THE MATTER, WON'T SUFFER FOR YOUR BELOVED? DON'T WANT THEM TO BE ~MEAN TO YOU? NEED TO ALWAYS BE BEST FRIENDS AND SOFT? ohhh pansy lol stupid Minamoto…

big baby.....! Cute.

But isn't it funny to immediately go outside and see Mitsuba…. why do you always forget about any of this? How could learning to fire your musket at Hanako in case of emergency really be more forefront of your mind, than the person you're trying to SAVE, why do you think about exorcising before you think about rescue, as mental priority … always we just talk about smushing kaii so…. compulsively, with Kou. It's just some childhood dream he doesn't know how to let go of, even after so many exceptions. I get that he was drilled with propaganda, I just don't have to respect it. It's like his brain is weak and spongey and can't think for itself even this far in. You will STILL just grab your musket and be all rowdy ready to bangbang play cops and robbers for your cool brother. DUMB idiot. You deserve to have the emotional drop that is seeing MITSUBA, THE TRAGIC FIGURE. Don't you ever experience euphoria of being an exorcist ever again, your job SUCKS, this job is AWFUL. This isn't SPECIAL. Just a miserable job, one your bloodline can't escape. Your brother is as good as a slave here and you're itching to be enslaved too. WRONG response, wish you were trying to EXTRICATE Teru. Not JOIN him. You're going BACKWARDS!!!

I'm always pretty sad when Mitsuba is the one seeking out Kou first… he always is, he's the instigator between the two of them. So comical, isn't it? Other things always come first, for Kou… feel like Mitsuba is constantly left on read. Its like Kou's last message will be a declaration and then Mitsuba is still the one texting him first next week, just left staring at that chat window.

I dunno, I'm hoping Mitsuba ate Hakubo or something so awful LOL. This would be funny. I'm with Bird and hoping Tsukasa has fucked enough of the system up that we can exit the school. Even if not now I wish for eventually Hanako reading Nene's diary on her bed kicking his legs around. Wow what a little poet.... ♥

[the-firebird69]

We're there and we saw him order and he didn't even in heaven it tasted so good. Bunch of garlic but not too much I mean it was nicely so the right cheeses and yeah people don't cook too well down here it was fun that he loved the European and misses it this is family's place he found out later it was a messed up family he said they were my brothers and sisters anyways and BJA has a mother and a father they might be step mom and stepfather but that's what they were to him and we agree they taught him a lot and he still knows it and he's dangerous and he's missing stuff and it's awful. If you could suck one of our chefs cooking half the meal right I mean it's really weird are you doing this on purpose and he's using that one cuz our friend here taught him but wow what a nightmare you have to remember it damn it no don't say that. Is there like three foot by three and a half foot or something they're gigantic or almost they're huge they take up the table and they eat it whole thing that family is eating the whole thing and with some extras some spaghetti some meatballs and they're all full driving home happy and they had of course Coca-cola but boy did they love it. And we love to do and we have to reopen it you know I think we're gonna have to try and do that papa Gino's too but the European can go all over the world it's a different style of eating and it's way you eat a lot of food. Not afraid of it or abashed it's great I mean it is good food too it doesn't give me the poops. Almost everywhere we go now does. Spaniel Hall Dream is still going and he always has this fanial hall dream this wants to go there all day long walking around talking like looking at the street vendors in the street performers it's very mild compared to everywhere else. They play music they play a flute or a guitar and it's not a band and it's not loud or they're saying poetry it really is mild that he likes it a lot we like it a lot. I can't wait to get some baked beans and hot dogs and go to Fenway and it's still up and it should be and he was trying to fight for it too to stay there's a terrible thing when the garden came down that lady was still there and now she's still hot and it was a nightmare everyone's sad they still lay a wreath there every year and people come by every year she's probably alive but we do it anyways so he says on that note so we don't forget anybody dad is still up there at the bottom of the ocean well that'll bring him back so we're gonna do it any thanks me any challenges me to a nice sculpture contest probably not this year but if he has money it's wealthy or something then we're gonna do it up there if you can go up and back a lot of questions so I'm accepting he says my it's gonna suck and I said mine won't that OK.

ben affleck

Olympus we print now

wow fun i recall itall was there on many occasions and saw you face light up a real boston bar. beer good drank up and felt it. another and out of money and she left lol. a girl no too old. and stood off and his mom and wow dad was jealous saw it..and said who cares. nd oh yeh. and worke don it with her sorta. ok. now i was amused no. but loved beantown. we need it. we hope to rpeserve it. and it was not poisoned badly but needs work and the beer idea im in need a piece a smal l one ok even. history. nuranda loves it says it a lot need to have alittle. and works now we love that place. the t and working too. fun times was someone. they knew who he was. and even when fighting ove it. fun

jen m

and we see it the bi day and walk thourhg your questions good ones. this rules. we do this now

paul h

hahah we do

mr h

doug

[carcinized]

for all your analysis needs, i present to you minutes 51:43-1:09:56 (all arguments in the ruins of the community house) of the green festival vod transcripted. i spent hours and hours on this PLEASE reblog

---

Tubbo: Tommy did this?

Dream: Tommy blew up the Community House.

Tubbo: I don’t understand.

[Indistinguishable yelling]

Dream: We were this close to peace! We were this close! I trusted you guys for once ever!

Tubbo: Wait. We had no--we had nothing to do with this, Dream.

Fundy (overlapping): This has nothing to do with us.

Dream: You- you- you didn’t- you didn’t- you- you didn’t know- at all. You had no idea.

Ranboo: There’s no affiliation.

Fundy: No! No! No! No! No! No!

Quackity: Why would we affiliate with some dumb shit Tommy does?

Tubbo: Zero idea!

Quackity: Why?

Dream: Cause Tubbo--Tubbo, listen. You still have his disc.

Tubbo: Yeah? What about the--

Dream: That means you’re affiliated. No matter what. That is his most prized--

Tubbo: It doesn’t--

Dream: --possession. And if I don’t have the disc, or he doesn’t have the disc, then guess what! You are affiliated! You have the disc!

Tubbo: I don’t-- I don’t-- I don’t--

Dream: Look what he did!

Tubbo: I don’t know why he would do this!

[Unintelligible arguing]

Ranboo: He has nothing to do with--

Dream: This was the oldest building on the server!

Fundy: Yes it was but he was-- [banging desk] he was supposed to stay away, Dream!

Tubbo: I don’t--

Fundy: He was exiled!

Dream: Yes, and he came back.

Tubbo: Why?

Dream: And you know who knew he came back?

Fundy: Why--What is this--wha- wha- Why would he--

Tubbo: Who knew he came- Woah, woah, everyone be--Who knew he came back?

Dream: Alright, listen. [pause] I’ll tell you in a minute. This is what needs to happen, okay? Look, you--you need--you have to--he has to pay for this. He can’t just--He can’t just come and like--listen, this is terrorism!

Tubbo: Yeah--

Dream: This is the worst--This is the worst event that has ever happened on the server. This is the oldest building. The most historic building on the entire server. And the only major structure of the Greater Dream SMP.

Tubbo: I can’t believe he would do this.

Quackity: Why?

Tubbo: I can’t bel- I can’t believe it.

Quackity: When?

Dream: I need you- I need you to--

Quackity: Are we getting walled out though? I don’t- I don’t- I don’t get it! What- what- what- what affiliates us to him?

Fundy: Yeah, exactly.

Dream: Because Tubbo has--Tubbo is the president and Tubbo. Has. The disc.

Tubbo: I don’t--

Ranboo: But aren’t you supposed to be the one who’s watching him the entire time?

Tubbo: You were meant to enforce his exile, Dream. I don’t see how this comes down on us.

Ranboo: You have to enforce how he’s been exiled.

Dream: How- how could I enforce his exile if I don’t have the disc.

Tubbo: You have one of them, do you not?

Dream: I have one. I don’t have both. I need both.

Tubbo: You need- both. [pause] I actually just can’t believe he would do this.

IDK WHO THIS PERSON IS CRY: This- this needs to be handed over and burned, right now.

Fundy: It’s- it’s- this has nothing to do with anything!

Dream: See, Punz has been around, Punz knows.

Quackity: Stop affiliating us!

Dream: Callahan is even here! Callahan’s even here to see the destruction.

Fundy: This has nothing to do with anything!

Dream: This is the worst thing that’s ever happened. Just--

Ranboo: This doesn’t have anything to do with L’manberg.

Quackity: But this isn’t our fault, we didn’t do this!

Fundy: It really isn’t! This is what Tommy did! We- we- we’re--

Dream: Okay but listen! You’re right, you’re right, you’re right, you’re right. This is what Tommy did. I won’t--I won’t blame you.

Tubbo: Okay.

Dream: But give me the disc.

Fundy: What?

Quackity: What?

Fundy: That’s--this is--

Dream: Listen! If you’re not affiliated with Tommy, then give me the dumb disc! That’ll solve everything! Everyone wins here! I bet you--Sapnap, Callahan, Ponk, Badboyhalo, everybody, Awesamdude, literally everybody here!

Fundy: Tubbo?

Sam: We built this house before anybody else was even on this server.

Ponk: Yeah!

Sam: I can’t believe this.

Fundy: This is- I-

Sam: I…

Ponk: This has gone too far.

Tubbo: There must be another way, surely, surely. Is there any other way?

Dream: No. There’s not- there’s not another way, Tubbo.

Punz ? : Fundy, you can hand over the disc.

Ranboo: There’s gotta be another way. There’s gotta be.

Tubbo: So you’re saying--I need to give--Is one not enough? Both of them are--It just seems--

Dream: No because if you have one then he’s always- he’ll always have faith that he can just get it back because you’re affiliated. Look, I- you, if you want nothing to do with Tommy, then have nothing to do with Tommy. Don’t- don’t associate yourself by having the most- one of the most prized possessions on the server. He just destroyed the most prized building on the server. This has been around since the beginning!

Tubbo: I just can’t believe it.

Quackity: It doesn’t- it doesn’t make sense! Ohhh my god. I don’t understand why we have to--

Tubbo: I just don’t believe it.

Quackity: --why we have to keep suffering the consequences of his stupid actions.

Tubbo: He was meant to be gone!

Fundy: He was gone! He was gone!

Ranboo: He was gone!

Fundy: When did this- when did this happen?

Tubbo, claiming his dog: Oh, sorry, that’s mine.

Dream: It happened- I don’t know, I logged on and the Community House--

Fundy: It literally- I literally-

Dream: I don’t know. I logged on and it was- I was in the Community House and I was just in water.

Tubbo: I don’t-

Dream: This was my safe place to… y’know, be safe. But listen, listen.

Fundy: What’s the reason for telling--

Dream: I need the discs. I need the disc.

Fundy: Dream--

Tommy: No!

Tubbo: What--?

Tommy: No, no. Li- li- li- li- no, no you- you don’t--

Tubbo: Uh…

Fundy: Tommy?

Dream [referring to Tommy’s in game character, who is invisible but wearing armour]: Is this you? Are you in this?

Tubbo: Is that--

Tommy: Yeah. Yeah you don’t need-- You don’t need--

Dream: Tommy, listen. You fucked up! I’m- I- I don’t ca- Like listen. Tubbo’s going to give me the discs--

Tommy: It’s what--No! No, Dream, Dream, Dream, Dream! This doesn’t look like something I would do?

Dream: YES! YES IT LOOKS LIKE SOMETHING YOU WOULD DO! WHO ELSE WOULD DO IT?

Technoblade: Guys, guys. Tommy didn’t do this, okay? He didn’t do this.

Punz ?: Okay Technoblade.

Fundy: That’s Technoblade? Why- why are you both here?

Tubbo: Why are you here?

Technoblade: GUYS! Okay, listen. Listen, I know I’m probably not the most reliable person to the government, but Tommy wouldn’t lie to me, okay? He said he didn’t do it--

Tommy: Yes! I don’t lie!

Technoblade: He wouldn’t lie to me.

Tommy: Unless he--

Dream: He lied about burning George’s house down! “He wouldn’t lie” he’s the biggest liar on the server!

Niki ?: He lies about everything!

Technoblade: He wouldn’t lie to ME, Dream! He’d lie to you but he wouldn’t lie to me!

Dream: He’s the biggest liar on the server!

Tommy: No!

Dream: Technoblade, I don’t think this involves you.

Jack Manifold: That’s true.

Technoblade: Now I- I didn’t wanna be involved either, but Tommy ran in, man! I--

Fundy: Wait, so Tommy did do this?

Dream: Yes, Tommy did this.

Ranboo: Why?

Tubbo: So, I mean the fact that you’re here kind of proves his point. You’re not where you’re supposed to be.

Dream: Yeah, you’re supposed to be exiled! You’re not supposed to be here!

Tommy: Yeah, yeah! We thought- we thought- we thought we could--

Dream: Why are you here?

Tommy: We thought we could give our friend a pat on the back with knives!

Dream: You destroyed--

Technoblade: I mean you’re out here accusing him of crimes and you’re saying just defending himself makes him guilty?

Dream: He’s not even supposed to be here!

Technoblade: Ah, yeah. Whatever. Laws, cringe.

Tommy: No, you can’t- no, this- no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.

Technoblade: This isn’t even part of L’manberg, this is part of--wait I don’t know where this is actually.

Dream: Tubbo, just give me the disc.

Ranboo: Dream SMP.

Tubbo: I’m- I just-

Technoblade: Ah, yeah, Dream SMP. Thank you, Ranboo.

Tommy: You’re not gonna-

Ranboo: You’re welcome.

[Tubbo opens the enderchest and Tommy hits him.]

Tommy: Woah, stop, stop it!

Fundy: Are you actually--?

Tubbo: Woah!

Tommy: What the fuck! You’re not just gonna give him the disc, are you?

Tubbo: You- you’ve literally proven time and time again that you can’t be trusted!

Tommy: What? What, no I haven’t. No, no, no, no, you have to exile me! Don’t give him the disc cause as soon as we- as soon as we, y’know, take down [unintelligable] then we’re fine! We’re fine! We’ll be- we’ll be back! [pause] w-

Tubbo: I don’t think that’s an option anymore.

Tommy: Tubbo, you spend all this time, you do all these speeches, talking about how I was a bad friend, how I was the one being reckless, and going out and doing things, and being bad! But… you won’t even stick up for me right- right at my lowest point. Do you know- do you know what he did to me in exile, Tubbo?

Tubbo: No!

Tommy: You don’t.

Tubbo: I thought you died!

Tommy: But you didn’t come and see me. And you still don’t care I’m here. You know what? You’re the shit friend, Tubbo.

Tubbo: Yeah, well, at least- this has your name written all over it!

Tommy: IT WASN’T ME, IT WASN’T ME! This has nothing to do with [unintelligable]

Tubbo: You’re literally acting exactly as you acted when you burned down George’s house!

Tommy: Yeah, but in my defense, that times- that time was funny.

Tubbo, laughing: That is not a defense!

Tommy: That just wasn’t me, this wasn’t me, this wasn’t me.

Tubbo, still laughing: That is not a defense!

Tommy: This wasn’t- I promise- let me--Eh. Listen to me.Seriously. Seriously, man.

Tubbo: Seriously?

Tommy: I don’t need to prove myself to you. This wasn’t me. Trust me. Jesus Christ. For once in your life, Tubbo, trust me!

Tubbo: I did trust you. Once. The first time all of this happened. And I won’t make the same mistake twice. [He opens the ender chest, taking out the disc.]

Tommy: Don’t you dare.

[Tubbo holds the disc in his hand and Tommy gasps.]

Tommy: Tubbo, you betrayed me. You betrayed me.

[Tubbo holds his axe for a moment before moving to hold nothing again.]

Tommy: You know that, right? You know you betrayed me.

Tubbo: Yeah, well at least I’m not--

Tommy: What- don’t- don’t get out your axe. What- are you tryna- You betrayed me, Tubbo.

Tubbo: I didn’t betray you! You betrayed everything you had built with presidents prior just to go off on this little tyrant-

Tommy, overlapping with Tubbo: No. You BETRAYED ME! Everything, all of this, this is what Wilbur--You betrayed everything.

Tubbo: I don’t think I have.

Tommy: Just look. You know what? You got your axe up? [Tommy eats a gapple.]

Technoblade: Tommy-?

Tommy: Yes?

Technoblade: Tommy, there’s like 30 people here, there’s like 30 people here, Tommy- Whatever you decide, whatever you decide, Tommy-

[Tommy hits Tubbo, Tubbo hits back.]

Technoblade: Make that decision wisely, Tommy--

[Tubbo and Tommy start to full on fight.]

Technoblade: Oh, god. Oh, we’re goin’ in, we’re goin’ in-

Fundy: No, no, don’t actually, DON’T ACTUALLY, NO-

Quackity: No.

Ranboo: No, no.

Technoblade: We’re goin’ in-

Tommy: You BETRAYED me, Tubbo!

Tubbo: NO! You failed the nation!

Technoblade: We’re goin’ in-

Ranboo: No, no, no, no, no, no-

Tommy: You BETRAYED me!

Tubbo:That is just NOT TRUE!

Tommy: I- what- you did! You did! You betrayed me!

[Fundy screeches.]

Tubbo: No, I didn’t!

Tommy: Everything! This is what Wilbur wanted!

Technoblade: Hey, Fundy!

Tubbo: You gave up on the nation-

Tommy: He wanted you to betray everyone! To forget what was right.

Tubbo: No! No, you betrayed everyone when you went off and did your own thing and teamed up with the very person who blew up the nation!

Techonblade: You’re not in L’manberg, guys, you’re not in L’manberg.

Tommy: You left me to die.

Tubbo: Tommy, you teamed up with the very person that blew up the nation!

Dream: OH, I WANTED TO DO THIS FOR A LONG TIME-

Tubbo: Tommy, you teamed up with Technoblade, I didn’t leave you to die, I was not invited. [pause] Where are you?

Tommy, reappearing: You betrayed me.

Tubbo: I didn’t betray you, you teamed up with the very person that destroyed our nation the first time!

Tommy: Our nation- Tubbo, the discs! The discs were worth more than you ever were.

Tubbo: Not-

[Dream gasps and laughs excitedly.]

Niki: Oh… god.

Tubbo: I don’t- [pause[ You meant- You-

Tommy: Just…

[Both Tommy and Tubbo take their armour off.]

Dream: Hey.

Technoblade: Hey, you-

Tommy: Give him the disc.

Technoblade: Tommy-

Tubbo: You want me to… give him the disc?

Tommy: I’m not…

Dream: So gimme the disc!

Tommy: What am I…

Tubbo: What- I- d- are you sure?

Tommy: Yeah, this…

Tubbo: Are you sure?

Dream: Yeah, you heard him. He realizes he needs to pay. That’s what he- he’s finally realizing.

Tommy: They were, they… Just not true.

Tubbo: I…

Tommy: I’m sor-

Tubbo: I… [undistinguishable beginnings of words]

Tommy: I- I’m sorry, Tubbo.

Tubbo: I’m sorry.

Tommy: No, no.

Tubbo: Do you want me to-

Tommy: Just- no. Just give him the disc.

[Tubbo gives Dream the disc.]

[Dream whoops excitedly.]

Technoblade: Tommy- Tommy are you sure about that decision, Tommy-

Tubbo: I don’-

Fundy: It’s already made…

Technoblade: The difficulty just went way up, Tommy, I’m just sayin’-

Tommy: What am I…

Tubbo: I- I don’t-

Tommy: What am I doing?

[Dream laughs.]

Technoblade: Tommy- Tommy-

Dream: Thank you, Tubbo.

Technoblade: Tommy, what are you doing-

Tommy: Techno-

Dream: I really appreciate it.

Tommy: I’m so- I’m so- I’m- I- y- this isn’t me, this isn’t- I mean, I look around, and I’m not the person I wanna be.

Technoblade: Tommy, what are you saying-

Tommy: And I- I- I w- I- I- I- [sighs] I’m so sorry.

Technoblade: Tommy, we could get out of here, Tommy, we could pearl out, I’d cover your escape, Tommy- We can still get out of here, Tommy! We can regroup! We can plan for another day, Tommy!

Tommy: Techno, Techo- if this is what I’ve become-

Technoblade: Oh, we’re surrounded.

Tommy: -then I don’t wanna be me anymore, man. I- I- I’m- I’m-

Technoblade: Tommy, what are you sayin’.

Tommy: I’m sorry.

Technoblade, after a pause: What do you mean, Tommy?

Tommy: I’m with Tubbo.

Technoblade: HEH. Tommy, when I said- Perhaps I wasn’t clear yesterday, Tommy, when I said that I’m going to destroy L’manberg and that you don’t- you don’t have to help me. When I said you don’t have to help me, Tommy, I MEANT THAT YOU COULD SIT IT OUT! NOT SWITCH SIDES AND FIGHT AGAINST ME!

Tommy: I’m not- Techno, what am I doing? Wha- What am I- W-

Technoblade: You’re betraying me is what you’re doing, Tommy!

Tommy: [unintelligable] Technoblade! The discs- [splutters] I- [splutters again]

Technoblade: You just told him to give the disc to Dream!

Tommy: I’m worse than everyone I didn’t want to be. [pause, sighs] I- you know that- you know- you know-

Technoblade: Tommy. Think hard- think hard about this before you make this decision, Tommy.

Tommy: I-

Technoblade: Cause you can’t undo this. You can’t undo this decision, Tommy.

Tommy: [sighs] Technoblade, I know what I’ve done and I hate me for it. I’m sorry.

Tecnoblade: Wowww. WELP! One v 30 it is! Who wants to go up first!

Dream: No, no, no, no, no, no, no. Listen, Listen, listen.

Technoblade: Oookay.

Dream: Tubbo, Tubbo.

Tubbo: Yeah.

Dream: I- I- I- yeah, well, thank you for giving me the disc.

Tubbo: Mhm.

Dream: I just wanna say that you’re an idiot.

Fundy: Wha-

Dream: You. Are. An absolute idiot. And you have no power, and you are the worst president that has ever been president electe- because you’re no president at all!

Fundy: No!

Dream: Listen, listen! You’re not even president!

Technoblade: TUBBO SUCKS!

Dream: You’re not even president! Quackity is more president than you. I’M more president of L’manberg than you! You listen to- you get pushed around by everybody on this server.

Technoblade: YEAH, TELL ‘IM!

Dream: Because you ARE AN IDIOT. You are a BUFFOON. You are a FOOL. You fall for everything.

Technoblade: YOU ARE A COWARD.

Dream: YOU JUST GAVE ME THE ONE THING I NEEDED TO DESTROY L’MANBERG. I DON’T CARE ABOUT L’MANBERG. I don’t care about anything, I’ve said this before. The only reason I did not destroy L’manberg was because you had the disc. I had to be friends with you to get the disc! I don’t care about you. I’m not your friend. Okay? I cared about getting the disc back, and I got it back. I got it back. And that’s- that’s- that’s the only thing that really matters! You can’t even run your nation right! RANBOO IS A TRAITOR! YOUR MOST TRUSTED FRIENDS!

Ranboo: Wha-

Tubbo: No, that’s not true.

Ranboo: No-

Dream: No, it IS TRUE! READ THIS BOOK!

Quackity: I fucking knew it.

Tubbo: What? Ranboo- what? Wait- What is this? [reading the name of the book] ‘do not read.’

Ranboo: I’m not- I’m not-

Dream: It’s his memory book! He was meeting with Techno and Tommy and told them everything!

Tubbo: What? Ranboo, you were the most loyal, you literally-

Fundy: What the FUCK, Ranboo?

Dream: It’s all of his own memories! He writes it down!

Technoblade: I mean all of this didn’t happen, I’ve never met that man in my life.

[Tubbo reads out of the book.]

Dream: You can’t even run your own nation correctly, Tubbo!

Technoblade: I can’t even spell Ranbo.

Dream: Listen.

Tubbo: What?

Dream: Tubbo- You, like- ugh. You- L’manberg is weaker than it’s ever been, and it’s because of you! You have- you have destroyed everything! You have ruined your friendships! You have ruined L’manberg’s allies! You have- you have just- You’re a horrible president, Tubbo.

Technoblade: YEAHHH! YOU SUCK, TUBBO!

Tubbo: Yeah. You’re right.

Dream: Techno.

Technoblade: Yeah?

Dream: You got any withers?

Tommy: Wha- wha-

Technoblade: Oh, I’m likin’ where this is goin’, Dream.

Fundy: No, no, no, no, no.

Tommy: Stop-

Tubbo: No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no-

Ranboo: You can’t.

Technoblade: Are you sayin’ what I think you’re sayin’, Dream.

Dream: Oh, I’m saying what you think I’m saying.

Tommy: I’m [unintelligable], Tubbo.

Technoblade: Are you callin’ in that favour, Dream? To destroy L’manberg?

Dream: No, no I’m not calling in my favour. You would destroy L’manberg either way, are you kidding me? No. You would destroy it anyway, I’m not calling in my favour.

Technoblade: You know me so well.

Dream: Listen, listen.

Technoblade: I’ve got a few wither skulls, Dream. We can work something out.

Dream: Alright.

Technoblade, laughing: If we can get out of here alive.

Dream: Alright, listen, here--how ‘bout this, how ‘bout this? L’manberg is being destroyed, okay? Tomorrow, at 3pm. Say your goodbyes.

Tommy: No, no, no, no, no.

Fundy: No! No! No! No!

Dream: Say your goodbyes!

Tubbo: No, no, no, no, no!

Dream: Say your goodbyes! TOMORROW! It is being destroyed!

Technoblade: Why are we givin’ ‘em a day?

Fundy: No! No! No! No!

Dream: Listen! Tomorrow! 3pm!

Technoblade: I could do this in like three minutes!

Dream: 3pm tomorrow, you and--say your all goodbyes. Say your goodbyes. I- I’m tellin’ you, we are-

Technoblade: Whose dog is this?

Dream: We are destroying it-

[Tubbo gasps as Tommy kills his dog. Everyone else follows suit.]

Puffy: Tommy, that was Tubbo’s dog!

Tubbo: You killed my dog!

Technoblade: Wow.

Tommy: No-o!

Tubbo, laughing: Bruh! Come on, man!

Technoblade: You betrayed me, you killed Tubbo’s dog.

Tommy: It was a misclick! It was an accident!

Technoblade: Aw, yeah, it was a misclick!

Ranboo: Whoops, whoops.

[Tubbo laughs.]

Tommy: Hey, in my defense, it did bite me.

Dream: Listen, listen, when I’m saying destroy it, I’m not talking about- like, we’re gonna finish Wilbur’s job. We’re gonna destroy it all the way to bedrock.

Technoblade: Let’s chunk error this!

Dream: We’re not--yeah, we’re gonna chunk error this.

Tubbo: I…

Dream: Alright? We’re not even talking about just blowing up some TNT, alright? We’re gonna do TNT machines, cannons, we’re gonna destroy everything, withers, every wither possible.

Technoblade: Ah, yeah. I’m likin’ where this is goin’.

Dream: Everything’s gonna be gone! So, listen. You have one night, say your goodbyes forever.

Tubbo: I don’t- I-

Dream: Say your goodbyes forever!

Tubbo: What?

Quackity: What do you mean?

Tommy: What the fuck.

Dream: That’s- That’s it! That’s all, I’m leaving. [He begins walking out of the ruins of the Community House.]

Technoblade: We- we- we could give them, like, thirty minutes-

Tubbo: I don’t-

Dream: See you tomorrow.

Tubbo: What? I- I- I don’t-

Technoblade: Wait, he’s leavin’? Wait, wait- he just dipped?

Tubbo: What?

Technoblade, laughing: Wait, he just left? Oh, oh this is- oh. [He aims his crossbow wildly, looking at everyone surrounding him.]

Niki: Oh…

Fundy: Oh…

[Everyone surrounds Technoblade, hitting him.]

Technoblade: Mm, mm this is awkward, wait- Wait, wait, hold on, hold on a second here- Wait, hold on, lemme get my words in- Talkin’ is a free action, let’s hold on here, alright?

Tubbo: Oh?

Technoblade: Tommy. Give me back my axe. You’re not worthy, I was wrong.

Tommy: [gasps, then pauses] No. No, you know what, Technoblade? I am worthy. And you’re not- you’re not gonna side with Dream to take down L’manberg, are you? What the f-

Technoblade: I- I- I- I- I’ve- I’ve been so transparent about how I’m going to destroy the government.

Tommy, overlapping: WHYYYYY Why, no, no, no, go away.

Technoblade: I’ve explained my reasons, I’ve been like, I’m destroying it because of A, B, C, they executed me, they betrayed me, you betrayed me- you know what, Tommy? You’ve made a decision today that can’t be undone. And you know what? I respect you, Tommy, you know, you’re free to make your own choices, as wrong as they are--that’s what anarchy is about. It’s about freedom to do what you want. But all I have to say, Tommy, is that I hope you don’t come to regret it. Anyways, I’m gonna dip, there’s like thirty people here, [He escapes, swimming through the water around the ruined Community house] SEE YA, I’M OUT, BYE

Tubbo: NO!

Techonblade: SEE YA, IDIOTS! BYE, I’M OUTTA HERE! OH!

Fundy: I lost my b- oh, god damnit.

Technoblade, off camera: WAIT I ACTUALLY LOST ‘EM? SEE YA, IDIOTS! SEE YA, GOODBYE, HAHAHAHA! HAHAHA, NOT EVEN CLOSE!

[billys-mullet]

"you want to w h a t!?"

"sshhh!"

tw; w/tersports

billy's glare scared away the curious eyes that shot in their direction. sounds of running water and the raucous that tended to follow practice sessions filled the locker room for a moment. and when it appeared that nothing more was going to come from the outburst the gazes turned away. brown bored into blue as billy glared.

it was stupid to have brought this up in a crowded place, but it had been weighing heavy on his mind ever since he saw his ridiculously charming boyfriend yakking away at stephanie's party last week, all eyes within a ten foot radius trained on him. nevermind that steve had supposedly fallen from grace; people still flocked to him for his charisma and his pretty face. there wasn't anybody steve harrington couldn't charm. and that became extremely evident in the way tanya harris had been plastered against his side, giggling away at every little detail of the story steve was weaving.

so maybe billy was jealous. maybe he was a little possessive. maybe he wanted to mark his territory in the most animalistic of ways —

yeah, okay, maybe it was a little weird. the heat clawing up the back neck wasn't caused by the shitty spray coming from the showerhead.

steve breathed heavily behind the palm that billy had slapped over his mouth. they glared at one another for a long minute, and then billy's hand fell back against his side.

'not a word,' his scowl snapped.

'we're talking about this,' steve's glower replied.

billy would rather walk out of the room — but he knows steve will follow. they'll make a scene, one that probably wont end in flying fists like it should. they're past that now. have been for a few months. not even the illusion of the 'shaky friendship' they're putting forward would be enough to keep rumors from spreading.

billy's glare slides to the side and they slow down the pace of their showering until the locker room eventually empties aside from the pair. the door hasn't even shut all the way before steve is turning to explode on him:

"you want to /pee/ on me!?"

"it's not —"

"don't. don't you 'it's not like that' me. what else can it be!? there's nothing else it could be!"

"at least i asked first before whipping out my dick and just /doing/ it."

"you're disgusting."

"yeah? you like it."

steve's silence and the purse of his lips betray that he does, indeed, like billy... no matter how nasty he is. and, god, he was nasty.

"why...? why is that even a thing?"

"it's..." billy feels stupid. this was a stupid thing to ask for. but his boyfriend is hot. and sometimes his mouth got the better of him when he was spewing filth and things just came out, things he should have kept tucked away, things that should never ever see the light of day.

like this, like now. billy begins gathering up his bag, turning away from steve. nevermind. he shouldn't have brought it up. there must be some kind of look on his face because a hand slides up his wet arm and wraps around his bicep.

"billy... you have to talk to me. we're working on that, remember?"

"shut up."

"hey... hey, come here. i'm sorry, okay? i'm sure there's a reason. i'm sure, um, i'm sure we all have our kinks. just... explain it to me."

steve was so— billy didn't deserve him. he should leave this locker room without looking back, make steve crawl after him like a begging bitch.

"iwanttopeeonyoubecausei'mjealous."

"huh?"

"christ, harrington... you're killing me."

"you said it too fast!"

"i want to pee on you because i'm jealous!"

"...wh–... why? that doesn't even–"

"i saw you talking to tanya the other day and she was making these... these..." billy's voice is a breathless rush, "stupid goo-goo eyes at you. it pissed me off. and i cant stop thinking that... you know, you're /mine/. and i can't prove that in any way. and nobody knows. so if i were to just do something, like if i were to mark you then–"

steve's eyebrows furrow closer and closer together the longer than billy rambles. and then they suddenly shoot up.

"like a dog?"

"huh?"

"like a dog. they pee to mark their territory. is that...?"

"you calling me a bitch?"

"something like that." but steve is grinning. the hackles on the back of billy's neck lower. he's scowling, eyes narrowed where they glare at steve. he wants to mop the floor with the smile.

"fuck you."

"i'm sorry! come here. c'mere, i'm sorry. you set yourself up for that one."

as angry as billy is, he allows steve to gather him in his arms. their bodies slide against one another, slick from the spray still raining down on them. steve's mouth finds his easily, their lips moving together in a chaste press before billy pulls away. he's still trying to run, but the leg steve wraps around his waist keeps him rooted.

"fine."

billy's eyebrow arches.

"fine. you can pee on me."

"fuck off."

"i mean it! i mean it, billy. i'm not joking." steve's eyes are wide and sincere. billy rolls his own before going to untangle himself from their embrace. steve still won't let him. he hops up and wraps /both/ legs around billy's waist, taking him hy surprise and causing the two of them to nearly go toppling to the ground. billy barely managed to wrap his arm around that dotted waist, the way he stumbled forward causing them to rest against the tilted shower wall.

"this is as good of a place as any, right? no mess to clean up after. so just... do it. stop looking at me and do it. i'm not going to make fun of you anymore, i promise." steve is breathing a little heavy, though it's unclear if that was from excitement or from the fact that they had nearly busted ass.

billy can't look. the way his hands tremble and his own unsteady breaths betray him. he knows he should be cocky and sure but this is — it's a lot. too much. yet steve was still understanding and too damn sweet for his own good. billy loves him. he hasn't ever said it out loud but he hopes steve knows that.

"c'mon, bills. it's okay." a hand buries itself in the back of his head, scratching at his scalp. it's all the encouragement he needs.

a little maneuvering has the head of billy's dick trapped at the juncture between one of steve's thighs and the softness of his stomach. nerves bite him in the ass, but so does excitement. and it's hard to keep from getting, well, /hard/ when he's got slick wet skin against his own, the smell of steve's shampoo making him lightheaded. he's vaguely aware that steve murmurs words of encouragement against his temple.

it takes him a moment to actually do it. there's a visible jerk to his dick, body shuddering, and then relief floods his lower stomach while ropes of liquid heat spill over a dotted thigh, trickling down over his hip and along his ass.

billy buries his face in the softness of steve's throat, teeth gnawing a bruise. can't help himself as he murmurs a litany of, "mineminemine" as his bladder empties and a different kind of relief fills him. it's the nastiest thing he's ever done. it's the best thing he's ever done.

and steve—

gasps. goes taut. makes the strangest sound in the back of his throat when the warmth trickles over his skin. it might be from the way billy's got a hand fisted in the back of his hair, keeping him pulled close, but billy is selfish and wants to think it's because he's getting off on this too.

"g– od...  billy..."

a grunt is the only response steve gets. billy's bladder had emptied itself but he refuses to pull away from his hiding spot.

"billy," steve whines, tugging on the back of his head until he gets the idea. their mouths slot together in another kiss, sloppy and full of teeth. steve rolls his hips forward, half-hard dick sliding against billy's stomach, and it's enough to have his own fattening up where it's still enveloped in velvety tightness.

"that was hot. i've n– never seen you... like that. you really want me that bad?" a strand of dark hair sticks to steve's forehead. his own eyes are heavy with need, lips a swollen pink from their kiss. he slides forward again and makes that noise from earlier, head falling back against the wall. billy wants to devour him.

their bodies move together without any rhythm, nothing but the thought of chasing pleasure in their minds. steve finishes first, his yelp echoing off the walls. billy paints his hip white with a muffled groan a few seconds after, fingers biting into his backside.

they haven't even caught their breaths before steve is leaning down and whining a pathetic, "again."

[k-s-morgan]

The Evolution of Will Graham’s Darkness

This meta is mostly written for new viewers who find themselves confused by Will as a character. I’ll incorporate some bits of analysis I’ve written before into it. Let’s start with a thesis of a sort: Will is a dark character who had this darkness from the very start, even before his encounter with Hannibal: he was terrified and disgusted with it, but after meeting Hannibal, slowly, he began to embrace himself, getting bolder and bolder in his violence.

**Before the show**  

Will initially tried to get into the FBI but he didn’t pass the tests. It’s revealed in E1 of S1 when he’s ambushed by Beverly.

Beverly: Never been an F.B.I. Agent?

Will: Strict screening procedures.

Beverly: Detects instability. You’re unstable?

At the same time, Will became a police officer, working in the Homicide department. These decisions show that he's been stubbornly and rather hopelessly drawn to darkness, seeking ways to interact with it while remaining on the side of law. However, he had to leave the police, too, because he was incapable of pulling the trigger even when his life depended on it. He preferred to allow himself to get stabbed rather than to fight back and kill someone, which points to him having very serious issues with his violence. He knew that once the door in him opens, it might not close again, that if he kills or harms another person, he might be unable to stop (this is proven when he shoots Hobbs and then immediately tries to kill Stammets).

And still, Will chooses to stay close to darkness, only in safer ways. He becomes a teacher in the FBI Academy, letting himself delve into the ugliest cases from a theoretical perspective. This constant pull and struggle leave Will lonely and hostile to everyone. He avoids eye contact with people; Jack’s first impression of him was that he’s rude and arrogant (when they clashed about the name of the museum). Will is rude and haughty with his students, too – but more about it later. Alana refuses to stay alone in the room with him, thinking his instability is too fascinating and she might want to dissect it. Will has no friends; he lives in isolation with his dogs, someone who would never judge him. There are a lot of rumors about him going around, and most people don’t like him (based on Price’s and Zeller’s initial reactions as well as their later conversations on this topic). Will is lonely and pretty miserable.

S1

The first real words we hear from Will are:

Will: Everyone has thought about killing someone.

It is very demonstrative of his personality. We also get evidence right here that Will is drawn to darkness primarily, not to the idea of saving lives (although the latter helps him feel better about his urges). He delves into the minds of killers even when he isn’t involved in the investigation. He had no other reason to explore the Marlows’ murder like he did at the start of the episode, when he was simply teaching students. It’s proof that he willingly craves contact with violent and disturbed minds — it’s not like he actually tries to solve this case for real, he just imagined himself there.

Will’s first conversation with Hannibal speaks volumes about who he is — because Hannibal senses it seconds after meeting him.

Hannibal: Do you have trouble with taste?

Will: My thoughts are often not tasty.

Hannibal: Nor mine. No effective barriers.

Will: I make forts.

This exchange has Will confess that his thoughts are often dark and that he dislikes it. To hold this darkness at bay, he literally builds forts around it, not letting it spread to other parts of his mind.

Hannibal: Your values and decency are present yet shocked at your associations, appalled at your dreams. No forts in the bone arena of your skull for things you love.

Hannibal almost directly calls Will out on his struggle with his inner darkness. He’s saying that he sees it, that he knows it’s there, in Will, in his mind, and Will is very disturbed by this — because Hannibal is right. The script even explicitly backs it up:

Hannibal has just described Will Graham to a letter.

Will is immediately wary and hostile, and he ends the conversation with snappy,

Will: Please don’t psychoanalyze me. You won’t like me when I’m psychoanalyzed.

What does it mean? It’s simple: Will assumes that Hannibal is a typical psychiatrist who wants to dissect him, so he says that once it happens, Hannibal won’t like what he finds (darkness and ugliness Will carries inside).

His hostility to Hannibal lasts up until the moment when Hannibal acknowledges him as a predator and shows approval of it. This is how it happens: Hannibal tries to subtly tell him that it’s all right to be who he is, hinting that they are the same.

Hannibal: You and I are just alike. Problem free. Nothing about us to feel horrible about.

He’s obviously talking about their darkness, but Will doesn’t react, so Hannibal continues. He tells him that Jack views him as a fragile tea cup, and Will genuinely laughs, amused by this (which is also very telling). Then Hannibal says:

Hannibal: [I see you as the] mongoose I want under the house when the snakes slither by.

Will grows quiet after this, and then his interactions with Hannibal become much more relaxed. Will takes him to search the property and even bothers to explain how they reached their conclusions and what they are about to do. Him grumbling, “What are you smiling at?” shows a much higher level of familiarity they now share. Something in Hannibal’s words made Will open up a bit, and everything indicates that it’s the acknowledgement of his predatory nature that played its part in it.

Will kills Hobbs by shooting him 10 times. This is his first kill, one he’s been trying to avoid for so long, ever since his police work. It’s not surprising that Hobbs haunts him later because his death became a breaking point for Will. A door did open in him, and he was unable to close it again.

In E2, Will is distraught. But first, we get a glimpse into how rude and insensitive he generally is. Look at how he treats his students. He tersely thanks them for clapping and then snaps for them to stop. He devises a little malicious test for them.

Will: It’s [Hobbs’] resignation letter. Anybody see the clue?

A few hands go into the air. Will ignores them.

Will: There isn’t one.

He looks so long-suffering with them, as if they are idiots. The fact that he asks a question, waits for people to think and raise their hands, and only then he tells them there is actually no answer is petty at best. He also admits to Jack that he doesn’t consider lessons socialization because he doesn’t have to actually talk to students, he talks at them. Not good for a teacher or even for a person who works with other people like this.

But Will has more serious problems. He keeps imagining Hobbs, and after his messy kill, Jack becomes worried about him. He makes Will go visit Hannibal for one-time evaluation. Will is naturally not fond of the idea, but he and Hannibal have a pretty personal talk. Hannibal ends it with an even more explicit hint at Will’s own darkness:

Hannibal: And Will… the mirrors in your mind can reflect the best of yourself, not the worst of someone else.

Hannibal is talking about Will’s personal brand of violence again. He’s trying to tell him that it’s fine to be a murderer in every way he can, that Will’s darkness might be the best part of him. He also gives him a fake official approval to work in the field, showing that Will can trust him. But their obligatory session ends and Will leaves — only to return after he tries to kill Stammets and misses (their talk about it was cut from the episode but is echoed in the conversation below).

Hannibal: [You are here to] prove that sprig of zest you feel is from saving Abigail, not killing her dad.

Will: I didn't feel a sprig of zest when I shot Eldon Stammets.

Hannibal: You didn't kill Eldon Stammets.

Will: I thought about it. I'm still not entirely sure that wasn't my intention when pulling the trigger.

This is a huge evidence of Will struggling with his violence. It proves that he had it before becoming actively involved with Hannibal — all Hannibal did was recognize it and coax it to come to the surface. Will has always been like this, and after finally killing a person, he found himself unable to stop because he liked the feeling too much.

Hannibal: It wasn't the act of killing Hobbs that got you down, was it? Did you really feel so bad because killing him felt so good?*

Will: I liked killing Hobbs.

Hannibal is pleased to receive the confirmation of what he sensed in Will. Seeing that Will is terrified about his own confession, he comforts him.

Hannibal: Killing must feel good to God, too. He does it all the time, and are we not created in his image?

Let’s be honest, every sane person would have run for the hills after hearing this. Hannibal literally justifies the fact that Will liked murder by drawing a parallel with God. That’s such a narcissistic, serial killer thing to do, and yet Will welcomes it with open arms. He’s happy to find someone who doesn’t think he’s a monster — he’s relieved to be able to finally discuss his darkest impulses freely. This is the reason why Will started coming back to see Hannibal on a constant basis, to Jack’s surprise.

The next huge proof of Will’s ever-present darkness is found in E5 (actually, every episode has some bits, but I’ll cover only the major ones). The Angel Maker, a killer-of-the-week, has a unique gift of being able to see if a person is good or evil. First, Hannibal tries to tell Will that he doesn’t have to self-destruct because of his darkness like he’s been doing.

Hannibal: Angel Maker will be destroyed by what’s happening inside his head. You don’t have to be.

When Angel Maker dies, Will suddenly sees himself through his eyes. And he sees a demon. He sees himself as evil. It proves that Will’s darkness is inherent since he hasn’t done anything really bad at this point. It also proves that he’s perfectly aware of who he is and the darkness he has. He has the following conversation with the imagined Angel Maker.

Angel Maker: I see what you are.

Will: What do you see?

Angel Maker: Inside. I can bring it out of you.

Will: Not all the way out.

So, Will acknowledges that his darkness is rooted so deeply inside him, it can’t even be extracted fully. It’s an inseparable part of him.

Will is shown admiring the Ripper’s murders, calling them elegant and referring to them as art. Meanwhile, he’s trying to half-heartedly flirt with Alana, but they don’t have a meaningful connection because Will can’t be happy with a person who doesn’t know him. He wants to be normal but he just isn’t. If you’re interested in my opinion about their relationship, it’s here.

Will’s next morally gray action happens when he agrees to cover murder for Hannibal and Abigail in E9. He agrees quickly and then he’s shown being fiercely devoted to it. He doesn’t seem to care that Abigail killed someone much — in fact, he basically threatens Freddie, another person who sees him for who he is, to make her write a book favorable toward Abigail.

In E13, Hannibal says what he wants from Will directly.

Hannibal: If you followed the urges you kept down for so long, cultivated them as the inspirations they are, you’d become someone other than yourself.

Will remembers this phrase (he later throws it back into Hannibal’s face), but for now, he’s too angry and bitter to listen.

S2

Will is healthy again and he struggles with realization that Hannibal betrayed him. He starts a dark game of his own: he pretends he’s vulnerable, moving Alana to tears in the process, and asks Hannibal for help. He’s still drawn to him, but he also wants to take him down — for himself and for Abigail.

In E1, Hannibal tells Will the purpose of all their past meetings, how they were aimed at helping Will Become.

Hannibal: Our conversations, Will, were only ever about you opening your eyes to the truth of who you are.

Alana tries to hypnotize Will to help him remember what happened.

Alana: Imagine yourself in a safe and relaxing place... safe and secure here, safe to relax completely...

What does Will imagine? He sees Hannibal’s room and them sitting at the murder table together. He’s freaked out by it, but it proves how twisted his perception is: regardless of the betrayal, a part of him understands that Hannibal is the only person who’s ready to accept him, and he feels safe with him. @bloodsmile wrote a great meta about it here.

Will coldly manipulates Beverly, refusing to help her save lives unless she helps him as well. In E5, he engages in yet another manipulation. He gets Matthew Brown to try to kill Hannibal. This is the first premeditated murder attempt Will is responsible for. That is why we see him growing horns, that is why he sees a sink full of blood — his darkness starts progressing in noticeable ways. By E7, Will has figured out that Hannibal really did everything to open his eyes to the truth of who he is and that he wants to be his friend, but as he still wants revenge, he decides to honey-trap him with Jack.

In E8, Will is dealing with his complex feelings for Hannibal and explores his darkness further. He admits that Hannibal made him feel less alone and that he doesn’t hate him, no matter what; that he has no idea what he feels for him. Then Will tries to kill Ingram in cold blood as revenge for Peter. He asks him to pick up the hammer, indicating that he plans for the murder to look like self-defense. Hannibal tries to talk him out of it, but Will still pulls the trigger. It’s by a miraculous accident that Hannibal manages to stop him. This is the second conscious murder attempt by Will.

In E9, Will has a dream about Hannibal, love, and darkness.

Dream Hannibal: Must I denounce myself as a monster while you still refuse to see the one growing inside you?

Meaning: Will is fully aware of both the presence of this monster inside him and his attempts to ignore it since this is his dream.

Dream Hannibal: No one can be fully aware of another human being unless we love them. By that love we see potential in our beloved. Through that love we allow our beloved to see their potential. Expressing that love, our beloved's potential comes true.

So, a part of Will realizes that Hannibal loves him, and that he really wants him to Become, to realize all his potential.

Will is shown as feeling bitter at Hannibal for not letting him kill Ingram.

Will: I regret what I did in the stables.

Hannibal (thinking Will means murder attempt): Then you were lucky I was there.

Will: Being lucky isn't the same as making a mistake. Mistake was allowing you to stop me.

Hannibal: So it’s not pulling the trigger that you regret. It’s not pulling it effectively.

Will: That would be more accurate.

Hannibal: I want you to close your eyes, Will, and imagine a version of events you wouldn't have regretted.

Will obeys, and he sees himself murdering Ingram. It proves that every word he says to Hannibal is true — he really does regret not killing him. But there is an even creepier dialogue ahead.

Hannibal: What did you see?

Will: A missed opportunity… to feel like I felt when I killed Garret Jacob Hobbs. To feel like I felt when I thought I killed you … a quiet sense of power.

This is disturbing. It proves once again that Will isn’t just a righteous killer, he enjoys the act of murder itself, and like many serial killers, he craves the feeling of power that comes with it.

He and Hannibal talk about the intimacy of murder, how Will was hiding behind a gun when he tried to kill Hannibal back in E5. Will takes note of it. Hannibal, remembering Will’s complaint about a missed opportunity, sends Randall to him as a gift. When Randall breaks into Will’s house, Will is shown thinking and then deliberately throwing the gun away. He doesn’t want to hide this time — he attacks Randall with his bare hands. This isn’t about self-defense or justice, this is about Will trying to experience a more intimate kind of murder. He beats Randall up until he’s incapacitated and then he snaps his neck, even though there was no reason to do it. He could easily call Jack and have Randall arrested at this point (since he was barely conscious and not fighting back). This could help him in his plan to catch Hannibal. But Will isn’t particularly concerned about it, he’s more interested in realizing his darkness.

He takes the body to Hannibal. This moment got deleted, but Will actually had to stick a note to it:

A piece of paper is pinned to his chest. On it is written: "Return to Sender."

Which excellently shows Will’s dark humor. He laughs with Hannibal a little as they talk about murder right above the corpse. Then Hannibal is treating his hands, and he says:

Hannibal: Stay with me.

Will: Where else would I go?

Nowhere — because Will understands that Hannibal is the only person who can understand his darkness and accept him for who he is.

Will: I've never felt more alive than when I was killing him.

This is, once again, huge. Will is a murderer who can get dangerously high on the act. The moment when he felt most alive is the moment when he took a life from another person — and he was vicious about it. Will is very, very dark in these scenes — and it’s going to get worse.

Will mutilates the body and places it in the museum. He keeps Randall’s suit in his house as a trophy, and he keeps his butchered parts of meat in his fridge. In the following discussion, Will confirms that he enjoyed doing all that. When Hannibal suggests that Randall’s killer felt disdain for him in front of Jack, Will disagrees.

Will: He isn't mocking him. This isn't disdain. He's commemorating him.

Hannibal: This killer has no fear for the consequences of what he's done.

Will: No guilt.

Then Will retreats into his mind to talk to Randall’s corpse.

Will: Hello again.

Randall: Come closer … Can you see you?

Will: Clearer and clearer.

This proves Will’s honesty in all his discussions with Hannibal. He really is exploring his violence, not just pretending to do it, coming to the realization of what kind of monster he is.

Will: You forced me to kill you.

Randall: I didn't force you to enjoy it.

This takes place in Will’s head, so every word is genuine.

Will: I gave you what you want. This is who you are. What you feel finally matches the reality of what I see.

Randall: This is my becoming. And yours.

Will shakes his head, this is not his becoming.

Will: This is my design.

So, what do we have here? Will calls murder, mutilation, and storage of Randall’s meat his design. It’s not his Becoming, not yet, Will isn’t ready to fully embrace himself, but this is a start. He understands his design now.

In the same E10, Will attacks Freddie when she discovered his trophies. We know he didn’t kill her, but would he have done it if she hadn’t called Jack? We can only guess. Will sure took his chance to be creepy and physically violent with her. At the end of the episode, he brought Randall’s meat to Hannibal and they cooked as well as ate it together. This was not about getting Hannibal to trust him. Hannibal already did, especially after thinking Will killed Freddie, so there was simply no need for it. Bryan Fuller confirmed Jack had no idea this happened, so Will was acting on his own, out of his genuine curiosity. This is where he willingly became a cannibal.

In E11, Will dreams of burning fake Freddie and hears himself screaming. It’s easy to interpret this dream: he feels guilty for betraying Hannibal. Alana comes by and Will is being deliberately creepy again. He gives her a gun for protection, but later, it almost becomes her undoing. Will is equally creepy during the funeral. He enjoys being dark, and he feels free to act like this because technically, he has an excuse.

In E12, Will is freshly angry at Hannibal. He fantasizes about murdering Hannibal in the most violent way possible. Then he makes three deals. The first one is with Mason: they agree to kill Hannibal together. The second one is with Hannibal: they tentatively agree to target Mason together. The third one is with Jack: they agree that when Hannibal tries to kill Mason, Will is going to arrest him. Will goes with his and Mason’s plan at first. Hannibal is kidnapped and presented in front of Will just like in his fantasy. But instead of acting on it, Will chooses Hannibal and frees him, getting all Mason’s people killed in the process. Later, he watches Hannibal mutilate Mason, approach him to kill him, and snap his neck. He does nothing: he ignores his deal with Jack completely and covers for Hannibal. Yet another proof that Will is siding with Hannibal more and more, and that his initial honey-trapping plan is almost a formality at this point. At the end of the episode, Will offers Hannibal to kill Jack.

In E13, Hannibal and Will are getting ready to kill Jack while Will and Jack are getting ready to arrest Hannibal. Will doesn’t seem to know on whose side he is until the end. At the same time, he lies to Jack about where the attack is supposed to take place. He helps Hannibal burn all evidence, even though he could have easily preserved some of it to use it later. He burns the evidence related to himself as well. Will doesn’t take Hannibal’s chance to run away before dinner, but he does hesitate and wonder about it. When the final moment comes, he calls Hannibal to warn him — he chooses him above everyone. Justice for Abigail, justice for himself, the desire to save other people — none of it matters to Will now. He made his choice, he chose his side, but he did it too late. When he goes to Hannibal’s house, Alana tells him that Jack is still inside, and Will takes out his gun. He doesn’t even try to point it at Hannibal. When Hannibal accuses him of lying, Will implies that he’s wrong.

Hannibal: I gave you a rare gift… But you didn't want it.

Will isn't so definitive.

Will: Didn't I?

Because yes, Will wanted it. He was ready to accept it. But he did so too late.

S3

Will’s thoughts are only about Hannibal and Abigail. He breaks into Hannibal’s empty house and sits there in silence. When Alana comes to find him and tries to talk to him, he coldly sends her away. He’s repairing a boat to go after Hannibal. When Jack comes to him to ask about his motivations, Will is very open — he doesn’t care about hiding any more.

Jack: Do you remember when you decided to call Hannibal?

Will: I wasn't decided when I called him. I just called him. I deliberated while the phone rang. I decided when I heard his voice.

Jack: You told him we knew.

Will: I told him to leave. Because I wanted him to run.

Jack: Why?

Will: Because he was my friend. And because I wanted to run away with him.

In Italy, Will is full of regret over his actions. He blames himself for what happened, admonishes himself for lying to Hannibal. E2 shows his state of mind perfectly – Hannibal is his everything and he admits he wants to be with him. He doesn’t care about justice at all.

Will: I do feel closer to Hannibal here. God only knows where I would be without him … He left [me] his broken heart. He misses [me]. [I] still want to go to him? Yes.

He admires the corpse twisted into a heart, touching it and then lying at the place where it was located. He intimidates Pazzi who tries to talk sense into him and indicates that he’s not here to catch Hannibal.

Will: You couldn't catch him when he was just a kid, what makes you think you're going to catch him now?

Pazzi: You.

A small, polite scoff from Will, unable to take his eyes off the small stairwell to the catacombs.

Will: What makes you think I want to catch him?

Later:

Will: You shouldn't be down here alone.

Pazzi: I’m not alone. I'm with you.

Will: You don’t know whose side I’m on.

Pazzi stares at Will, cautious.

Pazzi: What are you going to do when you find him? Your Il Mostro?

Will: I'm curious about that myself.

Pazzi: You're already dead, aren't you?

Other people realize how dark Will is, too.

Then we move toward Will’s trip to Lithuania in E3. His reverent attitude to Hannibal begins to change once he meets Chiyoh, but he admits the following:

Will: I’ve never known myself as well as I know myself when I’m with him.

Will learns that Chiyoh has been staying here for all these years because she doesn’t want to kill another person. He notes that they can’t be sure whether her prisoner really killed Mischa because Hannibal is the only person who knows the truth. Despite all this, Will sets Chiyoh up to kill or be killed, releasing her prisoner secretly. Chiyoh rightfully accuses him of it:

Chiyoh: You said Hannibal was curious if I would kill. You were curious, too.

He was, if he is honest with himself.

What Will did was cruel and violent. Hannibal just left Chiyoh be, he openly and boldly risked her life, not caring about her safety or about whether her tortured prisoner deserves this. Will stays behind to make the body into art in Hannibal’s style, in accordance with his own design from when he killed Randall. This Will is dark and confident, and very in touch with his dark side. He dreams of killing Chiyoh and keeps asking her whether she saw what a monster she was, unable to accept the idea that only he has real darkness while Chiyoh doesn’t and that murder didn’t make her feel good. He repeats to Jack that a part of him will always want to be with Hannibal. Sadly, he then sees Bedelia as his replacement, grows even bitterer, and tries to attack Hannibal with the knife.

In E7, Will bites into Cordell’s cheek and tears a piece of meat out of it. Then he looks at Hannibal to see his reaction, waiting for his pride. He shows zero reaction to the news that Jack is alive — he doesn’t care about it. He rebukes Alana and shows that he still sees himself and Hannibal as a team, referring to them as “we”.

Will: You helped Mason Verger find us.

Alana: I helped Mason find Hannibal. We followed Bâtard-Montrachet when we should have just followed you.

Will: Almost as ugly as what Mason wants to do to us is the fact that he can do it with the tacit agreement of people sworn to uphold the law.

Alana: I was trying to get to Hannibal before you. I knew you couldn't stop yourself. So I had to try.

Will: By facilitating torture and death.

Alana: I can abide the thought of Hannibal tortured, not necessarily to death. I'd say he has it coming, wouldn't you? Or maybe you wouldn't.

Alana can no longer deny Will’s twisted morals. Will tries to push Alana to a darker side, manipulating her into releasing Hannibal, by telling her almost exactly what he and Hannibal were discussing in S2.

Will: Then you have to evolve, Alana. You have to spill blood. By your own hand or someone else's.

After the escape, Hannibal says the words that define Will perfectly:

Hannibal: You delight in wickedness and then berate yourself for the delight.

This is exactly what Will does — he acts on his darkness again and again, but then he gets scared and makes two steps back. He’s not ready to fully let go of the idea of a normal life yet.

Will sends Hannibal away. When Jack arrives, Will doesn’t even bother to pretend he tried to arrest him — he just says that Hannibal is gone. Jack clearly has zero trust in him at this point since he sends people to break into Will’s house without asking his permission. Will has completely discredited himself, proving himself as someone dark and twisted.

But Hannibal gives himself up and 3 years pass. After the epic Europe failure and his new insecurities, Will tries to retreat again. He decides to try being normal one more time, despite his previous failures at suppressing his darkness and his feelings for Hannibal. So he marries Molly, and it goes as well as expected. Their relationship is shown as weak from the start. The first time we see them, they are apart: Molly and Walter have gone fishing, which is what Will loves and dreamed of sharing with Abigail, yet he stays behind. He didn't let go of the past. He subtly manipulates Jack into talking Molly into urging him to come join the investigation — he deliberately leaves them alone under a weak excuse, knowing very well what Jack is about to do. Will is bored with his normal life and he misses Hannibal, even if he isn’t ready to fully admit it yet.

His treatment of Molly deserves a separate mention: this is the woman he lies to through his teeth, the woman whose “I love you” he doesn’t bother to return and who he doesn’t want to interact with the second she raises the topic he finds personally uncomfortable, someone he leaves her at the first opportunity. He never told her the truth about himself. The way Molly tries to joke about him having a criminal mind proves that she knows nothing of Will's dark struggles, and the way Will immediately shuts down demonstrates their incompatibility and his unwillingness to be honest and open with her.

On the very first day, Will demands to see Hannibal, lying about having to restore his mindset. We know it’s a lie because we’ve just seen him reconstruct Francis’ murder perfectly. He just wanted to see him because he missed him, and both Hannibal and later Bedelia call him out on it.

E9:

Hannibal: You just came here to look at me. Came to get the old scent again. Why don't you just smell yourself?

E10:

Bedelia: Have you been to see him?

Will: Yes.

Bedelia: Haven't learned anything, have you? Or did you just miss him that much?

This is what Hannibal says about Will’s marriage — and another reference to his darkness:

Hannibal: How did you choose yours? Readymade wife and child to serve your needs. A stepson or daughter – (off his look) – a stepson absolves you of any biological blame. You know better than to breed. Can’t pass on those terrible traits you fear the most.

This is very accurate and Will doesn’t bother to deny it. He’s more concerned about stalking Bedelia and asking her about her relationship with Hannibal than anything else. He makes zero efforts to preserve his family, which shows how irrelevant they are to him. This makes him a very cold and cruel person. Also, the way he acts with Bedelia is very different from how he acts with others. With her, he can be himself. He’s dark, relatively confident, and dangerous — which is likely why he keeps coming back to her. With others, he still puts on a rather meek mask.

There is quite a solid idea that a part of Will knew Hannibal might target Molly and Walter and send Francis after them (it’s up to interpretation, though). Hannibal gives Will very clear hints.

Will: Tell me who [the killer] is.

Hannibal: I don’t know who he is. When you close your eyes, Will... is that your family you see?

[Will scoffs at this.]

Will: Do you know who they are?

Hannibal: Yes. 

Will: And you're willing to let them die.

Hannibal: They're not my family, Will. And I'm not letting them die. You are.

These are huge hints, and since Will is supposed to be an excellent profiler — more than that, a profiler who understands Hannibal intimately, it’s strange that he didn’t even suspect anything. Maybe a part of him subconsciously wanted proof that Hannibal is in love with him — since he goes to Bedelia with his question right after the attack. Maybe he wanted reassurance that the passion is still there. Maybe he even wanted an excuse to abandon Molly and Walter (and he does it very easily an episode later).

Ultimately, Will seems genuinely infuriated by the attack, but it’s possible that “the enemy inside him” secretly hoped for such outcome. He spends about a minute being truly angry at Hannibal — then he becomes concerned that he’s competing with Francis for Hannibal’s attention, which underlines the irrelevance of his family to him once more. When talking to Walter, Will doesn’t try to hug him or actually comfort him. They are like strangers, and Will shows resentment about having to explain some facts about himself to Walter later.

Will: He read about me in a Freddie Lounds article. I had to justify myself to an eleven year old.

Not “to my son”, but an indifferent and impersonal “11 year old”. Another reminder that Will is a cold person.

This attack made Will realize Hannibal is in love with him, and it finally started the process of his Becoming. Will is shown as full of resentment toward Jack and Alana. He callously sets up Chilton, an innocent person, for torture and death in E12. He explicitly says that he did it deliberately and doesn’t regret it.

Will: Damn if I'll feel … The divine punishment of the sinner mirrors the sin being punished. Chilton languished unrecognized until Hannibal the Cannibal. He wanted the world to know his face.

Bedelia: Now he doesn't have one.

At first, Will makes a half-hearted attempt at denial.

Will: I put my hand on his shoulder for authenticity.

Bedelia: To establish he really told you those insults about the Dragon? Or had you wanted to put Dr. Chilton at risk? Just a little?

Will: I wonder.

Bedelia: Do you really have to wonder?

Will: No.

Bedelia: You were curious what would happen, that's apparent. Is this what you expected?

Will sounds very ironic.

Will: I can't say I'm surprised.

Bedelia: Then you may as well have struck the match. That's participation. Hannibal Lecter does indeed have agency in the world. He has you.

Considering the timing, Chilton looks like Will’s courtship gift to Hannibal. This is the second time Will harms an innocent person, which makes him far darker than a righteous killer should be. And why? Just because. His darkness is really evolving.

When Will visits Chilton with Jack, he openly lies to him (Jack) and tells him Hannibal is responsible for what happened.

In E13, Will stages another deadly game. He plots with Francis to break Hannibal free — the immediacy of his plan makes it look like Will has already been thinking about it before. He lies to Jack and Alana. He hides the fact that Francis is alive from them, and when they discover it by themselves, he offers a plan: to use Hannibal as a bait and stage his escape. Jack begins to plan everything. If Will had actually followed this plan, it would have gotten Hannibal and Francis killed. But Will doesn’t care about justice — he wants Hannibal free and he doesn’t give a damn about the consequences. He shares his true intentions with Bedelia and threatens her.

Will: I don't intend Hannibal to be caught a second time.

Bedelia studies Will. Sensing where he might be going. Hoping she is wrong. A flicker of alarm plays in her eyes.

Bedelia: Can't live with him. Can't live without him. Is that what this is?

Will: I guess… this is my Becoming . I'd pack my bags if I were you, Bedelia. Meat's back on the menu … Ready or not… here he comes.

This is a crucial moment because while in S2, Will called Randall’s murder his design, now he’s finally Becoming. It’s the climax of everything. He leaks info about Hannibal’s transfer to Francis (who, if you recall, has attacked Will’s wife and her son). He gets many officers murdered by proxy; he sets up Jack and destroys him professionally again; he endangers Alana and her family as well as Molly and Walter. Without showing even an ounce of regret toward the dead officers, Will climbs out of the car. We don’t get to see it, but this is what he does according to the script:

Will takes the gun off the dead cop.

Still with no care, he watches how Hannibal throws another body out of the car and offers Will to take a seat. Will looks long-suffering and fond, even though he has just gotten about 5 people killed. He goes with Hannibal.

In the cliff house, he admits he’s not sure if he can “save” himself by killing Hannibal.

Will: I don't know if I can save myself. And maybe that's just fine. 

He intends to try, though, but when Francis attacks, Will naturally chooses Hannibal because he can’t see him killed. He reaches for his gun and the fight begins. Seeing Francis strangling Hannibal, Will pulls out the knife from his body and rushes to protect him. He and Hannibal kill Francis together, and Will plunges the knife into him with obvious relish. Then he admires the way the blood looks on his hand.

Will: It really does look black in the moonlight.

This is proof of how Will remembers everything Hannibal has ever said to him. He reaches out to embrace Hannibal, finally allowing himself this weakness, finally accepting that this is who he is and that there is no way back.

Hannibal: See? This is all I ever wanted for you, Will. For both of us.

Will: It’s beautiful.

These words have a tremendous worth. Hannibal’s dream for them, the one he has been hoping for since early S1, has just become realized, and Will found it beautiful. The script confirms it additionally:

A moment as Will considers the brutal pack hunting he shared with Hannibal Lecter. He genuinely feels it is beautiful.

Upon this realization, Will gives the fate the last chance to stop himself and Hannibal, knowing that if they live, they’ll unleash their mutual darkness on the world. He pushes them off the cliff that has been confirmed to have no rocks by Hannibal, giving them a chance to survive. And they do — and they stay together and hunt. Will threatened Bedelia with being eaten and he kept his promise. The deleted epilogue to the series shows him and Hannibal in perfect harmony with each other.

Note that this is far from the only moments and details of Will’s long Becoming. There are many more, but if I addressed them, this meta would be even longer. However, here’s a quick analysis of Will’s softer sides — because they also aren’t as simple as it might seem at first. Will seems to sympathize only with people he can relate to personally, who remind him of himself in some way, and most often, they are murderers. He’s bitter about not being able to save killer-children in E4 because like them, he struggles with understanding what family means; he feels close to Georgia because he also thinks he’s losing his mind and no one can understand him; he’s gentle with Peter because he sees him as his fragile mirror; he’s soft with Reba because like Bryan said, they are both people in love with serial killers. With everyone else, Will is indifferent or cold. These traits were less visible in S1, but after he started to Become, they began to come to the surface. His softer sides still have a degree of selfishness to them.

So, Will has always had darkness in him. He has always been a rather cold person despite his genuine struggles, confusion, and the desire to be normal. Hannibal changed his life, helping him embrace himself and find unconditional love and acceptance. Will’s journey was very long, it had many setbacks, but in the end, he made it. They both did, and now they are free to enjoy their new life together.

Tagging some old fans who might be interested! @typicalher @hannibalized @bloodsmile @victorineb @he-s-dead-jim

[alpacaparkaseok]

Happy Holidays - BTS Style

OT7 Imagine/Reactions

Hey guys! I thought it’d be fun to to an ot7 holiday oneshot with all the members! So the following are seven different prompts from my prompt list with the seven members! Enjoy, and happy holidays!

18. “Why are you still up?” - Jin

Christmas Day had passed and gone, you were sitting in the middle of the front room staring up at the lights on the Christmas tree. Tomorrow would mean it was time to take everything down and prepare for the new year.

“Why are you still up?”

Jin enters the room wearing his new fluffy robe you had bought him more as a joke than anything; but he insisted on wearing it all day. 

You shrug, keeping your eyes glued on the beautiful Christmas tree. “Just enjoying the last few minutes of Christmas.”

Jin comes up beside you, settling on the floor and sitting shoulder to shoulder. Grabbing a blanket from off the sofa he wraps it around the two of you, pulling you into his chest. 

“Mind if I sit with you?” Jin’s voice is soft as he studies your face, visibly relaxing when he sees that you aren’t upset. Just contemplative. 

Snuggling in closer to him, you laugh lightly. “Depends...did you bring snacks?”

Jin sighs, his hand delving into the deep pockets of his robe and pulling out a chocolate orange. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Sneaking a peck to his cheek, you giggle at how his cheeks redden in the dim light of the room. “Love you, too.”

20. “Merry Christmas, bub.” - Yoongi

It’s no secret that Min Yoongi doesn’t enjoy waking up early in the morning, and Christmas is no exception. That’s what he told you last night as you rolled out a sleeping bag in the front room, deeming it a perfect night to sleep before the Christmas tree. 

You realized fairly soon that the hardest part wasn’t convincing him to sleep out on the floor - it was getting him to wake up in the morning. 

You’d been patient, waiting until at least 7 before trying to wake him up. At first, he didn’t even budge. You poked and prodded at his puffy cheeks until he groaned, turning the other way. 

“Yoooongi,” you coo, laughing as he dives further into his sleeping bag. “Min Yoooongi!”

Yoongi groans again, kicking at his sleeping bag until he can see your smiling face. He frowns back up at you.

“Whadda you want?”

A glance at the time shows that it’s already 7:30, obviously time to get things rolling. “It’s Christmas, Yoongs! Get up, we’ve got to eat and open presents! We’re supposed to be over at Jin’s by 10-”

Yoongi wraps his arms around you, pulling you down with him until you’re squished up against his chest. “Five more minutes.”

“But-”

Tipping your chin up, Yoongi dusts a kiss over the tip of your nose. “Merry Christmas, bub.”

Rolling your eyes, you give in, already beginning to keep time in your head. “Yeah yeah. Merry Christmas.”

6. “Snuggle season is the best season.” - Hoseok

“Is there any left?”

Hoseok peeks inside the giant pot of hot chocolate. “Yeah, you want a refill?”

I nod, handing over my giant mug that he gifted me earlier in the day. Hoseok makes a show of ladling the chocolatey drink into my mug, yelping when a bit hops out and nearly lands on his new sweater. 

“It’s out to get me!” He declares, handing me the drink with a wary glance. I can’t help but laugh, shrugging as I walk away. We’ve just started “The Polar Express” as a nice way to wrap up our Christmas. 

Hoseok steps over the couch from the back, making me hiss as he plops down beside me, nearly making me spill. “Hobiii,’ I mumble, carefully setting my hot chocolate down on the side table. 

“Whoops,” he nuzzles in close to me. “Sorry.”

The movie unfolds before us as we watch on and comment on different things we enjoy about the movie. 

“See, this is why winter is the best season,” I say. “I mean, what other season is so cozy? Just sitting and watching feel-good movies, drinking hot chocolate-”

“...snuggling....” Hobi mumbles under his breath, keeping both eyes glued to the screen. 

I raise my eyebrows. “...yes. Snuggling. But you can snuggle whenever.”

Hoseok shrugs, snuggling in even closer to me. “Yeah, but this is the season of snuggles.”

Laughing, I brush his hair away from his eyes and watch as they widen as the movie. “Is that your main point for why winter in the best? How on earth would you defend that in a debate?”

Giving me a quick glance before returning his attention to the movie, I refrain from laughing as Hoseok is clearly a bit embarrassed.

“It’s easy. Snuggle season is the best season.”

Dropping my head against his shoulder, I go back to watching the movie. “Can’t argue with that.”

I can feel Hobi’s grin even though I can’t see him. “My point exactly.”

2. “Do you think anybody has ever used an ice skate as a murder weapon?” - Namjoon

Sitting amidst the piles of wrapping paper and ribbons, I look across the room to where Namjoon sits in a similar situation. 

“Merry Christmas.”

Namjoon grins, grabbing a garbage bag and starting to shove the wrapping paper inside. “Merry Christmas.”

It’s quiet today, we’ll be meeting up with everyone else later in the day. For now, I’m content to sprawl out on the sofa with my new book that Namjoon got me. It’s a riveting true story, one that deals with betrayal, plot twists, and adrenaline inducing scenes. 

Namjoon sets up camp on the opposite sofa, immediately diving into his new book as well. It’s a self-help book that he’s been going on and on about for weeks - he made it all too easy to pick out his Christmas gift. 

The low tones of Christmas music playing from our speaker are the only sounds besides the occasional rustle of a page being turned. My book takes me on a ride, and before I know it hours have passed and I’m right in the middle of the action. 

Namjoon breathes deep as though reviving from a deep sleep, looking over at me from where he lays on the couch. “We should probably get going.”

Reluctantly setting my book down, I nod. “Does this mean that I actually have to get ready?” Namjoon throws back his head and laughs, completely understanding the sentiment as he runs a hand through his unruly hair. 

“Nope. I’m not going to, at least. You look great anyways.”

A few warm layers and a cold car later, Namjoon and I sing along to a few songs on the radio as we head across town. As the songs begin to change, I fall silent. Coming to a stop at a red light, I begin to ponder my book.

My face must reflect my contemplative state perfectly, because Namjoon chuckles beside me. “What are you thinking about?”

Blinking at him, I frown. “Do you think anybody has ever used an ice skate as a murder weapon?”

Now it’s Namjoon’s turn to blink at me. The light turns green, so I continue to drive, starting to wonder if I sounded a bit strange. 

Once we’ve pulled into Jin’s driveway, I turn off the car and face Namjoon. “Why haven’t you said anything?”

Namjoon lets out a startled laugh, looking at me with bright eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t even realize that I never answered you. I was...busy.”

Furrowing my brows I hop out of the car, Namjoon linking my arm through his as we make our way up the sidewalk. 

“Busy? With what?”

Namjoon’s head is pointed down as he grins, his dimple making an appearance. “I was busy falling in love with you all over again.”

My eyes grow wide before I burst out into laughter, Namjoon following suit. “You love me because of murder?” 

Namjoon nods his head. “Definitely. What more could I want?”

Rolling my eyes, I see that everyone is already inside Jin’s apartment. “You...wow. We’re messed up.”

Namjoon winks at me. “In the best way.”

7. “Your toes are like ice blocks! Noooo stop touching me!!” - Jimin

“That. Was. Amazing.”

Jimin comes huffing and puffing inside the house, tearing off his beanie and scarf as he spots me. Taehyung and Hoseok trail in after him. 

“I assume you had fun?”

Jimin laughs, his entire face lighting up as he begins to recount everything that happened on their sledding adventure. 

“...and then Tae fell off his sled and literally rolled down the rest of the mountain! I’ve never laughed so hard in my entire life.” Indeed, he’s in the process of wiping tears from his eyes as he finishes his tale, the other two boys having disappeared into the kitchen where the promise of food proved to be too much of a temptation. 

I chuckle at the mere sight of Jimin, his cheeks still red from the cold and his eyes wide. “Sounds like a good afternoon.”

He nods, sliding onto the couch and laying down. He stretches his legs until he’s pushing against mine. I immediately hiss and retract my feet as his cold toes brush up against me. 

“Your toes are like ice blocks!” I shriek, only making Jimin tuck his toes under my legs in an effort to warm them up. “Noooo stop touching me!!” Jimin’s evil laugh rings in my ears as I glare at him, promptly standing up to go to a different couch. 

“Oh no you don’t!” Jimin shouts, launching off the couch and pulling me back down in a pile on top of him. “If you really love me, you’ll help me warm up.”

I snort. “Put some socks on! I’m not sacrificing my body heat for you!”

“Wait, so you don’t love me?” Jimin’s puppy dog eyes are hard to ignore; especially when he still has me locked in his arms. 

“Gahhh you know that’s not what I-”

“Well then say it if you-”

“C’mon Chim, just go put some socks on!”

Jimin shakes his head, chuckling. “I’m alright like this, thanks.”

Wriggling around until I finally break free of his grasp, I roll onto the floor with a triumphant shout. Jumping up and sprinting into Jimin’s room, I hurry back with a pair of thick socks, taking the opportunity to throw them at Jimin who remains on the couch. 

He shouts when the socks hit him on the side of the head. “Hey! What was that for?”

Coming up behind the couch, I begin playing with his messy hair. “That’s how I say ‘I love you’. Didn’t you like it?”

Jimin laughs as he slips his socks on. “It was perfect. But maybe we could take a less violent approach next time?”

I shrug. “Beggars can’t be choosers.” 

19. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to find fresh flowers in the middle of winter?” - Taehyung

You’ve been out searching for over two hours, so your state of mind isn’t necessarily the best when you finally roll into the apartment at nearly ten o’clock at night. 

Taehyung tends to be spontaneous - he has an affinity for sending you out on random adventures at the most inconvenient time - but tonight it was just cold enough to have you in a frustrated mood by the time you got back. 

Kicking your shoes off in the entryway, you’re just about to yell out that you’ve returned when you realize that all is not as you left it. 

The lights are darker, soft Christmas music is playing, and is that a poinsettia on the dining table?

Just as you’re standing there in wonder, Taehyung rounds the corner. He wearing a deep green sweater, just nice enough to tip you off. 

“Ah, you found some flowers!” He gushes, rushing over to you and taking the beautiful flowers that you just bought from your grasp. When he’d begged you earlier to go out and buy some fresh flowers, you certainly didn’t expect to be returning to this. 

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to find fresh flowers in the middle of winter?” You ask, still a little angry that Tae just sent you on a wild goose chase all around Seoul. Wandering into the dining room as though in a dream, the air is effectively knocked out of you when you see just what he’s prepared. 

Taehyung’s voice drifts in from the kitchen, where he’s putting the flowers in a vase. “I know, that’s why I sent you away! I knew it’d take you a while, and I had to get everything set up.”

It’s a wonder that he was able to get everything set up and ready to go in just a couple of hours. The entire dining room is decked out in candles, beautiful placements, and a few wrapped presents lying around. 

“Where’s everyone else?” You wonder aloud. After all, this is the shared apartment between all seven boys. Taehyung brushes past you, standing before the table and debating whether he should replace the poinsettia with the fresh flowers or leave it be. 

“Oh, they’re gone tonight. I convinced them to...get lost.”

You can’t help but laugh, your frustration from earlier dissolving as you watch Taehyung place the fresh flowers on a side table. 

“Ok, the food will be here any minute-”

“Tae.”

The man in question turns to face you, pure innocence spelled across his face. “Yes?”

“What’s going on?”

“Oh,” Taehyung chuckles, realizing that he’s kept you in the dark. “Right. Well, I just wanted to do something nice with you. For Christmas. Before we have to leave and I won’t get to see you.”

You heart melts at his words, and you follow him to sit down at the table. “So you did all of this?” He nods. “It’s amazing, Tae.”

“You really think so?”

You nod. “I know so. Thank you, darling.”

Taehyung nods, opening his mouth but the sound of a knock on the door cutting him off. “Oh, that must be the takeout!” Taehyung scurries off, leaving you in a fit of laughter as you realize that Taehyung, for all his fancy tendencies, is still just Tae. 

The memory of the two of you eating cheap takeout on fine china is a memory you’ll keep for a long time.

5. “Where were you?” “Building a snow fort, duh.” - Jungkook

It’s freezing. Not the freezing that people say when they want to complain about how cold it is outside. Those people are weak. Those are the people that decide that they’d better stay inside because they can’t handle the slightest bit of cold.

No, today is actually freezing. Like, you think your toes my be amputated if you stay out here for much longer. 

Huffing, you pull out your phone to see if you’ve received a text from Jungkook. You haven’t. A quick check at your conversation shows you the same thing: Jungkook telling you that he’ll be right out, and to wait for him beside the back entrance. 

Well, you’ve been waiting for several minutes now outside the back entrance of the Bighit building, and you’re pretty sure you’d rather go inside and risk exposing your entire relationship to the world rather than dying a slow, cold death out here. 

You’re in the middle of contemplating what your final words should be when you hear Jungkook’s unmistakable laugh from behind you.

“You look like you're freezing!”

Whirling around, you see the man that has put you through all of this suffering wading out of the tall snowbank, his beanie pulled down low over his ears. 

“Where were you?” You mumble as your teeth chatter. Jungkook rushes over to you, rubbing your arms in an attempt to warm you up. 

“Building a snow fort, duh.”

Oh, today might be the day you seriously consider murder. “Jeon Jungkook, I’ve been dying out here waiting for you! You couldn’t just-”

Jungkook shushes you with his woolen mitten, grinning at you like you’re confessing your love for him and not reprimanding him. 

“It’s warm inside the snow fort.”

You blink, your train of thought shifting gears. “Does your snow fort take deliveries?”

Jungkook laughs, looping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you along. “Oh, absolutely. Wanna check it out?”

Giving in, you sigh. “Yeah.”

“It’ll be fun, I promise.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You still mad at me for making you wait?”

“...ask me again after I’ve eaten.”

Jungkook laughs, guiding you toward his snow fort and promising to call up some takeout as soon as possible.

Merry Christmas! 

masterlist

[mydearburkhart]

The Amy-verse

(or "if I was in that '70s show" part 4) | previously on The Amy-verse

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from That '70s Show, which is created by Bonnie and Terry Turner and Mark Brazill. I own nothing, except for my original character, Amy Hamilton.

Warning: I'm not fluent in English and this is one of the ways I found to learn on my own. So if you find any mistakes, please let me know :)

1×02

*basement*

Hyde: Does it bother anybody else that these women live in Hooterville?

Eric: Technically, Petticoat Junction is down the track from Hooterville.

Hyde: Okay, does it bother anybody else that these women live down the track from Hooterville?

Donna: It bothers me that they bathe in the town water tank.

Kelso: With the dog.

Jackie: It isn't the drinking water, it is the water for the train.

Donna: It's still three naked women with a dog.

Fez: I want to be the Hooterville dog.

Jackie: Ames, you're awfully quiet. Are you okay?

Amy: Yeah, I was just trying to understand the context of this... scene, then I gave up and spaced out.

Kitty: Coming down... now, don't mind me. I'm just putting some clothes in. Eric, honey, I thought you could wear this on your birthday. It's nice, you look so handsome in it.

Eric: Why would I want to dress nice on my birthday?

Kelso: It's your birthday?

Amy: You don't know when his birthday is?

Kitty: Oh, you never know what's going to happen on your birthday!

Eric: Mom... mom, do not throw a party for me.

Kitty: Oh well, listen to Mr. Popularity. Like I have time to plan you a party. [laughs] Oh, uh... by the way, your sister Laurie is coming home from college for the weekend. No special reason, she just is. [goes upstairs]

Donna: Well, you're getting a party and best of all... it's a surprise!

Amy, to Eric: Your mom sucks at keeping secrets, but she's lovely. You should stop being an ungrateful idiot and appreciate the effort she's putting into this party.

[...]

*driveway*

Amy: So...

Donna: What?

Jackie: What are you gonna get Eric for his birthday?

Donna: I don't know, nothing seems right. I wanna give him something... special.

Amy and Jackie looked at each other, then gasped together: He kissed you!

Donna: Shh!

Amy: Donna, get in the car!

Jackie: Yes, get in the car so we can talk!

[...]

*in the car, Amy is on the back seat with her head between Jackie and Donna*

Jackie: Okay, what happened?

Amy: Tell us everything!

Donna: I'm not gonna talk to you two about this.

Amy and Jackie, at the same time: And who are you gonna talk to?

Amy and Jackie, to each other: Nice!

Donna, watching the boys play in the driveway: Okay! We get home from the Rundgren concert, and I'm sitting in the hood of the car, and I kissed him...

Jackie: French or American?

Amy: Even though everyone knows Brazilians are the best kissers...

Donna: I can't believe I'm talking to you two about this... [looks out of the window and sees them playing again] Okay! So, I lived next door to Eric my entire life and we talk about everything together, we love the same music, we love the Packers and then I kissed him and everything changed. And now I don't know if he's my boyfriend or if he's my best friend. If he's my boyfriend I lose my best friend, If I screw it up I lose my best friend and my boyfriend. Now, I have to give him his gift...

Jackie: Donna, Donna! I solved it. Get him... a scented candle.

Amy: Oh yeah, good idea.

Donna: A scented candle?

Jackie: It's practical and romantic.

Amy and Jackie: Oh, yeah.

[...]

*kitchen*

Amy: Hey, Mrs. Forman.

Kitty: Hello... young lady with an accent.

Amy: It's Amy.

Kitty, laughing: Amy... is there anything I could help you with?

Amy: Actually, I want to offer you my help.

Kitty: You want to help me?

*Amy nods*

Kitty: Oh, well. That's new.

Amy: I noticed that you're busy planning Eric's party and thought you could use some help.

Kitty, laughing: Oh honey, that's very kind of you. But wouldn't you rather spend time with the girls?

Amy: Uh... Jackie went to the mall with Donna to help her find a gift for Eric and I'm... kinda avoiding the mall.*

Kitty, understanding what she meant by that: In that case, I'd appreciate your help. Now, what do you know about American birthday parties?

Amy: Nothing really, but I know a lot about Brazilian birthday parties. See, there's a very popular candy on birthdays called brigadeiro. I can teach you the recipe.**

Kitty: Well, doesn't that sound fancy?

[...]

Kitty: Oh, Amy... this is delicious! [laughs]

Amy: I know!

Kitty: Thank you for helping me today, honey.

Amy: You're welcome, Mrs. Forman.

[...]

*basement*

Eric: Look, I know what you're all doing here.

Kelso: What are you talking about, man? We're just hanging out, like always. Except we're dressed nice, but that doesn't mean anything.

*Amy comes into the basement, wearing a red dress and a black jacket*

Amy: Let's party! [sighs] Why aren't you guys excited? I even wore my favorite dress!

Eric: Because I didn't want a party.

Amy: Oh, stop being such a pain in the ass. It's your birthday! Come on, cheer up a little. [she pulls him into a tight hug and gives him a kiss on the cheek] Happy birthday, Eric!

Amy, looking around: Why are you all staring at me? I'm Latina, I'm a hugger!

Kitty, from the stairs: Hi kids, I need your help with something. Amy, Jackie, Donna, Michael, Steven... young man with an accent, would you give me a hand? Not you Eric!

*everyone but Eric goes upstairs to help her*

Kitty: Everybody's ready? I'll call him.

*back in the basement*

Kitty: Eric, honey! Honey, could you come up here for a second? [goes upstairs again] Shut up, he's coming!

Everybody: Surprise.

[...]

Eric: Cassettes? Great, thanks, Hyde.

Hyde: You're welcome.

Amy: Open mine now.

Eric, opening the present: More cassettes? Wow, thanks, Amy.

Amy: Yeah, I didn't really know what I should give you. I was gonna give you a book, but I couldn't find an English version.*** So I thought, I'll give him some cassettes with Brazilian songs.

Kitty: Ooh, let's put them in the 8-track and play them.

[...]

Eric: Hey... it's a hot shave dispenser.

Kitty: Oh, he won't need that for a long time... a long, long time.

Midge: Of course he will, he's almost like a man.

Kitty: *kinda laughing, kinda crying*

Donna: I got you something...

Amy and Jackie: No!

Jackie: Donna, help me find my purse...

Amy: And I need help to find... my jacket?

Fez: But you are wearing it.

Amy: That's not the point, I'll lose it so Donna can help me find it.

Jackie: Donna, now!

[...]

*kitchen*

Donna: Jackie, you didn't even bring a purse... [sighs and points at Amy] And you have your jacket on.

Amy: Like I said, that's not the point!

Jackie: Duh! You can't give him your present in front of his guy friends.

Donna: I am one of his guy friends.

Amy: But you want to be his girlfriend!

Jackie: Look, Donna. I have put a lot of thought into this gift, please do not wreck this for me.

Donna, sarcastically: I'm sorry, I was being selfish.

Jackie, hugging her: It's okay...

Amy: Jackie, she was being sarcastic.

Jackie, gasping: How rude.

Amy, rolling her eyes: You know what? Go ahead, Donna. Give him a romantic gift in front of his friends, who are a bunch of assholes by the way, and his parents. He'll be embarrassed, you'll be embarrassed and it's more entertaining for us!

Donna: How come you're always right?

Amy: It's a talent of mine, you'll get used to it.

[...]

*the Pinciotti's kitchen*

Bob: Three fours, I need them.

Midge: Bob is very good at Yahtzee.

Kitty, gasping: The liquor cabinet!

Red: It's locked.

Kitty: What if there's an emergency?

Red: They'll call.

Kitty: What if they run out of chips?

Red: They'll starve.

Bob, standing up: I'm gonna fix myself a drink. Red?

Red: No... Kitty needs one.

Kitty: Well, I am just so worried– [motorcycle noise] Oh my lord, Laurie's leaving.

Red: Oh honey, she's in college. She doesn't wanna hang around with them.

Kitty: Well, maybe I should make a call, just in case–

Red, reaching for the phone before her: Kitty... what could happen?

Kitty: What could happen? [pause] Well, plenty could happen. Oh, plenty!

[...]

*fantasy sequence, Forman's living room*

Donna: Now that the adults are gone, we can be as bad as we want!

Jackie: Who wants to give Eric a venereal disease?!

Kelso: Hey, look... coasters!

Hyde: Forget coasters!

Eric: Please fellas, my mom put out coasters for a reason...

Hyde: I think I'm gonna put my drink directly on the furniture, that way it will leave a ring!

Eric: NOOO! Why oh why didn't I begged my mother to stay?

Amy: Oh shut up gringo, have some of my country's exotic food while we listen to samba!

Fez: Quiet you silly Americans, I'm on a long-distance call on your parent's phone.

Eric: But that's immoral.

Fez: Ha, in my country of... wherever it is I am from, I can never tell... morals get in the of a good, dirty time. But first, I need to eat some chips... What? Out of chips? Now I am mad, I must shoot something! [pulls out the gun]

Eric: Not the littlest hobo!

[...]

*Forman's kitchen*

Jackie: Wait on the porch, and I'll get Eric.

Donna: It's dark out there.

Jackie: And you're giving him a candle, yeah?!

Amy, shaking her head: Poor Donna, so young and naive.

Jackie: Here, matches.

Donna: He might not want to light it.

Jackie: Don't say that...

Amy: Don't even think it!

Jackie: Now, when he opens it, he'll say cool... or something. And then, you give him a look... like this. [demonstrates]

Amy: Oh no, honey. Don't do that, it won't shine on you. [to Jackie] Jackie, it's Donna, the same girl who wanted to give Eric his gift in front of everybody.

Donna: I'm right here.

Jackie, shaking her head along with Amy: She's right though, don't do that.

[...]

*living room*

Fez: So, what did you get from Donna?

Eric: Nothing yet.

Kelso: Oh... maybe it's the big gift. You know the really big gift. You guys... know what I'm saying when I say the big gift, right?

Hyde: Yeah, we got it... and we got it.

Fez: I'm not even from here and I got it.

*Amy and Jackie come into the living room*

Jackie: Oh Eric... Donna's on the porch.

Amy: She's waiting for you.

Kelso: He's getting the big gift!

[...]

*Amy, Jackie, Fez, Hyde, and Kelso are spying on Eric and Donna*

Jackie: This is it, he's going for it.

Kelso: Uh-huh, it's his birthday, she should kiss him first.

Jackie: She did the last time.

Fez, Hyde, and Kelso: What?

Amy: Shut up, Jackie.

Jackie: Nothing... shut up and watch.

Hyde: Come on Forman, go for it.

Eric, from outside: The door is open, we can hear you... We can see you!

*everyone hides*

Fez: Is he kissing her?

Hyde: None of us can see them, Fez.

Fez: Eric, are you kissing her?

Amy: Since you can hear me... Donna, I told you not to give him the look, it doesn't shine on you.

*Donna closes the sliding door*

taglist

@kim1918, @supernannygirl704things, @snookstheallmighty

let me know if you want to be part of the list ;)

* I don't know if it's clear, but Amy's family is broke.

** Brigadeiro is a little ball made of chocolate, and it's just THAT good.

*** That's actually true, but the English version of the book I chose was only released in 1988.

[keytomind]

This word used to terrify me. At times, it still does.

When you’re a child, you’re invulnerable to the realities of adulthood. You think your world will always have some sort of stability and you don’t have to worry about growing up anytime soon.

When I was 12, my 16 year old brother passed away in a car accident, the first night he went out driving. I shared a room with him. We shared a lot of things and even though I didn’t understand it then, he was my best friend. I assumed I would have him for a lifetime, but for whatever reason, his lifetime was 16 years, 1 month and 22 days.

Today serves as the 11 year anniversary of when we buried him the second time. Yes, you read that correctly. We disinterred his remains and moved him to a better cemetery closer to us. We buried him twice. When I say my soul is old, it’s because my childhood ended at 12 and I wasn’t prepared.

This is why I was so terrified of change, from a young age. My parents worked very hard, but they did well for themselves. Our struggles weren’t financial; our struggles were losses. I lost a lot of people, starting at a young age. When you come from a small family and the losses keep coming, it’s confusing to a young child searching for that stability. My mother was an only child and my father only has two brothers; when you lose people from such a small circle, you notice it and it lingers forever.

I recently wrapped up an extended weekend trip and it proved to be more reflective than usual, spending endless hours in thought. I currently live in the same state where I was born and I’ve never called anywhere else home. But that is about to change in a year or two when I relocate either south to the Carolinas or far west to Montana. Such a move to someone like me, so resistant to accepting change, would sound intimidating and challenging, however this is going to be a different kind of change.

The loss of my brother was a change that nobody would ever want for themselves or anybody else. COVID has changed our lives for more than a year now... nobody wanted that. I think we subconsciously tend to associate change as a negative, but it doesn’t always have to be that way. Sometimes we need to lead by example and be the change that we want to see, and after spending my entire life here, I know that it’s the right time to make such a change.

I am just a few days shy of my 39th birthday and, as far as I’m concerned, I’m probably at what I’d call my half life. If I can double that time and make it to 78, that sounds about enough to me. My goal isn’t to make it to my mid 90’s, to have a nurse or an orderly wipe my ass and change my diaper to rot away my so-called golden years in a nursing home. Fuck that, I’ve seen enough of that to know that’s not for me. I try to live enough to make sure that I shave a few years off my life because I’ll only be shaving off those years where the quality of life is questionable at best.

At my half life, I am ready for a hard reset. I live in the northeast part of the country and, folks, it’s a rat race up here. Everyone is in a rush to go nowhere and no one has manners anymore. I’m a country boy stuck in an uncomfortable world. You could say it’s like that everywhere, but I’ve been everywhere else and everywhere else seems to have a way of life that makes me want more. I’m ready to slow down a bit. Somewhere unadulterated from human life. This doesn’t mean I’m looking to retire at 39 (that would be nice, right?) but I long for a place where I can let my guard down a little bit because I’m tired. And most importantly, there’s an enthusiasm about looking forward to building something new.

The biggest challenge that will come with this change will be saying goodbye to my mama. She knows of my intentions and she certainly doesn’t wish to see me go. Since my brother passed, my life goals have been simple and there are only two. The first is to be happy and satisfied with my life. Any other life isn’t worth living. My other goal is to outlive my mother simply so she doesn’t have to bury her other son. She has suffered enough.

I have offered my mother to come live with me when it is time. Other than my sister and her two children, she doesn’t have any ties left to the area, similar to me. Her dog is getting older and she worries she will be too old to get another dog. I’d let her live with me so I can take care of her and provide for her to have another dog. She also loves horses as much as I do and it’s another dream of mine to have one or two of these in my lifetime. It could be a nice, country life.

The truth is my plans for this cabin have been in the works for a few years now. I’m not just here on Tumblr for smut, laughs, and kinky GIFs; you can find that anywhere. I’m constantly perusing ideas for building and adding it to my ever-growing iPhone note. I want to build the cabin that I am going to die in one day. If I want to spend a lifetime there, and if I want to start over away from everything I know, might as well do the job right.

Remember, what’s a goal without a plan? A wish.

Don’t be resistant to change. Sometimes we get what we need rather than what we want. I could have some things made here, but the truth is it’s not what I need in my life. This time served a purpose, and I am grateful, but soon, it will be time to build. Be as prepared as possible for life throwing you a curveball or two, but whatever happens, do your best. Learn from life and embrace some change.

@keytomind March 2021

[falseroar]

Dog Days Part 23: Almost Too Easy

((Y/N catches up with Wilford before they have a meeting with the studio’s manager.

This and the next part are both going to be on the longer side. I also feel like I should give a head’s up that there is some gaslighting happening the later conversation. Just one character being all around not okay, but that’s pretty normal for him.

And here are links to yesterday’s part and to the series masterlist if you need them.))

You waited until the studio doors closed behind the others, and then a little longer to give yourself time to breathe, to prepare yourself for what might happen next. And still, you had no idea what to say to the man who was still whistling to himself, as though waiting to be invited back into your earlier conversation.

“Colonel,” you said, and the whistling stopped.

Wilford looked over at you and beamed. “Now there’s a name I haven’t heard in years! I’ve gone through so many over the years, you know, can hardly keep track of them all…What did you say your name was, again?”

“What?” you stared at him, sure that he must be joking. But as the silence went on too long, you asked, “You don’t…you don’t remember me?”

Wilford approached and leaned on the back of the chair he had been sitting in a minute ago as he studied you. “Of course! You told me your name earlier, it was…Dave, right?”

“Dave?” you repeated.

“Dave!” Wilford plopped down in the chair and leaned toward you again, his eyes bright. “How have you been? How’s the wife and kids? See, couldn’t be sure, you don’t look like a Dave, but something about your face just reminded me of that name, you know?”

“Colonel, I’m not Dave,” you said. “You told me…you told me how Dave died, remember? Do you remember, we were sitting outside, and you—you showed me your arm?”

Wilford glanced down at his arm and rolled back his shirt sleeve to reveal the bite mark, still as livid as the first time he showed it to you, when he told you how the ambush on his unit ended with him bitten and his comrade past any hope of saving.

“Y-yeah, I remember…” Wilford said softly, running his fingers over the scars. “Good man, that Dave.”

He blinked hard for a moment before he looked back up at you, and for the first time, recognition seemed to spread across his face. “Y/N! Why, I haven’t seen you in ages! How have you been, what have you been up to?”

“I’ve been trapped in a mirror for decades.”

“Well, that’s still no excuse not to visit,” Wilford scolded, shaking a finger at you. “You’re as bad as that hunter, haven’t seen that guy since the party. Wonder what he’s been doing.”

“I think he’s been looking for you,” you said, thinking now might not be the time to bring up why. “Is there anyone else from the party that you have seen? Like…”

“I think that butler and the chef opened up a restaurant together,” Wilford said, scratching his chin. “Good place, fun crowd, you should go there sometime.”

“Yeah, I’ve been.” You hesitated, knowing who you really wanted to ask about, but before you got a chance, Wilford was practically in your face, grinning knowingly.

“Go there with someone else?” he asked. “Like on a date?”

“No. I was stuck as a wolf at the time, and couldn’t change back no matter how hard I tried.”

Wilford nodded, as though this was a common problem. “It’s hard to get back into the dating scene after a while. Just give it time, find someone special, you’ll work it out. And don’t marry just because they have a funny name, believe me, it does not last.”

“You got married? What about Celine?” you asked, realizing a fraction of a second too late what you had just said.

But instead of becoming upset, Wilford’s eyes went soft and he said, almost dreamily, “Oh, Celine. My heart still beats for her to this day, or as much as it beats for anything. But if she saw me, she’d probably carve mine out.”

You started to ask why he thought that, only for the memory of that face on the other side of the glass to come to mind, the look of utter disgust on his face before he walked away. So completely different than the man you thought you knew.

You blinked rapidly and focused on your breath, until you felt calm enough to take another shot at getting something close to an answer out of Wilford.

“At the restaurant, I was with someone else,” you said, trying to ignore the knowing smile on his face. “A man who called himself the Host.”

“Like the game show host?” Wilford asked. “Bim’s a bit hard not to recognize, but I can bring him back if you need another go at it—”

“No, not Bim. He wore bandages around his eyes, and walked with a staff. And he had a voice, that could get other people to do what he wanted. Does that sound familiar to you at all?”

There had to be some kind of connection here. At the park, where the Host had been attacked, you smelled what you now recognized was that magitek thing, Google, and his scent had led you to the disco, to Abe, to Wilford.

But Wilford shrugged and said, “Doesn’t ring a bell. Course, it all gets jumbled up, mixed together these days. That Google guy always says I’d wander off on my own if he wasn’t there to keep an eye on me, like I don’t do that every other day. You have to, around here, if you ever want to actually have some fun. Why, if it were up to him, I’d never leave the studio at all!”

“…Why are you here, Wilford?” It occurred to you that Bim had acted as though he had been asked to find somewhere to put Wilford, as though someone had brought him into the studio and only then realized they needed something for him to actually do. You remembered the flyer, the note written on the back of it. “Who asked you to come here?”

He winked at you and said, “Same one who invited you, I’m guessing. You are a VIP, after all.”

Your mind immediately went to the scent that took you from the park to that flyer, to Google. He worked for the studio, but who did he answer to, really? The Jim twins and Bim both invoked the studio’s policies and rules when talking to him—if he really was just a mixture of magic and technology, then it made sense that he would be bound to some kind of rule system, but he still needed someone to give him orders.

“Oh, someone’s looking thinky,” Wilford said. “And that’s no good for anybody. You’ve gotta trust those instincts of yours, Y/N!”

“If I did that, I wouldn’t even be here right now,” you muttered. “Col—Wilford, doesn’t something feel off about this place to you?”

“Mmm…no?” Wilford shrugged and jumped out of his chair, as though sitting still for any length of time was completely beyond him. He paced around a bit before adding over his shoulder, “And is that what your instincts are really saying? To turn tail and run?”

You started to answer, only to hesitate at the last second. Part of you was wishing that you had taken Chase up on his offer to just leave, to let this lie and walk away, but you knew you couldn’t do that. Not when you had found the Colonel again, for the same reason you couldn’t bring yourself to just let Abe leave without trying to reach out to him, even though you had every reason not to trust him. Because you could feel the edge of something bigger here, of answers to questions you had been left alone with for far too long.

“My instinct’s saying someone here knows more than they should, about what happened to us,” you answered, but when you stood up you realized that Wilford wasn’t listening to you anymore.

His gaze was distant, fixed on nothing in particular that you could see.

“Colonel?” you asked, and when he didn’t respond you prodded his arm carefully. “Wilford? Is something wrong?”

He jumped, putting several feet in between the two of you as he brushed at his forehead and said, “Yes? No, just realized that Bim might be on to something with that lunchtime thing. Positively starving, you?”

Before you could answer, he was already moving toward the studio doors at a fast clip that you could barely keep up with when it occurred to you to try and follow him, and he said, “I have a room here, you know? My name on a star and everything, they bring me my meals on the regular there, I bet it’s already waiting.”

“Wilford—” The name still felt strange on your lips as you followed him out into the hallway, where he paused only briefly before lurching off again. “Your…your meals, they aren’t—You still eat a lot of meat, right?”

“Of course! I love me my meat, you won’t see me turning vegetarian anytime soon,” Wilford said, pausing at a door that really did have a star and the name “Wilford Warfstache” on it to give you a wink. “Sorry, I just get a little antsy if it’s been a while. You know how it is.”

“You’re still craving meat,” you said, more of an observation than a question when you could already smell what was waiting for him on the other side of the door. “Has it—has your condition been a problem? I mean, does it seem to have gotten better at all, or…?”

Wilford opened his door and positively beamed at the stack of slabs of meat piled up on a plate, all of which could barely qualify as medium rare. Someone had bothered with trying to season it, at least, but the smell underneath the spices still made your stomach turn.

“I feel like that’s something I would remember…” Wilford mused, the same man who had mistaken you for his dead comrade just minutes ago. You remembered how he told you his hunting kept him well stocked enough to curb the cravings, but you wondered how he had kept that up before ending up here. As your roommates had discovered while trying to feed a wolf, meat was expensive when you weren’t out getting it yourself. That the kitchen staff here were ready to send up this kind of meal on the regular suggested that someone else here knew about Wilford’s condition. He shrugged and asked, “Are you hungry? I’m always willing to share, and the kitchen staff here can send up more—”

“No,” you said quickly, taking a step back from the dressing room. It was one thing to eat that much meat as a wolf, but even then uncooked meat did some bad things to your imagination. “No, I’m…I’m good. Thanks.”

“They make some excellent desserts,” Wilford offered, but his further mentions of cakes and pies while you could still smell the fresh meat just made your nausea worse. “Okay, your loss. Still, don’t be a stranger! I don’t want to wait however long it’s been to see you again, do you hear me?”

“…I’ll try,” you said, and that seemed to be answer enough as he smiled at you before closing the dressing room door behind him. You stood alone in the hallway for a moment, feeling a strange sense of sadness as you looked at the star on the door.

Celine had promised him, once, to help find a cure for the zombie bite that had infected him. That he had been able to stay in control of himself this long was amazing, but you knew from your own condition that just being able to control something didn’t mean that it wasn’t still a problem. It just meant living with the fear of losing that control.

You tried to shake it off, telling yourself those kinds of thoughts right now weren’t exactly helping you or Wilford. Walking back to the elevator, you paused and stared at the up and down arrows, and the directory sign next to the buttons. Chase had said the Jim twins were taking him and Jameson to Studio 5, but you still hesitated to hit the button that would call the elevator. Right now, you found yourself alone and unsupervised in the studio; not a chance you could hope to have very often, or if you rejoined the others.

Inside the elevator, you studied the buttons before selecting the unlit human resources button, just to see where it would take you. Plus, it was near the top where you suspected more of the higher-up offices would be, and someone there might be able to point you in the right direction. Google had said he was going to report to a producer, so maybe it was one of them who hired Wilford. And, if nothing else, being a werewolf did leave you with a talent for eavesdropping from far enough away not to be noticed if you were careful.

Except when the doors slid open on the Human Resources floor, they revealed dark hallways and empty desks, along with a smell of cleaning supplies that hadn’t completely banished the musty scent of undisturbed air and dust bordering on decay. A scent that was all too familiar to you. You punched the close doors button, pressing it over and over again until they finally slid shut and quickly selected the next floor up.

Only to have the doors slide open and reveal a set of offices that looked a lot more like you had expected, alongside a surprised-looking woman standing outside waiting to take the elevator.

“Who are you?” she asked, even as her eyes went down to the visitor’s badge hanging around your neck.

“Uh—”

“Oh, Y/N,” she said, her tone changing quickly. “Did Google send you to the wrong floor? He was supposed to take you to the studio manager’s office himself.”

“Manager?” you repeated. “I think I might have—”

Before you could come up with an excuse, she smiled and said, “Don’t worry, this place can be easy to lose yourself in if you don’t know where you’re going. Let me show you.”

She stepped into the elevator alongside you and pressed yet another button, except this one did have a label: “ID Required.”

“Your badge should work, if Google’s added you to the list,” she said. “Just hold it up in front of the scanner, and it’ll read the code on the bottom.”

Still absolutely baffled as to who this woman was or what was going on, you followed her directions and held your visitor badge up to the black square that until now you had just assumed was for decoration. She patiently turned your hand so that it was facing the correct way, and the elevator gave a different tone before it began moving upward.

“Uh, thanks,” you said, but she just shrugged.

“I’m just glad I caught you. I was about to head to lunch, and I doubt one of the editors would even notice someone was wandering around looking for help. And then I’ve got to go have a talk with Wilford, again…” she muttered the last part, pinching the bridge of her nose underneath her glasses and sighing before she seemed to remember someone else was there. “Is this your first time in the studio?”

“Y-yes, it’s been interesting,” you answered, trying to figure out how to tactfully ask who this studio manager was and why they wanted to see you without giving away that you still weren’t sure why your name had been on the visitor list at all. “I’m guessing you’re one of the producers here?”

“That’s right, name’s Kathryn,” she said, sticking out her hand for you to shake just before the elevator doors slid open once again to reveal a large foyer-like area, well decorated with artwork and an expensive-looking rug, even a set of vaguely humanoid shaped statues on either side of the opposite dark oak doors, alongside plants and wide windows to let in the sunlight and show off the rest of the city further below. “He’ll be waiting for you, just go right in. And if you need anything at all after you’re done here, just let me or one of the crew know.”

“Thank you,” you said, stepping out into the foyer and walking as far as the middle of the room before the elevator doors closed behind you. At which point, you were free to panic on your own.

This was bad.

Either whoever was on the other side of those doors thought you were someone else who just happened to share the same name, or they knew exactly who you were and had been expecting you.

It wasn’t hard to guess which one of those was the worse option, or the more likely one considering Wilford’s presence here as well.

You looked over your shoulder at the elevator doors and the curtain-like drapes to either side that you suspected, based on the layout of the floors below, hid the door to the stairwell. Either one would be an easy escape back down to the others.

You took a deep breath, in the process realizing that this room had recently been cleaned, or wasn’t used often enough for you to be able to pick up the scent of anyone else, familiar or not. A shame, considering the view, and you would have liked to have some kind of idea what you were walking into when you forced yourself to walk toward the set of doors on the other side of the room.

Doors which swung open as you approached, seemingly on their own, to reveal an office on the other side possibly larger and more elegant than the foyer that led into it, if you had been in any state of mind to notice.

Instead, your eyes were drawn toward the desk in the center of the room and the man in a well-tailored suit casually leaning against the front of it who smiled at you and said, in an all too familiar voice:

“Hello, Y/N. Long time, no see.”

A snarl escaped your throat as you lunged forward, nails like claws digging into the polished surface of the desk and leaving deep scratches where the man had been just a moment before. Your other senses caught him, and before he could do so much as breathe, you spun around and slammed him up against the wall behind one of the doors, a growl coming from deep within your chest that sounded a lot more like it came from the wolf.

“You.” It barely came out as a word, as you struggled not to change back right here and now and let the wolf take over everything you’d like to do at the moment.

Only because you wanted to get some answers first, and for that you needed to remain in control and stay human for a little longer, at least.

“Me,” he answered, sounding calm for someone who had a half-transformed werewolf at his throat. Dark eyes studied with you interest, and the heartbeat you could feel underneath your hands was calm, steady, if far too slow. “Although I’m not sure we’re thinking of the same person.”

“I know who you are,” you said, your hand pressing tighter against his neck, forcing his chin up to reveal old scars there and under the collar of his shirt. Scars left by Mark, before he tossed aside this body in favor of a new one that hadn’t suffered as much abuse. “Damien. Or am I talking to Celine?”

He smirked. “That’s a…complicated question these days. The process of taking this body took its toll on Celine which she hasn’t quite recovered from yet, and dear Damien, well…there are some things you can’t walk away from without being changed. I’m sure you can relate.”

You growled, already suspecting that you wouldn’t have nearly enough patience to deal with whoever was piloting this corpse at the moment. Did it really even matter, anymore?

“No, these days most people just call me ‘Dark,’ if they even bother to give me a name. I’m just the studio manager, after all.”

“Dark Entertainment Studios. So they think you named this place after yourself,” you said, but the smirk on his face disappeared when you added, “Guess you and Mark have that in common too, then. Markiplier, Markiplier Manor…”

“Do not compare me to him,” “Dark” said, anything like humor or fake friendliness dropping from his tone. “I am nothing like that man.”

You laughed, a bitter sound that was far too close to becoming tears. “Really? After everything you did, you want to pretend you have some kind of moral high ground over Mark?”

Dark didn’t move, but you felt something grab at your arms, your legs, your chest, a cold darkness that spread from somewhere behind you to wrap you in its tight, choking grip.

“You know better than anyone else what he did to us, Y/N. He betrayed us all, turned us against each other for his own amusement and then left us to die while he walked away in my body, all because he couldn’t handle having his heart broken. He manipulated us, used us, and then—”

“So did you!” You strained forward with another snarl, unsure if the way the office around you was fading was because of whatever was holding you back or because you were cutting off your own blood flow trying so hard to break free from it. “How dare you talk about betrayal and lies?! You left me there, trapped to burn and die over and over again in that mirror for years! Decades! I trusted you, Damien, I believed you, I would have done anything to help you and Celine, and you…”

“Needed to pay a price,” Dark answered coolly, no trace of emotion in his eyes or face despite your words. “Power requires a cost, and returning us all to the land of the living, you back to your body and Celine and Damien to this one, to get these broken bodies of ours moving again, all of that does not come cheaply, my friend.”

He paused at the pained growl that came out of you and walked away, a moment later the grip the darkness had on you disappearing as quickly as it started. You turned to find him standing on the other side of his desk, glancing down at the claw marks you left before looking up at you again.

“Celine and Damien became consumed by their desire for revenge, to do whatever it took to destroy Mark, no matter how long it took, no matter what it cost. Thus was born me, ‘Dark.’ Your…beloved detective has paid a similar price, whether or not he realizes it. And you…you spent your time in the mirror, in your cage of silver, and your price was paid that way.” Dark shrugged easily and said, “It’s one reason I made it a little…easier for your magician to find you. Once the time was right.”

“You—what?”

Marvin had been looking for you, ever since he and the others found out about your disappearance. He had told you that, told you how he had even gone to the house before and found nothing, but only now did it click into place.

“You were hiding me from him. You could have let me go at any moment, and instead you kept anyone else from helping me?”

“Because the price—” Dark paused as you lunged forward and vaulted over the desk only for your clawed hands to slash at empty air, before he continued from the other side of the room, “Had to be paid. I’m not your enemy here, Y/N, whatever you may be thinking right now.”

“You stole my life from me!”

“After you lost it,” Dark answered, again moving out of your reach in the blink of an eye. It was the same way Jackie moved sometimes, when he would show up out of nowhere or disappear just as quickly to go out and do his vigilante work. Whatever Damien and Celine had become, you could smell the entity’s influence still at work here. “After Mark set you up to die, over and over again in his little game. The cards, the silver bullets, in every way he stacked the deck against you. Not that you were the only one; if it were up to him, he would have been the only one to walk out of that house alive.”

“…He was the only one who came back, after you left,” you said, carefully watching Dark for his reaction. “He offered to help me get out of the mirror.”

Dark’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment his form became hazy, as though the darkness was back again and swirling around him with flashes of gray and silver like static. “I’m sure he did. You would make the perfect pet then, being bound to pay back your debt to him. A tempting idea—”

Dark again disappeared and reappeared, but this time you were ready, and it was only the darkness that followed him that held you back as he smirked and continued, “But it does seem like you’re lacking the training someone like him would prefer.”

Mark’s last words came back to you, not that they had ever left you for long since that short conversation.

“I’ll come back around, once you’ve learned how to heel.”

Dark, studying your face closely, saw the flicker in your eyes, the sting of memory, and he took a step closer to you as he said, “I could have been the one to free you from the mirror. I could have brought you back here, nursed you back to health, left you dependent on me for every meal, for every breath of fresh air and whisper of sunlight until you realized that I was the only one you could ever really trust to come back for you. I could have made you mine, no matter how long it took.”

He was closer now, and a hand went to the side of your face, just close enough to leave a trace of warmth without touching you (or being within biting range).

“But what did I do instead? I led your friends to you. I watched from a distance as you gathered your strength, as you readjusted to the world. I used Google to leave a trail for you, away from that pointless detour you were going down to Wilford, to here, so that you could come on your own terms, and meet me face to face,” Dark said. “All because I think, with enough time, you’ll understand. That you can be reasoned with, that you’re not some wild animal that needs to be caged until you’re tamed. Believe me when I say that Mark would not have exchanged the same courtesy, if he had been able to get to you.”

You lunged backward, either breaking the grip the shadow had on you or being let go to keep your distance from Dark, even though you knew this room wasn’t nearly big enough to give you all the distance you wanted right now. “And what, you expect me to be grateful? Like the fact that you had a chance to be even worse and didn’t take it somehow undoes everything else you’ve done?”

You paced back and forth along the side wall of the office, oblivious to the window and view as you passed, to the paintings and the fake plant in the corner because nothing living could survive in this room with him and whatever it was that surrounded him, that toxic air that tore at the back of your mind and, for a moment, made you feel like you were back in the house, back to pacing the floor of a hollow reflection, where your body wanted nothing more than to change to the wolf and the safety and security that form provided.

Your fists clenched, forcing the claws to turn back to fingernails, as you continued, “You trapped me there, left me to suffer, you—I—and for what?! So you could become some TV executive?!”

Level with his desk now, it was an easy swipe of your arm that sent papers flying and his computer monitor crashing to the ground. He did nothing to stop you, and did not even flinch as the coffee mug went sailing by his head, an inch or two off thanks to your still recovering eyesight.

“If you’re done,” Dark started, only to pause as the stapler almost nicked his ear. Your aim was getting better. “Of course, the first thing I did once I left the house was track down Mark, which proved more…difficult, than I imagined it would be. He had been with the entity in that house for so long, had learned so much from it, while I was still a patchwork of broken souls bound together by spite and revenge. He nearly killed me, assuming I can even die anymore.”

His expression changed, the disgust evident in his eyes and the turn of his mouth, or as much as you could see them through the thickening haze around him. “But he let me live. Said every ‘hero’ needed a ‘villain’, and he had such great plans for us and this city.”

He spat out the words, and for a moment you thought you saw not one but two men standing there screaming before the haze around him settled back into one form. “If you thought the little game he had us play back at the party was bad, then you cannot begin to imagine what has followed since then, even if it started off small. Our deaths on the front page of every paper must have ruined any hope he had of slinking his way back into society even with a new face, and we both had to be careful not to attract any unwanted attention.”

“So, the first ‘game’ was how to regain power, how to manipulate from the shadows. He chose his pawns, and I chose a medium that I saw some potential in,” Dark smirked and added, “Mostly in the potential it had to hurt the former actor’s ego, I will admit, but still, it has turned out far better than I could have ever expected. First TV, then all the opportunities a more connected world provided with such a willing and eager audience.”

“Why?” you asked, trying to ignore the prickle under your skin that suggested fur trying to grow out. “What’s the point of all of this?”

“We can tear each other apart all we want, but we’ve both grown stronger over the years and the casualties for everyone around us would be…significant, if that happened. Like destroying all of the chess pieces until there’s not even a board left to play on. So instead, we find other outlets to gain an advantage over the other. Mark would say that it’s a fight for the soul of this city, but then he was always the one for delusions of heroism,” Dark said with a roll of his eyes. “This city isn’t the one you remember, but you’ve probably already realized that. Technology, progress, all of that. And monsters, allowed to live out in the open! Assuming they’re the right kind of monster, of course, as long as they can be tamed and fit within his precious view of what is right and good.”

“Meanwhile, I’ve been more than welcoming to our…less than conventional employees here. Under my protection, they have nothing to fear from the Bronson Institute. Bim Trimmer would be a stuffed curiosity if Mark had his way, but here he can be in front of the camera, in the homes and on the phones of millions, to become comfortable to them. He used to be nothing more than a glorified gate guardian, and now people come to the studio to have selfies taken with him and to get his autograph. And the same goes for every other nonhuman that appears on his shows.”

Dark stepped closer and you immediately took a step back, but he merely bent down to pick up a knickknack that had been knocked to the floor during your sweeping off of the desk. It was a metal recreation of the studio’s logo, a silhouette of the city skyline with D.E. Studios engraved into it with a cursive script, and weighty enough that if you had been thinking clearly you would have tried to hurl it at his face before knocking it to the ground.

“Influence what people see, what they’re exposed to, and you influence what they think. There’s a power in that, and I think that I have used mine well, don’t you?” Dark asked.

You bit back your instinctive response to that, very aware that Dark was trying to do just that right now. Control what he told you, paint a picture that portrayed him as the suffering hero here and influence what you thought. Instead, you asked, “Is that why you brought Wilford here? To protect him? But if so, why wait until now?”

“When has Wilford ever needed my protection? His mind isn’t what it used to be, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, but he still has that same astonishing ability to survive whatever comes his way. No...” Dark frowned down at the studio logo, turning it over in his hands as though searching for something on its surface, before he looked back up at you.

“These games, they’re not just about the ‘fate of the city’ or whatever you want to call it. Mark wants power, but more than that, he wants to make everyone who hurt him suffer as much as he thinks he suffered. And I’ll admit that at least for me, the feeling is mutual. The same night you broke free from the mirror, Wilford was playing what would be his last show at that disco, and a certain hunter was on his way back to the city. Do you really think that was a coincidence? A new game has started, and Mark and I have already chosen our players.”

You stared at him as this information sank in. Wilford was here, under Dark’s protection, which meant that he must have “chosen” him. And there was only one person Mark would choose if that was the case, only one person who had been searching after the Colonel all this time already, who Dark had already said was just as consumed by revenge as the man you once thought you knew. It would be so easy to push him in the right direction and watch him go.

“And how do these games of yours end?” you asked, your mouth so dry that you could barely get the words out.

Dark raised an eyebrow at that, his expression saying that you both already knew the answer to that.

Among the remains of everything that had once been on his desk, there was a low buzz before Google’s voice came from the surprisingly still functioning black glass orb that was cracked down the middle.

“Sir, there is an issue that requires your permission for maximum response.”

Dark sighed and nudged the device with the toe of his shoe, causing the surface of it to change and become a lighter shade of gray. Perhaps it was lighting up with some color, but you couldn’t be sure and it didn’t seem to matter much when it began to flicker and stutter.

“I’m going to go ahead and assume the answer is no, but explain.”

Google’s voice was distorted when he spoke through the device again, glitching and stuttering as he said, “Your-your response is-is-is unclear, Sir. There appears to be an err-err-error in the—”

There was a garble of noise before his voice came through again, “Unauthorized intruders in the-in the-in the—one matching record on fi-i-i-ile, Abe—”

Another garble of static, and when Dark attempted to prod the device again, it responded by neatly splitting in half along the crack as the glow within died completely.

“I paid a lot for that,” Dark remarked, sounding surprisingly calm despite this latest revelation. “A direct line to that Google unit, among other things.”

“You mean you can’t get him back?” you asked. “What’s he going to do to Abe?”

“Well, without directions from an authorized source, he will have to resort to his programming. Or at least, how he chooses to interpret it in this situation.” Dark shrugged and said, “He generally tends to prefer the lethal options. A bit of a problem that his creator couldn’t be bothered to work out in the first run of development, I suspect.”

“Then tell him to stop,” you growled, stepping up to Dark only for him to stare you down.

“And how, exactly, am I to do that? You destroyed the device, and as I don’t know where in the building they are, calling around isn’t likely to be helpful. And of course, you make the mistake of assuming that I care.” Dark didn’t flinch as you grabbed him again, and there was no attempt by his shadow to defend himself as he continued, “I’m not stopping you from doing whatever you want, Y/N, but I’m not about to do anything for that man. You can run and find your precious hunter, but I think in the long run you will wish you had stayed here and let Google do his job. A hunter is a hunter, after all, and you…”

He cast his eyes down before meeting yours again, and you became painfully aware of your current state. You could feel the shape of your teeth that did not belong in this mouth, the fur still itching to show itself, the claws digging into the palms of your hands. All it would take was a single push, and you would change entirely with no guarantee of how long it would take to change back, assuming you even could.

But you couldn’t let this happen, either.

“This game is over,” you snarled into his face, promising yourself that this wasn’t going to end here, that you would make sure Dark and Mark both paid for what they had done.

Until then though, you had more important things to worry about, starting with finding Abe before Google found him, or before he found Wilford.

Dark watched you run out of the office and tear back the curtains hiding the door to the stairs in the foyer before disappearing from sight. He smiled to himself and leaned back against his desk, oblivious to the mess around his feet. His fingers, however, found the deep marks you had left behind on the otherwise smooth, dark surface. So much anger, so much fear, and so much confusion.

It was almost too easy.

((End of Part 23. Thanks for reading! Fun fact, in the first ideas for this story, it was Actor Mark who was running the studio, but I feel like Dark being here fits better. Plus, more of a Markiplier TV feel that way. I also had Dark casually admitting that sometimes there’s the occasional “accident” involving audience members or contestants, before I remembered that he’s supposedly trying to get Y/N on his side. XD

The next part is the one that I wanted to get to before I started posting again, which is why there might be another delay after tomorrow. I’ll talk more about that in the notes section of that part.

Link to Part 24: Three Shots Fired.

Tagging: @silver-owl413 @skyewardlight @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @weirdfoxalley @95fangirl @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @geekymushroom @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-anxiety-blog @shyinspiredartist @avispate @missksketch @autumnrambles @authorracheljoy @liafoxyfox @hidinginmybochard ))

[misiwrites]

Beyblade Week Day 4

i'm sorry i'm out here still posting things so late but here's my fourth and final 4kingdoms-verse oneshot for @beybladeweek2021, mostly this is late because i was out of town last week but these prompts were also the hardest to make a oneshot about, somehow i managed to make a quirky little story about max anyway.

this takes place probably somewhere right before the beginning of the main fic, or close to it anyways. and i feel like this needs the small explanation that 4kingdoms max looks a bit different because the north has no sunlight (don’t ask me how that works. it’s fantasy)

~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~

Fears / Animals / Winter

“Aaugh!”

As patient as Max is, the strange sound of Giancarlo’s sudden scream followed by a soft, barely audible thump of something hitting the floor in the walk-in closet is enough to snap his attention from the game console in his hands. He casts a curious look across his bedroom to witness the striped leg of a plush toy sticking out through the narrow crack of the closet door.

Now he can already tell what has happened. Regardless, he drops the game on the couch and jumps to his feet to see what his knight has gotten himself into in the closet.

“You opened the forbidden door!” Max gloats at Giancarlo, now standing ankle-deep in a sea of plush toys. “I told you the games are in the second from left, not from right.”

“Is this why you call that door ‘forbidden’?” Giancarlo asks, one hand still on the handle of the closet door that the avalanche of toys descended on him from. “I expected something more... I don’t know... scandalous... or personal.”

“This is personal. They’re all mine.” Max crouches over to pick one of the plush toys up, the yellow mascot character of a popular Eastern children’s game franchise. “Oh man, these take me back. I haven’t really seen them since Mama ordered them to be put away. She said I was too old to keep them in my bed. But I refused to have them taken out, so I got this closet for them instead.”

“Aha. I don’t mean to judge your decisions, but I think there’s a few too many for a closet of this size.”

“Well, they fit in just fine before you opened the door like an idiot.”

Max lets his eyes scan the colourful blast on the floor, admiring the chaos of all the scattered shapes of different stuffed creatures, some more nostalgic than others but each and every one so familiar to him; some expensive and store-bought, some hand-made by his father or someone else, he hardly even remembers at this point; it’s been so long since he was gifted these toys, and at least a couple of years since Judy wanted them sealed away.

And then one of them catches his eye over the rest, one that makes his heart skip a beat of bittersweet joy and longing. He tramples and kicks his way past other toys to get to the middle.

It’s a plush dog, one whose tattered, worn-out shape isn’t particularly distinguishable as a dog. It has an elongated body and small stubs for legs, folded ears – well, one ear, as the other has come off and been lost to time – and a small, thin tail that’s also on its way to come off its stitches but is barely hanging on, miserably drooping down from the back of the caramel brown animal that’s so thoroughly covered in dirt and dust that it looks grey. The dog’s black button eyes are intact, at least, and it still has a red little tongue sticking out of its mouth.

Max is momentarily frozen in place staring at the dog. This toy brings back so many memories, some of which threaten to turn his stomach as the long-forgotten anxiety rushes back in one tidal wave, it climbs up the ladder of his spine like an unwelcome visitor from the past; but at the same time, he loves this little dog so very dearly, his childhood favourite.

“Look at these, Your Highness!” Giancarlo suddenly yells, snapping Max out of his thoughts. “Really fitting, aren’t they? Doesn’t it make you think of something?”

Max turns to see his knight holding three plush animals on his arms: a snake, a fox, and a miniature horse. Max does remember all of them, but none were his favourites. They must have been gifts from his earlier childhood, he has no memory of actually getting them or ever feeling particularly attached to them.

“Umm,” he says, “no, not really.”

“Don’t you remember? The fairytale? A guy talks to a fox, a serpent, and a horse...”

“No, can’t say that rings any bells.”

“Really?” An idiotic grin spreads on Giancarlo’s face, the same one he flashes every time he gets to feel smarter than his young king. “It’s a traditional Northern folktale! Each animal represents one fear that the dude has, and he has to face them one by one. Well, I don’t really remember the details, but it was something like that.” He lifts the tiny horse closer to his face, as if to study it more closely – or to face it, to stay true to his own words, Max assumes. “Was the third one really a horse? I think it was. I guess horses can be scary to some people. They’re big animals and all.”

Max rolls his eyes, truly wishing that Giancarlo would shut up for once and clean up the mess he’s caused in the walk-in closet – or just do anything else and leave Max be, to sort out the sudden, fairly uncomfortable onslaught of memories caused by the discovery of his old stuffed dog toy.

Instead, Giancarlo keeps talking, as he always does.

“If there was a story about my fears, it would probably be... hmm... never eating cannoli ever again... and never going on another date...”

“Some incredible fears you have,” Max comments. “Tells a lot about your psyche.”

“And what are you scared of, Your Highness? What would you face if you met this guy? Nei-i-i-igh.” Giancarlo waves the tiny horse at Max, truthfully not the embodiment of terror by any stretch.

“Me? Well, nothing, really.”

“Come on, now, no need to be shy. You can tell the good old Gianni.”

“I mean it – I have my magic, so there’s no reason for me to be scared of anything.” There’s nothing that Max can think of that he wouldn’t be able to shield himself from with his magic powers, especially his ability to turn invisible. If nothing can catch him or do as much as touch him, what reason would he have to be afraid? If anything, he loves the thrill of almost being caught but disappearing out of sight on the last second. Max prides himself in being bold and resourceful, the master of stealth, and the youngest Genbu-ou with the ability to summon the holy beast of Genbu in the known history of his kingdom.

As long as he has his magic and the golden locket of Genbu around his neck, he cannot think of anything that could cause him fear; and as the king, he can have all the materia he could ever want, so he never needs to worry about running out of cannoli pastries or whatever else.

“Okay then, tough guy,” Giancarlo snorts. “And what’s that you got there?”

Max’s gaze returns to the dog on his arms. It stares back at him with its pitiful button eyes, black and lifeless.

“This used to be my favourite,” he replies, finding the words coming out of his mouth with slight hesitation. “Papa made it for me...”

“Oh? Prince Tarou knows how to sew stuffed animals? Well, I guess that makes sense, since he’s such a talented craftsman – but still... It’s hard to imagine a burly man like him making something like... that thing.” Giancarlo forces down an obvious cackle, raising a hand to his mouth to hide his amusement. “I mean...”

Max knows what he means, the puppy with a hot dog-like physique is a pathetic sight, but he cannot help feeling just a little insulted by Giancarlo laughing at it. This puppy brought him so much comfort during a time of turmoil, and it was specifically made by his father for that very purpose. Tarou most likely stitched it together over a single night all those years ago.

“You mean what?” he challenges the royal knight, his tone arrogant.

“Uh... Well, you know... Oh, never mind.”

* * * * * *

When he was younger, Max had no objections over his sheltered life in the Snow Glory Palace, as it never even occurred to his child’s mind that it could be anything but; and the thought only came to him as he entered the rebellious years of puberty and by the questionable ideas that his whimsical knight planted in his head, the thought that it would be exciting to sneak out of the palace every once in a while and wander around the royal capital out of sight.

Max has always been adored by commoners, as the only son of their beloved (by now former) king, the strong yet beautiful and hauntingly intelligent Mizuhara Judy, the only female Genbu-ou of their lifetime; and as much as Max loves the attention and savours the constant awareness of his status of importance that doesn’t escape anybody in his kingdom, he’s equally entertained by the idea of walking among all these people on a lower social ladder without their knowledge, freely entering spaces where his appearance would normally cause a considerable brouhaha. The complete control over whether he’s perceived or not gives him a great amount of satisfaction.

And, most importantly, his ever-so-predominant mother has no idea about it happening right under her nose. As much as Max loves his parents, like any teenager, he has an innate need to break free and seek independence from them, do as he pleases without their scrutiny, without any adult paying attention to him...

at least sometimes.

How many times has he traversed the narrow streets of the ancient royal capital, heard the snow crunch under his shoes without anyone seeing it’s the young king leaving a trail of footprints on the ground covered in white? And when the snow is quietly falling from the sky, the shield of magic around him reflects his surroundings, camouflaging him from other people’s line of sight, he blends perfectly into the arbitrary dance of the snowflakes in the dark.

Then, sometimes, when he finds a suitable corner or shade or hideout for himself, he plans a delicious little display of seemingly appearing out of nowhere into the spotlight. And all the attention is once again drawn to him.

It’s borderline addicting, that calculated spectacle, the thrill of a surprise and act of rebellion that Max is perfectly aware he’s not allowed to do. That his ice queen of a mother would be absolutely furious if she knew.

Now he’s again walking down a cobblestone street, the stone fence of a cemetery on his right-hand side. There’s a layer of powdery snow on the stone, like the icing of a sugar cake.

A cake, oh, a cake sounds excellent to him; and he’s now across a bridge, and the familiar sight of a cosy little coffee shop greets him some feet away. It has a sign outside, a metallic one, shaped like a kettle that’s hanging above the entrance, the shop’s name written on it in cursive.

Max walks over to one of the shop windows and takes a peek inside, bathes in the golden light coming from the other side of the glass. As expected, nobody pays him any attention, none of the people sitting around the lovely little tables inside see him.

He’s ready to be seen, however, and decides to step inside, greeted by the ring of a bell attached to the coffee shop’s door.

“Good evening!” he says cheerfully upon his entrance, flashing a wide grin to everyone in the shop.

People turn to stare at him. Nobody is smiling back at him.

“Er, good evening,” replies the person working behind the counter. Their voice is polite but wary, they stare at Max like everyone else in the shop, with an expression of wide-eyed confusion.

This is not what Max expected. Where are all the delightful gasps, all the “Oh, Your Highness!” and “It’s the young king!” and “This is such an honour!” – all the surprised smiles and the rush to be the first to shake hands with him? He darts some quizzical glances around the shop, eyebrows raised, but his grin remains.

Maybe he’s come here a few too many times. He should have gone somewhere new instead, not the closest place he could think of.

A bristly feeling that he’s very much not used to suddenly spreads all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes: embarrassment. He’s embarrassed that his magic trick failed, the trick he was so confident in, so proud of.

He needs to get out of here.

And the next moment, he’s walking down a different street, this time in the heart of the city of Resting Palace. The lights here are so bright that they illuminate the black sky and give it a hue of light purple instead, almost a dirty tone, it looks dusty and devours the stars and even the Moon.

He’s walking past numerous people, but nobody turns to look at him. Nobody does as much as grant him a smile of acknowledgment, no faces light up with recognition when he passes by.

He stops to stand in the middle of the street. Someone immediately bumps into him from behind.

“Oh, sorry,” the stranger says and hurries away without looking at him. He doesn’t even have the time to say it was his fault for stopping so abruptly.

Max turns on his heels, lets his eyes wander aimlessly in the scenery. There’s a hotel to his left. There are people everywhere, but none of them are looking his way.

Now another person bumps into him. This is an older man, staggering on his feet and visibly losing his balance for a moment, and he turns to stare at Max with a sullen face.

“Hey, kiddo,” the man groans, “stop blocking the walkway, will ya?”

Max only stares back, not knowing what to say or think. Kiddo? What is this? Why is this person talking to him like this? He’s so dumbfounded by this behaviour that he simply hangs his mouth open without making a sound. Nobody in his entire life has acted this way towards him, and it’s making his blood run cold under his heavy cloak.

On a bewildered whim, he suddenly turns to whoever is passing by his left-hand side on that very moment. “Did you hear how that person talked to me just now?” he asks the passer-by. “How dare he?”

The person he’s talking to casts him a look of utter confusion. He can immediately tell this person doesn’t recognise him, either.

“No, I’m sorry,” the person mumbles hastily and hurries away. Max stares after their disappearing back.

What is happening? What is happening? How could this possibly be happening to him? Now panic is seeping into his heart, he arbitrarily grabs the sleeve of whoever happens to pass by him next.

“Excuse me,” he says breathlessly, “you know who I am, right? Right?”

Another astonished stare, but at least this passer-by is polite. “No, I’m afraid I don’t. Are you perhaps lost?”

“No!” Max’s words now escape as a desperate eruption of discomfort, “I’m the king! The Genbu-ou! Don’t you recognise your king?!”

The stranger’s expression changes slightly – to that of pity, to Max’s horror.

“I’m sorry, boy, I don’t have time to play around with you,” the person says, and the next moment he’s gone.

Max spins around, glancing wildly in every direction, looking for anybody who recognises him. This is the royal capital, isn’t it? It definitely is, he knows the exact street he’s on, but for some reason nobody knows him, he’s only a mile away from the Snow Glory Palace and nobody knows that he’s the king, how could such a bizarre thing ever happen?

“I look like the Genbu-ou, don’t I?” he asks yet another stranger, this time a younger person, a teenager just like him.

The person stops to stare at him, evaluates him with her eyes for a moment, as if she has to think about it first.

“I guess you do,” she finally says, “a little. But Genbu-ousama has spots of black in his hair and skin as clear as snow.”

What? What?

Max drops down to his knees into the snow and now he’s on the riverbank; he hauls his shaking self closer to the aquamarine glow of the water, and he crouches over to look down at his own reflection on the surface.

His hair is yellow like the Sun, bare, the splashes of black brush strokes gone. But his face – his face is covered in something – small dots everywhere, his skin is infested with them, they spread from the centre, the bridge of his nose, in every direction on his skin, he lifts his hands to his face and—

* * *

He opens his eyes. The ceiling of his bedroom is covered in cotton candy clouds of pink and purple, they rotate ever so slowly around the axel of the chandelier in the middle, with stars blinking in and out through the veil.

He rolls over in the four-poster bed that feels like an entire ocean to him. The pillow under his head is wet, it feels gross and he grabs it with two tiny hands, tosses it away as hard as he can and it lands on the edge of the bed. It knocks a couple of his plush toys to the floor.

He can hear voices from behind the bedroom door. It’s Mama and Papa, they are yelling at each other again.

Max rubs his tear-stained eyes and crawls out of bed, wrapping his enormous blanket around him like a cape, he drags it along across the carpet as he makes his way to the door. He stands on tiptoes and opens the door as softly as he can.

He makes his way to the hallway’s railing just in time to see his parents walk into his view downstairs. They’re not yelling anymore but still arguing, in quiet voices now, Max can tell they are spewing arrows of poison at each other even if he can’t make out the words.

He’s staring through the narrow hole in the railing as Papa spots him, it’s probably a subtle sniffle that gives him away up there.

Seconds later, Papa has climbed the stairs and has knelt down to talk to Max in a voice that’s meant to be soothing but is seeping with recently suffocated agitation, and it makes him uneasy.

“Are you having trouble sleeping again, buddy?”

“I don’t want Papa to go away,” Max says, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his orange sleeping gown.

Papa gives him a lopsided smile, pats the top of his head. “I’ll come visit you often, I promise. And – this is only temporary, okay? I will keep talking to Mama, and maybe I’ll be back home in a couple of moons. Papa will bring you lots of presents then, but for starters...”

Now something appears from behind Papa’s back, he’s holding a plush toy dog that has a silly face with a tongue drooping out, its body so long that it nearly matches Max’s height. Papa hands it over to him.

“I made this for you, to help you sleep better. I call it Sleepy, but you can call it whatever you want.”

Max stares down at the dog’s face. It has plain black buttons for eyes, and a third one for a nose.

He presses his own little nose against the button, immediately smearing the dog in the snot and tears of a six-year-old.

“Take me with you, Papa,” he says, the words muffled against the dog’s snout. “Don’t leave me alone.”

“You won’t be alone, Max, Mama will be here.”

“She’s always working, she never pays attention to me.”

“That’s not true...”

“I don’t want to be alone, Papa.”

* * *

He opens his eyes. The ceiling of his bedroom is velvet blue, with the silver sickle of a crescent Moon glowing faintly in the night’s silence.

His heart is beating in an anxious rhythm inside his chest. He quickly sits up in the bed, driven by the panic of the lingering terror of his nightmare that makes his fingertips tingle and his stomach turn, and he gasps for air.

It was just a dream. Just a dream.

The momentary urge to rush to his feet, to check that he actually is who he’s supposed to be in the mirror, recedes quickly upon the realisation that he’s in his own bed, in the royal palace, exactly where he should be. He’s covered in sweat, the blankets feel uncomfortably sticky against his skin, he tosses them aside.

Then he notices three shapes in the darkness, sitting at the end of his bed. A row of three plush animals is staring at him from a distance.

A fox, a serpent, and a horse.

[wu-sisyphus-gang]

Motion Sickness Chapter 80

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I walked up to Seventh Heaven. I still didn't have a new bike so I'd had to trek all the way down here from Atlas Academy. I'd even dodged my girlfriends a little which made me feel a touch uncomfortable inside. But it just might prove necessary.

I'd received a message from Bisque stating that we needed to talk in person. The lines might not be secure which as a terrorist organization I said ‘fair enough.’

Aurum laid low under the law. That's how he got by and made his money whereas Avalanche played things fast and loose. I wouldn't be shocked if they were being watched when Aurum wasn't per se.

The bells jingled as I walked in.

"Cloud!" Bisque exclaimed. "There you are. Haven't seen you in a few weeks."

"Yeah well I started playing for the other side of the law," I informed him.

"You mean…"

"I won't turn you in or anything but I can't exactly help you out anymore. You got information for me? Is that why you called me down here?"

"We actually wanted your help…"

"More of my help, you mean."

"Yeah well we're only a budding organization."

Someone came down from upstairs in the place. It was Jasper. "Cloud? It's so good to see you!" She walked over and hugged me, her tail swishing all the while.

"Yeah well I'm pretty sure I won't be here for long."

"Oh don't be like that. Let me get you a drink."

"Fuck it. Why not. Get me a screwdriver. Those house specials of yours are too sweet for me and I don't have Neo around."

"Oh? Where is she?" Jasper asked.

"Not sure at the moment. Hopefully laying low and waiting for the next storm to come in. Haven't seen her for two weeks or so. Been busy. Trying to make things right on the proper side of the law."

"Yeah, we've been doing a bit of that ourselves. We've been trying to calm down the protests while still having the political force to back Robyn Hill," Jasper said as she made my drink.

"It's been slow going though. We had no idea when we bombed the mine it would set all this off. If word ever spread around that we were responsible it would collapse in on us," Bisque informed me.

Jasper slid down my screwdriver and I took a long drink of the hard mixer. I took a seat at the bar. And Bisque leaned his elbows on the counter to talk to me.

"Ah…" I breathed off the alcohol after a moment. "How have the protests been going?"

"Good. The people seem ready to vote for Robyn. She made all kinds of campaign promises to make that happen. New standards for miners. An increase in minimum wages. That sort of thing," Jasper chirped in her usual upbeat tone.

"The people have Avalanche to thank for it and some of them know it. They're listening to us," Bisque followed. "Wenge is out leading a strike right now."

"You can hardly tell that they're still going on from up in Atlas," I murmured around my drink.

"They'll see once Robyn is elected," Bisque said. "And that's just a matter of time. No one down here wants Schnee to have any more power than he already has."

"And up in Atlas?" I asked.

"It's more divided. She still has a twenty point lead over him up there against a forty point lead down here. But it's more scary," Jasper murmured. "Atlas has always done its own thing and usually not to the betterment of Mantle."

"Easy enough to do when the city is so divided," I mumbled.

"Two cities," Bisque corrected.

"Not really," I fired back. And I genuinely believed that. It wasn't so different from the tiered cities of Mistral. Separate but together all the same.

Someone came in behind me and I turned to see Barret. The big bear of a man sauntered in with a new mechanical arm on his right side. It gleamed gunmetal grey and seemed to have a gun built into it. I'd seen more than my fair share of arms like that.

"Good, the merc is here," he said in his gruff tone.

"Been trying to get out of that business, actually. Wasn't sustainable for me," I told him. I crossed my arms.

"Dyne has gone off the deep end. He refused a new mechanical arm in favor of just a machine gun. When his wife, Eleanor, died from dust lung he lost it. He's planning all sorts of mayhem and destruction. He already killed fifteen people. Maybe more."

"I see…" I really didn't. I had no idea what he wanted from me in all of this.

"I'm afraid for his little girl, Marigold. She was hurt recently in the protests. I've been looking after her for the last couple of days. He hasn't even been by. I need your help to stop him, bring him back to his senses."

"What makes you think I'm interested or that you have anything I want?" I asked. My arms still folded.

"I have information. I know you'll wan' it. It's about how your bomb went off prematurely on the White Whale ."

I stared at him hard. He was right. I did want it. "Give me a teaser, so I know you are serious," I demanded of him.

"Sabotage. It was supposed to go off even earlier if the saboteurs had their way," The large man informed me.

I breathed in a deep shuddering sigh. He was right. I did want that information. Whoever they are they got Neo hurt. Amongst everything else, she was my friend. "I can't get caught doing anything that will violate my parole," I informed him.

"Dyne and his gang are criminals right about now. If you're working for the law, it's your job t' bring them in. Alls I'm asking for is a chance to talk t' Dyne before you do."

"And you'll hand over the identity of my saboteurs if I do?" I asked. My bomb going off had been suspicious as all hell to me. I was normally more than proficient with those sorts of bombs despite how flippant I'd been with them. It still stuck out in my mind.

"Got it in one." He grinned at me. Big and fierce under his dark shades. His mechanical arm flexing slightly. I took it in a firm shake.

"Well," I said. "What are we waiting for, then?"

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It was an old warehouse building we pulled up on in Avalanche's truck. I got out first followed by Barrett. "Do these guys have aura?" I asked. "I don't want to kill anybody."

"Some."

"That's just great," I said exasperatedly. I sighed and pulled my shield and my sword. I could probably go easy enough that nobody really got hurt. But still, why couldn't all my opponents have the decency to not only have aura but to broadcast how much aura they had?

Just because I was used to killing people didn't mean that I liked it. And I had seriously killed a lot of people in my time. A lot. If there were people as young as I was who had a higher body count I hadn't heard of them. That was going by either definition of age you wanted to use on me. It didn't matter how you wanted to cut how old I was, I was the ninety ninth percentile on murder and mayhem.

We waltzed in the front door of the place. Leaving Bisque out in the truck.

"Barret…" Dyne turned to look at us from a lowered section of the room where he was talking to a handful of people. There was all kinds of machinery to the room. Cranes and jacks and mining equipment.

"Dyne. I'm here to bring you to Marigold. Your daughter needs you," Barrett said.

"You brought the merc. The dust… brother...it's telling me something…" Dyne trailed off.

Okay. This was coming from me, but this guy had officially lost it. I might not be the most stable iceberg in the sea but crazy recognized crazy and this guy had some helpings of it.

"Is it telling you that you're nuts?" I asked. Barrett shoved me in the ribs with his metallic elbow.

"...the dust. My path of destruction has brought me here…" Dyne trailed off once more. I lingered behind Barret ready to take down all the others in the room. My longsword and great 't' shaped shield at the ready.

"Why are you doing this Dyne? Why'd you kill those people? The protests don't need to be violent." Barrett demanded of him.

"The dust told me to, brother."

"And did the dust tell you why?" Barrett wondered, a touch sardonic.

"Why?" Dyne repeated, a bit mockingly. "Why does there got to be a reason that people do things? Is there a why for Eleanor's death? How about your wife Barrett? There a why for her dying?"

"She...she's already gone. Dust lung. Same as your wife. That's the why." Barrett murmured in his baritone.

"And still you hold on, brother. You could let go. Be like me."

"And start the wanton, chaotic destruction of people and property?"

"Destruction of everything, brother. That's the goal. That's what we're starting," Dyne shot back.

"You used to be just focused on the Schnee. But then you just started hurting everyone and everything."

"Of course brother." Dyne let out a low chuckle. "Had to be done. The dust told me to do it all."

"What's the dust telling you now? Dyne?" Barrett asked. His voice pleading despite the baritone of it.

"It's telling me that I should see Marigold again." Dyne rubbed at his forehead with his real hand like he had a headache.

"That's… that's great news. Let's go see her right now. She's happy and healthy and safe. I've been looking after her. Just like I promised I would."

"She misses her mother, don't she? I'm sure she does…" Dyne trailed off into a low, mad chuckle.

"Dyne… what are you saying?" Barrett wondered.

"I'm saying I should be there to send her to her mother."

"Yikes," I muttered. "That is a yike from me, dog."

"You'd kill your own daughter? You're not the Dyne I used to know!" Barrett shouted. He ignored me. He pointed his wrist down range at Dyne and his accomplices.

"Oh if you point your weapon at me you best come correct," Dyne all but whispered. "You best come with fire and lightnin'!" Then he roared.

"I don't want to fight you Dyne!"

"I suspect you've got no choice, brother!" He pointed his own wrist mounted gun at the two of us. His friends took up their own arms as well. "Or my path of destruction won't end here! I'll go on to consume every man, woman, and child. Just like the dust consumed me! You understand dontcha? Just like the dust consumed me!" He repeated. His voice had a lilt to it that was hard to place. Like he finally understood everything. Instead he was just rambling like a mad man.

I got that. I'd been there and done that. The whole path of destruction thing, too. First one target then the next then the next. Each seeming as good as any other. Was this what it was like to see it from the outside? It seemed like a lost cause but then I'd come back.

Or had I?

Had I really come back? The only things that kept me from slipping had been the thought of my friends. I was with them now. Well not now, now but I was with them in general. I was back. They were worrying about me. I was worrying about them. We were doing what we could for each other just like before. I even had two girlfriends. Two! That was almost twice as many as one and they loved me. I'd felt their love and the beat of their warm hearts wrapped around me. I'd felt it tight around me. If I lost that like Dyne had would I keep going?

I shuddered at the thought. If Ruby or Weiss died that would probably be it for me. That's it. I'm done. I'm out. Maybe I'd kill myself. Maybe I'd just go on a tear. Tyrian had been a mass murderer. A serial killer. For a moment or two I got the appeal of that. Just killing just to kill. Just to feel something. Anything at all. I got that.

Then there was my Mother. Always pressing on the surface of my mind with her tentacles. Would I give in to that? Maybe. Hard maybe.

Maybe I'd lose them again. Maybe I'd have to run away once more. That wasn't the same as them dying on me. But it was still a possibility. Could I stand to do that again? Another hard maybe. At least I'd have Neo. Wretched thing that she was. That we both were. Couldn't exactly throw that stone.

I pointed my sword down the range and let my shield fall by my side. I was ready to move and act. I could see it all now. Barrett and Dyne opening fire on the other. The rest diving to the side while I moved in. Anybody without aura would be getting ripped to shreds.

"It don't have to be like this! We can still walk away, Dyne!"

"Yes it does brother. You know it does! I'm gonna fight and you gotta try and stop me!"

They started shooting. People dived to the side to avoid the spray of bullets. Rounds pinged off my thick aura and I moved. I blurred into a hovering roll and got beside Dyne and his men. I grabbed one and slammed him into my knee and sliced at another I was pretty sure had aura. I cut deep into it then I reached out with my shield hand and tossed him and he flew until he slammed into one of the cranes.

Barrett fired a grenade down into the pit and it exploded sending Dyne rolling with a flare of light blue aura. I sliced at another and bit through his arm. Blood sprayed through the air and he screamed until I punched him in the face with my shield. He went down with a massive bruise forming on his head.

I got on top of Dyne and he opened fire right into my torso with his weapon. The gun arm blared at me and punched holes in my aura that made me stagger about until Barret jumped into the pit and grabbed Dyne's gun arm with his free one and picked him up by it.

He then opened up into Dyne's chest.

I think he meant to stop shooting when Dyne ran out of aura but that grenade had already taken the lion's share of it.

"Don't!" I shouted a moment too late.

A hole blew straight through Dyne's torso and Barrett dropped him in surprise. It left a dying man crawling around on the ground and bleeding out.

"The dust, man. The dust..." Dyne groaned from the pit.

"Dyne!"

"Take this pendant. Give it to Marigold. It belonged to her mother. I can't ever hold her again with these stained hands," Dyne rolled over. "These stained hands." He ripped a pendant from his neck and tossed it up out of the lowered section of floor up at Barrett.

Barrett caught it and could do nothing but watch as Dyne died.

"Mine ain't any cleaner, Dyne," Barrett whispered. "Mine ain't any cleaner."

"Take care of her, like she was your own. Please. Look after my Marigold."

"I will." Barrett vowed. And Dyne died in the pit in the floor of the warehouse.

I stabbed my sword into the ground and listened to the sounds of the oncoming sirens.

"Those going to be a problem for you?" I indicated my head in the direction the sirens were coming from. I sheathed my sword and put the whole rig back on my shoulder.

"Nah man. I suppose you'll be wanting your information," he spoke downtrodden and muted compared to his normally fierce voice.

"Yeah. That'd be great."

"It was the Happy Huntresses. They have this invisibility field. They wanted to shut down your op," he told me. He rubbed his face in his hands. Reaching underneath the glasses he wore to rub at his eyes.

"Thanks." I told him. I wiped a few beads of sweat from my brow. "Best of luck with the little girl. That can be a lot to deal with."

"Thank you. For everything," he managed.

"What will you do now?" I asked.

He stretched. "I might join Avalanche. They could use someone like me."

"Might be a good fit. You've got a little girl to look after now, though. Will the terrorism agree with you?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. But I can't let her grow up in a world I know I could have done more for. For my wife. And for Dyne. I know I have to do more. You got people you have to do more for?"

"Yeah. These two ladies and their teammates. I'd kill and die for them."

"You want some advice?" He asked.

"Sure," I said. I could use some genuine advice in the spot I was in. It sounded like he'd lived through it. I could take it.

"Any old fool can kill and die for something. It takes a man to live and let live for something."

I just nodded. Maybe fucking so. It was easy to kill things. So fucking easy. It was so much harder to keep something alive.

I listened and waited for the sirens.

pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq pq

-WG

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #457

“blue are the words i say and what i think  /  blue are the feelings that live inside of me”

Do you buy your lingerie at Victoria’s Secret? No. That shit is so overpriced and not for my size group. Would you ever use an online dating service? I never would again. Are you good at multitasking? ABSOLUTELY NOT. Have you ever eaten Frosted Mini Wheats? Ugh, those are so gross. What does your bikini look like? You think THIS bitch wears a bikini??????????????????????? Does age really matter in a relationship? To an extent, yes. How much does the last person you kissed mean to you? I honestly don't even know if I'd be here without her. Almost like magic, Sara popped back into my life right after I returned home from the hospital following my suicide attempt. She helped make recovery possible as a solid source of support. Do you use lotion? Not NEARLY enough. My skin is so dry; I need to. Do you believe in teenage love? I experienced it deeply and thoroughly, so yes. Have you ever sat on the roof of your house? No. Do you like Sublime? I like that one popular one of theirs. "Santaria" or whatever it's called? What’s your favorite movie genre? Paranormal horror, especially the "found footage" type. It's creepy to imagine it being actually real. Is there a celebrity that you’d be willing to have a one night stand with? If he was single? I know in my gut I would lmaooooo Do you want to live in your current town the rest of your life? OH MY GOD PLEASE NO If you found out today your best friend was gay what would you do? She's demisexual, so. She can like anybody. If you could get a pet for free today-what kind/what name? A tegu, because it wouldn't need an enclosure that I don't have. I'd let it free roam. God, I can only imagine Roman's reaction. How many people have you slept with? If you mean what I think you do by "slept," one. Do you ever wish you had a family business to become a part of? Not really. What’s the most gruesome way you could come up with to kill someone? Hunny, have you seen my dark RP????? The world best be glad I'm a pacifist lmfao Do you think anyone deserves to die that way? I don't believe in torture, so no. If you had to fight for survival, what would your weapon of choice be? A gun, I guess? I'd want something with range and that's quick. I wanted to say a bow and arrow, but preparing another arrow after shooting once could really cost you your life. Where did you buy your favorite pair of jeans? I don't wear jeans anymore. Do you have a large dog? We don't have a dog, period. If not, are you afraid of them? No, I love big 'ole puppos!!!!! I just don't wanna own a dog myself. Are you good at playing darts? Holy fuck no, I have NO hand-eye coordination. I once stabbed the guy at a balloon popping booth thing with a dart in the arm, if that tells you anything, ooooooooooof. Do you like breaded chicken sandwiches? YESSSSSSSSS omg Do your parents know that/if you smoke? They know that I don’t. Have you ever been under a blacklight? Omg so in elementary school, we did this thing once where we all washed our hands as best we could and then put them under some sort of light (maybe a blacklight, idk???) to see JUST how resilient germs are. You gotta scrub the fuck out ya hands, people. How many pounds do you want to lose? I'd rather not share a number, but a lot. What’s your favorite natural phenomenon? The Northern Lights. Do you snore? Very surprisingly for someone with sleep apnea like mine, I actually don't. How many people do you know with the same first name as you? Off the very top of my head, one, but it's spelled differently. I KNOW I know of a shitload more Brittanys, though. Is it possible you could be pregnant? Well, I haven't been intimate with a man in years and just finished my period, so like- Could you go a day without texting? I go most days without texting. Do you have a step-parent? My dad is remarried, so yes. If so, do you get along with them? She's EXTREMELY Christian, so her beliefs wildly disagree with mine, but I keep my mouth shut a lot just to keep the peace. She IS a very sweet woman, nevertheless, and am glad she and my dad are so happy together. Does your current/last job require that you wear a uniform? My last job (which lasted not even two hours lol) did. When will your driver’s license expire? My permit has been expired for like... two years. Do you live in an apartment? No. If the last person you kissed proposed to you what would you say? That's too wild a concept to even imagine. I'd probably ask if she was okay lmao. Would you ever get back with one of your exes? Weeeelp, I want to get back together with Girt. Pretty badly. Write a foreign word, and what it means: "Schadenfreude" is a German term that essentially means secondhand embarrassment, but it doesn't have a perfect translation. Is there an ex you think about everyday? Inevitably. That's PTSD, my friends. Who is the last person that you said I love you to, besides family members? Sara. What's the worst thing you have ever said to anyone? Something along the lines of "no one could ever love you like I do." It boils my blood just typing that; I considered even deleting this question. That quote right there is fucking manipulation, even IF I thoroughly believed it. Who was the last person to comment one of your pictures? I don't feel like looking. Do you tend to go for older or younger when looking for someone to date? It's weird, I'm into slightly older-than-me guys, but probably girls who are barely a bit younger than me. Have you ever been used? I don't think so. Have you ever not been able to get someone out of your head? Like I've said in plenty of surveys: Jason is probably a permanent fixture. But also as of the past two days, Girt's been living up there. I went from "hmmm I just don't know how I feel" to "FUCK I want to talk to him about how stupidly into him I am right this fucking INSTANT" pretty goddamn fast. It kinda scares me just because of how extreme my feelings are. Again. That's only ever gotten me hurt. Buuuut let's not get into that. Have you ever got caught cheating on a test? No, because I've never tried to. Will your next kiss be a mistake? I hope it won't be. But it's not like I know the future. Have you ever worn an oxygen mask? Actually yes, when I was young and thought I was having an asthma attack or something. Mom had one for her own asthma. Then I obviously wore one for surgery. What song do you want to be played at your funeral? "Paradise" by Coldplay is absolutely #1. How many swear words are in the song you’re listening to? I'm not listening to music; I'm back to watching Gab play Sekiro. What color was the last swimsuit you wore? Black. Have you ever kissed anyone of the same sex, and if so, who? Yeah, just Sara. Who did you last tell to ‘shut up’? Ha, I think my WoW friend Lyndsey, but only playfully, of course. We pick fun at each other all the time. Would you ever get a tattoo of a boyfriend/girlfriend's name? NOOOOOOOOO. Are you one of those girls who already have baby names picked out? I know what I'd name my kids IF I actually wanted any, yeah, but I don't. Do you think guys with long hair are attractive? Yessss, I love long hair on guys. Are any of your siblings taller than you? I think Ashley is a liiiiil bit taller? I know my brother is, for sure. Have you ever scared someone so badly that they cried? Yikes, no. When was the last time you wore high heels? Boy oh boy, no idea. Is there someone that you want to hurt right now? Jeez, no thanks. What was the most interesting or colorful birthday cake you’ve had? I don't remember, but I'm sure something from childhood. What was the last thing someone bought you? Was it expensive? Mom bought me food from McD's, which obviously isn't expensive. Do you have any interesting moles anywhere you don’t want people to know of? No. Have you ever gotten high or drunk in a really formal place? Strong "no" there. Do you ever write poetry and post it on any certain websites? On the very rare occasion I write poetry and actually like it, I'll sometimes post it on dA. What do you miss most about your childhood? Actually, genuinely having fun and not dealing with fucking anhedonia. Would you like to know the precise date of your future death? Hell no. Do you photograph well? I'd like to hope so. Are there any animals you flat out refuse to touch? Maggots and similar bug larvae. What super power would you refuse, if it was offered to you, and why? Mind reading. It just sounds... awful and overwhelming. What’s your favorite discontinued product that you wish would come back? Oh, I KNOW I have answers to this, just none are coming to me immediately and I don't feel like sitting here for five minutes thinking about it. If adults had show and tell, what would you bring into work? My snek! :') If you had a reset button for the last 10 years, would you press it? Tempting, but... I don't think I would. I cannot go through how deep my depression was again. Who is someone you would never swear in front of? My nieces and nephew. Yes, I don't believe in profanity being a "thing" and is just a stupid human fabrication, but nevertheless I acknowledge societal standards and expectations, and they're way too young to get when you shouldn't say something like that and why. Have you ever won a contest or competition? A few. Who is your favorite TV character? I don't think I really have one? Do you coo over other people’s babies? Not really, no. Sometimes I'll think they're super cute and be like "awww," but I don't like... squeal and spaz like some people do. What is something that makes you very squeamish? VOMIT. Has there been a celebrity death that really affected you? Steve Irwin got me deeper than anyone else. Chester Bennington hit real hard, too. If you’re out of high school, have you stayed in touch with your high school friends? If you’re still in school, do you think you will? Most of my closest ones, yes, at least via Facebook. What’s a movie that you want to see? Old movie, but Jacob's Ladder. It was a massive influence on Silent Hill, so naturally, I'll probably love it. It's a classic, anyway. Do you use the same username everywhere online or do you have a lot? I use "Ozzkat" in most places, but I do have some other ones for different sites. Who was the last person you know who became pregnant? My friend Ana recently revealed she's expecting her second child, a boy. What fad were you actually into? I have zero clue. Have you ever tailgated? Would you want to? Fuck no. That's how so many wrecks happen. My sister legit got in a wreck with an 18-wheeler mostly because she was tailgating (which she does BADLY); she was trying to pass, and he moved over at the same time because he couldn't see her coming around. It's a borderline miracle she got out with only some cuts, bruises, and a seatbelt burn. Have patience, people. Get off cars' asses. Why did you fall for the last person romantically? Look, don't get me started on this. There are a shitload of reasons and I have been way too emotional over this the past few days laksdfja;lwke What’s the last thing you had to eat? A bagel w/ cream cheese for breakfast. Do you ever pick up your house phone? We don't have a landline phone. Truth be told, are you more into looks or personalities the most? Personalities, for sure. I cannot be into you if your personality isn't attractive.

[wearevillaneve]

Bad Reviews of Killing Eve DON’T MATTER (and neither do good ones).

We are literally hours away from the season 3 premiere of Killing Eve and as we get closer the reviews are starting to roll out and some of them are...well, less than positive.

“...the Honeymoon phase is over. We know these two can’t make it together in the long run and so does the show itself. That’s the problem. “ (Observer) “As each new showrunner is left to pick up the pieces left by the person who came before, they valiantly try to recapture the magic of Season 1, but the shine only continues to wear off as the characters never seem to move forward in any meaningful way and the narrative doubles down on its least interesting storylines, mainly the shadowy organization known as the Twelve.” (TV Guide) “...I found myself longing throughout for scenes featuring the impish Villanelle, dressed in a variety of wigs and custom suits. Perhaps that’s the point – the viewer is supposed to relate to Eve’s acute boredom, or Carolyn’s inertia – but if that is the case, I’m hopeful that in the episodes to come, (Suzanne) Heathcote spreads the fun a little more evenly. “ (Radio Times) “Killing Eve has already been renewed for a fourth season, so criticism is probably pissing in the wind, but the truth is that beyond Comer, it doesn’t have much left to offer. Sometimes killing can be a mercy.“ (Independent)

Okay.  You get the idea.  Some television critics really dislike the new season of Killing Eve.   Some television critics really like the new season of Killing Eve.  So,which critics should you listen to? I suggest none of them.  Opinions are like assholes: everybody's got one.  In full disclosure,  I used to be a critic of movies, books and film.  I enjoyed the gig, but I always said the only difference between a critic’s viewpoint and the fans was mine gets published.

That was before the Internet made everybody a critic.  Now you don’t need a newspaper or magazine to tell you what rocks and what sucks.  You can literally find all sorts of ordinary people offering their hot takes on what they think of cars, bourbon, movies, video games and especially movies and TV.   Why do you think we’re getting so much Tiger King bullshit shoved down our throats?

What Killing Eve 2020 has run into is something Killing Eve 2018 did not have to face: the weight of our expectations.

Consider this: all of these reviews are based upon what the five episodes the writer BBC has provided.  That’s enough of a sample size to draw some conclusions upon the quality of KE Season Three, but it’s an incomplete picture. The critics have only seen the first five episodes out of eight total. They don’t know how the stories are resolved or not, or what happens in the finale.  That's like walking out of a movie halfway and assuming you know how everything turns out in the end. If you create art and you think it’s beautiful and you put it out for public consumption and say “Behold, the splendor of my vision” and some smart-ass says, “It’s ugly as a goat’s ass” are you going to slink away in shame? Nah.  Just shrug it off as, “That’s your opinion, buddy” and keep it moving.  Shake the haters off.  Killing Eve is not immune to negative reviews,  nor should it be.   Being critical of something is not the same thing as being negative.   This is a show in its third season and that means it is now subject to being compared against itself. 

Something has to fall in third place, but when Sade warbled, “It’s never as good as the first time,” she wasn’t entirely right. Sometimes it’s better than the first time.  What Killing Eve 2020 has run into is something Killing Eve 2018 did not have to face: the weight of expectations.   We all have them and some of us will be pissed off when they aren’t realized. 

Just because in the eyes of some the thrills and wit of showrunner Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s breakout season hasn’t been matched by her replacements, Emerald Fennell and now, Suzanne Heathcote, that is no reason to declare the show needs to be put down like a sick dog.   It’s that critics are no different than the rest of us.  They want to recapture the rhapsody of The First Time. Eve and Villanelle aren’t the same people they were two seasons ago and neither are we.  When I sit down Sunday night, it won’t be like the first time, but there’s no such thing as secondary virginity.  Once you lose your innocence, you’re now experienced.  Killing Eve at its worst is still better than 95 percent of what’s on TV at any given moment.   Maybe this season won’t deliver the goods, but you know what?  That’s my determination to make and it’s your decision too. Don’t let a critic think for you.  You can draw your own conclusion.  Never wait for someone else to cosign your own tastes.  “I pay no attention whatever to anybody's praise or blame. I simply follow my own feelings.”    ―      Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart  

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Monsters of the Museum || Dakota and Morgan

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @dakotasgrant & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Dakota and Morgan try to open up to one another. Some things are scarier than glass-cased monstrosities.

CONTAINS: Mentions of alcoholism, parental abuse, death, and car accident

Despite the weird shit that happened when she and Morgan hung out last, Dakota still felt as though she needed to water this seed, because when it came to everyone else in town so far… Well, this was the only one that was growing. She felt a little bad about getting defensive, and she had already planned on apologizing again once she saw Morgan at the museum, but… Well, technically what she’d said had been true. Morgan knew a sensitive detail about Dakota, but she didn’t really know her. And if she was going to take her only friend’s advice when it came to making more friends, then she needed to know more about Morgan first.

The museum had been her own idea, and even as she sat on the steps waiting patiently for her company to arrive, she still thought it would be fun with or without her. In an effort to be a nicer person, though, she did have two coffees set by her side, her hands in her pockets. She hoped Morgan liked hot bean water sans cream and sugar.

Morgan’s nerves prickled like needles as she pulled up to the museum. For all the effort they’d put into their pop up display during the carnival, the actual building was kind of dull looking, like a refurbished old train station no one had ever cared about. She steadied herself, trying to narrate a version of this visit to herself that both didn’t end with more attempted theft, or factual education, and had her leave with her conscience intact. She couldn’t exactly coax Dakota into making a scene while she smashed her way through reclaiming some supernatural artifacts to restore to their rightful communities, like she had with Deirdre. Nothing came to mind, so maybe she would just ignore everything in the museum and focus on the conversation around them. They were here to get to know each other. She didn’t need to worry about corpses being disrespected by being called creations and elaborate hoaxes, or photographs of supernaturals who hadn’t wanted to be seen dismissed, or magic relics categorized as superstition. She would be fine, and the afternoon with Dakota would be a good one.

Morgan finally got out of her Subaru and jogged up to meet her friend. “Hey! It’s a great day to be inside where it’s warm, huh? Let’s go, yeah?” She offered a hand to help Dakota up. “I tried to come up with some kind of random fact like they make you come up with in cheesy ice breakers on the way but--” I was too distracted by knowing how much wrongful nonsense you’re about to fall for in here. “--I just couldn’t. I’ve had some memorable shitty jobs in the past? I used to have an online crystal shop? My cat that’s been with me the longest, Anya, liked to be walked on a leash and harness?” She held open the door for them as they went in. “What I’m trying to say is, I will try to be as much of an open book as possible, okay?” And as long as they kept talking, how hard could that be?

She stepped onto the shiny tile floor and came face to face with half a dozen dull-eyed, incorporeal school children in their uniforms. She squealed, covering her mouth a second too late and jumped back close to Dakota. “Sorry! This place is just--” Haunted. Full to the brim and fucking haunted within an inch of its life. Morgan couldn’t look in any direction without catching sight of at least two spirits hovering near the display cases. Shit, shit, shit. “--so impressive! Like, way more than I thought it would be!”

Dakota was a little bit more excited than she wanted to admit, especially when Morgan showed up. She wasn’t the kind of person she ever thought she’d be friends with -- she was quirky, and weird, and confusing… But she was bright and bubbly and seemed to be this kind of oddly positive, always “chipper” sort of person. Which, as anyone could see, was the complete opposite of herself. But it made her happy to see that even if she was such a cynic, the people around her could still exist in this sort of.. Care-free innocence, it seemed. Of course, that was all her own perception, but she still firmly believed that Morgan did have some sort of sweet innocence to her, whether or not that was actually true. And she was also a firm believer that being friends with someone like Morgan was the closest she’d ever come to being that bright and bubbly and kind and sweet.

“Hey,” she greeted, but within a short amount of time she was bombarded with words. She forgot that Morgan did that, but this time it was slightly more endearing than the last. From a crystal shop to her cat, she did realize that all she was trying to do was tell her that she was going to be as genuine as possible. Whether or not Dakota chose to believe whatever she was about to say for the next few hours was up for discussion, but who would lie about a cat being walked on a harness? “Right, yeah -- Um. I guess I just wanted to know more about who you are as a person, you know?” she began, holding the door for the both of them to shuffle in. “So, let’s start with --” she began, but was quickly shut up by Morgan’s reaction to the museum.

While Dakota was impressed by the tile and artwork, Morgan seemed to have jumped back only a few moments after being inside -- as if she’d just seen a scary bug. This forced Dakota’s brows to knit together, looking at her in pure confusion. “Uh.. Yeah, I guess so..” It’s not that impressive. “I mean, it’s just a museum -- in my opinion. Have you been to the MET? I heard it’s crazy nice in there.”

“Uh…” Morgan winced with genuine embarrassment. “Sorry. I think my bar was just set really low. I mean, stars, they even have headsets! Not that I want one, you can’t really be with someone when you’re doing that.” Another nervous smile. She glared at the school children floating in front of them in a way that she hoped said, get lost. But they only glanced at Dakota with their cataract eyes and floated, dripping, back to the display case they seemed bound to. Morgan side stepped them carefully as she started down the nearest open corridor. “I did go to the MET actually! It’s so incredible, I didn’t even get to see half of it. It was just a few hours, when I took that trip to New York City with my girlfriend. We wanted our second day to be more chill and get back to our room before Times Square got too crowded, so we just walked the parts of the MET together that we could, popped out and found a bakery, and walked to a historical cemetery after. But here was this great collection of Dutch and German renaissance art and some pottery from indigenous tribes from the southwest. You should go, if you ever get the chance. I just, you know, didn’t think it would be this nice or roomy here.” She cleared her throat, hiding the impulse to seize up at the sight of a headless woman drifting up and down the corridor with them, phasing through half the patrons as she did.

“I’m not really sure how to define what kind of person I am,” she admitted, lowering her gaze to gather herself better. “I feel like I’m in a state of flux. I’m afraid you really will just have to play detective on that one.”

In the spirit of trying to make friends, Dakota tried her best to ignore the way Morgan was acting at the moment. If she’d been to the MET, she shouldn’t have been this surprised by the roominess of the museum… But, of course, she had to remind herself of Morgan’s excitability, and simply dismissed the issue. You can’t dismiss everything entirely, though can you? She didn’t want to think about that. The Nordica was weeks ago, and she hadn’t seen anything other than a big open showfloor with a few intrigued patrons wandering. All who seemed normal, all who seemed human, and no sign of anything with horns, so.. Maybe that’s just how Morgan was. Excitable. A little strange. Definitely weird. All true statements, sure, but she was also a friend.

“Everyone’s always in flux, Morgan. That’s sort of what life does to people. So tell me about your stages, and… I guess I’ll tell you mine.” she stated -- not in a malicious or rude manner, because to Dakota, she was just stating facts. If she listed all the changes she’s been through in the last 30 years of her life, she was sure she could come up with a way she was changing even now, approaching 40 in the next three years. Ooh, don’t think about that, either. They started at the Mutated Dog Remains exhibit, which was really just a bunch of old bones reassembled that showed minor mutations, but she had to admit they all looked rather large. The plaque below a particularly strange looking resemblance of a creature that must have died a while ago mentioned the word hellhound, but debunked the term by stating it was an urban legend, a made-up story, folklore.

“I know that you’re a lesbian, and a wiccan, and that you like deathly stuff. I know you had a best friend when you were younger that made you realize you were gay, and I know you have a girlfriend, and I know you’ve been to New York City. I also know that you have a cat. I guess the reason we’re here is because -- I mean, if you want to talk to me about letting people get to know me, least of all Marley Stryder, then I think it’s fair that I get to know the person who’s giving this crazy advice. So what’s the stuff you never tell anybody? Or were your parents like, happy when you were a kid?”

“Well, I flux more or harder than most people,” Morgan said with a low laugh. “And that’s three cats, total. I got Anya in Houston, and my girlfriend and I got Moira together, and we took in Niamh when her owner, a friend of ours, died suddenly late last year.” She couldn’t help but laugh again, shaking her head ruefully now as the suggestion that her parents were happy. “Oh, stars above, no. I mean, we tried. They tried. And we had moments, like most families, and that’s what I try to focus on but…” Another dry laugh. How did you explain, ‘well my mom was magically cursed with true suffering and shared that curse with me when I was born, so!’ “It was really complicated. My mother was…a really hurt woman. She did what she thought was best, but by the time she had me, her perception of ‘best’ had been warped by a lot of fear and bad experiences. She was really accepting of me when I came out, but that didn't really make all the times she dragged me screaming to my room and locked me in for awhile go away, you know?” Morgan winced, wondering if this was already oversharing. “I’m okay now, obviously,” she hastened to say. “I was just raised under some really specific circumstances that are hard for a lot of people to understand.”

“More or harder than most people?” Dakota repeated, trying her best not to sound judgmental. Lord knows she was the last person to judge, but.. It still came somewhat natural to her. Gotta work on that. She listened, though, about the cats -- reading plaque after plaque of random artifacts that didn’t look more or less interesting than what she could find at Pottery Barn. The place was probably filled with hoaxes, but she wasn’t about to comment, because.. God, wasn’t she so tired of being cynical all the time? Despite her overall standoffishness, Dakota really did care about what Morgan had to say. She could relate in a lot of ways to the story she told -- the half truths she was narrating. She’d been locked in her room before, but probably not for too long, because she always found a way out. And the more she thought about it, it was probably because dad was angry, and nobody wanted to be around when he started yelling. He never hit, though. If she loved him for anything other than ABBA, it was because he never hit. But she wasn’t going to tell Morgan any of that. Fucking hypocrite, she thought to herself. Asking this woman to bare her deepest darkest secrets while you can’t even tell her the truth. If there was one good intention of Dakota’s, though, it was that she cared about Morgan, and if she wanted to get any closer than an arm’s length, she’d need to read the footnotes. “Kind of sounds like Sparknotes there, Beck.” she said, tucking her hands into the pockets of the coat she was wearing while they aimlessly strolled the museum. “You don’t have to go any deeper than that if you don’t want. I’m just.. Saying that you can. If that’s what you want.”

“Wow,” Morgan said, laughing unsteadily. “And here I thought I was oversharing.” She shifted a little closer to Dakota, dodging the spectre of a man with burnt, twisted limbs. He glowered at her, condemning her denial of him. “I’m sorry,” she hissed under her breath. And she was. But smashing glass and striking up conversation with the air in a room full of normies wasn’t going to fix anything. “Um, if you pick a number that’s a multiple of three I can give you the Nightline Edition of some quality trauma. We can pull up one of those number generators on my phone if we really want to play with fate.” She laughed at her own bad joke. No one knew better than her that fate didn’t let you play when she’d made up her mind. It had only been, what, fifteen minutes from the banshee scream on her life to the rebar pole skewering her insides? “Last year counts too,” she added. “I’m not trying to be cagey on purpose. Shockingly, I am actually trying not to scare you off by dumping too much all at once.”

She stopped in front of a framed photograph of the Bachman House, now a pile of rubble in the bend. The placard mentioned the number of unusual deaths on the property, with the usual highlights of trampled by own horse, impaled by own farm tools, unlucky trip down stairs, and those were just the ones that could be ruled by accidents. On the other balcony, she could see teeth in glass boxes and a singular framed wing. “Can I ask you something first?” Morgan asked, her eyes settling into an empty middle distance where there was nothing to see, nothing to hide, no problem. “Where do you think all this stuff comes from? The stories, the pain around it all. What do you believe about it?”

“A multiple of three, huh?” Dakota inquired, mainly just to amuse her. If she was going to be friends with Morgan, it was quite obvious that she was going to have to play by her rules -- meaning that she probably would have to settle for the goofiness, or the kindness, or the sunshine and rainbows of it all. Weirdest part about all of that was the fact that Dakota usually scoffed at people who seemed to be full of so much joy. What the fuck was there to be joyful about, ever? You’re born, you live, you work for fifty years or so, and you die. The monotony of life… The mundanity of it all. So what the fuck was Morgan Beck even smiling about, even if she did have a Nightlife Edition highlight reel of her trauma ready to share? Jesus, dude, go to therapy.

Morgan caught her off guard, just a tad, with her next question. Where did she think all of this stuff came from? What does she believe about all of it? Dakota simply shrugged, unsure of how to put her thoughts into words, which was a first. “I.. Guess the bones come from a bunch of different animals. Some of the artifacts have to be mass produced or ordered off, like, Etsy. The pictures and stuff? Well, anyone can go up to a creepy looking house that hasn’t had any tender love and care for a few decades and make up a story.” Dakota paused, bringing her attention back to the Bachman house. “I guess that’s what it is, in a nutshell. People wanting to believe things bad enough. People wanting other people to believe them bad enough. But the key is in making up the story -- because you can’t spell believe without L-I-E.”

Dakota let a lull in the conversation pass, tucking her hands back into her pockets, wandering off from the picture.“I pick 27, by the way. For the multiples thing.” she tossed over her shoulder.

Morgan nodded along. She couldn’t fault Dakota for speaking so callously without knowing how it all tied to Morgan. And there was some kind of awful experience sitting under her stiffness, something  that made her mistrust goodness and acceptance. “I’ll give you a two for one special,” she said quietly. “The house in that picture is mine. And everything in that placard is true. I have the documents from the town archives to prove it. And there’s a few more deaths that happened off the property tied to my family. There was a servant girl named Constance who wanted to run away with one of the Bachman daughters, Agnes. They were found out by  Agnes’ mother, Hannah Bachman, and the story suddenly went from a desperate romantic getaway to coercion. Constance didn’t have any family or friends to stick up for her, so word of her preying upon the innocent Bachman daughter spread, and she spent about a month living in the woods like an animal until she finally died.” Died because she surrendered her form to power a generational curse, but Morgan didn’t feel like arguing those particulars with a skeptic. “There are some truly horrible, inexplicable things that happen here that are just as real as the morning weather.”

She turned to Dakota, smiling sadly. “When I was twenty-seven, I was supposed to be finishing up my Masters’ in literature. I was living in this nice apartment with some other students and one of them was in my program. And she was so beautiful, and I would’ve done anything for her except say I liked her. One day I’m making sun tea and she pulls me aside about something, how behind on my share of the rent I am, and it’s going okay, but I decide to start opening up about--” The curse. Stupidly, she’d tried to tell her about the curse. “Some of the smaller crises that were going on, and she didn’t believe me and got really upset. And...okay, so the super swore later on that he had replaced all the windows so they were double insulated. This one windowpane had been missed. So when the girl threw one of my plants at the window, the whole thing shattered. I went to pick up the glass and she wanted me to stay away from her, and she pushed me, but because of the glass around her, she also cut herself and slipped and she went backwards just right out the window and fell through what was left of it. We were on the fourth floor, so…” Morgan winced. “Everyone heard us screaming before then, and my standing over the window-- I mean, it was so fast I was too late before I even tried to get close enough to catch her-- it didn’t look good, and they made me re-hash everything we’d been talking about and they didn’t like or believe it either, so I spent the evening answering questions from the authorities, and being yelled at by my roommates, and packing up my stuff. Then came the psych evaluation, which I was too anxious and scared to refuse, and that was pretty scary. And by that time it was eight o’clock or something, so I holed up in a Whataburger for a little bit and then drove around our college town trying to figure out where I was supposed to go next. I got a shitty little Motel 6 place for a few months before I could get leave of absence paperwork going and do depressed 20-something shit until I could start back again with a cohort that didn’t know me.” She thought back on that day, shivering at the memory of the body ragdolled on the gravel, the blood framing her and soaking her hair, the glare of the sun on her empty face… “Sometimes things just happen.” Sometimes they happened because the neutrality of the universe could hurt, and sometimes they happened because you were cursed to carry your great-great grandmother’s crimes on your shoulders.

Dakota had fully intended on continuing to browse the museum, already halfway to the next display whenever Morgan spoke up about the Bachman house. She listened, of course, but part of her didn’t believe a word coming out of her mouth. But she remembered something Erin had said a few weeks ago, something about how she herself had nothing to gain from lying to her, and Dakota couldn’t help but wonder if the same was true for Morgan. What would she have gained by lying to her? What would she get out of a story like that? Unless the woman standing before her was severely mentally ill, suffering from some sort of psychosis or a personality disorder, then what was Morgan getting out of lying about a picture of a house? She stopped in her path, turned back to look at her, and just as she was about to grill her for the evidence, she started talking about grad school.

Morgan shared, and after she’d finished, the exhibit they’d been standing in had been emptied of all people, most of whom had gone on to go see whatever else this place had to offer. Dakota didn’t mean to stare, but she was looking at Morgan for what felt like forever, and suddenly, deciding on whether or not the Bachman story was true wasn’t exactly the most pressing issue anymore. “Jesus Christ,” she murmured, because it was the only thing she really knew to say. She almost wanted to give Morgan a hug, but she wasn’t a touchy person, and she wasn’t even sure if they were close enough for that anyways, so she refrained. “Not sure I can follow that. You win on the trauma stories.”

“It’s not a contest,” Morgan said softly. “Honestly, it’s…” She exhaled slowly. It had been awful, yes. And it had taken her longer than usual to bounce back, to make friends without wanting to run or panic. She didn’t bother telling anyone about the curse at all after that, at least until White Crest. It was the kind of hurt you didn’t think about too much. Besides, there was always another one three years ahead. On and on until the day she died. “I’ve had worse. And it was over ten years ago. I don’t really, you know, think about it that much in the grand scheme of things. I have other, bigger things to worry about.” She did her best to brush it off as no big deal, but in the wake of the confession, she mostly felt bewilderment at her forming any attachments in White Crest at all. “Why don’t you tell me something about yourself, huh? I mean, I know you’ve shared a lot already, and I don’t mind talking more, I just don’t want to take all the air in here, either.” She looked sidelong at Dakota, unsure at how she was really taking all this. Did she think she was making this up? Did she think she was crazy?

Morgan was right. It wasn’t a competition. But if you did compare the two stories -- Dakota’s entire life and then the one incident that happened to Morgan when she was 27 -- Dakota would look like a spoiled goddamned brat. Of course, she could tell her about The Nordica… But she was still in denial about the events that unfolded that night. Erin was the only one she trusted enough to talk about that with because she was the only one she knew that had seen the event take place. She was the only one she really felt safe enough with to talk about the possibility that maybe that thing wasn’t just some rare animal, and maybe it was a monster. Regardless of that, though, it didn’t matter how many times Dakota showed up at Erin’s place to talk about it, because denial was more than just a river in Egypt. Dakota took the opportunity to lean against the railing that blocked museum goers from getting too close to any artifacts that weren’t held behind plexiglass, folded her arms over her chest and let out a little sigh. “I don’t feel like going by multiples of any particular number, so I’m just going to tell you everything, so try to keep up.” Here goes nothing. Or everything.

“I was born and raised in Detroit, but you knew that. It wasn’t the nice part of Detroit because we were really fucking poor. My mom worked at Valentino’s Diner on 8 Mile Road and I never saw her because she was always working -- double shifts, almost every day. I literally remember being a kid and dipping into the drug store to buy her cigarettes and dropping them off on my way home from school. My dad was an alcoholic. I still don’t really know much about him, but I know that he fell asleep in his recliner every night with old ass tv shows on with usually some type of scotch or brandy at his side. One time our house almost burnt down because he blacked out with a lit cigar in his hand -- he must’ve dropped it, because there was a huge cinched patch in our living room that we had to cut out of the carpet.” You’re really going for it, huh? “They fought… A lot. Because mom was doing the double shifts I told you about, and Dad bled their savings dry for booze, and they were always yelling at each other about money. When I was younger I remember asking my mom who “Bill” was. I used to think that we must have just had a lot of thunderstorms because the power kept going out, but really the power just kept getting shut off. Dad referred to her as a “ball and chain” to his buddies, but I think it was the other way around, because my mom was smart. And really fucking brave. And he knew that if he ever hit her, he’d be a dead man, because she wasn’t afraid to fight back. So I know what it’s like to be locked in your room. I didn’t understand then, but I know now that really she was just trying to protect me from seeing things I didn’t need to see, but must’ve forgot that I had ears. When I got older, I started sneaking out of my bedroom window when shit like that happened. Went and rode my bike, that sort of thing. I remember always being so pissed that I never knew what was going on, which is probably why I do what I do. I hate it when nobody knows what’s going on. All that misinformation..” she trailed off. Yeah, you’re one to talk. “Anyways, I was the poor kid with really greasy hair and hand-me-down clothes, and people talked. Kids are fucking assholes. But I took after my mom, because I’m pretty smart, too, and I worked my ass off and got to college. Chris -- my, uh, ex that I told you about -- he followed me. He was going to be a big businessman or whatever the fuck, and really I just wanted the stability, so.. I stayed. For a while. Then I ended up here. And you’d think that the bullshit would’ve stopped, but I know what it feels like to see someone die now, so.. I guess we’re on the same page there.”

“Oh, Dakota…” Morgan pulled her into her arms as best she could. “That’s not something you should have to know. Sorry doesn’t change anything, but… I am. And I don’t--I don’t think it’s too late for you to leave, if that’s what you want. This place is violent. Whatever, whoever you saw die...it’s just a lot more common here than it is in some other places. This place is violent and cruel and you have definitely suffered enough.” From Dakota’s expression, the same could maybe be said for her, but there was too much here. She felt bound to it, or maybe she was just mired and didn’t realize. “I know you’re just starting to find your way, but no one would blame you if you went.”

She pulled back, still touching the woman’s arm, lingering there. “Listen...if you…” Morgan hesitated. Dakota had made herself so vulnerable and Morgan knew exactly what she really wanted to know about her, and who was she to push Dakota to be more vulnerable and open with new people if she couldn’t even try to offer this? “Do you still really want to know what’s...why my body is the way that it is? Because I can tell you, or I can try to. But we should probably find somewhere to sit first.”

Can’t leave yet. “Yeah, but if I skipped town now, who would I cry to about personal shit in the middle of a museum full of hoaxes? Seriously, this is invaluable.” Dakota sounded a bit sarcastic, but she did mean it -- if she were to get the next plane ticket outta this place, she would most definitely be losing one of the only relationships she ever cared about in her life and leaving it behind. Even if White Crest was a cursed place, she’d still feel bad for leaving Morgan.

After she had pulled back from the hug -- which was accepted but not necessarily invited -- something was offered that had piqued her interest. An actual explanation as to why Morgan was the way that Morgan was. At least… Why her blood looked like tar and her skin healed at a superhuman speed. She was ready for the vegan preaching, and now a little more prepared for a cyborg arm than she had been before. If you can see Krampus in a movie theater, I’m sure doctors can create a superhuman arm. “I mean, I’d love to know, but you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she offered politely, even though she was practically crawling out of her skin with anticipation. “I think there’s a cafe near the entrance, if you wanna..?

Morgan glanced quickly at the cafe area and thought better of it. Too many people. If this went badly, she didn’t want to be the center of a scene. She looked around the gallery and found a relatively empty bench. Well, empty of living people. There was a rather large group of ghost pirates floating around a piece of a ship encased in glass. Morgan made her way toward them, making a face she hoped indicated that she wanted some privacy. The pirates, however, had been dead long enough to not care and just cleared the bench so no one would be sitting through their ghostly bodies.

Morgan shouldered off her jacket and sat very close to Dakota, who she pulled down with her. “So, last April I was kind of in an accident. There was this light malfunction and that caused this huge wreck and it was so fast there was debris everywhere. And I was um…” She winced, remembering. “I was on the sidewalk. I was supposed to go home after work, but I stopped for ice cream with my friend, at this little stand. And it was just some terrible Final Destination bullshit, but my foot was caught and I couldn’t run and then I was on the ground, and there was this…” That pole. That fucking pole of rebar. Morgan had seen it almost every night during those magic nightmares. She couldn’t talk about that, not without knowing how Dakota would take the truth. “It was really bad,” she said. “I don’t know what the best way to explain is, but you can track the….change in my pulse, my heartbeat.” She rolled up her sleeve and held out her wrist. “Will you see? Please?” Her voice trembled with trepidation. Already, she was scrambling to brace herself for the worst; trouble was, she didn’t really know what ‘worst’ looked like yet.

As Morgan ushered them over to a nearby bench, Dakota started to realize that maybe this was a bigger deal than just some blood disorder or bionic arm thing. Whatever it was, she still thought that Morgan would be a friend regardless, because you’re not friends with people just because their bodies function normally. Besides, even if it freaked her out, Morgan was the closest thing to a friend Dakota had ever had -- and she didn’t mean that lightly. Not when she’d grown up the outcast, and not when fitting in always felt like jamming a puzzle piece where it didn’t fit. As far as she was concerned, Morgan could admit she’d committed several murders and partook in some shady drug lord businesses and she’d probably still be her friend.

As they sat, and Morgan spoke about an accident, Dakota just listened. She was good at listening, but it was more of the “getting it” part she hadn’t mastered -- at least...not when it came to people. The accident she’d described seemed horrific enough. Something Dakota prayed to a God she didn’t believe in that would never happen to her. At first, she was confused as to why she needed to feel her pulse, but her voice trembled, and she could tell this was important to her, so.. She gave it a shot, even though she didn’t quite understand. Placing two fingers on her wrist, Dakota searched for her pulse. She tried several different spots, but she didn’t feel a single beat, and her skin was still ice cold. “So… You have a weak pulse? Because of the accident?” she asked.

“You have to hold it for longer than that,” Morgan hissed. “Here.” She took Dakota by the sleeve and pressed her hand over her heart, firmly, where it would’ve been easy for anyone to feel at least a faint impression of a heartbeat. Morgan held it, and held it, and held it. “I’m trying to tell you I don’t have one anymore,” she whispered. “But I’m trying to prove it to you first. You need to understand that this is real.” She drew in a deep breath (In. Hold. Out.) and made sure Dakota felt it. Her chest expanded, the air flowed, but only because she willed it consciously. There was nothing in her that regulated her existence, no internal rhythm to keep up. Her will and her steady feeding were the only things maintaining her existence. “You can try checking on my neck, you can ask me to hold my breath, whatever you feel like you need to do, but I am trying, very hard, to show you the truth.”

Maybe laughing was a knee-jerk response. Actually, she knew exactly why she started to laugh -- because people laugh when they need to project dignity and control during times of stress and anxiety. In situations like this one, right here and right now, when Dakota was confused on all fronts, and anxious because she knew the truth was that Morgan didn’t have a pulse, or a heartbeat, nor was there even the faintest thumb against the palm of her hand through her chest, her response was to laugh. If there was no pulse -- if there was no beat, no rhythm rattling around in her ribcage, then she must have been… She had to be… Dead. Right? People usually laugh in a subconscious attempt to reduce stress and calm down. However, for Dakota, it often works otherwise.

It took a few moments, but she retracted her hand as if recoiling from a hot flame, and stood up immediately. She didn’t know what to say, much less what to do. She could make a break for it and get the hell out of there, but that depended solely on whether or not her legs would move, because they felt made of lead at the moment. She could continue the awkward, anxious laughter that had first bubbled up but has since dissipated to breathing somewhat shallow, quick breaths. Her thoughts raced, so much so that her words wouldn’t come out, and when they finally did, she sputtered. “Am I -- Am I fucking crazy?”

Morgan let Dakota withdraw her hand and grabbed her jacket, started double checking her pockets and bags to make sure she wouldn’t leave anything behind when she made her hasty exit.

“Them’s the breaks,” One of the pirates said. “Head empty as prawns, these humans.”

“Yes, thank you,” Morgan hissed. He was trying to be comforting, but she didn’t want to hear any of it.

She didn’t meet Dakota’s eyes or look in her vicinity as the woman continued to laugh (laugh) deliriously at what she was being shown. “No, you’re not fucking crazy. What’s fucking crazy is having to spend most of my daylight hours pretending to be alive when I’m not. We don’t have to keep doing this. I can go. You can stay and enjoy the--whatever.”

Dakota realized Morgan was moving quickly, like she was ready to flee the scene of a terrible accident. Pun most definitely not intended. She swallowed thickly, trying to think of something to say, but nothing came, not for a few moments that felt like an eternity when Morgan was getting ready to run. “Morgan, wait, I --” she cut herself off, because she didn’t know what she was asking her to wait for. It was like her mind had shutdown, only functioning on the essentials. “I didn’t mean to -- I just -- I don’t -- It’s not possible, which means you’re a -- You’re dead, but that.. You’re...” she was probably sounding like a basket case at this point, and she decided at that moment to stand up a little straighter, brush the hair out of her eyes. “I… I’ve got to go.” And with that, she practically ran to her car, fired up the engine, and got the hell out of there.

“The word you’re looking for is ‘zombie’,” Morgan said, grumbled between Dakota’s desperate stutters for understanding. She was ready to run right there, but Dakota beat her to it, and she had just enough pride not to race her out of this stupid, stupid idea of an afternoon. Slowly, she pulled on her jacket and arranged her hair over the collar just so, and put on her scarf. There was no need to rush anymore and no one curious enough to see her furiously blink back the sting in her eyes and swallow the lump forming in her throat. “Fucking humans, am I right?” She rasped.

The ghosts agreed, but only in silence.

[bunnitears]

Nervous Habit

{ Reupload because I'm dumb.. don't ask }

Has your mom ever told you to never talk to people you don't know? "Y/N, you can never talk to strangers. You don't know what they're thinking." My mom would tell me that a lot as a child and I've always listened. Actually, it's now developed into a sort of problem.

I'm afraid of men. There. It's out in the open. And before somebody out there gets offended, I want to explain myself, without going into too much detail, that is.

I was hurt. I know, it's cliche, at least in my mind. "A young girl was victimized and was traumatized beyond repair." That sounds like the plot of almost every episode of Law and Order. But, it's my reality and I can't change the past. People tell me I can change the future, and sure, I absolutely can. But do I want to?

Not really… I don't see a need to try and conquer my fear. I'm not interested in dating or meeting a guy for any reason. And unfortunately, I'm just not romantically attracted to girls. Though sometimes I wish I was, I'm just not. And I don't want to try and date anyone I'm not attracted to. That's not fair for anybody involved. I'll settle for having close friends.

Speaking of close friends, the only one who knows of my fear is my best friend Maya. She's a Bengal cat shifter, and even though I'm a boring old human, we've been best friends for 7 years and counting.

We met in maybe 6th grade biology and bonded over knowing absolutely nothing about biology. And not really caring about it, either. We've been by each other's side ever since.

-----

12 Days Until Christmas

Maya and I have plans to go out for coffee and get some shopping done. We've decided to meet at the coffee shop down the street from my house around noon. When it's not too busy and not too cold as the sun is still out.

As I'm finishing getting ready, putting on a final coat of mascara, I see Maya's face pop up on my phone next to me.

"Hey hey!" I say cheerily as I put Maya on speaker. I'm really starting to get into the Christmas spirit.

"Hi…" Maya says. I immediately notice that she doesn't sound too good. Her voice sounds like the equivalent of tires rolling on gravel, just hoarse and crunchy.

"Maya are you alright? You don't sound too great." She starts to answer but is cut off by a coughing fit.

"Yeah… I'm okay. I just have a cold. I don't think I can go shopping today though…"

"Maya, of course you can't, you need to rest. Do you need any help? I can come over if you want." I tell her.

"No, please don't worry. Minhyuk's gonna come over after work. I'll be alright." Minhyuk is Maya's boyfriend. They've been together so long, maybe 3 years at this point. It's pretty incredible.

Seeing them together and almost nauseatingly happy, it sort of makes me yearn for somebody to hold. But, that would mean talking to somebody, and having social anxiety as bad as I do, that's not an easy task.

I can't even order coffee in person. I order online and pick it up to avoid talking to anybody. And before you say it, I do realize it's a problem, but it's easier to be alone. I can look for my Prince Charming later.

"Okay good," I start. "I'm sure with him by your side you'll be up and running by tomorrow."

"Oh yeah, I'm sure. He always makes me feel better." She says. There was an attempt at a laugh, but that just turns into a lot of painful sounding coughs.

"But Y/N, can you do me a small favor?" Maya asks.

"Yeah Maya, whatever you need." And I do mean that. She is my best (and maybe only) friend after all.

"Can you please, please, pretty please woth a cherry on top, promise me that you'll go outside today." I should've known.

"I don't want you cooped up inside your apartment all day long. It's not healthy." I realize Maya is only looking out for me, but I like staying inside and I don't think she gets that. Even after knowing me for as long as she has.

"Maya, it's not a big deal…" I say. "But for you, I'll go out and do some shopping, okay? I'll even talk to somebody."

Do I mean that?

"Okay good! Great! Thanks Y/N, you know I'm only looking out for you. I'll text you later, okay?" Maya says sleepily.

"Okay, feel better Maya. Keep me posted. Bye."

No. I didn't mean what I said. Do I feel bad for lying to her? Absolutely. But I had to. Maya is often my only reason for going outside and if she knew how mad my social anxiety has been these past few weeks she'd be disappointed in me. She may even be mad at me. It's just easier if she thinks I can still go out and function.

I even work from home as a freelance proofreader. I already have my dream job - I'm reading for a career. I love it.

I make enough to sustain myself and put something away for savings. I don't have a car to make payments on. I have no pets to care for. I'm not strapped for cash.

I'm comfortable. I hardly leave my apartment unless I'm actually craving sunlight, but I'm happy with my life.

Although, maybe a pet wouldn't be so bad. My aunt has three dogs and she just adores them like her own children. Seeing her with them makes me think it may be a good idea to rescue a furry friend to keep my company. I've never really had a pet before, anyway.

I think I'll look into adopting a pet of some kind. I've heard they are theraputic after all and I'm sure Maya would say I could use some therapy.

-----

Four Days Until Christmas

"Maybe a cat would suit you better, you don't do the whole… "outside" thing and dogs need to go outside."

Maya says as she takes a bite of her turkey sandwich. Maya is finally feeling better and she asked me out for lunch on this very snowy winter day. I haven't been outside since before Maya got sick a little over two weeks ago. Adding that to the 3 weeks before she got sick that I didn't go outside, I haven't been outside in approximately… a sickeningly long amount of time. I know, pathetic. But I'd never tell Maya about it. She'd get angry and frustrated with me. It's not worth it.

For her sake, I told her I've been out of the house for at least an hour every other day and that seemed to ease her mind.

"You know what, that's probably a better idea." I say before taking a sip of my hot chocolate. I look at Maya as her eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. I can practically see the wheels turning in her head at the revelation she seems to have stumbled upon.

"Actually, you know what!" She starts.

Staring straight into my eyes she nearly shouts,

"You should adopt a Hybrid!"

My own eyes widen at her comment. Adopt a Hybrid? I'm not sure about the social norms in your society, but in mine, Hybrids are tetering on the line between normal civilian and property. As barbaric as that sounds, it's just the truth of the matter.

While Shifters like Maya are widely accepted because of their ability to hide their animal counterparts almost completely, Hybrids are a different story. Hybrids have their ears, tails, scales, feathers, and whatever else they could have on full display at all hours of the day and society isn't okay with that.

And adopting a Hybrid is just not right in my eyes. No matter what you are, Human, Hybrid, Dragon, Goblin, you are not to be bought or sold.

"A Hybrid Maya? You know how I feel about that…" I sort of trail off my last statement because she does already know my views on this subject.

"I know, I know, but it's really not as big a deal as you make it out to be. Minhyuk was adopted and he has a great life!" Maya says enthusiastically. Minhyuk does have a great life. He was lucky enough to have a great owner named Jooheon who treats Minhyuk like he would a brother. But there's so many Hybrids who arent as lucky.

"I don't know Maya. The idea of "owning" another person is so… pre-Civil War-esque."

Maya sighs. "Y/N, I know that you know how badly some Hybrids are treated by their owners." She begins.

"But I know that you would never treat anybody badly. You're an amazing person once you break down those walls! I really think you should think about it. There's a lot of Hybrids who need help…"

She gives me a sympathetic smile and places her hand over mine. I know that there's thousands of Hybrids who need good homes. And yes, I know I'm perfectly capable of helping at least one of them.

I'm just afraid. I'm afraid of not being a good owner for them. I'm afraid of disappointing them. I just don't know if I'm a good enough person. But all Maya asked me to do was think about, so I guess I can give her that.

-----

Christmas Eve

Maya and I spent the rest of lunch that day talking about the pros and cons of adopting a Hybrid and by the end of it, I had made up my mind. I wanted to adopt one. But now that we're walking to the shelter on Christmas Eve, I'm even more depressed. It's freezing out, the snow must be 4 inches thick on the ground, there's people everywhere, and all I can think about is my book nook in my kitchen and the pile of books waiting for me.

Oh, and by the way, I had to make an appointment with a Hybrid Match Specialist at the shelter. They're supposed to help me find the right kind of Hybrid for me. Maya has been trying to explain the different species and subspecies of Hybrids to me as we walk to the shelter, but it's too much information. There's so many kinds! And they're all different in every way.

There's Reptile Hybrids who are better suited for people who like to explore and party. There's Dog Hybrids who work well with energetic, health conscious people. And Cat Hybrids who like someone calm and family oriented. And the list goes on and on.

Maya continues to ramble on about the differences and complexities of each Hybrid species as we finally reach the shelter in the middle of the city. The building in one of the tallest, it looks like nearly 40 stories. Why is this shelter so big, anyway?

I look up at the building towering over me and I'm frozen in my spot, not just from the cold, but from the events that will transpire in less than two hours. Maya continues walking into the building and all I can do is stare up at this building. I may end up leaving with a whole other person that I will be solely responsible for. And it's not just that, what if that person's a man? I really don't mean to be rude, I'm just not comfortable around men and I haven't been in a very long time. I'm horrified of walking into this building and it must show because Maya stands in front of me and takes my gloved hands in hers.

She tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and says, "Y/N? Can you hear me?" I'm still looking up at the skyscraper. Thoughts zooming through my mind like a Nascar race. She places a hand on my cheek and lightly forces me to look in her eyes. She flashes me a sympathetic smile.

"If you really don't wanna do this, you don't have to. We can turn around right now and I can take you home." She says gently.

I know I can go home, all of this is voluntary, after all. I'm torn, I feel like I'm at war with myself. On one hand, I can walk into this building and come out with an adoring companion who will be with me until the end of my days. On the other hand, am I willing to let this person into my home? My safe space. The place I cherish and the place I know I can never be harmed? What if this person has ill intentions? What if they just wanna get out of the shelter and will do anything to make that happen? There's so many things that could go wrong, so many ways I could get hurt.

"I wanna do this." I say with a heavy sigh. Maya grips my hand tighter and pulls me by neck into a bone crushing hug. She says she's proud of me, says I won't regret this. I don't believe her, but I'd really, really like to.