#how does a computer dismember a it guy?

[floorbeastie]

Administrator privilege revoked.

you can't convince me Colin wasn't bashing Freddie's servers in with a crowbar while in his pjs, it was like four am

[gallusrostromegalus]

So for AEIWAM, how does the whole Ukitake thing work? I’m still fuzzy on how it was in the manga (and that’s not even touching the ‘epilogue’/Echoing the Jaws of Hell why are these arc names like this) but wasn’t he essentially reverse faith healed-slash-possessed for death? I see you keep mentioning gods so like- what does that whole situation make him?

I need you to imagine a Self-Propogating Cryptocurrency Mining Computer. Whenever it's hardware starts to burn out, it creates a little man to build it a new machine and port it's memory over, keeping the machine alive and solving equations.

In An Elephant Is Warm And Mushy, that's God.

I may need to back up.

If you're not familiar with how Cryptocurrency Mining works, essentially, a computer thinks very, very hard about how to solve an extremely complicated equation, and when it solves it, it gets a little bit of money (or it gets a receipt saying that it has money that uh. nobody will accept, because the money aspect is a scam but the math, at least is real).

Anyway, thinking very, very hard like that runs through the computer's hardware- it's especially hard on the graphics cards. So eventually, if it want to keep solving equations, it needs new hardware. But a computer can't replace it's own parts, and this Ultra-complex, reality-generating God-computer is no different.

So when it starts to get old and degraded, the God-Computer does a neat little trick: it builds itself a programmer. That programmer learns all about the God Machine and how it works and the way it's powered- it moves souls through three planes of existence- each enormously complicated question is representative of the shape of a lifetime- each time a soul completes it's life and is reborn, the God Computer gets a little burst of extra energy. The larger and more complex the soul and longer and richer lifetime, the more energy the God Computer gets. So for the last millions of years, many, many generations of God-computer have made the universe richer and more complicated to generate larger and more complex souls to power themself (themselves?) further.

The programmer learns all about how the God-Computer works, and sets about building the next Generation of God-Computer to keep the universe running.

Due to a slight miscommunication, the programmer is colloquially known as the "Soul King" this time around.

Anyway, the Soul King was doin' his thing, when he happened to start chatting with a cool guy online and agreed to meet up with him. And it was fun! They hung out, Soul King showed him the true nature of reality, they stayed up late eating junk food and talking bullshit, good times. Later, The Soul King's cool friend from the internet said he had some other friends who wanted to meet him, and Soul king thought "BALLER. SLUMBER PARTY!!!" and told everyone to come on over!

-and then the new guys beat the shit out of Soul King's buddy and dismembered the Soul King for parts to sell as part of an organ-harvesting scheme!

Whoops.

Now, Soul King's buddy DID manage to get up and stop one of the organ thieves, the guy absconding with his hands, and tackled him off the Balcony. One of the psuedo-god hands (the one with the power of stagnation) fell into the Spirit World,took the name "Mimihagi" and became a minor kami because he's really bad at this Witness Protection thing.

Eventually, some parents with an extremely sick kid came to the hand's shrine and asked him to save the kid, and Mimihagi went "Well, I can't cure him, but I can hang out in his body for the next few centuries and prevent his disease from getting worse with constant effort?" and they said "...Please?" and Mimihagi said "Yeah OK.

-And ever since then Ukitake has had the left hand of The God Machine's dead repairman living in him and (mostly) stopping his super-tuberculosis from getting worse, like a benevolent tapeworm!

:)

The God-Machine is still dying this whole time, BTW. Might want to do something about that.

(the best part is, that of the three-to-five-and-a-half living pieces of the Soul King, Mimihagi is actually probably the least weird and definitely sanest of them)

[myriadxofxmuses]

Oscar:

2.Does your oc have nightmares? What are they about?

5.Has your oc ever had a near-death experience?

14.Does your oc have a signature weapon? If they don’t, what would it be if you had to design one? (Hahaha Asking Em this is pointless since we all know she is Mrs. Myers hhhh)

Emily:

9.What role/archetype would your oc fulfill in a horror movie?

15.Whats the worst thing your oc has done?

26.What would it take to “break” your character? What would destroy them completely?

@claredeadbydaylight

Oscar

2. Does your oc have nightmares? What are they about?

Oscar does suffer from low grade PTSD and when he has nightmares it is usually a replaying of those moments in life. Losing men on the battlefield. The deals with his dad gone bad - rare, but not impossible. Cases from his time with the feds. He carries all of it with him, never forgetting, always settled in the back of his mind. And of course losing his sister.

5. Has your oc ever had a near-death experience?

Several actually. Mostly while in the military, but there was once on a job with his dad.

They were making a deal down in Mexico with some of the more unsavory clients when another man was dragged into the head honcho's domain.  He excused himself, but did not leave the warehouse they were unloading the weapons into.  He spoke to the trembling man for a few minutes in Spanish - every word of it about disrespect and his faux pas of hitting on his wife while drunk.  The man never made it out alive, being dismembered right in front of them, the client's bloodlust and insanity turned on them as witnesses. 

Needless to say, Oscar still bears a few scars from that altercation - one of which, nestled just below his collarbone (and the coordinating exit wound on his back), would have meant death if he hadn't made it to the hospital in time. 

14. Does your oc have a signature weapon? If they don’t, what would it be if you had to design one? (Hahaha Asking Em this is pointless since we all know she is Mrs. Myers hhhh)

While he is good with a knife (thanks to Em. 😂😂) he would much rather have a rifle. Sniper preferably. He is definitely a gun toting guy and his skills are almost unmatched when it comes to shooting. He takes great pride in his aim and hit record.

Emily

9. What role/archetype would your oc fulfill in a horror movie?

Skeptic or Final girl. She would definitely want to check things out for herself, which is stupid and reckless, but she knows she can handle pretty much anything that comes whe way. Even if she is terrified she would do what she had to in order to survive the horror.

15. Whats the worst thing your oc has done?

Honestly, nothing really.  She smokes weed, and has decent enough skills in hacking - a hobby she picked up purely out of boredom when younger.  She has helped Oscar a time or two getting through the back doors of computer systems, but nothing she would consider a shameful, must remain hidden, secret regret of a misstep in her life. She doesn't hide her past the way Oscar does.

26. What would it take to “break” your character? What would destroy them completely?

Losing Oscar. It's a simple answer that carries a lot of weight with it.  Losing him would cause her world to implode.  She's never been without him, they are each other's rock, and without him she wouldn't know how to function.  They are inseperable. She would have nothing left if he was ever taken from her.

[writingwithadinosaur]

“Under the Knife” - Part 3

“Under the Knife” - Part 3

My Masterlist - Here

Story Masterlist - Here

My Tag List - Here

Hannibal Lecter x Reader, Will Graham x Sister!Reader

Word Count: 1,700-ish

Key: Chunks of text in italics are (Y/N)’s thoughts. Y/N = Your Name, H/C = Your Hair Color, E/C = Your Eye Color

Warnings: Talk of Murder, Talk of Crime Scenes, Talk of Murder Victims, Cursing

Summary: You are Will Graham’s sister who works with him at the FBI. When you get offered a job promotion, life starts to change. Some changes for the better; Some for the worst.

Tag List: @fruitloopzzz @theeactress @melconnor2007 @ashenfallsof @geeksareunique @all-by-myself98 @sj-thefan​ @fuck-your-bad-vibes-dude​ @ntlmundy

Author’s Note: This is my first Hannibal piece and I am proud of it. There aren’t too many stories for Hannibal, so I figured I would add to the collection. This does take place in some happy medium where they are all alive and work together. Sort of a happier season 1 era.

This is beta-read by @theeactress​, but please let me know if there is something that we missed or that we should look at again! 

If you would like to be tagged in any of my future pieces, check out my tag list above and let me know! And as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

<3

- DreaSaurusREX

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

“As most of you know, this is (Y/N) Graham, she will be our profiler for this case.”

“Oh good. Another Graham.” Beverly commented over her clipboard, writing down something involving the case probably. Jack gave her a chastising glance and she held her hands up in defense.

“(Y/N) this is Beverly Katz, Brian Zeller, and Jimmy Price.” Jack introduced you very quickly to the science-ier part of the team very quickly before jumping right into work. “So, tell us what you got so far, (Y/N).”

You opened your small notebook and began summarizing your notes from last night’s reading.

“Alright. So far I’ve been able to see three patterns: the ways they were killed, the time frame, and the fact that all of the victims that were dismembered were doctors. The strongest thing I can think of is that this killer was wronged by doctors in some way. I’m not sure if it's a doctor in the general term or if there is some specific way that ties these three doctors, and our killer, together. That was something I was going to work on today. 

The way that the bodies are taken apart is very particular. From what I could tell from the photos in the files, all of the cuts seemed to be straight lines all the way through. Which means that this guy’s gotta have access not only to the tools that can do this sort of stuff, but also whatever drug he got in their system to make them lay still while he... worked. So I’m assuming the murder weapon is nothing with a jagged blade or saw-like teeth until we get to the bone. Do we have any reports on striation patterns or anything that could help us with what was used?”

“It’s like you said, the cuts were almost completely straight lines, even through to the bone. The only things we could think of were surgical tools.” Zeller spoke up. “The skin and muscles were cut similarly to how a surgeon would with a scalpel. But the bone is where it gets tricky. You can’t cut like this through bone with just a scalpel.”

“Unless you have plenty of time and you're very persistent.” Beverly joked; you were the only one that slightly exhaled a laugh through your nose at her quip.

“Alright, so the killer has a medical background.” Jack tossed into the air. You nodded.

“Possibly. But why would a doctor be going after other doctors?”

“Maybe they’re taking all his patients?” Beverly shot out. You just nodded and looked back at your notes to see where you left off.

“The uh.. The most concerning thing is the time frame. They were all killed two weeks part from each other. Dr. Everet was almost 6 weeks ago, Dr. Chaseten almost 4, and Dr. Loriet about 2.” 

“Which means we could have another dead doctor within the week.” Jack solemnly spoke as he realized the gravity of the situation. “Alright, you three keep looking over everything to see if we missed something. (Y/N), start working on possible correlations between the victims and the killer. Let’s get this son of a bitch.”

And that’s how the next two days went. Researching, thinking, and trying to get into a mindset that you weren’t totally sure of yet. 

You had checked in with Will like you promised and said that you were fine but you were going to be very busy for at least the next few days. Hannibal had called you after your first day and could hear the slight exhaustion in your voice. He asked you to have lunch with him tomorrow and you very quickly agreed.

But the next day, you spent more time than you thought flipping through the databases to try to find any correlation between Everet, Chasten, and Loriet. The three of them never worked in the same hospital, clinic, or even the same city. Their wives didn’t know each other. Their neighbors didn’t know each other. They didn’t have any sort of communication with each other. They were all different types of doctors. Everet and Loriet went to the same med school, but they graduated 3 years apart.

So what the fuck am I missing?

You kept looking back over the crime scene photos. You couldn’t understand why the doctors were mutilated and positioned so intricately, but the others were cast aside. The focus has to be on the doctors. They must have done something to ‘wrong’ the killer. So what the hell did all three of you do to make someone want to murder? 

Your train of thought was interrupted by a knock at your office door. You let out a slightly aggravated sigh.

“Jack, I told you I will let you know when I-- Oh! Hannibal! Hi!” You looked up from your computer screen to find Hannibal standing in the doorway with a bag in his hand. 

“Should I come back later?” 

“No! No. Come on in. I probably should take a break. I feel like I’m going in circles anyways.” You looked at your watch and saw it was almost 3:30 PM. The last time you looked at the clock, it was 10:30 AM. “And I missed our lunch meeting.” You put your head in your hands and groaned in annoyance with yourself. “I am so sorry, Hannibal. I--”

“No need for apologies, my dear. I figured Jack had put a lot on your plate, so I thought I would bring lunch to you.” Hannibal made his way into your office and shut the door behind him. 

“You really didn’t have to.”

“When was the last time you ate, (Y/N)?” Hannibal questioned you, looking you dead in the eye after he sat down in one of your office chairs. 

You weren’t entirely sure. You started to speak but then stopped yourself, really trying to remember when you ate last. I know I had ½ of my breakfast at 7:30 this morning. Did I have my granola bar? Does coffee count as a meal?

“The fact that you have to think about when your last meal was, is a bit concerning. But nonetheless, I am more than happy to remedy that. ” He smiled one of his rare but small smiles and began unpacking whatever culinary art he brought. You tried to condense some of your piles of papers and folders so you had enough room to put food down. 

Hannibal had brought a home-cooked meal for the two of you to enjoy. A ginger salad with fresh pan-seared scallops and even some infused water that he had marinating in his fridge overnight. This was so much better than the PB&J you had packed. 

As you began to dig in, Hannibal couldn’t help but look at some of the crime scene photos and your notes. 

“So what are we calling this killer?” 

“‘The Virginia Scalpel.’” You said with slight annoyance. “He has a medical background and is within a reasonable distance from all of the vics. Yet, we have no idea who he is.”

“Does the killer have to be a medical professional? Maybe they just have very steady hands.” 

“True. But there is almost no way that a regular guy could cut through muscle and bone that cleanly without surgical tools or the knowledge of how to use them. Not to mention the fact that he would have some serious explaining to do on how he got the succinylcholine or whatever paralyzer he plans to use next.” You rub your eyes gently, feeling the strain from the computer screen hitting you. Hannibal could feel the stress radiating off of you. 

“Do you want to talk about this case?”

“Not really. But I’m not sure what else to talk about. This has been my life for the last 3 days, the killer could strike again any day now, and I still don’t know why these three doctors were targeted or who will be next!” 

You started to fidget with your ring unconsciously and a bit aggressively, a sign to Hannibal that your anxiety was starting to catch up. Despite the physical signs that you needed a break, you continued to glance over an open file near you while you took another bite of food. He leaned forward in his seat a bit as he closed the file that you had been rereading for what he assumed to be at least the tenth time.  

“(Y/N), you need to breathe.” You just nodded and closed your eyes to try to help your deep breaths relax you faster. “How about we go for a walk? Get the blood flowing.”

“I would love to. But I feel like I can’t afford that break right now.” You shook your head slightly as you reached down for a stack of papers you had bundled and put on the floor earlier. You didn’t see him get up, but Hannibal was standing, adjusting his jacket before holding a hand out to you.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” You looked from his hand to his face before standing up, shrugging. A small walk around the building wouldn’t hurt, right?

Before your hand could land in his, your phone rang and you felt your heart sink, dreading what could be waiting for you on the other end of the line. Both you and Hannibal looked down at your phone and saw the caller ID: “Jack Crawford.” You took a deep inhale and hit the answer button.

“I really hope you’re calling just to bug me to work faster, Jack…” You tried your best to control your voice. You looked up and Hannibal was watching, trying to listen in and gauge how you were going to react.

“Afraid not. There’s another Scalpel vic. I’m texting you the address. Drop whatever you're doing and get down here.” Jack hung up before you could say anything, leaving you in a bit of shock. 

Dammit! What the hell am I missing?! Someone else is dead--Another doctor is dead because I don’t have any answers yet. How can--

“(Y/N)?” Hannibal’s hand on your arm broke your stream of internal chastising before it could get too bad, but you did unintentionally jump at the contact. He instantly raised his hands up and let you process for a moment. “There’s another one, isn’t there?”

You just nod. A second later, your phone flashed a message from Jack with an address. 

“Guess my ‘walk’ is going to be to a crime scene.” You try to joke despite feeling a tinge of guilt spreading through you. Hannibal tried to walk you to your car but you kindly denied him. You wanted to be alone as you prepared yourself for your first real crime scene. 

[puckinghell]

Let It Snow | William Nylander

Summary Request:

alternatively, our flights get cancel and we’re two strangers who rent the last available car together (it might be a little dangerous but we’re living on the edge)

and

we always carpool home for the holidays from college but a storm hit and now we’re taking the last room at the local b&b 

and

we don’t know each other that well but i found out that you’ve never been sledding skating and feel like it’s my personal mission to change that

Words: 10k (I’m SORRY) Note: So, a few things: I wrote most of this when I was either drunk or sick, so excuse any grammar/spelling mistakes. Second of all, you guys wanted one long thing instead of parts, so here’s 10k of word vomit. Third of all, this is cliche central, and I’m not even sorry. And lastly, I know Will’s family doesn’t live in Calgary anymore but I very well couldn’t have them drive to Sweden.

---

“I hate snow.”

It’s meant to be mumbled under your breath, for nobody to hear but you; you didn’t even really mean to say it out loud, but it kinda slipped.

You really hate snow.

The guy that’s sitting opposite you looks up. So far, he’s been engulfed in his phone, but now there’s an interested look on his face as he takes you in.

“Why?” he asks.

As if that’s a totally normal thing to ask a complete stranger in the middle or a crowded airport.

You shoot him a dirty look, take a sip of your coffee before answering him, your voice deadpan. “Have you looked around you?”

The guy looks, as if he actually hadn’t noticed before that the airport around him has been getting busier and busier, the people there more annoyed and miserable looking by the second.

“Oh,” he says.

Yeah, oh.

You huff and return your attention to the announcement board again, hoping the message is going to magically change.

It doesn’t. Flight delayed, it says.

“Are you going to Calgary too?” the guy asks.

Now it’s not really his fault: he hasn’t personally caused a huge snow storm to hit Toronto and he’s probably just trying to be nice, but you’re already in a bad mood.

So you snap: “No, I’m just sitting here for shits and giggles.”

“Never mind,” the guy mutters, and his eyes fix on his phone again.

Great, now you feel like shit about that.

However, the universe needs to give you a break. This has literally been the worst week of your life and it’s only Thursday: the only thing that has pulled you through so far is knowing you’re going to see your dad, and now it’s looking like that might be going up in flames.

“Excuse me, may I please have your attention,” a voice sounds over the speaker at your gate, and you perk up in your seat. ��We regret to inform you that, due to the upcoming snow storm, all air traffic in this area has been cancelled until further notice. Your flight will not depart today. For more information, you may contact the information desk.”

“Fuck.”

The guy opposite you raises an eyebrow. “If you don’t want people to start a conversation with you, you might want to stop talking to yourself.”

He stands up leisurely, as if the cancelled flight is no bother to him at all, and grabs his suitcase. He points to the board, where it now says Flight cancelled instead of Flight delayed – fucking fantastic – and motions at it, as if to say “what can you do”.

“How are you so chill about this?” It’s more that you’re wondering out loud than actually wanting an answer, but of course the guy grabs the opportunity.

“Well, it’s still four days to Christmas, and Calgary isn’t on another continent. It sucks that there won’t be any flights anytime soon, but you can’t change the weather.” He smiles. “I actually love snow, personally. And a little snow has never stopped me before. So I’m gonna rent a car and drive to Calgary.”

You stare at him. “Drive? To Calgary? That’s insane.”

“I mean, not as insane as spending Christmas away from my family,” the guy reasons, and….

He might have a point. You could stay here, and be miserable alone, or you could drive to Calgary and spend time with your dad like you planned. You could be enjoyed your dad’s pancakes, drinking hot chocolate by the fire place watching Elf, within a mere 40 hours, if you put the gas pedal down.

It’s, objectively, insane.

“I’m gonna rent a car too.”

“Great,” the guy says, jovially. “We can walk together then!”

And that was not really your plan, but to be fair, you don’t really know where you’re supposed to go to rent a car and this guy is walking as if he does this every day, so you dutifully follow him.

You take this time to look him over; he looks funny, in sweatpants with white sneakers – in the snow! - and a hoodie with a coat. He has a beanie on and there’s a few blond streaks of hair escaping from under it. He’s wearing thick black framed glasses. The suitcase he has with him has the Gucci logo on it, and you find yourself wondering if it’s real.

The guy is dressed like he’s either super rich but doesn’t care, or is slightly blind and got a 13 year old high school boy to pick out his clothing at a weird second hand shop.

“What’s your name?” the guy asks, and you frown.

“Why do you care? I wasn’t aware we were going to become best friends in the time it takes to walk to the rental car booth.”

“Nice to meet you,” he says, remaining completely unbothered as if you didn’t just snap at him. “I’m Will.” He glances over at you, seemingly amused. “It’s just a cancelled plane, you know. Not the end of the world.”

“It’s not just about the plane.” You almost tell him about the week you’ve had, but you decide it’s not worth the trouble. After all, you’re just going to rent a car and then you’re going your separate ways, and you’ll never see him again.

That’s the plan, at least. But it wouldn’t be this time in your life if your plan didn’t get ruined.

“I’m sorry, miss, that was the last car we have available,” the woman behind the computer says, right after she’s handed Will some keys. “Everyone is trying to get outta here by car, now that the planes aren’t going.”

You nearly, nearly, start to cry.

“What do you mean the last car? Surely you have a car somewhere,” you beg. “Any car. A bike. I don’t care. I have to get to Calgary for Christmas, you don’t understand…”

“I understand,” the lady interrupts, the friendly facade sliding off her face. “Unfortunately, I cannot help you. Have a good day.”

Have a good day?

“Look, lady…”

You’re about to yell at her some more when you feel someone tap your shoulder. Of course, it’s Will, beaming down at you with the keys to your last option in his hand.

“Yelling at her won’t work, you know. It’s not gonna make you feel better or stop you from being in a mood.”

Something inside you snaps.

“In a mood? You wanna know why I’m in such a mood, Will? I’m in a mood because this Monday, I got told my residency at the hospital I work at might not be available to me next year, because they’re cutting personnel at the department. On Tuesday, I ran my legs out of my body for 15 hours before they told me that I shouldn’t come back after Christmas. On Wednesday, my boyfriend of almost a year broke up with me because he’s looking for different things in life, whatever the fuck that means. And the only, only thing I was looking forward to was seeing my dad again, and now this stupid snow has ruined that for me as well. So excuse my mood, but I will yell at whoever I want to!”

Will blinks at you, then raises an eyebrow. “Feel better?”

Slowly, you exhale through your nose. You do, actually, feel better, and Will seems to know that because he’s grinning.

“If you’re done yelling, I was gonna ask you…” he trails, “do you want a lift?”

 ---

 Arguably, this is a bad idea. You don’t even know this guy. He could be literally anyone.

“You could be a serial killer,” you tell him, putting on your seatbelt and sinking into the passenger’s seat. “You could drive me out of the city, murder me, dismember my corpse and leave me in the woods.”

“Hmm,” Will hums, as he starts the car. “I could, but that would massively delay my arrival time.”

You kick up your feet on the dash and play with the radio; the only songs you’re getting are Christmas songs, and that’s just not the right mood. Of course, as soon as you settle on some station that’s not playing Christmas music, Will frowns.

“Do you hate Christmas? Cause if you’re the Grinch, I’m gonna have to kick you out now.”

You look out the window; Toronto traffic is bad as always and you’re standing still barely out of the airport.

“I’m not the Grinch. I just don’t love Christmas.”

“How?” Will exclaims. “Christmas is the best holiday of the year!”

“I prefer Halloween,” you say, and Will rolls his eyes.

“And I’m the serial killer.”

“Christmas is overrated. I don’t care for trees in my house, creating a mess, Christmas movies are cheesy, Christmas songs are objectively bad and everyone is just stressed around Christmas time, trying to find gifts and decorate and wear stupid sweaters and go to parties with people they don’t like.”

You don’t tell him that you also don’t like Christmas because when your mom left, she said she would send you a Christmas gift.

As if that made it okay for a mother to leave her 12 year old daughter behind.

“Grinch,” Will mutters under his breath. You reach out and smack his arm, and he yelps in surprise. “Hey, don’t hit the driver, we could crash!”

“We’re literally standing still.”

“I could accidentally press the gas!”

“Then you’d be an idiot!”

You sigh and drop your head against the headrest, staring out of the window at all the headlights surrounding you.

It’s gonna be a long trip.

--

For the first few hours of the drive, it turns out the not be the worst. First, you and Will talk about your families a little: he’s got four siblings and his parents are still “very grossly in love” (his words) and you tell him that you’ve got just your dad and grandma left.

You don’t tell him what happened with your mom and he doesn’t ask, which is probably good judgement from his side.

Most of the time, however, you nap and Will drives or you drive and Will sleeps; you both decided that you want to get to Calgary as fast as you can, and not stopping is the way to do that.

It feels like it’s been days, but in reality you’ve only been driving for about 8 hours when Will stretches beside you and yawns.

“We should stop for gas,” he says, “and get me at least two liters of coffee to inject into my veins.”

“Probably a bad idea,” you deadpan. “That volume of liquid into your system would probably kill you instantly, and if it didn’t, the caffeine would give you a heart attack. Also, if you have to pee in an hour I’ll kill you.”

Will grins. “No good outcome possible for me, then, huh?” He points out the window. “Gas station.”

While you’re driving down the lane, he turns to look at you.

“You’re a nurse,” he says, and you frown.

“Yeah, I told you that.”

“I know, but like, you’re an actual nurse. I didn’t think about what that meant. But that’s really cool.”

You sigh. “Well, yeah, but if I don’t find another residency I’m gonna be half a nurse. And that won’t pay the bills.”

“You’ll find one,” Will says, easily enough, as if it’s a mere fact, and for the first time since you got the news, you feel some of the anxiety in your stomach settle.

It’s probably strange, that the fact that this guy, who you have only spent one day with, can tell you it’s gonna be fine and you believe it.

Maybe it’s because he seems truly genuine in his conviction. Maybe it’s because you’re just that desperate.

“Coffee?” Will asks, and you shake yourself out of your thoughts.

“I’ll go get it, you fill the tank,” you say, because you really want to stretch your legs. You spend your time wandering the little shop, getting two large coffees and also a few snacks for the road – what else is there to do in a car but eat and nap – and when you finally reemerge, Will is talking to someone next to the car.

“So awesome to meet you, dude, huge fan,” the man says. You watch as Will scribbles something on a napkin with a pen.

“Anytime. Sorry I don’t have paper.” Will smiles at the man politely as he hands him the napkin.

“No problem!” The man seems very excited about the napkin, and as he walks back to his car, he looks at Will again over his shoulder and waves. Will waves back, then turns to you and makes grabby hands for the coffee.

“Gimme!”

“What was that?” you frown, holding the coffee out of his reach. “Who was that?”

“A guy,” Will deadpans, “and a napkin. Coffee, please?”

You don’t hand it to him but he somehow manages to snatch it out of your hands; he’s faster than you’d think he’d be, and he’s back in the car before you can ask again.

Luckily, he’s stuck with you in this car for a while.

“That wasn’t just a guy,” you say, stubbornly. “He was really excited to see you. Does he know you?”

“I don’t know him,” Will answers, and that’s about the best deflecting you’ve ever heard.

“Not what I asked.”

Will sighs. “Fine,” he grumbles. “Do you watch hockey?”

“Hockey?” you repeat dumbfoundedly. “Like, where people skate after a piece of rubber? No, why?”

“But you know hockey is a pretty big deal in the city, yeah?”

You don’t know why Will is pressing the issue; you’re more interested to find out who the man is, but Will seems very intent on this line of conversation, so you decide to let him get away with it for now.

“Yeah, my boyf… ex boyfriend is a big Maple Leafs fan.”

Will snorts, but before you can ask what he means by that, he points to your phone, that’s laying in your lap.

“Google Maple Leafs number 88.”

“Why, is he hot?” you tease, but you do as he says.

William Nylander, your screen tells you, and beside it is a picture of Will.

“Kinda,” Will says blankly.

You look at Will, and then at your screen. Then back at Will. “That’s you,” you bring out, and Will chuckles.

“Well, yes. Does that explain enough to you?”

And it does. You might not watch hockey – you don’t really watch sports anyway – but you know from your ex how big a deal it is to some people, and you can imagine what it must be like to be a Leafs player living in Toronto.

You also remember your ex screaming at the television screen.

“Rough season so far, huh?” you say. “That why you wanna go to Calgary so badly?”

Will smiles, but it doesn’t fully reach his eyes. “Yeah, kinda. I mean, new coach, new opportunity, I’m excited, it’s just…” He pauses, seems to ponder his answer. It doesn’t sound like a rehearsed media answer, when he finally speaks. “I really need that new start, but I need a little break to empty my mind a bit, first. Put it into perspective, I guess. My dad is really good at helping with that, and so is my brother. Alex plays in the NHL too, and my dad used to. It’s… They know what it’s like, but they’re not on my team, so they offer more of an outside view.”

“You can tell me?” you offer. “I don’t know shit about hockey, so I’ve got an outside view.”

Will is laughing, then, and his eyes are twinkling and the car feels strangely small, suddenly.

“What do you do when you suck at your job for a while, and everyone loses their faith in you, and then you get better but nobody believes in you anymore?”

For the heaviness of the question, his tone is light, and he’s tapping his fingers on the steering wheel in beat with the music, as if he asked about your holiday plans.

You think of your mom.

“When I was little, I used to patch up my dolls with plasters and tell my mom I wanted to be a nurse. She said I couldn’t because I fainted at the sight of blood.” You shrug. “You just have to show them, I guess.”

Will nods slowly, then breaks into a smile. “Did you really faint at the sight of blood?”

“Shut up,” you chide, and the mood is lifted. It’s getting dark outside and you know you’ll have to start napping soon if you wanna take over driving in two hours, but for now you’re perfectly happy listening to Will’s chatter and the soft rumble of the engine in the background, as the car speeds down the highway, getting a little closer to Calgary with every passing minute.

---

Your eyes flutter open to darkness around you, and the car sitting in the parking lot of a gas station.

You turn just enough to see Will: he’s behind the wheel, eyes closed, his mouth slightly agape as his head hangs back.

The car is surrounded by snow: white flurries of it floating down to the ground, hitting the car.

For a second, you wonder why you’re not cold. Then you catch sight of Will’s coat, draped over your legs and stomach. You can’t help but smile at it, and then you close your eyes again.

The situation feels safely serene and safe, and you might as well take advantage of that and get some more sleep.

--- 

When you wake up, it’s to the sound of Christmas music coming from the speakers, Willy’s voice singing along.

“Not the time for Christmas carols,” you groan, and Will laughs.

“It’s always time for Christmas carols, Y/N,” he chides. You hear rustling, and you finally open your eyes.

“I stopped for a few hours,” Will says, “just to get some sleep. But we’re up and running again.”

Ah, that explains the scene you woke up yesterday. You glance at the clock: 7am. The sun is slowly starting to rise.

“It’s too early for you to be this happy,” you grumble. You haven’t had any coffee yet and that means you’re really not in the mood to have Will radiating energy around you.

“How are you not this happy?” Will asks. “Look outside!”

Outside is the road, but you understand what he means. Everything is covered by a thick layer of snow.

“It’s… white,” you say, because that’s about as far as you’re getting.

“It’s beautiful!” Will’s eyes are lit up with excitement.

“You’re insane,” you state, because that has been proven by this exchange.

“No I’m not! Snow is amazing. It’s beautiful, and it’s fun. Everything gets better in winter.”

You crank up the heat in the car and rub the sleep out of your eyes.

“Everything does not get better in winter,” you frown. “First of all, it’s cold. Everything is slippery because of the frost, the snow turns to yellow mush within a few hours. You have to shovel the driveway.”

“Or you could build snowmen with it. You can go skating on the ponds. Have snowball fights.”

You snort. “Snowball fights? What are we, 12?”

Will’s eyes widen slightly. “You’re never too old for a good snowball fight.” His voice is fond as he continues. “I play in the snow with my younger siblings every winter when I’m home. That’s like, the best part of Christmas.”

And, well…

“I can kinda get that, in concept,” you say softly. “There was never really anyone to play with me, I guess.”

Will’s eyes are a little sad as he glances over at you, but he doesn’t say anything. You appreciate that: you’re not ready to share anything more and it’s like he senses that. Instead, he changes the subject.

“Hey, have you ever been skating?”

“Nope,” you say, and the grin Willy shoots you is a little wicked.

“We’re changing that today.”

--- 

What Will means, apparently, is that it’s a good idea when you’re halfway between Toronto and Calgary to stop in a small little town and find an ice rink.

“This is insane,” you protest. “We’re losing time!”

“We’ve got 48 hours til Christmas,” Will shrugs, “and only an 18 hour drive left. Come on, after this we’ll drive straight through. It’ll be fun.” His eyes are shining and you can literally feel the excitement buzzing off of him, and, well…

Skating did always seem like fun to you. When you were younger, you asked your dad to take you once, but renting skates costs money so it never happened. You remember the disappointment in your dad’s eyes as he had to tell you no, so you didn’t dare ask again.

“I’ll buy you hot chocolate after,” Will coaxes. You don’t understand why he wants to go that badly: he spends most of his days on the ice, anyway, surely he’d be happy for a break.

“Fine,” you grumble, and you can’t help but laugh at the smug look on Willy’s face as he pulls the car to the side of the road.

The rink is small and filled with people. There’s a lot of small children that are skating behind little chairs, and you can picture yourself being there too.

“I’m gonna be so much worse than them,” you whine, at the same moment one of the kids falls onto the ice. A woman helps the little girl up and she goes right back at it.

You don’t think you’re gonna be that brave.

“Oh, shush, I’m not gonna let you fall,” says Will, and you try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

This whole situation is so freaking cliche, and you are not going to fall for it.

You rent skates for you and Will brings his own, because of course he brought skates in his suitcase. You’re struggling with the laces on the bench next to the rink, mostly to stall for some time; your heart is beating fast in your throat and your hands are a little clammy.

“Need some help with those?” Will is sitting sideways on the bench, and he’s grinning at you amused while you struggle. Feeling a little bold, you swing your leg into his lap.

You can tell he wasn’t expecting it because his eyes widen slightly, but then the grin only broadens and he starts carefully lacing up your skates. You watch as his fingers work the laces expertly – it’s clear that he’s done this a million times before – and then, his hand curls around your ankle.

“Other one,” he orders, and you switch legs.

Finally, the skates are on and Will hops to his feet, extending his hand and helping you to your feet. You’re already wobbling and you’re not even on this ice yet.

“If I break my leg, I can’t drive,” you say, mostly because the thought pops into your head.

Will rolls his eyes. “You’re not gonna break your leg.”

“If I hit my head and have a concussion, I can’t drive either.”

“Y/N.” Will’s voice is firm enough that you look up at him. He’s frowning. “You’re not gonna break anything, or hit anything, or fall. If you really don’t want to do this, we can leave now, but if there’s any part of you that agrees that this could be kinda fun, I promise you I’ve got you.” His eyes are a little shiny as he adds: “Trust me?”

And it’s stupid, you know it is, because you barely know Will. You’re pretty sure you’d have found out if he truly was a serial killer or any other type of psycho, but you can’t be sure he’s not irresponsible – although he did pull over in the snow – or prove that he’s trustworthy in any way.

And yet…

“I trust you,” you say then, and the blinding smile that crosses Will’s face is worth the fear in your heart when you place your first foot on the ice.

You can feel it slipping right away, but Will literally hops on the ice next to you, two feet planted firmly on the slippery surface, and places his hands on your hips, steadying your waist. In a reflex, your hands curls around his biceps, and once again you are reminded that holy shit, he’s a professional athlete.

“Wow, easy,” Will hums. He slowly guides you further away from the door, and your other foot adds to your first, and then you’re gliding.

You can’t call it skating: Will is moving backwards and pulling you with him, but you’re not necessarily moving on your own.

The first round goes like that, and then you decide to be brave and start moving your feet.

To be fair, Will keeps his promise. He never leaves your side, his hand firmly on your lower back even when you do start skating yourself, ready to catch you whenever you stumble – which is a lot.

“I’m doing it,” you yelp excitedly, when he finally lets his hand hover a little away from you. “I’m skating!”

Will laughs. “Proud of you, babe.”

And it’s probably just something he says; he probably calls a lot of people babe, it probably means nothing, and yet…

“Help,” you manage to squeak, and then your arms are waving in the air and your feet are slipping from under you and you try to maintain your balance, but you can pinpoint the second it’s a lost cause.

For a split second you’re plummeting towards the ice, but then two arms are wrapped around your waist and you just kinda… hang there.

“Thanks,” you say dryly. You’re hanging in Will’s arms as he’s hysterically cackling out laughter above you. It takes him a few seconds to compose himself and pull you up.

“Majestic,” he giggles, and he tightens his grip on your waist when you slap him in the chest.

“Rude,” you grumble, but you can’t help the smile that’s tugging at the edges of your lips.

It’s weird, but suddenly you notice how close he is, and when his eyes travel to your lips the smile falls from his face and you can tell he noticed too.

You stare at him, and it’s like the air is charged with something; your heart is beating in your throat and you swear he’s moving closer.

Oh, you think, we’re gonna kiss.

Strangely enough, the thought doesn’t send panic to your throat the way it did when your ex kissed you the first time, the way it always has when someone kissed you. Instead, it’s like everything inside of you goes calm and quiet.

You want him to kiss you. And it’s a little scary how not scary that is.

You’re interrupted by a small voice.

“Mister Nylander?”

Will startles, yank back fast enough that you nearly tumble straight back down to the ice, but one firm hand on your waist keeps you standing. He turns around then, to face the little girl that spoke: she can’t be more than five years old and is wearing a helmet with a cage, holding a hockey stick in her hands and staring at Will with wide, starstruck eyes.

He bends down into a squat – on skates, literally, how – and smiles at the girl.

“Hi, yes, that’s me. You can call me Willy, though. What’s your name?”

“Amanda,” the girl beams. “Can I get your autograph, mister Willy?”

“Sure, kiddo,” Willy says. “How about I bring my friend here to the safety of the ground and I shoot some pucks with you, huh?”

Amanda looks like someone just offered her the entire world and everything in it. “Please,” she says, and Will quickly guides you towards the side of the rink.

“I won’t be long,” he promises, and he almost looks apologetic, which…

Which is ridiculous. Because you can tell that him just being here made that little girl’s day, and you think of the things you wanted as a little girl and the heroes you never got to meet, and…

“Take all the time in the world, please,” you say. “I’ll go get myself that hot chocolate.”

For two hours you sit at the side watching Will with the kids. Somehow after Amanda more and more kids appeared and now he’s created somewhat of an impromptu hockey team because they’re all playing and the adults cleared the rink.

It’s entertaining, to watch Will with the kids. He’s a good teacher, and you can see them hitting the net more and more as time passes on, and he clearly makes it fun: they’re all laughing and screaming and at one point, a few of them tackle Will to the ice, where he rolls around and pretends to be unable to get up, yet hops to his feet the second the kids get distracted.

It’s insane, how comfortably he moves around. Like, you knew this, because he’s a professional hockey player, of course he can skate, but you didn’t really think anything of it until you see it in action. He’s obviously not even trying to do anything fancy, and he’s probably not trying to be fast either, but he is, and he stops without problem and turns in any direction and even jumps over a puck, at some point.

You can’t lie. It’s kinda hot. But then, you’ve always had a thing for people who were clearly good at something.

For example, your ex was a really good painter. He was also really good at being a lying, cheating bastard.

Before you can go too far down that rabbit hole, there’s commotion on the rink, someone crying and then Will’s voice, too loud: “What happened?”

When you look up he’s kneeling in front of a little boy, who’s crying and staring at his hand.

You jump up, worrying, but Will has already lifted to kid in his arms and is skating towards you now, with big strides.

“He took a skate to the hand, we’re gonna need some bandages,” he says, and a parent yells something about getting a first aid kit while Will puts the kid on his lap on the bench. “Can you look at him?” he asks you, worry evident in his voice even though he’s clearly trying to remain calm. He’s a little pale, but you don’t have time to deal with that right now.

“Hey, buddy,” you coo at the kid, kneeling in front of him, placing your hand on Will’s knee to steady yourself. “What’s your name?”

“Tim,” the kid cries. “My hand hurts!”

“I know it does, Tim. But the good news is that we can fix it,” you promise him, examining the hand. It doesn’t look too bad: there’s a cut, but not deep enough to perforate anything more than flesh, so you’re not too worried.

The first aid kit arrives and so does Timmy’s dad, who doesn’t seem too bothered. “He falls all the time,” he says, “that’s what hockey is, isn’t it?” He preens at Will, who dutifully ignores him in order to talk to Timmy in a low voice.

You wrap up Timmy’s hand and tell him to take it easy for a few days, and then before you know it you’re in the car and Will is holding the steering wheel so tight his knuckles are turning white.

“Do you want me to drive?” you ask tentatively. There’s no answer, but Will isn’t turning on the car. “He’s gonna be okay, you know.” Silence. Another try. “It’s not your fault.”

“I just can’t believe,” Will starts, but he seems to choke on the last word and lets the sentence die, drops his head and inhales sharply. It takes a while, but finally he speaks, a little more composed. “I hate when parents tell their kids that hockey is about pain and sacrifice. It can be, sometimes, but it shouldn’t be, not for a little kid. It should be about fun, and learning skill, and being with teammates, and loving it. It shouldn’t be about falling and injuries.”

He sounds so frustrated that it tugs at your heart strings, and for a split second you allow yourself to wonder what Will was told by his dad, when he was a kid himself.

“He wasn’t even trying to soothe him,” Willy bites. “He was too busy fawning over the presence of a professional hockey player, and I don’t… I don’t wanna be the person these idiots believe I am.”

“And you’re not,” you blurt out. “Will, these kids had so much fun with you.”

Will smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I just… Me and my brother, we always had fun skating. My dad told us it was important to always have fun. But I’ve seen it happen to friends. They were so passionate about hockey, but their parents pushed them, wanted them to be better too quick and told them to suck it up when the skates hurt their feet and it just fizzled out, you know? Until one day it wasn’t any fun and they quit.”

“It’s a shame,” you echo. “But your dad…?”

“He was hard on us, sure.” Will shrugs, smiles for real this time. “Pushed us to be better. But he always made it fun.” He turns to you. “Your dad… He stood behind your dreams?”

You remember you told him your mom didn’t think you could be a nurse, and you laugh. “The blood thing, you mean? Yeah, he didn’t agree with my mom. He always told me I could be whatever I wanted to be, and if I decided I wanted to be something else, I could be that, too. He’s always been there for me.” You shrug. “I’m lucky to have him. My mom… She left when I was 12. And I…”

You stop, for a second, wondering if you’re really gonna tell this to a complete stranger. But the thing is, Will doesn’t feel like a complete stranger anymore. Talking to him feels more comfortable than talking to most of your friends, and you can tell he really cares about what you’re saying, and you just, you want to tell him, so you do.

“I don’t like Christmas because my mom left right before Christmas, and she said: ‘I might not see you for a while, honey, but I’ll send you a Christmas gift.’ She didn’t, and I never saw her again.”

When you glance at Will, he’s frowning, a deep crease edged into his forehead. “That’s messed up.”

“Yeah, but, it was a long time ago. I’m mostly over it, I just never learned to love Christmas the way most kids do, I guess. My dad tried to make it fun for me, but it was always the reminder, you know, that I didn’t have a mom and other kids did.” You laugh, a little bitterly. “And then this year my ex-boyfriend dumped me on the 16th. My mom left me on the 17th. So I guess December is just not a good month for me.”

“Your ex is an asshole.” Will says it with such force, gritting his teeth, that you can’t help but reach over and put your hand on his knee.

“It’s okay,” you muse, and the tension leaves Will’s shoulders as he carefully wraps your hand in his.

His hand is warm and a little rough and there’s something hammering in your chest, and you wonder how it’s possible that you met him two days ago and he’s already making you feel more than your ex-boyfriend ever had.

You guess you never really liked that guy as much as you told yourself you did. 

“It’s not,” he says, but he doesn’t so upset anymore. “And if he was here, I’d punch him in the face. But I’m glad to see you didn’t let him hurt you too much.” Will grins. “And now you’ve been skating, so, like, fuck him.”

“Fuck him,” you echo, and Will starts the car.

18 hours to go. And then you’re in Calgary, and you’re gonna see your dad, and you’ll probably never see Will again.

For some reason that thought leaves a sinking feeling in your chest.

--- 

“Psst.” You groan as someone softly tugs your arm. You try to turn around, but there’s something digging in your back and you can’t quite get there. The tugging gets more persistent. “Hey, Y/N.”

“What?” you grumble, finally forcing yourself to open your eyes, and it’s only when you see Will’s face in front of you that you realize you’re not in your bed. You’re in a car, it’s pitch dark outside, and you’re standing in front of a lit up building.

“Snow storm is getting really, really bad,” Will says. “We have to stop for the night. It’s not safe to keep driving.”

You’re about to tell him to stop being such a baby, and you’ll drive, no problem, when you risk a glance out the window and see… nothing.

Literally, almost nothing. Just a big building, and some lights that could be from streetlights or UFOs, for all you know, because there’s a big blanket of white covering your sight. Snowflakes are streaming down in a curtain, and you can hear the wind howl around the car.

Okay, yeah, maybe it is unsafe to drive.

“Where are we?”

“Hotel,” Will says. “I checked, only hotel within 10 minutes of the highway. Pray that they have a room for us.”

He leaves you in the seat to wake up a bit more, and goes to get your luggage; he swings your bag over his shoulder and hauls his suitcase out of the trunk, and finally opens your door.

“Come on.”

You grab his hand and let him pull you out of the car, although you walk in front of him to enter the hotel. The woman behind the desk looks up as you open the door.

“Please close that behind you,” she says, friendly enough, “I swear if that cold comes in I might freeze, here.”

“Hi,” you say to her, “I know, it’s bad, right? We were hoping you have two rooms available for us, so we can escape the storm?”

The woman types something on her computer, then frowns. “I’m sorry, it’s very busy at the moment. Lots of people stopping in from the highway. I have one room left, if you’d like? Double bed.”

Oh, fuck. You’re not sure if you’ve quite wrapped your head around in, when Will chimes in next to you.

“Cool, we’ll take it.”

“We…” you start protesting, but Will raises an eyebrow and looks at you with so much attitude that it shuts you up.

“Would you rather freeze to death in a car?” he asks pointedly. “I’ll take the couch or the floor, or whatever, chill. I promise I won’t murder you in your sleep.”

Getting murdered is not what you’re worried about, to be honest. You’re worried that sharing a hotel room with Will is just gonna make these feelings in the pit of your stomach worse.

But there’s not really another option.

“Fine. We’ll take it.”

“You know,” Will chirps, when you’ve got the keycard and he’s taking the luggage up the stairs, “there’s a lot of girls that would kill to be forced to share a room with me.”

“That’s because they’ve only looked at your face, and don’t know your personality,” you drawl, and you know you’ve made a mistake when Will’s face lights up.

“You think I’ve got a pretty face?”

“Not what I said,” you answer quickly; too quickly, because Will is looking way too smug as he takes the keycard out of your hand and opens the hotel room door.

The room itself is nothing special. It’s small, but the bed looks comfortable and it’s warm, so you’ll take it.

“Shotgun on the bathroom,” you say as soon as you get in, and Will rolls his eyes but dutifully flops on the bed and starts typing on his phone while you find your toothbrush and disappear to the bathroom.

When you walk out, Will is laying sprawled over the bed, although he’s luckily still on top of the duvets. His hoodie has ridden up a bit and his sweatpants are – dangerously – low on his hips, so there’s a strip of skin showing.

Your mouth goes funnily dry, all of a sudden.

The thing is. You might not have wanted to be stuck in a hotel room with a guy you met at the airport only 2 days prior, but if it had to happen, Will is not a bad guy to be stuck with. He’s, objectively, very hot – you’re not blind – and he’s funny, and easy to talk to, and he’s been nothing but nice, even when you were a teeny tiny bit rude to him at the airport.

Did you mention he’s very hot?

“I’m gonna shower,” he says, jumping up from the bed.

While he’s doing that, you lay in bed and scroll through Instagram on your phone. Maybe you stalk Will on Instagram, only for a little bit, and you find a picture of him with his siblings that’s so cute it has you smiling at your phone.

“What are you smiling at?” Will’s voice surprises you so much that you drop your phone on your face with a yelp, and the sound of his laughter rings in your ears as you bury your red hot face into the pillow.

You hadn’t even heard him open the bathroom door again. Luckily, you don’t think he saw, but you lock your phone just in case.

Then, you look up, and if you thought you couldn’t be any redder in the face, boy were you wrong.

Because Will is wearing boxers, and nothing else. Now, you think to yourself, as you glance at him before shamefully returning your gaze to your hands, if you had a body like that, maybe you’d be more keen on showing it off too, but…

“You’re gonna be cold,” you tell him, and you can hear, more than see, his eye roll as he says:

“Okay, mom.” Then, he opens the closet and takes another duvet out. “I’ll be fine, I have this.” He grins a little cheekily, as if he fully knows what he’s doing to you. “Normally I sleep naked, but…”

“But not today,” you squeak, and he’s laughing again.

Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of letting him know that he’s getting to you, you throw the second pillow at his head and then roll to your side.

“Goodnight, Will.”

“Goodnight,” he answers softly. You listen as he potters around the room; probably tries to get his ‘bed’ for tonight as comfortable as possible. Finally, the lights click off.

You can’t sleep. You know it the second the lights are off, and Will’s breathing evens out. Your mind is going a million miles per hour and there’s so many things that happened, that you’re going to have to overthink before you can sleep. What’s not helping, either, is the fact that Will keeps tossing and turning.

You’re starting to feel a bit bad. You’re in a bed that’s big enough for two – maybe even three, it’s that big – and Will is laying on a cold, hard floor, with just one duvet and a pillow.

Outside, the wind is howling, and you know if you looked out the window the entire world would be covered in white. The room is warm enough, but you picture how there must be a draft, so close to the floor, and suddenly you can’t take it anymore.

It’s selfish, to make him sleep on the floor all because you’re worried about wanting things you can’t have.

“This is stupid,” you say, sitting up. “You should just sleep in the bed.”

For a second, it’s quiet. When Will speaks, he sounds unsure. “Are you sure? I mean, the floor isn’t great, but I don’t mind, I promise, if you’d rather not…”

“Look, we don’t have to, like, cuddle, or anything.” You can feel yourself blush but in the darkness of the room, there’s no way Will can see, so you keep talking. “You stay on your side, I’ll stay on my side, and it’s basically the same distance as having you on the floor. Just, the floor is cold, and uncomfortable, and there’s no need to…”

“Okay,” Will cuts you off, and he jumps up, duvet in hand. He’s grinning as he slides into the bed, curling the duvet around himself. “You don’t have to convince me, I was just being a gentleman.”

You snort. “Don’t do it again, it freaks me out.”

“You drive tomorrow, then,” Will hums, and it already feels better, to hear his voice right next to you instead of from somewhere at your feet. He sounds better, too; lighter, and more comfortable. “Hey, Y/N?”

“Hmm?” you answer, finally closing your eyes.

“If I had to cross the country in a Kia during a snow storm with anyone from that airport, I’m glad it’s you.”

You think of what you were thinking before, and smile.

“Me too, Willy, me too.”

It’s quiet again, and Will’s breathing starts evening out. For some reason, you still can’t calm down: you try to match your breathing to his, but it’s too shallow and you can feel your heart beating in your chest.

“You’re fidgeting,” Will says then, his voice loud in the quiet room. Only then do you notice that you have been twisting the duvet between your fingers time and time again. Will goes to lay on his stomach and turns his head to you. “You okay? I can sleep on the f…”

“It’s not you,” you interrupt him. It is, of course, but not in the way he thinks.

“Okay,” Will says slowly. “Then what?” Before you can answer he reaches out and slowly wraps his hand around yours, causing your fingers to dis-attach from the duvet.

And, the thing is…

You could tell him to mind his business. You could tell him a lie, or something that’s kinda true but not the real reason.

Tomorrow, you’ll be in Calgary. On your dad’s couch, drinking hot chocolate. And Will is gonna be in his own house. And then after Christmas, you’re both flying back to Toronto, but you’re not stupid. Will is a famous, and really attractive, athlete. You just got out of another failed relationship. You’re not good at relationships, turn out; you don’t even know if you really believe in love, anymore, don’t know if you even think it’s worth it to try.

But right now, you’re here, and he’s here, and you swear you’re not imagining the way he looks at you, sometimes.

You’ve had to deal with cancelled planes, problems at work, a dumb ex boyfriend, and this stupid everlasting snow, ruining your life one day at a time. So, you might as well give yourself this one thing that you want.

“Or, it is you,” you say, and you can feel Will stiffen beside you. “But it’s not that I don’t want you in this bed with me. In fact, it’s kinda the opposite.”

You can feel your cheeks flush: you’re not good at this, don’t really know what to say.

But then Willy grins and suddenly he rolls around, his body now hovering over you as he pushes himself up on his forearms.

“So does that mean I finally get to kiss you?” he hums, and you answer by pressing your lips against his.

---

Hours later, you’re both naked, a mess of tangled limbs in sheets, and Will’s chest is rising and falling with every peaceful breath. You close your eyes and bury your face in his neck.

Outside, it snows, and it snows, and it snows.

---

You wish you could enjoy the next 10 hours.

First, you spend 2 hours getting showered and ready – it would’ve been a lot shorter if Will hadn’t slipped in the shower with you, so it’s his fault if you’re late – and then you have breakfast at the hotel while Will tells you more about his family.

His face lights up when he tell you which Christmas gifts he’s got for his siblings and it’s adorable.

Then, you drive. The final 6 hour drive, and it flies by so fast you would’ve believed it if someone said it was just 2. You drive the first few hours and then Will takes over for the last part, and you chat the whole way there.

At some point, Will starts singing along to Christmas songs, and you don’t even change the channel.

“Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow,” Will croons; you can’t help but laugh and then you’re both laughing and singing along at the top of your lungs.

You wish it never had to end.

“So,” says Will, “this is your street, huh?”

You decided he would drop you off and take care of returning the rental car, and you’re almost regretting that decision cause you would’ve liked those 20 extra minutes with him. However, you know that that is, objectively, insane, so you ignore the knives that are being ran through your heart when Will parks the car on the curb.

“Home, at last,” he says, softly. He’s not smiling anymore. “So, when we get back to Toronto, we should…”

“Don’t,” you interrupt softly. “We both know this is where it ends for us.”

At this, Will frowns. “It doesn’t have to.”

“Yes, it does.” You swallow heavily, try to get rid of the lump in your throat. It doesn’t feel right but it is, and you need to let it end here before you end up with hopes that will crash and burn and expectations that will never be met.

“What if I don’t want it to?” he asks quietly.

As much as Will might believe he wants to see you again – and you don’t doubt that he’s being truthful about that - it’s just not realistic.

People don’t meet the love of their life in an airport after a cancelled flight, don’t live together forever after long a cross-country drive, don’t live happily ever after after a snowed in hotel.

People do leave their husbands and kids the week before Christmas, they do cheat on you, they do break your heart.

Snow might make things seem more magical, but after all, it’s just frozen water.

“But I want that.”

Will’s face falls, his eyes sad and honest, but he nods slowly. “Okay,” he says. “Thanks for the drive, then.”

His voice is distant, now, cold and impersonal: you know you deserve it but it hurts, anyway, and you scurry out of the car, take your suitcase out of the trunk.

You’re standing next to the car, ready to walk down the driveway, when the window opens.

Will’s head pops out, and he sends you what you think is meant to be a smile. It’s not a real one, and he still mostly just looks sad, but he’s trying, you think.

“I know December is a hard month for you, but I truly do hope it’s gonna get better. Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

The window closes and the car drives off, and something inside of you breaks.

“Merry Christmas, Will,” you whisper with tears in your eyes. You could’ve stood there for hours, but the front door opens.

“Y/N?” your dad’s voice calls. “I’m so glad you made it, you won’t believe the snow we’ve had…”

--- 

There’s a blanket on your lap as well as Snuggles – your dad’s cat – and you’re drinking tea while Elf plays on the television.

Your dad has been talking excitedly all through dinner, but now it’s quiet as he watches the movie. He seems happy, light, and it soothes something inside of you.

Sometimes you worry about him.

It’s not until the end credits roll that your dad turns to you. “Are you gonna tell me what’s wrong?” he asks tentatively, and that’s all that you need to hear in order to break into tears. “Oh, honey,” he sighs, then takes your hand in his. “What happened?”

You have no idea where to start.

“Dad,” you whisper, “do you think you can die from a broken heart?”

Your dad smiles sadly, shakes his head. “If you could, I would’ve been gone by now, probably,” he jokes, but it doesn’t land. “Is this about that boyfriend of yours?”

And, well, the funny thing is, you haven’t told your dad about the break up, but it doesn’t even matter. Your heart is broken and it has nothing to do with your ex.

So you tell him about Will. You tell him about how you almost weren’t here, tell him about cancelled planes and one lone rental car, about how he went from Will to William Nylander right back to Will, about coffee breaks and sleeping on the side of the road and skating and the little kid who hurt his hand, about snow storms and a hotel room with one bed – not about anything else from that night, though – and finally you tell him about goodbye.

When it’s all said and done, your dad frowns. “You keep saying it had to end. But honey, it sounds like you really like this guy.”

You do, oh God, you do.

“Why would it have to end?”

You don’t say anything, but as always, he knows exactly what you mean.

“Just because it ended for your mom and I doesn’t mean it always has to end, you know. Sometimes it’s worth to try.” He pats your hand. “I think you should call him.”

And that’s when it hits you. It doesn’t really matter if you’d wanna call him. 

You don’t even have his phone number.

--- 

“Y/N! Patient in room 11!” your colleague yells. “I’m going to the kid in room 4 if you need me!”

You sigh and throw down your clipboard. You have no idea why the hospital is so busy; it’s December 28th, which promises a disaster on New Years Eve, which is usually your busiest day of the year.

Fireworks, man.

You’ve been on your feet for 9 hours but you don’t even really mind. Just the thrill of working in a new hospital has been keeping you going; it might have something to do with the fact that this hospital will let you finish your residency, too. They called you the day after Christmas.

Some might call it somewhat of a Christmas miracle.

“I’m on it,” you call back, then start making your way to room 11. You nearly bump into the doctor you’re working with today, and she halts you by putting a hand on your arm.

“Are you a Leafs fan?” she asks.

It might be the weirdest thing someone has randomly asked you; the conversations you have had with this woman have ranged from “can you get me some blood from the vomiting boy” and “in what room do I find the catheters” and now she’s asking you about your sports teams?

Your heart clenches tightly as you think of Will.

“Not really,” you answers. That seems to be the right answer because the doctor smiles and waves towards the room, telling you to enter. You’re still confused by the whole exchange when you walk into the room and nearly trip over your own feet.

“Oh,” Will says slowly, “that’s quite a coincidence.”

It’s like your tongue has grown two sizes; you can’t speak, can’t even begin to think of what words to say, when suddenly you notice something.

“What the hell happened to you?”

There’s blood all over the hand he’s clutching to his chest, and his face is white as a ghost. Next to him is an equally pale guy wearing a Leafs sweater, who is staring at you with wide eyes.

“Uhm, I fell,” Will says sheepishly. “Turns out snow is quite slippery.”

It hasn’t snowed in Toronto in days.

“He didn’t fall in the snow,” the guy next to him grumbles. “I tried to wrestle the remote out of his hand and he fell into the Christmas tree and sliced his hand open with an ornament.”

“And Kappy has just promised to clean everything up, right, Kap?” Will asks with a sly smirk. Some of the color is returning to his face, which is more than you can say for his friend Kappy.

“Okay, well, let me have a look,” you mutter, and you gather some of your supplies before sitting next to the bed.

If you try very hard to avoid Will’s eyes and focus completely on the gash on his hand, that’s between you and the hospital room.

“So, first aid, huh?” Will asks. “Found a new job? Told you.” He sounds stupidly smug, so you raise your eyebrow and press the gauze to the wound. He inhales sharply. “That’s mean.”

“I’m trying to clean it,” you tell him sternly. “Sit still. God, Timmy was a better patient.”

“Hey,” Will protests, offended. “I’m a perfect patient.”

When you see how deep the wound is, you wonder how it’s possible that Will is still so chatty, and you also feel a little nauseous; it’s always different when it’s someone you care about.

“I’m gonna go get doctor Summers,” you say, and your voice is a little unsteady.

You’re probably imagining the edge of disappointment to Will’s voice when he says: “Yeah, okay.”

While doctor Summers examines Will’s hand, his eyes are fixed on you, and you keep yours fixed on your shoes. There’s so much you want to say to him, so much you want to do, but this is not the time or the place and also you have no idea how to start a conversation like that.

You tune back into the here and now when you hear the word “surgery.”

“It’s not a real surgery,” doctor Summers says, “I just think we need to set a bone and we also need to stitch up the muscles.”

Will is a little pale again as he nods.

You get send away to prepare the necessities for the procedure and when you come back, Will’s friend is gone.

“He’s gonna pick me up when I’m done,” says Will, who sees you looking. “Are you gonna… Are you gonna be here, while she does it?”

“Nope,” you answer, and this time you’re definitely not imagining the way his face falls. “Are you gonna get in trouble with the team for this?”

Will pulls a face. “I’ll probably get a stern talking to from Kyle.” When he sees your expression, he laughs. “My boss.” He sighs, looks out the window.

It’s started snowing, again, because apparently the universe loves taunting you.

“You know what the worst thing is? I ruined my tree.”

“That’s definitely not the worst part,” you roll your eyes. “It’s after Christmas, you should’ve probably taken it down anyway.”

“I couldn’t take it down yet,” says Will, his face completely serious, “there’s still one Christmas miracle I’m waiting for.”

He’s staring at you intently and you can feel your heart beating in your throat.

There’s no way he means…

But what if there is?

You make a decision then, and when Will is getting his hand worked on in a different room you run to the cafeteria.

“Hey,” you yell at the lady behind the counter. “I’m gonna borrow this for a second!”

She looks at you like you’re a crazy person and you can’t blame her: you’re literally standing in your scrubs, screaming at her from the middle of the cafeteria after having just yanked a tiny Christmas tree from the table.

“Okay?” she yells back, and it sounds more like a question than a blessing, but you take it and run anyway.

Room 11 is still empty; although Will’s coat is still lying on the bed, so he must be coming back. You take the tiny tree and put it on the bed side table, plug it in.

There’s only about 10 lights in the tree, but when you flick off the big lights, it still looks pretty Christmassy.

And so, you wait.

To say you’re nervous would be an understatement; there’s every possibility in the world that Will has changed his mind since you last saw each other, and the last thing he wants is you confessing how much you like him in a hospital room after just having destroyed his hand, but you have to try.

Every time you think about bailing, you hear your dad’s voice in your head.

Sometimes it’s worth it to try.

This is one of those times.

“No strenuous activities, take it easy…” Finally you hear doctor Summers voice and you stand up.

The door opens tauntingly slowly, and there is Will. At first, his eyes widen as they catch the Christmas tree, and then his head swivels around and he sees you; a slow smile spreads across his face.

“A Christmas tree?” he asks.

“Well,” you smile, “you did say you wanted a Christmas miracle…”

“But you don’t like Christmas,” Will points out.

And that’s true, but…

You take a step closer and Will raises an eyebrow, questioning but not looking like he wants to run away.

“I don’t,” you admit. “I didn’t. But then something happened… Or, well, someone happened. And now I’m thinking that I might have to give Christmas a chance.” You’re standing right in front of Will, now, and he had all the time in the world to back off but he didn’t. Instead, he’s looking at you with an amused expression on his face, the corners of his mouth curled into a tentative smile.

“I think there might be a few things I have to give a chance,” you finish.

“God,” Will breathes. “I really hope you mean us.”

Instead of answering, you kiss him.

It feels somewhat familiar and yet as if you’ve never been kissed before: there’s fireworks in your stomach and everything feels warm and fuzzy, like nothing matters except for the feeling of Will’s lips on your lips, his chest pressed against yours.

“Y/N!” someone yells from the hallway, and you reluctantly pull away.

“I have to get back to work…”

“Okay,” Will whispers, pecks you cheek quickly. “But we’ll talk…”

“I’m done with work in an hour,” you interrupt.

Will nods. “I’ll tell Kappy he doesn’t have to pick me up.” He grins. “Unless you’d rather not drive in the snow?”

“Shut up,” you tell him, but it’s with nothing but fondness.

You’re already running to the hallway, ready to see the next patient, when you hear Will yell after you: “You said you hate snow!”

And that’s kinda true, but…

Sometimes, even if it messes up your plane, or gets you stuck in a snowstorm, or makes you fall on your ass…

You just have to let it snow.

[hypnoticwinter]

Down the Rabbit Hole part 25

“Jesus,” Erica breathes, “you weren’t kidding,” and I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

I’ve managed to keep my heartrate under control all the way down to the barrows but now that we’re here I’m able to let my breath out and relax a little, ironically. The place is a graveyard, a grisly butcher’s workshop of stinking ichor and dismembered copepods. It is unearthly quiet, even down here in the middle of the Pit’s guts, with the only sound being the dripping of glutinous white phlegm-like vital fluids and occasionally a far-off groan from the Pit’s musculature.

The copepods are everywhere, strewn all over the place like ragdolls, and very few of them are intact. The majority have had their arms ripped off and a ragged hole bored straight through the middle of their armored faceplate that looks like it goes several feet deep at least. Here and there there are dead leeches, the only trace of the leechman, the only thing giving any clue as to what might have happened her. I briefly wish that I still had my camera with me.

Saying goodbye to Elena had made me acutely aware that I may not have been prepared for what I was getting myself into. I had helped her out of the cot and she had stumbled and cried out and then I caught her, prepared for the worst, already starting to panic – had I done a bad job? Had I hurt her somehow while I was tending to her wounds and only now was she able to feel the effects of it, getting up and moving around?

Elena had looked at me, lips already curling into a sheepish grin, and then she must have seen the look on my face and stopped, stood there straight without any assistance from me and then put her hands on my face and cupped me to her and kissed me so long and so hard that I felt a little faint. Erica had coughed behind us, a little uncomfortably, but when we finally broke apart I really had eyes only for Elena, I couldn’t stop staring at her, at the freckles across her cheeks, at the way one of the corners of her lips lifted slightly higher than the other when she smiled, at a dozen little things like that that I wanted to fix in my mind.

I don’t think I really knew, not consciously, at least, why I made such an effort to keep a clear image of her in my head then, to get every detail down in as complete a manner as I could. It only became apparent to me once we had walked out to the Cord and Elena had opened the door and turned around and waved to me before disappearing that I had been so concerned with her safety that I had had no concern at all for mine.

The door clanged shut and Marcus had spun the wheel to seal it tightly and then Elena was gone. Before she left we had hugged again, there in Oyster’s Shame, amid the glistening walls and the sounds of more of the tiny pearly deposits falling here and there like a soft distant rain. “You come back to me,” she had growled, right into my ear, and I could feel her leave a wet spot on my cheek from where she had begun to cry, and I wanted so badly to go with her but I didn’t see any way I could.

“Well,” I had said to Erica, forcing myself to sound brighter than I had felt, “let’s get this over with.”

So we did.

Marcus kicks one of the dead leeches and it rolls a little. It looks like it has some weight to it, some heftiness that isn’t immediately apparent from how slender it is. It’s about the length of my arm. “What the hell is this, E?” he asks, looking up at her, and Erica shakes her head, getting down on her haunches to examine it.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” she says. “It’s a little bit like a gastric bristleworm but not as…I don’t know, bristly.”

I’m standing there in the back with my arms folded, waiting. Next to me is the stinking corpse of a copepod; this one has been crushed, its insides, ropy and white, flooding out in a great mass from its burst sides. Even with the helmet up I can smell it; Erica and Marcus must have cast-iron stomachs. Erica does, anyway; when we first made it down to the barrows we’d had to stop for a moment to let Marcus vomit.

The tracking PDA had lead us almost exactly the way we’d gone the day before, back before everything had gone to hell. I still don’t know exactly what had kicked it off to begin with; my best guess was that the Leechman had showed up and gone on a rampage just after we’d left with the crystal, and the copepods, they must have assumed that it was our fault, that we’d drawn it here or were somehow working with it. Did they know what it was? Did they recognize it? I wish the Big Guy were still around to ask but we had passed his desiccated, punctured corpse, recognizable only by the stump of one of its wrists, as we had made our way through the central chamber. Marcus is carrying the Sergeant’s slug rifle but he does so nervously, as though he’s afraid of it. He clearly isn’t familiar with the thing. I wonder what’ll happen if he does have to fire it, if it’ll just put him on his ass or if it’ll actually break a bone.

The two of them have been decent to me so far. Erica seems genuinely regretful about hitting me earlier; she doesn’t look at me most of the time, and if she does need me for something, mainly to use the suit computer to look at a map, she asks for me politely and in a soft voice. I thought that Marcus might curse at me or harbor some kind of ill-feeling; after all, Elena – after all, my girlfriend attacked him, and I have no doubt that if she had been able to get away with it she likely would have shot the both of them and washed her hands of it.

The thought makes me shudder very slightly, but not of fear or anger but just vague baseless exhilaration, of minor and muted joy that things are finally happening, for better or for worse, for good or ill, that great capital-letter THINGS WILL CHANGE finally rolling over and putting muscle behind its epitaph.

I had been terrified on the way down that the copepods would have torn us apart, would have eaten us. I had no confidence in Erica and Marcus’ ability to protect this little illicit expedition. They have no plan, no notion of what might be waiting for them. And I don’t know what they intend to do if they do actually manage somehow to get their hands on the crystal. Break it? But that’d be counterproductive, wouldn’t it, as if what Erica’s saying is right, that’d just give us that psychic illness.

If I don’t have it already. Was that dream a dream or the start of it? Is it –

No, stop. Don’t be ridiculous. It’s the perfectly normal sort of dream to have when you’re under this much stress, in these conditions. Once you’re out of here, once you’ve – Christ, I don’t know, gotten Elena some vacation time or sick leave or whatever the hell and spent the rest of your savings taking her to fucking Tahiti or somewhere, if you’re still having the dreams then, you can worry about it.

I could tell them, I could tell Erica and Marcus. It’d be easy. I could just say something like, ‘hey, uh, so there’s this giant fucking ogre made out of leeches wandering around down here and it’s got the crystal you’re after, and it killed all these copepods. Oh, and the crystal weighs about a ton and we had to get a robot to carry it, which I notice you guys didn’t bring with you. No, you can’t use our robot, it’s probably smashed to bits somewhere.’

They wouldn’t believe me. There’s no way in hell they’d believe me. Even if I did want to save their asses, which at the moment is not very high up on my priority list. I’m still maintaining the faint hope that they might actually find the damn Leechman and try to get into a fight with it, which would be my cue to run like hell.

“Roan,” Erica asks me, again using that mildly infuriating soft and considerate voice, “have you seen one of these before?” She’s holding the body of the leech out to me, grasping it like one might hold a snake, right behind the head. Its mouth gapes insanely wide and round and the body hangs limp. I can’t stop myself from taking a step backwards.

Goddam it, Erica.

“Leechman,” I say, and then I cough. Our eyes meet for the first time in a half hour. “The leechman’s here.”

Erica’s eyes seem to grow instantly deeper. Her mouth is open slightly, and she stares at me in silence until Marcus nudges her, his eyes flicking between her and me. “What’s the leechman?” he asks, and Erica, broken out of her reverie, licks her lips and glances over at him.

“Nothing,” she tells him, getting to her feet quickly. “A fairy tale. Like the boogeyman.”

Marcus doesn’t believe this; I can tell from the way he looks at her, but he doesn’t question it, just gets to his feet as well and follows her as she pulls out the tracking PDA, taps at the screen a few times, and then points down at one of the darkened vents. “That way,” she says, and where she points we follow.

We make our winding way through the ass-end of the barrows, the part we hadn’t gone through yesterday, and then the trail takes a corkscrewing, winding path downwards. We are very clearly in a section of the Pit that people have not been in very often. Even in the sections leading up to the barrows, where the flesh of the vents is left bare and uncovered, there are still lights strung here and there, little radio repeaters and every now and then a tiny, cramped-looking ranger station, mostly mothballed and closed-off, but still evidence that someone had come before us. In the barrows, though, this stopped entirely. There were little trails of cleat-marks here and there, but I think the majority of them were from us stomping through earlier, they looked too fresh, too new.

We only saw a couple of copepods, and these from far off, across vast chasms of flesh, scarred here and there like cliff-faces. I couldn’t divine their purpose, just – anomalies of anatomy, no meaning, no clear analogue I can draw. Just places where the flesh falls away and vague misty nothing takes its place. As I stand on the precipice looking over and down into darkness, watching the way my flashlight beam peters out depressingly soon, I swear that for a moment I can see something moving around, something large, fluttering and flapping and swooping like some kind of giant bat, but if anything was there, it vanished so quickly as to not leave an impression on me other than a brief glimpse of size and frantic motion.

I turned back to see if Marcus or Erica had seen any of it but they were huddled together, deep in conversation, hunched over the PDA. After a moment I traipsed over to join them. With each step on the way down I had felt my weariness building, both in my body and in my heart – I had shoved so much out of the way down somewhere inside of me where I didn’t have to feel it, and it was only now that it was beginning to creep back out at me.

We’d passed some things I’d recognized from the rest of the squad – there was a torn piece of a suit there, in a small knurled corner, dirty and speckled with red matter that might have been blood or bits of flesh. I didn’t look closely enough to check. A boot, cleated firmly into the ground. Nothing as definite as a body; the closest I saw was a great foaming gout of blood splashed across the floor and up part of the wall of the vent, but no indication as to whether it came from a person, from a member of the team, from Klaus or Euler or – or Peter, or whether it was just natural, some artery in the floor being clipped during the fighting and spraying everywhere until capillary action cut it off.

If I think about it I won’t be able to go on. I can’t bear to –

Alright, Roan. Easy girl. Deal with it later. Right now just focus on staying alive. Get back to Elena and then you can cry about things. God, poor Peter, though; and poor Makado, waiting for him. How would I feel if it had been me up there and Elena down here?

I think of her, alone, making her way up the Cord, no weapon, still hurting, probably, as the painkiller starts to wear off, and I bite my lip, hard. Goddam it, I’m not going to cry. Not down here. She’s fine, she’s going to be perfectly fine. She knows how to handle herself.

I focus instead on the ache in my knees, in my back, in my arms. We’ve been going for so long, it feels like; hours upon hours. I’d check the time on the wrist computer but these damn gloves - !

Erica and Marcus look tired as well, at least. Maybe they’ll want to rest soon. We’ll be able to eat, sleep perhaps…they have to have some kind of tent, or sleeping bags, or something, even if it’s not one of the fancy hexagonal ones the squad used. I think about pointing out that we’re all dog tired, we might as well take a break before we go further, but I nix that idea quickly – I don’t want to seem weak. Erica’s given the impression that she won’t push me but Marcus is still a wild card, I don’t know him, how he handles stress, how he’ll act in a couple of hours when he’s even more tired and hungry.

They gesture and lead on, and I follow, dead on my feet but still forcing myself to continue.

And then, after fifteen minutes of walking, down treacherous polyped inclines, past outcroppings of redundant, keratinous spines, we find, laying in a slump with his neck at an awkward unnatural angle, his eyes terribly bright and aware, Euler.

I cry out when I see him; my stomach makes a horrible lurch as I take in the gnawed markings dotting his once-bright ranger suit, round and puckered and blood-crusted. The leeches have been at him but left him alive for some inscrutable reason. He coughs as we shine our lights on him and shifts feebly but he is unable to move more than an inch or two – his spine is clearly broken.

I hadn’t expected to find any bodies; somehow I had guessed that one way or another, anyone lost down here would be utterly irretrievable. But there is Euler, the one person I would never have expected to survive – I guess I underestimated him.

Or perhaps his current condition isn’t really surviving in the main sense. Once I’ve gathered my senses I rush to him and kneel there beside him. I have nothing to offer him, no painkillers, no first aid, nothing besides companionship, but it’s better than standing and gawking as Erica and Marcus seem to be satisfied with. I wipe his forehead with my gloved palm lightly, the sweat shining on the rubber in the wake of my flashlight, and Euler’s eyes shift up to meet mine and he croaks out my name in a hoarse voice. He says it wrong, like it were one syllable, but hearing someone I care about even infinitesimally say it is like breathing after being underwater.

“Euler,” I tell him, and my voice breaks just a tiny bit right at the end. I lick my lips and try again. “Euler, what the hell happened to you?”

“I’m – it’s bad, Roan,” he says. Rone. Should have changed my name in that rebellious phase, added that accent mark I always longed for. There’d be less ambiguity. I smile to myself in spite of everything and he grins at me, just a little bit, but his eyes stay wide and frightened. They flick over to Erica and Marcus, and I look back at them as well, and then give an exasperated sigh.

“Don’t you two have any damn medical things? A first aid kit?” They glance at each other. “Anything?”

“I thought you might…” Euler coughs. “Might have come to rescue us.”

I frown. Us?

“Euler, are there…more people from the squad down here? Hurt somewhere?”

He shakes his head minutely, then winces. I don’t know what to do, I don’t know where to touch him without hurting him. I tear my glove off with my teeth, just lay my hand against his cheek. It feels like an awkwardly intimate gesture but I don’t know what else to do, I don’t know how else to help. If it were me I think I’d – I think I’d want human contact, something skin to skin. I think it might be a comfort.

“What happened?” I whisper.

“The Leechman,” he says, “it – it grabbed me and then it –“

He cries out, gently, and I move my hand downward and grab his. He clutches at me desperately. The last time I had seen him the leeches had been streaming into his open mouth, writhing against him, wrapping him like a hundred pythons at once. I bite my lip and glare back at Erica again. “Will you two fucking do something?”

“He’s clearly past any help we could give him,” Erica says, and Marcus nods.

For a very brief moment I am so intensely angry I feel as though I might burst into flame. Euler cries out softly again and I realize I have squeezed his hand too hard, and I jerk my hand back from his, muttering a stammered apology. He shakes his head.

“They’re right, I’m done for,” he tells me. “You should – you’re going down further?” he asks, frowning, and I nod.

“Those two want the crystal,” I tell him, lowering my voice a little.

“It went…that way,” he says, glancing to the right, further down the vent and into the Pit’s depths. We sit there in silence for a moment longer and then finally work up enough nerve to ask him the question I wanted to.

“Are you in pain?”

He thinks about it for a moment. “It feels like I should be but it’s just dull.” He breathes heavily. “I’m afraid.”

“Euler, don’t –“

“I’m going to die down here,” he says, and there is a terrible layer of finality in his voice that makes my heart fall.

“No, Euler, you’re not –“ I start, but then cut myself off. Because he’s right, isn’t he? I can’t argue with him, there’s no way in hell that we’re going to be able to get him out of here. If he has a broken neck there’s no fucking way we could stabilize him well enough to carry him out of here, and even if we could, I’d need Erica and Marcus’ help, which they don’t seem incredibly inclined to give me. I look back at them and start to get up, but Euler catches the cuff of my suit and I stop, hunkered over awkwardly.

“Roan, I saw – “

He coughs; I can see his chest heaving. I wonder about those leeches; I know I saw them flooding into his mouth, forcing their way down his throat…what would have –

“I saw inside it,” he tells me. I frown.

“Inside what?”

“The Leechman,” he says. His eyes are boring into mine with a horrible intensity, practically bulging outwards. “I saw inside it and – and it was so bright –“

“Euler, I don’t know what you –“

“Don’t leave me down here,” he says quietly, and then lets go. There is a pleading in his eyes that stops me dead. I’ve let my mouth fall open slightly, but there is no mistaking what he means, there is no ambiguity in the quiet desperation in his tone. He wants me to –

I get up quickly. My hands are shaking and my arms and legs feel like I’ve been whipped with a coil of lightning. I walk over to Erica and Marcus, and Erica nods at me. “You ready to go?” she asks, and I shake my head. I open my mouth and try to talk but I choke a little, then cough and try it again.

“Erica, Euler, he –“

“What is it?”

I shut my eyes. “Kill him,” I tell her. “He asked me to but I can’t – I can’t do that. He’s scared and he doesn’t want to have to lay down here unable to move for a couple more days before something fucking eats him or he dies of exposure. Please.”

Erica’s eyes are very dark. She glances at Marcus, then back at me, before she reaches down to her belt and unsnaps the holster there, then hands me the revolver. I nearly drop it; it’s heavier than I had expected. “Do it yourself,” she tells me. Her voice is like glass. “We’ve wasted enough time here already.”

“You – “ I start, but I choke it back. She’s trusting me giving me the revolver; this means something to her. This is a test. But what am I supposed to do? Can I –

But you already did once before, some part of me whispers at the back of my head. Remember Rey? He’s dead because of you. And before that -

Marcus is covering me with his own slim little pistol. I swallow hard and try not to feel the imprint of its muzzle, covering me from five, seven, ten feet away from me, my back itching as I half-expect to hear a report and feel a sharp shock –

But nothing happens. I make it to Euler; he’s watching me, his eyes rolled upwards in a manner that somehow distinctly reminds me of a dog, somehow, and I hate myself for thinking so, but he’s looking at me in the same way a dog will look up at you, not moving its head, its eyes wide and hopeful.

I thought the gun might feel better in my hand after I’d had it there for a while, but it’s still awkward and heavy and purposeful. It’s much heavier than the pistol they’d given me to practice with during qualifications back on the range a few days ago; that one hadn’t even felt like a gun, it hadn’t felt real. This one most certainly does.

Euler nods at me infinitesimally. “It’s…alright,” he says. He seems to be laboring a bit more now; maybe he hadn’t been expending very much energy until we came across him. I certainly didn’t hear any cries for help on the walk up. If he’d been there the whole time, for hours, listening to the Leechman and the copepods duke it out…

“Euler,” I say, “what did you mean when you said you saw inside the Leechman?”

“Roan,” he says. His eyes are fixed on the revolver. I’m stalling, I realize; I’m putting it off so that maybe somehow this responsibility will be removed from me. The inside of my mouth is very dry and I swallow hard, willing some moisture to return to it.

“Okay,” I say quietly. Okay, I think to myself. I take the revolver, hold it in two hands, one on the handle, the barrel resting in the palm of my other hand. I look at the cylinder, fumble for a moment before that trip all those years ago with my dad comes back to me and I find the catch and swing it outwards. Erica hasn’t reloaded since she shot Elena, I note, some dull part of my mind logging the information without any further comment. I can see the tiny mark of the struck primer on one of the cartridges. But I won’t find any salvation here, there are still five more shots that are perfectly serviceable.

I click it shut, remembering, as my dad told me, not to flick it closed, not to spin it. You aren’t a cowboy, he’d said to me gravely, pressing the gun into my chest. It had smelled like oil and metal, like something functional, like when you open the hood of your car. And I had trembled then as I am now, and I had looked out across the flat open expanse of grass –

Even then I couldn’t bear to think of it after I’d done it.

I’m stalling.

Goddam it, Roan, goddam you and your willingness to stick your neck out.

Euler makes a small noise beneath me and I look down at him. “Are you sure?” I ask, willing him to say no, to rethink it, to give me a reprieve. He nods.

“Just do it,” he says. “They won’t come get me, they won’t care. Just do it.”

“Okay,” I breathe, and then I hold the gun in two hands – why does it come back to me so easily? – and put it up very close to his forehead, and Euler shuts his eyes, and I shut mine as well. I inhale and then exhale.

Five minutes later I hear feet squelching up behind me and then Marcus is crouching next to me and prying the gun from my nerveless hands. “It’s okay,” he says, not unkindly, and then he is gently pushing me out of the way. I get to my feet, not knowing what else to do. I meet Euler’s eyes and I start to say something, then I stop. There is no blame in them, or maybe I don’t want to see blame. So instead I turn around and hunch myself against the wall, and when the gunshot finally sounds I flinch, and then I finally let myself cry.

When I turn back around I can’t bring myself to look at him. I instead watch Marcus hand the revolver back to Erica, watch Erica slip it back into the holster, watch Marcus shove his pistol into the waistband of his heavy-duty jeans. I blurt out the only thing that comes to my mind and tell him that he shouldn’t carry one in the chamber like that, it’s dangerous, and Marcus gives me a pitying look and says nothing. When I meet Erica’s eyes they are lighter than before and I realize, with a shudder as another wave of tears rolls soundlessly down my cheeks, that whatever test there was, whatever reason made her give me the revolver, I passed.

And then we stomp off into the darkness and leave poor Euler behind.

 * * *

 The next day I feel better. I slept better than I thought I might have, sandwiched between Erica and Marcus in their tent, cramped and with not enough air mattresses or sleeping bags, but I managed. They shared some of their food with me, MREs scavenged from some surplus store somewhere, which I found faintly comforting, and then the next day, when someone’s alarm blared and woke us, I was disconcertingly and surprisingly fresh-feeling. All the pain and sorrow I thought might have come boiling out of me when I let my guard down never did, and instead it was replaced with a calm, warm, faintly comforting deadness. I was, I realize now, preparing on some level to die. I had arrived at a zenlike state that had me convinced I was either dead or dreaming, a fragile state of mind that I had tried so hard to reach at that dojo in Oklahoma but which constantly eluded me.

Since Friday I am complicit now in two murders, one arguably and one less so. When I think of myself the person I am is thorny and sharp-edged and armored and I do not recognize her when I hold her in my arms. I blow out a breath and pop my eyes open as Marcus nudges me and hands me a cup of bootleg espresso made from two freeze-dried pouches, and I take it gratefully and even manage to smile at him. I feel…clean.

We’ll see how long that lasts.

More walking, more bypasses across stinking rivers of digested slurry, more crawling across meter-wide cords of banded muscle. The anatomy gets stranger and stranger, more open, more wild. Nerves like waving cilia, waggling at us like anemones, retract at lightspeed at our approach. Everything is luminescent down here, everything glows, but what glows brightest of all is the rectangular blocky backlight of Erica’s PDA, guiding us forward like a north star. She seems less certain of it, less sure; she stops and consults with Marcus every now and then and I feel fairly frequently like I have simply been forgotten, like I am an insurance policy for the return trip, a hostage kept in waiting to be revealed and used as leverage later on.

Will Makado care, I wonder, when she knows that they’ve taken me? I hope she will. I think we got close enough that she would. I think she likes me.

Does she like me enough to send a team after me? I’m sure there’s some kind of tracking device in this suit but will it even function this deep down? I don’t know.

I stub my toe on a bloated adipose swelling and it belches a gout of rank, sticky fluid on me. We pause again for Marcus to vomit.

Eventually we make it to a curled, winding passageway, a tight intestinal-feeling loop that circles in on itself over and over again, the tissue struggling against us at every turn, that we have to claw and scrape and crawl through but that the PDA swears is the right way to go, the simplified arrow logo spinning back around and directing us back in every time we think of turning around and trying someplace else. We push through and through until finally it vomits us out, breathing hard and covered in blood and strands of pale-white membrane, and then we stop, eyes wide, staring up and up and up at the space we’ve found ourselves in.

It’s enormous, the size of a stadium and at least twice or maybe three times as deep, great gnarled coils of sparking nerves weaving in and out of the fleshy, irregular walls casting macabre light in regular snaking patterns across the broad flat plate of bone that divides the space nearly in half, knotty and bulging and thick, honeycombed and dripping with thick resinous marrow.

There are things moving, I realize, on the far-off floor of the chasm, great writhing worms or – no, no, they have legs. Squat lizard-like figures, then, moving in fits and starts, their flesh a glistening pale sickly color, like milk that’s gone off. They must be simply enormous for us to be able to see them from this distance. I glance back at Erica and Marcus; their mouths are open, dumbstruck as well – they must not have known this was here. Could we be the first to find this place?

I watch a shadow, a patchy midnight cutout, detach itself from the bone plate and fall swooping to the floor of the chasm, and then it wings its way back up, one of the lizards caught in its claws, dangling beneath like a rabbit caught by a hawk. I watch, overwhelmed, as the – the thing, whatever it is, I want to call it a bird but it can’t be, it simply can’t be – flutters ungainly and graceless back to the bone and vanishes with its prey into a whorled hole in the side, ragged and uneven.

“What is this place?” I mutter to Erica, after I’ve regained enough of my senses to think to speak, and she shakes her head faintly.

“I have no idea,” she tells me, but before I can say anything else I hear a noise from above us; a subtle noise, like a whistling, drawn-out swoosh, and when I look upwards I can only see a diving, dark-furred silhouette with outstretched, foot-long claws and a hungry, slavering mouth.

I don’t have time to scream.

Continue with Part 26

Back to Table of Contents

[spoookymuulders]

perchance to dream

read it on ao3 here word count: 15,056 chapter word count: 4,433 summary: With two families dead, the BAU is called to Colorado to try and connect the murders. Something about the deaths seems familiar to Reid, but he can't quite put his finger on it. And when a familiar face shows up, it throws another cog into the machine, complicating things further. chapter warnings: mentions of torture/abuse

chapter three. the things we don’t say.

Nothing haunts us like the things we don't say. - Author Mitch Albom

Lakewood Police Department 3:30 PM

           Spencer’s been talking non-stop about his team and how great they are for the past four hours. Parker’s kept track. He started at 11:30, barely stopped to eat lunch, and then continued. And while she’d never tell him to stop or that he’s talking too much, it’s a lot of information and she’s starting to feel a little overwhelmed. That feeling becomes more prevalent as they round a corner - she had asked to walk despite her still-healing feet, glad to finally be out of the hospital and allowed to move around on her own, and Spencer had agreed, saying the police station was only a few blocks away - and the station comes into view.

           She stops short at the corner, wrapping her arms around herself tightly. Spencer keeps walking for a moment before he realizes that Parker is no longer beside him, and he turns around, eyes wide and briefly panicked. He relaxes when he sees Parker hovering at the corner and moves back to her side.

           “Hey.” He says softly, brushing her arms. She looks up at him, tears in her eyes, and he pulls her to his chest. She follows his pull, closing her eyes for a moment and exhaling unsteadily. “It’s okay.”

           “Spencer, I don’t know if I can do this.” She whispers.

           “It’s okay.” He murmurs again, rubbing her back slowly. “They just wanna ask a few more questions. And I’ll be right there the whole time, I promise.” He dips his head to catch Parker’s eye, offering a small, reassuring smile. “Okay?” Parker sighs quietly, nodding after a moment. Spencer squeezes her shoulders and leads her to the station, nudging the door open and following her inside, his hand at the small of her back. He guides her to the conference room and stops in the doorway, knocking lightly. Five heads turn towards them, and Parker has never felt smaller than she does right now.

           Spencer goes around making introductions. Morgan and Prentiss she knows already. He introduces a blonde, motherly woman as JJ, an older gentleman who reminds Parker of her maternal grandfather as Rossi, and at the head of the table is a man Spencer introduces as Hotch. Parker nods a greeting to each of them, staying close to Spencer as they move further into the room.

           “We have a few more questions for you, if that’s alright.” Hotch says, and Parker nods, twisting her sweater sleeve absently. Before he can guide her to an interview room, a chime comes from the computer beside him and he turns it around as a bright voice crows a greeting.

           “I have updates, my fine furry friends, and - oh! Is that her? Reid, is that her?! Hi!” The blonde woman on the computer gasps eagerly, her blue eyes widening almost comically. Spencer chuckles quietly and nods.

           “This is our tech analyst, Penelope Garcia.” He tells Parker softly. Parker waves a little, wrapping her arms around herself again as Hotch clears his throat and Garcia gets back to the aforementioned updates. Parker looks around the room quietly, the case board in one corner catching her eye. As the rest of the team is absorbed in Garcia’s chatter, Parker approaches the board slowly, brows furrowed. The photos on it are hideous. Brutal crime scenes, things she’s never seen before except for on TV. And even then, they weren’t quite this bad.

           One photo in particular catches her eye, and she leans forward, frowning a little. Two tiny holes, barely bigger than pinpricks just below a woman’s collarbone. She looks at the photo beside it, a man with a knife shoved into his heart, his hand wrapped loosely around the hilt, and a woman beside him, a small vial resting in her fingers. In the background of the photo are two more men almost laying on top of each other. Parker is vaguely aware of the continuing conversation behind her as the realization dawns.

           “So!” Garcia is saying, tapping away vigorously at her computer. “You were right, two of the victims had heart attacks induced with potassium chloride, and the other woman, the one who wasn’t poisoned, was bitten by-”

           “Asps.”

           Parker’s quiet voice surprises everyone in the room, and seven pairs of eyes fall on her. Hotch frowns, watching the girl closely.

           “She’s right.” Garcia says, her voice wondering. “I’m looking into where someone might’ve gotten asps now, they’re indiginous to Egypt and pretty hard to get in the US.”

           “How did you know that?” Hotch asks Parker, crossing his arms. She peers at the board for another moment before looking at him.

           “It’s Antony and Cleopatra .” She says softly, looking back to the board. She touches the sticky note where Prentiss has scribbled the quote they found at the last scene. “ The long day’s task is done, and I must sleep is from one of Antony’s monologues. And - and this one..” She points to a photo of the first crime scene, of the Miller family. The eldest son, dismembered, and the mother with burns all the way down her throat stare at her from the photo lifelessly. “This looks like Julius Caesar. ”

           Spencer moves forward, frowning at the board, the look in his eyes somewhere between confusion and frustration. “I can’t believe I didn’t put that together.” He muses quietly, stopping to stand beside Parker, who is still staring at the photos. Her heart thunders in her chest.

           “That’s Othello .” She says, pointing at a photo of the second crime scene. “Emilia and Roderigo are stabbed. Othello stabs himself, and Desdemona is smothered.” She stares over the board for a long moment, and she begins to wonder if the rest of the room can feel her heartbeat in their ears the way she can. She feels her knees begin to buckle a little and Spencer catches her easily, guiding her to a chair that Morgan pushes forward. She sits heavily, eyes on the blue-flecked carpet under her feet for a long moment before she looks up.

           “I think it’s him.” She says quietly.

           “Him who?” Hotch asks, moving to sit across from Parker. She twists her hands anxiously, looking up at him. When she tells him who exactly she thinks it is, he frowns thoughtfully. “What makes you think it’s him?”

           “They’re Shakespeare’s tragedies.” Prentiss says for her. Hotch looks up at her and Parker nods.

           “He loved Shakespeare, specifically the tragedies. He’d make me recite monologues from them sometimes.” She tells Hotch, rubbing her knees. “If I got them wrong..” She trails off, swallowing thickly.

           “If you got them wrong..?” JJ prompts gently, glancing at Prentiss. She wonders briefly if they should take Parker to another room for this, because judging by the look on Reid’s face, she hasn’t told him any of what she’s about to say. He’s still crouched beside Parker’s chair, his hand on her knee gently, but she won’t look him in the eye and she’s twisting the end of her sleeve around her fingers.

           “It depended on the day. Sometimes he’d just hit me, or kick me.” Parker says after a moment, keeping her eyes down. Nobody in the room likes the connotation of the word just before she mentions the abuse, but they keep their mouths shut. “He didn’t smoke often, but when he did, he’d burn me. If he was in a really bad mood and I messed up, he’d - he’d use a belt.”

           Hotch glances at Morgan and Rossi, exhaling quietly. Morgan moves from his stance behind Parker’s chair and crouches so he’s in her field of vision, offering a small, gentle smile when she looks at him.

           “Parker, we’re gonna find the man who hurt you, and those people.” He promises softly. Holding out a hand, he offers another small smile when she touches her fingers against his lightly, and he squeezes her hand gently. “We’re gonna make sure he can’t hurt anyone again. I promise.”

****

           Exhausted in every way imaginable after her interview with Hotch, Parker curls up in a corner of a couch in the conference room and closes her eyes. She’s half-aware of the goings-on around her, can hear people chattering quietly about the case, but she tries to push them out of her mind. Hotch and Morgan are talking quietly on the other side of the room about the rest of the questions she’d answered, and she thinks she hears Hotch say something about her escape.

           “If it is the same guy, her escaping could’ve been the trigger for the killings.” Morgan murmurs, glancing towards the blonde on the couch. “Especially if he was holding her for so long.” Hotch nods his agreement, following Morgan’s gaze and sighing.

           “That depends on how long ago she got away.” Hotch says quietly. “The hospital said she just turned up last night and there were no real signs of exposure, so she can’t have been out on her own more than 24 hours. I’m having Garcia look for any history or Shakespeare buffs in the area, as well as professors and teachers who could be our unsub.” He pulls his eyes away from Parker and watches Prentiss head for the door. She means to go after Reid, who slipped out almost as soon as they were finished with their questions and Parker curled up on the couch. As Morgan mentions coffee, Hotch nods and follows him out of the room, the two of them promising to return with a cup for JJ as well when she asks.

           “Agent Jareau?”

           JJ jumps a little, looking up from her computer. Parker is still settled on the couch, but her eyes are open now, and teary.

           “Call me JJ.” She says gently, offering a small smile. Closing her computer, she moves across the room and perches in a chair beside the couch.

           “JJ.” Parker repeats softly. She fiddles with a thread from the couch for a moment before looking up at JJ. “Is what Agent Morgan said true? Did he kill those people because I got away?”

           JJ’s heart breaks a little and she shakes her head, reaching out to take Parker’s hand and squeezing gently. “No.” She says, her voice gentle but firm. “We don’t know yet if it’s the same man. But if it is, he killed those people because he’s a psychopath. Not because you got away from him.” Parker doesn’t look entirely convinced, but she nods, sniffling quietly. JJ squeezes her hand again and offers a gentle smile. “It’s a good thing you got away from him, Parker.” She insists softly. Parker nods again, still not looking entirely like she believes the other blonde, but she returns the smile with a tiny one of her own, and JJ counts that as progress.

****

           Prentiss finds Reid outside, tipping her head at the sight before her. He looks almost.. Small, seated on a bench outside the police station, his head in his hands as his shoulders shake almost imperceptibly. She clears her throat as she approaches and he sits up quickly. She pretends not to notice as he wipes roughly at his cheeks with the backs of his hands while she perches next to him on the bench, watching the cars roll by.

           “She didn’t tell you about any of that before, did she?” Prentiss asks after a while. Reid shakes his head, rubbing at his nose a little.

           “I guess.. I guess I kind of knew that she would’ve been through something like that.” He mumbles, leaning back against the bench. Prentiss glances at him out of the corner of her eye, her heart aching for her young friend. “I mean, he held her for twelve years, it only makes sense that he would’ve tortured her.”

           The words taste like vomit on his tongue, and he almost feels like he’s actually going to be sick.

           “But it’s different actually hearing about it.” Prentiss says for him, and he nods. Leaning over, she wraps an arm around his shoulders and hugs him tightly for a moment, rubbing his back as she does. She feels the smallest bit of tension leave his body and she leans back, squeezing his shoulder lightly. “She’s gonna need you to help her through it, Reid.” She says softly. “If anyone can understand even a fraction of what she’s been through, it’s you.”

           Reid grimaces a little, knowing that Prentiss is referring to Tobias, but he nods. He tips his head back, watching the clouds for a long moment before he looks back to Prentiss. “I don’t think I ever really apologized for the way I acted towards you then.” He says suddenly. Prentiss laughs softly.

           “You were kind of a dick.” She says, smiling a little more when he does. Leaning over, she bumps his shoulder with hers lightly. “But it’s okay. You were struggling. I understand.” She reaches over, squeezing his hand lightly. “I’m glad you got the help you needed.”

           “Thanks, Emily.” He says softly, returning the squeeze. They sit together like that for a few minutes, two friends hand-in-hand as people rush past them, busy with their own lives, completely unaware of everything around them.

****

           When Spencer and Prentiss come back inside, she makes a beeline for the coffee maker while Spencer slips back into the conference room. JJ, seeing his approach, slips out and squeezes his shoulder gently. He hovers by the doorway for a moment, watching Parker as she stares at the case board and fiddles with her necklace absently. Padding further into the room, he perches next to her on the couch, following her gaze.

           “It’s him, Spencer.” She whispers. He sighs softly, rubbing her back slowly. “I know it is. I can - it’s like I can feel it.” When she turns to look at him, her eyes are red and he can see the remnants of tears in the corners.

           “Hotch and Garcia are looking into it.” He tells her gently. “No matter who he is, we’re gonna catch him, and he’s gonna go to prison for the rest of his life, I promise you that.” Or he’ll kill the bastard with his bare hands, but he keeps that thought to himself. Parker leans into him, resting her cheek to his shoulder and peering at the board for a few minutes. The only noise around them is the quiet chatter outside the conference room, and the occasional ring of a phone at a deputy’s desk.

           “Morgan said I might’ve been the trigger for the murders.” She says quietly. Spencer purses his lips and shakes his head.

           “You’re not.” He tells her firmly. She sighs quietly, and he continues. “Parker, you only just got away two days ago. This all started two weeks ago, there’s no way you’re responsible for the murders. And even if your escape had been the trigger, that wouldn’t mean it’s your fault.” Parker sighs again and rubs her cheeks roughly, closing her eyes for a moment. Spencer’s phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out. “It’s your mom.” Parker nods and watches as he answers the call and chats with her mother for a moment before turning back to her.

           “Your brothers are here.” He tells her. She exhales slowly, suddenly nervous and terrified and excited all at once.

           The trek back to the hospital seems to take forever, though Parker knows they get there in the same amount of time it took them to get to the police station. She stops short at the corner again, her eyes landing on her mother and the three boys - the three men sitting with her.

           Jeremy looks tired, but other than that he hasn’t changed much. He’s as tall as he ever was, towering over their mother and his two younger brothers. His dark hair shines in the sun and Parker thinks she sees a wedding ring glinting on his left hand. She wonders briefly if he’s married to the same girl he’d been dating when she’d been kidnapped, and if he’s got kids now. Is she an aunt?

           AJ, the spitting image of Caroline, is perched beside their mother and bouncing his knees anxiously. He looks pretty much the same too. His hair is a little shorter, a little lighter, but his blue eyes have that same shine, his lips have the same constant upward quirk that she remembers from all those years ago.

           And then there’s James. Perfect, wonderful, beautiful James. James, with the same golden curls and green eyes as Parker. James, with the freckles across his nose and the spring in his step and the fight in his eyes. James, who’s one of the reasons she kept going all these years.

           It’s James who sees her first.

           It’s like he senses her, and she’s sure he does because he’s always been able to. It’s a twin thing, they’d always said. He looks up and locks eyes with her through the thinning crowd, and they stare at each other for a moment. Half a second later, he’s on his feet and they’re sprinting towards each other, both glad that the people on the street have fully dispersed. AJ and Jeremy look up sharply as soon as James moves, both jumping to their feet, but they’re too far behind him to catch up.

           Parker crashes into James’ arms, nearly sending both of them tumbling to the sidewalk. She clings to his t-shirt and tries not to cry for the millionth time in the past three days. Finding herself in Spencer’s arms again had been right. It had felt like coming home. She feels that again as James crushes her in the tightest hug humanly possible. She hears rushing footsteps as AJ and Jeremy join them, slower ones as their mother and Spencer approach as well.

           When James steps back and cups Parker’s cheeks to look her over, to ensure that she’s really there, that all of her is standing in front of him, she smiles at him. It’s a tired, weary smile, but it’s a genuine smile nonetheless. James lets out a breathless, tearful, disbelieving laugh and hauls her into another tight hug.

           “Fuck, Pickle. I missed you.” He whispers into her hair. She winds her arms around him again and presses her face to his shoulder, exhaling quietly and nodding.

           “I missed you, too.” She whispers back. He steps back after a few long moments and she’s passed on to AJ, then Jeremy, pulled into two more bone-crushing hugs before they all step back and take each other in.

           She wonders if she looks the same, or if she looks like a completely different person to them. Spencer had recognized her immediately, so she knows she looked the same to him, but to her family, to the people she spent almost every single day with for nearly seventeen years, she wonders if she looks the same.

           She knows her hair is longer and a little duller than it once was. She knows her bright green eyes have dimmed some, and she knows she’s lost weight. Other than that, she thinks she looks the same as she did. She hasn’t looked in a mirror much since her return. Spencer appears beside her, his hands shoved into his pockets, nodding at her brothers in greeting. There’s a million questions racing through each of their minds, but Parker speaks first, directing her question at Jeremy.

           “Do you have kids?” She asks, gesturing at his ring. He blinks and glances down, like he forgot the ring was there, then looks back up and nods.

           “Two.” He tells her softly, and she feels tears prick her eyes.

           “Are you still with Sophie?” He nods again, digging his wallet out of his pocket and passing her a picture from the bi-fold in it. She takes the photo delicately, looking over it slowly and taking it in. Jeremy and Sophie perched on the steps of a small townhouse, a little boy in Sophie’s lap and a little girl in Jeremy’s.

           “That’s Luke.” He says, pointing to the little boy, then to the little girl. “And PJ. They can’t wait to meet you.” AJ is next, and he shakes his head before she speaks.

           “No kids here.” He says, smiling a little. “Just a fiancee. His name is Alex, you’ll love him.” Parker nods, returning the small smile and shuffling her feet absently. “We have two dogs and a cat.” Parker laughs a little, wiping at her eyes. She cries in full when Jeremy tells her that PJ is short for Parker Jude.

****

           The reunion between siblings completely wipes Parker out. As they part ways and the boys go back to the hotel with their mother, Parker sinks onto the bench they’d occupied not long ago. Spencer, having stayed back and let the family reunite without intrusion, comes forward now and sits beside her, winding an arm around her shoulders when she leans against him.

           “Tired?” He asks softly. Parker can hear the smile in his voice and she nods, stifling a yawn behind her hand. “How’re you feeling?”

           “That was a lot.” She mumbles sleepily, blinking up at him blearily. He nods, rubbing her back slowly. She falls quiet again for a few minutes, and Spencer is starting to think she’s fallen asleep right there on the bench when she speaks again. “I don’t really know what I’m feeling. I’m.. Happy I’m home - well, kind of home. Back with you. And with my mom and the boys. But I’m.. I’m scared, too, Spencer.”

           He holds her closer, pressing a kiss to her hair and closing his eyes. “What are you scared of?” He asks her quietly. She shrugs, rubbing at her eyes carefully.

           “I’m scared that he’ll come back. That he’ll take me away again.” She says, keeping her eyes fixed on the streetlight flickering on across the street as the rest of the world dims around them. “But more than that, I’m scared of - I’m scared that I won’t be able to.. Reintegrate or whatever. I’m terrified that I’ll be too scared to go out and.. I dunno. Get my GED and try to go to college and get a job or whatever.” Her voice gets quieter and quieter the more she speaks, and Spencer almost has to strain to hear her.

           “Parker, hey. Hey.” He says gently, dipping his head so he can catch her eyes. His heart aches dully when he sees the tears she’s holding back, and he pulls her close for another tight hug. She doesn’t wrap her arms around him, instead tucking them between the two of them and letting herself melt into his embrace. “I promise, I won’t let anything happen to you. And I’ll help you with everything. You’re gonna be okay. I swear.”

           “I don’t even know what I wanna do anymore.” Parker says miserably, more tears springing to her eyes suddenly. “Before he took me, I was so sure I wanted to go off and study theater and acting, but now I don’t - I don’t know. I can’t do Shakespeare anymore, he ruined that for me, and I hate him for it.” She stands now, beginning to pace in front of Spencer, and he watches her, his eyes widening slightly as she raves.

           “But that’s all I ever knew!” She continues, waving her hands, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks. “I wanted to act since I was eight years old, so I did, and then - and then I didn’t for twelve years because I couldn’t ! I couldn’t do anything except recite fucking Shakespeare monologues and now - now every time I hear them I feel like I could puke! That was everything I wanted to do and everything I wanted to be and now I don’t-” She falls silent suddenly, coming to an abrupt stop in front of the bench, and Spencer watches her for a moment.

           “I don’t even know who I am anymore!” She says, her hands coming up to cover her face as she gives in to the sobs that have been building like a tidal wave. They crash over her now, making her shake, and Spencer stands quickly, wrapping his arms around her tightly and pulling her against his chest.

           If he’s being completely honest, part of him is relieved to see this sudden show of emotions. Up until now, she hasn’t shown much of anything. Aside from the reunions with her loved ones and the terror in her eyes at the precinct, she’s been quiet and almost numb. And he understands, he does. It’s much the same as how he felt after Tobias, when the only thing he felt he’d had to turn to had been the dilaudid. The thought digs at the back of his mind that Parker could turn to something like that too, and it makes him hold her tighter. He won’t let that happen.

           “Look at me. Hey, look at me.” He says firmly. He removes his arms from her shoulders only to move her hands from her face gently. When she lets him lower them, he cups her cheeks and brushes the tears from them with his thumbs delicately. He looks her over for a moment, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear gently before he speaks again.

           “You’re Parker O’Hare. You pushed a fifth-grader off a swing when you were seven years old, and I’m pretty sure that if he’d tried to fight back, you would’ve kicked his ass. You broke your arm when you were ten years old and you just stared at it and told your mom you needed to go to the doctor while I freaked out. You held me together after the Harper Hillman incident. You kept me sane for ten years. More than that, you’ve kept me sane since the day we met, even when we weren’t together.”

           She’s crying still, but he keeps talking.

           “That’s who you are.” His voice softens now, and he feels tears prick his own eyes. “You’re Parker O’Hare, and you’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. You’re my best friend, and I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

           Sucking in a breath, she wraps her arms around him tightly. He winds his arms around her shoulders again and presses his cheek to the top of her head. He can feel the raging storm in her ebbing away slowly, feel the fight and the anxiety draining out of her bit by bit. Her fingers curl white-knuckle-tight in the back of his jacket as she clings to him like a life preserver in the choppy waves.

           "You don't have to know what you wanna do right this second." He whispers into her hair. "You have time to figure it out. We have time."

           And he's right. They have all the time in the world.

Now that I'm free to be myself, who am I? - Poet Mary Oliver

[burntmcnuggies]

A Hopeless Fight

Yander Levi x Reader

Warning: this story contains blood, gore, and suggestive themes such as kidnapping, murder, non-consensual touching, forced sex, and drug usage. You guys have been warned! Now all of you who wanna read! Please enjoy! :D

Prologue:

*Drip*

“W-Wait! P-Please! I-Ugh! I’ll give you anything you want! Just please don’t kill me!”

*Drip*

“PLEASE IM BEGGING YOU!!!!!!”

*Drip*

“NO!! NOT AGAIN!! NO! PLEASE!!! IM SORRY!!! NO!!! SOMEONE HELP M—“

*Splat!*

His hands were once again stained with the familiar crimson liquid. The same liquid that smears the skin in red when you try and wipe it off. The same irony liquid he’s spilled countless times. The same substance he himself had within his body. Blood. Finally the soundproof walls of his basement could stop restraining against letting the screams of agony and torture slip through them to any listening ears outside. His lifeless metallic eyes glistened in satisfaction at the hefty amount of blood that covered his black elbow-length gloves and apron. He pulled down the black mask around his mouth and nose and clicked his tongue in annoyance at the mess his latest victim had made. He put the tarps there for a reason, easy disposal of blood, however his victim was so squirmy that blood had gotten onto his perfectly clean stone slab floors. His dark ebony brows furrowed, a heavy aggravated sigh escaping his throat.

“How troublesome. If you were still alive I would’ve tortured you more for getting blood on my floor before killing you.” He huffed and took his latest victim off of the hooks he had lodged into his armpits to keep him up and still. He heaved the large man up and took him towards a pristinely clean metal table, an autopsy table he had attained curtesy of a customer. He opened the drawer attached to the metal table and pulled out a large syringe, flicking the bottle twice before injecting it into his victims veins. Since he recently died and hadn’t started decomposing, it was necessary for the extremely sanitary man to drain as much blood as he could. Once he began to draw blood, he carefully watched as the crimson liquid filled the syringe with its thick content. He collected ten pints of blood from his body successfully, and refrigerated the blood packets in a large cooler he had built in himself. “Tch, this better be enough for that four-eyed bitch.” He mumbled irritably.

As if on cue, he received a call from the woman in particular. He grunted and slid one of his gloves off, pressing the button on the screen to answer. “What is it four-eyes. Couldn’t come to check this guy for yourself?” He placed the phone on speaker and carefully slid his glove back on, making sure his skin was clear and clean before he started again. The phone laid on a wooden table close to the metal one where he would skillfully be dismembering his corpse. “Ah, Levi! Great you answered! And murder isn’t really my strong suit! I don’t get off on it as much as you do! Did you get the blood?” He rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue at her energetic attitude. He rinsed his gloves in the sink quickly and grabbed the file on the guy his customer had faxed him. “Yeah. Ten pints. Need any organs or anything? Better hurry before they’re unusable anymore.”

“Well, there’s a specific process in removing the organs, I would need to do that! Plus the patient would need to be brain dead and still breathing to use organs to their fullest benefit!” He clicked his tongue once again and snapped the file closed, throwing it onto the wooden desk he kept downstairs to do his research and filing. He approached another metal table, but this one was full of more sinister tools. Many of the tools littered on the wall and on the table were stained and dried with blood. Leaving no room for excuse that the man had ultimately tortured his victim until his death. Although the clean freak he was, he found it pointless to rinse the blood off when he would be continuously torturing his victim. “Tch... well I have your blood. I’ll run some tests following the strict instructions you gave me to make sure this gluttonous bastard doesn’t have a disease or some shit.” His brunette customer laughed across the other end of the phone, shuffling being done as she pulled out some files. He was about to grab his circular saw to begin dismembered his victim, when his next assignment was given to him. “You’re next target is (Y/N) (L/N). A young college student with straight A’s, a bright future, and a promising education.”

“What? Why would you want me to take her life? Sounds as if you like her.” The prestigious doctor sighed on the other end of the phone, and she looked on the file, smiling as she stared at the young girl, reluctant to fax her murderous friend the file on her. She paused, before taking in a deep breath and slapping the file closed. “She’s a sweet girl. A patient here not too long ago. After getting hit by a drunk driver she had to have stitches and a cast put on her foot. She was very kind. But she’s proven a big distraction for my hospital.” The ebony-haired man quirked his thin eyebrow up at her sudden comment. This particular future victim interested him. Probably because she annoyed the eccentric woman, and rarely anyone ever annoyed the woman. “Hmm. Done. Fax me her file and I’ll get to tracking her down right away.”

“No need to track her. I can just ask her to come into the hospital.” He was interested now. An easy catch? An annoying girl to play with and taunt? He felt his lips twitch in the slightest, tempted to stretch into a sadistic grin at the rush of adrenaline spiking through his veins. One question spiraled his brain though. “Why does a shitty brat like her annoy you so much? Tch, thought you would’ve annoyed Moblit with your stupid chatter before a kid ever dreamed of enjoying you.” His friend sighed loudly and started typing on her computer, obvious by the familiar clicking of the keyboard. The doctor finally responded to his question, stunning him into silence at the very boring and stupid answer he received. “Well, lets see... She visits my sicker patients and gives them false hope. The people need honestly rather than hope if they’re terminal. They’re gonna die without a thought in their mind that they’re really dying.” The man scoffed at the received answer and started up the circular saw, trying to drown out her pointless chatter.

“Sounds as if she’s trying to help them and not let them suffer.” Silence spread around the air around the bloodied man, all except the familiar metallic ringing of his rather clean circular saw. He could perfectly tell she was considering his explanation, and was painfully reluctant to send him the assignment. However, even if she didn’t send the information, he would track her down either way. His powerful authority as a police officer gave him a hefty upper hand in tracking anyone he so desired. “Whatever, it’s a brat. Hurry up and fax me her file so I can continue with my hobby.” He mumbled, pulling the black protective mask over his nose and mouth, slipping on some protective glasses. His strong hands grasped onto the pale cold flesh of his victim, and leg the screeching metal collide with muscle, bone, and tissue.

Once his corpse was dismembered, he fired up his incinerator and slid the body into the enclosed space. He had gotten a clear document allowing him to have it in his basement. He had everyone convinced that he went through a lot of garbage, and thought it easier to have an incinerator. They reluctantly let him install it, but he paid the price of paying a fine every couple months. After the body had turned to ash, he threw the limbs in and hummed in satisfaction at a good kill. He turns towards the mess in his basement, and his satisfaction turned to disgust once he spotted the blood on his tools and his once sparkling stone slab floors. After hours of vigorous cleaning later, he replaced the tarps and made his once dirty tools sparkle and shine. Finally, he went to his desk and picked up the papers his customer had sent him.

“(Y/N) (L/N).” He grinned.

“Perfect.”

[vergilthelibrarian]

Curiosity.

Part 2 to In Due Time

Serial Killer/Yandere!Jeno x FTM!Reader X Mark

Bitches be bored because of the quarantine. I’m bitches

Mark, my love, I am so sorry

Mark sighed as he hung up his phone.

Once again, you didn’t answer his call.

One day you just told him that you were cutting ties with him only to simply vanish.

He asked your family what was going on but they said you did the same thing.

It didn’t shock him that you would cut ties with your family though as some of the members in your family wasn’t accepting of you being trans but what shocked him was how you up and disappeared.

Mark checked with your job and your boss said you had quit on Tuesday, the day before you vanished.

He was concerned.

Very concerned.

Mostly because he remembers you talking about how your boyfriend Jeno was acting strange as of late. You said he was snappy and stressed, even angrily breaking a plate when you two got into an argument.

Mark had a feeling that Jeno was behind this but he didn’t know how to go about it.

He would tell the police his concerns but the cops here were practically useless in domestic violence cases, always blaming the victim about why they got their partner so angry.

Mark lean back into his bed. He wouldn’t lie, he thought Jeno was a good guy.

He seemed to really care about you, to genuinely be in love with you but the fact that you two were arguing before your disappearance made him believe there was something more going on, something sinister.

What if you were dead? Mark wouldn’t be able to handle of you being gone forever like that.

Putting his phone on his nightstand, he turned around in his bed, trying to fall asleep.

~~ Mark awoke to his alarm going off.

He stopped, got up from his bed and started to get ready for the day.

You were still on his mind.

Where were you?

You wouldn’t just leave like this.

Mark threw some clothes on, fixed his hair and left off to work.

Once he was at his job, which was a music shop, he went to the back of the store in the employees room and conveniently the radio was on.

“In breaking news, the dismembered body of a 19 year old woman by the name of Sue Lim was found in a trash can this morning. Detectives say that this seems to be the work of the Hatchet Killer. If you have any information on this case, contact your local police.” Mark gulped.

He thought the killings were over but apparently it wasn’t.

He knew Sue a bit. She would come over to the music shop to hangout with her friends. It was always heartbreaking when someone was a victim of a murder.

Mark prayed that her soul was a peace and that this killer would be stopped.

As much of a man of faith he was, he couldn’t help but wonder why God just let things like this happen. Why he’d let some people die in gruesome and horrid ways.

Pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind, he took a deep breathe and left the back room, standing behind the register to start his day

~~ When it was his time to go, Mark left, saying goodbye to his coworkers.

As he was walking home, he stopped in place as his phone ranged.

Taking his phone out of his pocket, he saw that the number was unknown.

He answered it.

“Hello?” “Mark! It’s so nice to hear your voice.” and his breathe hitched.

It was you.

“Y/n? Where are you?” he asked, his heart beating fast.

“I can’t tell you. Just don’t look for me okay. It’s for your safety.” Mark frowned.

“What do you mean? What’s going on? Is Jeno behind this?” he had so many questions.

“Mark, I know how you are. Just don’t look for me okay. Pretend that I never existed. Goodbye.” the call ended and Mark stood in frozen in place.

He couldn’t just not figure out what the hell your phone call was about now.

Now he felt he needed to find you.

~~ Mark took a week off of work, telling his boss a family emergency came up.

He was going to start his investigation now.

Sitting at his desk, he was on his computer, searching through your social media for anything cryptic. Anything that would give him a clue as to where you were.

He found a post on your blog that talked about how Jeno had found a house in the country side about 2 months before your disappearance. He thought that this could be a clue and decided he would go to the country side to look for you.

He had a week to find you but he started thinking more.

What would happen if he does find you? What if Jeno was there? Would he even be able to fight the guy? Jeno was a boxer and Mark couldn’t fight at all, so if he were to find you out there in the country side, how would he even save you?

Mark shook his head and decided that tomorrow he would rent a car and go to the country side to find you.

Before he went to sleep though, he wrote a letter explaining what he did and why just in case anything happened to him.

He didn’t know what he was getting himself into so he had no idea what would happen to him.

All he knew was that you were in danger and he wouldn’t to do something to try and help you.

He was in love with you after all.

~~ Mark made sure to take some of the pictures he had of you with him and as he drove, he thought of you.

You occupied his thoughts 24/7 since you left and all of it was filled with horrible scenarios of you being dead.

You were in trouble and he knew that Jeno was the reason, that was easy enough to figure out. But what he couldn’t figure out was just where you were.

Yes he was going to the country side to search for you but what if you weren’t even there and this was just some wild goose chase? His grip tightening the stirring wheel, Mark let out a sigh.

He just needed to have faith.

Seeing a farmers market, Mark drove into the dirt parking lot and parked the car.

He grabbed the pictures of you and left the car, making sure it was locked.

He went inside the farmers market, thanking God for the cool air and started asking the workers if they saw you, showing a picture of you.

The butcher was the only one who remembered seeing you with a muscular brunette the other day, commenting on how sad and docile you appeared.

“Do you have any idea of where they live?” “No. But if you don’t mind me asking, why are you looking for him?” “I can’t say much but he just means a lot to me.” was Mark’s answer. He didn’t want to out right say it was because you were missing and your boyfriend was acting strange.

“Well, if you need any help with your search, I can always help.” the butcher smiled and Mark smiled back.

Walking out of the farmers market and back to his car. He sat in the car with his door wide open, staring out into an open field.

So you were here…

Scratching his head, he jumped slightly when an old woman called out to him.

“Are you okay?” the woman asked and Mark nodded his head.

“Yes, I’m fine.” he answered and then a thought popped into his mind.

“Um, excuse me!” he said, getting up from the car. “I was wondering, have you seen this person?” he asked, quickly taking out a photo of you and showing it to the old woman.

The woman’s eyes sparkled as she nodded her head, “Yes, I have. That’s Jeno’s sweet little husband.” she smiled and Mark eyes widen.

“Do you know where they live?” “Of course, they’re my neighbors! They live at 235 Houston Road. It’s a big blue house, you can’t miss it!” and with that Mark thanked the old woman and ran off to his car.

Driving away he made it Houston Road and saw a big blue house.

Before he was going to enter the house, he decided to text his friends and family, telling them he loved them and will always watch over them.

He felt a dreadful feeling staring at the house and as he got out of the car and headed towards it, the feeling became bigger.

Once he was in front of the door, he knocked 3 times and ranged the doorbell once.

To his surprise the door opened and you were the one who answered it.

“Mark?” “Y/n! Oh my god!” he said, grabbing into a hug and hugging you tightly. You hugged him back, missing his warmth and presence. You pulled away eventually and closed the door shut behind you.

“Mark, what are you doing here? How did you find me?” and Mark explained everything and you couldn’t help the tears that welled up in your eyes.

“Mark you have to go or he’ll hurt you.” “You’re talking about Jeno aren’t you? Come with me. I’ll protect you Y/n, I promise, just come back with me.” and you shook your head.

“I can’t, for yours everyone else’s safety I can’t leave. Mark, go back home before he comes back!” you pleaded with your best friend.

Before Mark could say anything, a car drove into the driveway and you felt your stomach drop.

Jeno was back home and you could see he was visibly pissed.

You pushed Mark, trying to get him to leave.

“Mark leave! Leave right now!” but Mark didn’t budge.

“Mark please! I don’t want you to die!”

Everything happened so fast.

One minute Mark was standing next you and the next minute he was tied up in a chair in the basement of the house and you were chained up to the wall where you were usually kept at for punishments.

Jeno cracked his neck and rolled back his shoulders.

He was feeling wonderful today but then Mark just had to ruin his day by trying to be your savior.

What did he think he was going to do? Rescue you? You didn’t need to be saved.

You were perfectly fine with him.

“Oh Mark,” he started. “You’re too smart for your own good. You know, I was gonna let you live but now… now I have to kill you.” Mark’s jaw clenched.

Jeno looked back at you, noticing how your head hung.

“Don’t be sad love. He had this coming. As they say, curiosity killed the cat but… satisfaction brings it back so maybe he’ll be satisfied knowing our little secret.” Jeno smirked. He walked closer to Mark, and leaned down, his lips skimming his ear. “I’m the Hatchet Killer.” he whispered and Mark gasped.

“N-no. You can’t be.”

“But I am and you Mark will be my first male victim.” Jeno laughed. Stopping, he leaned down once again, his face close to Mark’s as he said, “I am going to enjoy breaking you.”

[fandom-meanderer]

Not Your Classic Vigilante [Pt. 6]

Not Your Classic Vigilante

Pairing: Batfamily x Reader

Part: (6/?) [First] [Previous] [Next]

Genre: General Fiction

Fandom: DC Universe

P.o.V.: 3rd

Word Count: 1,035 Words

Warnings: None

Further Notes: Sorry if this is a bland chapter, things will definitely get more heated in the next one! (also tag listtttt)

—

“So she doesn’t remember dying, at all,” Dick restated. Alfred nods.

“She believes that it had only been two months.”

“She told me that she woke up in a surgical room,” Jason huffs. “And that two guys got her out, then she ran into me. On a roof top.”

“What?”

“Well I’m assuming the guys that were shooting at her were trying to get her back in the lab,” Jason shrugs. “Shit, she really doesn’t know what’s going on, huh?”

“How are we going to break it to her?” Dick furrows his eyebrows and paces around slowly.

“You’re all overthinking this, we just have to tell her,” Damien points out.

“Wait, tell who what?” Duke inquires. He walks into the cave after parking his motorcycle and looks amongst the group of concerned boys. Alfred nods his head slightly.

“Welcome home, Master Duke.”

“Hey, Alfred. Oh, and who’s the chick upstairs? She’s cute.”

“Our sister,” Jason glared. Duke went pale.

“You mean, that sister?” He asks. “The one that was, you know, dismembered,” he whispered the final word.

“Don’t remind me,” Dick sighs. Duke frowns.

“Sorry, sorry, she just didn’t look very, um, separated,” he continues.

“I suggest you stop talking, Thomas,” Damien crosses his arms. “We should explain to her what happened.”

“You already said that,” Tim says.

“I guess we really don’t have a choice, and we can’t wait for Bruce either, I think that he would be the last person (Name) would want to see.”

“Yeah, yeah, right,” Dick nods his head. “Let’s go break it to her.”

-

(Name) stood by the mantle in a silent thought. Her hands brushed over the dark wood and came to a stop by a picture of herself, about seven years ago based on the regrettably rainbow braces and the giant framed glasses. She picked it up delicately, her mind drifting back to those simpler times. However, just as quickly, her mind switched to the drastic times.

It hasn’t been easy, after the incident.

(Name) Wayne had woken up in a world unfamiliar to her, the grassy plains, the clear blue skies, and the reflective waters just seemed too perfect. Too different. Different from the barren wastelands, the smoggy atmosphere, and the murky waters. Different from home.

And to be frank, it terrified her.

Her hands moved up to her shoulders to rub them gently, then her thighs, her chest, and finally her neck. All in one piece.

Something was wrong, something had to be up. Was it the Scarecrow’s doing? Was she hallucinating?

Turns out, the new land she was in was very much real. Just as real as the scars around her neck and body, just as real as her still beating heart, and just as real as the events that transpired before. Every now and then, (Name) would feel a ghost pain of the terrors she had experienced before her second chance. She would rub the scars gently and curse herself for thinking of the long past incident.

The stories are true, she did ascend the ranks and she did so quickly but naught without cost. The pains and the suffering she went through, all started by one person.

The person she used to adore, and now the person she loathed. He ruined her life, she wasted so much time on a lost cause of a goal, and that made her bitter. It made her cruel, she learned that she could truly only rely on herself.

But still, she had those days. Those days when all she wished was to stay in bed and cry as the pains and the images overwhelmed her. She never could truly forget the feeling of hands grabbing at her from all sides, the agonizing pain of the knife dragging across her appendages, or the brutality of forced desires. Who could?

But where were they?

Gotham’s protectors?

Not there.

And because of that, (Name) Wayne finished her transition into Captain Wayne. That much was clear.

(Name) placed the picture frame back on the mantle as her brothers returned to the main room. She put on a smile and turned to them.

“Done excluding me?” She teases.

“You died,” Jason blurted. Damien shot him a ‘What the hell?’ face while Dick’s jaw drops. Tim whistles awkwardly and Duke nods slowly with wide eyes.

“I… I what…? I died? What do you mean?” (Name) stood up and walked towards them slowly. “I don’t remember that. Shouldn’t I remember something like dying? Jason did. Why don’t I? Wait, what does that mean? Am I still human? Am I evil? This is too much.”

“No, no, just stay calm, (Name),” Dick reassures. He walks over to her and rests his hands on her shoulders.

“How’d I die? Where’s your proof?” (Name)’s voice shook as her eyes began to tear up slightly. Dick looked back at Jason, who just shook his head gently.

“I really don’t think you want to know, little wing,” Dick frowns. (Name)’s expression tensed slightly at her old nickname.

“And I really think I deserve to know, Richard,” (Name) stood taller and looked up at her older brother. “Well?”

Oh, but they didn’t have to tell her.

(Name) remembered all too well. But Alex would be very disappointed in her if she skinned her brothers alive now, so best not do that.

“Just like always, I don’t know why I bother,” (Name) shook her head. “I’m going home.”

“(Name) wait!” Dick steps in front of her.

“What now?”

“Well… since you died… well your house isn’t your house anymore. It’s best that you stay here with us.” He looks her in the eye and (Name) felt her heart break. But just as fast as it broke, it hardened once again.

“Oh, alright then,” she mumbles. “Is my room still the same?”

“We didn’t have the heart to clean it out,” Alfred said behind her. (Name) nodded slightly and walked up the stairs.

‘Bravo,’ Alex’s voice rang in her head.

‘Shut up, this is fucking painful,’ (Name) grimaces as she walks up the stairs. ‘Just do what you need to do and I’ll grab the files from my dad’s computer.’

‘Naturally, just try not to lose your cool.’

‘Yeah, yeah.’

Tag List: @loxbbg @holymotherofchickennoodlesoup@ijustwannabecanadian @oneshots-galore @xapham @peqchynero @sono-sakana

[freshlyjuicedbeetles]

Sins of the Father

Shego meets with her father. Heavy angst.

Warnings: Child abuse and forced eating disorders, some gore.

The phone at the robotics workstation rang, startling Drakken, causing him to solder through the motherboard.

He groaned loudly. He had been working on that motherboard for days!

“What?” He snapped, answering the phone.

“Stephanie?” The voice on the other line questioned.

Drakken leaned back in his seat, “Listen, pal if you think I sound like a Stephanie we both have issues.”

“Is Stephanie Gordon there?”

Drakken’s eyes narrowed, “How’d you get this number?”

“Is she there?” The voice asked, getting tired of Drakken’s perceived runaround.

“No, she’s not.” Drakken was getting suspicious and it sounded in his voice. GJ had sent her on a short mission for the day.

The man on the other end sighed, “Just- just tell her to call me. My number is still the same. I’m her father.” The call abruptly disconnected.

Drakken sat back up in his chair and thought. Shego and her father Sam had been estranged for longer than Drakken had known her. She had divulged little tidbits of his parenting which were less than stellar at best and abusive at worst.

Through the GJ computers, Drakken could run a full background check on this guy. He didn’t trust him. What did he want all of a sudden? Drakken knew criminals (the irony was not lost on him) and as much as Drakken hoped he wasn’t, Gordon could be up to something. If he so much as sneezed near a traffic camera, GJ would show it.

Samuel James Gordon, divorced from Shego’s and her brother’s mother for several years, a failed MMA fighter, terrible credit score, lives in the not so good part of town, unemployed but has self-published a book on Team Go. No criminal history and no weapons registered to him. This guy was a Loser with a capital L who lived vicariously through his kids, mostly Shego. Drakken was satisfied that Gordon probably wasn’t up to anything. It was up to Shego if she wanted to speak to him.

Midevening rolled around, and the lab began to shut down for the night. Techs and assistants turned off their computers and all unnecessary equipment shut down. Paul was fed and put in her kennel for the night. Overnight security began to show up. Drakken never noticed the lively hum the running lab emitted until it was gone.

Shego walked in with a few other GJ agents who had friends or partners that worked for him, the burning sun shining behind her. In her catsuit and flowing raven hair, laughing with one of her colleagues, she looked absolutely beautiful. And powerful. Stars, what did she see him?

“Hey loser,” She greeted, walking up to his workstation. ‘Loser’ had somehow become a term of endearment from her to him long ago. “What do you want for dinner? Heath gave me more Bueno Nacho gift cards for my birthday and it sounds kinda good right now. That sound good to you? I don’t feel like cooking.”

Drakken was a million miles away. He had no idea how he was going to tell her that her father was asking for her. He would never keep anything from her, but he also wanted to protect her from any emotional trauma Gordon’s presence brought about. Once again, Drakken reminded himself that it was up to her to decide what to do.

“Yeah, sounds good.” Drakken answered.

“Sweet,” Shego replied, going off to change.

As much as Drakken was annoyed with GJ’s restrictions, the little amenities assuaged him, like a laundry and tailor service. Apparently, his lab gear and her suit needed to be laundered a certain way? It took him a very long time to figure out that leather cannot survive the rinse and dry cycle. Shego had only been at his side for a week when she commented that he looked like he was mottling. The leather of his lab coat was dry and cracked. Once he thought about it yeah, it made sense, he dealt with biohazardous and/or corrosive materials on a daily basis, things he really didn’t want to bring home on his clothing. Every morning in his office, he was greeted by a fresh lab coat hanging up and his lab boots expertly shined. Shego’s own suits were cleaned as well.

Shego emerged in a black tank top, her hair pulled back and comfy shorts, her purse slung over her shoulder. Soon, they headed home.

Shego had her long legs kicked up on the dashboard, soaking up the dying sun, her sunglasses on and her shoes off as she scrolled through her phone. Drakken saw the opportunity.

“Get any weird calls lately?” He asked, swallowing hard.

“No,” Shego replied casually, “Our provider is pretty good at filtering out spam and robocalls.”

“Really?” Drakken paused, “I did.”

“Oh yeah?” Shego said, still looking at her phone, “What was it?”

“Uh, it was your dad, looking for you.”

Shego froze. “What?”

“I didn’t give him your number. He said he wants to talk. His number is still the same.”

Shego sighed, “I’m not talking to him.”

“You don’t have to,” Drakken replied.

There was a tense silence.

“What does he even want?”

“I dunno.” Drakken shrugged, “He didn’t say.”

Shego threw her head back against the seat and pouted, “Would I be a bad daughter if I ignored him?”

“I don’t think I’m the greatest moral compass, Stef, but from everything you told me, you don’t own him anything.”

Shego’s head rolled to look out the window. She groaned. “I guess I’ll talk to him. It might be important.”

~*~

Shego drug her feet on contacting her father, but Drakken didn’t push her. She had been tense and quiet and snappy the entire week. Late Thursday afternoon, she made the call and arranged to meet with him that Saturday at a café. Shego didn’t linger on the line for conversation. A café, public but non-committal, you weren’t stuck there through the appetizer and entre round if things went south.

Drakken parked in front of the café. Shego sighed and grabbed her purse from the floorboards.

“Want me to go in with you?” He asked, hoping to offer support.

“No. Keep the car running.” She said, pushing her sunglasses to her head.

Drakken hoped this went well, for her sake.

Shego went in and ordered a black coffee and sat down. Shego took a seat and from where she sat, Drakken could see her and her table fine, minus a glare. She just wanted Drew there without actually being there.

They both sat for a few moments when a scrawny but still somehow paunchy man with salt and pepper hair passed by the car and walked inside. That could not have been Shego’s father. She must have gotten her looks from her mother. Geez, even Drakken himself could beat this guy up. Drakken dropped down, not wanting to be seen, fearing that he could be seen even through the car’s tinted windows.

Drakken’s phone rang and it was Shego. Confused, he answered, “Hello?”

“Stephanie, look you great.” He heard Gordon say. The man made a move to hug her, but Shego didn’t make a move to reciprocate. Drakken felt second-hand embarrassment for the guy, watching the hug slowly die. Shego wanted Drakken to hear their conversation as she placed her phone to the side.

“How long has it been?” Gordon asked, sitting down.

Shego shrugged, saying nothing.

Her father looked around, nervously drumming on his thighs. “I heard you got married. Eloped. I’m not surprised. Not crazy about you not telling me…”

Shego cut him off, “What do you want?”

He looked flabbergasted. “You’re my daughter…”

“No, I was your pet project. You didn’t pay any attention to me until I nearly died in that treehouse and came out with powers. Then, you made me into what you wanted, what you couldn’t be. The boys,” Shego shook her head, “they were extra, bonuses, just along for the ride. Hell, you even told me I was radioactive, some Radium Girl, to keep me under your thumb.”

Shego’s black painted nails drummed on the side of her coffee mug, “God, how much did I miss because of you? All kinds of parties, birthdays, dances. Mom had to convince you to let me do anything, even to go to Prom. You said everything was a distraction.” She said, carefully, drawing out this man’s torture. This meeting was not going as well as he hoped and it showed on his face.

“I just wanted what was best for you. You had, have so much potential. I thought that that was what you wanted…”

“Did you ask?” Shego exclaimed, her eyes wide, “How many calories was I allowed to have? A couple a hundred? A healthy teenage girl needs 2,200 calories a day and I sure as hell wasn’t getting that. Remember that earthquake in Tokyo you pulled us out of school for, so we could do search and rescue?”

Shego paused and when she spoke again, her voice was strained with emotion, “I’ll never forget the smell of leaking gasoline, a little girl’s cries for help from under the rubble of her school, her hand sticking through the debris, clawing for help. I told her it would be alright, I don’t know if she understood me, I just learned a few Japanese phrases on the flight over, I took her hand and it wasn’t connected to her anymore. I held her bloody, dismembered hand, Dad.” She said through gritted teeth, tears streaming down her face, shaking her own hand. “I was sixteen. I still remember.”

“I don’t know what to say…”

“There’s nothing you can say,” Shego replied. Her fingers started to twitch and constrict, subconsciously, she wanted to lash out, to light the café up with green plasma. “There are just some things you can’t undo.”

They sat for a moment in silence before Shego grabbed her purse, “Don’t contact me. Ever again.”

She hurried out of the café and back into the SUV with her husband.

Drakken knew better to say anything to Shego as she got in. She needed her space and he would be there for her when she was ready. He looked at Gordon through the windshield and the café’s window and he was looking back. Gordon couldn’t see Drakken through the tinted windows but knew it was him behind the wheel. Drakken held the man’s eyes before putting the SUV in reverse and pulling away. Shego pulled her sunglasses back down over her eyes, tears on her cheeks reflecting in the afternoon sun, and remained silent the entire way home. Drakken did what he could to keep her comfortable, making sure the temperate in the vehicle was good, that it wasn’t blowing on her too much, that the radio volume wasn’t too loud. He wouldn’t press her to talk.

When they returned home, Shego went upstairs. Drakken gave her some time to herself before he went up to check on her.

She could never accept his apology if he offered one. There was a finality she felt. The last time she saw him was when her Mom asked for a divorce when Shego was nineteen and he left with only an old suitcase. She hoped he’d just turn to dust and leave her be. Now, it was like he finally was dead. She sobbed and beat the bed with clenched fists, mourning for her father and what she never had. Drakken merely held Shego as she painfully mourned her father.

[nadziejastar]

How do you think Lea and Isa went from lab rats to Organization members? It makes sense that Xehanort would recruit Isa if he had already become a vessel, but why would they keep Lea around instead of just disposing of him like they presumably did to countless other test subjects?

Fear: Axel’s True Weakness

I would say there were three main reasons. The first is that Lea was Isa’s weakness. If they kept Axel around, they could control Saïx better. He may be another Xehanort, but he still wanted revenge, and genuinely teamed up with Axel. He’s more complacent if he thinks he’s working towards his own goals.

The second reason is that Axel didn’t train himself to be an assassin. He may not have been vessel material, but there’s no reason to believe Isa was the only one subjected to mind control. Females are said to be better at dissociating, so since Isa was more feminine, perhaps Axel was not deemed worthy and was given another role.

You can’t do a proper mind control plot without researching the subject first. I’m sure Nomura and his team did their homework. In my opinion, Axel was inspired by Delta programming.

Slaves are threatened with fire, like the Scarecrow. They also see people dismembered like the Scarecrow was dismembered. For them it is not an idle threat. The front alters also have hearts full of pain like Scarecrow.

The Wizard of Oz is a very popular movie used in mind control programming. A subject can be Dorothy: lost in a tornado, stuck in chaos, perpetually spinning out of control. Or the Cowardly Lion: Living in fear and the inability to act, making decisions based on fear. Or The Tin Man: only able to react in certain situations, frozen in others. These are just a few of the many characters that are used.Subjects are threatened with fire.

Pg. 38 Book 1 The Wizard of Oz: “That is true,” said the Scarecrow. “You see,” he continued, confidently, “I don’t mind my legs and arms and body being stuffed, because I cannot get hurt. If anyone treads on my toes or sticks a pin into me, it doesn’t matter, for I can’t feel it.”

They are told they can’t feel anything.

“It’s because I don’t have a heart,” Axel went on. “I don’t want to disappear, but I’m not upset or sad about it.”

Naminé tried to say something and failed.

Nobodies aren’t supposed to exist. Nobodies don’t have hearts, so they can’t feel anything.

It sounds just like Axel.

Pg. 79 Book 3 Ozma of Oz: “I am only a ma-chine, and can-not feel sor-row or joy, no mat-ter what hap-pens.”

That type of mechanical dissociation also coincides with Tin Man programming.

Certain alters are not given courage and most have their hearts taken from them. The alters who are programmed not to have hearts are hypnotically told the same thing the Tin Man says, “I could be human if I only had a heart.” …..Some alters are taught they are stupid and have no brain.

They are told they have had their hearts taken from them, and that they would be human only if they had one.

How is a man-made puppet any less worthy than a Nobody that was never meant to exist at all? They’re both ambiguous. Tenuous at best.

Just like Axel.

On page 38 is a poem about a Mr. Nobody. The programmers like to have alters identify themselves as “nobody”. On page 39 is a poem/story about “someone” who comes tapping…but it is “only the cricket whistling”.

They are literally told they are a “nobody”.

Axel: We are just Nobodies who have no one to be, yet we still “are.” But now you can be nothing instead of just being a Nobody. You’re off the hook.

Sounds just like Axel. When he kills Vexen, he says he has “no one to be”.

Learning ‘Over the Rainbow’ in Oz is for the slave to be in a trance, and into a certain area of the programming. To be fluctuating at both ends as an observer and not a participant or to go to the other extreme and become a participant. The theme song of the movie goes, “Somewhere over the Rainbow…there’s a land where the dreams that you dare to dream really come true.” These lyrics are a method to hypnotically confuse the brain to perceive that the “over the Rainbow experience” (which is usually horrible abuse) is a “dream”.

In Delta programming, the trainers will record delta waves on an EEG, and try to get the subject to always stay in delta state. They will do this using drugs, hypnosis and trauma. The trainers will often flash a cue, or delta (triangle) symbol on a projector overhead, and “grind in” the delta imprinting. They will wear robes with delta signs on them, and clothe the subject in robes imprinted with the delta sign.

As you can see, Delta brain patterns involve the unconscious mind and sleep. And that is one of the biggest themes of the Dark Seeker Saga. It’s what the whole Realm of Sleep was based on. The Delta trainers will teach the subject under hypnosis what deltas do, and how they act. They will be given delta jobs, and they will watch high frequency films that show delta functions. They may use a computer-like structure, showing pictures while the subject is under a deep trance. This is after creating a clean slate through trauma.

Delta programming was originally designed to train special agents and espionage agents’ minds for becoming terrorists devoid of fear and basic self preservation instincts. They are trained to be capable of incredible feats of physical endurance and murder. The Delta program was interested in training a new breed of man—one who kills and, if caught, self-destructs. This is why Axel is so fucked up, in my opinion. And I really don’t blame him one bit for it. He’s fucked up, but he’s still a saint considering what he must have gone through. I don’t blame him for killing Vexen or Zexion, or for having so much hatred. Who wouldn’t? It’s only natural.

The trainers will reward the subjects when they comply, and shock or otherwise traumatize them if they do not act like “deltas”. And all of this ties into the third reason I think they kept Axel around. As you can see, Delta programming is only effective to the extent that you can traumatize the person. And if they have something they can’t bear to lose, it makes it so much easier to do just that.

“Don’t let us down now, kiddo. Shouldn’t be too much trouble without a heart,” Xigbar told Saïx.

I think there is little doubt that Braig was Isa’s main abuser during the experiments. He all but taunts Saïx about it. Then there’s his weapon called “Cupid’s Arrow”. Cupid shoots people with arrows and they fall in love. His gold-tipped arrows are what link people in love. However, he can fire lead-tipped arrows, which cause people to feel indifference or hatred. This side of Cupid is not very well-known.From Axel’s point of view, that would be a very accurate description. I think all of this was implying that he was the main person who turned Isa into Saïx. 

One day, a man came to take me from the prison. I could not see him for the darkness, save that he wore an eyepatch.

And it JUST SO HAPPENS that he was Subject X’s main abuser, too. Hmmm, fancy that. What a coincidence, huh? Well, I think Xaldin was Axel’s main abuser. The story goes out of its way to parallel him to Axel. Notice how Axel never interacts with him in Days, and how he’s conveniently not present in 3D. And it doesn’t just say that he looks down on emotions or the heart. He is good at manipulating the hearts of others. This implies actions. This is Dilan, not Xaldin. So it’s not talking about the Beast. They describe Aeleus as NOT good at manipulating the hearts of others. Xaldin was different. There was definitely something planned with this.

Roxas: You remember the castle’s master, Xion?

Xion: Yeah, the beast we saw.

Roxas: Well, you were right. He does have something he wants to protect. Something he cares about.

Xion: Really?

Roxas: Yeah, but Xaldin says that’s a weakness.

Xion: Why would caring about something be a weakness?

Roxas: I dunno. I didn’t get it either.

Xion: I hope Axel comes home soon.

Caring about something is a weakness according to Xaldin. And 358/2 Days made a pretty big deal out of this idea. I think the story was hinting that Xaldin had a connection to Axel’s weakness. And that’s why they were given parallel stories like that.

Axel: Huh… I think you have a point there. So you don’t need a heart to have something that you can’t bear to lose then. If that’s true, then I guess the closest thing that we Nobodies have would be memories of our past. It’s the memories that create the things that we don’t want to lose.

Axel says his memories of the past are what he can’t bear to lose. Axel is ALL about memories, especially the ones of when he was human.

Xaldin was standing there.

“Is it too hard to at least knock before barging into people’s rooms?” Demyx stated, displeased, and strummed the sitar again.

“What will you do with those human memories you cling to?”

“Hah? What are you saying, old man?” Demyx’s hand stopped, and he turned just his face towards Xaldin. “What about you?”

“Nothing at all. But I’m interested in how you guys let your human memories influence you.”

“Hmm,” Demyx responded, disinterestedly, and plucked the sitar three times.

While Xaldin is the exact opposite. I can’t help but feel like Xaldin’s disgust stems from actually witnessing how Axel in particular was affected by his “weakness”.

“That which we treasure has power over us, Roxas. His heart is captive to it. And that makes it his weakness.”

“Captive…? I don’t get it.”

Everything Xaldin said only got harder and harder to follow.

“Nor should you. You have no heart to love with. Let’s not linger here.”

Xaldin says that anything you can’t bear to lose is your weakness. He calls that weakness “love”, even before he learns that the Beast loves Belle.

Roxas: Love is a power?

And all this happens on Day 150, which is called “Fear”. The whole idea is that having something you can’t bear to lose causes you to feel FEAR. This fear controls you and makes you captive to it. 

Roxas: It’s scary.

Axel: You can’t be scared without a heart!

Roxas: If my friends… If you or Xion were to disappear… It’s…scary to think of what it would be like without you guys.

Axel: “Scared” is not an emotion that can exist inside us.

Roxas: Well… I am scared right now, for sure.

Axel: Maybe it’s just that you remember what it’s like to be scared, you know? Somewhere deep inside your memories.

The whole idea of Delta subjects is that they are supposed to be devoid of fear. The only way that happens is to traumatize the subject so much that they become desensitized to fear. Why bring all of these ideas up if you are not going to do anything with them? There was originally a subplot about Axel’s weakness and the fear caused by it.

Roxas: Love? What’s that?

Axel can’t bear to lose his memories of the past, from when he was a human. But that is only relevant for him now, as a Nobody. It wouldn’t have been something that would cause him fear in the past, during the experiments.

Axel: You know, memories of the stuff we couldn’t bear to lose, back when we couldn’t bear to lose it.

The memories he refers to are about “stuff” he couldn’t bear to lose. He had something in his past that he couldn’t bear to lose. Not just memories. Something tangible. Something he treasured that made him afraid of losing it. So what could make him so afraid?

Day 150: Too Precious to Lose

Axel and I talked for a while about the things we can’t bear to lose. Axel thinks that for Nobodies, it’s our pasts, because that’s all we have to remember the pain of losing something.

Why are Axel’s memories too precious to lose? Because that’s all he has to remember the pain of losing something. He must have really treasured that thing if he never wants to forget the pain of losing it. His heart was captive to it. He considered that thing too precious to lose, and it was his weakness.

Saïx: There’s something I’ve meant to ask.

Xemnas: About Axel? The poor fool. How long will he keep chasing the illusion of friendship, when he himself lacks emotion? Trying so hard to retrieve what he has lost, when it may never have existed in the first place. He deserves nothing more than our pity.

Xemnas’ comment was about Axel trying to retrieve what he lost. And Xemnas spoke as if Axel had been chasing something he lost for a very long time. LONG before he lost Roxas. Also, Xemnas said it never existed in the first place. But Xemnas knew Nobodies had hearts. He also considered love to be a weakness, but he didn’t deny that Nobodies were capable of it.

Xemnas: Weakness has the power to awaken that which is dormant. It is clear that through his actions, however foolish they may have been, Axel has touched Sora’s heart. Perhaps HE will soon awaken.

He even said that Axel had the power to wake Ventus because he touched Sora’s heart. He knew Axel was capable of emotion, but he had to keep the script going. He also knew Roxas was not a normal Nobody, and that he had Ventus’ heart. Xemnas knew that Roxas’ friendship with Axel DID exist, and was genuine. That’s why he kept getting sent to Castle Oblivion. He was close to Roxas, and perhaps he would lead them to the Chamber of Waking.

So, I think there was a hidden meaning in his statement when he said that what Axel was seeking was something that never existed in the first place. It was not referring to Roxas. Axel had something else he lost, and was trying to recover. His memories of the past were his weakness. He was so desperate to recover something he lost that Xemnas never considered him a threat. He knew how to control Axel by using his memories of the past against him. And I think that’s why Xemnas never got rid of him.

Axel: As long as we remember each other, we’ll never be apart. Got it memorized?

Roxas: Ha ha, wow, Axel. That sounded ridiculous.

Axel: What? I thought it was pretty deep.

The sunset is a symbol of wanting to recover something important that was lost. Axel was always looking into it, long before Roxas or Xion left. He was looking at it all by himself on the day “Xion’s Keyblade”. The day Saïx acted like an asshole to Roxas and Xion. And the day Axel said he’d never have to be apart, as long as he had memories. Roxas and Xion had to be inseparable for a while, because Xion couldn’t use her Keyblade. Thanks to Roxas, she got it back, and they were happy. But Axel wasn’t. He didn’t laugh along with them that time.

Roxas: I found out about love on today’s mission–that it’s something powerful.

Axel: That’s true. It is. But I’ll never get to experience it.

Roxas: Nobodies can’t love?

Axel: You need a heart, man.

Roxas: Right…

Axel is the polar opposite of Xaldin. He wants love. Just like the Beast. It’s not the rose he can’t bear to lose. It’s Belle. She makes him feel more human than he did as a physical human. Because she taught him how to love. In my opinion, all of this was implying that Axel had more than just a weakness. He had something he loved. Like the Beast.

Axel: Love is what happens if there’s something really special between two people.

Roxas: You mean, like, if they’re best friends?

Axel: Well, you can care about your friends, I guess, but that’s not what I’m talking about.

Roxas: So then…love is like a step above friends?

Axel: Yes… Well, no. There aren’t “steps.”

Roxas: I don’t get it.

Axel: What does it matter? We’ll never know the difference.

The subtext is extremely strong. Lea was in love with Isa. 

Axel: Well, I think you can be inseparable even if you’re apart.

Roxas: Really?

Axel: Sure, if you feel really close to each other. If you’re best friends.

Roxas: What’s it like having a best friend, Axel?

Axel: Couldn’t tell ya. I don’t have one.

And Isa was what he couldn’t bear to lose. Isa was his weakness.

Axel: Does it hurt, Naminé? Watching your two childhood friends fight all because of you? You have my sympathies. From the heart. But don’t waste your time. We Nobodies can never hope to be somebodies.

Axel uses similar words to Naminé that he used with Vexen. He talks about having no one to be. His coldness was due to her causing a rift between childhood friends. Axel took this very personally. There’s only one person that Axel could possibly be referring to. These two things are connected with him. Childhood friends fighting, and not having anyone to be.

Roxas: I don’t get it.

Axel lost Isa, the one thing he couldn’t bear to lose when he was human. And it was unbearably painful for him. It’s why he took so much pleasure while killing Vexen, and why he hated Naminé. He didn’t care if he killed her at all. And I can’t say I blame him for for feeling that way.

Day 119: Hearts and Emotion

Watching that foolish beast flail about only deepens my disdain for humans and their incessant need to be pinned down by feelings. We became Nobodies precisely to avoid the shackles of emotion. It was only later that we realized the scale of that loss: that some things simply cannot be done without a heart. Nonetheless, I see nary a pleasant thing about it.

Not only was Lea in love with Isa, but I’d say Isa was his weakness in a very concrete way. Isa was Lea’s weakness that was used to traumatize him so effectively during the experiments. Because Lea cared so much about his friend, he was probably the most “foolish” subject Dilan experimented on. If there was anyone who would have inspired Lea to get the teardrop tattoos, it would have been Dilan. Isa would have been the last person to do that. Lea was very easy to control due to his strong emotions, and thus made a good assassin. He’d follow any orders to protect Isa. That was true during the experiments, and I think it’s true for when he was a Nobody.

Day 71: The Traitors’ End

Saïx had a hand in what went down at Castle Oblivion—well, more like a whole arm. Which means Axel was in on it as well. It’s a fact that Xemnas ordered Axel to take out the traitors, orders which went through Saïx. No specific names were given, but naturally Xemnas knew who the turncoats were right from the get-go.

When Xehanort possesses someone, he can see their experiences in real time. Axel told Saïx all of his secrets. All the schemes, and the gossip about the other members, etc. Having Axel around provided a ton of valuable information to Xemnas. He knew everything they were plotting and then some. Xemnas had no reason to get rid of him. He was useful. He was well-trained, followed orders, and because Xemnas knew everything he was plotting, he was not a real threat.

They only ordered him to be eliminated after he finally left and went after Roxas. Because then he became unpredictable. Xemnas thought Axel was a fool who was pitiful. I think it was because he had no idea that Saïx was NOT Isa. And he played right into Xehanort’s hand. Like Xemnas said in KH3, he was a pawn, knocked from the board early in the game.

Axel’s memories of Isa were the reason why he was kept around in the Organization. They knew he was totally loyal to Saïx, who was another Xehanort. So he’s technically not a traitor. Saïx was nothing but another Xehanort, and Axel’s friendship with him never even existed in the first place. But Xemnas knew that Axel’s memories of Isa were too precious to lose. They knew Axel’s weakness. Even as a Nobody, he had something that he couldn’t bear to lose—something that he loved. So he could be controlled by the fear of losing it.

[stuffandnosense]

To Hold On - Chpt 5

Description: “Where ARE we?" Lance whispers urgently.

"I'm sorry, Lance, it's...if I'm right, I think it’s...kind of like a brothel. But not for sex.” Keith shifts on his feet, uncomfortable. “Just for people who want to hurt people."

Warnings:  Torture, blood, violence, etc.

Chpt 1 | Chpt 2 | Chpt 3 | Chpt 4

***

Lance can feel himself trembling—the sharp pricks of pain in his chest and leg are a good indication he’s not imagining it—but when Keith’s eyes go wide with the realization they both have of what Smirk Face means...that’s he’s here for both of them this time...no. Heck no.

Lance draws himself up anyway, even if it won’t do any good, and makes himself meet the alien’s smug gaze. “You’re not touching him.”

“I’m not, am I?” A deep jab into the worst of the pain in his side, a thumb pressing in and holding and the pain is so electric his body won’t let him breathe. A keening whine grows and he can’t stop it, and he can’t get the air back once it’s gone.

“Lance! Stop!” Keith, pulling on the restraints keeping him against the bars.

It doesn’t stop. Not until something gives way in his chest. A weak or cracked rib snapping entirely, new pain and it hurts, he hears his own strangled scream, fading out when he finally runs out of air entirely, but he still can’t breathe. The hand half the size of his chest draws away, no pressure anymore, but it still hurts, and there still isn’t any air.

Everything fades away almost to nothing before his body responds to his desperate attempts to breathe. A stuttering draw of air and Lance can open his eyes again, finally. His vision is fuzzy and faint around the edges and fades out for a moment whenever he breathes, even shallowly, but at least he can again.

His face is damp. Maybe he should have expected that. Fresh tears when large fingers prod further at his chest, poking at the other bruises and tender places and pressing around the edges of the break that was just forced.

Maybe that’s just this guy’s thing.

Keith is still fussing at the guy. “Leave him alone! If you’re here for me too then get over here!”

No no no...Lance chokes around the hard lump in his throat trying to make his voice work again. “Keith! Sh...shut UP!”

What if Smirk Face listens? What if he answers the taunts by actually going over there? If he’s really purchased both of their sessions...the longer Lance can keep him occupied here, the better. He can spare Keith some pain for a while.

It’s funny how the sudden urge to protect his friend pushes the largest of the fear away. It’s not gone but...it helps. It doesn’t stop the shiver down his spine when Smirks Face leans in to whisper near his ear, but it helps him feel a little less cold with dread.

“You think you can keep me from doing what I want? That’s not how this works.”

Maybe not. But he’ll try. If the goal is to stay alive we shouldn’t provoke them, Keith said. But if he can ignore that AGAIN, so can Lance.

He’s pretty sure Keith is over there shaking his head or something. Trying to get his attention. But he focuses on Smirk Face anyway.

“Don’t touch him,” he says again, with as much of a growl as he can muster.

Smirk Face gives him the kind of smirk that made Lance name him that in his head in the first place. “You don’t have much say in the matter, but I like the new display of backbone.”

Lance snorts, the ‘why’ unspoken, but the alien seems to hear it anyway.

“Your species is fascinating,” he says, speaking up now, surely loud enough for Keith to hear, too. He prods at Lance’s chest again, right over the break, and Lance can’t help but bite off a groan that insists on playing itself out in the back of his throat anyway. “Small and fragile, yet strangely resilient. To say nothing of your personalities.”

“What about...em?” Lance gasps.

“You clearly care about each other. That’s rare here. Most figure out quickly enough that caring doesn’t do well for them in this place.” A low chuckle. “Thought I should take advantage of it before it changes.”

Keith manages to catch his gaze again finally, but really only because Lance let him. Because he wants Keith to hear his retort to that. “It...it won’t…”

An amused huff. “We’ll see.”

Hands probes at the rest of him, and Lance tries not to betray the spark of pain when Smirk Face finds the re-break in his leg. He tries, but maybe the alien can feel it. Maybe it’s worse than he thought. Smirk Face pokes at it until he cries out anyway.

“Hmm...decent amount to work with already.”

“The heck is...that s’posed to mean?”

Rather than answer, Smirk Face pulls a few strips of some sort of stiff, wired material from a pouch at his belt. Small lights wink along them, making it clear they’re embedded with technology. The strips have fastenings that he uses to wrap one around Lance’s leg where the pain is centered.

“Wh...what…?”

He should know better than to ask. Smirk Face won’t answer if he doesn’t want to. Yesterday he didn’t say much at all, and it seems he’s reached his limit for now. He doesn’t say a word as he releases Lance’s left arm from above his head to lower it and stretch it out beside him against the bars. The cuff reattaches to another bar with a snap, hold it out, and Smirk Face uses another of the wired strips to tie his elbow in place against another.

His breaths are already coming shallow, just because it’s less painful that way, but he can’t tell himself some of it isn’t from the fear curling in his gut as he tries to figure out what the alien is doing.

It feels almost like some sort of out of body experience when part of his mind accepts that moving his arm can’t be a good sign. That feeling at his forearm can’t be good, and neither can drawing back a hand and flattening it out like that to come in with the side of it.

Keith shouts something again, panicked, but Lance doesn’t catch it.

Smirk Face pulls the blow so perfectly, at just the right moment, that Lance almost isn’t sure it actually did anything until the pain hits. In the split second that follows the blow, before it does, faintly a part of his mind understands what happened--if there had been follow-through to that blow his arm would probably be in two pieces now, and the people who run this place probably frown on people dismembering their products. Instead the bone is just broken. Again.

The rest of his mind is caught up with the side of him that tries to scream when the pain comes, abrupt and excruciating.

Everything just goes dark instead.

***

Lance is an idiot. A sometimes annoyingly-selfless one, maybe, but an idiot.

But what’s happening to him isn’t his fault...and he’s no more an idiot than Keith is himself, probably, anyway.

When Lance passes out Keith goes silent, not wanting to accidentally wake him up again himself. He lets his head rest against the bars and hopes Lance will be left to rest, too, even if just for a moment. Anything.

He’s so tired...leaning forward into the bars helps, but not being able to rest back, when his body is so exhausted and bruised and aching...it isn’t enough. Not by a longshot.

For a moment, though, he somehow manages to drift off. Almost. In the relative quiet as Smirk Face reaches to fish something else from the pouch he wears. (Lance told him last night what he’d been calling the alien. It fit.)

A startled cry from Lance, and Keith’s eyes snap open again. Smirk Face has something like a remote--similar to the ones used for their cuffs--and it seems to be activating something in the strips wrapped around Lance’s leg and elbow. A faint buzzing and crackling, and he isn’t sure whether they’re producing a current, or vibrating, or both.

Both, he thinks. And neither is good. Not where they’re clasped. Not wrapped around or near broken bones like that, quiznak…

“Hey!” Keith cries.

Lance is awake, but his eyes are already starting to roll back again. Whatever’s being done is enough he’s scarcely even made a sound since that first cry as he woke. His mouth is open in a silent scream that sends a shiver down Keith’s spine from here.

Smirk Face only turns the things off just in time to keep his victim from passing out again. Lance is left shivering and struggling to breathe.

“Lance…?!”

It just...it’s almost the same as what the alien did to him yesterday, but somehow worse. It’s worse. The tear tracks on his face and the way he won’t look this way now tell Keith it’s worse.

But instead of doing it again, Smirk Face gets up.

Keith should have expected, by now, for him to come this way--he wants it, even; wants him to leave Lance alone--but something in him still trembles when the alien buzzes himself out of the next cell and comes to his.

Lance is already protesting. “Don’t…” He doesn’t seem to have much energy for it, but he’s trying.

“Lance, shut up,” Keith says quickly, echoing him from earlier.

Smirk Face comes at him with another of those strips from his pouch, fastening it around his neck. This one looks thicker, but he doesn’t know what that means. He can feel the wiring on the inside, and something cool and smooth rests against his throat.

“I think we’re going to have fun,” Smirk Face laughs.

“Have all the fun you want,” Keith retorts. “Just—” Just stay over here, he meant to say. Or he would...something.

But he stops because Lance is crying out again, just for a moment as the devices around his limbs activate and then go silent again.

“What are you doing!”

It happens again, Lance groaning and going stiff in agony for several ticks, but Smirk Face doesn’t have the remote out. The alien shrugs.

“I’m not doing anything.” He pushes into Keith’s space, jabbing a finger at the collar around Keith’s neck. “And I’d try to keep it down from now on, if I were you; for every tick your vocal chords are active, his receivers activate for several.”

Keith stares at him for several ticks in horror, trying to compute that.

“I think you get it.” Smirks Face nods. “Good. Not that ‘I’ mind if you make noise, of course; more fun for me. But I don’t think you’ll want to.”

No…

Quiznak.

Of all the…

A litany of curses roll through Keith’s mind, pushing at his tongue, but all he can allow is for his breath to speed up into a seething harshness as he tries to launch himself sideways at the laughing alien.

All he succeeds in doing is wrenching his shoulder, and Smirk Face backs off, still chuckling, to choose from the tools racks on the other side of the cell.

“Keith…”

Lance’s voice is faint, and he doesn’t want to look up, at first.

“K-Keith...don’t worry about it...oh..okay? Don’t.”

He meets Lance’s gaze wishing he could answer. Because he will worry about it. He doesn’t want to hurt him.

But whatever Smirk Face does...Keith knows enough to know he can’t avoid it forever.

Eventually he will fail. And even if part of him knows it isn’t, he will still feel that it’s his fault.

“It’s okay,” Lance says, still trying to reassure him even though he looks as terrified as Keith feels. “Wh-whatever happens, it’s...it’s okay.”

Keith wants it to be true, but it isn’t. Not to him. How could it be okay?

Movement over his shoulder, and when he glances back Smirk Face is kneeling beside him with a handful of things that look like long, thin bars of metal, sharp on the ends and no bigger around than his smallest finger, maybe, if even that, but...barbed. Most of the length of the shaft.

The alien shoves one of them close to his face. “Like these? Ingenious design, really.”

The barbs are no longer than a millimeter or two, maybe, but they’re angled. Smirk Face presses down on a button toward the end of the shaft, and they pop out another couple of millimeters, only while his finger holds the button, and they retract again.

Designed to cause pain with minimal damage. With the Boxes here to heal victims, there probably wouldn’t even be any permanent damage. The affected area would be so much smaller than, say, the knife wounds the box couldn’t quite handle yesterday.

All of this hits Keith with the force of a blow to the stomach in the moment Smirk Face is making him look at one of the things. It runs through his minds’ analysis center two or three times over, and he can’t breathe because he knows he’s going to fail.

Smirk Face knew exactly what he was doing, having the guards leave him in the position he’s in. His body is already tired, his muscles weak...they’ll start shaking soon, the muscles in his torso will be flexing more than usual, struggling to find a comfortable position when he can't rest back, his arms and legs will be doing the same, and anywhere those metal shafts go through him, it will only hurt more.

He’s going to fail.

His chest is already heaving. When did that start?

“Keith!”

Lance’s voice is still weak, but it’s louder than it was. Or it would be if it didn’t sound like it was coming through water—through the roaring in his ears.  

“Keith...it’s okay. D-don’t worry about...about me, okay? Do wh..whatever you have to do.”

Lance is trying to search his face, but Keith isn’t paying attention anymore. He can see Lance, he knows what Lance is saying, what Lance is doing, but he’s looking straight through him. Everything is blurring out.

Smirk Face starts from the front, and of course he does, so Lance can see what he’s doing.  Sharp pain lances through the flesh of his stomach as one end of one of the metal rods is pressed slowly in, but at first it isn’t as bad as he feared. Keith screws his jaw shut, breathes through his teeth, and quiznak, that thing is halfway through him now, isn’t it? But it’s okay, he can do this, he has to…

But the first time Smirk Face tugs backwards on the rod, not trying to pull it out but just tugging  enough to send the tiny barbs tearing at his insides...

Any hope dissolves.

***

“Keith…?”

Is this how Keith felt last time? Lance wonders. When he wasn’t responding?

Smirk Face spent most of what was left of the shift—most of the remaining two and a half sessions—with Keith. It’s over now, both of them healed as well as they’re going to be and back in the rear cells.

Keith walked into his under his own power, but he collapsed on the pallet, curled and facing the other way, and hasn’t said a word in several dobashes.

Is this how Keith felt? Helpless? Shaky? Wishing he could break down himself but not wanting to because someone else clearly needs him right now?

...wondering if he can even do anything?

Lance shifts where’s he’s leaned against the bars for support, to take pressure off his aching limbs. Everything hurts, really, his chest now included, but the arm and leg that were broken a second time are clawing at his nerves worse than anything else. His damaged hands are clumsy to keep the arm cradled against his chest, but at least THEY aren’t any worse off than they were before. No one paid them any mind this shift.

“Keith, come on...please…it wasn’t your fault.”

Moving hurts, but he determines to try. Last time Keith covered him up, and the warmth...maybe it helped. He isn’t sure. It’s so fuzzy to remember. But maybe he should try that.

It works, but not the way he expected it to. When he reaches through the bars to tug at Keith’s blanket, his hands are blindly batted away and he gets a strained, garbled protest of “don’t” but at least it’s something.

“Keith?”

All he gets in response is a dry-sounding sob.

“Keith…”

“I’m sorry…”

Lance swallows. “It wasn’t your fault,” he says again. “N-none of it was; I know that.”

Heavy breaths from Keith, his chest clearly heaving even though he’s still turned away, his arms wrapped around himself. “I-I should have b...done better…”

His voice sounds so hollow Lance aches for him.

“Stop it.” He tries to get a good grip on one of Keith’s arms, tries to tug on him to get him to turn over without necessarily forcing him; not that he’d really have the strength for that anyway right now, and certainly not through these bars.

“Stop, okay? I can’t listen to you do that to yourself. You did what you had to do. We agreed that’s what we have to do. We have to stay alive. And...and sane. You did what you had to do.”

Some of the tension goes out of Keith’s shoulders, but he still won’t turn over. “I knew I...knew I’d do it. Eventually. I just…”

Lance shivers and pulls his hand back to himself to hold his other arm against his chest more closely, rubbing to try to keep the circulation up and to help, even if only a tiny bit, with the pain. “Yeah,” he answers, quiet.

Watching Keith hyperventilate and seethe through his teeth for the better part of a varga or two trying to keep himself from shouting was almost worse than what it eventually became. When he was too exhausted and hurting to control himself anymore and things become patchy for Lance between bouts of white-hot pain and unconsciousness.

Their rations are delivered, but Lance ignores them for now, hoping Keith will respond further.

“I told you not to worry about it and I meant it.” Maybe he sounds a little desperate, but he doesn’t know what he can do about that right now.

“I know…”

Lance blinks. Well. It sounded strained, but that’s better, at least. He rests, waiting for more.

“How’s your arm?”

The question is so quiet Lance almost misses it. He doesn’t realize until then that his eyes have drifted shut, and when he blinks them open Keith is facing him. Still lying down and curled around his middle, still not exactly looking at him, but at least he's turned this way now.

Lance glances down at the arm held against his chest and winces. “It...could be better.”

A quiet snort.

“What about you?” The way Keith’s arms are clutched around his stomach and one of his shoulders—the places Smirk Face shoved most of those rods—he wonders if any of it still hurts.  

Keith just makes a face, his fingers twitching in the thin, rough fabric of his shirt.

So those didn’t heal the greatest either, then. Figures.

“You should eat,” Keith mumbles.

“So should you,” Lance counters. He hopes the message is clear: get up and stop blaming yourself and get to your food too, or I’m not touching mine.

And he doesn’t move. Not until Keith huffs out a breath and pulls himself up by the bars to lean against them too. He grunts and groans doing it, confirming Lance’s suspicions that he’s still hurting. It’s not a guess he’s happy to have been right in.

“Okay,” Keith groans finally. “Fine...food. Let’s do that.”

“Just a minute.”

“What?”

Lance only has to shift a bit to be able to get his arms through the bars approximately around Keith, since they’re leaning into the divider approximately opposite each other. It’s still difficult, but it sort of works. He can’t take the pain away...and he’s been decent at talking Keith out of rough spots before but he’s just...too exhausted right now.

This is all he has, but if it is he’s going to do it.

The shoulders he has his arms around freeze in confusion, and Keith coughs trying to question him. “Wh...what are you doing?”

Lance huffs. “I’m trying to hug you, and it’s turning out even more awkward than I was afraid of; just go with it, would you?”

A weak chuckle. “I...o-okay…”

That’s all Lance expects, and that would be fine. Keith relaxes against the bars, some of his tight muscles easing in the clumsy embrace, his breath evening out, and that would have been enough for Lance. But it helps his own inward shivering when Keith’s arms thread through the bars to return it.

“Hey...you said you’d be here,” Lance says after a moment. “A-nd...that’s how I made it. Okay? So I’m...I’m here too.”

A quiet voice, muffled near his shoulder. “Thank you...”

[firstpuffin]

A summary of the Star Wars: Dark Forces series

-Notes= 

0.1 = I apologise about being late this week (not that anyone waits on me), I decided to go and get my own images for this article, only for it to take longer than I remembered. I was up until 4 AM playing Jedi Academy.

0.2 = I am fully aware and being open about that some of this piece is basically the same as in a previous article. I found that I was trying to put too much into the previous article and decided to write this one, reusing a few bits and pieces. Most of this is new though, so please give it a read.

I grew up playing Jedi Knight: Jedi Outcast on the GameCube, the only game of the series that I had access to and I spent years craving the opportunity to play the sequel Jedi Academy. I played my favourite missions again and again; playing with and without cheats and played multi-player (against the computer) for hours at a time. I still remember convincing my friend to play with me, only for him to win using cheap exploits. He won, but I don’t think it was fun for either of us.

-above: multiplayer

   I was so obsessed that I would devour whatever information I could find on the next game, and I believe this was before Let’s Plays on YouTube were a big thing. I learned that you could design a character AND a lightsaber; could you tick ANY more of my boxes? I even downloaded a PC demo to, well let’s be honest here, fail at. It would be a long time before I started playing games on PC and that may be due to my experience with this demo. I knew enough about this game that I could call out a braggard at school; you know the type, that guy who has played everything you want to play and is cooler than you until you realise that he doesn’t know jack-all about what he’s talking about.

  When I finally started playing games on PC, I discovered that I had access to this series; in fact I think Jedi Academy was the deciding factor on why I started doing so. I found that the early games were too clumsy for a casual gamer like myself to play, although I was able to finish, and then cheat my way to different lightsabers and realistic dismemberment, that game from my childhood dreams. I love the series so much, and particularly the main character, that I have decided to take the time to write this. I intend for this to be a summary of the series rather than a review and is totally, one-hundred percent for fun; for me and hopefully those who read it.

  The first game was released in 1995 was a clone of Doom which had come out two years earlier, and the final game came out in 2003 so you can imagine the sort of thing that I am talking about.

-above: graphics from the first and final games of the series

Despite being called the “Jedi Knight” series, that title only appeared from the second game onwards, which makes sense considering the first game was, as I said, a Doom shoot-‘em-up clone; it was only in the second game that the protagonist begins down the path of the Force. Speaking of whom, the series follows the character Kyle Katarn, an ex-Imperial officer who was betrayed by the Empire over the circumstances of his father’s death and became a mercenary with ties to the Rebel Alliance. Katarn and his games are not currently canon (by which I mean an official part of the Star Wars story) thanks to 2016’s Rogue One, given that the very first mission of the very first game is to steal the Death Star’s plans. Before the new entries to the Star Wars universe plodded over and trampled down what was the Extended Universe and is now referred to as Legends, Katarn was popular enough to appear in literature, graphic novels, role playing games and the video game Lethal Alliance.

-above: Kyle Katarn in his first appearance

   Bringing my wayward thoughts back on track, the first game (Star Wars: Dark Forces) involved a very, boring Katarn shooting his way through his given mission of stopping the Empire’s Dark Trooper project, all of which is set to happen after the first movie. Thankfully Katarn improves as a character (personality-wise AND physically) as the series does. The game is separated into different missions, each with its own objective and usually on a different planet to the last. There isn’t much of a story outside of how the main goal is accomplished, with no real character dynamics or establishing of their backgrounds.

-above: the PlayStation cover for the game

The second game is called “Star Wars” with the subtitle “Jedi Knight” and… a second subtitle? I don’t get how this works but the game is known by the second subtitle “Dark Forces II” and I personally wouldn’t mind if the entire series was called Dark Forces which sounds badass; plus Dark Forces: Jedi Outcast is far less clumsy than Jedi Knight: Jedi Outcast, but hey. Getting, again, back on track, Dark Forces II was released in 1997, two years after the first.

  The developers attempted to use live-action cutscenes to tell the story, bringing about an adorably quaint feeling through bad acting and even worse CGI. Katarn’s actor, Jason Court, was a major improvement on his design which would stick around for the rest of the series (in cases like this I always have to wonder what the actor thinks of the later representation of the character, if he cares at all).

-above: Jason Court as Kyle Katarn

  The story of Dark Forces II, set after the Battle of Endor, followed the pursuit of the Dark Jedi Jerec who is attempting to become the leader of a new Empire and who was revealed to be the killer of Kyle’s father. In a cutscene, Jerec kills Jedi Qu Rahn whose disembodied voice talks Kyle through the training needed to become a Jedi and who provides advice throughout the game, particularly before a boss fight. It is also Rahn’s green lightsaber that Kyle uses, and is his first out of three over the series. The rest of the story is pretty simple as Katarn chases down Jerec, all the way to a place called The Valley of the Jedi where a Force user can gain immense strength. The most interesting part of the story is how there are two endings: the Light side and the Dark side endings.

-above: Kyle with Qu Rahn’s lightsaber 

   The Light side ending is the canon (technically correct) ending where Katarn’s actions earn respect from one antagonist and whose yellow lightsaber becomes yours after Rahn’s is destroyed, and Katarn uses it to kill Jerec in the Valley. He eventually becomes a Jedi and trains with Luke Skywalker, although this isn’t established in-game. The Dark side ending has Katarn kill Jan Ors, the token love interest, and the voice of Qu Rahn stops talking completely, having abandoned you just as you did the Light side, and after killing Jerec, Kyle fulfils his goal for him, becoming the new Emperor with Jerec’s female companion alongside him, all the while retaining Qu Rahn’s green lightsaber.

-above left to right: The Light side and Dark side endings

  There was an expansion pack named “Mysteries of the Sith”, where the player got the chance to play as Mara Jade (who has quite a presence in Legends) and fight Kyle who fell to the Dark side. Set five years after Dark Forces II, Kyle has become a Jedi Master and is still using the yellow lightsaber he gained while fighting Jerec. During his time as a Jedi, and clearly after this game, Katarn builds his own lightsaber, putting aside the yellow one in favour of this new blue one with a much cooler hilt (although if you’ll entertain me, I’d like to say I’d prefer that he kept the yellow blade after changing the hilt as I feel that blue lightsabers kinda oversaturate the Star Wars universe; either establish blue as the colour of the Jedi or mix things up to keep it interesting, please).

  At some point before the third game, Jedi Outcast, Kyle’s fear of the Dark side is exacerbated by actually falling to it, and he separates himself from the Force and the Order, leaving his new lightsaber with Luke. During Jedi Outcast he returns to the Force when Jan Ors is kidnapped by Dark Jedi Desann (there are so many of these buggers), retrieving his lightsaber and relearning his powers. This game is a landmark in the series for the development of the unique and super-fun lightsaber combat system.

  This combat system made use of the agility of the Jedi, leaping off of walls, somersaulting and wall running to get the upper hand in fights and the fights themselves can either really drag on, leaving the player with stiff hands, or end in a single strike, depending on a combination of skill and chance. This method of fighting earned the game a Lot of praise and is largely considered to be the best lightsaber combat system of all time and was expanded on in the next game, Jedi Academy, where dual wielding and double-ended lightsabers were added, each with their own styles.

-above: mid-way through the game you can choose a new style

  On top of this there were options to cheat, allowing the player to decapitate and dismember their opponents (or themselves should they lose in a fight) and thanks to these cheats, Jedi Academy gave players the opportunity to pick up dead opponent’s lightsabers and use them; this allows the player to switch between single, double and duel sided lightsabers depending on what enemies they face. It’s so incredibly cool that one has to wonder why it wasn’t a part of the game already, especially as they can be unlocked with a code in the console (I don’t understand this well enough to explain, but it's basically accessing what’s already in the game).

-above: a red lightsaber taken from dispatched enemy (not shown)

  By the end of Jedi Outcast, Kyle has returned to the order and is an instructor during the events of Jedi Academy, the final game in the series. As Jedi Academy did really well upon release, yet it followed so soon after Jedi Outcast that some apparently considered it to be little more than an expansion and I assume there was some amount of Dark Forces exhaustion which may be why no further games were made. There may be other reasons, but they are not important for the purposes of this piece.

  Dark Forces IV: Jedi Academy (see how it flows so much better when you don’t say “Jedi” twice?) no longer directly follows Kyle, but instead follows Jaden Korr, a character whose species, sex and overall appearance are designed by the character, although there does seem to be a canon design as the character is mentioned elsewhere. This could be considered disappointing, but neither species nor sex affects the story in any way so it is debatable whether or not this matters. I believe that I mentioned this in an earlier article but the customisation options are limited and, in some cases, kinda weird. Clothes are specific to species and sex, while not all races have both genders even if that has been established; for example you can only play as a female Twi'lek. I assume there is a reason for these choices, although the clothes limitation seems a bit odd and, should we ever be lucky enough to have this game remade, I’d hope that future editions expand on the options. (I’d like male Twi’leks and a Togruta species, plus outfits that aren’t limited to species).

-above: Togruta female Ahsoka Tano from the Clone Wars cartoon

  The same applies to the lightsaber customisation. The player is understandably limited to three types of lightsaber: a single blade, two blades or a double-ended saber, but the blade colours are limited and the hilt has to be chosen from a pre-made select few. With today’s technology it should be no problem to expand these options. I have rambled on a lot about customisation as I always find it to be a favourite part of any game, but I’ll get back on track now.

  The story of Jedi Academy follows Jaden Korr, fellow disciple Rosh Penin (an absolute tool) and their master Kyle Katarn. While Kyle is technically training these two, Jaden is usually alone in their missions. Rosh slides to the Dark side as Jaden uncovers a plot to steal Force energy from particularly powerful places (what the hell even is the Force anyway? I might write a thought piece about that sometime). We discover that the perpetrator is a character who Kyle let live from the last game and Jaden can lean into either the Light or Dark side for a different ending, just like Dark Forces II, but the Dark side ending (also non-canon) pits Jaden against Kyle in a final battle.

-above: failing the final battle against Kyle (I did this a lot)

I don’t know how to conclude what is meant to be a simple summary of a series and doing so is probably made harder by the fact that I’ve already written about it from the point of view of how it could be remade.

  The Star Wars: Jedi Knight: Dark Forces series is an amazing product unfortunately limited by its time. Of course I wouldn’t want it delayed to be made later as the same people wouldn’t be working on it with the same goals and intent; it simply wouldn’t be the same series.

[sparda3g]

Tokyo Ghoul:re Chapter 166 Review

There is an old phrase that goes, “Careful what you wish for.” This chapter reassures that this series would never go with your way, no matter how nice and wishful thinking it is. On the positive light, this was a very thrilling action packed chapter that should leave fans celebrated, but the end justifies the mean. Well, not really, but it certainly caused the fans to lose their mind in sadness and anger.

Let me start off by saying that the chapter’s title is a huge giveaway to the reveal of that creature from the last chapter. Hell, I was like, “Okay, I already know who that monster is. Thanks, Ishida.” I was a bit anxious to see the reveal despite already knowing, because when it comes to this series, you can’t be so certain about everything. After this chapter, no doubt I won’t think of a happy place for a long, long time.

There is a brief scene with Kaneki and Ayato to let the audience know their next destination. They’re heading to A20, which is the vast underground beneath the 19th ward. Basically, it does scream for Kaneki to fight against Furuta and maybe Rize. Wouldn’t that be overpowering Kaneki, especially if Rize is to believe to be the same level as him? Either way, that’s their destination and it won’t be for another chapter or so to focus with them entirely. Right now, we got some intense Kaiju battle approaching.

I did tell myself to wait for the next chapter to get a better view of that monster and my wish was granted. The monster is the Owl, Kakuja form and all. You don’t even need Ui to say it to know what that is. The design is every shape and form that resembles Owl; only difference is the face and the size is larger than before. Therefore, we can safely say that it’s Eto behind that monstrosity and the theory can now close…

Right?

The action kicks off with the Owl strikes first in great devastation. It’s been a while watching the investigators getting dismembered like some finale of a series that decide to kill Earth completely. It’s rather bone-chilling and I love it. Watching a Kaiju-esque scene in motion against normal people with no tanks or any heavy artillery is brutal stuff. It is how the scene starts off with “you got to be shitting me…” vibe to a massacre that got me thrilled; all well presented with those use of distorted effect and onslaught display in each panel.

It does seem clear that Ishida is ready to kill off many characters before entering the next part of the series alas part 3. Granted I can’t confirm it with one scene but Misato appears to be killed off with the rest of others behind her. All the fire power didn’t work on it; only for it to fire back. If she did die, look at this way, she didn’t get dismembered to the point of unidentifiable. It is an indication that this is the part where Ishida roll call the characters and kill them off. Prepare yourself.

The preparations before engaging combat with Owl is very engaging; got me really hyped for this intense battle. It reflects the fact that Shinohara and Kuroiwa are no longer with them. Hirako can’t even assist Ui as he is handling this one strong V guy, so the pressure on Ui has gone up tremendously. From here on out, it’s time for Ui to take in charge of this beast. It was a nice added touch with him reciting the similar line about coward from his last encounter with Owl.

I really like the whole formation scene with Ui in charge and gather men as many as he can. It does highlight the number of characters in the field; tracking them for possible death or survivor when the smoke clears out. It’s riveting to see nearly everyone helping Ui out with the sensation that can be best described as calm before storm. It has that finale feeling towards it, especially since CCG’s number one target has been centering on Owl for a long time. It’s like finishing the fight scenario; it will finally end with this.

It’s great to see Shuu and other Ghouls to help Ui out with this as well. Not only Ui has evolved to a bona fide leader, but he has grown to appreciate the Ghoul’s aids for the Human. The days of when he was a hater are nearly if not entirely over. A touching yet possible eerie omen scene is before he roar cry, he remembers Hairu and Arima; lending him courage one more time. I am aware of this calling mean death flag and yes, it has been raised. Will he die? It depends if Ishida has more subplots in mind.

The chapter then shifts to Hirako versus a V guy. It’s possible that it’s the leader, Kaiko, though it’s not really confirmed at this time. For now I’ll call him “Kaiko” until further notice. The fight isn’t just with Hirako; Takeomi, Itou, and Yusa are joining in to assist him.  From there on, we get a round of great battle with solid teamwork and fearsome intensity.

Kaiko is proven to be a serious foe with his impressive evasive maneuvers while taking on four men at once. As swift the investigators are here, he is quick on his feet with those two swords; blocking and dodging moves swiftly. Itou tries to sneak attack, but Kaiko got some impressive sensor to detect ambush and cut him with ease. Takeomi comes in to attack when he was in recovery process, only to block it with his little sword or dagger; close call. I thought it was cool when he tosses that small sword in the air and try to strike him with his other sword and then the small one lands right on the shoulder. That was clever.

The main highlight of the battle is when Yusa and Hirako step in. It’s worth mentioning that Kaiko is pretty taunting with his words; rubbing in people’s faces with his smart ass remarks. Maybe because of recent anime, but I can’t help but image him with Frieza’s voice. It was getting close for someone to be killed off and Yusa is the last victim to struggle to survive. Interestingly enough, Kaiko was responsible for training Arima; so that led him to mock Yusa for being nowhere near his level. Thank God Yusa wasn’t having it and then stabs right on his foot.

The way how it sets up for the finishing blow is dramatic, though rightfully so. Kaiko was close to kill them off and Yusa is the future generation that lives with the name of Arima. Hirako passing him the weapon to finish the job was sweet. Yusa swings and off Kaiko’s face; like really split his head apart. It was brutal yet satisfying. The kid deserves the honor and a medal of greatness. Hm, I guess if I do call that V guy Kaiko, it would mean the V main leader has died.

Right?

The chapter returns back to the team that is fighting the Owl and it’s getting to the breaking point with Kagune dissolving and they have to attack before they all get wiped out. That is until Banjou comes with an assist to recover them. You got to love Shuu’s appreciation. This whole battleground is well coordinated with everyone helping out like one crazy main boss in a MMORPG; it’s riveting as hell. Once they are told to aim for the neck, that’s where Suzuya becomes the star. Thank you, Attack on Titan!

But seriously, how great it is to see everyone cooperating to take out the Owl. It was damn great for Ui to use his quinque and make an opening path for Suzuya to take it out for good. When you combine this scene and the one with the V, it makes a really inspiring and gratifying moment of triumphant. It’s a good feel moment that I would love it to be completely true. If anything, this chapter was outstanding with great character’s evolution, exciting scenarios with slick action, and plenty of satisfaction. Then, we got to the final scene.

The atmosphere of the fan base reminds me of my days in wrestling; actually, it can be said for anything. Have you ever encounter a moment that you was like, “Oh my God, this is nearly perfect! I love everything about it,” and when you reach to the end, the last moment is what overrides your thought and can’t compute anything else? Well, this chapter has done that. Not me personally; I thought it was mind crushing and frightening cliffhanger. Basically, we may have known who the monster is with the chapter’s title, but never thought this would be the case at all.

It’s Eto alright. Just headless, that’s all.

People wished for her, they shall be granted. But not like this. I have read people saying that it’s not her and it could be someone else, notably Hairu. Now let me play two sides of the coin. To begin with, let’s say it is Hairu’s body instead. This does make sense on the account of Ui getting the main focus. It would be a cruel fate for him to face his old friend like this. It would align with his development, so I can see where people think of this. It also makes sense since it’s only a body and the head’s placement is placed with a cross; clearly this is Donato’s work. The timing is on this fan’s side. That said I do think otherwise as well.

Eto has disappeared for a long time, so this revelation, while brutal, is shocking. It does make sense with her being placed here as well but under different circumstances. It was highlighted to be CCG’s sendoff to finally defeat Owl after so many tries; now Ui will grant that victory. Part 3 is inevitable at this point, so if Ui lives and win, there’s room for more developments and taking out Owl would be a start. Hairu could somehow come in play, but in part 3 maybe; unless Ishida just throw it out completely, but we’ll see. The point is CCG is yet again facing the recurring threat.

You probably wondering, “What about her head then?” Donato is using his cross to control it somehow, so say if Eto was alive and conscious, she won’t obey these Clowns, so why not decapitate her and replace with a remote control. The most possible giveaway is the title “E T.” While it is brilliant from Ishida, it freaking hurts like hell because not only it’s an indication of headless hence missing “o,” but it is a reference to Noro, who once called Noroi. Damn… The only question for both scenarios would be the missing head.

The other possibility is Donato created a clone of Eto. His capability is left in vague in a way, like how much can he copy a person in terms of ability and such. It must be intentional from Ishida to leave us hanging. Honestly, I would just wait longer and see how this unfolds. It will ease your mind. Eventually, we will learn the actual story behind this Owl.

The chapter as a whole was a lot of fun and excitement that clearly got overshadowed by the end; at least to the fans. The sensation of terror is well portrayed. The preparation of Ui and his men before the battle was exciting to read through their contribution and dedication. The action was engaging and thrilling with really cool moments. The artwork was very solid with its effect and action set pieces. The ending was something that threw me off entirely and it only got worse with Kaiko reattaching his face like nothing. All I know is we are about to see a lot of bodies hit the floor next.

[mentalhealthandgames]

‘Night in the Woods’ analysis:

‘Night in the Woods’ is an indie story based adventure game that I have often seen referred to as a coming of age story. It was developed by Infinite Fall and published by Finji in February 2017. It is set in a world of zoomorphic animals and follows the story of a 20 year old cat named Mae as she returns to her small home town of Possum Springs after dropping out of college. As she refamiliarizes herself with the town, her friends and family and the ways they have changed, she and her friends realise strange things are happening in their town and try to uncover what they are.

There are a few mysteries in the game for the player to try to resolve. Some are to do with the main plot, such as the disappearance of one of Mae’s old friends before she returned from college or the appearance of a dismembered arm in town. However some are to do with Mae in particular and her past. Although the game starts with Mae returning to her hometown as a college dropout the player does not know the reason for her dropping out, as she is reluctant to tell friends and family. The other mystery is one that is referred to throughout the game by other townspeople, an incident that took place before Mae went to college that has caused many people to avoid her. Nearing the last sections of the game Mae has an emotional conversation with one of her friends (either Gregg, her best friend, or Bea, her old childhood friend, depending on who the player interacted with more) in which Mae reveals that the two mysteries are linked.

In my play through of the game she had that conversation with Gregg, and started by asking him “do you know why I beat down Andy Cullen 6 years ago?” Gregg replied with “Back then you said you went all crazy. But like that’s not really a reason I guess.” I really like this as it shows people that crazy isn’t actually a good explanation for anything, that people and their motivations are often more complex than ‘crazy’. Colloquially, ‘crazy’, along with ‘mad’ and ‘insane’ is a label that is often used interchangeably with mentally ill and implies that the person who is labelled such is unstable. This causes a lot of stigma, which can lead to people with mental health conditions being afraid to get help. The fact that Gregg said that it’s “not really a reason” implies that people do not just ‘go crazy’ and that mental health is far more complex than that, which is further backed up by the rest of their conversation. The conversation continues with Mae talking about playing a game every day and how “suddenly, like, something broke. It was just like… pixels.” When Gregg asked, “your computer broke?” Mae said “no like… reality broke. The characters onscreen… like I’d felt like I knew them… but they weren’t people anymore. They were just shapes. And their lines were just things someone had written. They never existed, they never had feelings. They never would exist either. And it felt so sad. Like I’d just lost these real people. And this whole thing we had, it was just… me. Alone. And like that realization like dumped out of the screen and into real life. Went outside and the tree out front, I looked at it every day it was like a friend outside the window. Now it was just a thing… just a thing that was there. Growing and eating and just being there. Like all the stuff I felt about the tree. Was just in my head. And there was some guy walking by. And he was just shapes. Just like this moving bulk of… stuff. And I cried. Because nothing was there for me anymore. It was all just stuff. Stuff in the universe. Just… dead.” This gives the player insight to Mae’s struggle with mental health. Although the game, and the creators have not used a label to describe Mae’s mental condition it seems likely that she was experiencing some form of depersonalization-derealization disorder (also known as DDD) which is a dissociative disorder that healthline (Raypole, 2019) describes “can leave you feeling distanced or disconnected from yourself and the world around you”. This is the description of derealisation from the NHS website (National Health Service, 2020): “derealisation is where you feel the world around is unreal. People and things around you may seem "lifeless" or "foggy".” This is the description from the website of the charity Mind (Mind, 2019): “You might: feel as though the world around you is unreal, see objects changing in shape, size or colour, see the world as 'lifeless' or 'foggy' [or] feel as if other people are robots (even though you know they are not).” They both seem to line up with how Mae describes feeling which makes it likely that she is struggling from DDD.

Mae then explained how this detachment from reality caused her to attack Andy Cullen with a bat at a softball game as she had also seen him as just shapes and it had scared her and she had acted impulsively. She clearly feels guilty over it, as is shown by her worrying about how much she made him bleed and how when Gregg said: “he was probably an asshole” she replied with: “no, dude. I didn’t know him. Neither did you.” Mae then talked about how she then was given the journal that she draws in throughout the game by her therapist, who was just the town doctor, doctor Hank who she admitted is “not good at what he does. Which I guess is understandable because he does like everything.” Scott Benson (the animator and illustrator of the game) confirmed in an interview with Kotaku (Spencer, 2017) the reason they made Mae unable to access a qualified therapist was because that reflects the reality of living in a small town where they don’t have proper access to mental health care. “Even when you have access to mental health care, sometimes you end up with a bad doctor or you just don’t have access to the kind of care you need,” Benson explained. “And so, putting Mae in that kind of situation reflected the actual reality of the incident in a lot of places where there’s just not someone there that you can go to.” However, when Gregg asked Mae: “did that journal shit… did it actually work?” Mae said “kinda? Sorta? It helps me… like… grab onto things. And keep them in one place.” I think this is important because it may encourage some players with mental health conditions to try using a journal which can be helpful for some people (it was for me when I was suffering through episodes of psychosis). Keeping a journal is even suggested in the self-care section of the ‘dissociation and dissociative disorders’ webpage from the Mind website, which states: “Keeping a journal can help you understand and remember different parts of your experience” (Mind, 2019). Mae then revealed her experience of going to college when, ever since the incident with Andy Cullen, “when I’m alone in a new place it’s all shapes, like back at the softball game.” She mentioned how she struggled to make friends and stayed in her room most of the time, how she “either didn’t eat or I ate entire pizzas at once” and “downed sough syrup just to sleep all the time.” The symptoms of having trouble with sleep and with appetite are common in some other mental health conditions, particularly trouble sleeping which is also a symptom commonly related to depression, PTSD and anxiety. This means that players who don’t have a dissociative disorder but experience another mental health condition (or several others) may still be able to relate to Mae’s experiences which might make them feel less alone. The fact that Mae does seem to suffer from a dissociative disorder, however, is important as dissociative disorders are not as well-known as other mental health conditions, and it is needed to have more representation of less understood and heard of conditions to help spread awareness. Mind, under the ‘dealing with stigma’ part of the ‘self-care’ section, also states that: “unfortunately, a lot of people don't understand much about dissociation and dissociative disorders, and may hold misconceptions about you” (Mind, 2019). This shows that it is important to have representation, good representation that clears up misconceptions and reveals what it is like for people with dissociative disorders. This can also be seen in the previously mentioned article by Kotaku in which Chloe Spencer interviewed Alec Holowka and Scott Benson: “Benson said that he and Hockenberry were recently in Portland, where they met someone who experiences depersonalization and said that they had never seen those issues depicted in media” (Spencer, 2017).

References:

Spencer, C. (2017) Night in the Woods Treats Depression Like a Part of Life. Available at:

https://kotaku.com/night-in-the-woods-treats-depression-like-a-part-of-lif-1797400607 (accessed at: 22 February 2021)