#emine— interactions.

[eminekapln]

availability: closed starter for @wrongtvrns — kiraz

location: grocery store

It felt like she'd been eyeing the pads for ages. Mainly as a means to waste time and prevent herself from returning home but also because she was trying to remember the first time she'd gotten the dreaded visit from aunt flow. It had to be around the age of thirteen? Which was too close to how old her sister was. In a means to be prepared for that moment and conversation, she was attempting to start at step one which one have some at the ready in their home.

"This is an odd question," she asked the woman who was in view, "do you remember when you got your period? I feel like it had to be around thirteen, fourteen, right? My sister is close to that age and I'm at a loss. I feel like I remember nothing. Much less how to even explain it to someone who've never had it before."

[manybcdthings]

howl

felix ranstrom and emine nazik @ofwrxth

It was one of those nights again. From conversations, music, pretty white powder to someone's scratchy and slurred voice perking up with "We should check out that club." And everybody, aside from Felix, echoing the sentiment with enthusiasm. But, under the right amount of influence, the Ranstrom was more inclined to abandon his apartment. So, there he was. In a club called fucking Howl, something in the back of his mind telling him his family must have bank rolled it to some degree. And depending on the time frame, it was either horrendous foreshadowing or Oskar's sick sense of humor.

He hadn't realized Emine was somehow included in the group until he elbowed her at the bar. "Sorry." he tried to mumble above the music, assuming she was a stranger and glancing above her head before needing to lower his gaze to actually see her face. "When did you get here?" he asked, with a sudden note of confusion within his tone. He wasn't even coy about where his mind traveled to in the next second, his glance traveling over her head once more, green eyes scanning the energetic crowd. "Wait, has Bella been here this whole time? She hasn't just left has she?"

[tragcdyfallen]

❛  we should always learn from those who came before us, but we must also forge our own path.  ❜ ⟶ Melinda and Emine ( @hcpefuldreaming )

Everything she thought she knew had dissipated, didn't that include those that came before? The afterlife had been something she pondered more often than not. " What if our path is locked behind a big iron gate? " Emine quipping with amusement lacing her smile. " I like to think my path is shrouded in mystery. With or without the help from our ancestors. They'd probably hang their hands in shame regardless. "

[calebron]

I adore so many canon muses and the amount of passion and love people put into their portrayal but whenever an OC follows me, I get giddy and excited

[bestcurse]

" at least i had the decency to keep my nights out of sight. " / @scbrvght liked - is it over now?, taylor swift.

[leesehwcn]

starter for: @emianand

Sehwan stepped out of the precinct and stopped to take in a breath or two as he leaned against the building. Could it really possibly be that Emine's husband had really found them, had made his way to Redwood after all this time? He was almost sure of it. And for the first time since the outbreak of this shitty virus had ravaged the country, Sehwan thought he felt the beginnings of something that felt a lot like hope.

Pushing himself off the building, he immediately headed towards the daycare. There was no way of knowing for sure unless Emi actually checked and Sehwan wasn't about to delay that happening a second longer. If anyone deserved something good finally happening to them, it was Emi. He felt like the town needed this too though. Needed a reminder that good things can happen, even in this shithole of a world they found themselves in now. Hell, he needed the reminder more than just about anybody these days.

As he quickly walked up to the daycare, Sehwan grabbed the attention of one of the childcare providers and explained the situation, asking them if they would be able to cover for Emi for a while. Upon their agreement, they lead him to the room where Emi was working. Sehwan stopped to take in another breath, trying to mentally prepare himself for the fact that he could be wrong, that this wasn't Emi's husband after all. He needed to be ready to deal with that blow if it came to it, especially because he would have to be strong for Emi's sake. God, he hoped he was right! After a moment, he stepped into the room. Getting Emi's attention, he nodded towards the hall behind him, silently asking her to join him as the other daycare worker stepped into the room to take Emi's place.

[moinsbienquekaworu]

Okay I'm at three different "secret 3rd Holmes sibling" stories, and my conclusion is if it's a fanfic I trust the author if it's a published work I do not

[foldingfittedsheets]

The mattress company I worked for the first time no longer exists. It was long ago eaten and assimilated by a bigger company. But when I started it was an incredibly intense five weeks of training. I was told I was extremely lucky to be selected, and I was. From a pool of a hundred applicants only fifteen of us made the cut to entering the training program.

The course covered how to talk to customers, how to ask open ended questions, how to close a sale, and product knowledge. I learned a lot, and truthfully my greatest takeaway was a lot of social scripts that I could use in other areas of my life.

We also had a midterm exam and a final. Both included a roleplay element with a trainer and a written portion. They told us when we started that the course was challenging but it was still a shock to come in after the midterm and realize half the class had failed.

I was named valedictorian of training- a dubious honor as it meant I’d done the best in the class, but popular lore had it that valedictorians struggled the most on the sales floor. Lo, I struggled.

Not because I wasn’t good. I was. But because my manager set out to systematically destroy my self esteem. Every sale, every interaction I had was scrutinized and criticized.

If I sold a bed with protectors, moveable base, and pillows he’d ask why I hadn’t managed to sell pillow protectors too. His first trainee had thrived on being challenged and he’d never bothered to learn a different way to coach.

It was wretched. My performance started strong but nosedived after a few weeks with him. My trainer, a man I loathed for stonewalling me in my interview, came in to inform me I was on new hire probation. If I couldn’t get my sales numbers up I’d be let go.

His actual phrasing was, “When you have a bandaid do you like to rip it off or pull it slowly?”

Since it was eminently obvious why he was visiting and because I thought it was condescending I sweetly informed him that I liked to soak my bandaids in hot water so they come off on their own.

He was briefly startled at this derailing but then got on with the bad news. I signed some forms stating that I understood my job was in peril.

I went home furious. I thought long and hard about why I wasn’t succeeding and how frustrated I was with my manager. I came in the next day and my anger had crystallized into a cold sharp edge.

My manager opened his mouth to address the probation and I snapped, “Just leave me alone. Go in the back if I have a sale. If you must address a serious issue then you will give me praise on two things I did right and present it as a compliment sandwich. Otherwise just say good job and shut up. Your constant nitpicking just makes me anxious and I do worse. Back off.” Belated and begrudging I added, “Please.”

He raised his eyebrows in dim surprise but I’d gauged him well. He backed off. Dutifully he’d meander into the back when I had a sale and praised me when I closed it. I resented knowing it was only because I’d demanded complimented but they still boosted me up. My numbers skyrocketed, I landed my first split king sale, and I exited probation with flying colors.

The trainer came back in to congratulate my manager for turning things around. To my gratification he gave me credit for setting him straight and said I’d taught him a different way to lead. My manager would often genuinely praise that moment when I’d stood up to him, impressed with my stubborn refusal to fail and my insight into what would help.

My biggest takeaway from the whole thing was just that people need positive reinforcement to succeed. Praise people for doing a good job. If you’re ever in a position where you need to criticize someone put it in a compliment sandwich instead of just saying the negative.

[eminekapln]

"It's too simple, the thought of all the things you might need throughout the day and won't have gives me a bit of anxiety." What if he would need some change for a coffee if his card didn't work? Maybe his lips would get chapped and he didn't have any chapstick with him? What if he tripped without a bandaid? Though she supposed he would do what he was doing now, walking around with a wound open to the world and not caring much about the fact that he was practically bleeding out on the dirty concrete sidewalk. He did have a point about the keyring, though. Her own was a moderate size but she'd seen some ungodly ones. "People tend to go a little overboard with the key rings and it mainly has to do with two things. Either people want something bulky to find in their purse, or there's a lot of momentos on them." Some souvenirs, or whistles maybe. She couldn't help but laugh when he told her the cargos pants were not in style anymore. "Somehow I did not expect you to care much about what was in style or not. You're not worried about staining your clothes with your open wound." She pointed towards him with a slight grimace as her hand found its way over her chest. She couldn't imagine how much that hurt. But he seemed crazy enough to stitch his own skin together so maybe this was nothing. "You don't like, pass out when you're doing it? You've got to pull the skin together and then put a needle through your skin— that's got to be painful." She felt like she was going to be sick just thinking about it. Did she mind giving him a ride? She hadn't even though about her car and the fact that he'd be getting blood over it. "No, it's fine. I would be more worried if I left you here to continue bleeding out on the ground." She'd scrub at the blood later on when she knew that he was okay and still alive, without some kind of blood-born infection. "I'm a foodie so I'll take the fridge and stand outside the door while you do your arts and craft on yourself."

At the comment of using his imagination Elijah simply nodded his head. Not only could he do that it really wasn't his business what a woman carried in her purse. It was just a curious thing what they deemed important to lug around everywhere. "It's the same as you getting accustomed to being responsible for that," he motioned to the big purse hanging from her shoulder. "Besides a wallet in the back pocket and keys in the front? That's pretty simple. Hardly even notice they're there. Oh, and our key rings have two, maybe three keys on them." Women's key rings gave Elijah nightmares. Not only were they bulky and messy, they were a hazard, and terrible if you needed to grab a specific key with any real speed. Amusement played on his lips and lifted his expression some as his blue eyes peered at her in the streetlamp lit night. "Cargo pants? Those went out of style?" Joking of course, he was still curious of her reaction to that. Elijah had seen some people still wearing them every once in a while, though they were much more subtle these days. With a look down at his wound, he pulled the napkins away to check on the bleeding and it had definitely slowed. Elijah was sure the walking would get it flowing a little bit more once again, over all it was a good sign. "The glue is a good option and the scarring isn't as bad. It just pulls on the skin. Stitching still feels the cleanest, and since I don't have the glue at home, that's what I'm gonna stick with." It was easy to see that all of this was tough for her to stomach and Elijah hated that she felt responsible now to make sure he was okay, she looked as though she were ready to come out of her skin. With a soft chuckle, nothing too much as to activate the muscles of his abdomen, he quickly gave a couple of quick shakes of his head. He wasn't going to finish the job. That wasn't who he was, he was only speaking of their fears. "You mind giving me a ride then? I don't want to soil your blanket," though he'd buy her a new one if he did end up getting it all bloody, "I can make you coffee and let you raid my fridge for the ride."

[acid-ixx]

tell your baby, that i'm your baby. (a loving family, an unpalatable desire drabble)

ft. yandere damian wayne x gn! neglected spouse reader x yandere superfam

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

— masterlist !

this is written in regards to one of my drabbles, i can't help but sigh at just how good the angst is for damian in this series.

because in loving family, unpalatable desire, you pretty much exclusively nickname him "dami, baby," from day one right after meeting him. you say it not in a way that you wish to overstep your boundaries at simply being his stepparent - you're aware, despite the ache in your chest admitting it, that you'll never come quite close to talia's standing in his heart, it's simply impossible with how she raised him her entire life before being dropped off in bruce's care - but because you find the boy adorable if you look past his intent at trying to murder you at every passing glance.

or maybe it's just you trying to cope with the pain of your situation, that you consider them all your beloved children, yet never being once called their parent throughout your entire marriage that breaks apart the illusion of a happy home life, that this wasn't the marriage you wanted at all; that you'll never bear a time in your life stuck in the manor seeing their genuine smiles directed at you even if you attempt to approach as patiently as possible in hopes your presence might be accepted— even if it results in awkward laughs at your cringy jokes at the dinner table, or one of damian's weapons nearly plunging the side of your head.

maybe, it's such a struggle to keep the flicker of light alive in your body whenever all your hardships fail, and all throughout you find your husband with lipstick stains all over his white collar every time he comes home that your mind forces itself to believe that with enough trial and error, maybe one of them could eventually tolerate, rather than pity you.

unfortunately, you chose damian, the one who you're convinced arguably despises you the most, of all people living or visiting the manor to run the test.

so in all the instances you chirp out his nickname, so fondly, so eminently heard across the walls of the manor, even in the spacious expanse of the gardens could your voice be heard from miles away, all because you wish to bond with him, praising his artworks with your grating voice, to give him intricate gifts you know will be discarded in the trash in front of you; you'll be met with a stubborn glare and mean comments about how he'll never consider you his parent, to relinquish your delusions at thinking he'll even let you past his walls, and how he'll never follow through the orders of a scum like you.

which is what you're forced to deal with every single day, coupled with harsh reminders of their happiness without the need for your presence beside them.

sometimes, his reactions could be his typical harsh comments, you've grown accustomed enough to differentiate what is harmless and what borders on violence; it's enough to know when to stop bothering him despite your best efforts. other times, it would be as intense as running a sword through the strands of your hair until he chops it at the end with a threat to cut off your tongue right after if you dare call him that putrid nickname again that cuts deeper than any wound.

with every trial of becoming closer to him, results in an even widening crack in your relationship with the young boy. and eventually, with enough sighs under your breath and harsh glares from him, you'll come into terms that you'll never form a cordial bond with the young boy. it's just impossible with how he views you, sheltered and undeserving because of your family's reputation of being money laundering scum.

at that period of time, you instead chose to strengthen your relationship with the reporter who saved you one day from the paparazzi's cruel interviews, the cute man from the daily planet whose name is clark kent with an even more adorable son, jon, who welcomed you with open arms and a tight hug on your stomach, muttering about how he's so excited to meet his new parent, just when you first stepped on the doors of your affair partner's home; that was enough to relinquish any anguish you felt at the manor replaced with absolute joy at what seems to be the first time you're considered the parent, part of a family, in a completely different household.

it helps erase the shadow of doubt that you may be cursed to never be accepted into an established family with just how bright, how comparable jon was to an overexcitable golden retriever, bonding with you since day one unlike all the other insufferable moments crammed into a jam-packed dinner table— only for your voice to be discarded and overpowered by others.

you start to call him your baby instead, completely in awe at the cute freckles littering his sun-kissed skin and the country boy accent he adopted from his dad. you couldn't help but hold his cheeks in your palms and kiss all over his face whilst you kneel to his level, laughing along with the giggles erupting from his throat that creates this harmonious melody in clark's ears, who watches you scoop the boy into your arms just to swing him back and forth in cuteness aggression, just how it always should've been with you.

clark pictures the moment together, capturing jon's smooshed face shadowed by your hair whilst you look at his, no, your son with inexplicable joy, eyes crinkled and shining brightly under the halo of the sunset.

and clark doesn't even have to see just much jon loves and cherishes you at first glance.

he wouldn't even dare compare you to his late mother, never once calling you a replacement or a homewrecker, placing you upon a pedestal you deserve to be instead; because let's face it, you simply live in the manor, but your true home is where clark and jon, and ma and pa kent are at. pictures of your little family are framed in your shared bedroom for you to graze your finger upon whenever you wish to reminisce the blessings bestowed upon meeting your affair partner at just by chance.

but you shouldn't have forgotten about damian that quickly, not when jon all-too suddenly shoves that photo of you in his wallet in front of his face, it made damian's mind go off in a tangent, in both curiosity and frustated yet unstated interrogations at your sudden disappearance (your grating voice don't call out to him anymore, and suddenly, the manor is quieter; he despises that feeling of emptiness more than he does of your nickname for him) then reappearance as jon's, funny, hah—!

jon's parent.

and in moments of careful investigation does he realize—

when you're with jon, his best friend, when he spies in on you at the little farm you now live in, currently alone with someone whom you call your true son, that he comes to realize just how much that nickname means so much to him, as your voice, with that soft tone, scold his friend with that familiar warmth you always used to direct at him with the softest of gaze, an angel unlike the sea of rich bastards he meets at the galas who only communicate with him to form connections, advantages by being associated with a family of the wayne's.

it's only when you're stripped away from him that he realizes how much he relishes your sweet occupancy into his heart, how there's always been an unbidden, forbidden chamber in his heart that beats for the love you offer him that was unlike the harsh environment he was born in.

he's never been adorned with such a delicate title that portrays him the opposite of what he's raised to be; damian has always been the blood son, son of the bat and heir to the demon king's throne, but never something as fond, as unforeseen as someone's baby.

it just thwarts the spark of hope in his heart and extends the lump in his throat at the scene that plays before him, the loving nickname you oh-so carefully address him now relinquished and graced to another boy, his friend no less— who you considered yours, who he's aware is way more deserving of being called your baby rather than him, who had always denied you from the very start.

"jon, baby, you help me clean the windows tomorrow, alright, young man? it's stained with all your fingerprints!" you scold him as assertively as you can, kneeling down to his level and pinching his cheeks all while grinning at the boy. jon retorts with a tongue out his lips and a scrunch of his nose. it garners a laugh from you, one damian swore he's never heard sounded so desirable until now.

why are you calling jon your baby?

"not my fault, mom/dad! i get so excited to see you come home every time you have to return there!" damian seethes at the scene of jon's pouting and puppy-eyes looking up at you, that should've been him.

"can't you just stay here? forever?"

damian despises how he engraves the melody of your laughter in reply to jon's words, right into his eardrums, but omits the disgustingly sweet chirp in your voice calling jon, not him, your baby. his mind nips away at the memories at all the moments you addressed him too, and how he always rejected and corrected you to call him by his name like a proper person rather than a maniac pushing themself into his life.

he doesn't want to ever hear you address him, if it means it's not by his nickname that you now call jon.

damian couldn't even deny how the huge grin that stretches across your face at the sight of his best friend scalds him with bitterness, he wasn't even aware you're capable of such enjoyment, not when back at the manor your hesitant with even displaying a tinge of happiness— as if you're capable of doing so, not when he knows he's one of the main contributors for being the reason of your current affair.

and yet he wishes he could lie and say he didn't miss it, miss your expectant stare at him, the contrast of talia's comfort compared to yours, when the hugs you offer him, the gifts carefully curated to his preferences, the palpable love that never once wavered for your family that you could never call yours, they all seem like a distant dream now that you're away from them; from him.

it hurts watching you two communicate even further, for once it's him in the background watching like an outsider instead of you. for once, he understands what isolation feels like, what foreboding desires fester deep into his scarred soul that could only be cured with one of the softest cuddly hugs, the sweetest, flutter of your lashes as you stare oh-so fondly at jon like he meant the world to you, like it was only the two of you in the world embracing the light filtering through the windows, side by side, inseparable.

if there was one wish he could conjure, a desire he was trained to forfeit himself to feel that creeps its way into the depths of his guarded heart— it's that once you put jon into bed - even if it takes hours, even his heart feels like it's being squeezed out of blood watching your nightly, affectionate routine with jon; reading him bedtime stories, eating together, laughing lightly at the dinner table while you feed him your share of the plate, moments he never thought he felt compelled to spend with you - once he strikes at the perfect opportunity to talk to you, to confront your blunder of choosing them over him, of his woes towards your relationship—

he wishes, with unceasing faith, that you still love him enough to call him your baby once more.

a/n: let this blow up and i might just actually fix my schedule to give more updates. anyways, more damian wayne and jon kent content! one of my fave runs is with supersons and i love fluff paired with angst too so this is a win-win. pls leave in some comments about this series, since ngl i didn't give it as much love as i did for a&a 😭 so yes! mitski inspired chapter with more conflicting feelings. i'm still working around writer's block but everyone's undying support helps motivate me a lot!!!

taglist:

@starrydollita, @vellichorandhiraeth, @chericia, @queenofspades403, @naina326, @neerathebrightstar, @lilyalone, @sweetconnoisseurgardener, @nickey-diano, @tsuniio, @ssak-i, @kore-of-the-underworld, @lollipoppersposts, @peptox, @kdjhubby, @weirdcore-fantasy.

[eminekapln]

availability: closed starter for @wrongtvrns — tomiko

location: novelty and wiccan ways

Emine felt a shiver run down her spine when she entered the store and that mainly had to do with how she was raised. Her grandmother would have hated the thought of her trying to do something she'd view as witchcraft, but luckily, emine had never followed the viewpoint.

"I'm looking for sage. I've inherited my grandmothers house and even though I loved her deeply and she was amazing, I think it needs to be saged. A whole new start type of thing."

[manybcdthings]

escape room

felix ranstrom, isabella belcourt and emine nazik @ofwrxth

Obviously, Felix was going to take an escape room seriously. A very spiritual metaphor was at stake. Being trapped with only his mind as a way of escape. Naturally, he fell into a more serious demeanor, focusing on the first clue they could find while hearing the slight stirring of mischievous chuckles following Emine and Bella through the room. "Here's one." he perked up, grabbing an ancient tablet and clearing his throat. "I am the key to the past, present, and future, yet I never speak. What am I?" he read aloud, brows furrowing as he took a brief pause to consider the riddle. He was on the brink of an epiphany when, with the unison of a well rehearsed choir, Bella and Emine chimed "CLOCK!" an exclamation that instantly brought a smirk to Felix's face as he blinked at them. "Time." he corrected, but his words were instantly lost to the sound of their laughter. He fought his own, watching them for a moment with an amused glint in his eye. "Wonderful. It's started already. On the first clue." Felix accepted that the hysterics would linger, sighing slightly as he tried to find the perfect moment between their breaths to speak. "Can you...please, by all means, take all the time you need...but...can you laugh and look for something relating to... time?"

[eminekapln]

Emine felt like she may cry as she listened to Maeve remind her that she was doing her best by just being here and present for her sister while they were both navigating through the loss and change. She cleared her throat and looked away, brushing a tear away to make sure that her sister didn't get worried if she saw her being emotional. "You're going to make me emotional but you need to be a phone call away whenever I feel like I'm doing the most horrible job." She hadn't had a outright fight with her sister but it was just a hard dynamic that they were both navigating. Emine wasn't really good at giving orders and her sister wasn't ready to take them from her cool sister — now turned caregiver. When she walked with Maeve, she couldn't help but grimace at the idea that it wasn't going to be bad. "I feel like any story at the age of twelve regarding a boy is bad." It was likely a crush, or bullying, and if she had to choose between the two, she'd go with the crush but it was still something she worried about. No love story at twelve ended on a positive note." You know that I'm always here for you, too. If you need anything. I'm just a phone call away."

Maeve offered Emine a warm, knowing smile, her gaze soft with understanding. “It’s harder than anyone ever prepares you for, isn’t it?” she said gently, the quiet weight of experience in her voice. “You’re carrying so much, and yet you’re still standing here, still showing up for her. That’s no small thing, Emine.”She took a step closer, as if to reinforce the words with her presence. “And trust me, you’re doing more than good—you’re giving her exactly what she needs. Even if she doesn’t say it now, or even realize it yet, she’ll look back one day and see you as her anchor.” Maeve’s lips quirked into a small smile, the kind that held both pride and empathy. “I’d bet on it.” As Emine glanced back toward her sister, Maeve chuckled softly, her voice lightening just a touch. “Ah, boy talk. Now that’s a milestone. Sugar’s definitely the right call.” She raised her brows with a teasing glint in her eye. “A little sweetness goes a long way when you’re bracing for those conversations.” She tilted her head toward the food table or wherever the promise of dessert awaited. “C’mon. Let’s go get you something with enough sugar to soften the edges of this day. You’ve earned it. And who knows? Maybe you’ll find that boy story’s not as bad as you think.” Maeve grinned as she nudged Emine gently. “Or maybe it’ll require an extra helping of cake. Either way, I’ve got your back.”

[tragcdyfallen]

closed starter ⟶ Victor Van Dort ( @tcrturedpcet )

The house held simplicity now that she finally took a deeper look. It wasn't a bad ' simple ', she noticed with a sigh of content. Her fingers tracing the ivy that wrapped around the rails leading to their front door. Their home. Some memories had returned but her life with Victor could never be easily erased. Whether a fake life or the real one- though she only remembered his ring glinting in the shadows of the Land of the Dead. She couldn't even remember her own death but she could feel it in her soul. That cold, clammy hand of death that grasped her heart that had stilled by ill-intent of another.

No, Victor would never have anything to do with that. She loved him and surely, he loved her. Twisting his ring around her finger, a habit brought on by unease, she took a step into their foyer. Ignoring the dream she had last night. A dream where his rejection woke her from the deep slumber. " Victor? " Emine called out though the silence was all that followed. " You better be home because I brought you something. Or I can eat it all by myself. "

[valtsv]

now i don't believe in any of that bullshit about interacting with too much horror media making you a danger to society or whatever but i do think it's had some kind of effect on me because why was my first thought when i heard a scary buzzing noise (which was my neighbour mowing the lawn with a handheld weedcutter) not any more eminently plausible and sensible conclusion i could have drawn, but instead "there is a wasp's nest inside my brain"

[manybcdthings]

abandoned facility

felix ranstrom and emine turkish surname @ofwrxth

Venturing out on runs or searches had become a rare occurrence for Felix, but he didn't particularly enjoy them. He hated the delicate balance he had to maintain between appearing competent but not former-soldier competent. He abandoned Emine's side fairly quickly to enter an office space, immediately searching through scattered papers and lifting one from an open filing cabinet. A familiar signature caught his eye, obnoxious, and oddly feminine. It was if Felix manifested a sign from Oskar, clutching the list with both hands. The flourishing O and R would be easily ineligible if it wasn't for Oskar Ranstrom in print underneath.

At first, a sense of betrayal simmered in his veins. But as his gaze shifted to the names listed above Oskar's, concern arrived. Emine's brother and Bella's sister were both listed and transferred to the camp in Burton. The realization hit him like a blow to the gut. And, Oskar's name appeared on every paper Felix checked next, signing off repeatedly on numerous transfers. Concern quickly subsided into survival and Felix emerged from the office space with a sense of urgency. He almost collided with Emine, quickly offering the paper to her as he stood there in an intense Mom I frew'd up pose.

"Your brother was with Pri..." he began, his voice barely above a whisper and he knew she needed a moment to settle with the information. But, he only gave her a second before he pulled her into the office space with him. And he gestured stiffly to the papers strewn everywhere. "We have a problem. Well...I have a problem. My brother's a fucking sociopath." he confessed quietly, lifting more papers. "But...that's your problem too because you're harboring the sociopath's brother." he gave her a shrug and despite his wish for dry humor, could only muster a defeated expression. "Help."