#i know today's the Cool in the Cold day but my broken brain associates It's Your Birthday with nov. 24th instead <3

[fullmoonfireball]

Get up, get up, get out on the floor!

This is the party we’ve been waiting for!

Do what you want, everything’s okay!

‘Cause it’s your birthday, ‘cause it’s your birthday!

[jetaime-jespere]

Under The Weather

Some pointless fluff that's been floating around my head for a few days. Also on ao3 🙂

It’s not the usual alarm clock that wakes her this time - the tauntingly peaceful melody that she now associates with being ousted from a dream every morning.

In fact, Emily is hardly awake. Her eyes are still sealed shut, she’s still nestled under the covers because the thought of moving is almost unbearable. Even in her sleep induced haze, the only thing she’s fully aware of is just how shitty she feels, like every part of her body has somehow teamed up against her in unison. What started last night as a subtle headache is now accompanied by a persistent rawness in the back of her throat. The same pain has crept in to settle behind her eyes, and now radiates around her head, like a pair of gnarled hands wrapped and clenched around her brain. But that isn’t the only thing - everything just hurts. Her limbs feel like lead, her throat is now on fire, lips cracked and chapped from the winter air. Her mouth is dry as dust as she grapples for the glass of water Aaron had left on her nightstand hours ago - something he’s done since they moved in together.

Cracking one eye open takes monumentally more effort than it should. The wind rattles against the windows, whistling through the bitterly cold February morning and Emily groans at the prospect of even moving from the safety of their warm bed. A glance at the clock tells her it’s 5:40. Aaron’s side is empty, the sheets cooled, but she can hear the steady pulse of the shower, see the steam curling out from under the door. The cloying pull of sleep is too consuming, the glass of water all but forgotten as Emily groans. The notion of having to get up in less than a half an hour is making her stomach roil in protest.

Instead, she burrows herself deeper into the blankets, wishing somehow this day would somehow restart itself. Her eyelids are too heavy to stay open, even though the looming reality of her alarm hovers over her, along with the daunting challenge of making it through the day. Emily remembers the stack of unfinished case reports left on her desk from yesterday, abandoned in the wake of remembering Ava’s ballet class just a few minutes too late to be early for once. That’s about the time the headache started, subtle enough to temporarily ignore as their daughter happily chattered away in the backseat, little legs kicking against the leather upholstered seat - a story about unicorns and fairies, one Emily could probably retell herself she’s heard it so many times. If only she knew then.

The next thing she’s aware of is Aaron bending down to kiss her awake, fresh from the shower and half dressed in an undershirt, his skin still damp as he murmurs good morning . The whiff of eucalyptus soap and his mouthwash only makes her dizzy as she all but pushes her husband away from her with an ill attempted protest against his affection. “Five more minutes,” she croaks. “S’tired.”

“Sweetheart?” Aaron questions even though he doesn’t have to. He’s no stranger to her indifference to early mornings, the way her arms wind around his neck to pull him close most days when he wakes her with the same kisses, the same sweet nothings in her ear. On the rare occasion when they have more time, he ends up back in bed with her, making the most of a few precious moments. Those mornings are his favorites - the ones where he gets to press her into the mattress, get her leg over his shoulder, seal his mouth against hers to muffle the moans he hasn’t grown tired of hearing even years after he first heard them. But this is different. He figures it out immediately, knuckles brushing against her flaming cheek, skin clammy under his touch.

“Hmmph?” Emily shrugs out from under his touch, the cool hand on her burning forehead a reminder of just how awful she feels. “Five more minutes and I’ll get up.”

Aaron laughs softly, already reaching for his phone on the dresser. “Not a chance.”

“I’ll be fine in a half hour.” It’s a futile attempt; Aaron knows her better than she knows herself by now. Emily doesn’t get sick often, maybe once every few years. But when she does, it hits hard and fast, rendering her inherently useless for a day or two, and they’re all a little thrown off kilter without her. Even though her eyes are closed she can practically see him making arrangements - school dropoff and pickup, soccer practice for Jack, ice skating lessons for Ava. It’s also a Wednesday, the one day a week he spends mostly in meetings as unit chief. It’s the day she picks up more slack around the house, handles the after school activities in addition to her own professional responsibilities. It’s a routine they’ve perfected through trial and error over time.

“You weren’t yourself last night,” he sinks down beside her, his weight dipping the mattress down as he pushes some hair from her face. “You barely touched your dinner. You fell asleep with the light on,” he adds pointedly, pressing his lips to his wife’s forehead for confirmation. “And you definitely have a fever.”

“Do not,” she argues. It’s becoming harder and harder to challenge him, a battle she knows she’ll ultimately lose. There’s no way he’ll let her out the door let alone into the BAU at this point. Despite the sweat that trickles down her back, her teeth chatter together.

Aaron wraps her into his arms, aware of how she melds against his chest as she seeks the warm comfort of his body. “Do too.” His tone is light, which only manages to frustrate her more. “And you’re staying home today. Don’t even try to argue with me.”

Emily attempts to pull away from his embrace. “I have a meeting too, you know. Jack has practice and Ava -”

“Has ice skating. I know, Sweetheart.” Aaron gently pushes her back down, tucking the blankets around her. “I know their schedule. And yours. We’ll manage.” But he’s already reaching for his phone, dialing a number he knows by heart.

“Who are you calling?” She asks weakly, succumbing to his insistence. The sky has lightened to a shade of dark blue instead of inky black, the first traces of the winter morning starting to peek through the curtains.

“I’m texting Garcia. If she can take Ava this afternoon, I can get Jack to soccer after my last meeting.”

Emily grumbles while he taps out a message as she runs through her day ahead. There are her own meetings, of course, a slew of chores around the house waiting when she gets home, all the little things that accumulate during the week without fail, over and over. Aaron can almost read her mind as he gets dressed, disappearing into the depths of their closet to pluck a suit from the rack on his side. “Things won’t implode without you, Em. We can survive one day.”

From her place in bed, Emily watches him dress, securing the sleeves of his dress shirt, the jacket stretching across his broad shoulders over the crisp fabric of his shirt. Some days, she can’t believe they’ve come this far. Seven years of marriage has brought its fair share of ups and downs, most recently an ill-timed miscarriage in the days before Christmas. She hadn’t been too far along - ten weeks - but December 23rd was spent at her doctor, Aaron’s hand wrapped around hers as the news was broken, their eyes glued to the ultrasound screen. They hadn’t been trying at all. It was a surprise neither of them expected, which only seemed to worsen the blow when it abruptly ended. Emily had been the picture of composed, smiling through her grief on Christmas Eve, distracted by Ava and Jack’s excitement, the endless mountain of gifts to smuggle from their closet under the tree, only to spend the early hours of Christmas morning crying in his arms until he rocked her to sleep. She closes her eyes, wills herself not to think of it. It’s still a little too soon.

When he’s fully dressed, traces of cologne lingering in the air, Aaron gathers a box of tissues and fills a glass of water, setting both down next to Emily. “I’ll bring you some toast before I leave. You need to eat something.”

“You need to wake -”

“I’m already -”

“Mommy?” The voice outside the door tells them at least one more Hotchner is already awake. Aaron drops a quick kiss on Emily’s head, frowning when he notes how warm she is. He makes a mental note to bring some ibuprofen with the toast and opens the door just a crack to find their daughter on the other side, fully dressed, not a hair out of place.

“Where’s Mommy?” He’s met with the round, concerned eyes that belong to Ava. Even at six, she could be Emily’s clone, with sleek dark locks and the same pale skin. Ava is precocious, sharp as a tack yet sensitive, hesitant to trust but loyal to a fault. Her arrival in the world had been dramatic, at one point downright terrifying for a few minutes, shoulder dystocia to blame. Aaron had turned ghostly pale as the doctors rattled off medical jargon he’d only ever seen dramatized on primetime television. Yet it was that same efficiency and urgency that ultimately brought their daughter safely into the world a short time later. The moment she was placed in his hands, Aaron was completely smitten, his world forever changed.

“Mommy isn’t feeling well, Ava.” Aaron explains with an abundance of patience, his tone soft and reassuring. In the days after Christmas, following the miscarriage, Ava had been confused when Aaron took Emily’s usual place at the new, massive dollhouse from Santa, doing his best to display the same enthusiasm his wife so effortlessly showed. He’d uttered the same words - Mommy isn't feeling well - when she protested, complaining about his doll handling skills and seeming inability to make their hair look half as good as Emily did. Even though his placations  held an entirely different meaning then, Ava questioned him relentlessly. Telling a version of the truth had been harder than he anticipated, for more reasons that one.

“Is Mommy okay?” Ava asks, persistent as ever.

“She’s fine, honey. Just the flu. Remember when you had it in Kindergarten? You got to stay home while Jack went to school. Mommy and I took turns staying home with you? You got to eat popsicles in bed and watch TV during the day?”

Ava nods, not fully convinced as she tries to poke her head further into their bedroom. “I guess.”

“That’s what Mommy has, honey. Grown-ups get sick too. So Daddy is going to drive you to school. Aunt Penelope is going to take you to ice skating lessons this afternoon.”

Ava squeals with delight at the mention of Garcia, clapping her tiny hands together, only to have the expression melt off her face seconds later. Then she frowns. “But Daddy,” she whispers slowly, her resemblance to Emily and similar mannerisms uncanny, as if profiling him even at the tender age of six. “You don’t know the Good Morning song.”

Aaron checks his watch and pinches the bridge of his nose as he peers into the hallway. Jack’s bedroom door is still firmly closed, indicating his son is most likely still sound asleep. Waking him is the next battle, one of his least favorite tasks as of late. “What song, Ava?” He sighs, not missing the fleeting touch of amusement that crosses Emily’s face from across the room, the softest of laughs. Even in her current state, pale and tired, clearly more than under the weather, Aaron thinks she’s stunning.

“Mommy and I always sing the Good Morning song on the way to school.” Ava folds her arms across her chest, tapping her foot against the floor. “If you don’t know the words -” Her dark eyes double in size, widening impossibly as she stubs her toe with disappointment. “How can you drive me to school?”

“Honey -”

“Mommy knows all the words.”

“Ava - “

“Daddy.” She challenges, sticking her lower lip out in a whiny pout. Aaron knows what’s ahead. Even though Ava has him completely wrapped around her tiny finger, their daughter absolutely adores her mother, never missing an opportunity to steal a few quiet moments together. He often finds Ava curled in Emily’s lap, listening to a story, or playing dress up with some of Emily’s old clothes. Aaron has caught a few misplaced tubes of lipstick hidden in her dress-up box, ones Emily thought she lost long ago. He’s seen the pictures she draws, the way Ava always draws Emily next to her in each one. It tugs on every single one of his heartstrings, every single time.

“Mommy will teach me,” he assures her, crouching down to her level, bringing her to lean on his knee. “Daddy will do his best to know all the words before I take you to school.” He ruffles Ava’s hair as she beams, seemingly appeased by his effort. “Can you be my special helper this morning and wake Jack for me?”

Her face brightens instantly, a mischievous grin spreading across her face at the thought of what she’s being asked to do - something that, most of the time, she’s actively told not to do. “Okay!”

Aaron grimaces slightly as Ava skips off down the hall. There’s a finite window of time until he’s left to deal with Jack’s morning moodiness, exacerbated by his sister’s surprise wakeup call. But it’s worth the few extra minutes he’ll get to spend with his wife. Emily is now fully awake, looking even more miserable than she had moments before.

“You’re on your own for the good morning song,” she rasps sarcastically. Her voice is hoarse, even as she tries to smile. “Couldn’t sing it for you if I tried.”

“I think I’m going to take her for donuts. Those strawberry frosted ones she loves?” He slips back in bed beside Emily, pulling her into his arms once again. “Distraction at its finest.”

“The ones I love,” Emily reminds him, swiping her thumb across his cheek. “Good luck.”

“Right. Hopefully she’ll forget all about it.” Then he remembers just who he’s talking about - a miniature version of the woman he somehow got lucky enough to call his wife, instantly realizing how wrong he is. He’s a goner; he won’t hear the end of this for days.

“I doubt it. But you can give it a try.” Emily snuggles into his chest, savoring their final few minutes of peace.

…

Winter sun streams through the windows, casting the bedroom in a mix of shadows and blinding light.

She isn’t sure how much time has passed - an hour could easily be three, maybe five. Sleep has consumed her, on and off all morning. Yet she’s uncomfortable, alternating between throwing the covers off and disappearing into them, unable to seek enough warmth as she reaches for one more blanket. Everything still hurts, and topped off by a congestion that settles deep in her lungs, rattles her chest with every cough. She almost feels worse now than she did earlier, if that’s even possible.

The house is quiet, so she hears the subtle rumbling of the garage opening, the soft creak of the door leading into the house. Emily smiles to herself - she’d recognize his footsteps anywhere as he makes his way through the living room. He’s undoubtedly picking up wayward shoes and toys along the way, most likely grumbling about the clutter. He’d never admit it (even if she knows it to be true) but it’s one of his favorite tasks. The mess is a reminder of what they’ve built over time, that sometimes things work out just as they were meant to. Even if it means their house will never be spotless.

She pries one eye open as he shoulders through the bedroom door, slipping his suit jacket off to drape over a chair. “You could have stayed at work.” Emily isn’t surprised at all. She knows him sell enough by now.

“I know.” And while Aaron is fully aware of that, there was never a chance he wasn’t going to come home to tend to her. He stayed at the BAU long enough to get things squared away, arranging plans for the kids, and delegating tasks as needed before making a hasty exit. And now, only a few hours later, he’s back. He checks her forehead, refreshes the glass of water on the nightstand and tosses some tissues into the trash. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit.” Emily shifts to make room beside her. “Worse than before, if that’s possible.” She sighs a little when he wraps her into his embrace. Her head falls against his chest on its own accord. “Ava and Jack?”

“Garcia is taking Ava to ice skating. She’s taking her out for ice cream afterward.” He gets a hand in her hair, rocks her back and forth a little bit until she relaxes fully against him. Almost.

“What about dinner?” Emily mumbles, stifling a cough into her fist. It rattles within her chest, reverberating through her ribs. “She needs real dinner, Aaron.”

“I think she’ll live without vegetables for one night, Emily.”

She’s too tired to argue. “Jack?”

“Dave offered to take him to soccer,” Aaron says, patting her back through the last of the coughing fit and grappling for the water glass on the table. “It’s all taken care of.” His hands are soothing, gentle and strong against the sore, stiff muscles. “You sound terrible.”

Emily pointedly ignores him. “What about you?”

“I cleared my schedule for the rest of the day. Tomorrow too,” he adds with a wink, taking her hands in his own when she starts to object. “I’m making it my mission to get you better.” He shows her the package of popsicles he’d stopped for on the way home, tosses the bag away to the floor. “And I got some of these. Just for you.”

The soft laughter that comes from her is accompanied by yet another hacking cough. It’s the little things he does that are the most thoughtful - a pit stop to the grocery store in the middle of a work day is just one example. “Sounds like you have quite the job ahead of you.” But she’s eyeing the popsicles - it’s the first thing that’s sounded appealing all morning.

“You’re not an easy patient,” Aaron chides as he hands her a cherry flavored one, taking a lemon flavored for himself. “One of the worst I’ve ever dealt with, actually.” He flicks her nose lovingly.

“Is that so?” The cool chill of the frozen ice against her lips and throat is a temporary relief, a moment of reprieve. She doesn’t even notice when a little piece of it breaks off to leave a tiny red stain on the sheets. “You’re no picnic yourself, you know.”

It’s his turn to laugh, because she’s right. He’s just as stubborn, the art of rest and healing lost on them both. “I feel called out.”

“It’s because I’m right,” she quips. And she is.

Emily sleeps fitfully in his arms, only waking up once as the sun sets over the trees in the distance. When her eyes drift open, he has the television remote in one hand, the other anchoring her across his chest. “What time is it?” She mumbles, blinking furiously as her eyes adjust to the dim light.

“Close to five.” He kisses her, rocks her a little to wake her up. “You’ve been sleeping for hours.” Aaron sounds almost pleased that she finally got some solid rest. “I’m going to make you some soup. And don’t tell me I don’t have to.” He untangles himself from her, somehow without disturbing her comfort within their bed. “I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

His fingers brush across her cheek; she’s not as hot to the touch this time. Emily leans into his hand, curling her fingers around his wrist.

“Thank you for coming home.” She hardly sounds any better, certainly doesn’t feel it either. But having him there somehow makes it slightly more bearable, an unexpected silver lining to all of this. And the reverence in his eyes, the same one she sees every time he looks at her, confirms the fact that he’d do it without question. Another example of the unconditional love he’d promised years before when they exchanged vows in Dave’s backyard.

“There’s nowhere else I should be, Sweetheart.”

Four days later, Aaron wakes up with the same aching muscles and raw throat, barely able to keep his eyes open as a new week awaits them. Emily is only more than happy to return his favor.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Whumptober Day 29: Emergency Room

CW: Medical whump, sick whumpee, hospital whump, brief references to past child abuse and resulting traumatic association

Immediately follows Infection and Disorientation

Chris wakes up in the middle of a sentence.

Or rather, when his brain switches back on and he is conscious on a level he can participate in, he’s already talking, and the first thing he is aware of is a woman’s face, brown-skinned and with a slightly dry smile, watching him as he is saying, “-and, and, and then I saw, um, saw towels and the, the, the colors were all wrong, so, so I fixed them.”

“Oh, did you,” The woman replies, and there is a guarded kindness in her. “That was very kind of you.” He blinks at her, his vision slowly coming into focus. Chris takes a deep breath only to wince as a hazy sort of pain ripples up his right side. She leans over, a little closer. Her hair, black and full of tightly-wound curls slips over her shoulders and forwards, just brushing her cheeks. “Are you back with us? Don’t breathe so deep yet, okay?” She tilts her head, putting a hand up to push some hair back from his face. Jake does that sometimes, and Chris turns his head to encourage the affection, closing his eyes again.

Eyes closed feels better. 

In the clinic they’re always kinder to trainees, if still brusque, businesslike, getting them in and out with bandages applied, fevers broken, internal injuries healed with rest and whatever drips down the IV to make them sleep when they have done nothing but beg for sleep since they lost themselves to the Drip.

The nurses are nicer than the handlers, and this one is talking to him and touching him but only where he wants her to, and that makes her the nicest of all.

The way the world is spinning begins to settle when his eyes are closed and she lays her hand briefly against the side of his face, and he breathes a little more easily. He must not be in trouble, if she’s allowed to be so nice.

There’s something beeping nearby, and he doesn’t like the flat white light coming from the fluorescents in the ceiling laying on exposed skin - he can feel its weight on his arms where they lay on top of the scratchy rough blanket - but at least it isn’t a cold light. 

He shivers, opening his eyes to look down at himself, blinking. There are blankets pulled up to just under his arms, pale blue and sort of rough and soft, both at once, pilling so badly he can pick the little balls of fabric off bit by bit with one hand. Normally trainees don’t get blankets in the clinic, they’re supposed to freeze here, too.

He must have been very good but hurt anyway. Sometimes the handlers just want to hurt you, even when you’re good, because your tears are beautiful, too.

Besides, 499, you wanted this - you signed up so we would make you cry, right? Give me your arm, a little half-dose of purple should get you nice and worked up for us.

He tries to obey, rolling his left arm slowly over to expose the marked-up space at the inside of his left elbow - bandages wrapped around his left wrist over his barcode crinkling - and then realizes something is on - is in - his left arm. There’s… there’s a needle in his arm already, with a thin tube that runs up to a stand on wheels with multiple bags hooked onto it, and he thinks there’s something down below his waist, too. A catheter. 

He’s been bad, then. There’s only one reason to have a needle in his elbow and a catheter in, but when he tries to panic, he’s… he’s too tired, and too dizzy, and too foggy, to feel very scared at all. Even if they are going to take him away again, it’s too late. The Drip is already in his veins and there he goes, all of him, wiped clean all over again.

The soft throb of pain along his right side, wrapped up in the gentle blanket that covers his mind, makes it clear he’s not going anywhere very fast, not today. The handlers will have to leave him alone, and that’s good, but if he’s here and on the Drip, it means he’s back again.

Back in the Facility, here to be wiped, refurbished, and sent back to Sir or to someone new… and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

He feels his throat closing against helplessness - no, he was rescued, he was rescued and they said he’d never go back… they swore, they promised, Jake and Nat promised they wouldn’t let him go back, Jake would have fought them, he would have done something-

Tears flood Chris’s eyes and he hitches in a breath on a whimper. Jake must have gotten too hurt to save him. He must have, he might even be dead-

If it weren’t for you, she’d still be alive-

“Hey, hey, come on now.” The soft female voice is closer now, and her hand is back on his face, up to run back through his hair as he sniffles, coughs, winces as the dull pain sharpens briefly and then fades again. “It’s okay, you’re okay. It’s just the hospital, yeah? Your appendix ruptured, you had to come here in an ambulance, had some pretty serious surgery. Can you remember that?”

His eyes manage to open, blurred through his tears, and he looks at her. She’s not wearing the uniforms that handlers or even the nurses wear, but a softly floral scrub top and plain navy pants. Her smile is different than any nurse’s in the clinic that he’s ever seen. She’s looking at him, not through him. 

“I d-don’t know where, where, where I am,” He whispers, and she nods, her smile still in place.

“I know. That’s why I’m the one sitting here with you right now. You’re in the county hospital. You’re okay, Chris.”

Not 223499, but Chris.

He reaches back into his own mind and finds the train track that Jake and Nat are on, remembers their faces, their names, the way it feels when they hold him. He brings up the memory of Jake pulling his shirt off, handing it to Chris, whispering, I’ll come back, I promise.

He remembers Jake carrying him up the stairs three days later.

Chris holds, for a moment, the memory of Jake looking at him as they loaded him onto the plastic-backed bed-thing in the ambulance. He can remember, clearly, Jake's voice. We’ll be right behind you, Chris. I swear to God I’ll be there. I promise you, buddy, we’ll bring you back home.

He’s awake.

Jake isn’t here.

“Um, J-Jake, my, my… my…” Chris shakes his head, like a dog shaking off water. What had Nat been saying, before the ambulance came? Talking to Jake, the two of them, going over their story. His name is Christopher Stanton. He’s my little brother, and he’s autistic. “My, my, my my my brother, my-... he p-promised, where’s-... need my, my, my brother-”

“I texted Yoder when you started talking,” The woman says gently. “They’ll be up to see you in just a minute, okay?”

He tries to believe her.

There’s a fog in his thoughts and the trains are all running, but slow, finding their way, winding around the gray clouds in his head. “I, I was talking already,” Chris whispers. “Even… though I wasn’t, um, awake.”

His throat feels a little scratchy and rough, like someone shoved something down there, but the agonizing pain he’d been in - the sharp ache that had been a knife shredding him to nothing again and again and again - is gone. In its place there’s a duller throb, and the sense of floating inside a very nice fog. Like the fog he hates, but… better, somehow, too.

“I was… was asleep, and now… ‘m talking, but, but I was still, um, asleep, and… and and and… and talking…”

“Yes, that happens. It’s coming out of sedation, you kind of wake up before you really wake up, you know? I’ve done this before, and you know, I had someone once who… came back to himself in the middle of telling me about a margarita recipe he used to make for his girlfriend. He didn’t remember it any longer when he was awake. That’s the fun of recovery, I hear all kinds of things when I’m with someone. My wife proposed to me in recovery from her own surgery, you know. She doesn’t remember it at all.”

“You… you you you said yes?” Chris looks back at her. He can focus his eyes again, and the look of her is nice. Soft, but like she’s had to be hard before. Like Nat looks, sometimes, only Nat doesn’t have a wife, or anyone at all but… but Jake, just like everyone else has Jake to help. 

He moves his right hand, gingerly - he can feel the thick bandage wrapped around his left, and is never less than terribly aware of the needle in his elbow - and she takes it in both of hers. 

Her hands are cool, and dry. He smiles, faintly, and lets his head fall back against a flat pillow behind him. There’s a window to his left, three panes of glass, and outside, when he turns his head, he can see some trees, a courtyard. Birds hopping around the branches, but he can’t quite see what kind they are.

The woman squeezes his hand lightly. Chris takes a breath. This isn’t the clinic, because there are no windows at WRU. You’re never allowed to see outside, not until your owner is ready for you, not until you are good enough to go home.

Going outside is a privilege a pet has to earn.

This… this must be what an actual hospital looks like. He’s seen them on TV, sometimes. The TV ones didn’t really look much like this.

The woman keeps his hand in one of hers and uses the other to check her phone. “Oh, I made her ask again when she was all the way conscious, but yes.”

“That’s, that’s that’s nice. I’m Chris.” His voice is low, and shy, and he doesn’t see her nod - he doesn’t want to stop looking out the window at the clear morning sky - but he can kind of feel it, anyway.

“I know, sweetheart. Your family will be here any second, but they wanted you to have someone when you woke up, so I’m kind of sitting in for them for a bit. Don’t worry, they’re on their way.”

“Jake-”

“Yes, I’m told there’s a man named Jake and, you know, I know Yoder pretty well by now.”

“Why… why, why why why do y’call… Nat? Yoder?”

“Hm? Oh, I don’t know. Just always have. Used to be we weren’t allowed to know each other’s first names, so I guess the habit stuck. How are you feeling?”

“Um. Weird. Am, am, am I… give m’drugs?” Fear hits, again, but it’s faded, a shadow of itself. He shifts his left arm and feels tape pull against the skin inside his elbow, looks at the tubing that runs from the needle up to a bag hanging on a metal stand. There’s a machine, too, that shows numbers he doesn’t understand. His eyebrows furrow. “Was I… bad?”

“No, sweetie, no. No. You just had to have surgery, and you have to be knocked out for that.” The woman pats his hand again, and Chris tries to relax himself. There’s a window, and if there’s a window, he’s not going back. He recites the differences like an incantation. Like a chant. Like a prayer, to keep him safe, as long as he does everything just right.

There’s a window, and so he can’t be going back. He can see outside, the sky and the sun, and so he’s not going back. There’s kindness here, compassion and warmth, and so he isn’t going back. His wrists and ankles aren’t strapped down to the bed, so he’s not going back. Her hand holds his but it doesn’t touch him anywhere he doesn’t want, so he’s not going back. “Do you know what an appendix is, Christopher?”

Chris looks back at her. She has a nice face, and warm eyes, and calls him a name and not a number, so he’s not going back.

He can remember Jake, so he’s not going back.

Jake will come find him, and he’s not going back.

“No, ma’am,” He says, softly.

She laughs, and he likes the sound of her laughing, shaking her head, her curls moving with her. “Not a ma’am, thanks. I appreciate the politeness, though. I just don’t like being ‘ma’am’d, I’m not quite that old yet, now am I?”

“Where… where, where where where Jake is from, you c-call… everybody sir or, or ma’am, if you’re… if you’re raised right.” He tries to put the hint of sarcasm, dry and cynical, that Jake always has when he says it, but it doesn’t work for him. He can tell it doesn’t quite sound the same. He is floating, in this warmly lit room, watching the sky change from grayish-pink to purplish and finally to a pale blue, going cooler and deeper at the top.

The sun is rising, warm, to wash away the cold light.

“Well, that’s not where I’m from. In any case, your appendix is this little doohickey right there along your right side, and yours got infected. So Yoder-... well, Nat, I guess - called a mutual friend of ours-”

“Am-... ambulance,” Chris whispers, thinking of the two people, moving around him. His memories are faded and terrified and full of pain, but he thinks of the gloved hand on his shoulder, the hint of a brusque, calm reassurance, cool focused expression and clear brown eyes. “Finn.”

“Right. That’d be my friend. Then you weren’t feeling super great when we got you here, your appendix burst and you sure gave Mandela a job to do cleaning out that infection, huh? Finn stuck around to help out with that, they trained as an Army medic. Did they tell you that?”

Chris just blinks at her, and slowly shakes his head.

“Yeah, way back. Signed up right out of high school, dealt with some scary shit when things got tense at the Canadian border when Canada started taking runaways… anyway, they’re good in a pinch, but so am I, I guess.” She shrugs. “We can’t trust everybody, so… they helped us get you stable, and then we got you in and out of that OR. Just between us, though? Can you keep a secret?”

Chris blinks twice, then slowly nods.

“Good. Just between us, I think they stuck around because they took a shine to you. Anyway, now you’re hooked up-... let’s see, they said you wouldn’t like the IVs, so let me tell you, it’s something for your pain and a literal ton of antibiotics, that’s all.”

“An, antibiotics-... for the, um, the the infection?”

“Right. That’s all it is, I promise, antibiotics and something to make sure your incision doesn’t hurt too badly. Mandela knows her work, you should be able to leave in the next few days. Mandela’s kind of an arrogant blowhard, but she’s also maybe the second-best surgeon I’ve ever met and she’s, you know, safe… for you. Lucky for us she was meeting someone at that Starbucks across from the hospital, huh?” 

“... lucky, lucky for us,” Chris repeats, just to show he’s listening, but he doesn’t quite understand what he’s being told. He could, he thinks, if he could just wake all the way up, but the hint of fog makes the connections a little more difficult, more of a struggle. “Um, can, can I, can I ask-... are you… Tori?”

The woman blinks, and then laughs again, and Chris smiles faintly in return. He wants her to laugh again and again, it’s a nice laugh, it changes the light inside the hospital room when she laughs like that. Makes it brighter, more like sunshine and less like a cold white room with a door he can’t open.

He wonders if her wife makes her laugh.

“Oh, Finn got chatty in the ambulance, hm? Well-”

There are footsteps, and the woman turns before she can answer his question.

“Let’s see… 210, 212… 214… here it is, 216, this should be it. Jake, damn it, knock first-”

The door opens with a hard jerk of the knob, and Chris looks to the doorway. He knows the bit of blond hair before he sees the face it belongs to. The fog inside his head is familiar, but it hasn’t taken anything away from him. 

They didn’t take Jake away.

He lets go of the woman and a smile stretches across his face. The throb of pain is gone, it can’t hold together under the weight of the warmth inside him. “Jake!”

Jake moves through the doorway, eyes on Chris, the bright blue focused and intense, shadowed from lack of sleep. His hair mussed, and he’s still wearing the clothing Chris saw him in last, rumpled. He drops a backpack on the floor as he moves, and he doesn’t even seem to realize he’s done it. Nat appears behind him, her braid half-undone, circles under her eyes dug in even more deeply than the ones under Jake’s.

Jake leans over him, one knee up on the bed. “Hey, buddy.”

“Hi, hi, hi, um, hi-... h-hi, Jake.” He holds out one hand. “Um, can you, could, could you please-”

“Oh, Christ, be careful, he just had surgery!” 

The woman’s warning is lost, because Jake is already hugging him. 

Warm, strong arms around him, and he tucks his head right under Jake’s chin and breathes in the familiar smell of him, deodorant and cologne and the laundry-smell from his shirt, the skin-smell of Jake underneath all of it. The simplest way to anchor himself, the greatest certainty he has that he isn’t going back, because Jake is here, and Jake would never let anyone take him away, not ever again.

“There were people having a fucking pizza party in the ER waiting area while you were in surgery, I thought I’d kill them with my bare hands if I had to listen to it any longer. Who the fuck orders fucking delivery pizza at the ER?” Jake’s voice is cracking, and Chris hums, twisting his right hand into Jake’s shirt, twist-and-release, then finger-twist-tap-tap-tap, and it’s solid and real and the sun is so pretty outside the window.

“Sorry I, I, I, I didn’t tell you I was, um, was sick,” Chris whispers.

“Sorry I didn’t know without you having to tell me,” Jake whispers back. “I hate hospitals, little man, you have no idea how much I hate having to tell lies in a hospital again. Fuck, I hate hospitals so fucking much.”

“Me, me, me me me, me too, but, um, but it’s okay with you here. It’s okay. It’s, it’s not-”

“It’s not the same,” Jake says softly. 

“Right. Not, not, not the same. I’m, I’m, I’m not, not, not, um, not going… going back.”

“Never, Chris. Not ever. Letting you go in that ambulance without me is the second-hardest thing I’ve ever fucking done,” Jake whispers, and tears build in Chris’s eyes as he buries himself against Jake’s neck, his hands making short, jerky little flapping motions as he struggles to keep the feelings inside him from overwhelming his ability to speak.

“What, what, what was, was the hardest?”

“What?”

“What’s, um, what’s… what’s the, the, the… the-the hardest thing? You’ve, you’ve ever, um… ever done?"

Jake’s breath hitches, and there are tears in his voice as he holds on tight. “Sitting in fucking limbo knowing I couldn’t be the one to help you.”

Chris swallows back a twist inside his heart. “Y-yeah?”

“Yeah, just… having to be stuck outside while someone else did all that shit that it feels like I’m supposed to do.”

There’s a sudden rustle at the window, and Chris turns his head just enough to see a flutter of red wings disappear down towards the courtyard below.

---

Tori belongs to @whump-tr0pes and is used with permission and great love

Tagging: @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @slaintetowhump , @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout , @doveotions , @pretty-face-breaker , @boxboysandotherwhump , @oops-its-whump @moose-teeth , @cubeswhump , @cupcakes-and-pain @whump-tr0pes @whumpiary

[ikemenfics]

Fireflies

It’s winding down the end of summer and I thought...why not

Word Count: 2015 (think I could pull four more words outta my ass?)

For: @ashv716 cuz I see what you did there...Thank you so much for your support!  I hope this will suffice..

You sat in your corner of the hut.  How long has it been since Kennyo took you hostage?  A week?  Two?  You tried counting and failed.  [How does Sasuke keep up so well with the tracking of time here?]  It didn’t really matter.  What mattered was the fact that you were still here.

Kennyo, for all his talk, did treat you fairly at least.  You weren’t sure if that eased the fear of being kidnapped from the Oda forces or not.  Not that you’d been entirely there by your own will in the first place.  The cosmos were just having quite the kick knocking you about, weren’t they?  But there was something about your current captor…

You were sure you could see it, just behind his midnight eyes.  That deep, gnawing pain.  You knew the story...sort of.  Of how Kennyo and his men stood against Nobunaga and subsequently were defeated.  You knew that no loss in war was ever easy, so of course you understood how the pain got there.  But...it was still there, and it still moved you to see it every time.  Perhaps that was why when Kennyo released your bonds you didn’t run.  You were getting confused.  [Getting attached isn’t the plan.  You are going home soon.  You can’t drown in those pain filled eyes.  Stop thinking about his eyes.  Or his face...H-hello, heart?]  You sighed.  It seemed you went from the devil’s palace to something far more complicated.

“I’m coming in,” a gravelly voice greeted from beyond the hut and speak of the Buddha, Kennyo entered.  He carried a bowl, something you’d come to associate with being meal time for you.  Kennyo didn’t eat with you, but he always sat and watched as you did.  Guess the demon has to make sure you get all your nutrition for the day.  You reached out, giving a quiet thanks, and took your food.  

“There is no need to thank me,” came your response.

It was familiar banter.  You’d thank him, and he’d either tell you not to thank your captor for keeping you alive, or questioning why you would thank your captor.  After all, he did kidnap you.  You sometimes argued back, but today your preoccupied thoughts with the eyes gazing down at you in equal mix of shame, pity, and something you couldn’t quite name made you mute as you looked down towards your food.  It looked like namasu would be your dinner for today.  You took the chopsticks, giving a soft, “itadakimasu,” and took to your meal. 

It wasn’t anything Gordon Ramsay would fawn over, but as Sengoku cuisines went, it was good to you.  The fish had been grilled and the warmth of it relaxed you.  The vegetables of the salad seemed to have come from around the forest.  Definitely not the salad one would get from Miyabian or anything, but it was filling all the same.  You ate in silence, Kennyo silently watching you in a way that had your heart pattering inside you.  [Stupid stupid brain.  You had to bring up those eyes and now the heart ran off.  This wasn’t in the plan.]  You closed your eyes, put down your bowl and chopsticks, signifying you were finished.  Perhaps he expected to get stabbed with chopsticks, but Kennyo never seemed to take anything from your hands while chopsticks were present in either of them.  

“Do you need more?”  He asked, standing and taking your bowl.  You shook your head in the negative.  

“It was filling, thank you.”  

“Why do you thank me?  Do you still not realize the situation you’re in?”

“You keep asking and I keep telling you that I do..”

“Then why?”

Kennyo’s eyes crinkled, the confusion evident in his expression.  There was a lot of why happening in that face.  Why haven’t you run?  Why haven’t you cried?  Why haven’t you tried to fight?  You were pretty sure he had you pegged on the last one.  After all, fighting wasn’t exactly a common occurence of the 21st century and apparently your ‘I’m not a warrior’ status showed.  

You dared a glance up, really taking in his expression.  It was painful, those beautiful dark orbs.  The scar bisecting his face had nothing to the pain those wondrous pools held.  The silence stretched as you two simply watched each other.

Eventually, he sighed, the moment broken as his face turned from yours.  He opened the hut, handing the bowl to someone outside with a muttered word.  The guard that had been apparently assigned to watch your hut hurried away.  You blinked, confused.  Was Kennyo letting you go?  

He didn’t really look at you, opening the door wider, the sunset spilling into your tiny space.  The last vestiges of summer glowing in the world beyond.  That meant it wasn’t long until the wormhole opened and all of a sudden, you weren’t sure anymore that you were ready for it to.

“Come,” he said, stepping out, “You need to exercise.  No harm will come to you.”

“Not that I ever believed you would…” you whispered as you stood.  You did feel a bit stiff, the last few days of being locked away needing to be worked out as you stretched a bit.  

Your comment did not go unnoticed, a grunt being your answer as you walked outside.  It was bright and still warm, the night not quite having taken the summer’s day away just yet.  The sun was a dark orange sphere on the horizon, the sky painted in pinks and purples that marked the time.  It was stunning and your heart fitted a little more as another warmth claimed your back, Kennyo having stepped out of the hut behind you.  [It’s so romantic…]

You were prodded eventually to move, breaking you of your romance addled daze.  Your cheeks burned as you hid your face, Kennyo leading the way.  You walked the camp, a circuit you’d grown used to as you’d had to exercise every so often during your stay in the Honnonji hostel.  This time, though, instead of tracing your way back after stopping by the training grounds, Kennyo stepped further.

A hand reached back, taking your hand gently but firmly.  It took everything you had to keep your heart where it belonged as Kennyo guided you into the trees beyond the camp.  You stared at his hand, yours being swallowed inside his grip.  [His fingers are longer than I thought they were...He has nice hands.  Big and worn...but long and strong also..]

You failed to keep track where you were going, or how long you’d been walking, but soon it was dark.  Not quite night, but trapped in that twilight phase, the first stars peeking through the trees in greeting.  Kennyo stopped walking, allowing you to finally take in the scenery.  

Trees cast long shadows, making the forest darker than the time said it was.  You could hear the crickets coming out to play their songs.  You could hear an owl somewhere above your head, your facing turning upwards to find the source that you knew you wouldn’t discover.  Wind brushed through your hair, the coolness of night finally coming to take her due.  If the sunset was romantic and beautiful, the night was mysterious and content.

Kennyo still held your hand, his other holding up a strange paper tube with a handle you hadn’t realized he carried all the way out here.  He knelt, his hand still grasping yours and set the item down to strike his flint against a rock he’d found on the ground.  The small flame came alive and Kennyo moved it to the small wick inside, creating a small lantern’s glow.  It looked for all the world like a paper and bamboo gando lantern.  [Sasuke would thrill at seeing that here].  You were mesmerized at the small makeshift flashlight Kennyo had created.

“Are you tired?”  He asked.  You shook your head, now thoroughly curious what the monk had planned.  You continued to move deeper, the small glow forcing you to giggle at the small Slender references you knew the big man in front of you wouldn’t understand.  He glanced behind you, clearly having caught the small sounds you were making, but made no comment.  

It had already grown chill, the signal that night had fully overcame the world, when Kennyo stopped again.  His hand released yours, and the cold and lack of his touch immediately making you wish he’d take the action back. 

Instead, you asked, “Kennyo-san, why are we here?”

He looked over to you, his face softening, “Are you afraid?”

“No...curious.”

“You should be afraid.”

“I don’t think you’re as bad as you think you are...why be afraid?”

Kennyo gave a wry grin, blowing out the light he’d made.  You could barely make out his face in the darkness.  “I am a demon.  You should be afraid…” he said, anguish clear in his whisper.

You tried to discern his expression and couldn’t.  Neither of you made a move.  The silent night stretched on forever and you didn’t know if you wished it would actually do so or if you’d rather something happened.

A flicker in the corner of your eye had you turning.  Kennyo’s eyes followed yours.  Another flicker.  Then a third.  Small little flicks of light were filling the scene around you as little fireflies came to life.  The forest took on a near ethereal glow as fireflies flitted towards the two of you.  

You looked towards Kennyo, noticing that, for the first time, his face was not a mask of age old hurts.  The grin from earlier still remained, his features looking years younger as he took in everything.  It was a rare show and you had front row seats.  Your heart did a dance and you just knew you were grinning like a teenager with a crush.  

Kennyo looked down to you, his night dark eyes showing tiny pricks of gold as the little glow bugs flew about their nightly business.  His face held an almost ironic humor as he took in your features.

“Seems even the Buddha agrees with you, princess,” he muttered.

You grinned back, “So...what now, mister demon?”  You couldn’t help needle the man after all the show he put into telling you of his dark nature.  

He huffed at that, shaking his head.  “It seems I’ve no choice…”

He leaned towards you, his lips snatching yours before you had time to blink.  His eyes stayed open, watching your face, your own eyes unable to close.  His lips lingered a moment or two before he pulled away, leaving you breathless.

It wasn’t some passionate ballad of tongues like most romantic kisses were, but even so you were swooning on your feet, giddiness making you a touch dizzy.  You giggled and arms were around you, steadying you on your feet.  

“How that Devil King managed to find such an innocent creature…” Kennyo started, his voice full of flustered exacerbation.  You pressed your face into his chest, trying for all the world to stop the blushing and giggling.  

You were soon enough able to calm yourself.  Glancing up at Kennyo again.  By then, his face has sobered, leaving you a little bummed at that.  You stayed in his arms as the night chirped and glowed around you.

“Kennyo-san…” you whispered, a sudden curiosity coming over you, “...why did you bring me out here?”

He opened his mouth, clearly at a loss for words.  His eyes narrowed as he seemed to consider the question.  

Finally, he responded, “It hurt me to see you so isolated.  I may be a demon, but even I could not bear to see such a beautiful flower wilt.”  He sounded confused, you leaning closer to prod him more.

“I figured I would come and show you what I could do…” he continued, “but found that I couldn’t get past how much it hurt to frighten you further.”  He gave a small huff of a laugh, “Some demon I have made…”

You nuzzled into his chest, taking in the scent, “Yeah…” you muttered, “some demon.”

[svubloods]

Imagine finding out the truth about your parents, Rafael and Erika (TPELB Part Eleven)

Imagine finding out the truth about your parents, Rafael and Erika (TPELB Part Eleven)

*Masterlist with all the parts HERE *

Imagine finding out the truth about your parents, Rafael and Erika (TPELB Part Eleven)

“I have a proposition for you if you are willing to entertain me for a bit, or for dinner at least,”

You looked up momentarily. Meeting his eyes, the same eyes you had, before glancing back down at your plate without a word or a second glance. You continued to push your dinner around your plate with your fork, not eating it just toying with it. If you did it long enough he would usually let you go without finishing. He got tired of trying…until the next day.

You’d been living with your ‘Father’ Rafael Barba, unwillingly and involuntarily, for over two months now which meant it had been exactly 64 days since you’d seen your family in person. You knew you would see them eventually but it was his decision to decide when. He’d persuaded the Judge to allow a ‘settling in period’ which meant you couldn't see your family even though they shared custody in order to let you get settled in without any undue influence. He used you outburst as evidence that you needed it and as a result the last time you talked to any of them in person or seen them. You texted, e-mailed, wrote letters but it wasn’t the same.

And even though it had been two months, nothing had changed. You felt nothing but contempt for the man who essentially took and obliterated anything that had once made you happy. Take today, it was Friday and if things were the same you’d be sipping milkshakes with Will at your favourite cafe right now. But instead, your favourite day had transformed into your least. Friday was the day he made an effort to spend time with you. Every other day of the week, Sarah, Mr Barba’s housekeeper and now you nanny would watch you and make you dinner. But on Fridays, he dismissed her and made dinner for the both of you himself. He made you eat together on Fridays and Sundays and took you to his mother’s on Saturday. You didn’t speak on Fridays or anytime when it was just the two of you or when visiting his Mom. You wanted them to know how angry you were. You had eased up overtime with Sarah. She was nice, understanding but ultimately still his employee.

“You’re going to have to talk to me eventually,”

You ran your tongue over your teeth and kept your head down. You were starving but you were determined not to eat anything he made, which included this dinner. You would eat Sarah’s dinner and you’d even relented with his Mothers, your Grandmother. Just not his, you shunned everything that was associated with him. He’d had to get Sarah to unpack your things because you refused too. You didn't pick out a colour for your walls or any furniture so his assistant and Sarah had done it themselves under his instruction. It turned out quite nice and the room was larger than your old one but it wasn’t yours. It was still his apartment, everything he had bought you was still his. His attempt to get you onside. Nope, you responded to yourself. You only spoke to him when you absolutely had too and used things he bought when you had to out of necessity and you wanted to keep it that way. You didn’t want to allow yourself to soften your stance.

“Y/N please,” He suddenly pleaded, startling you.

You looked up out of shock, your eyes widen as his bores into yours from across the table. His tone was desperate, broken. A little like you. He’d been so trying hard this whole time to no avail and perhaps that failure had finally gotten to him.

You didn’t look away this time. You kept looking at each other. He’d made no progress, you look at him with the same anger as you did in that courtroom. If not more as it was after you’d had all of your stuff moved to his he told you he was blocking access to your family until he thought you were ready. You think he thought it would encourage you to engage with him, the prospect of seeing your family. But you refused to play his game, you wouldn't engage until you could see them.

You didn’t talk enough to argue but if you did, you’d probably argue you over that. Or why he was so against them. He badly hid his negative feeling towards your family which utterly confused you. They hadn't done anything to him. But his tone filled with venom even when mentioning them in passing.

It made you angry. But you also felt a wave of intense confusion, curiosity.

Silence fell, he took the opportunity to elaborate. 

“How about this,” He began, bargaining, putting down his essentials and crossing his arms, “I’ll answer any question you want if you answer one of mine in return,” 


You titled your head at him. Evaluating his serious expression and as soon as you were sure he being truthful, once you were satisfied you set down your fork and pushed your plate away.

You nodded, briskly.

You never could resist your curiosity.

You watched as a wave of relief washed over him. He looked confident. He thought he was making headway. If only he knew how wrong he was.

“What happened to your hand” Mr Barba, asked you from across the table, casually, before eating a forkful of dinner.

You glossed over your bandaged knuckles, offering no explanation. But you had your thoughts.

“What the hell?” His voice cried, the door swinging open, beside you, it was strong, commanding, intense, “Y/N, what are you…?”

His voice softened at the sight of you. His eyes burning into your side. But you didn’t move, you didn’t even turn to look at him even though he was only a few feet away. Against the blurring world and the debris around you, you raised your shaking hand, and at that moment it was the only thing you could focus on, your shaking hand and the blood leaking out your freshly bruised knuckles.

“Y/N…”

“Y/N!”

You staggered backwards messily, his panicked voice the only thing you could hear over the deafening sound of your heart pounding in your veins. Your hand was stinging with fierce pain. But it was better. Way better, even if it was only a distraction, stinging was better than dull and relentless.

“Y/N, please talk to me”

“Oh my God, Y/N, your hand!”

You backed up until you felt the cool brick wall against your back, digging harshly into your skin as you tried to stabilise yourself against it.

You cradled your head in your injured hands as you heard his footsteps approach you, highlighted by the broken glass he had to walk on.

“Y/N?” A familiar but unwanted voice asked.

It was almost a whisper, a plea.

Your head shot up, your features already composed into a steely glare as you caught him look between you and the opposite end of the hallway.

“Oh Y/N,” He breathed, “ We need to get you to the nurse,”

He reached out for you after and you instinctively slammed your back, back against the wall, harshly.

“Okay, okay,” He reasoned, throwing his hands up apologetically, seeing you were unwilling to go with him, “Do you want me to get someone else to take you?”

You shook your head.

“Do you just not want to go?” 


You nodded, sliding to the floor against the wall. Shards of glass grazing your skin. You weren't going to speak to him. Arguing would involve speaking to him which you were vehemently opposed to doing. You sat heavily. You could feel your detachment from everything that was happening around you. He was probing at you, checking your hand, trying to get you to talk him. But you were dazed, your mind an unsettling state of blankness.

There was nothing, there was no one.

Just you.

But your anger towards him was enough to bring you back to reality when he spoke.

“Why did you do it, Y/N?” Mr Morgan, his face was concerned if not highlighted with guilt, his eyes were pleading, begging you to speak.

He knelt down beside you, leaving a gap just in case.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Your tone was cold, stark and in tone that you couldn't even recognise your own voice. But they were your words.

“Please, talk to me,”

“Was I not clear?” You questioned, the fog in your brain evaporating as you were suddenly fuelled by rage after snapping your head in his direction.

“I’m sorry, I thought…” He began to excuse.

“That you were doing the right thing,” You’ve waved off, already knowing where this conversation was going, “You’ve said that and more grovel over a hundred times by now. Which is why I stopped you. I don’t want to hear it again. I want what I’ve always wanted when we have this conversation. For you to leave me alone,”

“I’m your teacher,” 


“I’m well aware. Which is why I say nothing when I have to be around you. And in case you haven't noticed I don’t have a Physics lesson right now so please leave,” You stated, holding your voice strong.

“I care about you, Y/N.” He sighed, adjusting his glasses as he always did when he was uncomfortable, “And I can’t just leave you in the hallway! I truly am sorry for what happened. I didn’t think you’d be…”

“So upset?” You offered, interrupting him yet again, “Wouldn’t you be upset if someone violated your privacy?”

“I thought we did the right thing by giving her your letter,” He whispered, bowing his head, “If I had known that…”

“What? If you had known what? If you would have known that you giving my Father’s lawyer a letter I wrote in therapy behind my back would mean I would no longer trust you, you wouldn't have done it? Here’s an idea next time you run the idea by someone because anyone with a half functioning brain would know that would be a bad idea,” You snapped, turning away from him, “How many times do I have to say I don’t want to talk to you?”

Your voice was breaking, your eyes were blurring.

“I’m not going to stop trying,”

“Why not?” You demanded, practically hissing between your teeth.

“You need someone to talk to,” He insisted, his tone sympathetic and lost, almost in mourning though you had no idea as to what,  “And that’s what I’m most sorry about, that my actions mean that you can no longer trust me because I know that right now you need people you can trust more than ever. I wish you could trust me again,”

“How can I ever talk to you without worrying that you’ll go tell someone what I’ve said?” You countered, “Or even worse tell him, what I said?”

“What can I do to make you trust me again?”

You shook your head, “I don’t know,” You paused before despite your better judgment giving him a faint small sad smile, “But you know what I do know?” Meeting his gaze for the first time, “Everybody I want to talk to, I’m not allowed to.”

“I know it’s been hard,”

“You’re not making it any easier,” You pleaded, “Can you please just go? Shouldn't you have to fill in a report or something?”

“I can’t leave you here,” He sighed, glancing around the empty hallway, the shattered glass and the destroyed display, “Why’d you do it?”

You finally looked up at what you had done. It was the school display for last years science fair. Littered with design to showcase all the wonderful inventions that had been presented including the winning entry. Yours, though the place where'd your winning photo had been was evidently blank, the display was ruined and the glass case over was shattered. Due to you putting your fist through it. Glass was all over the floor as were the torn up pieces of your winning picture.

“I couldn't look at it anymore,” You confessed, your voice finally breaking and tears giving way down your cheeks. You went to rub your eyes only to wince at the flexing of your hand, you lowered it before sighing, “For two months I’ve had to walk past it and I just couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't look at it anymore.”

“I punched a glass case,” You looked away as you spoke, to avoid his reaction.

“It’s your turn to ask…”

“Why can’t I go home?”  You stated, cutting him off,

“You are home,” He insisted, before questioning and gesturing in your direction, “Why did you do it?”

The picture, you just couldn't look at that picture. You thought back to that day as if you were trying to make yourself feel even worse.

“Now what is that?” Your Great-Grandfather Henry exclaimed, pointing to one of your classmate's projects as he walked by, much to your annoyance and your Uncle Joe’s amusement.

“Shh,” You hissed, swatting him, “They’re about to announce the winner,”

“Y/N/N, why are so worried?” He asked, jovially, before leaning in and whispering, “You know we’ve already got this in the bag,”

“We?” Joe questioned from the other side of you, “Grandpa, this is Y/N’s project,”

“I helped,” He insisted, pointing to the decoration part of your project, “That was all me,”

“I gave him the choice between red or blue ribbon,” You clarified, before shooting him a sly wink. 

“It was my glue gun,”  He reminded, “And besides the only real competition is that volcano,”

“The volcano?” You questioned, taken aback, “You think that’s impressive?”

“How did he get it to erupt?” He countered. 


“Someone is lighting a lightbulb with a potato,” You stated.

“But is the potato erupting?” He pointed out with a distracted nod before glancing over the stage and grabbing your hand, “They're about to announce the winner, pipe down,”

“I already said…” Joe went to say.

“Hush, Joseph,” He warned off, dismissively.

Uncle Joe rolled his eyes before flashing you wink and grabbing your shoulder supportively. You’d appraised the competition and you knew you were a shoo-in to win but you always got nervous in situations like this. Nobody said you had to win but you felt like you had too. You were genius, everyone said so, the smartest person in the room. You had to win. And you always did. You shut your eyes tightly, ignoring everything around you in an effort to tame your racing heart. Only opening your eyes to joyful hollers and celebratory jostles.

“We won!!!”

“Y/N won,” Uncle Joe corrected.

“I won?”

“You won,” They confirmed in unison.

“How…I…did…” You stuttered.

“Just go,” Joe ushered.

“Come with me?” You asked, hopefully, looking at them both in turn.

“It’s our time to shine,” Your Great-Grandpa agreed, offering you his elbow as you began walking up to the stage, with your Uncle Joe following behind, slightly embarrassed.

You were congratulated again and met with another applause when they presented with you a trophy. It had been donated by one of the other parents and subsequently much bigger than last year. It was over half your size and when they handed it to you, you struggled straight away. Your Uncle Joe quickly grabbed at one side and Henry the other to help stabilise you. The celebratory picture was taken at that moment and you all had massive smiles on your faces as you tried to keep the trophy upright.

You all were so happy.

But you weren’t anymore.

And looking at that picture every day, just reminded you of that fact.

You just couldn't take it anymore, seeing how you all were every damn day when you walked out of class. You said the same thing to Mr Morgan before bursting into tears and sobbing on the floor of the hall for what seemed like hours. He had stayed with you that day, wrapping a hesitant arm over you as you buried your broken and sobbing face into your knees. Hugging your legs in an attempt to stop yourself shaking, hugging yourself as no one else could.

You were alone.

“This isn’t my home. It’s yours, I’m just forced to be here,”

“That wasn’t answer to my question,” He pointed out.

“I couldn't take it anymore,” You offered, purposely aloof with your words.

He swallowed hard, the tension between you palpable.

“Why can’t I see my family?”

“I want you to settle in fully before you see them again, so they can’t…” He trailed off purposely, looking in the other direction and breaking away from your intense gaze.

“What?” You probed spitefully, “Turn me against you?” You rolled your eyes and leant against a balled fist, “Too late,”

“One day you will understand,” He breathed, pulling the napkin off his lap and wiping the corners of his mouth.

“Do you think I’m incapable of understanding your reasoning right now?” You countered, crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair, “I’m the smartest person in most rooms I walk into…including this one,”

“Academic intelligence is different from emotional intelligence,” He sighed.

“Of course,” Your muttered, rolling your eyes, “I don’t think…”

“It’s for your own good,” He suddenly offered.

“Bullshit,” You breathed.

“Y/N!” He warned.

“I’m not a child,” You shot back, “Don’t try to mess me around. You didn’t do this for me,” You took a sharp intake of breath, “You did this for you. To alleviate guilt. Make yourself feel better. Whatever your reason don’t kid yourself and pretend you’re doing this for me. Because if you were we wouldn't be sitting here. I would be at home, my real home, and you would be making an effort to get to know me before separating me and taking me away from the only family I’ve ever known. You’re doing this for you. And I don’t know why,”

“You’re right,” He admitting, “Part of this is for me but it is mostly for you no matter what you think. I’m doing this for the both of us,”

“That’s not an answer,” You argued, “I want to know why,”

“I want to be your Dad. I’ve already missed thirteen years…”

“But that was your choice,” You reminded, insistently.

“That is not true,” He stated fiercely and adamantly, it was clearly something he was sensitive about and yet you didn't believe a word.

“I listened to it, you know,” You announced, a beat of silence before you spoke as the tension fizzled.

His face flashed an expression of confusion, looking back at you blankly as he registered your words.

“The recording,” You clarified, blinking away the tears that were blurring your vision and clenching your fist in an effort to stop it shaking, “Of what I believe to be the last conversation you guys ever had?”

“How did you…?”

“You really think they wouldn't find a way to give me it?” You countered, raising an eyebrow at him and tilting your head as you observed him closely, “If you didn't think you would, you are very much underestimating them,”

He chuckled dryly, shaking his head, “Of course they did,” He looked away, placing his hands on the edge of the table, gripping tightly as he collected his thoughts, before swinging a glance back in your direction, mirroring your natural head tilt, “What did you think…?”

“Are you asking for my opinion?” You questioned, taken aback.

He gave a heavy look but purposefully made no effort to verbally encourage you to continue.

“You were cruel…cold,” You stated, harshly, pointedly, as you stared him down, “Angry, even”

“You don’t understand,” He interrupted, repeating himself.

“Maybe,” You shrugged, “Maybe I don’t understand. But I do know one thing. Your reaction to it doesn’t make sense,”

“What do you mean?” He finally gave in and prompted, his gaze meeting yours as your observations reeled him in, curiosity getting the better of him.

“There was no shock, no surprise, not even fear just anger. Like you knew it was coming,” You offered, blinking innocently at him before shaking your head with false light-heartedness “But that isn't possible…right?”

He didn’t miss a beat and you had a feeling both of you knew the last conversation they had ever had word for word.

“Hello?”

“Rafael?” Erika questioned, almost nervous.

“Oh hi,” Rafael responded, his surprise evident, “It’s nice to hear from you? How are you?”

“Okay,” She replied shakily, “You?”

“Good,” He said, “Listen, you know I was planning on calling…”

“Rafael, I don’t know how to tell you this,” Erika began all of sudden, she couldn’t keep it in.

“Okay…” He dragged out, confused, slowing done his packing, “What’s up?”

“I’m pregnant,”

The words hit Rafael’s ears. For the first five seconds, he was silent. Then he opened his desk drawer and searched. Once he found it, he pulled it out and held it in his hands. Opening it up slowly, the memory of the first time he received it washed over. He knew what he had to do and he didn’t like it.

“Rafael?” Erika asked, thinking the connection had been lost or he had been stunned into silence.

“Are you joking?” He countered.

“No, of course not,” Erika refuted, “I wouldn’t lie about something like this,”

“Come on,” He insisted, “Enough is enough. I’m not falling for it!”

“I’m not joking!” Erika insisted, “It’s the truth! I can prove it!”

“Yeah okay, I’m sure you can,” He played off, “Listen I don’t have time for this, okay? You can't-fool me so your little trick failed. So can we just drop this and never speak to each other again?”

“Rafael, I don’t understand,” Erika sighed, her voice softening.

“I do though. This is just your attempt at a money grab, right?” He accused, “It’s pretty obvious,”

“I don’t want your money and how fucking dare you accuse me…” Erika stated.

“How many people have you tried this on?” He countered.

“I don’t know why you are thinking this way but the truth is I’m pregnant and it’s yours so,” Erika stated once again, getting angry at this point.

“Whatever you say,” He entertained, mockingly.

“Why are you acting like this?” Erika demanded.

“Why are you?” Rafael countered, “You could do much more with your life than reducing yourself to this.”

“What the hell is going on?” She demanded.

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” He countered.

“I can’t deal with you. How dare you? You don’t even know me,” She began to rant.

“You’re right,” Erika agreed, “And I clearly don’t know you either. I thought you were a decent person,”

“Yeah, let’s debate my decency,” He chuckled, condescendingly.

“You know what I can’t deal with you anymore. So I’m going to hang up but before I do. Just know when you realise that you’re wrong because you will. You will never ever see this kid unless it’s over my dead body. Are we understood? Because I wouldn’t want them to have such an insensitive moronic bastard as a Dad.” She shouted down the line before hanging up angrily.

“I can’t honestly sit here and say that I wasn’t expecting a call from your mother that day,” He confessed.

“But how?” You pleaded.

“I’m trying to protect you by not getting you involved,”

“I’m already involved,” You stated, slamming your palms into the table, jostling the dishes before you retracted your hand, hissing in pain.

“Are you okay?” He questioned, concerned, jumping out of his seat.

“Don’t,” You warned, making sure he kept his distance, holding your throbbing hand to your chest, “Don’t come near me unless you're ready to tell me the truth. That’s all I want,”

“I don’t want to hurt you,”

“You already have,”

“After your mother and I split ways. I was sent a package,” He began, “In it was a letter explaining that your mother or at least Rosie MacDonald which was the name she gave me was a scam artist who pulled cons on young professional men. Including ones that pertained to faking a pregnancy in an effort to extort money,”

“Who would do that?” You asked, softly, taking in the information.

“I don’t know,” He said, solemnly, “All I know is at the time it was enough. They gave evidence and even provided a police badge number. I didn't think twice. I was just happy that I avoided getting scammed. But now I think there’s more to it,”

“Well, obviously,” You sighed, “For one I’m real, she was actually pregnant and secondly my Mother wasn’t a scam artist. She was a cop,”

“Who was undercover when we met,” He added, “And I don’t know why. After I found out she was not who I thought she was. I looked and I couldn't find anything,”

“What do you mean?”

“I couldn't find anything on the operation she was working on or even who she was investigating. I even finally looked up the badge number from the original letter only to find out that it had been reallocated,” He continued.

“That doesn’t make sense,”

“It didn’t until,” He began before stopping.

“Until what?” You encouraged.

“Y/N please,”

“Just tell me the truth,” You pleaded angrily before softening your voice as you slouched back in your chair.

“When I found out your mother was dead, I was devastated and I wanted to know what happened,” He admitted, “I guess a part of me still did care as soon as I found out she was genuine. And I felt incredibly guilty that I could never to apologise to her for how I treated her. And I know you told me how she died but I wanted to know. So looked for the file and that’s when I knew something was wrong,”

“Why?”

“How did your mother die, Y/N?”

“A car crash during a police chase,” You answered matter of factly.

“Who told you that?”

“My family, obviously,”

His head was bowed, he couldn't meet your eyes. His breathing laboured as he considered his words carefully.

“Mr Barba?”

“She didn’t die in car crash Y/N,” He finally said.

“What?” You spluttered, almost laughing, “You’re kidding,”

“That is the official story, the one the media reported, the one everyone believes but it’s not what happened,” He elaborated.

“So what’s the truth?” You demanded, not being able to comprehend the information.

“You’re shaking,” He whispered, bending down beside your seat, he reached for your uninjured hand, hesitantly, as if he expected that you'd snatched it away.

But you didn’t. You let him grab your hand.

“Are you okay?”

“Just tell me the truth,” You insisted, keeping your head down as you adjusted once again.

“She was shot dead in her car,” He revealed, slowly, breaking the news as gently as he could.

“I…I don’t understand,” You let out, “She was murdered?”

He nodded.

“Why would someone…? Why would they lie to me?” You spluttered, breathing heavily.

“I don’t know. All I know is someone when to great lengths to keep everything about your mother under wraps. Almost changed, distorted, sealed away. I had to go find original copies of the case files to get the truth about what happened. Someone when to great lengths to cover up everything your mother was doing and how she died,” He explained, “And that’s why I did all this. I needed to protect you because I’d already failed for so long. I needed you to get you away from them,”

“From who?”

He gave you a guilty look, “There are only a few people powerful enough to orchestrate a cover-up like this. And your Grandfather’s one of them,”

[bellnini-blog]

Move on #1

I breathed deeply.

(cr: xshaydx)

Some people will like the taste of the cold wind in November. I do not know whether it is trying to plainly blow on my face only or having an intention to wear the heart or drill into the lungs without mercy. However, I may be one of the ‘like’, who often stand on the empty rooftop even on a cold winter day.

The wind is coming straight to me. November here feels similar to this wind. It is difficult for some of the exposed skin to associate how November is like with words like 'cool' or 'comfortable'. The seemingly endless winter kicks off, but I still take it for granted. The freezing temperatures and the white snow scene are not uncommon among all winters spent in my life, although sometimes I suddenly think of the heat of the summer more than 5,000 away from here.

The smoke spit out from my mouth dissipates very quickly in the wind while the fascinating and addictive fragrance of tobacco lasts to fill up your brain, yet it brings people back to reality when the mist is broken.

I breathe, the wind comes toward my internal body again.

I can clearly feel what exactly every word I heard 10 minutes ago from the mouth of my boss right now. Like what bosses should do, mine also blame subordinate for their mistakes, and that is so common. That is too common to treat it with excessively sincere confession and depression.

People may call it ‘sentiment’ or ‘affectation’, but people do have been crushed by the last straw that softly landed eventually on the top of the mountain made by thousands of light tiny straw-like things landed on them before.

I closed my eyes to get rid of that, recalling yellowing memories a long time ago.

(cr: agingerwithaseoul)

Have you ever tried to stay on the rooftop for a while? I did it a lot. A rooftop room was where I grew up, and I naturally developed this hobby starting from years when I was still an underage little girl, not taller than 160 centimetres, stepping on faded black plimsolls, of course, no cigarettes at that moment. Nicotine was a dependency popped up long after I entered the workplace, before that honeyed sparkling water or homemade fruit tea composed the majority of my young delightful life pieces spending on the rooftop. Even if I made ridiculous or terrible troubles, my rooftop room saved me from sadness. No straw successfully found their position on my back. Winds there blew them away, floating through my hair to somewhere far away.

And when you looked up at the sky, the soft light of the setting sun is like the sweet and sour orange juice. The infinitely stretched orange-pink filled the line of sight until the sun went invisible. The dark blue came after. Lights from Namsan Tower and every household at the foot of Namsan were brighter at that moment. If you look back at the winding path, people were passing by your house, and occasional cars slowly and carefully ran on the road that was not spacious. All of them were on the way back home.

But it feels totally different when you stand on the rooftop of a mansion. You can feel lonely, insignificant, empty, but also wide. When I look up, the sky and wind are taking over me. When I look down, I can hardly distinguish a figure clearly p from the never-ending stream of people and cars.

I was part of them yesterday, yesterday before yesterday, and every day before yesterday. And I’ll be part of them later today, tomorrow, tomorrow after tomorrow and every day after tomorrow.

“Yes, I’m coming home.”

I am answering the phone call from my mom.

At least home is still sweet, like my favourite peach flavoured soda.  

LEE HI - "BREATHE" English Lyrics

(retrieved from: https://onehallyu.com/topic/296685-lee-hi-breathe-english-lyrics/)

Take a deep breath,

so that both of your chest aches,

until it begins to hurt a little. 

Breathe out more,

until it feels like there’s nothing left inside of you. 

It’s okay if you’re out of breath

No one will blame you

It’s okay to make mistakes once in a while

Everyone does that 

To say it’s okay,

even though it’s only words of comfort. 

Someone’s sigh

That heavy breath

How could I possibly understand

Your sigh

Although I won’t be able to understand that depth

It’s okay

I will hold you 

From other’s eyes, 

it might look like a sigh that lets people down

But I know

that you spent a hard day to let out even a small sigh

Don’t think anything else now

Take a deep breath

and breathe it out 

Someone’s sigh

That heavy breath

How could I possibly understand

Your sigh

Although I won’t be able to understand that depth

It’s okay

I will hold youYou’ve worked hard

[leszymowski1993]

Tmj Kinesio Tape Astounding Cool Tips

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10mm Underwood 180gr Tmj

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Tmj Home Relief

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[fenvincible]

I wrote a thing.

I’ve been inspired by @writergrump‘s merman Arin AU. It’s super cool and I”m sure everybody in the fandom so far has read it, if you haven’t give it a moment and do so.  anyway, I was inspired and this inspiration took flight, they’re completely to thank for the fact that I’ve spent the greater part of the last two weeks researching the ocean and working on this! It’s my work but deeply inspired by them and their themes.   This is the first thing I’ve written for egobang, and if enough people like it I will continue and publish the rest! Thank you. 🖤

           Fatigue, heavy and hard, settled into his bones. He pumped his arms ferociously, feeling the freezing water suck the energy out of him, but still he pumped his arms and kicked his legs. The sunlight refracted through the water, but it wasn’t warm. He was still so far below the surface, fighting wasn’t helping as his body was continually pulled down. His lungs and fingertips burned from the lack of oxygen. Though the energy was sapping out of his body as he floated further from the surface he continued to swing his arms and kick his legs. He needed air.

           An exasperated yell escaped his lips but the ocean cut him short. Sea water eagerly, happily, filled Dan’s mouth and lungs, leaving the taste of salt on every surface it caressed. He was giving up. The lack of oxygen made life just fuzzy enough Dan didn’t realize he had stopped fighting the inevitable. Just as the haze in his vision was closing, the lack of oxygen causing him to black out, I see what looks like an angel. An angel with a tail? Sunshine blonde hair floating around their head, strong arms pushing me towards the surface, and a beautiful tail. Glistening in shades of purples and blues. I see a smile before the blackness takes over.

           Dan woke harshly, his breath burning his throat. Hair damp and body covered in the thin film of a cold sweat, almost like he had just been dragged from the ocean again. As Dan’s breathing slowed he practiced the grounding techniques he used in the years following his near drowning.

           In the sublime dusk of the early morning Dan looked slowly around his room. He brought his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around.

           “I see, a book, my favorite shirt on the ground, phone on the charger to my right, my computer on the desk in front of me, the picture of Debbie and Avi from last Thanksgiving.” Dan states, just above a whisper.

           “I can touch my blankets, my pillow, my hair, and if I’m lucky an awesome pair of boobs.

           I can hear the birds singing, the grandfather clock in the hall, my neighbors fucking dog, like it isn’t balls early in the fucking morning.

           I can smell the soap from my shower last night, and the coffee that started automatically brewing this morning.” Dan took a deep breath in,

           “Speaking of the coffee, I can already taste it.” Dan whispered, the cycle finished as he threw back the blankets and made his way to his bathroom.

           A quick moment later and Dan was standing in the hot jet of water. The dream quickly fading from his mind as he grasped at the smoky tendrils. All children had a near death experience, Dan thought. As he guided the soap frothed towel across his chest and down his arms. His was weird, he still feels the arms pushing him he still sees the plump pink lips. Dan spent years drawing and coloring the blue-purple tail that he associated with his savior. He understood what the doctors and his parents said. He has excitedly swam too far out, he got swept up in the current, his head was fuzzy as the buildup of carbon dioxide in his lungs drove his brain into insanity. He imagined the water angel, later classified by Dana as they conspired together as a mermaid, as he was miraculously able to break away from the current and swim to the surface.

           As he worked the towel down his legs and rinsed off the lingering bubbles Dan thought about the aftermath of his near drowning. His fascination with the ocean, with the aquatic life he was sure he had seen. Instead of developing a fear of the water, as some might do after nearly drowning, Dan had become fascinated, obsessed really. He excelled in the sciences throughout elementary school. Soared through his earth sciences classes in high school and got a scholarship to the University of California – Los Angeles. Here he began majoring in marine biology. His passion only growing year after year as he got involved with more sciences and formulated research theories.

           Now, in his final year of his undergraduate degree, Dan had the most coveted research opportunity in the entire school ahead of him. It wasn’t only due to his hard work, assuming that would be a lie. Dan knew, and thought about it with a smile, that his ability to be on the receiving end of this grant, was because of his bond with the physics professor.

           Dr. Brian Wecht was a strict looking man approaching his tenure at the University. With a PhD in physics and his interest in the ocean he had become one of Dan’s favorite professors. They had bonded quickly over late nights in the labs and theories on what types of life would succeed in the deepest parts of the ocean. When applying for the Universities largest yearly grant to investigate the depths of the ocean Dan had needed a professor to vouch for him. Brian offered to vouch as well as assist Dan in his application process. Without Brian’s help, Dan was sure he would have lost the grant to a graduate student researching something stupid, like the mating habits of dolphins. No, Dan wanted to research something real, and Dan’s research started today.

           By the time Dan was in the kitchen enjoying his coffee and a bagel his phone had been blown up. He had several texts from Brian and the other student on the research project, Suzy.

 Pumped?! Was all Suzy had sent, but her excitement was clear through the messaged.

Like Ron Jeremy’s dick! Dan quickly replied, knowing Suzy was probably on her way to the site.

           Brian had sent several

 Hey super butt baby

Wait was that professional?

Fuck it

I hope you’re ready

We are gonna start this project today

So call me daddy and get your ass down here ASAP

             Dan giggled quietly, finishing his bagel. As he typed out a reply to Brian, sometimes it’s impossible to believe the man has a wife, a child and a literal fucking PhD.

 That’s not at all professional, Wecht. Be there in a minute.

             Though early morning LA traffic was peaceful Dan knows that within forty-five minutes the freeways will be backed up and a fifteen-minute commute will suddenly take an hour. He was thankful that Brian had insisted they be on site before the sun was even up, preferring to get a head start on anything that might go wrong. The man was childish but brilliant, Dan thought as he pulled his car into the beach front area reserved by the University for the research students.

             “Dan! Hey!” Suzy shouted, almost tackling Dan in her excited hug. Dan might be considered brilliant by some peers and professors, if that was the case Suzy was a genius. She graduated high school a year early and entered the University at the age of 17 having already completed a year and a half worth of credit hours. She was two years younger than Dan but also a senior looking into grad schools. Her long black hair was only changed by the violet streak she kept. Face only marked by the eyeliner she somehow did every day, making her look as alluring as Cleopatra must have.

           “Are you ready? Are you excited? I got you a tea” Suzy handed Dan a warm paper cup that radiated warmth and the calming scent of Earl Grey.

           “I think I’m ready. I know I’m excited, I got up before my alarms. Thank you, what did I do to deserve you Scuze?”

           “You still don’t, but if you’re lucky you can earn if after today.” Suzy laughed. Leading the way to the pier, where Brian stood. She dressed casually in jeans and a sweater, good choices since the morning chill was still lingering, made worse by the cold ocean stretching out in front of them. Brian, on the other hand, looked stern as always. Blue eyes constantly assessing and taking in the world around him. Slacks and a navy button up completed the look of stern professor. The façade was broken the moment Brian saw Dan though.

           “Hey dick.” Brian broke into a smile, shifting his features harsh to soft and fun. “Are you ready to be in the water?”

           Dan nodded excitedly, hair bouncing wildly, beyond ready to utilize the Universities multimillion dollar submarine. Behind the layers of science and research questions that has brought him here, basically he was just a kid with a want to go deep into the ocean and see some cool fucking shit.  

           “Bet your ass! I am beyond ready, I am so wet for this.” Dan walked slightly behind Brian and Suzy as they moved down the pier, toward the submarine waiting for them. Ironically the University had painted the entire submarine banana yellow, when Dan had laughed and pointed out the relevance to the Beatles song released in the 60s Dean Terry had given him a blank stare. He realized the color of the submarine wasn’t inspired by John Lennon before he quietly sat through the rest of the meeting with Dean Terry.

           The submarine was fantastic and huge. Large enough to fit two people though today only Dan would be going down. A plethora of buttons and levers, gauges and displays ran over the front of the sub. Measuring everything from temperature, to depth, pressure levels. Tools to grab samples and take pictures were available. Today Suzy, Brian and Danny had gathered to take the sub as deep as they possibly could. The goal was a depth of about 3,500 feet, the ocean floor near California, if they got the submarine to that level with no issues their next mission would put them in Guam, to explore Mariana’s Trench.

           “Are you ready, man?” Brian inquired? Looking at Dan as Suzy went over the submarine, doing one of three more checks the team would do before Dan went under.

           “I- I think so. I had the nightmare again last night man. But, I want to do this. I need to do this.” Dan had told Suzy and Brian about his childhood, the time he nearly drowned and how that affected his life. “I’m gonna- gonna go change real quick.”

           Dan ran to the bathroom, taking less than a moment to change into a wetsuit, preparing for the worst case scenario. When he exited Suzy had finished her check of the submarine and Brian was having his go at it. Dan watched as the man moved methodically, going over every gauge, lever and reading in the submarine before checking the steering and controls. Finding those satisfactory he moved to the oxygen tanks and “just in case equipment stored in the submarine. Checking the pressure gauges to ensure they were working once more Brian gave a contended hum before nodding to Dan.

           “I think it’s ready for you.”

           Dan jumped into the submarine, feeling the water craft bob under his added weight as it adjusted. Dan checked his gauges and dials, everything fell within the required areas. The oxygen tank was full and the equipment where he could grab it quickly if things went awry. With a last, precautionary verbal check with Suzy and Brian they were finally ready.

           Dan was going to dive into the deep.

           The descent started normally, the readings remained well within their limits. Pressure gauges weren’t indicating any issues. Dan continued slowly. 250 feet, 500 feet. The pressure in the cabin remained stable. Oxygen levels were good. Dan started looking around. His goal was to simply descend and ascend safely, proving that the craft was ready for their trip to Guam.

           “Earth to ‘Sexbang’ I’m thinking a certain scientist forgot to check in with his anxious team.” Suzy’s voice broke through Dan’s thoughts as he took in the sights around him.

           “Right Scuze. I’m sorry. Readings look solid on my side. Is the camera feed okay?”

           “Camera feed is fantastic. Our readings look good. How are you feeling?” This time the voice was Brian’s, playfulness gone from his tone. Dan imagined him starting at the feed, icy blue eyes roaming the screen as they took in what Dan was seeing and looked for what Dan might miss.

           “I’m good. Oxygen is still filtering in well, not yet stuffy. We should add a music player to this damn submarine. I could really go for some Rush right now. Sing to me Brian?”

           “In your dreams.”

           Dan giggled, once again thankful for the automatic bond he had felt in Brian’s presence and for Suzy, a glue allowing them to get work done while having fun.

           “I’m continuing descent. Looks like we are at 1,500 feet now. I think when we get to Guam  we should start with margaritas on the beach.”

           “I’m only investing in those if Holly gets to come. I’m sure there’s a bird or two there she will be excited to meet.” Suzy added. Always ready to spend more time with Holly. Nothing was written in stone yet, but Dan was sure they were more than friends and roommates like they said.

           “I’ll appeal to the dean to allow Holly to come if you let us have one really nice evening on the beach, no paperwork.” Dan said as his descent reached 2,000 feet. Already imagining the fun they would have in Guam.

           “Deal.” Suzy’s voice was distracted. Dan heard shuffling as Suzy and Brian moved around the temporary set up.

           Time seemed to slow down as things went from great to terrible.

           The oxygen levels in the submarine dropped. The cabin erupted into a shrill wine as a red light bathed the dash in front of Dan. Something was wrong.

           “D-Dan! Dan, what’s happening?” Brian’s voice was brisk but concerned. The concern was enough to raise the hairs on the back of Dan’s neck.

           “I- Brian. I don’t know. All of my readings are fine. They’re not coming across as alarming. What about yours?”

           “Everything is good here Dan. Come back up. Slowly. Don’t go any further down. Come back up now.” Suzy’s voice was stern, using the mothering tone she often used when Dan and Brian got out of hand.

           “Yeah, I- uh, okay. Yeah.” Dan’s descent had just taken him nearly 2,300 feet below sea level. He was sure only a few seconds had passed, maybe even only one second before Dan heard a popping sound he knew wasn’t good.

           “Shit.” Was all Dan heard before water was rushing into the submarine. He didn’t have a spare moment to grab the oxygen. He didn’t have a moment to think.

           The water didn’t slow, didn’t hesitate as it rushed into the submarine, filling every space. The water didn’t hesitate as it pushed Dan, hard, to the side knocking his head against the metal siding of the submarine. The water didn’t hesitate as it began to fill Dan’s lungs and his vision faded to blackness.

           When Dan woke his lungs were still burning with the sting of salt water. Brian and Suzy leaned over him, concern written over their faces.

           “Dan! Oh my god.” Suzy gushed, hands automatically roving over the man, checking for any injuries.

           “Scuze?” Dan coughed. “What the fuck happened man?”

           Dan looked up to see Suzy looking uncomfortable, Brian looking nearly angry.

           “The sub.. something happened. The pressure gauges weren’t reading correctly. Something went wrong.” Brian stated, an unusual edge to his voice as he spoke. “The ships integrity failed about the time you hit 2,500 feet. I think you hit your head. I’m not sure, we should get you to a doctor.”

           “I- hit my head? How did I get out?” Nothing made sense, Dan should be dead not here asking questions about how he avoided death by drowning. Again.

           At this Brian and Suzy looked uncomfortable, Brian even looked angry. They both looked behind them, Dan followed their gaze.

           Stuck in a net was a sight Dan never thought he would see. A man with beautiful brown hair to his shoulders. A pink streak flowing through the hair. A look of dismay on his face as he struggled against his binds. What caught Dan’s eye, took his breath away was the beautiful tail the man had, starting just below his belly button, where a normal humans naval would have been. The tail was an array of pinks, and caught the sun in the most beautiful ways. Dan watched as Dean Terry looked over the creature, a cold curiosity in his eyes.

           “They wouldn’t let him get away.” Brian sighed, voice full of sadness and anger. “He saved your life and they captured him.”

[halalhyungwon]

1-100 odds

Jaz you’re a real one

1: when you have cereal, do you have more milk than cereal or more cereal than milk?

It depends on the cereal, tbh. Some cereals I prefer a lot of milk and others I put less

3: what random objects do you use to bookmark your books?

I’ve used my phone, random sheets of paper, pens/pencils, white out tape…

5: are you self-conscious of your smile?

A lil bit

7: do you name your plants?

I don’t have any plants :( If i did, I probably would

9: do you like singing/humming to yourself?

Yes, I do it constantly

11: what’s an inner joke you have with your friends?

Inner joke? Like, inside joke?… I have a lot. And yet, I can’t think of one to share lmao

13: what’s something that made you smile today?

I was on the phone with my bestie for like 5hrs and I hadn’t called them in a while so that made me happy (: 

15: go google a weird space fact and tell us what it is!

“A total of 32 monkeys have flown in space.”

17: what color do you really want to dye your hair?

This shade of purple that Minseok had because it is sooo pretty. I’ve wanted to dye my hair that color for the longest time

19: do you keep a journal? what do you write/draw/ in it?

I do have a journal and I used to write in it regularly but kinda stopped once I got into sophomore year of college. It was kinda my brain dump and also where I just spilled all my emotions that I never talked to anyone about

21: talk about your favorite bag, the one that’s been to hell and back with you and that you love to pieces.

Favorite?? Hmmm there’s the bag my cousin bought me for my high school prom. It’s cute and small and white and going over your shoulder. I don’t use it much but I’m still happy to have it.

23: what’s your favorite thing to do on lazy days where you have 0 obligations?

watch exo and seventeen make fools of themselves lmao

25: what’s the weirdest place you’ve ever broken into?

I don’t recall breaking into anywhere…but I remember one summer my brother and I went for a walk to a school in my cousin’s neighborhood and an alarm went off and scared tf out of us

27: what’s your favorite bubblegum flavor?

wintermint (?) i think it’s called

29: what’s something really cute that one of your friends does and is totally endearing? 

One of my friends has this pack of cards that says “I LOVE YOU BECAUSE” and then it has a bunch of bullet points for different reasons you could love someone. She gave me one sophomore year and another one just recently and honestly it’s so sweet

31: what is your opinion of socks? do you like wearing weird socks? do you sleep with socks? do you confine yourself to white sock hell? really, just talk about socks.

Socks and I…we acknowledge each other’s existence and hang out when we need to. I only where socks with my sneakers and boots, and when it’s really cold. I cannot where socks all day. Like it’s impossible. When I wear socks I just feel hyper aware of the fact that there is cloth on my feet and it makes me uncomfortable. I can’t go to sleep with socks on, unless I’m extremely tired and just fell asleep. Even then, I’ll wake up with my socks kicked off in the morning.

32: tell us a story of something that happened to you after 3AM when you were with friends.

Most recently! My friend and I were trying to observe the meteor shower last weekend. And like the thing is for the first hour or so we didn’t see any and kept trying to find the best place to observe them. Then, I finally saw one, but it was right when my friend was looking down so she didn’t get to see it! And then, another hour or so passes and it just seems like we’re never gonna see another one, so we decide to head back to our dorms. BUt, on the way back we find a spot that would be just perfect to see them, so we just loitered there for almost another hour, jammin to music and just waiting to see some shooting stars! And then the next one comes but it happens right as I’m looking at my friend to talk to her, but she’s looking up so she gets to see it. After that some time passes and it’s already 3:30 a.m. and I’m tired and lowkey gotta pee, so we start making our way back to the dorms again. And then we find another spot that would be good viewing, so we chill there for a while because, though we’ve both seen a shooting star, we haven’t see one together. So we’re standing there, chillin, being goofs and listening to trap remixes of the Wii theme, when we both look up and go “OH!!!” and freak out bc we finally saw another shooting star and it was just great. 

(I realized I answered this even tho it’s not odd but i’m just gonna keep it bc i love it too much)

33: what’s your fave pastry?

do cinnamon rolls count as pastries?…i could really go for one…

35: do you like stationary and pretty pens and so on? do you use them often?

Yes I do!! But I don’t have many :(( Part of me wants to buy a big set but like I already have a bunch of pens and notebooks (but they arent all aesthetic and pretty and stuff) and I also think i’d stop using them after a week or so

37: do you like keeping your room messy or clean?

I like having a neat room (I cleaned my room today I’m so happy, it looks so spacious) 

39: what color do you wear the most?

Black, probably

41: what’s the last book you remember really, really loving?

I don’t read often but I think the last book I really enjoyed … Howl’s Moving Castle

43: who was the last person you gazed at the stars with?

@batmanlemonade hey ;) [see #32]

45: do you trust your instincts a lot?

No? maybe? idk

47: what food do you think should be banned from the universe?

pickles…

49: do you like buying CDs and records? what was the last one you bought?

I wishhh I could just buy all the cd’s i’ve ever wanted. If I had more money I probably would have a nice collection. The last CD i’ve bought was back in high school and I think it was OneRepublic’s Native album

51: think of a person. what song do you associate with them?

My little brother… whenever i hear transformer, touch it, monster or kkb I think about him bc those are his favorite exo songs loll

53: have you ever watched the rocky horror picture show? heathers? beetlejuice? pulp fiction? what do you think of them?

I don’t think I’ve watched any of these but beetlejuice, and I love beetlejuice

55: what’s the most dramatic thing you’ve ever done to prove a point?

I scrolled through my kyungsoo tag for a good hour or so to prove to my friend how much i love him sfdjkl; that’s not very dramatic but it’s the first thing I thought of. She really didn’t question that I loved him, I just love any excuse to look through my tags

57: go listen to bohemian rhapsody. how did it make you feel? did you dramatically reenact the lyrics?

bohemian rhapsody is a classic sfkl; um it always reminds me of my childhood bc my brothers and i used to watch these animated videos and one of them was of bohemian rhapsody but with megaman characters lmao

59: what’s your favorite myth?

UHmmm I really don’t know lol sorry

61: what’s the stupidest gift you’ve ever given? the stupidest one you’ve ever received?

In sophomore year I wanted to buy my roommate her favorite flavor of ice cream but I didn’t have money so I drew ice cream on a post-it note for her I can’t think of a stupid gift I’ve received…

63: are you fussy about your books and music? do you keep them meticulously organized or kinda leave them be?

lol no, i just let ‘em be. they’re chillin

65: is there anyone you haven’t seen in a long time who you’d love to hang out with?

my cousin who’s in med school, I haven’t seen her in too long :c

67: how do gloomy days where the sky is dark and the world is misty make you feel?

I kinda like those days. If I’m in a good mood, gray skies, cool breezes and light rain make me feel better. Otherwise, it’s just meh.

69: what are your favorite board games?

There’s this Korean board game that I can’t remember the name of for the life of me, and tbh since I haven’t played it in a while I don’t remember the exact rules, but it’s kinda of like Sorry! I’ve only played it twice but it was really fun both times

71: what’s your favorite kind of tea?

Chai

73: what are some of your worst habits?

putting myself down and procrastinating

75: tell us about your pets!

I don’t have any :-( I’ve been really wanting a cat lately

77: pink or yellow lemonade?

Pink~

79: what’s one of the cutest things someone has ever done for you?

Hmmm when I was in high school I reeeally loved Michael Buble (I still do, have you heard that man’s voice?) so for Valentine’s day, my friend got me this box and taped his face on the top lmaoo with a reference to one of his song lyrics. The box was filled with flowers and chocolate and gum (but at the time I had braces so i couldn’t even chew the gum lolll)

81: describe one of your friend’s eyes using the most abstract imagery you can think of.

I really wish I could but I’m not creative and this headache I have isn’t helping safhjlk sorry

83: what’s some of your favorite album art?

I really like the cover for 1R’s Native album, and also p!atd’s too weird to live too rare to die

85: do you read comics? what are your faves?

Not really, but I’d like to

87: what are some movies you think everyone should watch at least once in their lives?

Howl’s Moving Castle, Room No 7 starring Do Kyungsoo, coming out November 15 and..I can’t really think of another one

89: are you close to your parents?

Kinda sorta

91: where do you plan on traveling this year?

i have no plans to travel :( 

93: what’s the hairstyle you wear the most?

My hair in it’s natural state lol covered by my hijab

95: what are your plans for this weekend?

Chillin! I was supposed to lock myself up in my room and finally watch the exo and seventeen concerts I have downloaded but i haven’t gotten around to watching them yet. But I have been chillin in my room so it’s been alright

97: myer briggs type, zodiac sign, and hogwarts house?

infp, scorpio, and i have no idea

99: list some songs that resonate to your soul whenever you hear them.

UHhhmmm Call Me Baby and Heaven by EXO; Healing and Don’t Listen in Secret by Seventeen; Hug Me by Jung Joon Il

[carrioncrows-readers]

You are not in a position to negotiate; you end up doing it anyway. Old habits die hard.

Content Warnings: kidnapping, interrogation

Jacob Frye drives you personally to somewhere in Lambeth that you can't bother to pay attention to. You're too busy beating against the roof and doors of the carriage to try and escape. Damn the stupid things and their lack of internal handles because you're stuck here, and you're probably going to die here.

You resort to begging — you're desperate. You plead with Frye to tell you where he's taking you, but your only response is the hard line of his back.

So you sit. And you wait.

Eventually, the carriage stops, and the door opens. Frye looks almost remorseful, seeing your puffy eyes and swollen cheeks. He drags you out even still and shoves a burlap bag over your head; you almost swear you hear him say  sorry,  but you must have misheard.   How could he be? You're dragged through a cold building and shoved into a chair before he deigns to rip the bag off your head, mussing your hair and taking strands with it. The light puts paper cuts on your eyes, already sore from days on days spent crying.

You are sitting in a bare room, surrounded on all sides by yellow limestone. The only light source is a kerosene lamp on the floor, casting long shadows everywhere it can't touch. Frye's face is bathed in flickering gold, and you can't tell much about his expression, but he's definitely standing near the door. You don't bother trying to run for it. There's a snowball's chance in Hell that you'll make it out.

"Who are you?" He asks, arms folded across his chest.

"What do you mean  who am I?  You know who I am!"

"Do I?" There's a heavy silence that hangs between the two of you, where you realize between one heartbeat and the next that you don't actually know each other at all. "How do you know Thomas Morvell?"

"What is this? Do you interrogate all your clients before taking a job?"

"Answer the question," his voice is dark, and he takes a half step towards you that makes you lean back in your chair. This has never happened to you. You don't know what the etiquette is for this situation you've blundered into. You don't know what he's capable of (murder, actually), and you certainly don't know what he wants from you. Your eyes flicker to the door again.

"He is — A family friend." Used to be, anyway, before Father got sick, which makes his betrayal all the worse. You need to think of something that might satisfy him. Something that might make him take the job — maybe that's what he's looking for. "He killed my father."

"I don't like excuses." He's on you before you have time to blink, hands gripping the arms of the chair until they creak, caging you in. His body blocks out the light. You lean as far back against the chair as you can and try not to tremble. You realize, then, that you are trapped — alone —  in a room with someone who kills for a living. You have no weapons. Even if you did, you'd have no idea how to use them. Your mouth goes bone dry.

Helpless.

Useless.

You are going to die.

Something in the central hollow of your chest snaps in half. The vibrations rock the nerves at the base of your brain.

Your eyes might actually bleed if you cry again, so you take a different, less-traveled road: you start laughing. It's a chuckle at first and then devolves into a full sail, maniacal cackling, curling in on yourself, and covering your mouth with the back of your hand. If this is where you end, you might as well make it a memorable experience. Losing your mind is memorable, right? Right.

"Is something funny?" Frye looks less than pleased, maybe even on the verge of killing you just out of annoyance, which only makes you laugh harder.

"You don't scare me," you say, bubbling and broken voice cut into pieces. A bit like your mind, actually. You feel the floor start to slip out from under your feet, melt like candle wax and stain your shoes. Your arms and face buzz with bees and wasps, the chair vibrates, the world turns in on itself in agonizingly slow microseconds.

"Oh?" His eyes narrow.

"No. No, you — you don't. You don't! I am about to lose everything, " you cover your mouth with both hands as it dawns on you that this is insane. You are insane. Trying to do this was insane. You should be throwing yourself to the floor and begging Frye to forget you ever existed. You should be screaming. You dig your fingernails into your cheeks to keep from shrieking so loud your vocal cords snap in half, and when you speak again, your voice is a whisper out of fear that you might break yourself.

"Killing me right now would be a kindness." He only looks at you, letting you slowly strangle the laughter trying to come out of your mouth until you're calm again. "My father was Morvell's friend. I- I grew up with his daughter — we kissed once, while we were hiding from the cook after sneaking all the tea cakes. He used to take me rowing at their summer home." You put your head in your hands.

"And then suddenly he wasn't our friend anymore. He ruined us. Ruined me." You look up at Frye through your fingers, feeling your jaw cinch itself into steel. "I want him dead so badly it aches, Jacob Frye. Do you even know what that feels like?"

You don't like the look on his face — the pitying softness of his eyes that tells you he does. He hides it well, but not much slips past you nowadays; you've become prone to looking for knives in every hand and guns in every shadow. After a long, dead silence, he steps away from you and opens the door. You take that as your cue — you exit the stage and follow him, stepping up a tall, winding staircase at the end of a long hallway until you reach a well-lit room. The sudden reintroduction of gas lamps to your eyes burns them so severely you cover them with your hand.

When you can see again, you find Frye standing by a lit stove, watching a kettle come up to temperature with his arms folded. The room you're in is barren of anything vaguely resembling furniture. The wallpaper is slowly peeling from the plaster in sheets, and the place looks like it hasn't been dusted in years. The only evidence that it's been lived in at all is the lit lamps and the kettle.

"What is this place?" You ask, more to yourself than to Frye. He looks up anyway.

"An interrogation building. Used to be an old house with a deep cellar, but we repurposed it for," he motions to you — rather, the door behind you. You find yourself wrapping your arms around your torso, a chill down your spine when you realize just how close you'd been to dying today. You might not even be out of the clear yet — people don't just let someone go after they've seen the inside of their creepy interrogation basement. Frye sheepishly opens a second door, besides the front, into a singular bedroom with a bare cot.

You balk.

"I'm sorry-"

"You're keeping me here." Silence. "You're keeping me here, and you don't even have the good graces to offer me a goddamned proper bed?"

"To my own credit, I tend to sleep on the floor if I have to use this place at all." If. So many  ifs  coming out of this man's mouth. You want to slap him. You want to run.

"Please don't go for the door — I don't want to chase you down, and I'm sure you don't want to run after the day you've had. Just — wait for the kettle." You sag. "I apologize that you can't go just yet, but I have to speak with some associates first. Get the all-clear. At least you're not in the basement?"

"It's not much better if I don't have a bed."

"I swear on my life I will get you a proper bed." You are resigned to waiting, standing awkwardly by the bedroom door as the kettle whistles and Frye hands you tea in a chipped cup. He goes through the trouble of dusting it out with the corner of his shirt before he pours the water in. "Don't have any sugar or cream to serve with it, unfortunately."

"I'm more of a coffee person, myself," you say, trying not to bare your teeth.

"Ah, like the common laborer. Expected you to be the fancy tea type." He stares at you hard, the lines of his face deep as he frowns. "If you're not gonna drink it, give it here."

You do not. You stare Frye in the eye as you take a deep draft and feel it burn the back of your throat. It tastes like hay. You try not to make a face, but he laughs all the same, shuffling from one foot to the next, his arms swinging back and forth. He seems to be thinking. Painfully loudly, you should add.

In a moment, he disappears out the front door with a promise that he'll be  right back; please don't go anywhere, there's no point in it, and you are left alone. You briefly consider taking some of the coal from the stove and trying to burn the place down, but that wouldn't do you much good, would it? It's technically not running — but you're not willing to take your chances.

Instead, you wait, patiently staring at the wallpaper slowly degloving itself to expose the plaster musculature underneath. There's a water stain shaped vaguely like the head of a dog — you think it might be some kind of pointer. You sip your deeply unfortunately flavored tea and take an exercise in picking out the details and ignoring your circumstances — something you've practiced for decades now. There's an ear there. A nose. That splotch of discoloration could be a facial marking.

When you get bored of that, you move to pace around the room until the weariness of the day bears down on you. You don't want to go back into the basement to grab a chair; you also don't want to sit on the bare bed frame. So you sit on the floor, knees curled to your chest and your head lolling against the wall.

Maybe some part of you wants to stay here — that's the only explanation you have for falling asleep the way you do and why you don't make a run for it.

You try to rationalize that running from a man who has his fingers in all of London's pies is not your wisest choice.

You wake up to something cool and soft, patting your cheek, gasping and flailing, trying to smack whatever bug has wandered onto your face away. You meet air. You blink the sleep from your eyes and look up.

Frye is squat down in front of you with his arms over his knees, and two other figures are standing in the doorway, staring at you sleeping on the floor.

"That can't possibly be comfortable," he says.

You scramble up, ignoring the pins and needles in your feet and pressing yourself into the corner. You don't know who these people are — you don't even know who Frye is. You don't understand why he's brought them here or what they want. Your mind can only race with possibilities you don't want to think about.

The more your eyes adjust to the waking world, the more you realize these people are likely the self-same brand of roguish criminal you're in trouble with in the first place. Somehow that makes you feel worse. One is a well-dressed Indian man with the kind of dazzling face women swoon over; the other is Frye's near spitting image. A rounder face, less aquiline nose, darker freckles — but the resemblance is unmistakable. You wonder which one is the older twin.

Frye's sister (you can only assume, but what else can they be?) holds out a steadying hand, smiling gently at you. It's the kind of practiced ugliness you see in the mirror almost every day. It hides its true intent well, but not well enough.

"It's alright. We only wish to ask you a few questions." You almost relax. Almost.

"I'm not answering anything," you spit, "I wish to go home."

The three of them look at each other. Then they turn. And they leave. You want to scream — tear your hair out. You don't know what's happening to you, you're scared, and now they're going to leave you here. Frye's sister is the last to go, letting you shake in the corner while she stands with one hand on the door.

"When you're ready to talk, we'll be outside," she says, still smiling so saccharinely. Her smile feels like an illness to you.

You spend a total of four days languishing in that fucking room. Jacob and Evie (you learn her name later, not by choice; the walls are thin.) Frye are kind. They bring you coffee, cotton nightshirts, a chair, and one-sided conversation to try and wring their answers out of you. After the second day, you decide to strike a deal: Thomas Morvell's head on a pike, and you'll tell them everything they want to know.

They staunchly refuse.

On the fifth day of your imprisonment, you're sitting by the windowsill, watching the first snow of winter come down hard on Lambeth. When you were little, your father used to take you skiing for the winter holidays. You torture yourself, wondering how much debt he fell into making sure you had a fond childhood. You try and crack open the window to feel the winter breeze on your face, or maybe freeze to death, but it's nailed tightly shut. You resign yourself to laying your chin on your arm and staring out through the gathering frost.

When the door opens, you turn your head a fraction to see two silhouettes. You go back to looking out the window, watching the snow pile in drifts on the eaves of crumpling Tudor houses.

"You know, in some cultures, they say twins are portents of doom," you say flatly, following the trail of a snowflake hurtling towards the ground. Evie tries to engage you again. Something about assassins.

What good they turned out to be.

"Anything you can tell us will be useful," she says, and smiles with her bastard hands folded in front of her, the very picture of poise and that faux-milkmaid honesty that makes you sick. You've been to enough dinner parties and balls to know it's fake. You turn your head slowly.

"I want Thomas Morvell dead before I give you anything." Evie looks to the door, mouth half-open, and her hands fall to her sides. You don't look at Jacob — but she turns back to you with her lips pursed.

"While we appreciate the commitment-"

"Those are my final terms." There's a hefty silence that drapes itself over the room. Eventually, Evie grabs a spare chair from the other room. She invites herself to sit, leaning forward in a way that doesn't strike you as ladylike. Much more befitting of her various occupations as "gang boss" and "contract killer." Her fingers curl in on themselves, and she looks at you like you're a puzzle in need of solving; it irks you. You think you've made the answer to your puzzle very plain — Thomas Morvell's head, and nothing short of it.

"May I inquire as to the reason for this… obsession?"

Obsession. You suppose that's one way to put it, though you prefer revenge.

"He ruined my life," you say, every word punctuated through clenched teeth. Then you relax because negotiating with anger will get you nowhere — that's what Father would say, anyhow. "I believe I deserve a little compensation for that."

"I should warn you that we are not in the business of revenge."

"You're a gang of hitmen. If not that, what are you in the business of, then?"

The silence stretches and yawns while the two bird twins look at each other again, communicating silently as twins are wont to do. She finally looks at you after they have their strange quasi-argument.

"Have you ever heard of the Templars?"

[procrastidating]

im obsessed w myself

1: when you have cereal, do you have more milk than cereal or more cereal than milk?

I keep my cereal dry and have a glass of milk w it maybe? I eat cereal with my hands like a 2 y/o so

2: do you like the feeling of cold air on your cheeks on a wintery day?

Hell yeah sign me the fuck UP.

3: what random objects do you use to bookmark your books?

Usually papers or sticky notes and paper clips but I don't clip the page bc thats cruel and unusual

4: how do you take your coffee/tea?

I take tea black and like maybe cream if I'm feeling it. Sugar always ruins it for me

5: are you self-conscious of your smile?

Not really? Sometimes if I'm getting teeth brushing compulsions but those are less and I laugh too much to hide my smile anyway

6: do you keep plants?

Absolutely I have a spider plant and a succulent

7: do you name your plants?

Laura and Levi ride or die motherfuckers

8: what artistic medium do you use to express your feelings?

Sometimes writing songs/poems, and I used to make a clay sculptures when that was my shit but I don't like to talk about those or show them to people.

9: do you like singing/humming to yourself?

Hell yeah or lip syncing aggressively and dancing so I don't bug people on my hall

10: do you sleep on your back, side, or stomach?

My stomach, occasionally back or side. Sometimes standing up.

11: what's an inner joke you have with your friends?

That I'm a triplet with two of my friends who are actually twins! Many more but too complicated to explain

12: what's your favorite planet?

Used to be Neptune but I had to research Uranus once and it fucking sucks that it's always a punchline because it's hella cool and rotates on it's side like it's lying down and I RELATE

13: what's something that made you smile today?

the ducks on my morning walk :)

14: if you were to live with your best friend in an old flat in a big city, what would it look like?

Probably cozy but clean and they'd make it hipster and fashionable and I just want a nice bed and shower

15: go google a weird space fact and tell us what it is!

URANUS ROTATES ON ITS SIDE AND DESERVES RESPECT U FUCKS

16: what's your favorite pasta dish?

penne pasta with anything and everything

17: what color do you really want to dye your hair?

Terrifying. No. As a joke? Black.

18: tell us about something dumb/funny you did that has since gone down in history between you and your friends and is always brought up.

I walked off the edge of a skate half pipe in like 8th grade and I can't escape the ridicule.

19: do you keep a journal? what do you write/draw/ in it?

Since like 2006 I've recorded everything. I write what happens and songs and poems and doodles of events that happened instead of describing them sometimes.

20: what's your favorite eye color?

Why the fuck would I have a favorite eye color. Color is the least interesting thing about someone's eyes

21: talk about your favorite bag, the one that's been to hell and back with you and that you love to pieces.

My blue bag is just big enough to fit a journal, sunglasses, pain meds, and water which is my survival kit and it constantly saves my life.

22: are you a morning person?

I'm an extreme morning person to an embarrassing degree

23: what's your favorite thing to do on lazy days where you have 0 obligations?

I LOVE TO DO NOTHING. eat and walk around and then put three dogs on my lap and never move again

24: is there someone out there you would trust with every single one of your secrets?

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA NO. Last time I had told one person almost every secret about me but they were on a plane to see their priest before I even finished so like fuck that not worth it byeee :))))

25: what's the weirdest place you've ever broken into?

An old meeting hall and hung out in it in the middle of the night I guess? Lots of trespassing mostly

26: what are the shoes you've had for forever and wear with every single outfit?

Crocs. Also f this question?

27: what's your favorite bubblegum flavor?

Never had gum so bite me

28: sunrise or sunset?

Sunrise.

29: what's something really cute that one of your friends does and is totally endearing?

INVOLUNTARY GIGGLES. Best people

30: think of it: have you ever been truly scared?

yes.

31: what is your opinion of socks? do you like wearing weird socks? do you sleep with socks? do you confine yourself to white sock hell? really, just talk about socks.

Love my socks like good pals and I'd never sleep with out em!

32: tell us a story of something that happened to you after 3AM when you were with friends.

Those are stories just for us.

33: what's your fave pastry?

I'm NE trash and it's donuts

34: tell us about the stuffed animal you kept as a kid. what is it called? what does it look like? do you still keep it?

My sock monkey jocko, MVP of my goddamn life. 

35: do you like stationary and pretty pens and so on? do you use them often?

I have nice pens and nice stationary and I use it frequently but I don't have a variety of them. Just what I like.

36: which band's sound would fit your mood right now?

Elvis. Dance and ballads always

37: do you like keeping your room messy or clean?

Clean but the chaos that sometimes happens let's me make note of my mental state with external indicators

38: tell us about your pet peeves!

Just don't be mean to people you think are less smart than you. That's. Bullshit. Everyone knows something you don't.

39: what color do you wear the most?

Dark blue

40: think of a piece of jewelry you own: what's it's story? does it have any meaning to you?

My watch. I like to know the fucking time.

41: what's the last book you remember really, really loving?

Glass castle lived to the hype

42: do you have a favorite coffee shop? describe it!

I was trying to look up the name of my favorite shop in a’dam it was literal perfection and they had the best nachos and deff didnt sell coffee.

43: who was the last person you gazed at the stars with?

I know its happened more recently than this but I was just reminded of when I watched shooting stars last august on the last night of camp and that was a beautiful night. human connection is the best dude.

44: when was the last time you remember feeling completely serene and at peace with everything?

Summer camp night :) because the last time before that was like age 10 so no fucking wonder im going back

45: do you trust your instincts a lot?

hell yeah I’m so fucking smart. But if I have migraine brain my good instincts leave me

46: tell us the worst pun you can think of.

meat puns are a rare medium well done!

47: what food do you think should be banned from the universe?

none? food thats like also literal poison maybe? if you dont like a food dont eat it man I’m chill.

48: what was your biggest fear as a kid? is it the same today?

~thunder~ has carried over for sure but I was a pretty fearless kid and now a very fearful 20 something

49: do you like buying CDs and records? what was the last one you bought?

COMPILATION CDS ARE MY SHIT! Like obscure dance music from the 00s and 90s, I recently bought 3 of those.

50: what's an odd thing you collect?

white rocks

51: think of a person. what song do you associate with them?

this is so fucking obscure. I think of my dad and  pedal your blues away. 

52: what are your favorite memes of the year so far?

the make a playlist one is making me laugh right now

53: have you ever watched the rocky horror picture show? heathers? beetlejuice? pulp fiction? what do you think of them?

I’ve seen em all and theyre all good! I can see why they all have cult followings although im not cult-y about any of them sry

54: who's the last person you saw with a true look of sadness on their face?

ouch. no comment.

55: what's the most dramatic thing you've ever done to prove a point?

I declared myself queen of the school to demonstrate how dumb I thought class elections were.

56: what are some things you find endearing in people?

people that say your name/call you by a nickname! people that laugh at my jokes! people that like me! Its not very hard for me to become obsessed w you

57: go listen to bohemian rhapsody. how did it make you feel? did you dramatically reenact the lyrics?

no time for that and also im not in 10th grade anymore

58: who's the wine mom and who's the vodka aunt in your group of friends? why?

I’m starting to get bored of these Qs

59: what's your favorite myth?

Abi Yo Yo. Is that a myth? do i give a fuck?

60: do you like poetry? what are some of your faves?

I like shel silverstein and everything else can go FUCK ITSSELF. also john donne and rumi etc etc leave me alone

61: what's the stupidest gift you've ever given? the stupidest one you've ever received?

All my gift are kinda dumb and once lya gave me a rock and it was the tits

62: do you drink juice in the morning? which kind?

im allergic to that SHIT

63: are you fussy about your books and music? do you keep them meticulously organized or kinda leave them be?

im not meticulous about anything. main life flaw

64: what color is the sky where you are right now?

hella grey. i love it.

65: is there anyone you haven't seen in a long time who you'd love to hang out with?

Sean :( hopefully this summer!

66: what would your ideal flower crown look like?

what the FUCK. but also white daises bc theyre my fave flower okay leave me alone.

67: how do gloomy days where the sky is dark and the world is misty make you feel?

I go on walk and splash in puddles and stay outside as long as I can and then read and sleep!

68: what's winter like where you live?

endless and fantastic when the skiing is good

69: what are your favorite board games?

trouble

70: have you ever used a ouija board?

yeah but like also prob inaccurately 

71: what's your favorite kind of tea?

english breakfast cuz im classy 

72: are you a person who needs to note everything down or else you'll forget it?

yup

73: what are some of your worst habits?

migraines, talking myself out of things

74: describe a good friend of yours without using their name or gendered pronouns.

they are wild and loud but secretly so intelligent and thoughtful. They finally figured out thier haircut and I miss them everyday I’m without them because they are my home and my safety and sometimes I feel useless without them to anchor me.

75: tell us about your pets!

Ceilidh - sweet baby angel with too much strength and visits the neighbors and would kill anyone who tried to hurt me

Uma - cuddley as fuck but is not attached to anyone or anything and might run away and join the circus except her anxiety is off the fucking charts and she needs to protected

Wykeham - literal idiot with bad hearing and eyesight and shouldnt even be alive but he just wants to drink water and sleep all day preferably on your chest and he is so dumb though he also needs to be protected at all costs cause idk how he made it this far.

76: is there anything you should be doing right now but aren't?

so much

77: pink or yellow lemonade?

IM ALLERGIC TO THAT SHIT

78: are you in the minion hateclub or fanclub?

I prefer indifference and non affiliation

79: what's one of the cutest things someone has ever done for you?

light up a golf course at night to dance with me after a FIRST DATE. next level

80: what color are your bedroom walls? did you choose that color? if so, why?

after The Wallpaper i fought and painted them Canary Yellow which is bright as fuck and helps separate myself from the subdued Hell House outside the door

81: describe one of your friend's eyes using the most abstract imagery you can think of.

if the water in your sink was suddenly beautiful

82: are/were you good in school?

does it even matter if i am or was

83: what's some of your favorite album art?

idk but i really like join us by TMBG

84: are you planning on getting tattoos? which ones?

unsure

85: do you read comics? what are your faves?

no sorry

86: do you like concept albums? which ones?

eh

87: what are some movies you think everyone should watch at least once in their lives?

harold and maude, TLM 2

88: are there any artistic movements you particularly enjoy?

COBRA

89: are you close to your parents?

LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL

90: talk about your one of you favorite cities.

Amsterdam is perfect and so is the netherlands and I love it there and I miss it.

91: where do you plan on traveling this year?

This year is just within US, MN, Chi, and Portland. Maybe sweden this winter.

92: are you a person who drowns their pasta in cheese or a person who barely sprinkles a pinch?

im on this earth for cheese

93: what's the hairstyle you wear the most?

uh none? short hair? shit whats a hairstyle?

94: who was the last person you know to have a birthday?

Madeline!

95: what are your plans for this weekend?

Im SMing a show~

96: do you install your computer updates really quickly or do you procrastinate on them a lot?

who has the time

97: myer briggs type, zodiac sign, and hogwarts house?

INFJ, Aries, and i dont remember... it was gryffindor or hufflepuff

98: when's the last time you went hiking? did you enjoy it?

this morning. its my shit

99: list some songs that resonate to your soul whenever you hear them.

unchained melody elvis version

honest truth typhoon

common sentiments typhoon

say you love me

comeback kid

so many more but i just wanna finish this

100: if you were presented with two buttons, one that allows you to go 5 years into the past, the other 5 years into the future, which one would you press? why?

the future for SURE 5 years ago was shit thats why. even if the future is worse it still dont want to relive dating andy

[insanemoonfish]

Why! those useless, vain forms are! so fun to fill!

1: when you have cereal, do you have more milk than cereal or more cereal than milk? More cereal than milk, because I already get my daily intake of milk with my coffee!

2: do you like the feeling of cold air on your cheeks on a wintery day? No because it ends up messing with my nose! And I hate feeling cold!

3: what random objects do you use to bookmark your books? I usually read on my phone or memorize the page number. If I really need a bookmark I just use a scrap of paper.

4: how do you take your coffee/tea? Tea bag in mug with hot microwaved water, coffee powder in mug with hot microwaved milk (plus cinnamon, sweetener, and vitamins).

5: are you self-conscious of your smile? Not really but I dislike my face in general :'D I have this thing where I don't truly recognize my face as my own ???

6: do you keep plants? No, but I may keep a garden in the future because I love flowers!

7: do you name your plants? I'm the kind of person who names RPG characters as their class! So my plants would have very creative names like Rose and Carnation!

8: what artistic medium do you use to express your feelings? I don't really express my feelings, I stomp on them! But I guess I can draw!

9: do you like singing/humming to yourself? Yes, it's fun and keeps me awake!

10: do you sleep on your back, side, or stomach? Side until I'm drowsy enough, then on my back like in a coffin!

11: what's an inner joke you have with your friends? What friends!??!? Jokes?? AHAHA

12: what's your favorite planet? Shockingly I don't have one! I like Uranus because it's light blue but the name!!!!!

13: what's something that made you smile today? MEMES!

14: if you were to live with your best friend in an old flat in a big city, what would it look like? Like hell!

15: go google a weird space fact and tell us what it is! Why... okay. "Neutron stars can spin at a rate of 600 rotations per second." IDK if this is true!

16: what's your favorite pasta dish? Instant emergency noodles!

17: what color do you really want to dye your hair? White! I wanna be a white-haired animu grill!

18: tell us about something dumb/funny you did that has since gone down in history between you and your friends and is always brought up. What! Friends!!!

19: do you keep a journal? what do you write/draw/ in it? Yes, I write down my nightmares! It makes them less frequent and scary for some reason!

20: what's your favorite eye color? Grey, maybe! All are great!

21: talk about your favorite bag, the one that's been to hell and back with you and that you love to pieces. I have had a few school backpacks like that!

22: are you a morning person? I can function at morning, but I without a doubt work better at night! Not sure if that counts as not being a morning person!

23: what's your favorite thing to do on lazy days where you have 0 obligations? HAHAHAHAHAA!!!

24: is there someone out there you would trust with every single one of your secrets? I DON'T EVEN TRUST MYSELF

25: what's the weirdest place you've ever broken into? WHY WOULD I EVER- some abandoned houses, some classrooms, some janitor's closets, some school storerooms,

26: what are the shoes you've had for forever and wear with every single outfit? Boots > shoes :)

27: what's your favorite bubblegum flavor? TUTTI-FRUTTI!!!! I'M CHEWING SOME RIGHT NOW

28: sunrise or sunset? SUNSET. SUNRISE SUCKS not only because it lasts for exact 5 seconds BUT BECAUSE IT'S COLD and school time! Sunsets are cool because they remind me of DEATH!

29: what's something really cute that one of your friends does and is totally endearing? IDK I'm easily impressed most people can just breathe and I'll find it "endearing" and fascinating

30: think of it: have you ever been truly scared? YEAH DAMNED NIGHTMARES JUST

31: what is your opinion of socks? do you like wearing weird socks? do you sleep with socks? do you confine yourself to white sock hell? really, just talk about socks. I LOVE SOCKS, THERE ARE 0 REASONS TO NOT LOVE THEM. But I don't sleep with them unless it's very cold. And black socks all the way.

32: tell us a story of something that happened to you after 3AM when you were with friends. R E G R E T S

33: what's your fave pastry? IS THE CAKE THING OF A PETIT GATEAU A PASTRY? I DON'T KNOW MANY OF THEM AND I'M TOO TIRED TO GOOGLE IT

34: tell us about the stuffed animal you kept as a kid. what is it called? what does it look like? do you still keep it? PURA THE TIGER, named after the tiger from Crash Bandicoot. It was the Parmalat tiger without the milk bag that I cut off. No, I donated it because it made me nostalgic.

35: do you like stationary and pretty pens and so on? do you use them often? Whas this :'D I don't care about pretty I literally only bring 2 cheap black retractable pens to school

36: which band's sound would fit your mood right now? Don't ask me about music THANK YOU

37: do you like keeping your room messy or clean? Clean because I'm allergic to dust!

38: tell us about your pet peeves! When people assume things about me hhhhhhhhh

39: what color do you wear the most? Black, reds and navy 40: think of a piece of jewelry you own: what's it's story? does it have any meaning to you? A silver necklace with a black pendant! IT REMINDS ME OF DEATH!!1 I'M REPEATING MYSELF!

41: what's the last book you remember really, really loving? The Miserables! Even though I don't remember it well, even after reading it TWICE! HOW! YOU GO, ME!

42: do you have a favorite coffee shop? describe it! I HAVE COFFEE AT HOME ONLY ‘CAUSE I’M BROKE

43: who was the last person you gazed at the stars with? Don't remember, wasn't special

44: when was the last time you remember feeling completely serene and at peace with everything? TODAY. IN THE CORE OF THE STRESS ZONE LIES A SERENITY ZONE, ALWAYS. CAN'T MISS IT.

45: do you trust your instincts a lot? NO. FUCK INSTINCTS

46: tell us the worst pun you can think of. I'M TERRIBLE AT THESE AND I CAN'T THINK AT THE MOMENT.

47: what food do you think should be banned from the universe? P E P P E R

48: what was your biggest fear as a kid? is it the same today? ANGRY PEOPLE CHASING ME TO HURT ME IN VARIOUS WAYS! YES!

49: do you like buying CDs and records? what was the last one you bought? NO! LONG LIVE ONLINE PIRACY!

50: what's an odd thing you collect? NIGHTMARES!

51: think of a person. what song do you associate with them? I won't say names but there's A BOY, MY ANNOYING FRIEND WHO'S AN ENDLESS UNWANTED SOURCE OF SHITTY MEMES, that I always associate with the song "The Worse It Gets" from Penguin Prison.

52: what are your favorite memes of the year so far? OH there's that jojo "to be continued" one, that brain illumination one, that one where a picture gets less and less detailed I don't even know

53: have you ever watched the rocky horror picture show? heathers? beetlejuice? pulp fiction? what do you think of them? Look this thing seemed smaller a few minutes ago and I want to finish it quickly and go to sleep

54: who's the last person you saw with a true look of sadness on their face? I'm the worst at recognizing what others are feeling and I don't pay attention because it's rude to stare and not my business

55: what's the most dramatic thing you've ever done to prove a point? I feel that I have a lot of examples of this but can't remember a single one

56: what are some things you find endearing in people? When they're insecure, it's amusing like oh don't be like that I really am NOT judging you you're amazing, unless they're really nasty ppl ofc

57: go listen to bohemian rhapsody. how did it make you feel? did you dramatically reenact the lyrics? I like this song it's funny and reminds me of an old friend

58: who's the wine mom and who's the vodka aunt in your group of friends? why? ROFL WHAT

59: what's your favorite myth? Again I FEEL I can answer this but right now my brain is not working

60: do you like poetry? what are some of your faves? I like poetry when it relates to me or when someone I know wrote it, otherwise I don't bother (UPDATE! Ye Wearie Wayfarer by Adam Lindsay Gordon RULES!!)

61: what's the stupidest gift you've ever given? the stupidest one you've ever received? My memoryyyyyy

62: do you drink juice in the morning? which kind? If I'm having last night's dinner for breakfast, yes, orange juice

63: are you fussy about your books and music? do you keep them meticulously organized or kinda leave them be? YES. ORGANIZED AND VERY CLEAN.

64: what color is the sky where you are right now? BLACK AS MY NOT-RUNNING SYNAPSES

65: is there anyone you haven't seen in a long time who you'd love to hang out with? I'd rather keep them buried in my deepest thoughts, far away from my superficial consciousness!

66: what would your ideal flower crown look like? My  a e s t h e t i c  sense is terrible but I like carnations and forget-me-nots

67: how do gloomy days where the sky is dark and the world is misty make you feel? Bad, I like the sky when it's blue

68: what's winter like where you live? Rainy, lots of fog, unpredictable weather.

69: what are your favorite board games? mmmmmmmmm IDK

70: have you ever used a ouija board? ughhhhhhhhhha

71: what's your favorite kind of tea? Chamomile, it reminds me of my favorite horror game, Demento, and it’s sweet and delicious and pretty

72: are you a person who needs to note everything down or else you'll forget it? If I didn't make an effort to memorize it, yes

73: what are some of your worst habits? Biting my nails, neglecting people, being paranoid about some stuff, procrastinating, brushing my feels aside, I could go on,

74: describe a good friend of yours without using their name or gendered pronouns. Well that's hard how about CANDY

75: tell us about your pets! THEY'RE GREAT IT'S A SHAME THEY'LL DIE SOON

76: is there anything you should be doing right now but aren't? Obviously. Just OBVIOUSLY

77: pink or yellow lemonade? Pink, love pink, pink all the way, all the pinks.

78: are you in the minion hateclub or fanclub? The IDC club

79: what's one of the cutest things someone has ever done for you? Offer me their jacket when it started raining it was just AWWW. And when someone promised to be my friend FOREVER!!!!! HAHAHAA

80: what color are your bedroom walls? did you choose that color? if so, why? Nope because the bedroom is not mine HAHAHA well if I had one I'd paint everything white 81: describe one of your friend's eyes using the most abstract imagery you can think of. Chocolate, very sweet, much creativity

82: are/were you good in school? Can't you tell

83: what're some of your favorite album art? Don't ask me (8) about music (8)

84: are you planning on getting tattoos? which ones? Absolutely not, it hurts, it attracts attention, it makes people know about me... If I ever got one It’d be a word or sentence or a small symbol

85: do you read comics? what are your faves? Webcomics only, I’m... too lazy

86: do you like concept albums? which ones? Yes but... Lazy

87: what are some movies you think everyone should watch at least once in their lives? Cosmos is not a movie but here I am talking about Cosmos again idk if you don’t like documentaries go watch Gran Torino 88: are there any artistic movements you particularly enjoy? I’m sure there is but my brain is out

89: are you close to your parents? No unfortunately

90: talk about one of your favorite cities. Any safe and at least moderately urban city is fine with me

91: where do you plan on traveling this year? Nowhere, I don't really like traveling, it's stressful and expensive

92: are you a person who drowns their pasta in cheese or a person who barely sprinkles a pinch? I DON'T LIKE PASTA OR CHEESE FIGHT ME

93: what's the hairstyle you wear the most? Long, layered, side bangs

94: who was the last person you know to have a birthday? Why does this matter

95: what are your plans for this weekend? Working.. WORK.. AHAHA

96: do you install your computer updates really quickly or do you procrastinate on them a lot? I never install them, when I HAVE to I plan for it because it takes forever

97: Myers-Briggs type, zodiac sign, and Hogwarts house? INTP Leo Bronzebird

98: when's the last time you went hiking? did you enjoy it? No because I was with my parents

99: list some songs that resonate with your soul whenever you hear them. So damn many I should make a list

100: if you were presented with two buttons, one that allows you to go 5 years into the past, the other 5 years into the future, which one would you press? why? Wow hum... 5 years into the past I guess because I'd be able to study more and live longer (why living longer sounds smart to me? I must like to suffer)